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lonelypond · 2 years

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Idol Protection Program: Five Times Maki Kissed Nico Under The Mistletoe (and the one time she couldn't)

NicoMaki, Love Live, 2.3K, 1/1

Summary: Five Times Maki Kissed Nico Under The Mistletoe (and the one time she didn't)

1. Tokyo Regionals

Honoka was on the way. She, Kotori, and Umi were going to make it. Snow couldn’t stop them, not with the whole school actively helping them, rooting Muse on. The six at the venue had put their coats back on, eager for the sight of their leader, rushing out of the green room. Nico felt something pulling her back. Maki. Nervous.

“It’ll be okay, Maki-chan.”

“That’s not what…”

Nico rolled her eyes, “Nico knows A-Rise are our rivals and Nico can’t be a fan. I get it Maki-chan.”

“No.” Maki stepped close, very tall. “That’s not…” Huge inhale, then Maki pointed up, at the door frame over their heads. Nico spotted a clump of green.

“You’re the cutest, Nico-chan.” Rushed out of Maki’s mouth as she pressed a light, quick kiss on Nico’s cheek, rushing down the hall, buttoning up her coat, leaving Nico to stare after her, open mouthed.

2. Nico’s First Day As An Idol

The contract had been signed. A small production company, former school idols who loved Nico’s energy and found her “spunk” invigorating when she argued for what she wanted in a contract, including dropping the “no dating” clause. Nico wouldn’t be getting any money until concert and album sales started, probably six months from now, but Nico had never been in the Idol business for the money. Sure, if she could make enough so Maki would never have to worry about her family cutting her off, that would be great. Nico knew she was a hard worker, that was her best selling point, and Nico was determined that her hard work would pay off. Now, she had some celebrating to do.

She stepped outside the offices and turned toward the train stop when she heard someone yelling her name, “Nico-chan, Nico-chan, wait!!!”

Nico spun, surprised to see Maki running toward her. Maki was supposed to be at cram school. Had something happened.

“Hanayo said they signed you.” Maki had a huge grin on her face.

Hanayo had probably found out before Nico had.

“Yeah,” Nico felt herself puff up with earned pride, “Nico got nearly everything we wanted. Your lawyers gave Nico really good notes.”

“I’m so glad.” Maki pulled Nico into a hug, spinning, Nico could feel how rapidly Maki’s heart was beating. Then Maki jumped back, hands held out wide. “Can we do this?”

“Yes.”

Maki nodded happily, her blush starting, fingers finding curls to twirl under the dark green hat embroidered with bright green leaves and words in the same color she was wearing

“That’s new. What’s it say?”

Maki’s eyes sparkled, as she leaned down, “Come closer and read it.”

Nico did.

“Mistletoe: Kiss Below.”

“That’s a pretty bold ask, Maki-chan. It’s still November.”

“Mistletoe is mistletoe. I don’t make the rules.” The prettiest eyes sparkled at Nico, eager to see what the now official idol would do next.”

“Next year, you’ll be dressed as mistletoe for Halloween.”

“Ooh, good idea, Nico-chan.”

“No.” Fast as a flash of lightning, Nico stepped in, stood on tippytoe, crashed her lips into Maki’s, and grabbed the hat off Maki’s head.

“Hey!” Maki blinked madly, confused by Nico’s quick actions.

“Nico is confiscating this.” Nico shoved the hat in her coat pocket.

“Why, Nico-chan?” Maki asked angrily.

“So no one else has an excuse to do this.” Nico pulled Maki back into an alley, out of the stream of people, and the second kiss lingered, Maki speechless as Nico pulled away.

“Nico thinks we should get takeout to celebrate. Are your parents home?”

“No.”

“Good.”

3. Nico’s First International Tour

“Nico-chan, Nico-chan…wake up.”

Nico groaned. Maki wasn’t a morning person, so what was this about? Oh wait, it was Christmas morning wasn’t it? Maki was a Christmas morning person. Good thing Nico had set it up with the concierge to sneak in and do the Santa thing at dawn because Nico had been enjoying the reward of sound sleep that comes with blissful exhaustion.

Nico opened her eyes. “I like you better when you’re in caffeine withdrawal.”

“Liar.”

Maki was practically bouncing. And holding something over their heads. Green, leaves, clump of…Nico groaned.

“Nico knows you didn’t have that when we made it to the bed last night.” Nico reached out a hand to tickle Maki, “Nico checked everywhere.”

“Mistletoe magic.” Maki leaned down, perfect lips glowing.

“Nico needs…”

Maki’s lips scattered all Nico’s thoughts as they carefully matched every nerve of Nico’s with a soft pressure that would drive Nico batty if she didn’t get a chance to surge forward, pick up the pace, reach out and pull Maki into a deeper kiss.

“Merry Christmas, Nico-chan” sounded best smashed out between passionate breaths. Nico knew that now.

4. Nico’s SOLD OUT South American Tour

“NICO-CHAN, WAIT!!!!”

Nico knew that voice. What was it doing in Seoul? She glanced to the left, watching a completely flustered Nishikino Maki running through Incheon Airport at top speed toward her. Nico reached out her arms, catching the redhead and pulling her close.

“What are you doing here, Maki-chan? Don’t you have finals or something.”

“Don’t care.” Amethyst eyes were wet. All those tears that had waited until after video calls to fall were now dropping on Nico’s shoulder, smearing her makeup, drawing the attention of crowds.

“C’mon, Maki-chan.” Nico took Maki’s hand in hers, pulling her along to the Korean Air First Class Lounge. It was a small lounge, but there was seating and privacy shields, and Nico had already had one flight delay. Maki was keeping very close on Nico’s heel, head down, hands wiping away tears. Nico got them in easily enough, stashed her luggage in a locker, and decided on a daybed, settling down and encouraging Maki to curl up in her arms. Maki immediately snuggled, head on Nico’s shoulder, face hidden.

“‘M sorry Nico-chan.”

“For missing Nico. You don’t have to be sorry. Nico misses you.”

Every time Nico left on tour and Maki couldn’t come, Nico had this impossible urge to just wrap Maki up in a blanket and tuck her in with the luggage, leaving a robot or something to take Maki’s classes and family obligations.

“It’s just Christmas and you’ll be gone…”

Nico sighed. That had been unavoidable. And Argentina was too far away for Maki to fly in for the day. And they’d both been ignoring how miserable it was going to make them feel.

“Nico will make it up to you.”

More crying, sobbing. Maki must be exhausted.

“You’re going with your parents, right?”

Maki shook her head, “Staying in Tokyo.”

“Go stay with my mom and the kids. You can cheer each other up.”

“I can’t…”

“You’re family, Maki-chan. The cutest Yazawa…and that’s saying a lot.”

Maki laughed, finally sitting up, wiping more liquids off her face. “I’m a mess.”

“You’re a beautiful mess.”

“You’re so comforting, Nico-chan.” Maki’s voice had some snap back. Nico was glad.

“Now, tell Nico why you flew to Korea?”

Maki blushed red, mumbled something, and pushed her face into Nico’s chest.

“Maki-chan?” Nico wheedled, her hands threatening to poke Maki in the side.

“It’s silly.”

“Not if it upsets you.”

“We haven’t…” Maki twirled a curl frantically.

“We haven’t what? You have to be clearer, Maki-chan. Nico doesn’t have time to guess.”

Still muttering, not making eye contact, Maki reached into a pocket and Nico glimpsed a clump of green leaves. Her hand grabbed them and she held the mistletoe between them.

“DId you smuggle this on a plane?”

Maki nodded.

“To kiss Nico under.”

Maki winced.

“Nico would kiss you without salad.”

“It’s not salad, it’s poisonous.”

“Nico knows.”

“We always kiss under it, every year, Nico-chan.” The tears were going to start again.

Maki was still so…Maki, Nico realized, with an innate naivety that bolstered her natural charm and protected her heart, the heart that Nico had sworn to safeguard.

“Well, Nico’s going to make it enough kisses to keep you warm ‘til New Year’s.”

For New Year’s Maki would be flying to Rio to join the tour.

“Promise.”

5. One Month Before Maki’s Due Date

Nico prided herself on infinite energy. Nico could do anything. One Nico Ni had enough energy to spin the world on its axis, give the sun an energy boost. But Nico was dragging. Worrying over an increasingly emotional pregnant Maki, getting closer and closer to the delivery day, EVERYONE giving both of them advice on what to expect, calling at all hours, dropping off presents. Nico was grateful, but Nico was becoming an introvert, unwilling to leave the side of her pregnant wife. But Maki had the oddest cravings and while Nico was happy to cook, Nico couldn’t cook very American brands of ice cream or duplicate the pineapple and anchovy topping Maki’s favorite Italian bistro had created for her. So Nico punched in the passcode to the door, while balancing a cooler full of imported Creamalicious pints (Nico made a deal to perform in a series of ads for a konbini chain in exchange for setting up a supply chain when Maki threatened to have their child in the New York City brownstone so she could get delivery) on top of tonight’s pizza.

“Nico-chan!”

Maki sounded in a good mood. Nico relaxed slightly. The lights were low.

“Ice cream and pizza delivery.” Nico announced, turning into the kitchen.

While Nico was loading pints into the freezer, Maki came up behind her, sliding an arm around her waist, dropping a kiss on her hair, “Welcome home, Nico-chan.”

“How are you feeling, Maki-chan?”

‘Fine. Your Todaimon Takkanmari order is due in 5 minutes and I’ve got 9 Muses of Star Empire. I know you’ve been wanting to watch it.”

“The dark side of the Idol industry.”

“We can watch Analog Trip after.”

Nico leaned in to Maki, feeling their daughter between them. It would take awhile to adjust to Maki being only one person sized again, but Nico was looking forward to it. And meeting their daughter.

“I thought you might want a mini vacation.”

“A K-pop mini vacation.” Nico giggled, “Maki-chan is cute.”

“Give me that pizza.”

“Ah, there’s the Maki-chan I’m used to.” Nico handed over the pizza box.

Maki inhaled, eyes closed, a dreamy look on her face. “Did you thank Taka-san for us.”

“Of course.” Ice cream put away, Nico headed for the media room, but Maki grabbed her sweater.

“Wait Nico-chan.”

“What.”

A shy blush on her face, Maki pointed up. She’d hung a misshapen clump of mistletoe on the kitchen door lintel.

“I thought you’d forgotten.”

Maki shook her head.

“And before you tear into the pizza. Nico must be good.”

“Just kiss me, Nico-chan.”

Nico knew what to do when your pregnant wife demanded something. Be as thorough as possible.

“If that’s what Maki-chan wants.”

+1 Nearing Dia’s Second Birthday

Dia’s eyes got bigger with every tree they walked past on their downtown Tokyo stroll. This year Dia was old enough to appreciate Christmas and Maki had been overjoyed, doubling the stack of Christmas related books she’d read to Dia last year, setting up a Christmas tree on every floor and lights outside. Dia’s room had its own Christmas tree as well; Nico had barely won the battle, keeping one of of their bedroom. Her argument had been Maki wouldn’t want Santa thinking he should put the presents there and just walk in on them. Maki had blushed furiously and thrashed at a smirking Nico with a pillow, but no bedroom Christmas tree.

“Mom.” Dia pulled on Nico’s hand.

“Hi, bun.” Nico smiled at her daughter.

“Tired. Carry Dia.”

Nico glanced at the stroller Maki was pushing, now full of presents for all the Yazawas, who they were having dinner with. Dia would sleep through that, after a round of “Dia’s so cute” greetings.

“Okay, Dia. Up you go.” Nico picked up her daughter, the weight easy, Dia’s arms going around her neck, and Nico sneaking a quick kiss on Dia’s cheek.

“All I Want For Christmas Is You” played somewhere close by and Nico started singing, Dia joining in on the chorus. Maki had the biggest smile, her flaming red hair covered in a black beanie, watching both of them bop happily through downtown Tokyo, Nico, just another mom anonymous in the holiday shopping crowd. There had been too few moments like this, out in public, since Nico’s first album had dominated the charts.

Something caught Maki’s attention and excited, she pulled Nico toward the road.

“Hey, Maki-chan, be careful.”

“Look, Nico-chan.”

Maki was standing under a tree wrapped in white lights, but on one of the branches, someone had hung a twist of mistletoe.

“You never miss any mistletoe, do you.”

“Nope.”

“Does Nico not kiss you enough the rest of the year.”

“Nope.”

Maki could be so silly sometimes, and Christmas was most of those times. Nico loved it. She hoped her daughter would inherit it, but looking down at Dia, she saw a frown starting.

“Not Christmas tree.” Dia said, pointing to the same thing Maki was.

“No, bun, that’s mistletoe. Your Mama always looks for it this time of year.”

“When I find it, Nico-chan gives me a prize.” Maki stepped in, an irrepressible dare twinking in her eyes.

“Hang on a minute, Dia.” Nico shifted Dia, to better lean in and kiss Maki.

Nico felt a small hand on her chin, pushing.

“Bzzzzt.”

Dia’s other hand was on Maki’s chin, pushing her back.

“Go see Grandma.” Dia demanded.

Nico sighed, “Yes, Dia, we’re going to see your Grandma.”

“Hurry.”

“Hurry, she says, Maki-chan.” Nico chuckled.

“No patience.” Maki agreed.

“Patience,” and here Nico hoped her voice was working on levels of subtext only adults could here, “gets rewarded.”

“It better.” Maki muttered, but any attempt to glare at Dia softened into amusement.

“You’re the best, Maki-chan.” Nico blew a kiss toward Maki.

“I know.”

Nico knew where Dia got her command tones from.

A/N: A/N: Merry Christmas. It's been a tiring year for me, but I wanted to thank you for reading/commenting/caring. And offer you best wishes for 2023. Take care.

#Idol Protection Program #IPP #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Kurosawa Dia #Baby Dia #the tyrant #Christmas #mistletoe #christmas kissing

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badwasabi · 6 months

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I swear, this picture will be relevant.

I'm reading a sci Fi Kindle book with a moderately interesting plot.*

Despite the writer's best efforts.

In the intro, here's a mercenary recruiting scene in a school. Right after the teacher introduced the speaker (as required by law);

The door to the classroom opened and another woman walked in A couple of inches shorter than Mrs. Addams, she had ultra-short black hair and deep-set, piercing gray eyes in a face so thin it was almost skeletal. She wore her dark blue Army uniform like plate armor. He only knew she was a woman by the slight swell of her breasts beneath her uniform shirt.

Okay, this is what Chuck palahannock Palahniuk calls "sign posting", IIRC. It's when a paragraph or whatever tells you the conclusion before building up to it.

Most people look at someone's face first. This usually gets them gender. If that doesn't work, then you usually look at the body. In this case it would make sense for the protagonist to look at her face and then her uniform, since he is obsessed with mercenary companies.

And it would also make sense for him to look at the chest because he's a teenager. I think, it works better if he doesn't gender the Major until after he notices the breasts. Or he's confused about it, then figures it out, which shows he's smart and inquisitive. And on a more nitpicking note, it seems a tad clinical to describe someone's breasts as a "swell". I don't think a kid would use that language, even a smart one. In fact, it sounds exactly like the language a writer would use. I think it would be better if the story simply mentioned that the protag looked at her chest, then concluded that she was a woman. Let the reader infer what he saw. Anyway, here's our hero, thinking about his best friend during a physical assessment at school.

You could describe Frank as a Greek god, and you wouldn't be doing Zeus or Hercules any disservice. He was just over six feet tall with a chiseled chin, and bright Delft-blue eyes under thick waves of dark brown hair.

How many readers are going to understand the reference to centuries old Delft china? Heck, the only reason I knew what it was is because I read it in another book. Why is the character thinking of pottery? If he's thinking of greco-Roman stuff, why doesn't he think of Greek blue? Okay, maybe this could work. Maybe his family owns some Delft. Maybe he saw it as a kid, and his mom sold it off to try and keep the company afloat. It would symbolize her betrayal, his shattered trust. Or it could be one of the few things he got to keep when the vultures swarmed over the carcass. It would be an ironic contrast to make something fragile, ornamental, and delicate represent a mercenary company. If I just read on... Nothing happens. There's no payoff.

But you're probably wondering why a mercenary recruiter is pitching to elementary school kids. In this universe Earth's leading export is mercenaries. They make so much money they pay a 50% tax rate which covers 90% of our tax base and many of them are still stinking rich millionaires. If they survive. The main character of this story is a young man who's the heir to one of the top four leading, legendary mercenary corporations. Ever since his dad died, his mom ran the company in trust for him. Until he turned 18. And learned that Mommy dearest had been running the company into the ground. She does a runner. He's left holding the bag. By the time the lawyers and lawsuits and legal processes get done the company is basically nothing but an office building and a name. Hence those vultures I mentioned. Our protagonist has to put the company into bankruptcy. Then he has to file for personal bankruptcy. After a few weeks of doing crappy online jobs to not die, it turns out there's a family trust of assets that his mom and the lawsuits couldn't touch.

It consists of a museum, with a lot of old military equipment. And a luxury apartment. And some of the company's employees. The whole things automated. Basically, he's loaded. This was hinted at. The protagonist did notice his family's yacht was missing. But that was it.

Our hero doesn't find it buried in the paperwork omehow, or follow the trail at great personal risk. He doesn't pass some secret trial. In fact, the guy running the place sends a lawyer to fetch him. And then he pretends not to recognize the protagonist so the protagonist has to identify himself. Just to mess with him. this is the closest thing to an actual challenge, and it's solved in about 30 seconds, and our boy had no other actual choice. Unless he wanted to get thrown out or bonked on the head. He didn't actually "earn" this stuff. He's spent the first 5th of the story like a kite in a hurricane. Functionally, he's just as rich as he would be if the mercenary company was still intact. Just without the actual mercenary company. Anyway, the dude shows the hero around the place and then shows him to his apartment.

He reached into a pocket and pulled something out – a stuffed toy. As fate would have it, this one was his favorite. Jim chuckled as he took it over and sat it on the windowsill facing the starport. The bright blue body and wings with multicolored mane and matching tail belied the ferocity of the little equine. Rainbow Dash didn't take shit from anyone.

Okay. Hold up. Back up. Where did this come from?

I know the intended symbolism is our protagonist has found a new home. But the story did not establish that the Rainbow Dash toy was a symbol of home. It did not establish the protagonist's love of old cartoons. This comes out of nowhere. When the protagonist packed up his few remaining possessions earlier, the story did not mention or imply he had any equine toys. This is also not "earned". He's a passive protagonist. I have the sneaking suspension that the writer just included it because he likes Rainbow Dash. By comparison, when a wacky sidekick character in one of the Stephanie Plum books mentions her favorite pone, I chuckled, because it fit her established character. Or the opening of Black Widow, when someone dramatically throws away a My Little Pony doll that symbolizes Nat's family. You know what would've been better? Delftware. Let's back up. In the story our protagonist family has a ranch. Unfortunately it gets taken in the lawsuits, and he isn't allowed to take anything expensive away from it.

So maybe he could sneak out the family pottery, and set it up in his new home when he feels safe. In fact, if there hasn't been another MLP reboot with has a new rainbow dash, the rainbow dash doll isn't a modern reproduction or re-release, it should be a priceless antique. You could just sub it in for the porcelain and not have to change anything else. Maybe it got taken by the lawsuits or sold by his mom, so he has to build a new, 3D printed one. Which would symbolize how he's rebuilding his family's legacy in his new home. Later on, it turns out he has a whole collection of little ponies. He even has an argument about it. Says he just likes 20th century stuff. Which is just more confusing. The MLP franchise started in 1986, but the description of rainbow dash's personality is the 21st century FIM version. The earliest RD came out in 2003, the generation before friendship is magic. He also has a Fluttershy, who was also first released in 2003. Gen 3, just like rainbow dash. If this was put in to appeal to MLP fans, shouldn't the writer have done some basic research? How could a big fan mix up the century? And for someone who likes a show about friendship, he hasn't had a single thought about his high school best friend since he graduated. Or any friends.

It still seems weird to introduce his ponies as a Significant Moment ™ and then show he likes centuries old cartoons. Why didn't this come up during the opening character development chapters, or when he visited his family estate, other than a vague mention of packing "memorabilia"? If he was packing ponies, and a cop was watching what he packed, why didn't the cop comment? Even a "aren't those for girls?" Or even just a snort. Something to make it significant. He wouldn't even need to explicitly identify it. Just some setup. Why didn't our protagonist remember how his mom thought the MLP toys weren't appropriate for a boy, but bought them anyway? He smiles at the memory, then remembers how she screwed him over, and stops smiling. Or remembers how he decided to buy any further toys himself. This gives it meaning. And develops his character. We don't even have to learn what the "memorabilia" is until he arrives at his new home. In the actual story, he lived in another home when he turned 18, and it said he packed up "a small collection of very precious stuffed animals." Minor problem; most MLP toys are hard plastic. If they're stuffed plushies, they've got even less of a chance of making it to the 2_th century. Unless these are some kind of reissue, or he bought a fan replica off space Etsy. In case anyone is wondering, examining other people's stuff like this helps me improve my own writing. In fact, writing this has helped me realise that I'm going to have to condense two chapters of my novel into one. * Well, I was, when I wrote this a year ago, and then sat on it. Needless to say, I did not finish the book.

#writing advice #nanowrimo #writing #writers on tumblr #books #my little pony #mlp #bad writing #kindle

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the-firebird69 · 1 year

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So the FBI went after Trump today and in between sessions of harassing our son the idiot was being apprehended by the fence over and over by the way and different groups and they're beating him down and to death here and it's for the money and they are crucified for it and I want to come Sarah just now saying he embarrassed me in the past and what he says is you can't talk what you're doing you're an embarrassment to any of your kind and do it on purpose doubling up you're embarrassment and you're threatening me so I'm putting a hit on you second bounty but really it's more or less to hit you like to shoot you and we're doing it now and she's going to regret her big mouth and we're going to kill you too Trump I can until you're gone before you and annoying kid

And we said we got time and people say they're killing them for this and less people do it unless and less and it helps us we're also terminating your people to try and get going and we get rid of them free so they won't be any of you nonsense people around finally they're here monitoring and walks right up to him and said I would not be able to tolerate what he is and someone pay me a million dollars this is what makes you think I'm tolerating this puke at all I am reacting I am taking his forces down I am taking his territory I am taking everything he had which was 70 to 80% of the realm you are losing your life because you're letting this idiot near me. It looks at him and he says you're gone and he starts to go towards you a little you're standing up and you're pretty big and you turn around goes to trump it says you're coming with me he says no not since that fairy doesn't even fight anybody and she doesn't fight anybody cuz if he does you kill him cuz he's killed them but he fights them and we have some evidence of crushed throats and he says across something and he's walking away and Trump says no way he's killing you now he says no stupid so he walks away and he says you're under arrest you're down on the ground and he had a weapon and he's telling them to Trump said no I said yeah or I will fire on you so jump down the ground he had cussing and he took him out front. And you smiling and stuff puts in the car it says he says he doesn't do that stuff but I see people die right near him and there's no reason why and he's not smiling about it and he moves fast I've seen him hit people really fast like you too close to him real fast and stuff breaks like with Dan people couldn't tell what he did he hit him very fast you can hear a snap in the video and his rib broke he says cuz the fat guy wouldn't move instead of his rib did he looks over and it says he wouldn't move out of the way getting into his face and hours I need you out of the way they're breaking all your ribs and it's a good idea so BJ's started doing that kind of thing he's trying to move and the guys have a real hard time just trying to get stuff and just have a hard time and trying to see a real frustrated last night and we started doing it cuz it looks like a good idea and yelling from sitting there yelling and yelling and people saying there you go and they probably won't stop doing it it works great on Trump. At least you're a damn nuisance now they've got him in prison they're tormenting him too. And we found a suit against him for it and we're going to press criminal charges and over and over until they stick he went to the lawyer this morning so you got to finally charges over and over I haven't even started and it said that I said to do it later he says what do you mean press charges over and over until the stick so I told him it's for harassment stalking terrorizing him tormenting taking his money I need to sue the runs around thinking nothing happens and it's true too other groups can fend them off. And we'll have to get a lot of people in here to take them out and it will take all the money it's our money and they want it and that's what thier saying too. I'm talking to him and it's people listening and they say it's our money and all sudden I can hear silence and they said this guy's got to go we know what this is and he's trying to use it against us.....

We have a huge Force going out of now I'm going to make more than a dent. Stan's base is under attack. Huge huge numbers of stan attacking trumps all over the world and suppressing him and ruining him they're taking him down and her son said we don't need these people getting the sleep that easy cuz he's losers if state has a European and others might infiltrate so we got on it cuz we're thinking about it it's only going to do is hand it over to Mac other people too if it's tough sit at Ford is involved and huge numbers of people start flocking to Ken and the forest it's telling people you hear this s*** give the whole fleet to the empire and he was mad and he pointed it out and the two big guys started working and Trump is going down and bja we don't do that kind of non help you're fired and if you follow me from here and then you die. And he told Frank Castle Hardcastle nobody follows me.. and they say it all the time and he says so everyone's following him and these people need to go so they start to go after them and they're going down getting hit and they started this stupid s*** in the upper Midwest and they're going after bja and VGA went to Northern route and he left Trump there and Trump is sitting pretty he's saying it then he became attacked by the max who brutally and savagely destroyed his whole Force wherever they were. And we were helping that's how I know and we thought about it bunkers and Ally areas on the highway up in the northern country going backwards down to the Midwest and we traced where they came from out there and destroyed them and orders from here and are destroying them. Hey look up this morning now just when our son woke up we heard the idiot next door banging on something to try to wake him up and it didn't work and he woke up normally cuz he had to eat something now he's just well hey have to eat a banana and set the timer so Trump is next door still banging on something and we stopped him and it says time to go over there he kept saying it. Seriously and our son says it should have been an emergency for the Max and others including bja, as if you look what he's doing is his people are doing it to you and they're freaking nuts they're not jobs and assholes and you figure it out and you're going to want to do something too and do it into a lot of people it's a form of subjugation and it's to drain you dry I don't have anything I keep telling them I don't have anything little kids you go away or you going to die and they don't go away and now they're dying all of them but it has to be proactive so our son said the last three lines and Hera they should be listened to this guy is a nutcase, so you're trying to make people nuts and he puts them in the hospital which means he's running the hospitals it's his number one way of grabbing things if blame Justin and Justin turned around and started a revolution and still going on and people are nailing that piece of crap Trump cuz he's the one who was blaming Justin and he was screwing around with people and we'll work too and WW2 he was imitating mengke a lot. And basically is the person who did use this experiments useless experiments and was sick and tortured and tormented people so I'm going to go after him too and I'm putting this out there now

Thor Freya

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ugly-anastasia · 2 years

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Warm Glow | Oneshot

Steph Carmello, J.D., arrives home after her first consult with a new client.

Date: Late October, 2022 Featuring: Steph and Eli Carmello Warnings: Some references to the economy and stuff but nothing in depth lol

(This was originally going to be my wrimo task for today but I got to the end of it and realized the prompt had gotten away from me so I am... probably going to redo it lmao because I really do like this prompt but I still wanted to post it because I think it’s interesting.)

The warm glow emanating from the windows of Steph’s little terrace flat was a relief to see every evening when she came home from the office, but especially tonight. For the past three years, it seemed, she had told Eli that this would be the year she would find a way to be home before Jayden’s bedtime, and every year that New Year’s resolution fell to the wayside even sooner than Eli’s couch-to-5K plans. But she could always count on Eli still awake, sipping his tea as he scrolled through Glassdoor, the pot of stew still warming in a Crock Pot while Jayden slumbered upstairs.

“How did it go?” Eli asked, looking up from his laptop and setting his mug down.

Steph just shook her head, rolling her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Somehow, Eli doubted that. If there was one thing he knew about his wife, it was that she loved to talk, and this was something he loved about her. She had a voice like November, low and gravelly that others had complained about before but sounded like music to Eli.

He stood up to take her backpack and kissed her on the forehead. “Have some hot pot,” he said, taking the backpack to the small room that did triple duty as the guest room, Steph’s office, sometimes Eli’s office when he got a freelance gig, and Jayden’s playroom. And it was intended to be a nursery, someday, for another kid, something Eli deeply wanted but knew would have to wait until the family had their finances more in order.

When he returned to the kitchen, Steph was shoveling potatoes into her mouth and it was just another of the million things Eli loved about her, the way she attacked the things he cooked with abandon. There was no use in being prim or proper about it. Good food deserved to be devoured.

Eli returned to where he had been sitting, sipping his tea again but only barely paying attention to Glassdoor. He was waiting. Three, two, one…

“God, she’s just such a— I felt like a bloody zoo animal!”

Ahh, there it was.

“Hm?” Eli said, looking up over his screen, his eyebrows crinkled in mild concern.

The thing about Steph was that she was very polite, which made her a good lawyer. But under the surface, she could be touchy and indignant and a bit self-righteous, which also made her a good lawyer, but it was something she needed to cover up with her politeness. Until she got home and could properly explode.

“She’s so judgmental, Eli. I felt like I was back in bloody secondary school, the way I could tell she was completely sizing me up. Everything about me. Just because she’s got money.” Steph shook her hair out of its ponytail and combed a hand through it in a way that was very beautiful and made Eli want to— right, no, he was listening.

Eli frowned. “Sounds like a right piece of work,” he supplied, though the commentary was only background noise to Steph’s rant.

“And she’s so entitled! I mean, she didn’t even thank me for the discount, even though I really couldn’t afford it, and Michelle basically bullied me into doing it. I felt like I was two inches tall, talking to her. I don’t know how I’m supposed to get through months of this,” Steph pouted and ate another bite of stew.

She was going to have to get through it, of course. She knew she would. Steph and Eli needed this money, badly. Everything teetered on a precipice right now, ever since Eli had gotten laid off last month. They’d held onto the flat, but only barely. Most of the time, the place was freezing cold, with the energy bill running as high as it was. There was Eli’s jobseeker’s allowance, but that was hardly enough when Steph had barely just finished up her law degree and was making pennies at the family practice that had taken her on.

“I think the most infuriating part is— you know, I got into this line of work because I wanted to help people. To help kids, like when me and Michelle were younger, you know?”

That very messy divorce had messed with both Steph and her sister in very different ways, but at the very least, it had served as motivation for Steph. But this was not the type of client Steph had envisioned.

Eli nodded sympathetically, shutting his laptop. “Just— remember, it’s just a job. Obviously you deserve better than this, but…”

He left the obvious thing hanging in the air, that they both really needed this money. It was already understood, and Steph nodded, sparing Eli the embarrassment of discussing the thing that was already his great shame (even though, personally, she thought there was nothing to be ashamed of. He couldn’t control the state of the economy, or the state of his industry, or the fact that his company simply couldn’t afford to keep him around, with how overqualified he was— but Eli had already heard all of that before).

Eli stood up to put his mug in the sink, and paused behind Steph’s chair. “Hey,” he said, leaning down to put a hand on her shoulder and say in her ear, “I love you.”

Steph smiled, and the feeling that coursed through her was less the giddy butterflies of when they had first met back in uni, more the solid warmth of knowing this might be forever. Annie may have been able to pick out every ugly little flaw she could when she’d met Steph, judging her and using them as a way to differentiate herself as someone better. But Eli had learned those things about Steph slowly, and every single quirk made him fall deeper in love with her.

She was lucky. She was very lucky. And she knew that, for all her posturing, Annie did not have that kind of thing in her life, and maybe Steph ought to feel sorry for her, but maybe that wasn’t really a good use of her energy.

“I love you, too,” Steph said, handing Eli her now empty bowl as he kissed her on the cheek. “Leave it in the sink, I’ll get to it later.”

Too late, Eli was already running the water. “I’ll wash, you dry?” he said over his shoulder.

“Deal.”

#feat steph #self para #a baby story

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souridealist · 3 years

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On what occasions does Phoenix Wright get paid?

PHOENIX WRIGHT: ACE ATTORNEY

Case 1-1 Defendant: Larry Butz Does Phoenix get paid? No way in hell.

Case 1-2 Defendant: Maya Fey Does Phoenix get paid? I doubt it ever even occurred to him to bill her, honestly.

Case 1-3 Defendant: Will Powers Does Phoenix get paid? Yes! I doubt Will makes a lot of money, but he has a steady job, and the studio might or might not have covered some of it. Some kind of compensation occurred.

Case 1-4 Defendant: Miles Edgeworth Does Phoenix get paid? I feel like Miles tried to pay him and Phoenix refused him point blank, and they went back and forth on this for entirely too long until Maya, wanting burger money and also to keep the damn lights on, took it upon herself to deposit the check behind Phoenix’s back and leave for Kurain Village before he discovered it. This is probably what kept him fed through all of game two.

Case 1-5/DLC Defendant: Lana Skye Does Phoenix get paid? Definitely! Lana makes decent money, she knows what the rates for a good defense attorney should be, and she would absolutely take that debt seriously. Congratulations, Phoenix, burgers for you and fancy plant food for Charley.

ACE ATTORNEY: JUSTICE FOR ALL

2-1 Defendant: Maggey Byrde Does Phoenix get paid? A little bit. Phoenix almost certainly gave her a hefty discount, simply because she’s a good person in a bad spot and cops in this universe seem not to make very much money.

2-2 Defendant: Maya Fey Does Phoenix get paid? No way does he charge her, she’s family.

2-3 Defendant: Max Galactica Does Phoenix get paid? Yes! Max canonically made a hefty salary, so I think Phoenix would be willing to charge him a relatively fair price. He might’ve knocked a bit off because of the tenous position the circus ended in, but still, probably went all right for both sides.

2-4 Defendant: Matt Engarde Does Phoenix get paid? He charges that motherfucker for every time that Phoenix blinked over the course of that trial. Edgeworth helps him find ways to jack up the bill even higher. Matt Engarde is going to send Trucy to college and Phoenix hadn’t even met her yet.

All in all, a profitable game for Phoenix.

ACE ATTORNEY: TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS

3-1 Lawyer: Mia Fey Defendant: Phoenix Wright Does Mia get paid? Honestly this depends entirely on your headcanon for Phoenix’s backstory, but Mia is an employee in Grossberg’s (highly profitable) firm rather than running her own office, so she might draw a flat salary regardless of whether he pays his bills. (I did no research on how billing in law works and I feel that is entirely in the spirit of the games.)

3-2 Defendant: Ron DeLite Does Phoenix get paid? Hmm. On the one hand, Ron was throwing around very valuable objects, but on the other hand, he was driven to crime by financial desperation in the first place, and Phoenix did also screw up his alibi. I think probably Phoenix only charges him for the theft trial and charges him the broke people rate.

3-3 Defendant: Maggey Byrde again Does Phoenix get paid? Maggey has gone down in the world financially even before you factor in how Tres Bien is on the verge of collapse, so... no. Phoenix charges her a pittance, if that.

3-4 Lawyer: Mia Fey Defendant: Terry Fawles Does Mia get paid? Mia can speak to ghosts, but that does not mean that she can bill them. As above, however, she might be pulling a flat salary. Regardless, probably not her greatest concern at the time.

3-5 Defendant: Iris of Hazakura Temple Does Phoenix (or Miles) get paid? Phoenix has a personal tie to Iris and she’s from the Fey extended clan, who have no money. He never saw a cent for that case.

I’M PUTTING THE ENIGMAR/GRAMARYE TRIAL HERE FOR CONVENIENCE Defendant: Zak Enigmar aka Zak Gramarye Does Phoenix get paid? Not only did Zak pull a defense-and-dash here, that man owes Phoenix seven years of child support. Zak Enigmar has out-mooched Larry Butz.

APOLLO JUSTICE: ACE ATTORNEY 4-1 Defendant: Phoenix Wright Does anyone get paid? Phoenix canonically states his intent to do so! ...By hoping he was getting the discount rate, but still, planning to pay a rate. Of course, it’s difficult to bill a man whom you’ve just gotten arrested. So, frankly, who knows. However, as above, Apollo is an employee and might be making a flat salary. Enjoy it while it lasts, kid.

4-2 Defendant: Wocky Kitaki Does anyone get paid? Eventually. The Kitakis’ money is all tied up in Wocky’s operation for the time being, and I think Mr. Kitaki would refuse to use yakuza money to pay for Wocky’s defense any more than for his medical treatment. However, they’re not going to leave that debt unpaid forever, so eventually there is profit!

Of course, how exactly billing works at the Wright Anything Agency is... anyone’s guess. I suppose Apollo is technically an employee, but given that the place is held together with string and a wish, I don’t think a flat salary is in the cards this time. My guess would be that Trucy bases it on a performance contract (I don’t know a ton about that either) -- for every booking, Apollo gets paid and management gets a percentage.

4-3 Defendant: Machi Tobaye Does anyone get paid? I don’t think anyone was really planning to bill a fourteen-year-old who’s about to get arrested for a different crime, but Lamiroir may have reached out to the agency and offered to take care of it on his behalf, at which point they had to try and come up with a bill. Still a pittance, especially given the surgery plans (and... everything else.)

4-4 Defendant: Vera Misham Does anyone get paid? She was raking in an implicitly large amount of black market cash and she feels guilty about having it and would want to pay them back, but she’s also a nineteen-year-old agaraphobe navigating the world on her own for the first time. I think, ultimately, they bill her on the low-low end of reasonable.

It’s also possible that Phoenix got paid for what was, technically, a fair bit of government labor in setting up the jury system, but asking questions about those logistics is.... a choice even I am not going to make.

I haven’t played Duel Destinies or Spirit of Justice yet so further updates as events warrant.

I think my conclusion here is 1) in order to make money, Phoenix Wright needs to be supervised by someone who is not currently on trial and older than nine 2) Phoenix definitely gets to tell Apollo that he had to defend uphill in the snow both ways.

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #apollo justice #posts that have no purpose

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gimletagain · 2 years

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brain dump

What delicious tea we’ve all been given. And welcome back @the-empress-7for leading the charge. I have sooo many thoughts on this mess but that’s all conflicting with summer travel and business, so I’ll consolidate them all here.

First the nits: I don’t know if it’s the result of serialization or his writing style but I’ve found some of his storytelling to be confusing. For instance, the Vogue meltdown:

Her first task, said Meghan, was to demand that the official publication date in Britain be delayed by one day to let publication in the US take the lead. America’s reaction, she was certain, would be more positive than Britain’s.

What US publication? The US Vogues and UK Vogues are separate publications. September issue featured Taylor Swift that year. Did she mean she wanted the UK Vogue to be released before the US? The whole thing is kind of confusing. I have no doubt she tried to meddle but the story is a bit vague and I’d like to understand it more.

Now onto the good stuff:

The narcissism details are just ((CHEF’s KISS)). Imagine you show up at a date’s place and their house is plastered with photos … OF THEMSELVES. The fact that Harry accepted this and didn’t run away just shows how dim he really is. The crazy diva demands as a total nobody. The Tom enabled delusions about her childhood activism.

Related: her manipulation tactics are referenced as well. Love the detail on how she “negged” her interviewer on his stutter. Classic pickup artist tactic that all those incels on Reddit love - basically using these little disses that sound like compliments (“You have such a pretty face, you could model if you were skinny”) to diminish someone’s confidence. She is literally one of those creeps.

The sources are just great. The recounting of the VF interview could have only come from the journalist himself, as did the details about what she said directly into the mike. Tom Bower really did say, I HEARD THE TAPES!

Actually, my biggest question to Tom after all this tea is something I hope he will cover in the book. We all know that she had a pretty well stocked team to make her image for her: Sunshine, lawyers, Kruger Crowne. Yes, it is that easy if you hire the right people. The problem is most actors are broke and don’t get access to those people until the studio is paying for them, after they’ve been cast in some things, to promote their next projects. Rarely is a random unknown just paying out of pocket for them. The million dollar question is: who was paying for all this??

Sunshine reps Serena, JLo, Harvey Weinstein at his Miramax heyday. How the %*}}^€ was a f-list actress on a cable show able to afford them? How was she able to command the resources of an A-list star getting studio level promotions and pitching her to big corporations for campaigns?

Some of it I will chalk up to cleverness. For instance, Kruger Crowne is pretty niche. I don’t think it’s that expensive to get set up with random charities and do a few photo ops, and props to her that she figured out these charity photos and events make her look more famous than she is. The problem is she would’ve probably had to pay for the appearances - her own flights, her own everything. She even admitted that during her UN speech she raided the Suits closet. Which is why no other actors rarely go this route, it’s not very useful unless you’re trying to come up with a paper trail for why you’re a 99 cent Princess Diana.

But hiring a full fledged team like Sunshine and lawyers is still a complete mystery to me. That can’t be explained and that’s some Anna Delvey sh*t. Where did the money come from? Cory? Her dad? I don’t event think her entire acting paycheck, even if she mooched off of Cory for all her living expenses, could pay for those services. And that’s not getting into her “fun” money - the money she needed to go out every night and look cute at Soho house, travel to Italy, whatever.

I don’t believe that she was a yacht girl, btw. I think she was amazing about offloading costs and pulling “I’ll pay you later” and mooching off of men she dates. But I’d love it if Tom dug into her money mysteries of exactly how she funded this lifestyle.

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wiypt-writes · 4 years

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, 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 a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

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.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide.

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone.

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood.

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you.

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall.

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne.

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination.

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby.

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his.

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes. With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet.

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system.

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did.

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even,

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end.

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

#murder he wrote #j's haunted house 2020 #dark ransom #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #reader insert #chris evans #chris evans characters

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gubler-me-up · 4 years

Text

Perfectionism

Request: HELLOO, I’ve had an idea for literally months in my head but I wouldn’t be able to write it as good as you 🥺 Would you mind doing a Spencer reaction to his crush having bad body dysmorphia that they’ve been hiding from the team (they’re working for bau) but at a case or smn someone they’re interviewing comments negatively on their body and they break down once they think they’re alone? But Spence sees and reaches out and it’s really wholesome and soft? I’m a sucker for angsty fluff I’m sorry 😔

A/N: Thanks for the prompt anon, much appreciated! I hope this does justice to your well thought-out idea. I hope it satisfies all your angsty fluff needs! Side note, to everyone of my followers/readers I hope you know you’re beautiful and finding love/happiness within yourself takes time, but trust the process, loves ❤️ Enjoy!

Category: Angsty fluff

Content warning: Swearing, mention of violence, self degradation

Word count: 2.3k

---------------

You stood in front of the mirror inside the police department’s washroom. You finished applying another thick layer of foundation on your face. You knew applying this much makeup to your face wasn’t good. Your dermatologist even recommended against it and advised you to let your skin breathe for a while to prevent over clogging your pores. He didn’t understand the problem of doing that though.

Without the concealer masking the dark circles under your eyes, you’d probably look dead. Maybe even worse. Without the foundation, your acne and healing acne scars would definitely bring unwanted attention to your face. It was certain to happen.

You had to wear them all the time, especially at work. You thought of how JJ probably never had to go through this. Her face was free of any sort of marks or blemishes. She always looked alive with her bright blue eyes with no heavy bags insight. No wonder Spencer had a crush on her a few years back.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the vibrations of your phone on the bathroom counter. You looked down to see Spencer’s name pop up informing you it was time to interview the suspect. A sigh left your mouth as you started packing up your products into your travel beauty kit.

As you walked out of the door, you noticed Spencer at the end of the poorly lit hall leading back out to the main lobby. When he noticed you were walking down the hall towards him, he smiled and waved. Sometimes you thought he was the cutest genius in the world.

“Hey, didn’t know you were waiting for me,” you said.

He shrugged. “Thought it would be nice for us to walk to the interview room together.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He nodded as you both started walking towards the interview room. You couldn’t help noticing he kept on looking at you. Especially your face. What if he saw your acne scars? Or even the acne itself? What if he was just noticing how strange your face looked?

You stopped walking. “Why do you keep staring at me?”

He stopped walking as well as he gave you a questionable look. “What?”

“Is there a reason you keep looking at my face?” You asked.

He shook his head. “No, no reason, I just-”

“You just what?” You said before he even finished his sentence.

Spencer was taken back by your tone. Your words made it seem as if he was attacking you. You could tell from his confused facial expression. Before he could get a chance to pull his words together, you started walking again.

“Forget it. Let’s just focus on this interview.”

Spencer watched as you walked by him. He trailed behind you, trying his best not to say anything else. You knew you shouldn’t have snapped at him the way you did, but you couldn’t bear the possibility of him pointing out a flaw. You just knew he could see everything you tried so hard to hide.

As you two reached the interview room door you felt Spencer gently grab your arm. You turned to him to see how concerned he looked. Before you said anything he made sure to get the first few words out.

“Y/N, I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable back there. Whatever’s troubling you I’m here to help you get through it,” he assured you.

You smiled. “Thanks. I appreciate you, Spence. For now, let’s put what happened behind us for now and go interview this guy.”

Reid smiled as he gently squeezed your arm before letting you go. It felt nice having him reassure you, but he didn’t even know what he was reassuring you about. Maybe he didn’t notice your facial imperfections at all. Maybe he was genuinely admiring your face.

You opened up the interview room to see a dark-haired, middle-aged, white man sitting across the table. He was well put together with a buttoned-up blue shirt, black tie and his hair was slicked back. Physically he matched the profile perfectly. He looked as if he exuded arrogance as your profile detected the unsure would be like. He tried to keep a cool and emotionless demeanour, but by his furrowed eyebrows and wrinkling forehead, he was becoming impatient.

“Hello, I’m agent Y/N Y/L/N and this is Dr. Spencer Reid. Adam Boyer, correct?” You said as you and Spencer took your seats.

“Glad you can read documents, agent,” he scoffed.

“I wouldn’t get so smart-mouthed yet, Boyer. According to some sketchy transactions between you, John McNeil and Robert Morrison it seems as if you have a lot to hide for someone so vocal,” you said.

He squinted his eyes at you. “What does this even have to do with anything?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but those two men are dead. You were the last person to contact both of them the day they died. A transaction of over half a million dollars goes missing and you get mad and-“

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, agent, but I didn’t murder my colleagues over money. My company makes more than that in a day, so spare me of your pathetic accusations.”

Before you could reply, Spencer jumped in to level out the tension between you and Boyer. He opened a file on the desk and pointed to a bank statement.

“It says here on your financial records your company is $1.5 million dollars in debt. We discovered Robert Morrison and John McNeil both gave you back their shares of the company to equate $500,000, which is legally a breach in the company’s contract for workers, including yourself, to share, distribute or give away company shares without a reasonable cause. According to the list of reasonable cause you failed to mention bankruptcy or were too arrogant at the time to force something like that happening to you,” Spencer said.

With everything he said, you could tell Boyer’s cool exterior was wearing off. He looked glossier in the face, started fidgeting with his tie and refused to look directly at Spencer. He decided to direct his attention to you instead.

“Well, isn’t that a huge mistake on my part, ain’t it?” He asked directly to you.

“Huge mistake or huge flaw in your plan of getting away with murdering your colleagues? I think it’s the second one, Boyer,” you said.

He leaned back in his chair without breaking any eye contact with you. He folded his hand in front of his chest. You had to admit he made your feel a bit uncomfortable.

“What else do you think?” He asked.

“I think you murdered your colleagues when they found out you had taken back their share of the company to pay back your debts. They would have ratted you out, got you fired from your own company or even worse, the whole company would have shut down and you’d have nothing left.”

“Nothing left,” Boyer said seemingly to himself.

“Yes, absolutely nothing. Your wife divorced you, took full custody of your two boys and now you spend your days throwing your money-approximately $1.5 million dollars-on trying to buy love from escorts,” you said.

It was as if something had woken up inside of him as he almost pounced across the table. Both you and Spencer got out of your seats with Spencer using his arm to block the front of you. It was as if it was a natural instinct for him to protect you before bracing himself.

“Sit down,” Spencer demanded.

“At least I have escorts willing to ride my dick. You couldn’t even pay a male stripper to look at that face of yours. Where’s the pretty agent who was in here before? If I’m going to be accused of a crime, I’d rather be accused by someone half decent looking. Get my fucking lawyer on the phone,” he proceeded to yell.

Though you shouldn’t have felt as bad as you did by the words he said, you did. The blunt force in his voice was vicious. The way he looked at you in disgust. His disgust was too real. He was bold enough to look at you the way everyone wanted to, but was too cautious to do it in front of your face.

“I’ll get your lawyer on the phone, you psycho,” you whispered before turning around to leave.

“Don’t forget to bring the real eye candy in as well, sweetheart,” he said.

You didn’t bother looking back at him or even Spencer. You felt your eyes get heavy with tears and knew it would be terrible to show weakness to such a vile suspect. You rushed out of the room before Spencer could stop you or even follow you close behind.

You rushed towards the washroom as your tears were at the brim of your eyes. As you reached the door, you paused. What if someone was in there? What if Emily or JJ saw you crying? You retracted your steps and decided to go to the family washroom instead.

You didn’t even wait until the door was fully closed before letting out your tears. You heavily wept to yourself as you replayed everything he had said to you. Spencer probably stood there agreeing with everything he said, word for word. Your face being hideous, JJ’s beauty surpassing the little you had, no one wanting you. You backed up against the wall to avoid the mirror, to avoid the disgusting reflection in the mirror.

The only reason you looked up was that you heard the washroom door open. You saw Spencer peak in. When he saw the tears running down your face, he didn’t hesitate to go over to you with concern written all over his face.

“Y/N, what’s wrong? I hope he didn’t get to you,” he said as he reached out his hands.

You assumed he was going to try to wipe the tears from your face, so you pushed away his hands. You couldn’t stand the thought of him touching your face if he thought it was hideous. You didn’t even want him looking at you directly. You looked down to avoid your face being in the presence of his.

He attempted to lift your head up by placing his hand on your chin. You flinched at his touch and moved your head out of his grasp. New tears started to spill from your eyes as you looked at him with despair.

“Can you stop, Spencer?” You wept.

He looked at you confused. “Stop what?”

“Looking at me. I know my face is ugly, okay? Everyone knows and it’s just degrading for you to pretend not to notice,” you snapped at him.

“Y/N, what are you talking about? There’s nothing wrong with your face.”

“Spencer, I know you see it. My acne and acne scars. It doesn’t help that my face is always shiny and my cheeks are chubby. You don’t have to pretend to be blind to it for the sake of my feelings.”

“You thought I was looking at you earlier because you think I think you’re ugly? Y/N that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

You rolled your eyes. “Then why were you looking at me? Be honest.”

“Because I think you’re gorgeous.”

“Ugh, Spencer, you don-”

He grabbed both your hands in his big ones, grasping them tightly. You looked down at your hands in his and then looked up into his eyes. He looked longingly at you. You could see the genuine look of love in his face.

“Y/N, I know what you’re going through. Body dysmorphia’s not an easy thing to fight off by yourself, but I want to assure you every day that I think you’re the most beautiful person I know; both inside and out.”

You let out a deep breath as you felt round three of tears coming to your eyes. Honestly, you couldn’t think of a moment you felt genuinely pretty. His words could move mountains.

“But if Adam Boyer could-”

“Please don’t let a psychopath make you feel unsure of yourself. He only belittled you because he lost control of the situation and decided to target you. His idea of a perfect girl is someone he can dominate, which makes him disgusting not you.”

He let go of your right hand as he wiped away a tear making its way down your face. You grasped his left hand hard as he touched your face. It still made you feel uncomfortable, but you were happy Spencer cared deeply for you.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have touched your face if you’re not comfortable with that yet. I know it takes time to breakdown this idea of what perfect is especially with so many beauty standards being pushed by society, but I’ll be here to help you realize you’re the most beautiful you. I wouldn’t want you to be any other way,” he said.

You smiled at his words as you wiped away the few stray tears running down your face. You had to admit you liked it better when he did it. You leaned your head back, took a deep breath, let it out and then looked at Spencer.

“Thank you for being you. I wouldn’t want you to be any other way as well,” you said.

He smiled. “I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. If you want me to be that is.”

“I do. I really do.”

“Maybe after we’re done with this case we can do something together to help you remember the beautiful person you are.”

“I’d love that.”

You both walked towards the washroom door. Spencer made sure not to let go of your hand until you two left the washroom. You felt as if he wanted you to grasp onto the positive energy he had for you. You felt uplifted in a way. This must be the benefit of the Spencer Reid effect.

—–

MASTERLIST

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solastia · 4 years

Text

The Dragon’s Lair - 7

- SEOKJIN’S POV -

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x F!Reader (although she’s kinda OC now huh?)

A/N: Kinda on the short side, I apologize. But I wanted us to get a quick peek into Jin’s side of things and where his mind is. Any guesses on who his mate might be? ;)

*****

He wasn’t sure what had woken him up. The house was silent beyond Namjoon’s snores that he could hear coming through the old walls. He waited a few seconds to see if he could hear anything else or catch a scent, but it was all clear. There was just something pricking at his mind - something making his instincts go wild. He’d blame the fact that he was in a new house but this wasn’t a new feeling.

It had begun when his ride here had traveled past the sea. He’d gotten a whiff of fresh ocean air and his fur had instantly bristled up. His claws had lengthened involuntarily and he’d had to exercise every scrap of self-control he possessed so he wouldn’t leap out of the moving vehicle and run full-shift towards whatever that scent had been.

Seokjin groans and cracks open his eyes, still heavy with sleep. He might as well take a trip to the bathroom while he was already awake. He yawns and forces himself out of the comfy bed, scratching his belly sleepily. Even now, the scent was clear to him. There had been the smell of the ocean, yes, but...something else. Something other like him.

The realistic part of Seokjin’s brain said maybe his exotic side had simply found a scent it liked and that’s that. But when he allowed himself to be more fanciful, like now when it was three am and he was still half asleep, he listened to the Sphinx screaming, “mate, mate, MATE!,” and he didn’t hate the idea.

He’d been alone for so very long that it sounded like a dream. A fairytale ending for his Cinderella story.

Not that Namjoon was any sort of evil stepsister, nor his mate that exuded naivety and goodness from every pore. If anything, he knew that he was particularly blessed to have Heechul hyung looking out for him and talking this human into taking him in. He would have dealt with having to be in the shelter again, but quite honestly he was too old to do well there. He was a grown Sphinx used to independence and being at the top of his hierarchy.

He finishes in the bathroom and sighs heartily, deciding sleep was going to be impossible now. Might as well help himself to the kitchen. He shuffled quietly there and peeked inside the fridge, horrified once again by the contents. How have these two been keeping alive? The fridge only contained very basic ingredients like eggs and milk, a bottle of soy sauce, and not a single vegetable in sight.

He settles for making a couple of fried eggs, using them to top off the bowl of instant rice he pilfered from the cupboards. He gives it all a splash of soy sauce so it’s not completely flavorless and sits at the kitchen table, eating his little meal slowly.

It always seemed like nights were harder for some reason. Like the dark vastness of the sky reminded him of how empty his life had become - of how much he missed his parents.

He’d seriously lucked out when the two had walked into the shelter all those years ago. He’d been a bit older than the usual desired age for hybrid adoptions so he hadn’t expected much when Heechul had escorted the couple towards the exotic section. He’d stayed in his corner of the room playing his video game, but he’d kept an eye on them as they smiled and shook hands with all the desperate little ones crowding them. They seemed genuinely nice, with smiles that lit up their eyes and the man always making his wife laugh.

When they finally got close enough, Seokjin greedily scented the air, thinking if he ever had someone pick him he hoped they smelled as good as these two. The man - though obviously old for a human - smelled strong and healthy. Faint hints of cigar smoke and old books clung to him almost as much as his mate’s scent did. And his mate - the wife - smelled exactly how Seokjin had always thought a mother would. A light hint of expensive perfume couldn’t cloud the endorphins that were coming off of her in waves from being surrounded by the little ones. She was older too - perhaps younger than her husband by no more than a handful of years - but she too seemed to be in good health. She smelled so comforting to Seokjin that he stopped paying attention to his game and let his little avatar get killed three times in a row as he glued his eyes on the woman.

Heechul actually herded the pair towards him and he set down his controller and bowed formally, wanting to make a good impression despite the fact that he knew they would never pick him. He’d thought they’d merely shake his hand and move on, but the man had kept asking him questions about his hobbies and what he wanted to do when he grew up. The woman kept staring at him with her hand held to her chest like she’d been shocked by something.

It wasn’t until a half-hour later when Heechul had called him into his office with the pair that he realized she’d decided she wanted him. A mere few minutes and she’d decided she was his mother and no one else’s. “You’re so handsome I fell in love at first sight, my Jinnie,” she’d always say.

He’d had nineteen wonderful years with them before pneumonia took them both within days of each other. Nineteen years filled with happiness and laughter with two of the most loving people he’d ever met. He missed his routines with them - the fishing every weekend with his dad, cooking with his mom, the Sundays all three of them would sit around with face masks and watch movies.

When they’d passed away, his heart had broken. He’d known it was inevitable - they were both getting old and frail - but he’d thought he’d have just a little more time with them. After the funeral, he waited with bated breath for someone to storm in and drag him off to be put down somewhere. When nothing had happened, he’d grown steadily more careless, often forgetting he wasn’t supposed to be on his own with the big house and vast wealth. He’d carried on with his life like he knew his parents would have wanted him to. He kept going to med school since his dad had pulled so many strings to let him attend, he tried going on dates that never went anywhere, he hung out with his friends whenever he had the time. Life went on.

Trying to stop the robber had been stupid of him - he knew that now. He should have just let the man get away and then never reported him so he’d be left alone...but once he spied his mother’s favorite pearls in the man’s hand he’d lost his shit. He’d fully shifted, letting his wings out and knocking over a couple of vases with their width, and his nails expanded until finally he’d roared and the robber had screamed and thrown the nearest item at his head in his rush to escape. Unfortunately, that item had been his mother’s bird statue that was made entirely of gold, so he’d been knocked out cold. His friend had found him after he hadn’t shown up to their gaming session and called the police and an ambulance, where they took his blood and found out that he was a hybrid with deceased owners and proceeded to shove him in the nearest pound while they contacted his mother’s very distant cousin.

He’d never even gotten to meet this so-called cousin before the fat lawyer that smelled like fried chicken rushed him out of his own home, making him leave behind even the belongings that were his. He had no idea what use the cousin had for his manga or video game collection. Let alone the used sports jerseys or his hamper full of dirty clothes.

Thankfully Heechul existed and he’d been able to contact his old caregiver before he was sent to the state center. He knew that place was a death sentence. And now here he was, in a strange home with barely anything besides his small suitcase. He missed his dad. He missed his mom. He missed feeling loved and hopeful for the future. He missed the way his dad always knew what to do. He missed the way his mom would brush his mane and groom his feathers while she sang.

Seokjin cleared his throat and swiped at his suddenly wet cheek. He hadn’t even realized he’d been crying. He shook his head and went to the sink to wash his dishes, heading back to his room when he finished for another sleepless night.

****

Life in the ‘Dragon’s Lair’ (as he’d taken to calling it, despite said dragon’s constant eye-rolling) began to take on a new normal the longer he was there. Days began to blend into each other as he struggled to adjust himself to his new reality, but Namjoon and his mate were a great help.

Luckily, his tuition had been prepaid by his father and the cousin had no way of taking his education away from him, so he still took his classes - albeit mostly online because he wanted to stay in his room most of the time.

Money was thankfully of no immediate issue. There was more money in the book than he’d felt comfortable sharing with anyone, enough that he could still go years without a job if he needed to. He also knew that if he needed it, he could always ask Heechul for help, although the other would make him work in the cafe for it. He might do it anyway just for something to do.

Namjoon and his mate were simply wonderful. His old friend had grown up into a great person who was sweet and intelligent, good to the people he cared about, and strong in ways that he probably wasn’t even aware of. His mate Star was just as good. She was funny and kind, with just enough sass to be interesting. And they were both sickeningly in love with each other to the point that Seokjin had to leave the house quite often to get some peace. Not that it upset him - he was incredibly happy for Namjoon. It just sometimes emphasizes how alone he was.

But yes, Star was great. There was just...something about her. Something that drew him to her. Not in a sexual or attraction kind of way...more like - primal. Like the animal side of him saw her as a protector. Which, he supposed she kinda was since she was housing exotic hybrids, but still. He couldn’t figure it out. He was certain she was completely human, but sometimes underneath the frankly nauseating amount of reptile musk that she was constantly covered with, he could catch hints of the forest in her natural scent. Sure, there was a forest nearby, but why would the scent cling to her like that? There was something there and luckily for him, there was nothing he enjoyed more than a good riddle.

Beyond that, there was still one other pressing issue. His mate.

He knew they were out there. He knew he’d caught their scent. When he’d passed the sea he’d been certain they were there. He just needed to find them. He didn’t want them to be alone too.

“Jin, we’re about to head to the mall. Do you want to come shopping with us? The weather’s clearing up and I promised Namjoon we’d go to the ocean,” Star asked with a bright smile as he exited his room.

“The ocean?” he responded, his brain halting for a second. Fate was working her magic, was she?

“Yeah, he’s been wanting to go for a while but it’s been too cold. I thought we’d rent a small beach house and spend the weekend. So you’ll need swim trunks and towels, stuff like that. If you’d rather stay here, that’s fine too. It’s up to you.”

“No,” he rushed, feeling his ears go red with embarrassment as he let his eagerness show. “It’s fine. I’d love to go.”

“Great!” Star grinned, threading an arm with his as she leads him out to the yard. “We’ll have so much fun!”

He nods silently, his nose trying in vain to catch that salty scent on the air again.

I’m coming. Just wait for me.

#bts #the dragon's lair #solastia #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #hybrid au #hybrid!au #hybrid!bts #hybrid!namjoon #hybrid!seokjin #dragon!au #sphinx #bts au

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sunnysviolin · 3 years

Note

God I love your blog I spent all day just looking at it and I’m like yes more Omori brain worms

Also, what do you think the Omori gang’s jobs would be when they’re adults? I kinda meta’d and thought Sunny would be a little comic book artist with the character Omoriboy but I’m curious on your thoughts

Awww thank you! Also you have given me the perfect excuse to show off my happiest AU aka the ‘everyone stays in town together, and lowkey they all live at Hero’s house’ I have a lot of different ideas for what they could end up being, so if this isn’t your cup of tea it’s not my firm canon haha! I actually do have an artist sunny series which would probably be up your alley if you were interested in hearing about that too! Alsooooo this got long again it’s under a read more. I’m calling it Come Home series and I really like it if you guys are interested in hearing more 0-0 I only talk about Basil Sunny and Kel here haha because it got long long, but there’s defintiely another part coming to this if you guys want it!

Basil starts going back to school post-canon, and he ends up doing pretty good for his last two years, but it’s still a struggle considering he missed so much school over the last four years. The idea of going to college is particularly stressful to him, so Polly doesn’t push it on him. She didn’t end up finishing college, and she turned out alright.

Polly does want Basil to be thinking about his future though, and so she encourages him to find something related to what he’s passionate about. Which leads to Basil working part time at Fix-It in the gardening section.

He quickly branches out of just gardening, although that is still his favorite. There’s something deeply gratifying about seeing what he’s created with his own two hands, and having people ask for his help only with simple things he can fix for them.

Basil starts up a deep mentoring relationship with the couple who owns Fix-It. They like to hear his passionate rambles about the flowers, and they like the ideas he has. Basil starts to lead flower arrangement classes, and they end up being a big hit.

When he’s in the spring of his senior year, they ask him about his plans. When they find out he isn’t really all that interested in college, they ask if he could come on full time, and maybe even apprentice. They have a son of their own, but he is a lawyer and has no interest in the shop. Basil is excited by this, and he almost immediately agrees.

There’s a lot more to running the shop then he thought, but he loves it. He’s content just to be the manager for now, but the couple has assured him that within the next five years they plan to retire and the shop will be his for good.

Kel does end up getting a scholarship for basketball. It’s to a good school (not quite Hero’s level, but better than his parents expected). It’s a big state school compared to Hero’s tiny private, but his parents are happy and they have a winning basketball team. The problem is that Kel has no idea what he would want to do.

He had some ideas, but I think that learning the truth really affected him. He had thought he wanted to be a basketball star, or something to do with the sports industry, but that all feels so juvenile now. Now Kel wants to do something real and good. He wants to work with people, but he isn’t sure what that might mean.

Kel goes to school as an undecided major, and they stick him in a bunch of different types of classes. Most of them are painfully boring, hard, and he just isn’t interested. He briefly considers dropping out, but he knows how disappointed his mom and dad would be. They didn’t get the opportunity to get a college degree, so it kind of feels like slapping them in the face if he gave back all the money he got just because he didn’t have any passion.

There is one class that Kel really enjoys. The class is called Child’s Play and it’s a psychology course. Specifically a class on the influence of play children’s lives. It’s still hard for him, and he struggles to fully comprehend the material, but it’s something he’s passionate about.

He talks with his advisor about it, and the man suggests combining all of the things he’s been passionate about so far. He wants to do good for other people, he is interested in sports, and he liked learning about how children work. His advisor puts him in an education couse and a few physical health courses, and Kel enters his sophomore year with a physical education major.

Kel doesn’t graduate with honors like Hero, but he does graduate with a plan. He does his student teaching at Faraway High, his connections with his coach and the school helping to grease the wheels. (It doesn’t hurt that he’s living with Sunny by this point, and Sunny got a job offer in Faraway that he’s going to accept...but more on that later)

They offer him a tentative position at the end of the year, and he accepts it. He also takes on the basketball team, and they win the playoffs for the first time since he graduated, which cinches his job in tight.

Sunny also doesn’t end up going to college. Not only did he not have the grades, it just wasn’t something he thought he would be very good at. He doesn’t really have a plan, just that he wants to still be by his friends. Hero is far from them now, and Aubrey is planning on going away too, but Basil and Kel are staying close by

He ends up talking to Kel about it late one night, and Kel proposes a great idea. They’ll get an apartment together off campus instead of him living in the dorms, and Sunny can figure his life out while Kel gets a friend and study partner.

Sunny’s mother is very happy with this idea, and Kel’s parents are satisfied that he won’t be off partying every night if he has Sunny with him, so they agree as well. What Sunny’s mother isn’t excited about is the idea of her baby not getting any degree or anything. So she makes a compromise. She and Sunny will find a good trade school near Kel’s college, and Sunny will take classes in something he enjoys

She assumes he will pick art classes or something that she knows he likes, but Sunny surprisingly picks veterinary certification. It feels out of left field, but if it makes Sunny happy and he’s going to go to his internships and his classes then so be it.

Sunny is never top of the class, but he is serious about doing well. There are aspects of the job that he does not do well with, but he manages. He gets his vet tech certification and finds a starting position near where he lives with Kel

Living with Kel is a breath of fresh air. It feels good to have a partner in life who doesn’t expect him to talk or to act like everyone else. Kel is a master at reading Sunny, and it’s a bone deep relaxation to not have to try and express himself. Most of the time Sunny can just listen and let Kel talk to him. They work well with chores and food and generally everything. Every day feels like a sleepover honestly, and Sunny starts to smile a bit more and reach just a little father out of his comfort zone.

Kel loves living with Sunny. Every night they get to just spend time together and enjoy each others presence, and sometimes Basil will come up and they all get to eat dinner together in their little shoebox apartment. One of their windowsills is full of plants that Basil has brought them.

At the end of their four years Kel knows that he wants to go back to Faraway to work. He has been commuting there for student teaching, and while it’s only an hour, it’s still pretty far. The problem is that he can’t imagine leaving Sunny alone. Not after four years of them being together every single day. Then Sunny reveals that he found a job in the town next to Faraway that he wants to take. He doesn’t want to leave Kel though, and he’s not sure what to do.

They have a long conversation that night, and they both agree that they want to stay together. It’s been an unspoken thing, but neither of them ended up having any long term partner in the last four years. They don’t have romantic feelings for one another, but they want to continue what they have. It’s safe, it’s lovely, and they feel secure in their bond. Whatever happens they want to decide as a team, as a partnership.

With Kel and Sunny both coming back to Faraway they assume that they’re going to have to try and find a place to live closer. They’re going to stay with Kel’s parents until they do, but Basil has a better idea.

Polly loves Basil a lot. She has adored getting to raise him and helping him and guiding him the last six years. But now her quiet sweet boy is a grown man, and his parents stopped paying her for caring for him over a year ago. She knows that the best thing to do would be to detach herself and to let him continue to grow without her constant presence.

Basil isn’t sure he’s ready to be all by himself, and when he finds out Kel and Sunny are coming back to Faraway, he offers to let them stay at his house. It might be a bit cramped all three of them, and they don’t have to, but it could be nice. They say yes before he can even begin to second guess himself

So as bright and bushy 21/22 year olds, Kel, Basil, and Sunny all have Come Home.

#asks #agentmaplficent #omori #omori headcanons #omori headcanon #omori au #omori post canon #Come Home series #omori sunny #omori kel #omori basil #A bit of #queerplatonic suntan #omori suntan #kind of morphing into #queerplatonic sunkissed #they're homies okay #they just like to be together #omori polly

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 years

Text

A Place Like This 1

Warnings: this short series will include dark elements including noncon, possible violence, mentions of mental illness, and other explicit content. I’m not your mother, curate your own consumption.

This is dark!Lumberjack!Andy Barber and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your new boarder isn’t who he seems to be.

Note: So I wanted to do a lumberjack!Andy and got a bit carried away but let me tell you, somehow Andy always turns into an ultimate creep with me.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

It wasn’t often you found a stranger in Heron Creek.

The small town was barely more than a single street; most residents lived further out. It was more a marketplace than anything. Townsfolk came to shop and socialise amid the limited stretch of businesses and not much else. The lumberyard fueled much of the economy and was closer than any home.

After weeks of arguing with your mother, you’d finally resigned. You needed a boarder to see you through the winter. Money was tight since your mother’s diagnosis; pills, therapy, reduced income. Your own job was just enough to see to the bills but not for the groceries or any incidentals. Even if you did some odd jobs around town, you wouldn’t be able to scrape enough to get by.

You’d never seen the man before. The message had been expected and a last hope. You agreed to meet at the town’s only cafe and were surprised and slightly disappointed.

He greeted you by name as you looked around. You expected a woman; the advert had requested only females but, you supposed, that beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“Andy,” He introduced himself as he offered you his hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too,” You lied as you sat.

“You want a coffee? I’m headed up for a refill,” He grabbed his empty mug.

“Sure,” You reached for your wallet. You could tell by his accent he was from the city; if you were to guess, one far from Heron Creek. “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can get it.” He waved you off as you fumbled with your purse. “I’ll be back.”

He returned with two cups and slid one over to you. You added cream from the table.

“I know you advertised for women only but… I’m kinda running out of options and judging by how long your ad’s been in the paper, I think you might be too.” He began.

“Uh huh,” You sipped from your coffee. “You’re new around here.”

“I am.” He confirmed. “But you’re not so you should know there’s not a lot to choose from.”

“Why would you move all the way up here?”

“Tired of the city.” He said evenly.

“You have a job?” You asked.

“At the lumberyard.” He replied. “Been there two months now, living down at Harry Brennan’s but he’s ready to have me out.”

“Hmm, yeah, he can be a bit prickly,” You remarked. “My mother, too. She’s sick. Moody. You sure you wanna trade in one for the other?”

He looked at you. He sat with his shoulders back, his head held up proudly. His gaze was discerning, as if he was measuring your every word and move.

“I can pay more than you’re asking and I’ll help out around the house.” He said. “Well, I won’t decide until I see the place, of course, but I’m optimistic.”

You tasted the bitter coffee. You preferred your own brew. You nodded as you set down your mug.

“They don’t have many lumberyards in the city. What’d you do before?”

“I was a lawyer.” He said. “And what do you do?”

“A lawyer? You’d give up that to live in the middle of nowhere and chop wood?”

“It’s quiet up here. Peaceful.” He tapped his fingers on the table beside his gloves. “A few more months and I should be able to afford my own place. At least a plot to start building.”

You considered him and held your palm to the warm porcelain. Your mother was wary of men. You couldn’t make the decision without her.

“You didn’t tell me what you do.” He said.

“I’m a writer. Mostly pieces on the local species and whatnot. There’s not many jobs to be had around here but on the internet…”

“So?” He asked as he shifted in his chair.

“I’ll have to talk to my mother.” You answered. “Then maybe you can come check out the room. It’s a big enough place for three. Probably too big but there’s a lot of work to be done in the winter.”

“Right,” He said. “As I said, I’ll help out with anything I can.”

You squinted and gulped the coffee even though it burned your throat. You stood and gathered up your purse.

“I don’t mean to run out but I have to hit Marla’s.” You hooked the strap of your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll let you know before the end of the week, but… well, my mom isn’t an easy person to deal with. Not unless you’re related.”

“Got it,” He watched you placidly as he rose. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

🍂

You heard voices from the front porch. You blinked and set down the basket of warm laundry on the kitchen table as you sighed at your mother’s mug. There was still tea in it which meant she had taken her first chance to chase her innate stubborn streak.

You’d argued for much of the morning as she accused you of inviting a strange man into her home and you countered that you’d merely agreed to a look at the house. No decision had yet been made, though the only reason your mother entertained the notion was the desperately needed money. And that had been your only winning point of contention.

You didn’t want the strange man living in your space anymore than she did but you also realised that you couldn’t possibly go on as you were. You went to the door, the thicker one open as the screen door was the only shield from the bitter late autumn air. You heard the creak of your mother’s rocking chair and the deep voice of a man. You recognized it even after a single meeting.

“...hauling wood, ma’am.” Was all you caught as you peered through the mesh.

“So you work at the lumberyard? My husband worked there before he tucked tail,” Your mother ranted. “That was almost twenty years ago.”

“Just like every other man in the county,” You opened the door. “Ma, I’d be down there too if I hadn’t lucked out.”

“I’m sorry about your husband, ma’am.” Andy slipped in as he stood on the bottom step.

“Don’t call me, ma’am,” Your mother rebuked. “I’m not that old just yet.”

Andy glanced at you and you touched the back of your mother’s chair and stilled it.

“It’s a nice looking house,” Andy broke the silence. “Big property.”

“All that bastard left me,” Your mother swore and leaned on the arm of her chair. “Well, aren’t you going to show the man around.” She pushed back so you were forced to let go of the chair or else sprain your wrist. “Take your shoes off, sir.”

You nodded and waved him up the steps with a wry smirk at your mother. You held open the door as he passed and your mother looked pleased with herself as she rocked again. You let the door clatter behind you as Andy bent to loosen his work boots. He stood as he kicked off his boots and you rubbed your forehead.

“I’m sorry about my mom.” You said. “She’s… stubborn.”

“Don’t you apologize for me, girl.” Your mom called through the screen door and you quickly closed the thicker one.

“Well, nothing too fancy,” You stepped past him into the front room. “Living room, dining room,” You waved your hand back. “Kitchen in the back, bathroom as you walk through and the laundry room just on the other side.” You lowered your arm and neared the stairs. “Your room would be up here.”

You turned and he followed you up the noisy old stairs. The carpet at the top was faded and tattered and did little to cushion the hard wooden floor as you walked along the hallway.

“My mother’s is at the end. Mine is to the left and yours is right here,” You opened the door next to yours. “Looks out onto the yard, so not the worst.”

“Mmm, okay,” He paced around the bed and went to the window. He felt the lace curtains as he gazed out through the glass.

“I’ll empty out the closet. Probably why it smells like mothballs.” You explained. “Pretty simple, we share the common spaces and clean up after ourselves.” You shrugged. “My mom will leave you alone as long as you don’t get in her way. She usually stays in her room if she’s not out front.”

“That’s fine. I won’t be here much.” He said. “Just really need a place to sleep.”

“There is one other thing. My mother...she has some issues. She gets manic and sometimes… well, I can take care of her but I don’t want you to be blind-sided. She’s on medicine but she’s still adjusting and--” You gulped. “It took me a lot of convincing but if you want the space, it’s yours, at least until spring.”

“I don’t have a lot of choices but I’d be happy to.” He said. “And don’t worry so much about your mother. I was a lawyer, I saw a lot worse in the courtroom.”

“Mmm,” You tucked your hands in your pocket. “Well, anytime after Sunday the room will be ready for you.”

“Sunday,” He repeated. “Okay, that works for me. Should I call ahead?”

“Uh, yeah, you have my number,” You replied and paused as you heard your mother hollering. You huffed and rolled your eyes.

“I really hope it’s a squirrel and not a bear again,” You swept out of the room and stomped down the stairs. You went outside as your mother was tossing a stone and shouting at it, the wind chime tinkling and swaying from the porch. “Ma, it’s just a bird.”

“It damn nearly tore the chime off,” She sneered. “Your grandmother made me that.”

“I know, I know, just sit down.” You nudged her back to her chair. “You forgot your tea inside, do you want it?”

“My tea?” She blinked. “Oh, I forgot. Again.”

“It’s okay,” You patted her shoulder as you went back inside. Andy knelt as he pulled his boots back on.

“Everything okay?” He asked as he looked up at you.

“It’s fine,” You assured him. “Sometimes her meds make her a little jumpy. And forgetful.”

“Anything I can do?” He asked as he stood.

“Keep clear of her if you can,” You advised. “I’m not going to sugar coat it. She’s a lot to handle and she’s not very keen on men.”

“The latter I guessed,” He chuckled. “I’ll get out of your hair and see you next week.”

“Next week,” You confirmed as he pushed open the door. “Drive safe.”

“Thanks,” He called over his shoulder as he stepped out onto the porch. “I’ll be seeing you.” He said to your mother as he passed. “When I come back,” He stopped on the second step and you got closer to listen. “I can fix that feeder.” He pointed at the broken bird feeder under the tree. “If you like?”

“Oh,” Your mother grumbled. “Well, I think that… might be nice. As long as it keeps ‘em away from my chimes.”

“I think it will,” He smiled. “My-- I used to have a feeder just like that.”

Your mother was quiet as she stopped rocking. Finally she cleared her throat. “You have a nice day, sir.”

“You too,” He nodded and continued down the steps.

You watched him go to his pick-up before you spun back and went to fetch your mother’s cup. You returned to the porch as he was backing out and you gave the lukewarm tea to your mother.

“Friendly,” She commented and took a sip. “The ones from the city usually don’t have such good manners.”

“Mhmm,” You grumbled. “Do you need me to warm that up?”

“Go on, girl,” She brushed you away. “I can stomach cold tea.”

🍂

Andy showed up on Monday. He called you the night before to let you know he’d be there and so you planned a trip into town with your mother to let him get settled. You waited until his truck pulled up, his tires crushing the pine cones and twigs as it neared. He got out and you handed him the spare key you had made. Your mother wore a parka and shivered in the car.

“We’ll be gone for a few hours,” You crossed your arms as you resisted the chill that nestled over the top of your scarf. “So you should be able to get settled in.”

“Thanks,” He turned the key over in his hand. “I’ll be discreet.”

“She’s in a good mood today. Well, until she starts complaining I left her in the car so long,” You rubbed your gloved hands together. “I’ll go. There’s logs by the fireplace in the living room. Heating downstairs isn’t so good but it makes a difference.”

“I’ll figure it out,” He assured. “You ladies have fun.”

“Ladies?” You arched a brow but he was hardly bothered. You nodded and left him.

You got in the jeep as your mother played with the radio and bemoaned the downfall of modern music. You shifted out of park and backed up as you tuned out her and Patsy Cline fizzling from the local station.

You went to Gerry’s, the only proper restaurant in town. Breakfast was often better than the evening’s affair and you showed up just in time for the lunch menu. Your mother gabbed with the waitress a little too long and you resisted apologizing on her behalf, knowing it would only sour her already brittle mood.

You ate and grabbed a pie from the display at your mother’s behest. She stopped by Geraldine’s thrift shop and bought another figurine for her collection; the porcelain wolves decorated her room and even some of the front room. You grabbed a few books you hadn’t read before and checked the time. You were certain you’d wasted enough time for Andy to get figured out.

As you drove back, the pale sky made the trees seem bleak in comparison. The first snow was imminent.

“You should make a nice dinner tonight.” Your mother said.

“Oh, I should?” You asked.

“I’m pooped. I gotta lay down.” She huffed. “But you always made a good chili. You can send that man off with a good lunch tomorrow if you make a big pot.”

“Mom,” You looked at her briefly. “You know his name.”

“I do. And that’s it.” She crossed her arms. “He seems nice enough but you never know. He’s not from around here.”

“No he’s not. But no one around here would pay what you want for that room.” You argued. “You’re lucky he’s from the city, they’re used to paying a fortune for shit.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“You said it was alright, ma. You agreed to it. It’s too late to send him off now.” You muttered.

“I like him,” She sneered. “I don’t like the way you look at him.”

“What?” You scoffed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“If I was younger, I wouldn’t turn my nose up at him. He’s handsome but I do wonder how he ended up here. You said he was a lawyer.”

“All sorts end up here, ma,” You countered. “Kenneth used to be an ad exec and now look at him; he sells sod and salt.”

“Still,” She rubbed her chin. “You’re young. When I was your age, well, if I had been alone all the time like you are, I’d be rearing to go.”

“Ma,” You were almost laughing. “You’re crazy.”

“That’s what the pills are for,” She retorted. “But I’m not blind.”

“Okay,” You said dryly as you rolled your eyes. “I think maybe I should be keeping my eye on you.”

“Ha, maybe I should give you a few pills,” She chuckled. “I’m not that mad.”

“Alright,” You gripped the steering wheel. “I’ll make chili but don’t go on about this in front of him. It’s gonna be weird enough.”

“Sure,” She harrumphed. “I’ll be good.”

🍂

As you took the lid off the deep pot, a billow of steam went up and the front door opened and closed. Your mother sat at the table after her nap and sipped on a hot tea. You listened to the floor groan as Andy stopped by the door and proceeded with lighter footfalls into the kitchen.

“I fixed the bird feeder,” He clapped his hands together. “Your chimes should be safe.”

“Oh, thank you,” Your mother beamed. “So sweet of you, Andy.”

“Not at all,” He said. “Simple work. Didn’t realise how much easier life is when you don’t have to think so much.”

He neared the table and grabbed the back of an empty chair. “You mind if I sit?”

“Go on,” Your mother was unusually chipper. “So how’d you fair? Got all your stuff unpacked?”

“Yep,” He answered, “Mmm, whatever you’re cooking smells good.”

“Chili,” You answered as you replaced the lid. “Twenty more minutes at most.”

“Chili. I remember--” He stopped and cleared his throat. You turned and watched him as he smoothed the front of his shirt, his fingers grabbing at the tie that wasn’t there. “I knew someone who used to make chili but it wasn’t chili chili. White beans and turkey… good but, I don’t think I’ve had real chili in forever.”

“You go down to Gerry’s on a Thursday and you’ll get some,” Your mother intoned.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Andy gave a small smile. “How was your day in town?”

You didn’t answer and looked to your mom. She frowned at you but quickly wiped it away.

“It was nice. You know, me and my daughter live together but we really don’t spend too much time together.”

“That’s great,” He said but barely seemed to see your mother as he watched you lean against the stove. “Well, hopefully I can help out some more and you can find more time for each other.”

“Uh huh,” You muttered. “Hopefully.”

🍂

That night, your mother went to bed and you retired soon after her. Andy had been quick to hide after dinner and you were thankful for that. You told him you’d set aside a container for his lunch and he was almost sheepish at the gesture.

You climbed up the stairs and slipped inside your room. The night was quiet and no moon floated above to shine in the windows. It was almost eerie. You changed into your pajamas and climbed into bed with your laptop. You turned off the lamp, content to type in the dark and eke out a few more paragraphs for your latest commission.

As the night wore on, only the tapping of keys filled your ears and you found yourself slumping lower against the headboard. You flipped onto your stomach and hugged the pillow as you tried to keep going, yawns blurring your vision as your body resisted your determination.

You didn’t recall falling asleep but it was a haze of visions. Your head swirled with your mother’s voice and Andy’s deep blue eyes. A blizzard turned the landscapes white and a wolf’s howl made you shiver.

You woke, still on your stomach, an arm beneath your pillow, and your laptop dead. You groaned as you rolled over. The grey light of dawn filled your room and the frigid air raised bumps on your skin as your blanket was twisted around you.

A floorboard creaked along the hallway and you sat up. You blinked at the shadow that flitted away through the crack between your bedroom door and the frame. You had closed your door; you were sure of it. Entirely certain as your door always stuck terribly and was quite a pain in the ass.

You drew a blanket around your shoulders as you stood and went to the door. You blinked and peeked out into the hall. There was nothing, no one. You sighed as your eyes froze on the closed bathroom door. You heard the sudden whine of the shower and the rattling of the pipes. Andy must have woken up to get ready for work.

You always wondered how the lumberjacks could handle the early mornings, especially in the winter. You turned back and closed your door. Your feet were cold on the floorboards and the rug was just as unwelcoming as you crossed to the window. Snowflakes blurred the horizon and shrouded the dawn.

Winter had come and you sensed a storm brewing.

#andy barber #dark!andy barber x reader #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #dark andy barber x reader #defending jacob #fic #short series #series #dark #dark!fic #dark fic #lumberjack au #au

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1

Warnings: A creepy house, 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

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but not enough to prevent cold

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host.

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone. With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream.

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. “Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat “Window. It’s a window.”

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize” you bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Aalongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background. And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath.

And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.

*****

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

And now she was all his.

*****

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!"

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away.

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask.

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow.

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand.

His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

And you knew then, you were in for it.

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you Princess? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

He could make out 3 vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby.

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his.

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought.

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

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Ransom Drysdale

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#halloween challenge #j's haunted house 2020 #jshauntedhouse2020 #dark ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x reader #murder he wrote #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale smut #ransom drysdale fanfiction #knives out #knives out fanfic

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