#more doodles on main. i may start to just not give a fuck
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when she draw on my pile
#my art#more doodles on main. i may start to just not give a fuck#<- i say while not tagging anything because i feel annoying#shoutout to cabinet!!!!!#Senshi#Chilchuck tims#chilshi#dungeon meshi
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Okay genuine question now, but how do you handle stress and pressure whenever you're stuck with a drawing? Like what do you do when a specific part of it looks irregular, an no matter what you do it'll always look off or bad? I have this problem while drawing eyes, and sometimes it works on a simple angle, and other times they just look inhuman, and terrible, and no matter how many times I redraw them it keeps getting worse. Also, here's your egg girl smoking the fattest dooby, since I blew your ask box with that boob question, sorry!
HOOOOLY FUCK she's absolutely schpuffin on that shit. thank you anyway this is a really good question and something i feel very strongly about. here is where i will go on a rant
in general when people are giving art advice, it's easy to hyperfocus on the technical aspects of improvement, but i think it is just as pertinent if not moreso to put an emphasis on improving your mental as far as art is concerned. i had artblock that lasted far too long, and lost years of potential art progress just because my mental towards art was just completely wrong. you NEEEEEED to enjoy and want to do what you're doing or else you'll start associating the act of art with all those bad feelings. self-discipline is also important to an extent, but anyway
with all that being said, concerning your specific problem i think there are a couple main pointers that i think more people starting out in art should know: frustration and lack of confidence in your lines comes from lack of understanding. when you are struggling to define or place lines in the right place, all that means is you lack the right resources in your mental library to recreate those details in your art. polishing a turd, no matter what you do, will only get you a shiny turd!! to that end, use references, so that your art can have a solid skeleton based in reality for you to build on. for the love of GOD please use references. sometimes i'll overlay an image and trace it just so i can get a good idea of how the limbs are working in space. as a quick example:
i'm not going to go all in on this specific process, but my point is: don't feel ashamed to use references, trace to learn, or use whatever tools at your disposal you may have. not everyone can be kim jung gi and have an insanely large mental library, so don't feel bad about not being able to draw your art 100% from memory. when you're drawing the same line over and over you're practically gambling points of your own sanity away in the hopes that the right lines will magically appear. sometimes you just gotta step away and take a mental reset, or trash the piece altogether. that's another thing, don't be too attached to every little doodle you make, not every piece you work on is supposed to be a new magnum opus.
this was more philosophical than technical advice but hope this helps :) i don't want anyone else to go thru the years of artblock that i did bashing my head against the mental wall that i was. take things at your own pace and, most importantly, enjoy what ya doin,
tl;dr: frustration comes from lack of understanding, use more refs, don't feel bad about trashing WIPs
#ask#art by op#yuno#all this coming from me must sound real pretentious considering im just drawing this dickhead catgirl over and over#trust me i went to art school :^)
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Uuuuuggghhhh fuck it. Idk if I'll ever have the strength to work on this beast again, so you get a wip!!!!!!!
~~~~~~~~~~~~
It’s a small cottage, sitting comfortably in a clearing of the forest, not drawn nor doodled in any corner of any map, a cutout from a postcard hastily scrapped in the middle of the grass. A quick glance at the roof reveals it has been repaired its fair number of times, while a touch on the door handle tells that the rust on the lock is newer than the one scratching the pommel. The walls are obviously old, their wood is inconsistent in both size and type, and they breathe out heavy, weighed down by the many coats of colour. The last one changes halfway through, as if it was suddenly done by somebody else.
It’s not a convenient house, and it has no way of being comfortable for humans. But someone cared.
And that’s Kaisa’s main reason for knocking.
It’s a quiet rasp more than a knock. She waits, and a bit of fear bubbles up that she wasn’t heard; she doesn’t feel like she has the strength to raise her hand anymore. She hopes the soft tap of her head against the wood of the door will be louder.
It is.
They start. Faint, gentle, light steps, they arrive at the entryway and then stop, hesitant and weirdly silent. She can only hear one pair of feet, one puff of breath, and there’s no hushed conversation on the way to the door, only this looming quiet. They are alone.
It would be stupid to open the door then, the witch thinks. Then she adds: please.
And the lock clicks.
There's a person on the door now, arms tightly wound around her body and diffident eyes. Tense.
Also... interrupted, apparently.
Her hair falls short on her shoulder, held back from reaching her eyes by a colorful head band, while some rebel tufts stage their coup against the oppressor. A well-loved apron loosely covers some battered jeans and a ratty plaid shirt, full of dry smears of paint and mud, cracking and peeling at every movement. Heavily wrinkled too, as if they've been under it for a while, but the woman stays surprisingly clean. Her hands hands give no hints of any work getting done. Hands that look like they’re on their way to become rough and worn out like the rest of the house, but now they’re just empty, picked on. Maybe they come from a painting session that didn’t go well. Maybe they haven’t been going well for a while.
Their eyes meet in a curious study and a cautious glance, when the other woman's gaze suddenly drops to the glint in her pocket. Where her wand is safely tucked in.
When she freezes up this time, the only thing Kaisa can see is the uneasiness seeping under her skin.
“can I help you?”
Crap.
Can they help her? Probably not.
She really just saw the house and knocked. That’s it. That’s literally all it was.
She didn’t need any help. This person clearly prefers it this way. She should turn around and walk back into the woods and- and...
A brush of wind runs cold against her fingertips. It has been cold for a while.
“may I come in?” the witch asks, torturing a stray thread from her coat. “it- it really wouldn’t be for long. I’ve been out in the forest for… for a bit, i guess. A long bit. And I-“
A long sigh interrupts her. “fine.”
They stare at each other a bit longer than normal. They both look surprised.
That would be even stupider than opening the door.
“are you sure?” the stranger only replies with a raised brow.
"Come on." she puffs out, it's a tired little thing. They turn around, and Kaisa follows.
---
Leading her guest in, Johanna doesn't let herself think. Her body drags her off to the kitchen to put on some tea, the motions of rummaging through the cabinets for the last box of chamomile automatic, but slow, and familiar. She prepares the leaves and lingers, just a bit, on the bright new kettle they'd bought while renovating the house, before searching for the crooked flowery one she'd brought from Tofoten. It brings up stuff that's easier to ignore, and it takes ages to scald the tea.
Johanna then leans on the counter, waiting, trying to listen to any weird noise that might come from the other room.
A witch.
She remembers when they came to the old house the day of the incident. With the full moon on their shoulders the lines of their capes were painted with silver light, and they looked transparent, untouchable. Like ghosts. They perched on her doorstep speaking in hushed tones to her aunt, and they haunted the village until every neighbour who wondered about the blinding light in the forest forgot about it the day after.
The kettle whistles, startling her.
This one isn't a ghost. Johanna carefully sits the tea on a trail and breaths in, slowly.
She looked really cold.
Getting back to the living room still takes her longer than she'd like to admit, but her guest doesn't seem to notice. She's attentive, and focused, trying to gobble up everything she can put her eyes on. She moves slowly around the room, as if she's afraid of making any kind of noise, a skittish cat sniffing an unfamiliar environment. Then the witch's gaze shifts to one of aunt Astrid little trinkets, and Johanna comes back to herself.
She knocks on the wood of her library maybe harder than she means to, getting the other woman's attention.
Their eyes meet. They should sit down.
The normalcy and the easiness of the tea in her hand is what finally gets Johanna to unclench her jaw.
The cup sits between her fingers as a comfort more than anything, and as she drops her usual little sugar in her drink, she actually lets herself glance at her guest. She looks lost in thought. She keeps abusing a strand of her coat (which a good host would have already taken off of her) that escaped the knot of a button, with her eyes far away from the cup she's been staring at. They curve downwards, those eyes, curling up every time her round nose gets scrunched at the bitterness of the tea. She goes for her third spoonful of sugar in such a careful way that it looks practiced, and Johanna's fingers itch for her sketchbook like they haven't for months.
"thank you." the witch mutters, nuzzling in the warmth of her cup, ripping one last sigh out of Johanna.
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Riddle and Cater's Friendship is Being Slept On and I Want to Ramble About Them
This has been sitting in my drafts for a bit, so I'm just gonna post it to get it off my chest since why not. This is gonna get mega TL;DR, so more under the cut. Also spoilers for TWST JP content and several personal stories.
Basically, a few ideas that almost exclusively happens in fan content with Cater angst at the forefront has been sitting at the back of my mind for a while now. Usually (but not always) it'll have: Riddle being portrayed as a mega asshole towards Cater, Riddle stealing Trey from Cater, or portray Trey as a bad/neglectful friend towards Cater when none of that very accurate, if at all.
Okay. First off, it's not impossible to have multiple best friends. Trey was already friends with Chenya before meeting Riddle, and the two are still buddies despite attending different colleges. My guy is 18; he can handle a social circle just fine.
Second, Cater is practically the second vice housewarden if you think about it. Riddle trusted him to lead a group with the unbirthday setup and management in Cater's dorm vignette, Riddle acknowledges Cater's importance as the mood-uplifter of the dorm during Halloween II, and we learn in Masquerade that Riddle trusted Cater's advice to get a better haircut (Riddle was really out there with the Rollo cut lol). There's more instances I could name, but you get the jist - Riddle isn't the kind of character to go putting this kind of faith onto some randy.
I get the feeling that people see that one line in Cater's gym story and roll with it without thinking more about the context behind the dialogue. In that story, Cater knew he was breaking school rules by using his magic in class to cheat. Trey probably would have told him to do his exercises normally, since it's kinda his job as a vice dorm leader to make sure his boys aren't fucking around. If it were Rook, Jamil or Lilia, I have no doubt they'd do the same with their own dorm members. Plus, Riddle already knows Cater is a habitual bullshitter, so it's not like Cater had any chance of lying to his face and getting off scot-free if even if Trey wasn't there. (I wanna say this is a problem caused with the EN's translation being a bit blunt at times, but honestly I think people would still misinterpret this scene regardless).
Yes, Trey and Riddle have the more familiar relationship so Trey may prioritize Riddle over Cater if the option arises which would hurt the latter boy's feelings. But truth be told, Cater already had attachment issues LONG before NRC; I doubt Trey being Riddle's second in command or him trying to tide over Riddle's tyranny during his tenure as housewarden was changing much of anything between them. Cater couldn't muster the courage to break his facade long enough to give his (possibly) closest friend a non-superficial wish for the Starsending, even after Trey called him out for using the same one three years in a row. Cater purposely keeps people at an arm's length, and I wouldn't call Trey a bad friend in this case for respecting Cater's boundaries. Also Trey is possibly the only person in NRC who's aware of Cater's tastes and often makes him spicy food (or uses Doodle Suit on sugary foods so Cater can stand them).
Like shit, if you think about it Riddle's friendship with Trey is probably the main reason why Riddle likes Cater and is willing to tolerate his quirks in the first place. Riddle knows Trey Clover of all people would never squad up with absolute fuckbois such as the faceless NPCs who always start shit. Trey trusting you at all is one of the strongest forms of friendship clout there is, which is probably why Rook isn't on Sage Island's sex offender registry (as far as we can tell).
While Riddle does get annoyed with Cater's easygoing habits and tendency to cut corners, it's not a behavior he exhibits exclusively towards Cater. Riddle is a man of high standards, especially when it concerns Heartslabyul's integrity. He isn't singling out Cater for shirking his responsibilities any more than he would Ace or Deuce. And like I said before, Riddle does give credit to Cater when it's due. Riddle was even willing to help Cater with his test via utilizing Cater's social media addiction (and they're probably still mutuals on MagiCam, which is a cute thought).
I'm not saying people should stop doing this exact trope. After all I'm just some rando on the internet and I certainly don't have any more right to police what people do in their own time more than anyone else. Also the ex-dorm leader Cater headcanon, which is a favorite of mine, pretty much thrives off these tropes. Really this is me airing my thoughts about this as someone who likes Riddle and Cater's companionship and eats any crumbs the game and supplemental content gives me. I guess my thesis for all this would be some characters have better relationships than is read at face value.
Anyway that's my TED talk, I hope you have a good day :)
#twisted wonderland#twst thoughts#riddle rosehearts#cater diamond#trey clover#cater isn't the other woman#trey can have multiple friends guys pls#he has two hands and they're beautiful#big ups if you read all of that
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the doctor has ordered more OC rambling
feeling guilty for giving Kane so much trauma that I keep making more people immortal so he doesn’t have to suffer so much and in turn realizing I left behind my only character who was initially supposed to survive in the first draft (so sorry, stitches) so now I have to go write about that whole mess
pictured: ancient first drawing of stitches and more recent mspaint redesign
i think itd be really fun to do a little doodle of everyone in island isolation to pair up with a 300* years later version where there’s only 5 of them left
*(unofficial timeframe)
How the fuck does time even work in the relicverse like obviously ive vaguely worked it out but the demiurge just being able to pluck people from the stream of time as he pleases and characters who persist through multiple series due to immortality really fucks with everything in a way where i have to sit down sometime and properly hash out an ultimately meaningless timeline because i’m not sure any of the relicverse is ever going to get released (bar i am gary. bar alejandro. bar in shadows. bar the insiders youtube shorts. Okay. Maybe some of it will)
i just kind of feel like my cute little universe has turned into something so monstrous it’s impossible to think about anyone else wrangling it so i just keep feeding it more and more to be self indulgent because literally no one is hearing about these stories or characters aside from myself. tell me why the fuck mona and abraxas are working for ninestrike as planewalkers after in shadows with cronus as a provisionary shade attending the savant’s grove ball racing to steal the same relic qiyama and alejandro are after. Isn’t in shadows about some weird kid and a death god. isn’t alejandro a shitpost webtoon about trying to draw funny faces. you aren’t even supposed to know planeswalkers exist until the end of devil’s manner with Father. Until the last act of alejandro’s qiyama arc with Voxel. and why do i have the time to write about Father and his role within hundred nights who aren’t even relevant to any massive story i’ve planned out unless you want to count insiders and heavenless circulation in which they’re pretty much still just glorified set dressing
pictured: old material of father and voxel, and the latest one i have of them together
eventually at some point I’m sure I’ll be able to meet the right person to infodump about the relicverse to over the series of multiple nights and pray they will be so invested in it that we may share in its beauty eternal. that somehow sounds more feasible than actually getting all of this released in a timely manner. i’m only one girl and i’ve somehow made something fit for an entire platoon of staff
trying to focus back up on specifics here i’ve been focusing more on hundred nights lately, which i’m glad about because despite the fact I always come back around to getting super fixated on something i promised myself i eventually would, each time i’m always a little afraid i’ll never get super invested in it and have to force myself to work it out. but thankfully i’ve written enough super interesting (to me) characters into the top positions (bogdana, judge, father, prawn, chacha, etc) and their relation to their opposition who i’m invested in as well who are also fun (agenor and the 6 monsters)
however, i feel like now in contrast the planeswalker association (their main opponent) have started to seem much less exciting and i haven’t gotten around to fleshing them out as much as id like. i really have to tuck in sometime and give one or two of them really traumatic backstories or make their powers cooler. as much as i love characters like ging, metal and indus, i feel like together as a unit they haven’t truly come together enough as i would like. i’ve been thinking about throwing a member of the berezaiti clan in with them or focusing on guan liang and the greater planeswalker society to try and stir up my interest but i’m not ready to try when i’ve got my current opportunity to work on the hundred nights guild.
pictured: the time i tried to doodle chacha and judge and got so wrapped up in trying to manifest a great design for chacha i ended up forgetting the fact i was doodling, and the planeswalker association heads from the Relationship Chart
It’s kind of funny how little i’ve been drawing the insiders despite my undying passion and love for them, but i’ve become really satisfied with where they are right now and can just rotate them in my mind doing their daily shenanigans forever now. but in general, i’ve just been writing so so so so much shit instead of drawing lately. sorry about that. i’m a drawing account, aren’t i? thank you to the one person who reads this shitty indecipherable ramble to the end. i’m sorry you chose to read all of this!!!
pictured: the famous Ist Floating Head i should finish and my favorite doodle of mona and cronus
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MOMMY NOBUUUU /p i need someone wise’s advice !!!!
i like to make silly looking “art” (i don’t even consider it real art, it’s more like memes/doodles) (like the ms paint art style, that looks a bit like pixel art and also looks sketchy and simple) and i CAN’T DECIDE if i should make an account to post it??? i really want to but i know NOTHING about ig and its algorythm (even though i did use to have disney and anime fanpages with a decent amount of followers when i was, like, 14). i don’t wanna end up with an account with like 2 followers cuz what if affects my self esteem and the way i view art hsjsg ???? i like my cringy artstyle but.. idk im probably overthinking this AGHH
yk it’s just that when i was a fan account it wasn’t my art so it’s not like i got offended if people didn’t like/comment/save. with things i created it would be different i think??? i’ve been wanting to make an art account for YEARS and i just got into the artstyle (i had a “normal” artstyle before) but wait wait lemme try to link the pics
(hope they work)
so this is the first thing i’ve ever drawn in this style https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-AJt9jSnPo1Enyg4B8Dnm0HMYeFIhxYX/view?usp=drivesdk
and then it just kept going. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-I8x_U-9_ZVwpPE6aDAWlW0ApEuJ2r5Z/view?usp=drivesdk
and going (yes that’s a gyaru trying to talk to a golfball and yes it’s a remake of this meme https://www.reddit.com/r/memes/comments/d6udnl/why_wont_it_move/)
and then i saw this. https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-1qO6MbBOo51PK-jhMltsnpfCb0yTGV2/view?usp=drivesdk
and i went “this is so hsr main trio” https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-5MwpEQLIFx_iLdif6R9o66Xc2HW5vjw/view?usp=drivesdk
this is cursed, i’m aware.
then i started making these https://drive.google.com/file/d/1-60FA9_FROx2c0SQrzh1RXOXxm7tFl5G/view?usp=drivesdk
you have NO IDEA how many of these i’ve made. because idk either. all i know is that in three days i had made 20+ of them (which may sound like it’s not much, but for me and how little i used to draw it’s a lot)
and now i REALLY want to make the account but i’m TERRIFIED bc what if no one likes that kind of cringy stuff?????
i’m literally so sorry to bother you with this /gen it’s just me overthinking stuff as always :/ don’t feel pressured to answer me ofc!! <3 also i rlly rlly hope things are going better for you! sending love and support <33
gratefully yours
breaker anon~~<3
MOMMA NOBU HAS ARISEN /j j j j
first, those arts are fucking GORJUS my sweettums. as someone who has lost the ability to draw, that is beautiful. i used to think of becoming a free style painter or to learn how to draw digital but somewhere along the way i just gave up and decided to simply settle on writing instead. even now, when i see art tiktok or recommendations of compilation videos on yt, i feel a bit of an ache in my chest. its just there, y’know?
second, i think you should do for it. maybe try opening up an account on a platform ur incredibly familiar with. perhaps tumblr? or even ig? or even tiktok works too! just any platform you feel safe and comfortable and know how to navigate is good.
and yeah, i can def say felt to the “it will make my mental health worse if i only get 2 likes or smt” bc same same same. i try to write good and capture the characters’ personality correctly while keeping the fic ‘alive’ only to end up with like,,,, hundreds of likes but no feedbacks or reposts or smt LMAOOO
as for a single tip i would give is to expect everything. not everyones going to like ur content and they will suddenly crash into ur inbox talking abt how they hated this fic or smt of yrs bc it was disgusting or not their thing. that has happened to me like,,,, 3 times???? i think?????? and and!!! be sure to do a bit of research beforehand, me thinks. see what kind of attention you would get when u start to post on ur page or account.
honestly, i started this blog as only reposting blog. but then one day my very first 🦝 anon came and i decided, why not write a thirst thought i had with friend and see how it goes? and it just spiraled from there.
main thing is, have patience and love what ur doing. don’t burn urself out over it too much or else what u used to love will end up being what u hate and take good care of yourself sweettums<3
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the homestuck reread, pt 6
ive finished it. the main comic, anyway. theres still all the bonus content to slog through and the postcanon stuff, but i finished the main comic, and you know what? i think thats a feat enough all on its own. so heres the recap of the end, from act 6 act 6, on.
heres the previous recap, and heres the first one if youre new.
act 6 act 6s intermissions and subacts works according to similar rules as act 6 acts 1-5. the acts are short and all about homosuck (excepting the last one), while the intermissions are where literally everything else is happening. that said,
Act 6 Act 6 Act 1
this is the beginning of homosuck. its just, absolutely classic homosuck. at the end, caliborn corrupts the game file, creating the glitches that plague most of the a6a6 intermissions. homosuck is, of course, fucking hilarious and meta and the stupid art style lives rent free in my brain and i find myself drawing in it constantly. basically, i had a good time. theres not much else to say.
Act 6 Act 6 Intermission 1
we pick up where we last left off with the introduction of grimbark jade, crockertier jane, and hics plot. the kids have been split up among the planets, and roxy and jake are in jail. john is struggling to control his retcon powers, and hops around time and space mucking things up, while jade tries to chase him down. this is where the big character selection screens and unclickable characters joke really gets going.
Act 6 Act 6 Act 2
this is the section of homosuck where john teleports himself into the narrative and bitches a lot about how much it sucks.
Act 6 Act 6 Intermission 2
this is where things start building up to game over. aranea inserts herself into the narrative. jake goes ultra hope mode. jade dies. jake dies, but gets better. terezi beats the shit out of gamzee. jade joins callie in the furthest ring, and jane might too? idk. tbh, intermissions 1-3 kind of blend for me. which is obviously bc theyre a part of one big overarching narrative.
Act 6 Act 6 Act 3
this is the part of homosuck with the animes. this also may have had some kind of impact on how i doodled growing up. this is also the part where john beats caliborn up. the act ends with the game over animation, which leads directly into the following intermission with no real clear separation between them.
Act 6 Act 6 Intermission 3
this is the part where everyone dies. well, the intermission as its marked on the hs map is literally just condy killing aranea, mostly, but the game over animation leading up to it kills everybody. john is the sole survivor.
The Characters
i think here, therefore, is where i must give my final thoughts on the pre-retcon versions of characters. dave and karkat are a lot closer than i remembered- i thought we as a fandom kind of made that shit up? but they are, in fact, besties. jakes crybaby breakdown in these three intermissions is.... well theres a lot to unpack around jakes ideas of masculinity and how hes sexualized and smarter people than me have done it, so i probably wont. otherwise idk that i have like, super coherent thoughts that are worth getting into.
on the whole, the pre-retcon versions are more dysfunctional, more insecure, and more toxic in their relationships. they dont spend as much time with each other as they mean to, they dont look out for each other as much as they wish they had, and theyre all so insecure all the time about everything, especially the meteor crew.
Act 6 Act 6 Act 4
caliborns tablet is broken, and so hes back to his shitty straight line doodles. the whole act is literally just him bitching and moaning about how hard his life is as a pitiable little guy.
Act 6 Act 6 Intermission 4
this is the one where terezi tells john how to go back in time and fix everything. roxy and john both make deals with their denizens to survive, which means that all other versions of john and roxy will die in every other timeline. roxy has a funeral for rose, vriska and meenah start dating and sort of give up on all of their plans, and terezi and john pitchflirt a lot. this is also the act where jane and jade hang out w calliope and talk about what happened before they woke up w her.
The Characters
something i thought was worth noting is that in this intermission, both jade and jane confess that grimbark and crockertier essentially removed their consciences and allowed them to follow through on thoughts or desires they usually wouldnt express- meaning a lot of the nasty things they say are their actual feelings, deep down. theyre both really ashamed of it all, particularly because they meant the things they said. i think reviewing these sections of hs will be really important for character analysis relating to the two of them.
we also learn that roxy just like. really likes funerals, for some reason. it feels like a mirror of dave, and daves interest in dead things.
Act 6 Act 6 Act 5
this is the claymation homosuck, that tells the story of the juju said to defeath le and how le came to be. this is also where that big stupid animation involving illuminati and le's timeilne comes from.
i remember when homestuck ended that whole juju thing was like, the BIGGEST plothole left behind that made everyone nuts. how did they get in the juju??? DID they defeat le??? how did they get to a point where they could do that?? when tf did they all go back in time and fight caliborn like that??? the epilogue tried to answer these questions, but with how much success is largely up for debate.
Act 6 Act 6 Intermission 5
vriskagram. this is the part with all of those reunion conversations, with the plans to take out the bosses, with the sprite prototypings, with meenah and (vriska)s breakup, with tavros assembling an army, with the pre retcon terezi and vriska finding each other in the afterlife, with caliborn approaching his denizen, with jade, jane, and callie finding alt callie and waking up (callie coming back to life), and with the kids splitting off into groups to finally take on the bosses. everything right up until collide is right here.
The Characters
i have to comment on this. post-retcon, the kids are so much more... mellowed out. theyre in healthier, stable relationships, theyve matured a lot, they talk through their problems, and the nature of the act in general is such that the jokes take a backseat to genuine feelings and reunions and elaborating on relationships weve been waiting to see the payoffs for for ages. its setting up for closure, and it makes the following act hit so much harder for sure.
in retrospect, i think this is probably part of the reason so many people were averse to the epilogues. i genuinely dont think the tone of the epilogues is significantly different from early hoemstuck, its classically hussie in a way that i never questioned reading it for the first time, possibly bc in addition to reading hs i had in fact also read ps, jb, and bq, so id just been exposed to more of it. i also revisited logs a lot, and i think most people didnt. instead, their last and strongest memories of hs was this incredibly sincere, sweet act, which is really a MASSIVE outlier.
anyway, things that i thought were of note: jake hates crowds. not only is he really uncomfortable, but roxy backs this up by commenting on how reluctant he was to spend time w the whole group in their session, and john makes a similar comment about jades gpa liking his space so much that he moved to an island.
dave tells dirk that he hasnt told anyone else about his bro and never would, including karkat by name. he feels that dirk is the only one he really can talk to about it, and the only reason he spoke to dirk about it in the first place is bc dirks existence is just uniquely distressing enough to trigger a breakdown where he blurts it out. also on the topic of dave, i think dave first mentions paleontology pre-retcon, rather uncertainly, as something he could have gotten into but never did, to the point where hes not even sure if paleontology is the right word to describe his interest. as the comic goes on, he seems to become more confident in asserting that he wouldve liked to become a paleontologist.
callie, terezi, and jade all struggle with feelings of insecurity and worthlessness, either because they feel that they have no purpose, because they feel empty somehow, or because they feel secondary to an alternate self.
despite dvekat """""officially"""""" getting together in post-canon content, theyre alluded to being together in this act, with terezi and vriska stating that theyve settled into some kind of quadrant, japrose saying karkat has a matesprit, and daves intense aversion to answering any questions about romance, suggesting that he may be in a relationship and too embarrassed to talk about it. theres room for debate, i guess, but it really read to me like they were already together and just quiet asf about it.
anyway my favorite conversation in this act is by far the one between roxy, rose, and kanaya, and rather than even say shit about any of them i am just going to insist that you (by which i mean future me, probably) give it a reread bc its the best.
Act 6 Act 6 Act 6
collide. easily my FAVORITE flash animation in homestuck. i actually still have my old shirt that has the collide frame of dad punching through the brick, though its so full of holes ill have to repurpose it now. the rest of the act is everyone meeting up post battle and getting ready to receive the reward. ngl this act made me legit cry its just. SO good. the fraymotifs are awesome and the battle feels difficult and long without being boring, and there are so many genuine moments of emotional sincerity mixed in with punchy, exciting scenes. its just great, and the art is fantastic. i have a new pfp locked and loaded, believe it.
Act 7
act 7 is a single animation wherein alt calliope blows up the green sun, the universe tadpole becomes a frog, vriska and the ghost army unleash the second weapon, caliborn defeats his denizen and gains his le powers, wv and pm toss the rings in a volcano, and we get a preview of how earth c has developed.
the animation in this act is gorgeous. god, its so fucking stunning. the movement is so smooth, and the particle effects were really impressive. also, the tadpole was so cute.
Credits/Snapchat
theyre fucking cute. there isnt much to say, because there isnt much there. the last little plot mess with jane and the moon exploding has never made sense to me and likely never will. i get headaches trying to figure out why hussie released these if they wanted to also release the epilogues, given that they directly contradict each other more often than not. moving on.
Final Albums
during all of this time, no albums were released. however, directly after the end of hs, three were.
Collide
collide was previously my favorite album. what can i say? the music goes hard. yes its just the songs that are in the collide animation, but who cares, and also go fuck yourself. i am a really big fan of oppa toby style and just how fucking. fundamentally toby it is, god. however, heir of grief is literally my favorite homestuck song in existence period. its so bittersweet and yet the sound is so full and and the ups and downs of it are just really potent. plus, guitar is my favorite instrument and i really like the guitar in this :)
Act 7
its literally just the singular song used for the act 7 animation. i mean, its a good song. but it is literally just one song. weird that they gave it its own album tbh.
Vol 10
MY NEW. FAVORITE. ALBUM. there is not a single solitary miss on here. reading through the track commentary, its obvious that this album was created to be an ode to the end of homestuck, to show how far weve really come. it remixes so many classics, and for many of the artists who worked on this album, it was a chance to revisit stuff theyd done before and show how much theyd grown since they started out. every single song is so full, moving and beautiful and breathtaking. its the most polished album by far. i dont think i can pick a favorite song because theyre all so good. the album also wraps up in the most perfect and bittersweet way, and its just. ugh. this was such a perfect way to end.
Final Thoughts
it holds up. i mean, yeah, it has its fucking problems. however, hussie manages to capture the feelings of being a teen growing up on the internet so fucking well, and no one, ever, has written young girls like hussie has. i cannot think of a single comparable female cast in anything. there are so many really potent and genuinely touching moments alongside so many hysterical ones, and you know? i think we really forget how ahead of its time hs was in terms of gay rep.
hs was the first time i ever saw a gay couple get together in media. it was the first time i ever saw two guys kiss. it was the first time i ever saw a nonbinary character! rose and kanaya started flirting in the first few acts, and they not only survived until the end, but got married and raised an entire generation of kids. never before had i ever found myself shipping a queer couple that became canon. so its always gonna hold a special place in my heart, really.
but yeah, against all odds, i actually really enjoyed my reread. there were some rough moments, in terms of like, major bigotry hussie has and wrote in, but overwhelmingly its easy to remember why this had such a stranglehold on my life for like. idk, five fucking years? more?
my opinions have shifted around some, though, as ive gotten older.
i think, on my first read, my favorites list wouldve looked like this:
the kids: dave was my favorite, unequivocally. i think ive mentioned this before, but i imprinted on him instantly like a baby bird. i was inexplicably obsessed with davesprite and abro, also, to the point where i liked them even more. i think dirk and his splinters were favorites of mine mostly just because i viewed them as dave 2, the sequel. i liked john a lot while reading, but lost interest as the comic went on (i regained that interest much later). i always liked rose and roxy, but a large portion of that was due to their relationship to the striders.
the trolls: i imprinted on vriska instantly. she felt like the answer to the rep id been searching for my whole life. there has never been another female character like her, and there may never be again. i have always loved her and i will defend her to the death, however, after finishing my read, i never did engage w much fancontent. sollux was another early favorite of mine, though he was in hs so little that my passion sort of faded with enough time. karkat, conversely, grew on me progressively, starting as a character i was indifferent about and becoming probably my favorite troll. i was pretty attached to eridan, and violently outgrew a brief gamzee apologism phase. i liked kanaya, but she grew on me even more with time, as did aradia. equius i discovered a sudden passion for years after reading the comic for the first time.
dancestors/ancestors/guardians: ugh. ugh. i dont even remember my favorite dancestor. i dont wanna think about it. i was really fixated on them but moreso than liked them i think i just hated everything everyone had to say about them and had to be right always. my favorite ancestors were psii, dualscar, and the sufferer, and i dont want to even talk about the shipping i was up to. my favorite guardians were very obviously the bros. goes w/o saying.
carapacians: i thought droog was the coolest mc member for some reason, and itchy and crowbar were my favorite felt members. could NOT tell you why. ar and wv were my favorite exiles. i think i just thought ars little outfit was sick. i dont have toe xplain why i liked wv, everyone likes him.
pesterlogs: i recall once claiming that The convo between hal and dirk was my favorite. i also know i was a very big fan of anything erisol said ever (and sollux, similarly). however, i dont think i had one.
ships: i was a really hardcore drkjake shipper (all splinters included) while i was reading, which branched into an interest in johndve with enough time. i got big into just about every combination of eridan, sollux, karkat, and dave (sprites included), except solkt, and eventually i got rlly into aradve, dvejake, and jhnhal/johndrk. i am censoring to keep myself out of the tags. i think, in most recent years (prior to my reread), my faves were eridve, dvekat, and jhnhal?
current fave list, post reread:
kids: rose. rose rose rose. i adore her so much. roxy is a close second. there was a moment where i prefered jake over roxy, in those really early a6 acts, but she came right back in strong and reminded me why i adored her so much. hal is also very high up there. not dirk- just hal, because all of his conversations are literally so funny. john is great and i love him, my feelings about him really havent changed at all. the striders on a whole were a lot less interesting to me on my reread, though, and now theyre the characters im mostly just invested in for their connection to the lalondes. ive conquered whatever toxic masculinity i was battling when i first read hs and come out loving wizards. feminism wins.
trolls: vriska remains the og. she is still iconic. no one is doing it like her. i wont suffer argument. sollux is also still fucking incredible. my feelings about both of them havent changed in the slightest. kanaya was one of my faves this reread, and i think i really just didnt appreciate her the first time. she has such a great dry wit, and there are so many really cute, very touching moments with her. i think other than those three, i have discovered a new love and respect for equius and nepeta. i am still probably not normal about eridan. karkat, like the striders, was less interesting to me this go around. i still like them, dont get me wrong, just not as passionately as before.
dancestors/ancestors/guardians: my favorite guardian is johns dad (and also janes, bc theyre like, the same person). johns relationship w his dad is just so important to me. i couldnt give LESS of a shit about the ancestors. ive outgrown it. im different. im better now. but unofrtunately, kankri is...... sighs. probably my favorite dancestor now. hes just. so fucking funny. pray for me.
carapacians: jack is the best, period. dunno how i ever thought differently. cd is probably my second fav mc member now, just cuz hes a funny little dude. crowbar is my fave felt member bc hes the only interesting one, ig? but i dont care that much. wv is my favorite exile.
pesterlogs: every single convo between hal and jake was my new favorite for a long time, basically, up until that roxy rose and kanaya convo came up out of the blue and smashed that to pieces. definitely my favorite. its like, the perfect culmination of all of the things i love about all of them, all in one place. however, honorary mentions go to vriskas speech about being a hero, which has lived in my brain rent free since the first time i read it, and also probably The conversation between dirk and hal, bc lets be real it is pretty sick.
collide is my favorite flash animation by far, heir of grief is my favorite song, and vol 10 is my favorite album, as ive mentioned
ships: i am now an insanely hardcore haljke fan. that is most of whats come out of this tbh. i still think eridve is hilarious for no real reason i can explain, and halqius rules. arquius<>davepeta i also have strong feelings about suddenly. pay absolutely no attention to the fact that these are 75% hal ships he is just really shippable ok. butyeah mostly when ive freshly read something iactually. dont care that much about ships? that tends to come later, with too much time spent in the fandom. im sure ill be obsessive about some roxy or rose ship in a year from now
but yeah i think. those are all of my thoughts for now!! and i will just continue to chug my way through the bonus content, and probably make recaps about those eventually. if you read all of these thanks for coming along on this wild little ride. i am genuinely SHOCKED i finished the main comic in less than a month. and relieved, also.
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5 and 13 for the ao3 asks 😌
Thank you so much for the ask!!!! ❤️❤️❤️
5. Did anything you read make you cry?
Gosh, yes. Quite a few actually.
To be completely honest (and please skip to the recs if you don’t want to read me over sharing), fanfic is my escapism, and I love using it to make myself feel better, but sometimes I just need to sit with the pain that I’m in. A lot of the times, when I’m feeling super shitty, I’ll seek sad stuff out so I can get my tears out and have that catharsis. It may not be the healthiest, but it’s also not the worst.
The main ones that get to me are MCD (especially final battle fics that end with one of the boys killing the other), break up fics where we really get to sit with one of the boys for their spiraling, and ones where Simon feels insecure about his body. These recs are mostly MCD, since I’m having trouble finding the other ones are way more difficult and I’ve already spent 45 minutes on this ask lmao. But here you are, fics I read this year that made me cry (please mind the tags on all of them)!
i love you, im sorry by @/lovely_weiying. Jesus Christ, this one. This fic reached deep into my heart and tore it right out. Fuck, dude. It’s got Simon dealing with a lot of issues, and goes completely above and beyond with its MCD. Major trigger warning for suicide on this one. It’s definitely not for the faint of heart.
Post-it Note Boys by @/CanadianSnow. Another MCD. This one hurts, but it’s one of the sweetest and most heartfelt fics you’ll ever read. It spans a lifetime of doodles on post-it notes that Simon gifts to Baz. Not much can be said about this fic that hasn’t already been said, since it’s one of the more well-known ones, I believe. Technically I didn’t read this one for the first time this year, but I did give it a reread and cry, so I’m counting it lol
my heart lies in your bones by @/doodleishere. This is perhaps the saddest body swap or magical mishap I’ve ever read. It's another MCD, so be warned. Simon is fighting a creature, but Baz follows him. When Simon tries to cast a spell that will give him a better view of the creature, he accidentally switches bodies with Baz and doesn’t realize what he’s done until Baz is killed. In. Simon’s. Body. So now Simon is stuck living in the body of the man he accidentally killed. This is full of so many heart-wrenching moments, but it does have a happy ending, so it's a bit safer than the previous two recs.
I'm here, my little puff by @confused-bi-queer. The only non-MCD on the list (technically). This one is so gut-wrenching because it’s written entirely from Natasha’s perspective, before her death and through the Veil. Listening to Baz’s self-hatred is hard enough when it’s not through the eyes of his mother, who loves him despite the things he thinks she’ll hate him for. This could easily be seen as canon-compliant, and it has a sequel where Natasha and Lucy come back through the Veil 20 years after the first time to meet the entire Snow-Grimm-Pitch family, so you have some fluff to help with the pain.
And the final one: my tears ricochet by @annabellelux. Huge shoutout to Marta for helping me find this again, since this is the first one that came to mind when I started thinking about this question, but I could not for the life of me find it. This fic is MCD, so be warned. Simon kills Baz in the final battle and immediately regrets it, but it’s too late. Baz talks to his mother after death, and she decides to pass on, so Baz decides to deliver her message for her. When he returns, though, he can’t talk to Fiona or Malcolm, so he has to face a distraught Simon in order to avenge his mother’s death. There are no words for how much this fic destroyed me (in the best way), especially when Baz first comes through the veil and has to witness the grief his death has brought. I cannot recommend this enough (and don’t worry, it has a happy ending :))
13. What trope do you think you read the most of?
Honestly, that’s a great question. When I’m reading, I tend to read through the general searches, then find a fic I love and try to find all the fics similar to that. I end up going down a lot of rabbit holes that way. Here’s some tropes I know I’ve read a lot of (non-Simon Snow ones have the fandom in parenthesis):
Hanahaki AU
Time Travel (usually the “the boys see their future” kind)
Pining Baz (sorry babes)
Getting Together
Hurt/Comfort
Stark Industries Field Trip (yes this is a trope in the MCU Spider-Man fandom. There are almost 1000 fics)
Magic reveals (BBC Merlin)
Again, not really sure which I’ve spent the most time reading, so those are in no particular order. I’d give out some recs, but there are too many to broadly encompass the categories, so let me know if you want ones from a specific trope and I got you!
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can we hear abt ivory or archie please... if you want specific questions i can give those too
IVORY AND ARCHIE YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA ^_^^ sorry sorry im normal i PROMISE you im normal. um anyways
STARTING WITH IVORY he's a funky guy . he's a silhouette in those doodles because he's a shadowwalker polyplanial. now that means nothing to anyone who isnt me so let me explain. polyplanism is one of the 7 magic types in this universe, allowing wielders to shift what dimension they're in at will. there's two kinds of polyplanism too, those being shadowwalking (which allows you to become a shadow and blend into other shadows), and dreamwalking (which allows you to go inside someone's dreams; this is the kind baylin is, for example). much like with wildinist species, you're assigned a kind at birth, and as you may be able to guess this but ivory was born a shadowwalker :3 his whole deal is that he's a kleptomaniac, he steals things compulsively and tries to surround himself with as many things as possible. he fucks around is what im getting at. and the local police dont do anything because theyre useless ^_^ he thinks of himself as a robinhood type figure, trying to dismantle the establishment from the inside, but in reality he doesn't do a whole ton to directly support the poor he claims to want to help. he learns to be better after the main 4 + reqs talk to him though!!!!!!! and they ultimately bring out good change for his town in the end
the reason he's in the shadow plane in the doodles is because he is VERY hesitant to show his real appearance to anyone, lest he gets sold out and arrested. hell, most of the time he keeps his hair in a net instead of in braids, because he's afraid they'd make his shadow too distinctive. there are other shadowwalkers where he lives, but people assume different appearances in the shadow plane compared to the default plane (the plane everyone else is on), so it doesn't help people identify him or anything. he DOES have a default appearance though... i'll hafta draw it sometime :-)
AND THEN ARCHIE OOOOOOUSHDJDWVJD MY GUY MY SILLY LIL THANG ....... i love him so dearly he's like a beetle to me. he's an electro eleter and what that means is. okay. eleters are a form of magic that let people manipulate/produce fire, electricity, and water from their fingertips, but unlike polyplanism and wildinism, the kind you are isn't determined at birth. you're born being able to manipulate all three, but through study you can refine your skills with either one or two of those elements (you can technically try to learn all 3, but this is very difficult and you likely won't be exceptional at any of them). so in archie's case he's been training his skills in utilizing electricity :3
he's. REALLY good at what he does. like scarily good. his town relies on him for a lot of maintenance things (his town used to be full of electro eleters who made a living off of providing electricity, but after new alternative fuel sources were popularized, using eleters for electricity fell out of fashion. the town quickly dove into poverty, and most people chose to not pass on the tradition of electro eletism to their kids. this happened quite a bit in other places too, with pyro and hydro eleters experiencing similar problems, so this town is just one example of that) and, more importantly, to save them. they believe that his exceptional abilities will cause a revolution in electro energy, which will allow them to get easy and stable jobs once more. he's consistently pressured to get better and better, pushing the limits of his powers like no one has before. and he doesn't even realize how fucked it is that he's carrying the entire weight of his town on his back until the main 5 come in. did i mention archie is 13 btw. he doesn't even realize how high his standards for himself are cuz he thinks that this is just normal. that everyone else is doing just fine so this must just be a him issue. that he just has to try harder. yk.
so ya thats basically them ^_^ teehee
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I posted 1,139 times in 2022
149 posts created (13%)
990 posts reblogged (87%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@secretlystephaniebrown
@kineticallyanywhere
@fantastic-nonsense
@abd-illustrates
@marsoid
I tagged 1,139 of my posts in 2022
#q - 963 posts
#reblogged art - 268 posts
#dc - 204 posts
#reblogged videos - 132 posts
#memery - 121 posts
#rambles - 105 posts
#writing is hard - 59 posts
#cats - 53 posts
#bruce wayne - 53 posts
#dick grayson - 51 posts
Longest Tag: 139 characters
#i can still write its just that i rely too much on internet autosave and i don't trust device saving after too many incidents with computer
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
June Log 2022|Mid-2022 Log
“June? What happened to May?”
Recharging.
Well, finally at the middle of the year. Definitely falling behind my goals, but I have come to some realizations.
First and foremost, while I was looking forward to writing a book around the next year, I’ve come to realize it might be better to hold that off in favor of my planned webcomic. We’ll see what I stick with by the end of the year, most likely.
I don’t have a second one, I don’t why I acted like I did.
I will say though, I think I need to introduce more routine in my life. That way I can chip away at stuff more and feel more productive than my usual random bursts of 10k words in one sleep deprived night.
Other than that, June’s here, and I’m going to be swapping out other goals for new ones.
Yay.
Goals for 2022
Rewatch Red Vs Blue
Actually finished season 1. Plan to finish the rest maybe around August. Though I think I’ll only go up to season 14. (Looking into the newest seasons some other time)
One inked and colored drawing a month (even if it’s just monochrome)
Failed and not continuing. Maybe next year.
Doodle/Drawing Challenge (365 Days of Red-X)
Starts this month on the 8th. (Was supposed to be May but I got the date wrong).
Finish two one arc of Three Strikes (other than the first arc).
Behind this one. so adjusting it to just one arc. That arc is about 3 chapters, but could stretch to 4-5.
Finish plotting at least two books of a novel series.
I got this. Partially.
Design the main cast of a webcomic I’m planning.
I have IDEAS. Just trying to figure out what I want. Thankfully most of them wear uniforms.
June Goals
Read Lightning Thief
Actually surprised I didn’t read this earlier considering I was interested in Greek Mythology when I was 12-13. Fun book so far.
Also what the fuck’s with this kid.
Finish Chapters 2-3 of Three Strikes
Finally got free time AND the drive to write.
I swear once I actually get on a roll it’s over for my procrastination.
For a bit.
See the full post
2 notes - Posted June 2, 2022
#4
Okay but Deliver Us is great
3 notes - Posted February 12, 2022
#3
Another year another Tarah.
Decided to add some simplistic shading and give them some clothes for the first time (i still don’t have an entire outfit in mind).
Some notable changes that I’ve made to the 2021 version:
- Disgruntled Tarah
- Bye, bye back hair ombre (it felt too overpowering when I gave them clothes versus when they didn’t)
- Simplified the hair because it’s painful to draw.
- Simplified their facial markings because it looked way too much like overexaggerated eyeliner.
- Ears! I love tufted ears and need to be contained. But also didn’t like the overly large/fluffy design.
- Rounder nose (might change back)
- Choker that totally has no relation to the plot. Absolutely not.
4 notes - Posted April 30, 2022
#2
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Teen Titans (Animated Series), DCU
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Red X/Barbara Gordon, Red X & Dick Grayson, Red X & Jason Todd, Red X & Original Characters, Red X & Bruce Wayne, Red X & Teen Titans, Red X/Komand'r, Red X & H.I.V.E Five, Red X/Kyd Wykkyd, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Characters: Red X (DCU), Teen Titans (DCU), Dick Grayson, Koriand'r (DCU), Garfield Logan, Victor Stone, Raven (DCU), Original Characters, Batfamily Members, Bruce Wayne, Barbara Gordon, Jason Todd, Komand'r (DCU), H.I.V.E Five, Jinx (DCU), Kyd Wykkyd (DCU)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Red X is his own character, Morally Ambiguous Character, Unreliable Narrator, Depression, Dark, Relationship-centric, Family, Team as Family, Canon Disabled Character, Romani Dick Grayson, Barbara Gordon is a BAMF, Multiracial Jason Todd, Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Background Relationships
Summary:
One for the money.
Two for the show.
Three to be ready.
And four more to go.
___
He's a thief; he has been all of his life, and he is more than likely to go to the grave with this fact eternally hanging over his head. It's the only thing he's good at; that and ruining things for other people. In some screwed-up way, watching people get what they deserve is even fun for him; it's karmic justice.
But just like every other person, he has flaws and makes mistakes now and again.
And at this rate, they're going to catch up with him.
---
Rated M for Mature Language and Violence.
5 notes - Posted January 12, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
I find the outrage about The Batman not being for kids funny because I've seen at least one person boldly say: "Has there EVER been a child-friendly Batman movie?"
Like Lego Batman didn't come out a few years ago.
16 notes - Posted March 6, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#i was confused as to why my biggest posts had so little when i remember getting way more activity this year#then remembered those were made before 2022#woops#well happy new years everyone
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Putting this over here on the dumb personal acct so I'm not being pathetic on main but it's been bothering me for literally like 6 years and this is a better place for shouting into the darkness
It's honestly so soul crushing that I make art that doesn't connect with anyone and isn't like Enjoyable
And it's even more soul crushing that I can never like Make Art I Finish for Myself because like ”whats the point?"
And it's ALSO like SUPER awful that that leaked over into making art for friends and I never finish anything for them either cuz like. It's not gonna be enjoyed anyways.
But like
It's bad cuz this was how I made friends and meaningful connections. I have nothing but this to offer..... So the fact I can't make Good Art? Complete Art?
It makes me wonder if ppl see this and go "they don't like me enough to finish anything" like no it's way worse 🥲 I can't finish anything cuz like
Realistically I cannot I haven't finished a single piece in years I'm like broken art wise
And I feel like I won't ever be able to scream and tear my way out of this grave I've burried myself into without a friend
But like as stated above fhgfhfhfgfhhf
It's just a fucking spiral and it only goes down and I've flirted with giving up for years and years and it may just be time to stop
And sometimes like a ship or a moment compels me to wanna doodle but then it's like
To what end?
Where is this actually gonna go?
Nowhere
I know the idealistic answer is Be Vulnerable and Practice With People and Be Open and Keep Sharing Your Art
But God I've tried please believe me I've tried
I kept pushing these past 6 years
I've reached out to people I trust making bids to start from scratch or whatever
Every effort leads to nothing and it's worn me down I don't think I can keep doing this over and over
#i wish i remembered how to make those read more posts#so this wasnt just a fully visible vent but#nobody will look here or see it except maybe neassa#please just keep scrolling if u saw it i dont wanna talk abt it
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July 3, 2022 || SUN [07:23 am]
So I never got around to writing about this until now. I got fired the week after Mac's wedding. It came as a big ass shock to me because from the beginning of that week, our manager was praising me and even the Vice President complimented my work. But I'm mostly over it at this point. I vented about it to Mia when we drank gin i think last Saturday or was it two weeks ago? I can't remember very well when it happened. Other than that I attempted to work for a different company the very week after I got fired that paid more. But the work required took too much from me mentally and emotionally. It was energetically draining. I really am not meant for work that requires talking 99%. So I quit after first day of training. I've been trying for other companies since. But no luck so far. I did have an interview last night though, for a discord moderator position. I feel like it went well for the most part. I hope I do get that job. If not I'll force myself to start that business that I've been planning for years. I'm trying to meditate but whenever I feel like I'm mentally ready to do so, I'm too sleepy and I just end up sleeping. But right now, after I finish this entry I intend to meditate, since I'm not very tired. The reason I'm mentioning meditation is because I feel and know that I really need it and it'll really help me kind of unravel what exactly is holding me back. I feel like I only have a vague idea of what it is that's keeping me bound. So I want to dive deeper and figure things out. Brother and I had a talk about panic attacks and hearing voices when we aren't hyper fixated or preoccupied by something. There are a lot of similarities with what we feel and experience, and we both came to the conclusion that we might actually have ADD/ADHD. Which I think we obviously do have. It's also pretty evident with dad and geen and gourdo and mom. So like, I guess it's a genetic thing. Also Brother was saying that we might be experiencing these kinds of things due to PTSD. I haven't mentioned psychosis to him. But then again I feel like it's too complex for me to even try and hypothesize.
I met a really nice guy (I think) on bumble. He started really strong and asking me out so many times and giving me ideas on where we could go out to eat but then he just stopped talking to me. It's been two weeks since he last messaged me today. I feel like I may have said or did something weird? I don't know. My optimist side is ofc telling me that he's just busy. But then again come on, I'm not that stupid anymore. This probably ain't it just yet. But maybe, hopefully, I'm getting close. I'm getting sick of talking to so many guys and imagining futures with them. That's actually one of the main things I feel like I need to debunk. I feel like it affects my life severely and in a negative way. I need to find something else that would keep me from spacing out and hearing voices that would keep me preoccupied like painting or doodling or something. I feel like I should keep a list of things to do when I start getting lost in my head. I'm gonna do that right now before I meditate.
Other than that, apparently Cai and Mac are having a baby girl and she's due this august 6th. I and so very happy for them. Gel and I have seen each other 3 times since the wedding (including that weekend). Ryan and Chuck got covid recently but I think that they're getting better now. I've been recording some songs, too. Right now I just feel like I don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks of me. Not even the people that I have a little crush on. I just feel like I shouldn't act in any way. If my natural self scares or creeps or freaks people out then fuck them, I'm not changing anything about myself other than my toxic traits, or anything that needs growth. But my quirks? Fuck no. The world just has to fucking deal with it.
**note: something of significance might happen this July 27th. **
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shot thru the heart, pt 3
pt 1 //pt 2
-
Steve staves off actually caving and asking Billy for the notes for as long as he possibly can. Which is like, four days.
He actually needs those notes, for real, because he hasn’t been able to write a single fucking thing except the day’s date on his paper since…. Since Billy started sitting behind him at the beginning of the semester. It’s just been distracting, okay? That’s all.
That’s all.
And if Steve thinks about this anymore his head is going to literally explode so-
“Hey, Hargrove.” Steve catches up to Billy just as they are both leaving class. And he spaces out for a millisecond thinking how every time he thinks about blonde-curls-blue-eyes he thinks Billy, but what he says is ‘Hargrove.’
Billy slows, looks over his shoulder a little like he’s letting Steve know he’s allowed to continue, but he doesn't stop walking. He’s a faster walker than Steve, even though Steve’s legs are longer. Too long- he feels like a fucking. One of those. Desert-deer things. Antelope? No, a gazelle- it’s a gazelle.
“I, uh,” Steve realizes he’s never actually walked anywhere with Billy before, and has never entertained the possibility, but he started talking, so he may as well keep going. “If you’re still cool with it, borrowing your notes would be like, really helpful.” Why does he sound so stilted?
“Sure.” Billy seems so impartial to the whole thing, but Steve grins, a little relieved.
“Great! Uh, thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.” Billy nudges past him.
Now Steve’s standing alone on the sidelines of the main hall. And he feels warm all over again.
Steve is sitting at his desk the next day when a small stack of notes gets dropped in front of him- the paper snaps a little against the desk’s wood top.
Steve turns around in time to catch Billy sliding into the seat behind him.
“Hey,” Steve smiles, tries to think of something else to say like ‘thanks again’ when Billy goes,
“That's everything I have from this unit. Don’t write on them cause I want them back.”
“Okay,” Steve thinks Billy seems like he's trying to compensate for something. “Thanks again.”
Billy shrugs. But he does smile a bit. One of his nothing-matters-I'm-cool smiles.
“Maybe we could study together sometime-” Steve says before thinking about it at all, so it comes out way lower than he means it to so he has to clear his throat and go “If you want.”
Steve panics for a split second, something trying to flip over in his chest and he worries Billy’s gonna think he was asking something else, is gonna get him all wrong- but-
“If I didn't know better I’d say you were asking me to hangout, Harrington.” Billy laughs just a little. A little huff, sharp off his tongue.
Steve looks away, then looks back to Billy. “I mean, sure, yeah.”
Steve can swear Billy lights up for a second, smiles a little brighter, sits up more- but then, no. Billy only looks nonchalant again. “Hm. Maybe.” Then he looks back at his own notebook. And Steve takes that as a signal that the conversation is Now Over.
He turns back to his desk. Billy’s notes are still there.
It's days before the test, and Steve is sure that Billy's notes would be super helpful if he was actually reading them for clarity and understanding or whatever, but instead he’s discovered something entirely different, scribbled in the margins of almost every page; commentary. Billy writes literal commentary, more scrawly and casual than the rest of his legible nites.
Shit like; “Incorrect date in lecture but who’s gonna notice that certainly not the guy whos supposed to be fucking teaching us this no sir” and “just saw a bird out the window” and “Five minutes in and you have no idea what’s going on huh?”
That last one seems a little sweeter than the two before it, though. Like Billy’s talking to someone, other than himself.
Steve loves looking at those notes.
Loves the slopes and slants of the writing. Loves the commentary. Loves the little doodles Billy does in the margins. A knife with a spiraly handle. A skull that’s actually pretty good, could make a good tattoo maybe. Roses- lots of them. All different sizes. And a little heart with an arrow shot through it. Steve didn’t know Billy likes to draw. He’s not half bad. Steve smiles to himself a little. Runs his hand over one of the roses absently, wonders if they’re Billy's favorite because they’re Steves favorite, because they’re the classic-
Steve should probably be learning a lot more than he was though.
Steve actually studies for a few days. Like two, but still. He looks at Billy's notes multiple times. Actually invests time and energy into learning shit. So, you know, good for him. Good for him, managing to get good enough with Billy to actually reap the benefits of almost-friendship, because honestly maybe they could be friends, right? Maybe.
Hopefully.
Steve kind of likes sitting near Billy now, kind of likes the banter they have going, likes how Billy never makes him feel dumb, even if he calls him dumb…
But he still leaves class right as the bell rings, quick as a whip crack. Steve can barely even get in a ‘goodbye.’
He’s only a little disappointed, but it’s not like he has any reason to care-
He looks down.
Billy’s notebook. On the ground in the desk aisle.
It must have fallen out of Billy’s backpack on his brisk way out.
Steve scoops it up, shoves it in his backpack, and is out the door without so much as a second thought.
The second thoughts kick in when Steve gets home. When he tosses his backpack on his bed and paces around like that's gonna do anything before walking back over and pulling Billy’s notebook out and just, Holding it. Looking at it. Feeling overcome with.. Something.
He should open it. No, he shouldn’t, it’s not his.
But he wants to.
Billy ripped out pages to give him notes, clearly there’s stuff in here for Billy’s eyes only.
Steve can’t help himself.
He opens it.
And honestly, it’s pretty standard stuff. Old notes. More commentary that Steve relishes with every new word. A doodle of Bugs Bunny holding a joint that’s actually pretty good.
And a half-ripped page in the back that reads:
“Literally so beautiful it’s impossible not to-
But I don’t think you’re a dumbass-
I promise. Which is dumb, bec-
but I can’t help myself. I-
wish you knew how -
wonder if I’m i-
smells good-
Stupid-”
It’s a love letter. Steve’s dumb, but he’s not stupid. No doubt in his mind- this is a love letter.
Steve sits there. Reading the broken up sentences, over and over.
Billy wrote a love letter. Unmistakably his handwriting. Pieces of beautiful ideas about someone Billy is clearly crazy about-
And Steve’s heat sinks. Sinks all the way down from its high-falutin place in his throat, pushing at the back of his tongue down, down, into the darkest pit of his stomach. Immediately he knows-
That warm feeling from before? The all consuming too-hot cinnamon and grease feeling from before was not jealousy.
This is jealousy.
The idea that Billy cares about someone enough to write them a letter in his perfect pretty collected handwriting makes Steve sick with envy. He just sort of figured he was the only person relevant enough to take up Billy's brainspace. Not like anyone else thinks about Steve in any way anymore…
Steve drops the notebook back on his bed like it burned him. He sits on the edge of his bed, tilts his head up to the ceiling, closes his eyes.
Fuck. Fuck please dear god why now.
Steve wished this was the first time this had happened. The first time he'd stumbled his way into thinking about a guy like that.
But it wasn't. God he didn't want to have to think about this. He tries never to think about this shit. It wasn't like it happened all the time, wasn't like he couldn't just wait for it to go away like he had before.
But it did mean he had to stop talking to Billy right the fuck now.
No more copying his notes. No more maybe-hanging out. No more fucking banter in class. Steve needed to crush this… fluke. Before it became anything worse.
But if he was so resolved to not think about Billy like that, then why couldn’t he just get rid of the torn letter?
-
part 4 coming sooon! the thrilling conclusion !!!
#harringrove#steve harrington#billy hargrove#steve x billy#billy x steve#harringrove fanfic#harringrove fic#my fic
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Murder, He Wrote
Part 4
Co-Written with @southerngracela
Summary: Ransom shows you a softer side, but when the table flips he leaves you with no doubt that he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been…
Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!
Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader
A/N: So this is Part 4 to our submission for @jtargaryen18 ‘s Haunted House 2020 Challenge. My writing partner @southerngracela is currently on an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr, and I’ve sadly no idea when she will be back. However, this chapter was pretty much finished before she took her break and the rest of the series is also planned out to finish, so as per her blessing before she took time out, I’m intending on finishing what we started.
READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.
Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.
Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.
Part 3
True to his word, Ransom had let you spend the day with him after Blanc's visit. It was a day interestingly enough your mind wandered back to, if not for the change in scenery, but for the change in his demeanour. A couple of weeks had since passed from then, but the memory was burned in your brain. And since, you'd spent far more than just a day above the confines of your room. Almost every morning since he’d ‘allowed’ you to make breakfast and most mornings, unless he was heading out to wherever he went, he then let you stay upstairs with him whilst he plugged away at the book he was writing. That in and of itself had come as a shock to you, to learn he was an aspiring author for sure, but you had simply nodded and encouraged him when he had told you. And you had quickly realised that when he was busy writing, you could get busy reading one of the many books or writing in your journal while sat in the large study and he left you pretty much alone.
Which is where you were currently sat now, curled up on the leather sofa as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, your journal open in your lap and a leather bound copy of ‘Great Expectations’ lay next to you, the page marked waiting for you to pick up from where you had left off the previous evening. As you thumbed the pages of your journal to find the next blank page, you had to smile at the little doodle of a Christmas tree that caught your eye in the top right hand corner of a page you’d written a few days back, the day you’d convinced Ransom that he should at least get one Christmas Tree. He’d obliged, had one; only the one, delivered and permitted you to decorate it how you’d wanted to and even managed a little smile when you stepped back and proudly showed the finished product to him. Then, of course, quid-pro-quo, he had had expected something in return which you’d given, because let’s face it, he’d have taken it anyway.
You’d seen a softer side to him that day, and not for the first time either. Granted, non-asshole Ransom wasn’t an everyday feature by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d seen it twice now. You paused, and then thumbed back a few pages to the day you were now remembering, the day you’d first been confronted with a very different Ransom to the one you were used to dealing with. One that came out of nowhere.
It was a wet day, an early winter storm passing through New England. You were sure it could have snowed but instead, it was just wet and cold. He'd come down with breakfast, instead of inviting you up. He'd brought you warm oatmeal with cream and cinnamon, a small bowl of blueberries on the side and a pinch dish of raisins, having forgotten how you took your oatmeal. A cup of coffee, steaming on the tray. He'd set up your breakfast on the table and sat across from you, not eating. He hadn't even brought coffee for himself.
You'd assessed his mood as morose, distant even. You didn't press, but rather waited for him to out himself and his particular mood. You'd come to recognize when he was thinking and this morning, he was all thought and no presence.
"I'll be gone most of the day," he finally came clean, just as you'd finished your oatmeal.
"Okay," you replied. He hadn't ever really announced his plans to you before. He'd just come and go at all times as he'd liked, never leaving you home alone without the doors locked. This willingness to let you in on his plans for the day fielded a small red flag in your mind and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like this was a test. He said nothing else, just picked up your breakfast dishes and left.
In the time he was gone, you'd managed to shower, nap, write and read. You were growing hungry for dinner, having had to skip lunch in his absence. Then you heard it, the tell-tale signs of his return. The clicks of doors and sounds of boots on the floor above you. The jingle of keys, and a few failed attempts at unlocking your door. A 'fuck' and a 'God damn it' before the door opened and there he stood. Soaked to the bone, dressed in all black from his coat to his toes. Was that ice on the tips of his hair? Was he drunk or just having a moment? Fingers frozen from the cold.
'Jesus Christ, you're soaked.' You said as you took him in. His lips looked a little discolored, his skin more alabaster than ivory. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed your throw from the chair as you passed it by. 'Get that coat off,' you pulled at its thick woolen collar. The heavy fabric peeled away from his broad shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. You heaved the throw over him and pulled it closed around his thick chest. 'You're not getting sick and leaving me here to rot.'
You moved to give him some space and guide himself further into the room, but ice cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes moved upwards from where his hand swallowed you're wrist, along the wet fabric of his black sweater, water droplet covered neck, to eyes that were lost and distant, just as they were that morning, but much worse.
You were nearly as frozen as his fingers were, not sure what to say or do. Worried about consequence. So you just stared back.
'Thank you', it was barely audible as the words poured from his lips.
'Of course.' You weren't sure what he was thankful for but you replied anyway. Cautiously, you continued, 'Will you come sit down? Do you want something warm to drink?' You wanted to ask where he'd been but that was a slippery slope.
'Not here,' he replied.
'Upstairs then, in the lounge,' you suggested. He nodded and turned on his heel, a glance over his shoulder to see if you were coming. You followed, pulling your cardigan around you tightly as the chill from the basement filtered through you, or was it coming away from him, you weren't sure.
You'd thought the lounge was where you were headed but instead, he'd headed for the kitchen, taking a seat at the table there. When he didn't provide instruction or conversation, you inhaled deeply and thought of something to warm you both from the inside-out. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered the ingredients you needed, cocoa, chocolate chips, milk. The cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. You were careful not to make too much of a clatter as you pulled the sauce pan from under the counter.
In minutes, fresh hot chocolate was in two steaming mugs with whipped cream and freshly grated cinnamon. You handed him a mug and then sat across from him, your mug between your fingers. You watched as he sipped from his mug, blowing a little on the liquid before his lips touched it. His eyes closed as if he was stuck in a memory, his expression softening.
His eyes opened and he sighed, 'I can't remember the last time I had something like this. I was just a kid, my nana was still alive. It amazes me how they turned out from the two of them.'
'Money changes people,' you commented. You assumed 'they' meant his family, or at least more specifically, his mother and her two brothers, one of which had been gone for years.
He scoffed, 'fuck my family.'
Throwing caution to the wind, you asked, 'is that where you were?' You couldn't have guessed, given he was usually extremely angry and frustrated when he'd spent time with anyone in the Thrombey-Drysdale family tree.
He frowned and nodded.
'What happened?' You couldn't resist.
'Harlan's memorial.'
'Oh' . You said unable to think of anything else to respond with, because really what else could you say. He’d attended a memorial for the grandfather that would still be alive had it not been for him.
'Oh, indeed,' he mused, long fingers flexing around the mug. 'Surely, you’ve figured out I wasn’t particularly welcome.'
You couldn't say more, he wasn't wrong. You bit the inside of your lip and swallowed hard. He needed comfort. But would you give it to him? Was he deserving of that? Hell no, but your heart ached for him a little. It couldn't have been easy. But maybe this was his punishment for avoiding the ultimate consequence.
'Go on, say it.'
'Say what?'
'That I deserve it.' He looked at you, 'I know that’s what you’re thinking.' He leaned back, 'maybe you’re right.'
Well, that threw you. 'I don't know what I'm thinking, to be honest.' You leaned forward, intending to slip the mug from his hands and take them in yours, but you caught yourself and stopped. That was a step that you weren’t quite ready for, or willing as might be more accurate, to take. 'But, I can tell you're hurting and despite what happened, how it happened, you deserve to say goodbye without the rage and selfishness that got you here.'
'Well,' he leaned back and took another sip from his mug, 'that’s certainly not what they thought. Meg assured me I'm still the stuck up prick without my trust fund.'
A small smirk played over your lips, barely noticeable, 'fuck your family.'
'Careful, Sweetheart,' he smirked, but there was no threat in his words, not this time. He was genuinely amused.
You managed a slight shrug, 'If there’s one thing I learned from writing about you and your ridiculously entitled family tree, it's that each and every one of you is all about everyone for themselves.' You took a deep breath, waiting for the repercussions to fall. 'What happened, happened. Now, this is what you have, so own it.'
You flinched a little as his hand reached to scrub at his clean shaven chin, finger tracing his bottom lip as he studied you for a second before he took a deep breath and reached back for his mug. 'I think you need to make this for me more often.' He stated simply, and just like that, the deep foray into his emotions and psyche was over, and the barriers were closed once more.
'Sure.' You nodded. 'Whatever you want.'
At that he gave a little scoff. 'Sure, whatever I want.'
Silence filled the room again, your mind not sure what to make of that last comment, and his was clearly working overtime, you could tell by the way his eyes were still glazed as he simply stared down at the mug in his hand. The rest of the time you sat by the table was quiet, and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. This was the first real meaningful conversation you’d had with him since arriving here. Sure you’d talked, but never once had you got any insight into what exactly made him tick. You’d learned more in the last ten minutes or so than you had in the entire six weeks you’d been his captive.
His captive.
The words echoed in your mind and you swallowed as you remembered exactly what it was you were doing here. This wasn’t by choice, this man wasn’t your friend or your lover, he was your captor, keeping you for his own entertainment, which he was no doubt going to be seeking from you again tonight.
'I think I need a shower,' he leaned forward, disturbing your thoughts.
'Okay,' You replied. 'I'll, uh, well you know where to find me when you're ready for me. Anything in particular you'd like me to wear tonight?'
'No, not tonight,' he answered with assurance, his voice carrying a low yet soft tone. 'You can go read or whatever it is you do when I'm gone.' You blinked, temporarily dumfounded and he looked at you, snorting a little. 'What? You want me to come and have my way with you?'
'Is that a trick question?' You blurted out before you could stop yourself, before you swallowed and waited for the admonishing, but it never came. Instead he chuckled and shook his head.
'Didn’t think so.' With that he rose from his chair, reaching for your empty mug as he passed. His fingers lightly brushed yours and you were jolted by the sudden sparks that flew up your arm and you took a little breath as he passed, depositing your mugs in the sink. Without another word he breezed from the kitchen for the first time, leaving you alone in the room.
It left you perplexed. Completely and utterly perplexed. He never left you alone, even the weeks on your cycle he’d found other ways for you to satisfy him, with your mouth or your hand for instance, but tonight…
Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your room. You didn’t even look at the main door to the house, there was no point. It was always locked and you knew what the consequences would be if you left. Besides, you wouldn’t get far. Not to mention you had no idea where you actually where and the thought of being outside alone in the dark, frankly scared you to death. No, you were better here. At least you knew it was warm, and familiar.
You headed down the stairs and got ready for bed. You settled in with your book, and after a while your ears pricked up as you heard footsteps outside your room. You swallowed, clearly he had changed his mind. But, as you set your book aside, it wasn’t the sound of the door opening followed by his feet padding down the stairs that you heard, it was the lock clicking as he shut you in for the night.
The sound of the doorbell jerked you away from your memory. Ransom frowned and looked up from the screen of his laptop before his eyes caught yours and he gave a little smirk.
“Expecting someone?”
You rolled your eyes at his asshole joke and he chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone. As he saw who it was at the door his good humour slipped from his face and without another word he rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway and turned to you. “No funny business, remember…”
“Yes, I know.” You replied quietly. “You know where my family are.”
He hesitated, almost as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and left the room to answer the door.
The study wasn't far from the lounge merely the next room down, and the lounge was closest to the door so you tuned your focus to the voice speaking with Ransom. You recognized it and suddenly found yourself adjusting your tee and duster, making sure the cuffs on your jeans were even. You could hear the distress in his tone, the guest was unwanted and you hadn't realized you were now in the hall beside him. You noticed he took a step back towards you, as if he knew you were there.
Linda Thrombey's eyes raked over you, in shock and disbelief. “What the hell is she doing here?”
As she glared, you shifted uncomfortably, your hands pulling on the sleeves of the duster sweater you wore as you swallowed.
“She’s with me.” Ransom replied, his tone even.
“With you as in 'with you'?” Linda turned her eyes back to him, distaste evident on her face.
“Is that a problem, Mother, because you know where the door is.”
It was a problem, you could see it in her face as she once more looked at you, but instead of sniping back she simply took a deep breath and cleared her throat.
"No, I just wasn't aware you'd have company." Her eyes flicked back to Ransom who simply shrugged.
"Since when did you know anything about what I do on a daily basis, Mother?"
"Don't start, Ransom. I'm not in the mood and I didn't come here for a fight."
"Then pray do tell, to what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Can you stop being such a sarcastic little shit for once in your life?" she snapped.
You stilled a little, your eyes flicking to Ransom and you were surprised to find that instead of the usual anger you expected, his face remained passive on the whole, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that, well had it been anyone else you'd have sworn was concern. But Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn't concerned about anyone but himself...
“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice still gruff but there was a softer note to his voice. Linda took a deep breath and she shook her head.
"I felt a call to tell you wasn't appropriate and this needed to be handled in person." She fixed him with a look. “It’s your Greatnanna Wanetta. She died last night, Ransom.”
You froze, hearing the news leave his mother's mouth and you suddenly felt sorry for him. Ransom, stood there stoic, his eyes fixated on his mother.
“Was it peaceful?” he eventually asked, his voice measured.
“In her sleep.” Linda replied, her tone soft.
Ransom stayed silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took deep breaths. His expression was unreadable as he simply looked at his Mother, before he raised his eyebrows inhaling slowly.
“Was there anything else?” He exhaled, and Linda simply shook her head at him, a huff of annoyed laughter escaping her.
“That’s all you have to say?” She asked, incredulously, as Ransom shrugged with a petulantly nonchalant air, and you saw Linda’s face redden as she exploded "Oh for God's sakes, Ransom, you really are such a selfish little bastard, aren't you?”
“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his tone measured. “You said it was peaceful and she didn’t suffer.”
“No, I said she went in her sleep.” Linda corrected him. “I imagine she did suffer, how could she not after everything that happened, huh? Hell, she probably died of a broken heart”.
At that you saw Ransom’ nostril’s flare as his eyes burned into Linda’s face, a flush of red rising up his neck.
"Get out," he deadpanned. When Linda made no attempt to move, Ransom stepped forward yanked open the front door of the house, gesturing with his arm. “I’m not gonna ask again. Go.”
"Ransom..." Linda tried to strong arm her way to stay.
"Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" Ransom replied, his voice didn't even raise in volume but something about it made you shiver. He was positively frightening when he was in this frame of mind.
You watched as Linda gave him a final glare and stepped outside without so much as a glance back, the slam of the door behind her making you jump.
Ransom saw his mother out but didn't return to the study, in fact he ignored Y/N's presence in the hall entirely. Instead, he sulkingly moved towards the wet bar in the lounge. He didn't even bother with the glass, he picked up the first bottle he could wrap his fingers around and white knuckled the neck, spinning the cap off, it clinking to the floor. He downed a long pull, the amber liquid burning sinfully as it coated his throat, his eyes stinging but not from the booze.
“Are you okay?” Y/N’s soft voice startled him as he hadn’t heard her enter the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, and turned to look at her, his jaw clenching.
“Did I say you could leave the study? Did I say you could join the conversation with Linda?” His voice was steely, flat, but he knew full well that she understood that to mean he was pissed and she visibly recoiled in the doorway, her eyes widening. When she didn’t answer immediately he slammed the bottle he was holding down on the bar top, and when he spoke again his voice was louder as he demanded an answer. “Did I?”
“No.” She answered with a quiver, “But I…”
“But I…” he mocked, sneering before he scoffed. “You know considering how smart you’re supposed to be, at times you’re really fucking stupid.”
Y/N blinked a little, and opened her mouth to talk but she fumbled over her words as she frantically began to apologise, which simply served to irritate him even more. With a frustrated growl he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to look at his.
"You do as I say, when I say it. That rule has NEVER changed," his voice was filled with venom. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”
“That’s not...” she whimpered slightly, and the grip he had on her face tightened causing her to cry out. “Hugh, please!”
And there it was, that fucking name.
You immediately realised your mistake as his face burned red and his lips curled up into an ugly sneer.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t…you were hurting me and…”
“You think I give a shit?” He spat, and the hand suddenly released your face only to wrap painfully in your hair. Without so much as another word he began pulling you from the room, ignoring your shouts of pain and protest as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists, desperately trying to get him to release you. But it was no good, the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became.
Before you knew what had happened he’d dragged you to the door that led to your room and down the stairs, your feet slipping slightly, causing you to stumble, harshly banging your knee on the bottom few steps where he finally released you, shoving you harshly. Your balance already gone, you stumbled and collided harshly with the side of the vanity table, the pain in your cheekbone causing you to yell out once more as the stars exploded in front of your eyes.
It took you a moment to shake off the daze, and when you finally did you looked up to see his retreating back heading up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. With a gasp you slumped down, your back against the wood of the dressing unit, your hand reaching up to your tender face. From somewhere upstairs in the house you heard another door slam, then a moment or so later there was a roar of an engine, which was followed by nothing but eerie silence.
Hugging your knees to your chest you let out a sob as the tears streaming as uncontrollably down your face.
*****
All he could see was rage. Red, hot, firey rage. He slammed the basement door and didn't miss the bar cart on his way out, a full bottle of top shelf scotch in his hand, coat and keys in the other. He drove for miles, no destination in his conscious mind but a rather interesting one in his subconscious.
Headstones came into view until his SUV stopped at the end of the grassy knoll where the mausoleum stood surrounded by trees. He climbed out of the car, bottle clutched in his hand and shut the door behind him, simply leaning against the dark metal of his vehicle. For a long while, he didn't move, he simply stared at the entry, gulping large pulls of the scotch as he stared. His thoughts raced and raced, almost making him dizzy. It was that or the fast burn of the booze.
It felt like a flash of his life replaying in his mind. His great-nana, his grandparents, his parents, a life of entitlement growing up, parties, recreational drugs, booze, women, his fight with Harlan, his sudden plot to commit murder and then the crime, his arrest, and then the visions came to a halt with a mind bending pain and at the end of that pain was Y/N.
Her face, her scent, her voice. The way she felt beneath him, around him…those breathy, little moans, sighs. They’d connected recently, Ransom was sure of it, ever since he’d invited her upstairs and let her do something as mundane as cook. They talked more, engaged more, he no longer fucked her and left, instead he’d dress and hang around for a while, and he liked it. But then, today, after his Mother’s visit, those eyes which had mesmerised him from the moment he’d met her had once more reflected fear and confusion.
And Ransom didn’t like it.
Where that fear had, at one point, given him a buzz, now it simply served to remind him exactly how things had been when he had first taken her, and he didn’t like that one bit. He’d grown to crave the other things, like the way she would touch his arm or squeeze his hand. The way she smiled and spoke. The way she made him feel human, not some ghastly, beastly monster capable of killing someone. But he hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. He hurt her and did things to her, he was vile and despicable. He WAS those things everyone said.
He was a fucking monster.
He felt the upheaval of emotions begin to collapse around him and he fell to his knees. The sting started and he couldn't stop it. An outpouring of emotions, years, decades even of built up anger, resentment, unhappiness, disgust, fear, pain all erupted in a strangled cry as his chest heaved and his heart raced. Salty steaks of tears wet his cheeks.
And all Ransom Drysdale felt in that moment in time was utter defeat.
His Greatnanna, the only other member of his family who truly ever cared about him, that remained on his side or remotely understood him other than Harlan was now gone and the realization of loneliness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body shook, his chest ached, his mind grew numb and all he could do was cry.
What the fuck had he become, WHO had he become? What did he do? Why did he do it? This was all his fault, Harlan didn't deserve to be cold in the ground. He did this, all of this. Again, but why?
He had absolutely no answer other than because he could.
It grew cold, dark, and late. The scotch was gone, his eyes burned and he couldn't breathe through his nose. At this point he didn't care if he made it back in one piece. He was a piece of shit and deserved everything that came to him by way of a tragedy. He climbed into his SUV and tried to collect enough sobriety to drive towards home. Towards her.
******
You had no idea how long you sat on the floor, but by the time you finished crying and had mustered enough about you to move; you were cold, stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Your face hurt from the blow you’d taken against the dresser, your knee hurt from where you’d banged it but all that paled into insignificance to the pain that was going on inside your chest.
You didn’t understand why Ransom had flipped like he had. For a few weeks now, things had been okay between you, good even. He’d been reasonably amenable to most of your requests and dare you say it, almost happier in himself. But all this served to remind you what lay underneath that façade. A dangerous narcissist with the ability to swap his face and mood at the click of a finger.
Or, in this case, a visit from his mother.
You wiped at your face, hissing as your fingers brushed your tender cheekbone and with a slight whimper of pain you pushed yourself up off the floor and stumbled over to your bed where you lay down and curled up, hugging your pillow to your chest.
You must have dozed off, because the next thing you recall it was dark and you were still cold. Whilst the basement was equipped with heaters, you couldn’t shake the chill from your bones so you decided that your best option to warm up, and ease your aches and pains was a nice, hot bath. Stretching out slightly, you gave yourself a moment before you pushed yourself up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand before you got up and headed into the bathroom, flicking on the light.
You paused at the basin unit, glancing at your reflection and you swallowed at the sight of the bruise that was already forming around your right eye and cheek socket. Swallowing the emotion you felt at seeing your face marked once more in such a way, you turned your attention to the bath and the suddenly remembered that the other night Ransom had presented you with a bag from a Boutique you liked that sold home-made soaps and bath bombs, clearly having been in one of his good moods that day. You had yet to unpack it all and put it in the bathroom, so, deciding that you were going to use one tonight, you turned to head back and grab the bag, but as you emerged into the main part of your room, you were stopped short as a thick chest, covered in a ribbed white tee, a hint of a cardigan peeking out as broad shoulders kept warm by a camel coloured coat blocked your path.
You gasped and felt your belly drop out. Your body immediately began quaking in fear as he stood so close to you. You cowered away, taking a half step back but it wasn't enough to put space between you as his hand gently grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into his chest, a shriek emitting from your voice.
"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't scream, I'm not gonna..." his words trailed off and he just shook his head.
He held you against him. You were sure he could feel you trembling as his large hands pressed against your back. You inhaled a deep, shaky breath through your nose and was met with his scent. He smelled so good, like an expensive aftershave with hints of amber and sandalwood, cedar and vanilla but there was an underlying, distinct aroma of alcohol, scotch you suspected, unless you were mistaken.
You felt his face press into your hair as he took a large, shaky deep breath, as if he was inhaling your scent, which he exhaled before he pulled away, his hands cupping your face. He tilted your face slightly so he could examine your left cheek and you saw him swallow as he took in your bruising. Something stirred behind his eyes, a sad melancholy that you’d seen only once before crossed his arrogantly handsome features, and his head dropped slowly to yours. He held your jaw in his big hands, his lips on yours. You didn’t fight, fighting was futile, but as the kiss continued it soon became clear that this wasn’t like any of the times he had kissed you in the past. No, this one was soft, like a need to just feel you pressed against him. His plump lips pulling yours in and holding you there and you realised, from the lingering taste of something sweet yet ever so slightly tinged with sour, that your suspicions were correct.
Despite your earlier fear, you willed yourself to relax into the relative comfort. It was like he was back to how he had been before his mother had visited and whilst he was in that frame of mine, you knew you were safe, so keeping him there was in your best interests. Your fingers moved from your sides to his chest, the ribbed tee rough against your skin. You continued your movements as his mouth pulled you in just a little more until he traced his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers moved out to and up the lapels of his coat, the soft texture like a cottony suede under your fingertips, before settling on the back of his neck, his smooth skin and hairline a definitive juxtaposition to feel. He didn't balk or pull away as he had done previously when you’d tried to show him affection, and you continued to respond to his kiss, your touch seeming to be a comfort for him and in the back of your mind you wondered what had changed to make him act this way. He broke away and rubbed his nose along yours, almost as if he were touching a butterfly, soft and unsure.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He continued to whisper, over and over. A soft, barely there kiss to your bruises and broken skin and more words, "Let me take care of you."
You were scared to admit that this felt good, the way he was being gentle, apologetic even. Pain radiated from his body once again, like it had just a few weeks ago, his eyes telling you everything he was feeling. The outpouring of emotions there were hard to ignore. You weren't sure if forgiveness was in your repertoire, but compartmentalization was. You looked back at him, and with a slow blink, almost hypnotized, you nod in reply to his request.
Long fingers reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind your ear, the other hand simply cradling your jaw. You swallowed hard as he bent down and placed his lips on your neck. Your body shivered at the feel of his mouth warm against your skin. His breath hot on your ear, “do you trust me?”
"I don't know," your voice was breathy as you replied.
“Let me fix this," his voice wavered. It was a question, not a demand. He nipped at your skin and you shivered again from a combination of desire and disgust at the way this asshole could make you feel, how traitorous your damned body was.
Ransom felt her breath hitch against his touch. She wasn't fighting him, she wasn't combative, she was...receptive. The thought nearly made him crow for, in that moment, he could feel her trust in him coming in, even if she couldn't verbalize it. He was debating on his lips devouring hers but he was... oh God, he was actually afraid of losing her in the moment. Of her closing herself off. No, he thought, it's best to wait. Ignoring the throw blanket on the floor and the mugs of cocoa on the table, Ransom held her face in her hands. "Do you trust me?" He asked again. She swallowed hard and blinked again, slowly. It was as fair if a reply as he'd get. He could see the war in her eyes, her mind battling with her feelings, her heart. "Stay here."
He left her standing there while he started the hot water. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He felt different, better even, from the moment he sought her attention when he'd come home. He started the tub faucet and as he brushed past her again, he shucked his coat, tossing it on her bed. He took a small bag he'd brought her earlier in the week and carried it with him. He emptied the contents of a small vile like bottle and watched a moment as bubbles began to firm in the hot but tolerable water. With the bath filling, he sighed to himself and turned to face her.
He peeled his own dusty blue cardigan over his shoulders and let it set over the basin unit. He pushed the sleeves of his white thermal up his forearms and held his hand out to her. She hesitated but slowly slipped her hand in his. He pulled her close and his hands gathered the lapels of her cardigan and peeled it away from her. Underneath her cardigan, Y/N sported a firm fitting white tee and jeans that looked well fitted for her hips and ass, toned legs, bare feet curling into the tiled floor. Ransom salivated as her nipples hardened through the material. He realized she had no bra on under her tee and his hand gently slipped under her rib cage, his thumb padding over her pert nipple. He lifted the thin white tee away from her body and tossed it to the floor. He was half hard just at the thought of her naked under her clothes and now he was solid. Discomfort growing by the second.
A hooked knuckle traced down her sternum, between her breasts and along the center of her taught stomach. He watched as goose flesh covered her exposed skin. As his knuckle reached the waistline of her jeans, he took to his knees, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her belly, just above her flies. With just his fingers, he undid the button, unzipped the zipper and the peeled the material away from her legs, all the while deep blue eyes peered up at her. He wasn't disappointed to find she'd still worn panties under the rough material, in fact he was delighted. His eyes roved down to her black, lace panties and he reached out, fingers gently tracing long the detailed waistband. Those came down next and as she stepped out of the material, Ransom's hands traced patterns up her leg, faint kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly. He stood and admired Y/N, completely bare, with less than a foot of space between them.
Ransom hummed, his right hand reaching out, pads of his fingers again trailing a path down the valley of her heaving breasts to her navel. He paused as her breathing hitched and with a smirk his hand dropped lower still, over the faint tuft of hair he insisted she kept groomed, his fingers slipping into her folds. She gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he continued to tease her, her hands reaching to up to grasp at his biceps as he played with her. She was wet, so wet from just this little bit of play and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers inside of her.
He leaned forward, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, “Just say the words and I’ll make you feel so damned good, Sweetheart, like you’ve never felt before.” Ransom pulled away, removing his fingers from where they’d been, his hand curling on her hip, sticky with her essence. He backed her toward the tub's edge, his forehead pressed into hers. All motion stopped the second the back of her legs touched the tub. "Get in," he whispered.
You sunk down into the water, the aromatic smell of calming lavender swallowing your senses. Bubbles covered your body, to the point they tickled your collar bone. You eyed him kneeling as he reached over you, grabbing the natural sea sponge loofah and dipping it into the water before he squeezed it over your skin, gently scrubbing. Your face once more met his and you carefully watched him as he exhibited a patience you had never seen from him before. Those blue orbs bore into you, but still he made no move to take you.
And it was unnerving.
But then, as you stared into those deep, icy blue pools something suddenly clicked in your mind. He wanted you to want him. That was what this was about. He’d spent his entire life with people who regarded him as unworthy of love or any kindness and he was seeking validation.
Whilst you could see he was genuinely hurting, you also still knew this man was violent, angry, had taken you without your permission, taken what he wanted from you and when. You knew he would take what he wanted tonight too, regardless of what your answer was, the moment for you to back out had been and gone.
But something felt so good about his touch that you were shivering in anticipation of more rather than in fear and the feeling of enjoyment on your mind started to overpower the feeling of disgust in your belly as your core tightened with each breath you felt against your skin. You blinked, your head a whirl, as you were shamefully turned on despite the depraved nature of this entire situation. You broke from your thoughtful trance as a hand cupped your face, a thumb pad tilting you chin upward just a pinch to look at him,
"What?" You whispered.
"Let me in?" He asked, his tone a bit contrite and hopeful.
When she nodded in a slow reply, Ransom felt his stomach drop out from under him. Butterflies grew to take flight like an albatross deep in his gut. He dropped the sponge in the water and stood tall, towering over the tub. He reached behind his neck, between his shoulder blades and pulled the thermal over his head, his hair catching slightly on the fabric. He ran a hand through it to straighten it back up and tossed the garment to the floor. He watched as her eyes grew noticeably wide as they roamed over his taught, well-formed abs, his bare chest. He flexed a little, his muscles twitching as he focused on the buckle and flies of his pants. He'd kicked his boots off as he'd undone his belt, the clank an ignored sound as all he could do was watch her and she him. Ransom allowed the material to fall between them, his pants hitting his ankles and he was quick to slip out of his pants and socks. He palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs as she watched him touch himself.
He could see the change in her, the look of desire and lust in her eyes. The way she was admiring him now, rather than cowering at him. She was appreciating what was before her. His pale skin, his sculpted body, his naked form. He’s seen her, stripped her bare. But normally he's pulled his dick out and just fucked her. This was uncharted territory, this was new. And he liked it. He liked the way she was looking at him, feeding his ego and willingly participating. This, yes, this was something fun for him. And oh yeah, she wanted this, he could see it all over her.
One foot, then the other, Ransom stepped into the tub and sat opposite of her, careful to avoid the faucet. The water felt inviting, the company even more so. Her one leg nestled between his legs while the other just to the outside of them. She slid her left foot up close to his thigh, bending her leg at the knee. At this new comfortable position, his fingers started drawing intricate circles along her shin and calf. He watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head towards her shoulder, observing him.
As you watched him, carefully, you saw him swallow, the hollow of this throat constricting a little before he took a deep breath, his touch on your leg still feather light. You wanted to lose yourself, give into the desire that you were feeling whether it be wrong or right, at that point in time you were past caring. You were in this position, nothing was going to change that, so was it really wrong to want to feel something more than fear? It was like there was a game of chess being played between your mind and heart, your gut and will.
And then, Checkmate, the idea came to you.
You had a chance here to keep Ransom satisfied but on your terms. You had the power. And as long as you kept it that way you could control his temper and his actions, and get what you now shamefully admitted to yourself that you wanted. And the realisation that you had the winning move here was almost liberating.
Ransom shifted a little, the water sloshing around him as he sat up, his chest poking a little further out of the water as he studied your face, and you waited to see what he would do. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, he was clearly going through a mental battle himself and eventually he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your breasts which were just under the water line and he swallowed once more before his hand on your leg stilled and he squeezed your calf muscle gently before he moved, leaning forward, his large hand once more resting against your cheek as he drew you in for another deep, gentle kiss.
You leaned into him, letting his lips works softly against yours as your hand dropped under the water and grasped his solid cock, giving him a gentle stroke. The kiss stuttered immediately, and he let out a choked groan as his eyes flew open, locking onto yours.
“Sit back.” You encouraged, and he did just that, his back once more resting against the top as you followed him, your hand remaining soft but firm enough to keep drawing those noises of satisfaction from his throat. His head tipped back as he let you take control, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes closing as no words left his lips, no dirty talk, no hissed little demands about what depraved position he wanted you to adopt, nothing. You held the power, and that turned you on in a way it really shouldn’t.
He gave a strangled hiss as you gripped him tighter and then you shifted, letting go to allow yourself to move your right knee to his left side, following with your other, his eyes flying open, a look of surprise on his face as you lined yourself up and his hands reached up, surprisingly gentle as they rest against your hips. There wasn’t much room, but it was doable, and you sank down onto him, his eyes flying to your hips as you both gave a little whimper as he filled you completely.
His fingers flexed against your skin, blunt nails biting ever so slightly, as you remained still, your hands sliding up his chest, curling over his shoulders. He was tense, coiled like a spring, clearly fighting back the urge to slam up into you and you began to work at a little of that tension, fingers rubbing up and down his neck, the index on your right trailing that vein that was bulging along his throat. His eyes never left yours until you softly began to knead at the strained muscles along his shoulders and neck, massaging deeply as you worked at the knots, his hands still resting on your hips, contracting every so often as you found a particularly knotty spot.
Every so often, he would make the slightest of movements, simply because he was relaxed and you could feel your walls fluttering sporadically, just from being full and stretched to your fill. But, still he made no move to take over, until at one point you hit a particularly knotty area at the point his neck met his collar bone and he gave a little jolt which caused you to groan and he opened his eyes, searching almost for permission. When he found no objection, his hands gently started rocking you.
The pressure and friction on your clit was boiling. It was slow and burned in a way that was so delightful it was almost painful. And, before you could stop yourself you were rolling into him as he kept that same delectably slow rhythm, rocking you back and forth slowly, deeply, before one hand left your hips and grasped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss.
Ransom pulled away from her, breathless, his forehead against hers. The words were barely heard, but he knew he said, "I want you..."
"You have me," she replied in a soft whisper.
"Not here," he shook his head, their foreheads rubbing. He glided his nose against hers.
He missed the way she felt around him the second she managed to stand and slip out of the tub. Ransom was quickly behind her, following, bubbles and water dripping to the floor from them both be damned. He followed her to the bed where she stood at its edge, her eyes inviting him. He took a seat, bare ass and thighs soaking the comforter, knees bent over the edge. His eyes roamed her body, taking her all in. His own deep appreciation for her firm an awakening in his soul.
Slowly, just like she had in the tub, one knee slipped passed a hip, the other following. His lips were on her breasts, inhaling the scent of the oils and bubbles clinging to her skin as his tongue traced a hardened nipple and then the other. As he did so, she sunk back down his shaft again, a guttural groan escaping them both. She was ready, the thick vein of his cock giving a seductive friction against her wall.
Ransom ran his hands up and down her back, long index finger tracing up and down her spine as hot open mouth, needy kisses covered as much skin as he could. His hands splayed over her shoulder blades as his hips met her grind, catching her as Y/N arched into his movements. Her head tipped back, sheer wanton pleasure radiated from her with a heat he could almost feel. His mouth moved to the spot he knew drove her wild on her neck under her ear and the little whimper she made was nothing short of delectable.
As he began to lean back towards the mattress, he rolled her body against his, bringing her down with him. He planted his heels against the comforter and scooted them both to the center of the bed, still buried deep inside her. With a hand back to her hip, a gentle grip keeping his own pace with her rhythm, the other tangled in her messy hair as his tongue dove deep into her mouth, savoring each pass her own tongue made against his. He could feel her body flutter against him, sweet kisses her walls made against his solid cock. Her hands braced herself against his broad chest as she sat up, riding him with fluid, long rolls of her hips and he shivered, despite the searing fire between them. He was no longer fighting that desire to take control, he was more than happy to let her take the lead and respond accordingly, dare he say he was enjoying it. The slowness and sheer intimacy was something he never knew he’d craved until now and as she gave a particularly desperate roll of her hips he groaned, "Fuck yeah, Baby, just...like...that..."
A gasp and a shudder ran through you, your walls clenching down on him as a rush of power surged through your entire body. You rolled your hips deeper against him, the friction against your clit nearly too much. You brought your eyes down and looked down at his face, strong jaw, piercing eyes, his thick bottom lip sucked between his teeth. You had full control over him, beneath you he was as powerless as you had been made to feel. "Oh, God," you’re ready to sing a song of pure ecstasy as your body coils and tightens under your own volition. The signs of orgasm were just...right...there.
As you felt a deep thrust from his hips, hitting your sensitive and perfect spot within, your head lulled back and you felt his name roll off of your tongue, "Ransom...."
At the sound of his name spilling from her mouth Ransom gave a groan. It wasn’t Hugh, or Drysdale, it was Ransom. The one thing she had refused to say from day one and she had finally let herself go enough to give in to what he knew she wanted. His chest swelled, a warm feeling flooding from his toes right to his head and he surged up, his lips on hers, the kiss sloppy as with an easy movement he flipped them both so she was underneath him, all semblance of self-control now lost as her voice echoed round his mind, the soft, sultry way in which she’d cried his name repeating like a prayer.
"Gimme one more, baby, just one more..." his hips were thrusting hard, but not painfully so."Say it again, please," his voice was laced with fire and emotion, a whimper or sob nearly on his lips.
"Ransom...." she replied coming again and his fingers gripped into her skin, holding her in place as his seed shot deep into her, filling her, his entire body shaking, no nearly convusling as he came.
Breathlessly, they laid there, his body gently caging her in, her fingers curling around his neck and into the nape of his hair.
“Thank you.” He whispered, and you blinked, not quite sure you’d heard him right.
“What for?” You asked, your breath still punctuated by your gasps as you came down from your high.”
“For trusting me.” His nose nudged yours and you looked into his eyes, “for forgiving me.”
“I’m not sure I have.” You replied honestly, and a frown furrowed his brown before he sighed and closed his eyes, his head hanging a little.
“That’s fair, I suppose.” He looked back at you before he moved, pulling out of you and immediately you missed his presence, the heat of his body gone as he rolled to his side. You waited for him to rise and dress as he usually did but he made no effort to move. Instead he lay still, looking up at the ceiling before he turned onto his side, his fingers gently trailing down your bruised cheek as it brushed the soft pillow when you turned to look at him.
“Can I stay?” He asked.
It was a pointless question. Because, let’s face it, you didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to go he wasn’t going to, and it wasn’t like you could leave. But, nevertheless, the fact he had bothered to ask you in the first place was another first. And you found yourself suddenly believing that if you did say no, he would leave.
Instead you nodded, and he gave you a small smile, not a sneer or a smirk, a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face as he leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.
Together you managed to get yourself under the duvet before you reached up for the lamp and clicked it off before settling on your side, facing away from him.
“My err, my cheek hurts.” You said quietly, offering him an explanation as to why you’d turned your back on him. He gave a small sigh and one of his arms snaked under your neck, the other curled round your bare body, resting just underneath your breasts. He gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, another unspoken apology before you felt him tug you back into him, your back pressing against the hard wall of his chest.
He was the first to fall asleep, his body spent as was yours but you laid there still feeling the electricity roll through your muscles, tiredness settling into your bones. You had given him what he wanted but kept your ground and done it on your terms. It's what he'd needed this entire time, to hear his name from your lips, to be wanted to be cared about, to be "loved". You internally scoffed. To be loved... you doubted he had any idea what that actually meant, to be loved unconditionally. But as you’d questioned the other day over hot chocolate, was that really his fault?
This situation was fucked up. What you were doing was fucked up, but, if giving him what he wanted and what he needed kept you in the driving seat, so to speak, you could work with it.
****
Part 5
#murder he wrote#ransom drysdale#dark ransom drysdale#ransom drysdale x reader#ransom drysdale x you#dark ransom x reader#dark ransom drysdale x reader#dark ransom drysdale x you
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Diabolik Lovers LUNATIC PARADE ;; Ayato Route ー Sub Scenario w/Carla
–> In between the main route chapters, the player is taken to the area map of the Parade where you can freely roam around. There are four different places to visit, each with different mini games and sub scenarios to enjoy.
AREA: GLIMMER DARK STREET
CHARACTER: CARLA
ー The scene starts in Aizen Alley
Carla: ...Hm...
Ayato: The fuck? What’s Mr. Scarf up to, gazin’ at the wall of some dirty alleyway...?
Carla: Who do we have here? ...It is you two...
Hmph...Even if I were to explain, there is just no way you lowlives could ever comprehend.
Ayato: Aah!? The fuck’s your problem...? Are you pickin’ a fight with me, huh!?
Yui: ( It seems like he was really absorbed by the graffiti (1) on the wall... )
Carla: Then take a look...
At this calculated composition, executed in such a way it reflects a sense of nonchalance...This is a high-level artwork.
Ayato: Haah? Artwork...? These scribbles on the wall?
Carla: ...Yes. Furthermore, this deep shade of blue...It is not easy to achieve such depth in color.
Well, I do realize that I am wasting my time by explaining this to people who simply do not have an eye for art.
Yui: ( I-Is that so...? )
( However...After hearing Carla-san’s explanation, this graffiti suddenly looks extremely artistic to me... )
Ayato: Che. Look at you actin’ like you know it all...I don’t like your attitude.
Watch me do this!
*Pssh pssh*
Yui: ...Ayato-kun!?
( He doodled over it with a can of spray paint laying on the floor! )
Carla: ...! You fiend! What are you doing...!?
Ayato: Hah! Oi, take a good look!
I’m ‘bout to make this graffiti a million times cooler!
Who chose this dark of a color anyway...? If you’re gonna put graffiti on a wall, you gotta make it bold! Red’s the way to go!
*Psh psh*
Carla: ...You fool...You have ruined the well thought-out composition...
Ayato: Oh fuck off! Who gives a damn ‘bout ‘composition’ or ‘disposition’? (2) Art has to be impactful!
*Psh psh*
Yui: ( Ayato-kun completely painted over it... )
*Thud*
Ayato: There we go. Yeah, that’s lookin’ more like it!
You have to at least go this far. Way to go, me!
Carla: ...
Yui: ( Carla-san...He’s been silently staring at the wall this whole time...Is he upset, perhaps? )
Ayato: ...What’s wrong, Mr. Scarf? Got a problem with my work of art? Aah?
Yui: ( O-Oh no...At this rate, they’ll break out into a fight...! )
Carla: ...This has its appeal as well.
Yui: Eh!?
Ayato: Aah? W-Well...I guess...?
Carla: With the artwork from earlier...As excellent as it may have been, I did feel as if something was missing.
...Hmph, I see...
Ayato: ...R-Right? When I get serious, this is what I’m easily capable of!
Carla: I see. By mixing in shades of red to the entire piece, it brought out a new depth to the artwork. I would not mind adding this one to my personal collection at home...
...
Yui: ( Carla-san...He froze while looking at the wall... )
Ayato: O-Oi...Let’s get goin’ now, Chichinashi.
Yui: You’re amazing, Ayato-kun. You got praised by Carla-san.
Ayato: Yeah...I guess so. Piece of cake!
Yui: ( Although I’m not sure if Ayato-kun is impressive, or if Carla-san just has a questionable taste in art... )
ーー THE END ーー
Translation notes
(1) 落書き or ‘rakugaki’ can refer to ‘doodles’ in general. However, since they talk about a ‘wall’, I think ‘graffiti’ is probably the most accurate translation here.
(2) Ayato has another ‘I suck at my own language’ moment here since he probably doesn’t know the word 構図 or ‘kouzu’ (composition), so he relates it to another similar-sounding word being 坊主 ‘bouzu’, which is either a Buddhist priest or can be used to refer to a shaved head. :p In my translation, I chose a word which sounds similar to ‘composition’ in English, rather than translating the Japanese word.
#diabolik lovers#dialovers#ayato sakamaki#carla tsukinami#lunatic parade#diabolik lovers translation#lpayatosubcarla
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Hi ! I was wondering if you know any fics that has Stilinski twins, with least to no smut, and hopefully Derek ending up with only Stiles ?
If there's not any, I would really like to read some sterek stories with Stilinski twins and no smut.
Anyway, thank you !! Your recs are always the ones I forward to my friends who are new to the fandom x
Aww. That’s so sweet! 🥰 I love the more boring stilinski twin fics. 🤷🏻♀️ I did include some angst if that is your thing (they are tagged) and also I realize cool story, bro is explicit but it’s a total must read if you haven’t already. AND I had to add the hale twin fic because it’s so fun!! 💜
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As Laura and he start on their roadtrip back to California from New York, the dreams start to get clearer. Every state they cross, Derek can see the outline of his soulmate get more defined, knows that he has brown eyes, a gorgeous smile and fluffy hair that looks soft to touch.
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Then Stuart tells him that Derek asked him out. Only, Stuart is straight, so, Stiles has to pretend to be Stuart and go on a date with the guy he’s been majorly crushing on since freshman year.
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seeing double by redhoodedwolf | 5.7K
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When twenty-year-old born omega werewolf Stiles Stilinski received that cryptic email from his twin brother—who'd been missing for two years exactly—in a language the two of them had made up, his drive to find Stuart is doubled. The search leads him to Oak Creek, the most secured and heavily fortified city in all of California, where he finds that not only is his brother dead, but also the literal alpha of his Dreams in Derek Hale—who just happens to be his twin's Mate and the main suspect in Stiles' eyes. Despite an agreement to fight mutual feelings, the two are still drawn to each other as they try to solve the case themselves, uncovering a plot that goes deeper than the murder of just one wolf.
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Stiles has spent his entire life in the shadow of JJ, his popular, captain of the lacrosse team, jackass twin brother. Now he only has to make it through the summer until JJ goes to college.
Easier said than done when JJ starts hooking up with Stiles' crush, Derek Hale, and there's a dead body in the preserve.
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For the prompt: Derek is straight and his usual grumpy self, Derek also has a twin who is Gay and a complete Player. Somehow, Derek finds himself filling in for his Twin because the Player has double booked himself on the dating seen. Enter Stiles... Maybe Derek's not so straight.
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