#I’m literally even naming my detective Failure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cdyssey · 2 years ago

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Yellowjackets 2.05 Reactions:

The stacks of VHS tapes everywhere in Van’s house/shop are so charming. 😭 The rainbow carpet! The past due bills!

“Parker Posey is my new dream woman. I would marry her today.” So right, bestie.

VAN RECOMMENDING QUEER MOVIES TO PEOPLE. OH, I LOVE HER. VAN’S STORE BEING SAFE FOR QUEER CUSTOMERS!!

Tai collapsing after seeing her ex for the first time in 25 years because she hasn’t slept in, like, five days. Go, girl failure. Give us nothing. <3

Shaunatai friendship moments. 😭 Tai being so gentle with her. I’m actually unwell about them.

“Happy wife, happy life.” I fucking love her.

Atm, Shauna is firmly in nothing-fucking-supernatural-is-happening-here-at-all-camp with Tai and Nat! It’s really interesting that this makes three out of our core four. (I honestly half-suspect that it’s actually four out of four, and teen Misty is just going along with the majority right now to be included.)

Shauna overhearing Lottie creepily prophesy the sex of her baby again and Tai turning around to watch her. 😭

Fucking creepy grown ass detective who is taking this underaged teenager on dates!! Preying on her emotions for a gd case!!!

“I sexually hustled you.” Oh, God, Callie. Go home. ☠️

Good on Callie for figuring out who Matt is by looking at the check!!!! Okay, yes, she absolutely did not need to be having feelings for this man, but also, I feel so bad for her. Everyone this girl cares about hurts her in some unimaginably fucked up way.

“Maybe he did die, and that’s his ghost.” ANANWJJEJWNWDIWWI

Akilah naming the mouse Nugget. ;w;

Misty kissing her and Crystal’s pinky swear. 😭 Mari is 100% manipulating the chore cards.

Callie lying to Matt!!!!!! Oh, God, she’s in it to protect her parents now. Her mom. So fucked up, but so good. All she has wanted this entire time is to feel close to her mother.

“There’s only ever one rule: Win.” Very suspicious line, lmao. I wonder if this is going to end up being Walter’s ethos.

Van immediately knowing that Tai is there about the sleepwalking.

NOT TAI GIVING HER THE BOOB PEN WKQKQKWJEJDJWIEJDJEJD.

THEY WENT TO SHAUNA’S WEDDING. OH, GOD. THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY. And that also means they were together at least for a little bit after returning from the woods. (We know from Jeff’s bro-off with Kevyn that he and Shauna basically got married almost as soon as Shauna got back from the woods. It’s wrenching that Mrs. Taylor was there in so many ways. Wow. For Shauna, who was so entangled with Jackie, and now she’s about to literally live her life. For Jeff, whose two girlfriends died and one of them came back wrong. For Tai and Van and other Yellowjackets if they attended, who had to look at the Taylors and know that they ate their daughter. And even for Mrs. Taylor, a grieving mother. Just one line, but it’s so, so loaded.)

“Promise you won’t freak out.” / “Sure.” / “No.” AJWJWJJWIWJSJDW.

“A fucking cop?” MELANIE LYNSKEY’S EYEBROWS ARCHING EJWJDNS.

CONCERNED PARENTS ASKING THE RIGHT QUESTIONS ABOUT THE COP’S AGE!!! Listen, the Sadecki family is fucked up to hell and back, but I love them.

“So… I did fix it?” / “You-you did that great.” So, so effed up. <33

NAT IS STILL WEARING THOSE GODDAMN LEATHER PANTS. GIRL, YOU’RE GONNA GET AN INFECTION!! This being said, it’s notable that she’s wearing a purple top now.

Akilah being a skeptic too. Also, every time we get a new piece of Akilah lore, I want to die a little inside because it’s so lovely and they’re 100% priming us for her inevitable death. 😭 Her friendship with Tai is so sweet, though.

I love the distinction that Akilah makes here, though—doing the pre-game rituals and going to Lottie’s morning sit-down not because she believes in these things, but because they make her feel good.

“Well, yeah—because you’re totally whipped.” AKKQKQOQIEIEJWJEJDJS. Splashing each other with water. Kids being kids, even in the desolate and unforgiving wilderness. 😭

Oh, God. This Travis/Nat confrontation. So upsetting. Nat immediately fessing up to it is incredible; she’s not a character who likes to deal with lies.

Lottie curling her hand around Nat’s shoulder!!! Gays, we win again.

“Actually, uh, before we go into the black recesses of my soul, I just need a minute.” Same.

MISTYNAT REUNION!!!! What if they kissed between the gate slats. Then what

(I’m sorry. I ship almost all of these women together. I think if this season doesn’t end with ALL of them making out by the fire in Lottie’s compound, it’s a missed opportunity.)

Misty’s look of utter horror as Nat stalks away. She came so far for her.

I know it’s just the effect of Tawny Cypress’s contacts, but Tai’s eyes being slightly red at certain times is just chef’s kiss.

Tai sitting in the chair like a child, knees pulled up to her chest. She looks and sounds so vulnerable, even as she’s trying to be glib.

Misty and Crystal trading secrets back-and-forth QNQKQKKWJE. So funny and so effed up.

You know, I could have done without the shot of the shit and piss being poured out. We can imply that. 😭

KRISTEN. 😭😭😭😭 The fact that she went by the mistaken name just to keep her peers’ approval. So Misty-coded.

OH, GOD. IS MISTY ABOUT TO FUCKING ADMIT TO DESTROYING THE BLACK BOX. NO. NO. NO. THAT MIGHT BE TOO EFFED UP, EVEN FOR KRISTEN.

FUCK, SHE’S GOING TO DO IT.

IT IS TOO FUCKED UP FOR KRISTEN.

“You’re the reason we never got rescued?”

“You’re not that good of an actress.” Fair in this moment, but Misty did slay that Steel Magnolias monologue.

“I’ll… fucking… kill you.” JESUS CHRIST

KRISTEN. OH, MY FUCKING GO D.

I’M LOSING MY SHIT.

GOD, GOD GOD GOD DGOD GOD

I am so FUCKED UP ABOUT THIS.

Directly on the heels of Misty losing her best friend in the wilderness, we get adult Misty reeling over Nat. I am so fucking unwell.

“Maybe Lottie is jealous of what Natalie and I have.” Natalie has two hands, Misty. <3

Walter having done the due diligence of checking to see about Adam’s murder, but coming to the wrong conclusion.

“You think I’m capable of murder?” DIRECTLY ON THE HEELS OF KRISTEN’S DEATH. I’M SO FUCKED UP.

WALTER STILL BEING INTO MISTY EVEN THOUGH HE SUSPECTS SHE’S A MURDERER EJWNDNNE. Listen, I love him, but I think he’s as dead as a doorknob by the end of this season.

“… regardless of your extracurricular activities.” AMQMQKWKDNSSN.

Shauna all dolled up to pretend to have an affair, lmao SNDNSNDNWJNS.

Randy Walsh being such a dumbass is one of my favorite recurring bits. Just stellar.

“After what you and Jeff did, you owe me.” ANQKWJRJWJJWNDJSSN. Where else on television will you find an emotionally unwell, violent MILF who tells her husband’s best friend who blackmailed her friends to go jerk off into a trash can? Go on, tell me.

“Hey. Don’t you you dare think about me.” AKQKQOOQJEEIENNWIEIWKWJDNNENEJD. SOBBING.

Tai playing the mediator between Lottie and Shauna.

NOT TAISSA SNOOPING THROUGH VAN’S MEDICINE CABINETS. GIRL FAILURE, DON’T SCREW THIS UP A SECOND TIME.

Van having cared for her mother—despite everything—in the last years of her life. Goddamn.

“I’m mixing my pop culture metaphors ‘cause I’m fucking upset!” AWKWKWKJEDJWJ. Lauren Ambrose is killing it.

“I’m losing my fucking mind, and I’m terrified!” GOD, THAT WAS VISCERAL. The way she can’t admit to not having been this afraid since the woods. The way she can’t ask for help because she doesn’t want to hurt any other people that she loves. She still loves Van . Absolutely fucking devastating.

Tai breaking down in sobs. I’m so upset. 😭 TAIVAN EMBRACE.

No, Yellowjackets, I did not need to be in the bathroom with Randy Walsh failing to jerk off. Thank you for asking.

Nat screaming at Lottie!!!! “She’s preying and profiting.”

Nat breaking the fuck down in front of Lottie.

“You know what he was going through. You started it.” JESUS CHRIST.

“Maybe that’s true, but I need to know.” YELLS, SCREAMS.

Tai following Shauna out into the woods, even though she’s giving her the silent treatment. 😭

“But I’m rightfully freaking the fuck out about having a baby in the middle of the fucking woods, and news flash, having a bunch of psychos praying for me in some weird fucking tree cult isn’t making my life any easier.” GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD.

“I don’t need your fucking prayers. I need you to have my back.” / “I do.” LOSING MY MIND OVER THESE TWO.

IT’S SHAUNA NEEDING SOMEONE TO BE NORMAL WITH HER, AND TAISSA NEEDING TO FEEL NORMAL HERSELF, TO NOT HAVE ANY MORE NIGHTMARES.

NO, NOT LABOR PAINS. OH, GOD.

Misty sobbing over Kristen. Calling her by Crystal twice before she says her actual name. Ugh. Trying CPR to the Bees Gees. Jesus CHRIST.

Can they go into Randy’s room without a warrant???? Kevyn so badly doesn’t want it to be Shauna. I really do appreciate that about him.

NOT MATT SMELLING THE GODDAMN CONDOM. WHAT IS THIS SHOW.

STRAWBERRIES.

LIKE THE LUBE.

UNREAL.

Javi speaking cryptically about someone not telling him to come back, a “she.” 😬

Misty coming up with a believable lie about Kristen, and one of the last things Kristen ever said to her was that she was a bad liar. FUCK FUCK FUCK.

Van screaming for Tai and Shauna. Misty calling out for Kristen, even though she fucking knows that she can’t hear her.

THE GIRLS RITUALISTICALLY CHANTING. I’M SO FUCKED UP. AND IT’S WORKING. AND TAI’S DOING IT.

Tai finally sleeping soundly at Van’s. 😭

Oh, my fucking God. Van taking the pills out of the trash can.

SLEEPWALKING TAI. THAT EVIL SMILE. THE WAY SHE BOBS HER HEAD. TERRIFYING.

“This isn’t where we’re supposed to be.” AUHDJDWNH.

“He was seeing some girl. Part of me wanted to ruin it. But another part of me just missed him.” This line of dialogue is so goddamn raw and brutal.

NAT OVERDOSING.

NAT ENVISIONING THAT THEY DIDN’T FUCKING MAKE IT. THOSE BURNED BODIES.

THE ANTLER QUEEN?!?!!

WE BROUGHT IT BACK.

WE BROUGHT IT BACK WITH US:

WHAT THE AFTUAL HELL

NAT LAYING HER HEAD ON LOTTIE’S LAP AND THEY’RE FUCKING TEENAGERS AGAIN. I’M

NO, IT’S ONLY NAT WHO’S THE TEENAGER. SHE’S GONE BACK TO BEINT A CHILD. AND LOTTIE IS STILL AN ADULT, BUT SHE’S SEEING THE SHADOW OF THE ANTLER QUEEN ON THE FLOOR AND

DID ALL OF THESE PEOPLE DIE AND LITERALLY COME BACK WRONG

THIS SHOW

#yellowjackets spoilers #yellowjackets #s: yellowjackets #cannibalism tw #THIS SHOW IS UNHINGED #I’M #maggie blogs

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veryferaldistributions · 8 months ago

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Timmy Failure has ASD

I realize I say this about a lot of my favorite characters, but hear me out. Timmy Failure (yes that’s his last name) is an 11 year old boy that lives with his single mother and has dreams of being a world famous detective. He also has autism. “High functioning” autism, if you will, but autism nonetheless. Here are my observations to back up this claim:

* He has only a handful of “friends,” mostly people he is cordial with at school. But no one he really spends time with besides a boy named Rollo. And even then, Rollo doesn’t like him very much.

* His grades are not good (not because he’s not smart, but because he doesn’t think of school as important in the grand scheme of things).

* He is single minded about being a detective (and that’s it).

* He prefers to spend time with his imaginary friend (a polar bear named Total).

* Spends time sitting by a fence and talking to said friend during all of recess.

* He takes things literally and has wild fantasies as a result:

“You should move your office to Broadway.” (Imagines his workspace on a stage in the middle of a broadway performance.)

“Rollo is at his fencing class” (Imagines a classroom where you study different kinds of fences.)

* He wears one article of clothing every day (a red scarf) because it “looks distinctive.”

* Has flat affect and rarely shows emotion on his face.

* And finally, he uses big words in placement of simpler, more child friendly terms. Again, not because he’s a snob, but because these are the words that best suit the situation. Words like affirmative, distinctive, obfuscate, mendacity, negative, demerit, etc.

I’m not sure if Stephan Pastis wrote him this way on purpose, but it definitely helps Timmy stand out as a, to use his word, distinct character.

#timmy failure #stephan pastis #mistakes were made #autism #asd

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athenamikaelson · 3 years ago

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Jason Todd x reader where she's super stressed about college but Jason takes care of her.

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings- Swearing, slight angst, exhausted reader.

Word Count- 1.2k

Request- Jason Todd x reader where she's super stressed about college but Jason takes care of her.

“Y/n? Where are you?” Jason’s voice came from the entryway. Looking up from my computer that held the lame excuse for an essay on the screen, with a sigh. I called back to him.

“In the bedroom, Jason.” Not wasting another second away from my essay for my stupid Physics class I put my attention bacl onto the screen. It’s hard to focus though because of the sound of Jason’s loud footsteps making their way to the bedroom.

I can hear the doorknob to the bedroom move as I try to focus on the screen. Placing my fingers on the worn keys of the laptop I try once again to answer the so-called simple prompt question.

“Hey Babe, what are you doing?” I didn’t even know Jason had already entered the bedroom and was now behind me. Wrapping his large arms around my shoulders in a makeshift hug. Him having to awkwardly lean down because of my sitting position.

“A paper.” I quickly respond trying not to draw too much attention from the paper, I know if I give in to looking at Jason I won’t be able to stop.

I feel Jason's arms slightly tense.

“And how long have you been doing this so-called paper?” His voice comes out to me slightly unsure.

I just roll my shoulders so his hands drop.

“Clearly not long enough, I barely have 3 pages written.” I give a terse response.

A rough laugh comes from the 6’4 child behind me and I whip around in my chair.

“Why the hell are you laughing at me?” I raise my hands in exhaustion as I question him. He must’ve noticed my lack of humor because he slowly recollects himself and places his hands onto my cheeks. Which would’ve made a smile come onto my face if it weren’t for me being stressed the fuck out.

“Baby I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at the fact that you think having 3 pages isn’t nearly as impressive as it is. When I was in school the most those damn teachers got me to write was 2 pages.” Jason says as he lifts one hand to a piece of hair the had fallen out of my ponytail and brushes it behind my ear.

“No offense Jason, but that was highschool. This is college. Everything is ten times the work. And if you don’t do it well enough you’re a failure.” I respond as I push away from him in my chair and swing back to my laptop. I’m about to start typing again when the chair gets swung around again to face Jason.

“Jason Peter Todd, let me work.” Jason just raises one perfect eyebrow in response to my use of his whole name.

“Y/n, I’m going to ask you a question and I want a true answer please.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I slightly nod my head.

“How long have you been sitting behind that screen and working on that paper?” I just sigh as I look down to my hands embarrassed and shrug my shoulders. Jason’s fingers come under my chin and raise my face to look at him.

“Baby you can tell me. You know you don’t have to be embarrassed of what I think of your schooling, right? I would never judge you on that. And besides that, I literally dropped out of highschool.”

“Well, you didn’t really drop out Jay, you died so.” I quietly responded. Jason’s fingers on my chin go taunt for a second before a huge laugh emits from his mouth. HE quickly collects himself before giving me a knowing look.

“Don’t be thinking you can divert the question with little remarks, Doll. I was raised by one of the best detectives. I will find out the answer to that question even if I have to sit here all night.” A smirk and a raised eyebrow plastered on his face.

I sigh and place my head in my hands.

“7 hours. Alright Jason. 7 freaking hours and this is all I have to show for it. How pathetic is that?” I practically cry out, exhaustion finally starting to set in.

I glance up to Jason after not hearing a response, only to see him staring down at me with a torn expression on his face. Something slightly changes as a small smile breaks out onto his face.

“Wait here.” He tells me with a point of finger. He starts to bolt to the bedroom door but turns around and does a motion with his fingers to show he’s watching me and then leaves. I just kind of sit there stunned and confused for what seems to be at least 5 minutes. A thought had crossed my mind that maybe Jason had left but from the sound of something breaking in the kitchen a minute ago changed that. I waited for another minute before Jason slammed the door and opened the door with a proud smirk taking over his face. He held up a hand for me to take which I just looked at then back at my laptop screen, that had now turned black from lack of activity. Jason clearly didn’t like the lack of any hand in his because I felt two big hands wrap around my waist and felt myself being hoisted over Jason's shoulder. My face smack in front of his ass. Not the worst sight ever.

“Jason Todd! What are you doing?” I screech, squirming in his arms.

“Would you stop moving, I don’t want to drop you.” Jason says as he starts walking towards the living of our shared apartment. After a moment Jason carefully places me on my feet.

“Ta-Da!” Jason exclaims as he reaches his arms out to his “masterpiece.” I look out to the livingroom and freeze. The middle of the living room is covered with continuous amounts of throw blankets and pillows made to look like a fort of sorts. Leftover snacks from the cabinets all placed together along with 2 beers.

“Baby why are you crying? Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry I broke the glass sculpture of that cat Damian made. But come on, it was from the demon. It should’ve been thrown out a long time ago.” He rambled on. I just stared up at him in awe. Wiping at the tear that was rolling down my cheek before throwing my arms around Jason’s neck hugging him.

“Thank you.” I whisper to him, squeezing him a little tighter. Jason’s arms find their way around my back and he kisses the top of my head.

“You need to start giving that beautiful mind of yours a break more often, Y/n. It’s not healthy to stare in front of a screen and berate yourself like that for so long.”

“I know. I just really want to pass this essay.” I confess.

“Well you don't have to worry about that because you’re the smartest person I know. Don’t tell Tim I told you that.” Jason tells me with a slight kiss on the tip of my nose.

“And besides, I’m sure that vigilante Red Hood wouldn’t mind giving your professor a little talk about a passing grade.”

#jason todd titans #jason todd #titans jason todd imagine #bat family #dick grayson titans #dick grayson #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #jason todd imagine #athenamikaelson #author

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

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

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

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

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

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

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

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Window. It’s a window.”

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

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

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

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

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

Yes that was it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

And now she was all his.

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

*****

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

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

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

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew then, you were in for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**** Part 2

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

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deductivisms · 2 years ago

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i’m just going to start dumping detective thoughts here for no reason i’m going to talk about ellery queen from decagon house murders but also ellery queen (ellery queen)

i’ll get into slight / implied spoilers because i can’t shut up but anyway

having read an ellery queen novel after decagon, it’s very clear that yukito ayatsuji wanted to reflect the essence of the character in his own take on ellery

the mystery club in decagon all take on aliases of famous detectives, they’re familiar with their namesakes which is why “ellery” being the way that he is is kind of striking: he presents himself as the detective in the story despite the fact that out of all of the members (whose names are taken from carr, van dine, leroux, agatha, orczy, poe, etc) his namesake is probably the “weakest” link which doesn’t mean that ellery queen’s writing is bad but rather the detectives in the stories written by the characters’ namesakes are -- afaik -- good at their jobs whereas ellery queen, despite getting it right in the end, has a pretty high failure rate of pointing out the culprit in his stories

i’ve only read one of his novels, but ellery got the identity of the culprit wrong three different times before finally getting it right in the end -- and he’s like that by design.

ellery queen isn’t a great detective. in his novels he’s literally a writer whose greatest asset is his creativity -- but he is not a traditional detective.

yet the ellery in decagon assumes the role of “detective” in the story, committing to his theories in much the same way the actual ellery does, and winding up off the mark just the same -- it was a really nice homage by ayatsuji, even to the point of ellery coming back to evidence he previously discarded.

but it also makes decagon’s ellery really fascinating: if you know his namesake you kind of already expect that this guy is a flop -- after all, he’s named after a guy who’s wrong most of the time, who stumbles more often than other detectives, and who is different from the other cast members because “ellery queen” is both the name of the character in the novels but also the “name” of the author (who is actually two authors using the same pen name)

much like the real ellery queen, he’s an author character who also plays the role of the detective in the story .. that’s weird. it sets him apart from the other characters and makes him believable as the one who takes on the role of “detective” -- he’s basically a plot device.

it falls in line with his personality: someone who’s almost too charismatic and confident and eloquent to be real. someone who acts more like a character than a human being. readers love him because he acts like a fictional character; he, more than anyone else in decagon, is a stock character.

i also want to point out, again, that the other characters are named after writers, not their characters. instead of philo vance we have s. s. van dine. instead of dr. fell we have john dickon carr. there is no miss marple or hercule poirot but agatha christie etc etc it’s an obvious setup by ayatsuji to communicate “these are not detectives, they’re mystery writers,” yet ellery queen himself is allowed to be the “detective” because ellery queen exists as both.

it’s an excellent piece of misdirection that tricks readers into thinking that they can trust ellery queen -- but similarly to how the characters are named after authors and therefore not detectives, ellery queen is not a real author, but a character in a book.

he plays along with the real culprit’s intentions, the culprit who is named after an author, who essentially constructs the mystery, but what’s brilliant is that readers don’t get a sense of this until further into the novel, when ellery starts displaying his core trait of being horribly committed to an incorrect theory.

it’s one of my favorite things about decagon, and why i love ellery as a character. his cockiness and arrogance makes no fucking sense because he’s named after a flop detective who -- compared to his fellows -- is basically a court jester and yukito ayatsuji does such a good job of tricking even those familiar with queen into falling for his charms.

and like i don’t want to say ellery is stupid because he’s not but his greatest asset is also his greatest vice: he’s very imaginative, he’s different from his peers (that being other detectives) because he’s not forensically trained; he’s a writer who loves sticking his nose in detective work, and this perspective also allows him to formulate unique insights. it reflects well in decagon ellery, who clearly identifies himself as a mystery novel fan, who is extremely genre savvy, and believes he knows what he’s talking about.

his attempts to solve cases reflect the actual ellery’s, and his gambits themselves are very clever -- they just so happen to lead him to attaching to the conclusion that’s most literary and entertaining, rather than the conclusion that’s more rational, and that flaw is what makes him so likeable.

he’s just. a really good character and probably one of the best examples of an expy i’ve ever read.. major props to ayatsuji for writing such a silly little guy-

#memo #detective tag

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shouta-aizawow · 3 years ago

Note

Sorry I've been super stressed with classes and shit, so i wasn't thinking a lot of ask :'( But this: Short Katsuki, i mean, everyone has a grown sprout except him, so he's one of the shortest of the class. It's funny see it from outside, because you got all this tall person hyper afraid of this little feral gremlin, and so people start understimating him, his mistake. Btw, i really love how you put the ask i do, you are an awesome persone and writer, and whoever say otherwise is lying.

YOU GEM IM SO SORRY ITS BEEN OVER A YEAR I AM ASHAMED!!!!!

I love you and your asks it was just too much brain power for me I’m sorry 😭😭😭

BUT!!! I’ll work through them all soon enough!!! (Hopefully…) Winter break babeyyyyyyy >:D

Okay anyway!!!!!

Short Katsuki will always have a place in my heart. Like, tbh idrc if he’s tall (as long as he’s shorter than his s/os most of the time), but!!! It’s such a peak flavor

I feel like the girls and Sero and Denki would make fun of him the most, but after a while they realize that a Katsuki that feels slighted is a Katsuki that’s dangerous, and their mere existence is now a perceived slight

No one in 1-A is safe

He is 100% willing to take the “ankle biter” and “all you can reach is my shin” comments seriously and actually put his teeth and target practice to good use

After all, if they can’t use their legs, they can’t stand above him

(I just imagine him taking out those mocking him one by one XDDD)

By the end of his time at UA, all of his peers know that making height jokes is the same as putting their names in the Death Note

Ofc Katsuki never does any serious permanent harm or anything, but he’s so creative and intelligent that he always knows the best way to get them back, and it’s absolutely terrifying

The pro hero’s took a while to truly understand the fear, but they came around quickly

Villains, however, have not learned this lesson yet, unfortunately.

———

In his early pro hero years, Bakugou was only really known as the feral kid that got kidnapped by villains multiple times. On tv, he always seemed like a monster, so to speak. Larger than life, all bark all bite.

Despite this, due to the media’s obsession with broadcasting all his failures and weak moments, the professional world (both on the villain and hero sides) never really took him seriously.

This is made even worse when, in person, they see this bomb come onto the scene in all his 5’8” glory, rushing in with a 6’5” teammate.

Needless to say, the current villain they’re taking on needs a moment to catch their breath, for that is the funniest thing they’ve seen in a while.

Amidst the cackles and the gasps, they manage to croak out a weak “I can barely see you! What’re you gonna do, kid? Aim for my knees?”

They’re too busy taunting Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight to notice the wide eyed, frantically shaking head of Red Riot, the current tall companion of the day.

It doesn’t take long for them to bite their tongue, both literally and metaphorically, because aiming for the knees is exactly what prohero Dynamight chooses to do.

Which is then followed by a few punches here, a couple kicks there, a multitude of explosions everywhere until they can’t catch their breath for reasons other than amusement.

When the villain is huffing and puffing and in pain, sprawled on the cracked asphalt, they stumble to their feet, ready to attempt a retaliation strong enough to buy themself some time.

But looking around, they can’t see Dynamight anywhere…

“Howitzer—“

Oh fuck.

“Impact!”

———

Anyway, even after that battle, which was ofc broadcasted live, some villains still tried to mock Dynamight for his short stature.

It took a while, but after every villain doing so woke up the same way—in the hospital, chained to the hospital bed, looking at doctors, detectives, and policemen alike—they knew to keep their mouths shut when it came to Dynamight’s height.

———

Yes ofc Red Riot decided he wasn’t gonna get involved from the first hit

ONE DOWN 12 MORE TO GO AHHHHH IM SORRY AGAIN I LOVE YOUUUU

If I get through them all before the end of the year I’m throwing myself a party XDDD

Two of them are song recs, though, so that’s exciting!!!! (All of them are but I love being recced stuff)

I appreciate all the asks I promise but I was too stressed and then I forgot abt them for MONTHS and boooo me 😭😭😭

BUT ALSO YOURE SUPER SWEET FOR THAT LAST BIT YOURE ALSO AWESOME AND I LOVE SEEING YOUR WRITING IN THE KARIBAKU DISCORD 🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡🧡

#wow! asks!#MOLI I LOVE YOU IM SORRY 🧡🧡🧡🧡#hopefully it doesn’t take another year for me to answer the next ones <3 #no promises though I have zero faith in myself #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou katsuki #bakugou #bakugo katsuki #bakugou headcanons #bnha headcanons #short Bakugou

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whitehotharlots · 4 years ago

Text

A true story about rehab from 2007

Names and places changed, dates slightly fuzzy, yada yada

This all starts with Chris. Chris might be a good example of how things are objectively broken.

Two summers ago, Chris and his girlfriend moved from everyone's old hometown, Alton, to everyone's current home, Garden City. I had known Chris briefly when I still lived in Alton, which was up until about 8 years ago. In high school he was friends with my sister, a year behind her, I think, only he had some legal trouble and didn't graduate until two years after her. The first arrest came during his junior year, when police found some marijuana in his car while he was in class. "Apparently Alton is a utopia," he said years later. "No robberies need solving, no cars need ticketing, no fences need mending, fuckit nobody's house must've been dirty because if there was anything else even remotely worthwhile that those cocksuckers could have been doing they wouldn't have taken a drug dog through the high school parking lot."

The ironic part was that he was, honest-to-god, holding it for a friend. Hadn't touched the stuff until then, hadn't even drank more than a beer or two. Cops came in and pulled him out of class. Cuffed him right there in class, in front of everybody. From what I've been able to piece together that marked a very strong loss of innocence for young Chris. No rules were worth following, after all, if The Bastards could punish you for nothing. This was greatly exacerbated by the fact that, according to several of the best lawyers Alton had to offer, the search of Chris' car was unconstitutional as it was not actually parked in the school parking lot, or even on school grounds, at the time of the search. The juvenile court judge would hear none of it though—all the police had done was break Chris' constitutional right to privacy. He had committed the much greater crime of having an eighth ounce of marijuana in his glove compartment.

His claim of having his rights violated incensed the judge, who sentenced our poor Chris to 72 hours in county jail and 12 weeks of rehab. Were it not for his successful, stable family, he would have been sent to juvie.

It was his first offense. He was 16.

Jail, he said, wasn't that bad. He got to do it over a weekend. The guard was an old lady and even though she was kind of a bitch she let him bring in his homework. She said she was surprised to see someone his age in here, with the adults, but whatever he had done it must have been pretty bad or else he wouldn't be here, would he? They kept him away from the drunks at night and the only other people who came into the "pen" (his word, not mine) were guys who got bailed out within a couple of hours and were too pissed off about their own bad luck to give him any shit for his.

What really fucked with him was rehab. It didn’t matter that he'd never smoked a single joint (or even a cigarette) at this time: he was an addict and by gum he had to admit to being an addict before the obese, shit-smelling overseer would sign the form saying that Chris had attended his sessions. Every weekend for three months he was legally forced to lie. Yes, he said, he was an addict. Yes, even though it made no sense in any grammatical or even symbolic context, he was forced to say "my name is Chris and I'm a narcotic." His personal habits were picked apart—why was his hair so long (it wasn't that long, really)? Why did he wear the same pants on Sunday that he wore on Saturday? Who were these "Dead Milkmen" that his T-shirt spoke of? Ohh… and surely this is a good-tempered, Christian punk band, right? No? Well you see right there that's a part of the problem. Have your mother sign a note saying you've thrown out all of their CDs and any other enabling you might own. No—you can't sell them, you must throw them out.

"We had to go in a day and a half every weekend. All day Saturday and then Sunday from noon until 4. It took me five weeks, when I was starting to get comfortable, before I asked if I could come in Saturday afternoon and all day Sunday. It worked out better for me that way, since the place where I worked wasn't open Sundays. The fat guy just opened his mouth and would not close it. 'When would you go to church?' he said. By then I knew enough to laugh and say 'oh yeah what was I thinking.'"

A few of the people had actual problems. One guy got caught with meth, was beating the shit out of his wife and his two little girls, and seemed genuinely remorseful. Another guy had to drink a sixer every morning or else he'd get the shakes so bad he wouldn't be able to drive to work. But most of the people there were more or less normal and had either fucked up once or else been fucked over once—got into a bar fight while legally drunk, blew .02 over the legal limit at a roadblock, smoked pot once every few weeks and got narced on by a snitch, that kind of stuff. These people were split over how much they believed the bullshit they were being fed. Those who believed, as the official literature did, that being hungover once in your lifetime or ever drinking more than 4 beers in a sitting two or more times in a month are both signs of hardcore alcoholism, they became repentant and preachy.

One such lady was a thin, tan, well-dressed soccer mom who would snitch on the others when they didn't pay close enough attention to the instructional videos or else would appear in any way to not be taking things seriously enough. If you were bad you got demerits, credit card-sized pieces of construction paper upon which frowny faces and intimidating biblical verses were printed. The overseer would also scribble something down in his notebook, which must have had some kind of official weight because it was on his person at all times.

Most people have an innate desire, however illogical it might often be, to please authority figures, and so Chris and the rest of the doubtful "addicts" thought the embarrassment of getting their reprimand literally handed to them was punishment enough for resting their eyes or letting a stray giggle break loose when the acting in an informational film was especially bad. Chris made only one such mistake. During a lecture, the overseer kept making the point that it wasn't the drugs that people get addicted to—oh no, it's the high that keeps you coming back. Chris smiled—remember at this point he still probably hadn't ever been high, not in his whole life—because it seemed like such a stupid, nonsensical thing to say, because even though he was only 16 he could appreciate moments like this, when the moronic essence of a big, scary process could concentrate itself into a single sentence.

"It's not the drugs: it's the high," the man said. He was very clean shaven, dressed like a detective in a 70s cop show, his hair was combed so straight it was like wire, his glasses were round and cruel looking and he had this, this look on his face, this air about him like he thought he was a genius. He nodded a little bit after the repetition of his idiotic point. Proud—he was actually proud of the things he was saying, proud of his position, proud of getting to fill the heads of desperate or else unfortunate people with nonsense. And this made Chris smile—not laugh, just smile, and the soccer mom pulled on his ear really hard, so hard it made his eyes water, and then she raised her hand to snitch on him. The proud overseer was still proud, looked like a king in an old movie, and with the most serious air Chris had ever seen, the fat man called him up before the entire room. His eyes were still watery from the shock of having his ear nearly yanked up and so he looked down, towards the ground, so people wouldn't think he was crying.

"You ashamed of something," the fat overseer asked. Chris didn't say anything. "Look up," said the overseer. Chris kept looking down. His chest moved in and out heavily and his fists were clenched, and he wasn't sure but he may have been crying normal tears by this point, but they were out of rage, not sadness. Or—no…really what's the difference between those two, and it's impossible that the immense hopelessness of his situation and the utter retardation of his surroundings hadn't saddened somewhat. If it were just rage making him cry then he would have also lashed out, punched the overseer or at least called him a name. No. No, the hopelessness must have stung enough to make him sad. But his tears were out of rage primarily, and out of nothing even close to shame.

"Look up. Now."

He did. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were tightened into red little slits but he looked more defeated than mean, more helpless than threatening.

"I want you all to look at this face. Soak it up. Take it all in. Done? Give you another second. Okay, now you're done. This, people, is what failure looks like. Some of you will see it again, right here. This is what it looks like when you don't take yourself seriously, when you don't care enough about yourself to appreciate the chances that are being given to you."

He extended a demerit card towards the Chris’ face. It was accepted without a whimper.

Weeks later, it came time for Chris and the gang to "graduate" from their classes. By this point, Chris had gotten drunk several times (even puked, once) and tried to smoke pot a few times but it hadn't done anything to him. Maybe he was just too drunk to feel it or he wasn't inhaling right, who knows. Anyhow he figured a few bong hits wouldn't hurt before he had to show up to the ceremony, right, since he hadn't felt anything yet. And, man, it was a blast because he was high as a fucking kite at the graduation, must have shoved 20 inches worth of the party sub into his mouth and downed at least 7 flutes of sparkling grape juice.

His mother and stepfather—both stinking rich, by the way, disheartened by the lad's sudden fall from grace and more than a little pleased to see him making such a fast and exemplary recovery with the aid of such a caring and competent program—were dressed to the nines. His mom was making time with the addicts. This was her wont, the irresistible, flirty friendliness that drove her from the dregs of society (Chris' biological father) all the way to where she was today. While this was going on, Stepfather gracefully let loose to the riffraff around him all those little signs that showed that he was a kind man, but of great consequence. He'd talk about sports while stretching him arm just so, just far enough to let his fancy watch fall into view. He'd offer to lift heavy objects as an excuse to show off his bed-made tan, his gym-toned arms and back. All of your jokes made him smile, but only just long enough for you to get a glimpse of his perfectly straight, snow white teeth. Both of them kept making their way over to Chris, who had stationed himself near the concessions table, to whisper into his ear how proud they were of him for pulling himself around and hint bluntly at him still receiving for his birthday a new car. All the while, through this bleary, more-or-less with it haze, feeling content and calm with his surroundings and his high, Chris kept thinking about how much he had it made. Everyone was a sucker, it seemed, but him. Really, wow. Everyone is stupid but me.

The soccer mom cut quickly around the room, stopping alongside each cluster of people and telling them that something important was about to happen, it was time for everyone to walk into the little classroom where they normally met. "You're not gonna want to miss this" she said, looking right into Chris with a mean little smile on her face that she knew would scare him. Oh god, Chris though, she knew that he was high. What was she in here for—ooh shit man, you've heard her talk about it 100 times. Vicodin, right. Vicodin and wine, passing out while one of her kids started a fire. That's right. Calm down. She wouldn't have known what someone looked like when he was high on pot. Mom and Stepfather couldn't even tell and they saw Chris every day. Calm down.

Chris shoved a few more bites of party sub into his mouth. His mom laughed and said "getting better must make you work up an appetite, huh?" Stepfather laughed. Chris couldn't say anything, not even by the time they had walked all the way into the classroom and sat down on little folding chairs, because there was so much sandwich in his mouth. Things began to quiet down within a couple of minutes. The overseer, smiling, poked his head out of his office and waved to the small crowd. People clapped a little bit. Chris noticed that "AWARDS RECEPTION" had been written on the blackboard with colored chalk, the letters alternating blue to red, blue to red. A stack of certificates sat on the table up front. The overseer waddled to the table and gestured towards his office and a large, black policeman walked from office to the entrance. He looked all business. There was another one who poked his head out from the office and then the overseer was still smiling, like the soccer mom he was wearing big, mean, fake smile and Chris sunk into his chair and moaned a little bit because he knew he was about to get arrested, again. Arrested in front of his parents.

Mom asked stepfather what the policemen were hear for the stepfather said—ahh the great rational bastard, it was all Chris could do to stop himself from hugging him—that since this was an official presentation, court mandated and all that, they must have some cops come and witness it. That's all it was. Nothing to get too upset about. Still—gotta stay calm. If the cops took no notice of Chris then they wouldn't take any notice of his being so incredibly fucking high.

"Well," the overseer began. Chris was hyperobservant and noncritical and he realized for the first time how long it took the overseer to get through sentences, because of all of his fat. He'd pause every few words and take in a deep breath from his gut. When he spoke it was in these bursts that were effeminately condescending but still bulky and powerful. Like, if being told you were bad by a sharp-tongued gay man didn't hurt you then maybe being yelled at by an abusive gym coach would. Only he wasn't a gym coach and probably wasn't gay, either. Talked about his wife and kids all the time. This was an act. He had measured out this persona for himself. This was some kind of cruel professionalism.

Jesus, Chris thought to himself. Pot fucks up the way you think about things. How long had it been since they sat down? How long since he'd been scared by the cops? When was the guy going to start talking—ohh, wait he's already talking. Might want to listen:

"And this is what this program is supposed to achieve: smiling faces. Not just the smiling faces of those who are on roads to recovery—their own personal roads—but of their families and their friends. The selfishness might end here. The pain they have caused you, that they are sorry for, might end here. But it's up to everyone here to make sure that all of these faces keep smiling."

He paused—too long. Wanted people to clap for him. They did. Then they finished. He continued. His tone was different. He had sounded like he was reading off a card. Now he sounded more like he normally did, during classes.

"But it would be… hypocritical of me to let everyone who came here leave here, especially… if I knew that they would be making people start… to cry sometime soon. Two of our friends will not be graduating today."

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck.

"The first… Rup-ERT Donwiddle."

Ahh. Okay. That guy—white guy, lots of scars—never even showed up after the first day. He wasn't even here. Chris sunk his head into his lap, like he was stretching or about to puke, while the overseer mumbled about how Rubert had squandered his chance for recovery and blah blah blah.

"Rufus failed… due to lack of initiative. He didn't come. But every time we have this course, it seems… there is someone who does come… but who shows such disrespect that he might as well not have"

The overseer's tone changed, again, abruptly but not in a way that seemed unplanned. He was talking somewhere in between the rehearsed tone he'd used earlier and the mumbling, jumbled tone he used during regular meetings. The air shifted around Chris. It felt like strategy, men moving into position in order to accomplish some kind of task or anticipate some kind of resistance. The bigger cop stood by the door that led to the outside, blocking it. Meanwhile the guys who had missed the most class and been handed the most demerits began to shift in their seats a little bit while their wives looked at them in white fear, the sterile blank walls felt like they were closing in—that's what expression actually meant, when it actually feels like the room you are in just got smaller, more oppressive—and the big fat fuck who ran the place worse the biggest fatfuck smile Chris had ever seen and he if had dropped dead of a heart attack no one with a mind or soul would have gotten up to help him. In spite of all of this, the synchronization was such that Chris couldn't work up any fear. He was too busy admiring the evil of the whole process.

Chris took to talking to the soccer mom, a few months later, as part of some revenge scheme that never quite materialized. He had first planned on sleeping with the woman and ruining her marriage. When that didn’t work out he thought about maybe figuring out the vulnerabilities of her home and passing that knowledge on to some unseemly sorts who, god willing, would have raped, robbed, and kill her. He didn't do that, though, for the same reason he didn't speak up during the meeting when the police were blocking off the door and overseer was smiling the very worst smile the world had ever seen: because the woman's evil was so immense that he could barely process it, could do little else, in fact, aside from sitting back and admiring it. What he learned from her, after she had opened up to him and filled him on all the details, was that if you didn't pass the rehab course it counted as either a violation of your parole or else as a violation of your court sentence, so your failure was akin to skipping bail trying to escape from prison. That's to say it was a Very Serious offense, one that could put you in prison for a long, long time. And what the overseer hadn't told to anybody but the soccer mom, who was his favorite, was that his policy was that out of every class there had to be at least one addict who failed to pass in spite of showing up, one person who because of this or that reason simply did not deserve to consider his or her self cured of their addiction. That's what the demerits were for. Whoever got the most failed the course. You couldn't tell the whole class about this since then the people who got the most demerits early on would have stopped coming all together. On top of that, if you got into a situation where a few weeks in one guy had racked up 20 or 30 demerits, then that more or less lightens the stakes for everyone else. They'll start mouthing off or falling asleep since they know they'll never make up enough demerits to catch the worst guy, and then by the end of it you'd have been better off not doing any sort of demerit system at all. No—no, the trick was to keep it a surprise. That had two positives: one, you catch the guy by surprise and make sure he gets what's coming to him. Two, you put the fear of god into the others who are all sitting around watching. That's when they got taught what happens if you don't respect the things you should.

All Chris knew at the time of meeting was that the balding factory worker, Hank was his name, was getting pulled up really unnecessarily roughly by the cop, had his arms thrown behind his back, and was getting cuffed and pushed out of the room while his teenage daughter was screaming in abject terror and his wife was burying her head in her hands and then the two women sat there while the smiling overseer berated Hank, talked about how he needed to learn how to accept help and how this was for the good of him and his family and You two ladies should stop crying, it's pointless, what you need right now is strength, loyalty, and conviction. Hank had blown .02 over the legal limit at a road block. He insisted he hadn't had a drop to drink in months, not since his first DUI, that he couldn't perform the heel-to-toe sobriety test successfully because of a fully documented injury he had sustained during Desert Storm and that the alcohol on his breath—which came up on only one of the 5 breathalyzers he was given—must have been from gum or mouthwash or cologne or something. His parole was zero tolerance, though, and so he found himself at the meetings. Every week he told the overseer that something he had said was bullshit. He wouldn't say "My name is Hank and I'm a narcotic," he said, because that is just fucking stupid. He wouldn't apologize for hurting anybody because he hadn't hurt anybody. He wouldn't lie for the sake of lying because goddamn it that's not what this country is about.

And for that he went to prison.

Coming face-to-face with the reality of just how cruel and unfair the system is can, especially for a teenager, lead to a distrust so strong and all encompassing that it borders on despair. This distrust can, sometimes, be healthy and inspire you to try and change things. More often, it can grow into full-blown hatred, a maniacal desire to change things or to right wrongs that leads you to do something rash or destructive. Still more often, it leads to a sense of defeatism, a feeling that you can't win since the system is so fucked so why the hell should you even try. At least, that's what I gather from hearing Chris talk about it. That's probably what I would have done if something like that would have happened to me. I would have given up and failed.

And for the longest time Chris had given up and had failed. He drank and drugged and destroyed. This made him a blast to hang out with. This was when he still lived in Alton and I would see him once every few months, when I was at home visiting my family. My sister moved to Garden City to attend the university at which I now teach. Most of her friends soon followed suit. He was left behind. As I am self-absorbed to the point where I don't care about my friend's lives except for when their stories are particularly miserable or amusing, I don't know much about this time period except that it saw Chris turning things somewhat around. Not by much. He still drinks far too much. But he's in school now—he's at the school where I teach, actually, although I've never had him for a student.

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years ago

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1

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

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

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

Series Masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes that was it.

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

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

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath.

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

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

*****

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

And now she was all his.

*****

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

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

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew then, you were in for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

@momobaby227 @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @nerdofthefandoms @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @redhairedfeistynerd @charmed-asylum @saiyanprincessswanie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @jhayes6984 @anika-ann @icanfeelastormbrewing @gigglegirl77 @princess-evans-addict @mes-2016 @theladybiers @void-hoechlin

Ransom Drysdale

@patzammit @icandothisallday @capsiclewinter @this-is-serenaa @alexakeyloveloki @perplexed3001 @twittytelly @kelbabyblue @maan24

If your name appears above but the tag isn’t live please let me know.

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

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life-rewritten · 4 years ago

Text

START UP- DREAMS: DISILLUSIONS vs DESTINY

It's starting to get exhausting dealing with the discourse in Start-up, especially when revolving around the love triangle that refused to be ceased. Heads up, whilst I'm on here analysing mostly about the relationship with Dosan and Dalmi. I didn't have a side for a long time, I also liked Jipyeong because he was based on Cyrano, he was the guy who wrote to her soul or whatever, but the thing is, as much as I've tried to follow where the show leads me, what clues the show leaves, which Fate is supporting (Fate represents the writer's opinion as well) and why a couple deserves to be together, whilst I've tried to be unbiased, I can't help but now shift the other way to Dosan 100%. I will be infuriated and disappointed if Dalmi ends up Han Ji Pyeong, there I said it, irrationally, possessively, and harshly. And I know this won't get a lot of notes and support but who cares. This is my voice and my opinion. I have come to dislike Jipyeong a lot, fear not this is not a Jipyeong hate post, I don't have it in me to make lists of reasons for why I dislike him, but this is about episode 11-12, our characters breakdowns from their dreams and destiny.

All of our main characters in start-up have a dream that yes again, Fate is trying to lead them to, but sometimes their goals don't align with what Fate has for them. The characters experiences; have shaped them to see the future in one way, to want things in another, and to also feel stopped cruelly by Fate and Luck each time it's near them, however, like with Destiny and Purpose, these characters are guided by Fate with good intentions, all the plans for Fate for them are to get to them to their most significant potential and success, even if it seems like it's not for them. Everyone is guided and pushed by Fate, almost forced even, if you try to do something that isn't for you Fate harshly stops you, if you try to run away from something that is for your benefit Fate forces you to go there.

So our 4 main characters have a destined path for them designed by Fate, its to ensure their skills, growth and talents are utilised in every way possible. This episode it seemed like everything was crashing down for our babies but really, although everyone feels defeated this storm was a push in the right direction. Here's why;

DOSAN’S DREAM: TO BE LOVED

Dosan, my Dosan, no words to explain the hurt he went through this episode. The way his dreams came crashing right in front of him, the way that the only way for him to move forward was to be on pause for a while and fulfil what the world wanted for him, to be a genius. I've written so many posts about Dosan being the person who's the most needed, used and wanted in the world of Start-Up. He's the key man remember, he's the person who everyone falls apart without him there. This episode Dosan was forced to go to the next part of his destiny, somewhere where he'd be utilised more and needed. Dosan was born to code, he was born to be a genius, not even metaphorically, or jokingly, the boy was given coding as his strength, it's automatic to him, authentic to him and is the thing that he's the most accurate at.

Except for so long because of this Dosan resented himself, he found it useless when he couldn't make friendships or connect with people correctly, he found it useless when it came to being loved for who he was, he found it useless when it came to him trying to find meaning for why he was such a loser. For him, coding was his comfort, his tool to help wherever he can (because that's just him helpful) and the only thing he could rely on. But because of this Dosan never saw how vital his coding was, he's humble, modest and just using it to help wherever he can, he didn't notice all that coding has done for other people.

First, it provided his friends job they were happy in; Their potential was seen (CODA and 2STO.

It led to an accurate handwriting forgery test to detect forgery other businesses.

It led to success with Noongil for both Dalmi's grandma and so many other people,

It led to him also accurately helping Dalmi code for her drug recognition app, which is also crucial for everyone to use.

Dosan is incredible, and the fact that he didn't understand why Alex would spend billions and billions to just get him is so sad, but it's good because it means he's not going to go bad. I just love him (that's me being biased). Everyone can see (apart from Jipyeong who I'll explain later), how great he is, how important he is but Dosan only wants his dreams, to be loved.

It's like he views his coding/geniusness like a curse? It makes him awkward and struggles with everything else, and it makes him feel worthless. All he's ever wanted was to be loved for who he really is (even though being a genius is also who he is);

He wanted his dad to love him without the idea of being a genius,

He wanted his friends to be by his side just for him,

He wanted Dalmi to love him only as his awkward, weird and stupid Dosan self.

His dreams from the start felt blocked because everyone tried to push him to see being a genius as his dream. His father interrupted his speech to Park Changho about what he wanted to say the obvious; winning awards etc. Dosan saw it as a burden, guilt, and just a barrier to actually loving himself for who he is.

DOSAN’S DESTINY; TO BE A GENIUS AND THE NAM DO SAN OF DALMI’S LETTERS

Thing is yes I get it, I get why he just thinks being loved and being happy is enough for him. But I agree with Fate as we've seen Dosan is so needed by the world for all that he can do, he's automatically the most selfless and inventive person around him, he takes dreams, ideas, and illusions and makes them real. Heck, he's a real-life manifestation of dreams (Dalmi's own dream guy). He's so incredible the way he just is, the symbol for everyone's hopes and dreams to come through; this isn't me being biased!

In episode 12 alone we see it;

He brings hope as a symbol for Youngsan's dreams; to not be seen as a failure.

He brings the solution for Dalmi's ideas to come through because he fixes and solves the coding issue for her on the plane.

He brings proof for Chulsan who always wanted to be seen and noticed for his skills and be recognised by going to 2STO.

He also brought ease for Dalmi's grandmum to still live comfortable although she may not be able to see. Still, he also made her dreams for granddaughter come through because he is a real-life manifestation of the guy she wanted for her.

He also made wishes come through for Jipyeong despite him not seeing it: he's the real-life representation which helps repay Jipyeong's debt to the grandma.

Dosan is so needed by everyone and also the world, so he couldn't stay stuck in the sandbox with Dalmi, he had to be forced to move on for now. So his dreams (to be loved) and her dreams (her dream guy) can come true.

DOSAN’S STORM: BEING FORCED TO GIVE IN AND SEPERATE FROM DALMI

Fate forces Dosan to become great and self-confident and see he's worthy.

That's where Alex comes through because Alex for everyone is actually the representation of Fate/Purpose, he's here to be the storm that forces them to grow. Like Dalmi said it's Fall; she's falling before she blossoms. Alex is the falling step, he's the hurt, the betrayals, the challenges before the beauty/truth is seen and appreciated. He's the fire/heat used to make the diamonds. And he did it, he pushed everyone by force to their next destinations. And he chose Dosan because he saw what we've seen, he knows how desperately the world needed Dosan's skills, how much his headquarters needed Dosan. He saw it all, and harshly had to cause reality to come so everyone grows up and pushes forward to where they need to go.

Symbols for Dosan's conflict with his dreams, vs destiny

Follow your dreams baseball: Dosan says he doesn't want the results and the awards Fate intends to bestow on him its led him to feel lonely with no one by his side. Fate doesn't stop his dreams as he thinks but also makes him viable for them without him knowing. Yes Dalmi broke his heart, but actually, it confirmed to us pretty much he's the one she wants, she selflessly chose to let him go because of how much she loves him, and he'll keep being in her heart until he returns. It also made her realise he is the guy of her dreams (despite the fact she said he wasn't) she was lying; everything she said was the opposite, he was the guy from her dreams, but at that moment life was making her think it was an illusion.

But in a show that is so supportive of dreams it literally is named after a place to prevent dreams from being ruined, Dalmi and Dosan will get back their dreams; its already in motion.

DALMI'S DREAMS: TO CONTINUE HER FATHER'S LEGACY AND BE SUCCESSFUL WITH HER CHOICES; TO PROVE EVERYONE WRONG/ TO BE CHOSEN

Dalmi is someone who I absolutely love, she's determined, resilient and she's actually so bright. The thing with her so far is that we see her potential, her ideas are genius, and she also represents dreams becoming a reality that is useful and helpful for people;

She's the one who poked Dosan in the right direction for the handwriting forgery test,

she's the one who brought up the idea of the self relying car

The person who brought up the idea for the drug recognition device.

She's great. But also she has her own dreams, Dalmi's dream whilst Dosan's is to be loved, is to be chosen/wanted. From a young age, she felt slighted that her sister and her mother did not pick her and her dad, and the fact the world seemed to make fun of her choices made by her heart. She had dreams to prove to everyone that she made the right choice, that she was on the right path, but also she wanted to continue her father's legacy and dreams. She wanted to be successful with her choices.

Her choices so far are: Her father, Dosan and being CEO of samsan tech. Each time she's been mocked, rejected by the world and hurt for her choices;

She's mocked by her sister for staying with her dad when he was going to die, and leave her alone, and force her to be behind.

She was rejected by the world as CEO of Samsan Tech when Alex didn't view her as useful or important,

and she was hurt because she chose Dosan as her love interest, she was hurt because she had to let him go cruelly to be who he was supposed to be, she was meant to be left alone by him if he was to grow and become prosperous.

In each of these, something great came out of it; her father inspired sandbox to be created, Samsan Tech was chosen by 2STO and won demo day, and Dosan was her dream guy manifested.

But she was the leftover, the discarded and the failure in each one. It's sad to see how much her dreams felt like disillusions, she was not the person winning from those dreams but the person those dreams did not belong to. Dalmi struggled this episode to see her self as worthy or needed. And that hurt.

DALMI'S DESTINY: TO BE THE GIRL ON THE SWINGS; AN INSPIRATION, A LEADER AND EXCELLENT SOURCE OF HELP TO PEOPLE

Thing is Dalmi is needed. Her destiny is to be the very face of the Sandbox company. She's the original source of the inspiration of this company used to make sure everyone's dream doesn't get hurt or ruined. She's meant to represent, innovation, comfort and success. She's meant to be great, and Fate wants her to be great. She's a leader, a spark of ideas, and a catalyst to winning. She is important. And she's destined to become a great source of help to people.

Notice the things she thinks of; its all to do with ease and helping people (like Dosan), whilst Dosan is application and manifestation, she's the innovation and inspiration to everything;

She is the person who makes him find a way to sort out the handwriting test,

She's the person who makes him realise how to sort out Noongil with VR and the voice activation,

She's the person who comes up with the self relying car,

She's the person who comes up with the drug recognition system.

See she's already the source of creation for helping the world and making life easier for people and companies. We see what she's good at in episode 1 with her father (she comes up with ideas for him, and she stays by his side as a helping hand). In episode 2 before she quits, she was able to get her company the money needed for buying the products she knew what fangirls wanted, and she catalysed sales. She's a catalyst. So why is she being deserted by Fate?

DALMI'S STORM: BEING REJECTED AS A CEO AND FORCED TO GIVE UP ON DOSAN

Fate forces Dalmi to become self-reliant and determined, she's been given the tools, experience, the location, dream, and the people by her side she just needs to see it.

Also, she was forced to reset, she was forced to go back and learn from her scars, remember she felt discarded by so many people, it wounded her pride and slowed her down, she was petty to her sister, and that always stopped her growth, Fate came in to force her to heal from that, to grow from that and work with her sister. Because they're both meant to fulfil her father's dream. Fate gave her the right people to use, and learn from (Dosan, Injae, Jipyeong, Sandbox owner, her father) to become who she's also meant to be. So it felt like Fall, but actually, it was for her to bloom into who she was meant to be.

If you noticed in episode 13 trailer: she has her own start up named after her father (fulfilling his legacy) she has the prototype for the car named after Dosan’s teachings (Tarzan) and she also works with Injae as well. She’s on her way to fulfilling her destiny, and Dosan needed to go for her to do so.

Symbols

Self relying car: Because those dreams aren't hers, see she's the catalyst in all of I've mentioned before, those scenarios where she's left, she's always helping others, but like her self reliant car, she needs to become self-reliant. Dosan is excellent to her he's her help, her inspiration, her guide, but she needs to grow and rely on her self, she needs to find out what her strengths are and not just rely on fantasies. Instead of dreaming it up, she needs to manifest it her self. She's now been given an opportunity without Dosan and JP input to find her own voice, where she's actually in charge and confident of what she knows.

Dosan's baseball: it was telling her to follow her dreams, not his, not JP, but hers. To do so, she needed to reset, return back to deal with her feelings, and pride and reunite with her scars and learn about her self. Dosan being there wouldn't help her at that moment. But also she returned the ball back to him: because he also needs to follow his path although he doesn't see it as his dreams; in doing what he was forced to, he'd return back to her and actually keep his promise/dream for her in episode 7 (to be wealthy and successful).

In a way, disappearing is fulfilling both their dreams/ideas Dalmis dream guy comes back to her the way she asked him to in episode 10 (the suit), and He becomes a dream version of himself for her. She still is his dream, and he still is hers.

It's funny how life works, it makes you face reality, but love brings fulfilment of dreams in a way you never expected it to, it's still going to get there, but you just have to climb up the mountain first before you see the view, a few obstacles to help you get to the top.

JIPYEONG'S DREAM: TO HAVE SUCCESS AND TO BE WEALTHY; TO BE WANTED

Jipyeong is an interesting case, he starts off alone, all he dreams of when he's young is to be successful and wealthy. But I also think his dreams are similar to Dalmi's; to be chosen/wanted. He's been without anyone for so long, deserted by Fate to be alone; he's an orphan. He doesn't trust anyone because he's never known how to, everything felt difficult, and he had to fight his way out on his own. For him, clinging to logic and controlling the real world is how he survives and is successful. In fact, controlling/investing in numbers is how he got his first success, that brought him here. He's always wanted to be wanted and chosen. But he also sees success as being above others as well, because he's been looked down on so long when he was younger, he wanted a chance to be seen as important.

In this episode everything comes crashing down for him

He realises he's not essential; He didn't even know details about someone he claimed he cared about the grandmum and her blindness. He noticed Dosan already helped her with that not him.

He realises he's not wanted; Dalmi already wanted and was in a relationship with Dosan who he looked down on; who just proved to everyone he's wanted and actually destined for greatness and success.

He realises he's not chosen; he stopped being seen as Samsan's Techs mentor by Yong San and everyone due to how much he belittles them and put them down. Because of this, they refused to listen to him when he tried to warn them and then he didn't try to help. He wasn't chosen by Dalmi although she thanked him for his words of advice. He wasn't chosen either by grandma because she already rejected him as Dalmi's love interest in episode 9.

So basically everything was falling apart for him, and he also realised he wasn't a good person. Although fangirls will keep on saying the opposite, he's not a good person, he's selfish and always so focused on the surface that he doesn't look deeper or take a chance on things. It makes him an awful mentor; all he does is break people down instead of offering advice on how to move forward—a pessimistic presence.

JIPYEONG'S DESTINY: FOUND FAMILY, TO BE WANTED DIFFERENTLY AND TO FEEL PEACE AND TRUST WITH PEOPLE. TO BE AN OLDER BROTHER TO ALL THESE CHARACTERS.

But the thing is like Jipyeong's strength has always been to do with Dalmi's grandmum. In fact, I wanted to say with Dalmi as well but not really cause he keeps crossing that line. His destiny has led him to finding someone who will choose and want him. Fate led him to Dalmi's grandmum in episode 1, it's why he was first shown, he also is being pushed by destiny to find the family he never had. It's about found family. Dalmi isn't meant to be his soulmate, she's meant to be family, just like the grandmum is like a mother figure to him. Jipyeong is meant to be loved, chosen and wanted as an older brother figure. I keep saying this, but you'll notice that's what the show has been showing, his advice only works when he's a mentor/ guidance to the group, it's like an older brother, he's meant to show them reality and berate them, but he's not meant to be the hero or the prince charming to Dalmi's rescue.

His advice works especially for Dalmi, who needs guidance on reality. But it's for a family relationship; he's been like an older brother to Dalmi for a long time, despite the fact that he was her fantasy Dosan on paper (Dosan is the manifestation of that), but as an older brother, he's protective, caring and looks out for her in the right way, he guides her and becomes another male figure in her life that is comfort and advice after her father died.

Jipyeong is meant to be a family member, that's why in the promo you see him finally getting his found family dream come true. He also said this was his dream/wish for his birthday he wanted a family to play go stop with; with Dalmi in his life, he's gotten a grandma, a mother figure (probably Dalmi's mum) and a sister (Dalmi). The fact that people don't see why this is what he was meant to be aiming for is funny to me.

It's not just to Dalmi he's meant to be destined for. Its Dosan, Dosan and him are destined to form a brother bond its why Fate pushed him to Dosan from the beginning, he was meant to guide and teach Dosan how to fulfil his destiny, but he let jealousy and pettiness prevent him from being a good mentor to Dosan, he looked down on him and refused Fates call to invest and trust in Dosan. It was a mistake, and he knew it this episode. Also, he had a found family with Samsan tech, he had three people who would have been friends to him if he didn't berate them and put them down in a disrespectful manner, even Yong San is there to teach Jipyeong to humble himself. But also its Dosan and his crew who help him achieve what he wanted the most to repay his debt to grandma; they make noongil, they use his AI to make noongil, for grandma. He was just too prideful to see it.

So Jipyeong is destined to become a good boy just like Grandma says he is like he's meant to grow to trust, and love and be chosen as a family member/ mentor. Its what he's been starved of for so long and where he's the most useful and needed.

JIPYEONG'S STORM: BEING SECOND LEAD AND FORCED TO SEE THAT HE'S WRONG ALL THE TIME AND SELFISH

Hence why his storm was exactly showing him all the ways, he failed though people didn't notice; it showed he was a horrible mentor because he didn't gain the trust and respect from his group, it showed he was an awful love interest because he was too focused on money and success to realise the girl he loved's grandma was going blind. He was against the source that was helping her, it showed he was always late, he was forced to be a second lead because Dosan has always been by her side helping and thinking of her first and foremost. Did he learn from his lesson?

Fate forces Jipyeong to become humble, selfless, and reflective. He still isn't even close to doing so, but also to understand the value of money and greed to not look on the surface

From the trailer it seems like he still doesn't get it, he's still trying to cross that line, maybe I'm a fool, but even after three years I'm sure Dalmi brother zoned him, we'll see, but I think he's still prideful and didn't get what Fate was doing when it gave him three years to spend time with his found family. He still has a long way to go, but I'm sure he'll grow, and I'm his final fulfilment for his destiny in being a good boy would be choosing selflessly to bring Dalmi to Dosan. Because I still think that's how Fate has been using him this whole time.

So these are the ways Fate pushed our characters to achieve their growth and become who they’re meant to be. In Jae also has her own story to tell but this was already too long and not connected to the love triangle. I’ll make her own post a review later on. But yeh I love this show, a lot of people like to call it useless, or failure to show its message, but this has always been an inpirational message about fulfilling your dreams and becoming the person you’re meant to be, how love helps that, but also how reality needs to happen for that as well. Life isn’t a bed of roses but we can always manifest and get our goals if we put enough effort and hard work into it. These characters all do that, and they all help each other grow. The love triangle may seem useless but it’s a learning point for all our character’s its a way for them to learn and change, and so I’m grateful for it. Just hopeful the writer doesn’t change her direction just because fangirls are threatning for her to make someone endgame who doesn’t deserve it. Okay that’s it. that’s the analysis for this week. Bye <3

#start up #tvn start up #start up kdrama #startup #kdrama net #kdrama #nam do san #seo dal mi #han ji pyeong #nam joo hyuk #bae suzy #november #cwg #fvete

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tiramisiyu · 4 years ago

Text

【未定事件簿】 Tears of Themis: Xia Yan Personal Story 4-2 Translation

Translation Masterlist | Xia Yan Masterlist | Video

Chapter 4: 4-1 / 4-2 / 4-4 / 4-5 / 4-6 / 4-7 / 4-9 / 4-10 / 4-11 / 4-12 / 4-13 / 4-14 / 4-16

Xia Yan’s Home

In the days after, Xia Yan and I worked on collecting information on other corrupt detectives as we waited for Sphinx’s investigation results.

Before heading out today, Xia Yan handed something to me.

Xia Yan: Here, I’ve made a copy of the house key for you.

Xia Yan: We’re always going around together, but having a key is still more convenient.

Xia Yan: Actually, I should’ve given you a copy on the day we reunited.

As he spoke, he handed a silver key to me.

I looked at this key that was identical to his and couldn’t help smiling.

MC: How reminiscent. We always had the same key in the past – even the keychain was the same type.

Xia Yan: Yeah, so I specially made two keychains this time. See if you like them!

Smiling, Xia Yan took out two chibi-styled pendants of me and him.

MC: Whoa, they’re so cute!

I reached out to take the Xia Yan-modeled pendant, but Xia Yan simultaneously handed me the one modeled after me.

MC: ???

Xia Yan: …

Xia Yan looked at me as I reached out for his pendant, looking somewhat hesitant.

Xia Yan: Uh, mine doesn’t really suit you.

MC: …

⊳ How does it not suit me? ⊳ I want yours

MC: How does it not suit me? I’ll definitely treasure it well, is that not fine?

⊳ How does it not suit me? ⊳ I want yours

MC: But I want this one… can’t I?

Xia Yan: That’s not what I mean.

Xia Yan: It’s just that you’ll be carrying the keychain at all times, so other people will see it easily…

MC: I don’t mind others seeing… or do you mean that you don’t want others to see?

Xia Yan: How could that be!

Xia Yan: I mean, if you want this keychain, I need to modify it.

MC: Modify? But I feel like this already looks great.

Xia Yan: Not its exterior. I need to add some functions to it.

Xia Yan: Actually, aside from being a keychain, this pendant is also an alarm.

Xia Yan pulled down the keychain based on me, and an alarm quickly resounded throughout the room.

After the display, he fixed the keychain based on me back onto the keychain.

Xia Yan: The decibel count from the alarm on this one is higher than typical alarms, and its battery endurance is also longer. Plus, it’s more durable – it’s water- and fire-resistant for a short period of time.

Xia Yan: I thought that you would want the one based on you, so I only installed an alarm onto that one.

Xia Yan: If you want “me”, I need to make some slight modifications.

MC: Okay, then I’ll leave it up to you, Great Detective Xia!

Xia Yan quickly started working on modifying the keychain alarm.

Right after he had just finished, Sphinx called.

Sphinx gave an overview of his investigations for the past several days in the call for us.

According to his investigation, he noticed someone that he suspected to have relations to “Oedipus”.

Xia Yan: You mean that Oedipus might have to do with this “Bedo Loan Company”?

Sphinx: Indeed. For the past few days, I’ve been investigating all the corrupt detectives, including Meng Qishan.

Sphinx: I noticed that Oedipus only had relations of benefit with corrupt detectives after a certain period in time.

Xia Yan: What period in time?

Sphinx: After I faced off with corrupt detective Qian Yi.

Note: What a name… this “Qian Yi” guy’s name literally means Money Benefit (钱益)

Xia Yan: Qian Yi? I don’t think there’s this guy listed among the resigned detectives of Stellis…

Xia Yan looked at me.

Not long ago, Xia Yan organized a list of all the Stellis detectives who had resigned in the past three years, in our search for Sphinx. However, Qian Yi was not among them.

Sphinx: I’m afraid that this is because, not long after my face-off with Qian Yi… he died.

MC: He died?!

Xia Yan: …

Sphinx: According to the police’s death report, Qian Yi died due to cardiac failure, and it was one week after I cut off communication with him.

Sphinx: Right after, Meng Qishan and other corrupt detectives were found and lured by Oedipus to find out about my plan.

Xia Yan: The timeline is indeed quite suspicious.

Sphinx: So, I went to Qian Yi’s house to investigate.

Sphinx: I noticed the same Trojan Horse virus on his computer that was in Tian Xin’s, as well as similar indications of large amounts of data being wiped.

MC: If so, Qian Yi and Oedipus really do have some sort of relationship between them.

MC: Right, Sphinx. Why did you seek out Qian Yi back then?

Sphinx: Qian Yi was a detective in name, but his actions indicated that he was more like an information broker.

Sphinx: He was skilled at using various methods to obtain different kinds of information, to sell them.

Sphinx: Sometimes, he would also use the information he had for extortion and blackmail.

Sphinx: Either he’d directly demand money, or he’d coerce the other party to agree to his requirements.

Sphinx: But his death is likely unrelated to what I found out about him.

Sphinx: I’ve verified with the victims who were harassed by Qian Yi. Up till now, none of them have received any more harassment.

MC: Is that so…

Xia Yan: If it has nothing to do with the victims back then, then the point of suspicion probably has to do with Qian Yi himself.

Xia Yan: As an information broker, his social relations would have been very complicated.

Xia Yan: I’m guessing that Qian Yi might have gotten certain information on Oedipus back then, provoking Oedipus.

Xia Yan: And due to the intersection in timelines, Oedipus thought that you, who was investigating Qian Yi, had already gotten or had a high probably of having gotten information on him.

Xia Yan: Which is why he had to find you, no matter what.

Sphinx: That’s what I was also thinking.

Sphinx: I’ve already investigated the people related to Qian Yi anew. Accept the document I’m sending.

Sphinx soon sent over a document. Xia Yan opened it on the computer.

According to Sphinx’s investigations, Qian Yi had considerably frequent business partnerships with Bedo Loan Company.

Xia Yan: Wait, I remember now. Isn’t “Bedo Loans” that trap loan company that was on the news a few months ago?

The so-called “trap loans” were a sort of criminal act that falsely used the title of “private lending” to commit fraud.

First, the victim would be induced to sign a loan agreement with a low borrowing threshold. After, they would use both gentle and forceful methods to defraud the victim of their money.

Sphinx: Yes. Qian Yi secretly tailed the debtors in these trap loans.

Sphinx: And Bedo Loan Company would violently coerce the debtors when they were unable to repay the money, using the private information Qian Yi had provided to threaten the victims.

MC: That case has already ended. If Qian Yi hadn’t gotten into an accident, he probably would’ve also been convicted, right?

Sphinx: Evidence was insufficient. Qian Yi is proficient with legal clauses and making use of legal loopholes, so he made himself seem completely innocent.

Xia Yan: …

MC: …

Sphinx: Aside from that, I found a person related with Qian Yi. Search up “Ji Xiaoyu”.

Xia Yan searched up this name according to Sphinx’s instructions and soon found a video recording.

[Flashback]

Stellis Suburbs

Caution tape surrounded the riverside grass. A woman’s remains, pixelated in the video, were lying on the grass, with blood mottling the area all around.

A rumble of whispers came from the crowd around, saying things like “I heard it was a car accident” and “What a pity, she was so young”.

Young Girl: Sister… sister – sister!!!

A girl hysterically cried “sister”, throwing herself on the body on the ground.

The police forcefully pulled at that girl, trying to persuade her.

Police: Miss, we understand how you feel… but please calm down. We need to do on-scene investigations.

After several minutes of wildly trying to pull out of the police’s grasp, that girl finally slid down to the ground without energy, sobbing bitterly.

Young Girl: It’s all because of me… It’s all because of me that my big sister died…

Lying prostrate, she sobbed for a good while, then suddenly straightened and grabbed onto the uniform of the police officer in front of her.

Young Girl: No, it’s also because of them! They’re all murderers! I beg you, please catch all of them!

She grabbed onto the hem of the police’s uniform, begging piteously, her sobs soundless.

[Flashback end]

It was obvious that the video was taken by a bystander – the camera was shaky and the image wasn’t clear enough, but the girl’s weeping made me feel irrepressibly sorrowful.

Sphinx: This girl is Ji Xiaoyu. The deceased is her older sister, Ji Xiaoqing.

As he spoke, he transferred the Ji sisters’ information to us.

The year that the older sister Ji Xiaoqing tested into university, their parents passed due to an accident. Ji Xiaoqing worked as she studied in university, all the meanwhile taking care of her little sister Ji Xiaoyu like a mother.

When little sister Ji Xiaoyu tested into university, she started working as she studied as well, trying to lighten the load on her older sister.

The two sisters had always had a good relationship, until Ji Xiaoyu entered second year, when she fell into the trap of a trap loan due to a desire to buy things.

Sphinx: After the death of older sister Ji Xiaoqing, Ji Xiaoyu came clean to the police about owing money in a trap loan, and thus being harassed and threatened by Bedo Loan Company and Qian Yi multiple times.

Sphinx: At the beginning, she did not dare tell the police or her older sister out of fear of the company. Instead, she desperately worked to return the money, but the amount owed kept growing.

Sphinx: After, Bedo Loan Company faked a court verdict, forcibly seizing the real estate that the sisters’ parents had left behind.

Sphinx: Only then did Ji Xiaoyu’s older sister, Ji Xiaoqing, find out about the full truth.

Sphinx: Ever since then, Ji Xiaoqing became absentminded for a long time and even dropped her job.

Sphinx: The police performed an autopsy on Ji Xiaoqing and noticed that the alcohol concentration in her blood severely exceeded safety standards.

MC: So Ji Xiaoqing might have been using alcohol to forget her woes, then came to the mountain road while drunk and got into the car accident…

Sphinx: That was the police’s conclusion.

As Sphinx spoke, Xia Yan searched up the aftermath reports on this traffic accident case.

Due to issues with the surveillance equipment on that road, no information could be found on the vehicle that caused the accident. The police were currently still offering rewards for anyone who provided information.

And according to Qi Xiaoyu’s accusation, the police filed the case and investigated Qian Yi and Bedo Loan Company.

Bedo Loan Company was shut down for investigation, but due to insufficient evidence, Qian Yi was released after many days of fruitless police investigation.

Xia Yan: One week after Qian Yi’s release, he died unexpectedly due to cardiac arrest.

Sphinx: At the beginning the police suspected that this had to do with Ji Xiaoyu, because she was extremely furious due to the release of Qian Yu and lost control of her emotions.

Sphinx: Though the police investigated this after and found that this was not because of Ji Xiaoyu, I noticed a violation ticket related to Ji Xiaoyu.

Sphinx sent the violation ticket over.

Xia Yan: Illegal carrying of restricted blades… the date of the violation ticket is one day before Qian Yi’s death.

Sphinx: Indeed. I did a little investigating.

Sphinx: The police who gave Ji Xiaoyu the violation ticket was the one who dealt with her sister’s car accident. He sympathized with Ji Xiaoyu greatly and feared that she would take extremes.

Sphinx: So he always secretly kept an eye on Ji Xiaoyu. The day Ji Xiaoyu bought the restricted blade, he noticed.

Sphinx: As a police officer, he had to give Ji Xiaoyu a violation ticket, but he paid the penalty fine himself, and did his best to persuade Ji Xiaoyu after.

Sphinx: When Ji Xiaoyu was suspected of being related to Qian Yi’s death, this police officer testified for her, saying that Ji Xiaoyu did not have the time to commit the crime.

Xia Yan: Even if Ji Xiaoyu has nothing to do with Qian Yi’s death, if she was following him back then, she might have noticed clues.

MC: Then let’s go find Ji Xiaoyu to get an understanding of the situation.

#Tears of Themis #tears of themis translations #xia yan #luke pearce #未定事件簿

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jostenneil · 4 years ago

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How would you write Dick and Jason's relationship, if different from canon and fanon?

Personally, I really like the potential Dick being absent for most of (re-established) Jason's Robin run sets up, especially since he is upset when he finds out about Jason's death. He had a slew of responsibilities to tend to as an adult leading his own team, and that's understandable, but also, here's a kid he reached out to and told could rely on him if needed, and he obviously wasn't really there to do so. That's a fault that falls upon comic writers forgetting to do anything with the relationship between them beyond their initial meeting, but it's nonetheless fun to work with, and I like the conversation he has with Kory about it in The New Titans #55; it's also why I ignore the tidbits about Dick and Jason's pre-existing relationship established in The Joker's Last Laugh, because to me it makes things. . . too easy? I want a little tension and regret to fester from that absence of connection. It's more interesting to explore.

That being said, to me the primary issue with the way Dick and Jason's relationship thereafter is developed has to do with DC writers' overwhelming problem of blaming Jason's death on his own "recklessness". It's interesting that Dick is someone who has basically. . . never seen what Jason was actually like as a Robin beyond one shared mission between them, and yet we have him so easily ascribe to Bruce's interpretation of the events. This, after Dick had to do so much wheedling to get the truth out of Bruce about why he took upon Jason as a Robin to begin with. I like that Dick is someone who sees Bruce for who he really is, the isolation, the fears, etc., and that he challenges Bruce and his way of thinking often by way of that. Jason, to me, presented a perfect opportunity for Dick to once again ask more questions and get down to the actual root of one of Bruce's obscured half-truths. Maybe not when Jason initially died and Tim reached out to him, because he still had a lot on his plate at the time, but when he split from the Titans for a while and took upon the Batman mantle, it would have been interesting to see Dick dig deeper because he was back in that house and with those memories of Jason that he never got to share in. It could have added another dimension to him handing the mantle back to Bruce again, because we might have seen Dick challenge Bruce's complexes about Jason's death and how he was projecting onto Jason faults that weren't fair of him to project. As someone who literally created a name for himself within the Titans because he was tired of Bruce projecting his own (somewhat irrational) fears onto him, I feel like Dick would be more defensive of Robin era Jason if he knew all the facts about the way he died or why he died. (And I mean, come on, would it have been that hard for someone to do the detective work and find out the truth behind Sheila's drug dealings or her being blackmailed by the Joker? Probably not.) The fact that Jason was consistently framed as a failure within the Batman mythos for years, even after his resurrection, to me set up nearly all of his relationships to be doomed in terms of closure, especially since writers additionally committed to the idea by turning him into a homicidal maniac. And I'm not really looking for a fanon version of Dick where he coddles Jason as recompense; that's boring and it completely obliterates what makes Dick an interesting character, but I would have at least liked to see Dick contend with Jason's character outside of the homicidal maniac or "Bruce's failure" framework. I like that Dick is a well-meaning hard-ass who's upfront with people because he cares about them and he expects better of them; it's why the contrast between him and Bruce is so good, because where Bruce dismisses people out of fear, Dick refuses to give up on them (at least as far as I've seen in my reading so far; the Titans runs are long and I'm working my way through them slowly, lol) and holds them accountable to a standard he believes them capable of reaching. It's what makes him such a good leader and people person. And it's why I think that, while I do believe it'd make more sense for him to criticize the way Bruce contends with Jason's death, he'd also be upfront and straight with Jason about him potentially becoming someone he doesn't deserve to become, sort of a la Talia's lecture to Bruce in No Man's Land #0. Like, you’re here now and we lost you and I need you to know that it wasn’t your fault then, so don’t make it your fault now. Don't throw yourself into this near-suicidal harbinger of death agenda. You're not a failure, so quit acting like one.

#dick grayson #jason todd #dc #mine:meta #the end of this reads like me saying that i want dick to be dismissive of jason's concerns and i want to clarify #that is Not at all what i'm saying #ig my point is that like. canon having bruce and dick treat jason like this uwu baby failure whom they have to save is just bad #like the dick and jason sequences in battle for the cowl. bad #jason's concerns Should be heard but he also shouldn't be coddled #and i think dick would be within his rights to lecture him at least a little #if he had been portrayed to challenge bruce more about the truths regarding jason's death #does that make sense. i sure hope it does #you know that meme i have as my pinned. dick is talia and jason is bruce #that's what their dynamic should be and ultimately i think it's a means of interaction jason would value more #bc he wouldn't be pitied. i am absolutely positive part of why he reacts so poorly to bruce and co reaching out is bc of the pity #bc it's used to supersede even trying to hear out his concerns #which is what he's primarily concerned with. not the fact bruce failed to save him whether literally or figuratively

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refriedweeb · 4 years ago

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AND WHEN YOU’RE GONE I’M GODLESS (HAWKS + READER)

AN: refriedweeb here! this is a continuation of this oneshot that I did (so if you didn’t read the first one go and read it now!), as requested by @roseanddaggerlarry ! I’ve had the idea of this spewing around in my head and wanted to get as close to canon!Hawks as possible! So here you go! If you want a part three/to make this a series, lmk!

Tags: angst, fluff, general feelings

word count: 3,443

A side effect of your quirk was that you dreamt the nightmares of those that you used it on. While your quirk was something that was magnificent in its own right, being known as nightmare often became a literal translation for you. It didn’t matter how short of a period you kept someone trapped in their reality-made nightmare, or how severe it was. You dreamt what they saw. And the worst part was that they didn’t go away after just one dream. You’d see them time and time again, blended into the reel of dreams from every person you’d ever fought or used it on. It was an awful feeling, not being able to dream your own dreams, see visions of happiness that everyone else got to when you closed your eyes. All you ever saw was nightmares. All you ever saw behind sleeping eyes was horror.

The world around you might have been black, in various stages of coming and going consciousness, but there was one thing that stayed the same. It was the nightmare you’d brought out of Keigo Takami’s mind the minute you’d snapped on your promise to never use it against him. It ran through your mind like a child with reckless abandon, a constant loop that you couldn't shake from your mind no matter how much you strained to jump into someone else’s dreams that had taken residence in your mind. It was a violation of Hawks’ trust in you, even if he had been the one to attack you, skewer you with a feather and leave you no other choice. You had known that Hawks’ childhood was anything but normal. The Hero Commission that you both worked for raising him, if it could even be called ‘raising’. Trained as a weapon that was expendable, that served no purpose if it couldn’t deliver results. Wholly different from what you’d had growing up, you hadn't realized how deeply embedded in trauma his entire life was, even when you’d been hooking up.

Trapped in the nightmare, the first thing you saw was Keigo Takami as nothing but a child. Avian eyes still too large for his head, sunrise colored eyes looking around the blank walls with innocence, curiosity, and the hint of fear. A head full of hair that even in youth had an unruly characteristic to it. Red wings that would become his calling card sitting politely, folded against his back. He was a child that had deserved better, so much better, than what he’d been given. There’d been so much that Keigo had suffered through just for the sake of being a hero, that it would have made sense if nightmare solely revolved around what the Hero Commission had robbed him of with his childhood.

What you weren’t expecting to see was your place in it.

You were stood not far off from where Keigo’s tot form was, mirroring that same age yourself. Young, with a skinned knee and gapped smile from the baby teeth you’d lost. Hair in high pigtails and eyes wide with the same emotions sprinting through Keigo’s veins. The tinier version of yourself turned around, and trotted over to him, holding out a sticky hand that had no doubt been dug into a sweet of some kind at one point.

“Hi! I’m (Y/N)!” Came your excitable voice, young and full of life. “Your wings are pretty cool, can I touch them?” Before Keigo’s small, timid voice could even answer, there was a sharp tug on your arm. It caught you by surprise, and Keigo was helpless as a man dressed in a black suit started pulling you away from him. And though you were reliving Keigo’s nightmare, you were experiencing it through both yours and his perspective. “Wait, that’s my friend!” Came your cry, tossing a distressed look over your shoulder as you were both helpless Keigo and the scared child version of yourself.

“Wait...” finally came the small voice, shocking you how sad it sounded for a boy so young. You watched from the omniscient view as the handler that had come for you turned into something vile. With a grin too large and mines of pointed teeth that would have made a shark’s mouth look dainty. “Don’t...” Keigo’s childlike voice was a little louder, but still helpless. “Don’t take her!”

Defiance nestled in Keigo’s throat as he charged forward with his cry, running after you, seeing something only he could see while you were more than content to wander alongside a monster. His hand was outstretched towards you. A smile started to stretch across your features, glad to have this new friend coming with you, and reached a hand out in return. Only to have it sharply slapped away by the handler. You gave a cry of pain as you cradled your hand to your chest, about to cry when you heard Keigo’s boyish yelp of pain. He had been hit in the face, and harder than you judging by the welt of a hand print blooming against his cheek.

“Keigo...” you whispered, though your voice sounded further off, far from where you and your childhood presence were.

Young Keigo looked up at you from the ground, tears running down his cheeks. There was an indescribable pain there, and it ran deeper than anything you could identify with. For such a young child to have felt so much pain... “Kei...go...” you whispered again, extending a hand despite what happened, to cradle his head.

It was then that the scene changed, like the fast forwarding of a movie. The scenery swept past you in an unmarked blur until you settled into a new scene. There you were, a couple of years older and strapped into a chair. What looked like doctors were around you, a large needle filled with a substance of dreamy purple colors in it. They were whispering around you, a background of white noise you couldn’t decipher. Still from that omniscient point of view, you could feel your fear. The unease that gnawed it’s way through your belly running rampant. And there was anger, but you couldn’t detect the source. “Just think...if we can train her to turn her nightmares lethal, the commission would have a trained killer. Trapping someone in their nightmares to the point of heart failure...of fear...” came there trickling sound of one voice. “She could be the best hero the commission has ever produced...a weapon...” was another. “Alright then...inject her.”

Fear rippled our against your skin on goosebumps, and you start to fight the restraints as the syringe draws closer to you. “No!” You screeched, though it comes from the same far off place from before. You’re helpless as you snapped, kicked, and pulled as best as you could. “Don’t do this!” At the very same moment, you heard the overlapping sound of boots hitting the ground in a sprint, replacing the rapid sound of your heartbeat. While being both in that room and not in it at the same time, you saw an older Keigo bursting down the hall, the sound of boots belonging to him. His eyes are narrowed into predator-like focus, his breathing heavy as his wings extended out taking up the rest of the hall. His mouth moved, though he is silent.

“Keigo!” You scream this time, though still too far off for anything to register. His eyebrows narrowed over his eyes and he pushed himself harder. Pain erupted as the needle broke skin, the purple swirl of serum sinking into your skin. It sent a blur of blind pain coursing through your system, but all you could do is scream. Your voice feels raw, but there’s no noise coming out of it. The taste of blood is in the back of your throat, but you don’t feel any. Something collided with the window of the room you were trapped in, and through the overcoming haze you saw that it was Hawks. Anger etched into his face, beating his hands against the glass so hard you swore it shook. You screamed his name again, that same echo off in the distance vibrating through your ears. He screamed yours back, the sound a canon of noise as he continued to beat on the glass. There were tears in his eyes, a righteous fury that took your breath away. He was the source of anger, the need for rejection. You strained against your restraints, doing what you could to fight the wave of darkness that was threatening to overcome you, wanting nothing more than to reach out and take Keigo’s hand.

The world around faded once more, the next scene opening up to you like the beginning credits of a movie. Once the camera focused in you see...Keigo dressed in his hero uniform, cradling something...no, someone. Your heart clutched as it zoomed in closer and closer until you recognize the design of your own hero costume. Keigo wasn’t cradling just anyone, he was cradling you. Through your omniscient point of view, you come to stand just in front of the two bodies, Keigo with his head bowed over you and you...limp. Your head is slumped over his forearm, though your expression is one embedded into your mind immediately. Gone are the pupils of your eyes, the entire eye filled with a black and white continuous swirl, like something a hypnotist would use. And from your tear ducts..there’s blood. It ran from your duct to your hairline. The look in your expression is vacant. The sound of Keigo’s sniffles, the soft sobs, it confirmed what you had desperately wanted to ignore. In this nightmare, you’re dead. And it didn’t take long for you to put two and two together.

Keigo Takami’s worst nightmare wasn’t what happened to him growing up in the Hero Commission, though the elements were there and you didn’t doubt that there would be more glimpses of this nightmare for the rest of your life that you hadn’t seen. Keigo’s worst nightmare was someone he loved, you, going through the same thing that he had been put through. Though it won’t do anything, as it’s a dream, you reach out a fragmented hand to touch him. Just as you went to do so, he looks up. He looked directly at you, wet eyes and broken expression. “Wake up.” His words sounded like they were coming from right behind your ear, and you blinked. “(Y/N), wake up.”

You snapped open your eyes and sat up in bed. Immediately, you’re aware of the pain in your stomach, in your arm from where Keigo had impaled you with one of his feathers. The room is spinning, and the air you choked down in order to get some focus on your world isn’t helping. Nightmare. Keigo. Where’s Keigo? Wait, why did that matter? He was a villain, he’d attacked you. The air in the room felt suffocating and you didn’t think you could possibly get enough of it. Your fingers wrapped around the blanket that had been on top of you, only to pause as you looked down at it. This was Keigo’s blanket. As the world stopped rotating at a disastrous pace, you realize that this is Keigo’s bedroom. A place you hadn’t been in for months, if not longer.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

“You’re awake.” You looked to the sound of the voice, already knowing who it belonged to. But hearing the somber, tentative tone doesn’t change your reaction as you scampered out of bed. The sheets were wrapped up in your legs, and you’ve tumbled out of bed in an attempt to be graceful. The fall to the ground landed you on your injured arm, crying out in pain as you crawled. You’re still in your hero uniform, which means it couldn’t have been long. Right? Right? Keigo said your name, and you heard the flex of feathers as he moved. “(Y/N), stop, you’re injured. Sto-(Y/N).”

You’d grabbed the nearest thing to you and flung it at him. A pillow that had likely hit the ground when you had. It’s easy enough for Keigo to grab, and he dropped it to the side as he looked at you with a stern look. “You’re a traitor,” you spat. The strained tone from your arm is evident, and Keigo sighs. “You tried to kill me! You attacked me!” By this point you’ve kicked your legs free from the sheets.

“Kid,” Keigo says, his tone one of warning. “Listen to me.”

You’re on your feet, injured arm clutched in your hand. There’s fresh blood, but you don’t pay it any mind. “Why should I? So I let my guard down long enough for you to finish the job? Go off with your best friends in the League?” Keigo took a step forward. You shook your head. “If you take one step closer I’ll do it again.”

The reaction of pain that registered in his eyes before quickly falling away, lets you know that at least for now, the distance between you is on your side. You didn’t care that you were shaking, or that the images of Keigo as a child, wobbly and teary-eyed were burned into your mind. As far as you were concerned in that moment, Keigo Takami was your enemy. “It’s not what you think.”

“You kicked me into a wall and then had the nerve to stab me in the arm.” You grit your teeth. “How else is it supposed to look, Keigo?”

Keigo looked to the side, avoiding your glance. Out of fear of you using your quirk again or because he actually felt shame over what he’d done, you didn’t know. Told yourself you didn’t care. But that image of that broken little boy...it haunted you. Keigo ran his hands through the windswept mess of his hair, and sighs. “I can’t...I can’t tell you.” His mouth hung open and he closed it before talking again. “There are things I can’t...I have to keep private.”

“If you think for one second, I’m not going to tell the Hero Commission that you’ve switched sides-” You started, but Keigo cut you off.

“They know.” It’s your turn to be breathless. Keigo looked back to you, the miserable and lonely look back in his eye. There must have been a question in your eyes, because he repeated himself. “They know. They asked me to do this. To be a double agent.”

“You attacked me like it was real.”

Keigo’s eyes dropped to your arm, and on instinct you tried to hide the fresh spot of blood that had appeared. “I had to.”

“Keigo I almost died because you were trying to kill me.”

“I would have never let yo-” Keigo stopped short, his tone full of anger at the idea that you thought he would ever let anything happen to you like that, taking a draw of breath in. You feel his fear, and your mouth hung open just slightly. “I wasn't expecting you to use your quirk on me. You promised you wouldn’t.”

Keigo dropped his eyes. He wanted to know what it was you’d seen, though he couldn’t bring himself to ask. You’d told him about the nightmares that replayed after you used it in the past. The last thing he wanted was for you to look at him with pity because you’d seen his nightmares. Keigo never talked about his emotions, too numb to them because of the things he’d done. The lack of love he’d felt throughout his entire life ever since he’d been whisked into the Hero Commission. For so long he’d been seen as a weapon, a tool to use. He hadn’t been seen as a human being in so long, and then there’d been you. Dropping into his life at some silly hero convention with a mischievous look and it’d been a face he hadn’t seen in years.

A face that he hadn't been able to save all those years ago.

He’d been shocked that you hadn't remembered anything, or rather, wouldn’t. But seeing you...not knowing that you didn’t remember...it made Keigo want to get close to you all over again. To protect you a second time around where he’d failed the first. If you had even a notion that his nightmares were more than just nightmares...Keigo didn’t want to be responsible for the meltdown, it was more guilt and weight on his shoulders that he didn’t think he could handle.

“I thought you were going to kill me!” Your voice was raspy from the hands he’d put around your neck, and you don’t doubt it’s bruised. Your mind wandered to a much darker thought than you wanted to acknowledge. If he’d been willing to go toe to toe with you like that, how many other heroes had he fought? Were any hero deaths related to him?

“I could...” Keigo rasped. “I could never do that to you. I tried to warn you, kid. I told you to stay out of it.”

“I can’t do that, you know that. We’re...I’m a hero, Keigo. I can’t let villains escape.”

“It had to be me. Dabi..Shigaraki...Toga...they would have killed you, you wouldn’t have stood...it would have been bad, (Y/N).”

You took a step back, feeling as if you’d been slapped. “You don’t think I could have done my job, is what you’re saying? So you toyed with me instead. To protect your mission when they’re running around reckless and hurting others! Killing us!” He dropped his gaze, his hands clenched. “This is why you cut me out, isn’t it? Because the Hero Commission set you up for this. Because Keigo Takami is the only one who can do any of the complicated jobs and he just can’t ask for help.” You didn’t now when you got so emotional, whether it was from the pain wracked in your body or because of the escalating situation with Keigo.

“I can’t let anyone help me. Someone...” you “Could get hurt.”

“Fuck you, Keigo.” You needed out of his place. There’s too many reminders of everything Keigo Takami in that space. Of nights in that same bed. How he’d told you he wanted nothing more than that right there. And now to hear the fact that he was a double agent, that he couldn’t have even shared that intimate of a detail with you. It was because he didn’t trust you. It was because he didn't think you were capable. “For your information, I can take care of myself. I have always been able to take care of myself.” Your body protested as you moved, energized with the anger from feeling so demented by someone you cared about. Keigo gingerly raised an arm as you made your way towards him, perhaps in an attempt to stop you. To continue the conversation. But as far as you were concerned, it was over. “Don’t you dare touch me.” Your voice shook, not even caring that your vision was blurred from the tears you were doing your best not to let fall. You stomped over to the door, grabbing onto the handle of a place you’d always thought was incredibly lonely.

At least now you understood why.

“You know what, Keigo...I get that you went through some awful things growing up. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. But I trusted you, I loved you, and I thought there wasn't anything too high for you to reach.” You scoffed, feeling one tear roll down your cheek. “Apparently there isn’t anything too low for you to go after, either.” With that you wrenched the door open and slammed it shut behind you. For a moment, you leaned in against that door, the heels of your palms pressed into your eyes as the weight of emotions and pain and the awful reality that was both sank in. You couldn’t stay there for long, you knew that. You wiped the wetness at your eyes and pulled yourself together as best as you could, and left.

On the other side of that door, Keigo stood where your words had rooted him. His hand still raised, he stared down at his palm. There’d been so much he had wanted to try to say, to explain. But your anger had always been enough to plow down a city. Yellow eyes that usually burned so bright, were flattened down to a stormy sunrise. Keigo felt that guilt in his heart. That loneliness that he had only began to feel erased once he had you back in his life. How did he begin to tell you about what the Hero Commission had made him do in becoming a double agent when he couldn’t even tell you the truth about you? He would have denied any chin wobble as he looked down at his open palm, felt the overwhelming emptiness in his place start to settle in on his shoulders as it always did when he came home to it empty. “See you around, kid.” he breathed.

The knot in his stomach told him it wouldn’t be the last time he saw you.

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incineraryperiphery · 4 years ago

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FAKE TITLES!! this is literally my fave ask meme alongside the playists but ANYWAY fake titles: “cry harder, fight smarter,” “mom jeans,” aaand “horchata flavored misery”

ahh yeah, its my favorite too!! this got wayyyyyyy longer than I thought it would, whoops. gonna smack them under a cut!

cry harder, fight smarter

guess who’s got mentor!mic on the brain? (it’s me)

for this, i’m going to have to go with a quirkless izuku who doesn’t even get into UA at all. Fails the entrance exam and fails hard with only five rescue points overall. His test scores are good enough to get into the top gen ed or management course if he wanted to, but what’s the point when you’ll spend the entire time resenting yourself for not getting into the hero course?

Izuku does get into another hero-focused high school, though, even if he’s in a different course than he really wants to be, BUT they have a programme where you can try for a temp license in your senior year even if you aren’t in a fast-track course - as long as you have a pro hero sign off on it and agree to show you the ropes. This is definitely what Izuku has his sights on. Only, none of the heroes who work at the school will even think about working with him. He’s quirkless, not built for hero work, end of story.

Which is, y’know, frustrating.

And that’s where Mic comes in. He’s on one of his rarer patrols after school lets out, when it’s not quite sunset yet but it’s getting there, and runs across this kid. Said kid is like, three trash towers deep into Takoba beach, with a youtube video up and trying to copy the positions in said video - the only reason Mic even knows he’s there is because he smacked into something and made a few things fall loudly enough.

And, hey! He kinda recognizes him from the entrance exam - the highest score on the written exam, even! Not that it’s a good thing, because if Izuku was aiming for the hero course and didn’t get in, that could lead to a very angry child deciding to sink into vigilantism. So he’s gotta check it out, y’know, for the good of the community.

Izuku freaks out a bit cause hello that is Presentation Michael, and kinda guiltily admits that he’s been learning how to fight by himself and has absolutely not been thinking about vigilantism, no Sir, no way. Mic eventually talks him into not doing that and learns that Izuku’s quirkless in the process, so he’s got this kid who desperately wants to be a hero, after being turned down by literally everyone and that’s either how he ends up dying young from overestimating himself as a vigilante OR a fucking villain origin story that’s gonna screw them all over.

But Mic’s good at thinking quickly and he’s got a good head on his shoulders, so he’s like, hey you think about looking into underground heroes??? And Izuku’s like, oh shit no i didn’t. He’s trying work up to a license, but nobody’s willing to sponsor him, and he’s getting so frustrated with it. The easiest solution, obviously, is to sponsor the kid himself.

Except none of the other teachers take it seriously, at both schools. Even Aizawa’s like, Yamada ur setting yourself up for heartbreak and failure, the fuck.

Which coalesces into the sheer spite both Mic and Izuku have in spades. Debating on whether things veer off from canon regarding the League here, though i’m inclined to have it actually be 1-a’s senior year that shit starts going Down. Give them a year or two of low stakes that makes them feel like they can take on the world.

But that also means Mic gets to bring along his no-name apprentice once he gets his provisional license. The hero class meets him as a professional in costume, because Mic’s drilled the work persona into him since almost the day they started, and none of them really know who the person behind the mask is. Which is really good once he realizes who’s in said hero class.

At that point, Izuku’s been mostly working with detectives and police instead of the field, but he has met a handful of other underground heroes who have nothing but good things to say about the new kid. He has not yet met Eraserhead, so when he actually does, it takes Aizawa a few seconds of staring to connect “new underground hopeful with brilliant analysis” with “mic’s quirkless hanger-on”.

But, hey, as long as he doesn’t have to sacrifice one of his own students, right?

Mom Jeans

back on my inko/midnight bullshit with this one!

They bump into each other at a clothing store, looking at the same pants (that will fit neither of them, unfortunately, but they’re cute little floral-prints) and get talking. Kayama doesn’t mention that she’s a pro hero of course, because people have funny ideas about what she should be like off-duty once they hear who she is, but Inko does mention that she has a son in high school. It’s not hard to figure out once she hears Izuku’s name, though, but his mother is charming and cute and Kayama would very much like to get to know her better even if she is related to the kid who breaks his bones for fun.

Horchata Flavored Misery

sdfhksjdfh i have not had plain horchata, but i have had rumchata and that’s what this title makes me think of, so lets give it the full a night to remember/sanguine quest treatment instead of being horribly angsty!

Aizawa wakes up after getting blackout drunk with an empty bottle of rumchata and half of mic’s hero costume and has to work his way back to the beginning with no memory of what happened.

Highlights include: literally all of 1-b cannot look him in the eyes and nobody will tell him why, a worrying text conversation from someone saved in his phone as “hot sauce” about the number two hero with several asides about what All Might’s hair looks like when it’s down, and a trail of candy hearts glued to his classroom’s ceiling and each of his student’s desks.

#ask games #aloys says things sometimes #aloys writes #alcohol cw #i got way too invested in the first one rip #thank u meg!#cry harder fight smarter au

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tiaragqueen · 5 years ago

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Delusional yandere prompt #19, “You’re so cute, begging like anything could get you out of this.” with Izaya from Durarara!! ? Thank you! (I’m sure he isn’t really a delusional but maybe it could be taken multiple ways? Also I hope I’m doing this right and thank you!)

Promise Me

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Izaya Orihara x Reader

✂ Word Count: 875

✂ Trigger Warnings: Mention of violence, possessiveness, attempted murder

[Edited]

Do not re-upload my writing to another website or use it without my permission.

***

Yes, you're doing it the right way, hun! Thank you for requesting and you're welcome! ^^

19. “You’re so cute, begging like anything could get you out of this.”

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“In the palm of your hands you can make me dance, spin me around in circles till I'm wrapped in string. You keep on talking sweet till your fingers bleed, but don't you dare ask me how I've been.” - Happy Now [Zedd & Elley Duhé]

You knew that it was futile to try to kill Izaya. He was too fast, too strong, and too smart to allow even a brief moment of vulnerability with you. Sometimes, you wondered why Izaya bothered to kidnap you if he didn’t – and would probably never – fully trust you.

Then again, you never gave him a chance to, nor did you trust him in return. Like him, you were always scheming; always plotting for an escape that seemed so close yet so far to reach. The exit had always been there, and he often left you in the living room just to see if you’d act out. You knew better than to fall to such an obvious trick, of course, but even you couldn’t deny the temptation.

But, alas, you weren’t as patient as he was.

Curling up against the floor, you ignored the stinging pain on your skin. You acknowledged that you’d been overly rash with your plan, failing to consider that Izaya always watched you even if he wasn’t present physically; be it through the hidden cameras or Namie herself. There was literally no chance for you to escape, and you doubted you could grab the phone to call the police, or if they’d be willing to assist. Izaya's connection was ridiculously vast, and his manipulation wasn’t something to be laughed about, either.

“What’s wrong? Are you cold?” The fake concern masked the sadism he felt over your pitiful form as he studied you unabashedly, chin resting against his palms. You disregarded his mocking question and merely buried your face deeper into your chest, trying to regain the little composure you possessed.

Ever since your failed killing attempt, Izaya had thrown you into your room and locked you there for days. You’d gotten ill from the low temperature he set, and the lack of nutrition you received had steadily taken a toll on your body. Food only came around day four, when you were no longer able to scream and hopelessly yanked the doorknob.

But your agony didn’t end there.

After cursing him repeatedly, Izaya returned the next day and brought his trusty switchblade. He proceeded to torture you for a full day, relishing your constant wails and pleas as he cut your once smooth skin. With a smile too wide and too happy for this kind of predicament, he’d threatened to leave his name on you if you didn’t stop sobbing.

It didn’t quite go smoothly. Hiccups swelled in your chest like an ever-expanding balloon the longer you resisted them, bloodshot eyes fixated on the looming blade. It wasn’t long before you broke down, the stress and horror became overwhelming for you to bear. Luckily, Izaya didn’t try to attack you again despite your failure to follow his implicit demand.

His threat might be empty at that time, but you knew he wouldn’t be as lenient later.

Izaya hummed questioningly. “Ignoring me, huh? Well, that just won’t do.” A silver blade, clean and polished from previous gore, glinted under the light. Izaya cocked his head, watching your fatigued face contorted into an alarmed one almost instantly. “Aw… are you scared, [Name]-chan? I didn’t rough you too much, did I?”

Another wave of tears pricked your pupils, the pain somehow matched the tingling scars on your arms. “I-Izaya, please. Don’t do this, I’m begging you.” you pleaded, dignity long forgotten in favor of survival. “I… I promise I won’t try to kill you again.”

“You’re so cute, begging like anything could get you out of this.” he cooed, deliberately bringing the knife close to your neck. The blade felt frigid against your jaw as he lifted your chin to meet his gleaming eyes. “Don’t you know how hurt I was when I saw you that night? Truly, I never expected you to have the audacity to kill me in my sleep. That was just cowardly, you know?”

Despite the derisive tone that bled like poison, you managed to detect a whisper of bitterness in his words.

Your attempt truly hurt him, huh? Who would have thought it was possible? He always acted all high and mighty, as though he was a God. It sickened you to the core of how contradictory his attitude was; how similar he was to those arrogant bastards who believed themselves as being above humans. There wasn’t a trace of divinity in him other than his otherworldly strength and intelligence.

Because, in the end, he was still a human through and through.

But you knew that he wouldn’t listen to it, nor he’d take kindly to your doubt. He was hopeless. Both of you were hopeless, and it pulled you towards each other like a screwed up magnet.

“If you want to kill me, you should’ve tried to fight me first.” But you couldn’t. That was reality. You were weak against him, and he knew that. He enjoyed that. “But you didn’t, so it’s only fair if I return the favor, no?”

His hand slid down to the hem of your shirt and slithered inside. You shivered slightly when you sensed the coldness of his ring caressing your sweaty stomach.

“Promise me that you’ll be good to me from now on, and I might consider releasing you.”

#yandere imagine #yandere scenario #yandere anime #anime yandere #yandere anime au #anime yandere au #yandere oneshot #yandere izaya orihara x reader #yandere izaya x reader #yandere izaya orihara #yandere izaya #yandere durararara #yandere drrr #yandere request #Request #Anon

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rickyriddle · 4 years ago

Text

AnR: a study of psychopathy and antisocial personality disorder

Hey there! So here’s another analysis, not about a specific character, but AnR characters that would fit the psychopath/sociopath/antisocial personality disorder/conduct disorder. Those who are familiar with my other analysis would probably guess that I’ll be talking about Otoya. But I also referred to Nio and Hitsugi as sociopaths in previous analysis. I want to correct certain things I may have said that was incorrect as well as used more recent discovery I made about those disorders. I also want to include another character I didn’t really talk about regarding psychopathy/ASPD: Yuri Meichi. Without further ado, let’s take a look at those four characters and if weather or not they fit the diagnosis.

First I’ll explain the different distinction between the different conditions based on my understanding of those:

Primary Psychopathy: Most commonly referred as psychopathy. When specialists talk about psychopaths, most of the time they mean those who have primary psychopathy. Primary psychopathy is innate, meaning that primary psychopaths are born that way. Primary psychopathy is characterized by callousness, shallow affect, manipulation, and superficial charm. Not all primary psychopaths have antisocial personality disorder. They all have certain narcissistic traits (such as grandiose) but again, not all primary psychopaths could be diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder either. Primary psychopaths have a defecting empathy, meaning that they can’t and will never feel empathy. They are usually viewed as high-functioning.

Secondary psychopathy: Usually referred to as sociopathy, even tho the term sociopath is outdated. Secondary psychopaths are made, they have been mold that way by their environment and possible trauma. Secondary psychopathy is associated with impulsivity and lack of long-term goals, and is related to hostile behaviors. Unlike primary psychopaths, secondary psychopaths are often emotionally unstable and can experience guilt and empathy. Their empathy isn’t defective but instead dysfunctional. All secondary psychopaths meet the criteria for antisocial personality disorder and they are more likely to also have borderline personality disorder. They are also more likely to be low-functioning.

Antisocial Personality Disorder: Also often used as a synonyme of sociopathy. The criteria are failure to obey laws and norms, lying, deception, and manipulation for profit or self-amusement, impulsive behavior, irritability and aggression, blatantly disregards the safety of self and others, a pattern of irresponsibility and lack of remorse. The person needs to be at least 18, have conduct behavior before 15 and the antisocial behaviors aren’t related to schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. People with ASPD can feel empathy and love towards those they bond with and their level of functioning depends of their IQ, education and environment.

Conduct Disorder: Considered the precursor of ASPD. Conduct disorder is characterized by antisocial behaviors in children and teenagers. The causes can be diverse, such as genetic, environment or even a low IQ. The signs of conduct disorder are bullying, aggressiveness, use of weapons, cruelty (towards humans or animals), stealing, forced sexual activities, vandalism, deceptiveness and serious rule violation. Whether those issues are treated or not can determine if those antisocial behaviors will continue in adulthood (and become ASPD) or not.

In this analysis, I’ll refer to primary psychopathy as PP, secondary psychopathy as SP, antisocial personality disorder as ASPD, conduct disorder as CD and narcissistic personality disorder as NPD.

In two of my recent posts I mentioned something Minakata said in KnR Room 4: “Recognizing that Otoya is an intrinsic psychopath and that Hitsugi is an acquired psychopath due to the environment and breeding.”

To me, there was no doubt that Otoya is a psychopath (PP). Minakata confirmed that Otoya is born that way therefore, she’s a primary psychopath. Then for Hitsugi, in her analysis I interpret the acquired psychopath as secondary psychopathy. And when I made the analysis, I thought that SP = ASPD and refer to Hitsugi as a sociopath, but given what I learned recently it might have been incorrect.

So, Minakata wrote psychopath “サイコパス” (saikopasu), which is based on the English word, therefore an anglicism. It sounds more like the pop-culture term instead of the medical term, which is 精神病質 (seishinbyō-shitsu). Therefore, I can be 100% that Minakata used the term psychopath in the medical sense and instead may just be a catch-all term for PP/PS/ASPD/CD. So, “acquired psychopath” doesn’t necessarily mean “secondary psychopath” but rather that Hitsugi acquire traits that are often associated with the whole psychopathy/ASPD spectrum. But, I firmly believe that “intrinsic psychopath” means “primary psychopath” since it’s the only condition among the spectrum who is innate.

So now that I correct that, let’s analyse the said characters and see if they fit any of those diagnosis.

Otoya, Hitsugi and Nio would all technically fit the CD diagnosis. They tend to be bullies, aggressive, use weapons (granted they are assassins but still), cruel, forced sexual activities (for Otoya, may or may not be applicable to Hitsugi), they are extremely deceptive and do violate rules. All of those behaviors are way more serious than a regular teenager rebellion and does harm others. But, even if they could all be diagnosed with CD (given that they are all underage) those three are all different and will probably have different diagnosis as they grow older. So let’s analyse them separately.

I’ll start with the easiest, Otoya. As I said, we know Otoya is born that way, therefore a PP. But just to be sure, let check if she does fit the criteria:

Callousness: I think it’s pretty obvious that Otoya has no sympathy or empathy for anyone and a total disregard for others. She’s insensitive and has no issues with abusing, torturing and killing people.

Shallow affect: This one mean shallow emotions. It doesn’t mean a lack of emotions, just that the emotional responses are low. I’m gonna base it on the manga version and say that despite Otoya’s cheerful attitude, she’s pretty emotionally shallow. Her cheerfulness is just an act. We can see after she failed and during KnR 5 that she’s actually quite cold.

Manipulation: Manipulation is basically Otoya’s middle name. All she does in the series is deceive, lie and manipulate to achieve her goals and simply for her personal pleasure. It’s as natural as breathing to her.

Superficial charm: I’d say Otoya is rather charismatic, she can easily charm people and gain their trust, but we know it’s not sincere. She’s smooth, engaging, charming, slick and voluble.

Otoya also have a defective empathy. You can’t possibly have empathy and commit all the atrocities she did, and she also show no remorse for her actions. She’s incapable of feeling those emotions. PP are born with a thinner amygdala, which is responsible for empathy, stress and fear. Her brain is incapable to feel empathy and remorse and never will.

But, Otoya’s actions show that she might not only be a PP. Otoya is a sadist who feel sexual pleasure from torturing and killing women. I don’t think we will argue if I say that she probably have sadistic personality disorder and sexual sadism disorder, as well as erotophonophilia (paraphilia of sexual arousal and gratification from the death of a human being, also known as lust murder). Those are not always linked to PP. In fact, unlike what people think, PP are rarely killers or even sadist, most of them are high-functioning and have normal jobs and aren’t committing any crimes. But, it’s true that most serial killers were either psychopaths or have ASPD, or both.

As I said earlier, Otoya would probably be diagnosed with CD. CD isn’t necessary to be a PP but it is for the ASPD diagnosis, meaning that in addition of being a PP, Otoya also have ASPD (well, technically she’s 16 so she couldn’t be officially diagnosis, but it’s safe to assume her behaviors won’t change at this point). At the very least, we can say that Otoya is antisocial, and PP and ASPD are often comorbid. Let’s see if she fits the criteria of ASPD:

Failure to obey laws and norms: I mean… she’s a goddamn serial killer who kills for sexual pleasure.

Lying, deception, and manipulation for profit or self-amusement: This is a trait that overlap with PP. I already explained her manipulative nature.

Impulsive behavior: This one may seems to contradict the shallow emotions. Impulsive means making reckless decision or spontaneous decision. It means that if she has a sudden desire, she may not resist it. Impulsive isn’t a synonym of hot-headed (being easily or constantly mad). You can have low emotions and still be impulsive. So yes, Otoya is rather impulsive, she tends to make decision on a whim without thinking of consequences.

Irritability and aggression: Again, even if someone is emotionally shallow doesn’t mean they have zero emotions. With the right trigger, even someone cold can get irritated and aggressive. In Otoya’s case, she can be quite aggressive if someone interrupt her when she’s having “fun” (aka torturing and killing) as we saw when Tokaku saved Haru from her.

Blatantly disregards the safety of self and others: In the manga Otoya was getting her ass kicked by Tokaku yet she continued to laugh and enjoy herself despite her injuries. The girl doesn’t care about her own safety and given her occupation, she doesn’t care about others’ safety either.

A pattern of irresponsibility: Otoya went overboard with killing and ended up attractive the attention of a detective, reason why she joined Class Black. Instead of recognizing that what she’s doing is wrong, she blames the detective for ruining her fun and literally want a serial killer insurance so she’ll never have to get into trouble for killing. I think it’s a form of irresponsibility, instead of fixing her behaviors or at least be more careful, she prefers to just have someone to clean up her mess forever.

Lack of remorse: Another trait that overlap with PP. I don’t think I need to explain this one again.

So in conclusion, Otoya is born a psychopath, but acquired antisocial behaviours due to her environment as well as sadism. Her natural lack of empathy probably make those easier to acquire. Otoya will never genuinely change as a person, she may change her behaviour to get what she wants but she will always the same. Right now, she would be diagnosed with PP and CD, but it makes no doubt that when she’ll be 18 she would be diagnosed with ASPD. So my final diagnosis: Antisocial Primary Psychopath.

Then, we have Hitsugi. So let’s throw the PP out of the possibility since we know she isn’t born that way and was mold by her environment. I would also discard SP given that Hitsugi seems pretty high-functioning as a person. SP tend to be anxious, fearful, hostile and emotionally unstable and it doesn’t seem to be the case with Hitsugi. On the contrary, Hitsugi said that she doesn’t feel much, showing that she does have shallow emotions (not a lack of emotions, mind you). As I said earlier, Hitsugi would most likely be diagnosed with CD. Hitsugi has no problem with hurting and killing people if it suits her or even just for curiosity and she didn’t feel any remorse for that. She’s deceptive, manipulative and a pathological liar. Regarding the forced sexual activities I mentioned earlier, I’m not saying that Hitsugi is a rapist or a sexual predator like Otoya seems to be. I meant it in a way that Hitsugi seems somewhat forceful and assertive when it comes to intimacy, kissing Chitaru even if the latter may not fully consent or be comfortable with it (I’m mainly referencing their second kiss after Chitaru learned the truth and was distressed, it was, in my opinion, inappropriate for Hitsugi to kiss her and seemed like she was taking advantage of Chitaru’s vulnerability).

It’s true, however, that Hitsugi loves and feel regrets for hurting Chitaru, but that’s because she bond with her. Hitsugi doesn’t feel remorse for any other people than Chitaru. Also, it’s true that Hitsugi shows signs of low-self esteem, which is not mutually exclusive with CD. In fact, from what I read, it’s common. I suppose that those with CD who grow up to have ASPD eventually lose their low self-esteem, but Hitsugi is still young.

We don’t know exactly Hitsugi’s past but we can assume that she was brought into the assassination business at a young age and that she eventually lost her capacity to have empathy and started to feel empty. But, thanks to Chitaru, in a way, Hitsugi was able to reconnect with her lost feelings and there may be some hope for her to outgrow her CD and not develop ASPD. But, if Hitsugi never met Chitaru or met her as an adult, there’s no doubt in my mind that she would have ASPD (but not be a SP).

So in conclusion, Hitsugi isn’t born like that, she was mold by her environment, and she does exhibit a lot of antisocial behaviours. So my final diagnosis: Conduct Disorder with chances of antisocial tendencies in adulthood.

Now let’s analyse Nio. In my analysis of her I did say she may have ASPD, but I clarified that given her age she would rather be diagnosed with CD. Nio is unlikely to have PP given that she’s capable of bonding and feeling genuine love. So, when she’ll be 18, would she still be more likely to have regular ASPD or SP?

First, let’s see if she does fit the ASPD criteria:

Failure to obey laws and norms: Even if Nio is following Yuri’s orders, she doesn’t seem to be someone who follow rules in general or the law. She doesn’t listen to her teacher and did broke the Clack Rules (she tried to kill Haru without sending a notice). I don’t have much example for this one.

Lying, deception, and manipulation for profit or self-amusement: Nio’s whole character is about deception. She acts all cheerful, enthusiastic and friendly while truly she doesn’t care about others, she even said she hate them, and enjoy seeing them fail and suffer. She did lied several time and manipulated Haru, all of this mainly for profit or just for fun.

Impulsive behavior: I wouldn’t say Nio is particularly impulsive nor do I really have example, except maybe her decision to kill Haru.

Irritability and aggression: Even if Nio acts friendly, she clearly stated hating all her classmates and got pretty angry with Haru at the end, probably because she was tired of pretending.

Blatantly disregards the safety of self and others: Nio did choose to fight Tokaku one on one even tho Tokaku is a much better fighter. Nio is ready to take risks. She doesn’t care about others’ safety as she gladly accepted to let Haruki try to commit suicide to win (with a huge grin on her face).

A pattern of irresponsibility: Not much instance in the series except in her flashbacks where we see she was a really undisciplined child. We can assume that even if she used to be irresponsible, with Yuri’s strict education it wouldn’t weird if Nio lost this trait over time.

Lack of remorse: Nio never showed genuine sympathy or empathy towards anyone (except Yuri) and doesn’t seem to have any remorse for any of her actions.

She fits most of them but not perfectly. But as I said, ASPD can only be diagnosed as an adult and Nio is only 15. So it’s possible that she might not have developed fully all the ASPD traits. To me, given that she’ll remain with Yuri, who basically abused her as a kid and groomed her, it’s unlikely that she will change. She’ll most likely have ASPD in adulthood. And, given that her relationship with Yuri is unhealthy, there’s a chance that she might end up more emotionally unstable. Abusive relationship on long-term have terrible effect on one psyche. So to me, Nio eventually turning to a secondary psychopath would be a high possibility.

The differences between Nio and Hitsugi regarding their respective relationship is that even if ChitaHitsu is also toxic, the abusive one is Hitsugi, not her partner. So there’s a chance that thanks to Chitaru’s influence she might change and outgrow her CD. Nio on the other end is the victim, Yuri being the abusive one. If Nio grows while still being affected by Yuri’s abuse she’s unlikely to get better.

In conclusion, Nio currently has CD and will most likely have ASPD as an adult as well as SP. She’s not born that way and was mold by her environment and Yuri’s abuse. My final diagnosis: Conduct Disorder with future Antisocial Personality Disorder and possible Secondary Psychopathy.

And now, last but not least, Yuri Meichi. Now you might remember that in my last psychopaths/sociopaths anime characters list I said that Yuri was either a psychopath or a high-functioning sociopath. Well, let’s break it down.

Yuri being an adult I won’t mention CD for her. So let see if she’s born that way or mold by comparing PP and SP criterial. Callousness? Yuri doesn’t seem to care about anyone and is pretty insensitive to others pain. Shallow affect? Well, Yuri is pretty emotionally shallow. She barely show any emotion except what appears to be mild-interest. Throughout the entire series she almost only smile calmly, even while beating up a kid. She’s a calm and cold person. Manipulation? There isn’t much instances that show if Yuri is manipulative, but we did see that she manipulate Nio as a kid and basically groomed her. Superficial charm? Yuri is quite charismatic. She can be smooth, engaging, charming, slick and voluble and we know it isn’t sincere.

What about the SP traits? Impulsivity and lack of long-term goals? Yuri pretty much succeeded in life and is one of the most powerful person in the world who is always calm and rational. Hostile behaviors? Yuri can be intimidating as a person, but she isn’t acting in a hostile and aggressive way.

So it doesn’t seem that Yuri have SP and is more likely to have PP, therefore be born that way. But could she also have ASPD? Let’s see.

Failure to obey laws and norms: Yuri makes me think she’s lawful evil. She makes the law.

Lying, deception, and manipulation for profit or self-amusement: She does that, but it’s also a trait that overlap with PP.

Impulsive behavior: Nope.

Irritability and aggression: Nope.

Blatantly disregards the safety of self and others: Disregards for others perhaps, even thought she didn’t let the injured assassins dies (yet let countless people die for the clan).

A pattern of irresponsibility: Not really

Lack of remorse: Yes, but again, it overlap with PP.

So it seems that all the ASPD traits Yuri has are also PP traits. So therefore, I don’t think she would qualify as having ASPD. And given that she’s 30 now, she’s unlikely to change.

So in conclusion, Yuri is most likely born that way. My final diagnosis: Primary Psychopathy

Phew, that was long. So, among the four characters I analysed, they are all at different places on the spectrum. Here’s a good diagram to illustrate it. I’ll show on it where the characters are or will be in a couple of years:

Thanks for reading, if you have any comments or questions feel free to ask me and see you next time!

#akuma no riddle #riddle story of devil #anr #Otoya Takechi #Hitsugi Kirigaya #Nio Hashiri #Yuri Meichi #psychopathy #primary psychopathy #secondary psychopathy #psychopath #sociopath #antisocial personality disorder #ASPD #conduct disorder #analysis

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