#This was definitely worth the 12 dollars I spent

[krafterwrites]

All The Fun Bits From The Sonic Cookbook

The cookbook was made by Sonic, Tails, and Amy

And Eggman, who apparently broke into Tails' lab and added his own recipes because he was jealous

Knuckles makes paste to use as filling for rolls by smashing together stuff he finds on Angel Island

The recipe for egg tarts in the cookbook is the same in Sonic's time as it is in Silver's

One time all the ovens in the Sol Empire's palace failed during a gala event, so Blaze helped out the chefs by using her flames to cook the food, and continued doing it from time to time afterwards

Rouge likes food that tastes expensive

In the post-06 timeline, Amy still visited Soleanna, but she never met Elise. She mentions feeling like they would've gotten along great

Blaze often gets so focused on her work that she forgets to eat

The Diamond Cutters used to celebrate a successful mission with muffins. Whisper feels like she's with them again when she eats one

Marine asked the chefs in the Sol Empire's palace to make her some curry, but she thought it was too boring, so she went in and made some for herself

(Ngl I almost teared up at this one. Silver I love youuuuuu)

After a successful heist, Rouge likes to treat herself to something indulgent

Rouge plays the mandolin (I think)

Every so often, Sonic will get a sundae supreme and think of Chip

(This one is so good too. Ian Flynn thank you for blessing Silver fans with this)

Eggman is a pretty good baker

Blaze's family has had their own tea recipe for many years

(Literally all the Silver bits are fantastic. I can't get over it)

Chao fruit are edible to Mobians

[anonymous-badger-238]

30 questions

I'm just gonna answer a few questions again. Found this from @nuklearis-sutotok at here.

Ok so here we go

1: What song makes you feel better?

Superhero by Guiano

2: What is your go-to comfort show?

Abbott Elementary probably. It's really funny.

3: Reading or writing? Why?

Huh that's hard I like both

4: What's your favorite feeling?

That feeling when you come home from a long day of school and swim practice, and after you shower you can just flop down on your bed and relax

5: How do you like to take care of yourself?

Idk I like brushing my hair and doing skincare and stuff, but in a "mental" kind of way it'd definitely be making covers and music videos.

6: What’s your favorite candle scent?

That pear one I bought for 20 dollars at a World Market because there was a huge Black Friday sale

7: Who do you feel most like yourself around?

My IRL friend group, and also these people in this one Discord server (there are like 4 of you who know what I'm talking about)

8: What's a fabric/texture that’s nostalgic for you?

Sequins. Reminds me of when I was in 2nd or 3rd grade and there was this whole trend where all the girls would show up in "flip shirts".

9: Best childhood moment?

Wow there are so many but it's hard to choose just 1. Probably when I rode Splash Mountain at Disney World for the first time. I was eight and me and my dad had to wait two hours but it was soooo worth it.

10: When was the last time you laughed so hard you cried? (or just felt really good afterwards)

This one time I was crying over something so my sister showed me funny pictures of politicians and then I laughed so hard I cried again.

11: Do you have a comfort item? Tell us about it!

This one infinity cube that I fidget with whenever I'm bored or doing homework.

12: What calms you down?

Just closing my eyes and resting on my bed on a Saturday morning and just not thinking about anything in particular. Of course there are those four months of the year where my relaxation will be interrupted by the sounds of the college football games on TV...

13: Bath or shower to relax?

My house doesn't even have a bathtub so I'm gonna have to go with showers. Particularly cold showers.

14: What's something upcoming that you’re excited for?

I'll be going on vacation soon.

15: Comfort food?

Fettuccine Alfredo with Costco's rotisserie chicken.

16: What's something you want to create soon?

I have a ridiculous amount of music videos I have to create. But I'm looking forward to doing the Alvarez/Mental Chainsaw one.

17: How do you feel best loved?

I don't know honestly.

18: What age in life do you think you’ll feel most yourself at?

Probably when I'm 30 or something.

19: Have you ever written or received a love letter?

LOL nope

20: Tell us about a memory you hold close to your heart.

The Splash Mountain one definitely but also that one time me and my family were going river tubing and then it started pouring so I vlogged it.

21: Tea, Coffee, or hot cocoa?

Coffee probably. My usual is a strawberry creme frappe from Starbucks. (Plus a donut.)

22: Name of your favorite playlist?

The Blaze-List. For reference, that is the one I created a really long time ago and I still update it to include my current favorite songs. No wonder.

23: Have you ever received flowers?

I don't remember.

24: Who is your best friend?

This one person I met in fourth grade, lost touch with, and then got back in touch with again

25: If your soul was a color, what would it be?

Honestly, I'm still trying to figure that out.

26: If you could live anywhere with anyone you want, where would it be and who would you bring?

I'd like to live in downtown Seattle with my sister. DC would be great too.

27: Do you like to garden? Have you ever grown something?

I just don't seem to have a green thumb LOL.

28: What are you proudest of?

This one paper I spent a really long time working on. Or my cover of Amanojaku which I'm really happy with the way it turned out.

29: Are you a kind person?

I don't know. I try to be kind to people whenever I can, though.

30: What do your hobbies look like?

Reading especially about WWII/Cold War history and nuclear chemistry, writing short stories, singing, making music videos, playing Pokemon, etc. etc. etc.

Anyways I guess I should ping someone but whatever

[msbarrows]

July 12 - spent a big chunk of the day looking at stuff on Etsy; it's the time of year to figure out what I feel like buying as gifts for myself for my birthday. Only have one definite choice so far, a silk kaftan made out of recycled sari fabric.

Supper was the remaining macaroni salad, served with chicken burgers, green peas, and carrot sticks.

July 13 - mostly gamed today. Definitely having better luck with Anno 1800, I managed to get to the point yesterday of having over a million dollars before managing to screw up at some point today. Never quite got my revenue fixed properly after that, and many hours of play later I failed.

Made a big bowl of potato salad, which I served with hot Italian sausages and corn.

July 14 - today was make a vat of chili again day. Which we had some of for supper with rice.

July 15 - finally got around to a task I've been procrastinating on for literal years. Removed and washed window screens from bedroom windows, scrubbed the window frames to remove accumulated buildup of lichens and mildew, and cleaned the window glass as well, then put the screens back. Also divided up and froze the remaining chili from yesterday (four margarine tubs worth), and divided and froze most of some bulk packs of ground beef my brother had bought yesterday.

For supper I made cottage pie using some of the ground beef

[theculturedmarxist]

By Lambert Strether of Corrente.

On May 25 of this year, JAMA published Development of a Definition of Postacute Sequelae of SARS-CoV-2 Infection (“Definition”), an “original investigation” whose authors were drawn from the RECOVER Consortium, an initiative of the National Institutes of Health (NIH)[1]. This was an initially welcome development for Long Covid sufferers and activists, since questions had arisen about what exactly patients were getting for the billion dollars RECOVER was appropriated. From STAT:

The federal government has burned through more than $1 billion to study long Covid, an effort to help the millions of Americans who experience brain fog, fatigue, and other symptoms after recovering from a coronavirus infection.

There’s basically nothing to show for it.

The National Institutes of Health hasn’t signed up a single patient to test any potential treatments — despite a clear mandate from Congress to study them.

Instead, the NIH spent the majority of its money on broader, observational research that won’t directly bring relief to patients. But it still hasn’t published any findings from the patients who joined that study, almost two years after it started.

(The STAT article, NC hot take here on April 20, is worth reading in full.) Perhaps unfairly to NIH — one is tempted to say that the mountain has labored, and brought forth a coprolite — a CERN-level headcount may explain both RECOVER’s glacial pace, and its high cost:

That’s a lot of violin lessons for a lot of little Madisons!

“Definition” falls resoundingly into the research (and not treatment) bucket. In this post, I will first look at the public relations debacle (if debacle it was) that immediately followed its release; then I will look at its problematic methodology, and briefly conclude. (Please note that I feel qualified to speak on public relations and institutional issues; very much less so on research methodology, which actually involves (dread word) statistics. So I hope readers will bear with me and correct where necessary.)

The Public Relations Debacle

Our famously free press instantly framed “Definition” as a checklist of Long Covid (LC) symptoms. Here are the headlines. For the common reader:

12 key symptoms define long Covid, new study shows, bringing treatments closer CNN Long COVID is defined by these 12 symptoms, new study finds CBS Scientists Identify 12 Major Symptoms of Long Covid Smithsonian These 12 symptoms may define long COVID, new study finds PBS News Hour These Are the 12 Major Symptoms of Long COVID Daily Beast

(We will get to the actual so-called “12[2] Symptoms” when we look at methodology.) And for readers in the health industry:

For the first time, researchers identify 12 symptoms of long covid Chief Healthcare Executive 12 symptoms of long COVID, FDA Paxlovid approval & mpox vaccines with Andrea Garcia, JD, MPH AMA Update Finally! These 12 symptoms define long COVID, say researchers ALM Benefits Pro

With these last three, we can easily see the CEO handing a copy of their “12 symptoms” article to a doctor, the doctor double-checking that headline against the AMA Update’s headline, and incorporating the NIH-branded 12-point checklist into their case notes going forward, and the medical coders at the insurance company (I love that word, “benefits”) nodding approvingly. At last, the clinicians have a checklist! They know what to do!

We’ll see why the whole notion of a checklist with twelve items is wrong and off-point for what “Definition” was actually, or at least putatively, trying to do, but for now it’s easy to see why the press went down this path (or over this cliff). Here is the press release from NIH that accompanied “Definition”‘s publication in JAMA:

Researchers examined data from 9,764 adults, including 8,646 who had COVID-19 and 1,118 who did not have COVID-19. They assessed more than 30 symptoms across multiple body areas and organs and applied statistical analyses that identified 12 symptoms that most set apart those with and without long COVID: post-exertional malaise, fatigue, brain fog, dizziness, gastrointestinal symptoms, heart palpitations, issues with sexual desire or capacity, loss of smell or taste, thirst, chronic cough, chest pain, and abnormal movements.

They then established a scoring system based on patient-reported symptoms. By assigning points to each of the 12 symptoms, the team gave each patient a score based on symptom combinations. With these scores in hand, researchers identified a meaningful threshold for identifying participants with long COVID. They also found that certain symptoms occurred together and defined four subgroups or “clusters” with a range of impacts on health

So there are 12 symptoms, right? Just like the headline says? Certainly, that’s what a normal reader would take away. And if a temporally pressed reporter goes to the JAMA original and searches on “12”, they find this:

Using the full cohort, LASSO identified 12 symptoms with corresponding scores ranging from 1 to 8 (Table 2). The optimal PASC score threshold used was 12 or greater

And if the reporter goes further and finds Table 2 (we’ll get there when we look at methodology), they will see, yes, 12 symptoms (in rank order identified by something called LASSO).

So it’s easy to see how the headlines were written as they were written, and how the newsroom wrote the stories as they did. The wee problem: The twelve symptoms are not meant to be used clinically, for diagnosis.[3], Lisa McCorkell was the patient representative[4] for the paper, and has this to say:

Nevertheless, the “12 symptoms” are out of the barn and in the next county, and as a result, you get search results like this:

It’s very easy to imagine a harried ER room nurse hearing “12 Symptoms” on the TV news[5], doublechecking with a Google search, and then making clinical decisions based on a checklist not fit for purpose. Or, for that matter, a doctor.

Now, to be fair to the authors, once one grasps the idea that symptoms, even clusters of symptoms, can exist, and still not be suitable for diagnosis by a clinician, the careful language of “Definition” is clear, starting with the title: “Development of a Definition.” And in the Meaning section of the Abstract:

A framework for identifying PASC cases based on symptoms is a first step to defining PASC as a new condition. These findings require iterative refinement that further incorporates clinical features to arrive at actionable definitions of PASC.

Well and good, but do you see “framework” in the headlines? “Iterative”? “First step”? No? Now, I’d like to exonerate the authors of “Definitions” — “They’re just scientists!” — for that debacle, but I cannot, completely. The authors are well-compensated, sophisticated, and aware professionals; PMC, in fact. I cannot believe that the Cochrane “fools gold” antimask study debacle went unobserved at NIH, especially in the press office. How was it possible that “Definitions” was simply… printed as it was, and no strategic consideration given to shaping the likely coverage?[6] One obvious precautionary measure would have been a preprint, but for reasons unknown to me, NIH did not do that. A second obvious precautionary measure would have been to have the patient representative approve the press release. Ditto. Now let us turn to methodology.

The Problematic Methodology

First, I will look at issues with Table 2, which presents the key twelve-point checklist, and names the algorithm (although without explaining it). After that, I will branch out to a few larger issues. Again I issue a caveat that I’m not a Long Covid maven or a statistics maven, and I hope readers will correct and clarify where needed.

Here is Table 2:

First, some copy editing trifles (highlighted). On “PASC”: As WebMD says: “You might know this as ‘long COVID.’ Experts have coined a new term for it: post-acute sequelae SARS-CoV-2 infection (PASC).” Those lovable scamps, always inventing impenetrable jargon! (Bourdieu would chuckle at this.) On “Dizzines”: Come on. A serious journal doesn’t let a typo like that slip through (maybe they’re accustomed to fixing the preprints?). On “Supplement 3”: The text is highlighted as a link, but clicking it brings up the image, and doesn’t take you to the Supplement. These small errors are important[7], because they indicate that no editor took more than a cursory look at the most important table in the paper. On “LASSO,” hold that thought.

Second, the Covid Action Network points out that some obvious, and serious, symptoms are missing from the list:

[T]he next attempts at diagnostic criteria should take into account existing literature that shows more specifically defined symptoms for Long Covid, from objective findings. (E.g. PoTS, Vestibular issues, migraine, vs more vague symptoms like “headache” or “dizziness.) [The Long Covid Action Project (LCAP)] noticed that while [Post-Extertional Malaise (PEM)] was used as a specific symptom with a high score to produce PASC-positive results, other suites of symptoms, like those in the neurologic category, could have produced an equal or higher score than PEM if questionnaires had not separated neuro-symptoms into multiple subtypes and reduced their total scores. This alone could have created a more scientifically accurate picture of the Long Covid population.

Third, these symptoms — missing, from the patient perspective; to be iterated from the researcher’s perspective, at least one would hope — are the result of “Definition”‘s methodology:

Fourth, I would argue focus on the “most clearly provable effects” — as opposed to organ damage — is a result of the “LASSO” algorithm named in Table 2. I did a good deal of searching on LASSO, and discovered that most of the examples I could find, even the “real world” ones, were examples of how to run LASSO programs, as opposed to selecting the LASSO algorithm as opposed to others. So that was discouraging. I believe — reinforcing the caveats, plural, given above — that I literally searched on “LASSO” “child of five” (“Explain it to me like I’m five”) to finally come up with this:

Lasso Regression is an essential variable selection technique for eliminating unnecessary variables from your model.

This method can be highly advantageous when some variables do not contribute any variance (predictability) to the model. Lasso Regression will automatically set their coefficients to zero in situations like this, excluding them from the analysis. For example, let’s say you have a skiing dataset and are building a model to see how fast someone goes down the mountain. This dataset has a variable referencing the user’s ability to make basketball shots. This obviously does not contribute any variance to the model – Lasso Regression will quickly identify this and eliminate these variables.

Since variables are being eliminated with Lasso Regression, the model becomes more interpretable and less complex.

Even more important than the model’s complexity is the shrinking of the subspace of your dataset. Since we eliminate these variables, our dataset shrinks in size (dimensionality). This is insanely advantageous for most machine learning models and has been shown to increase model accuracy in things like linear regression and least squares.

Since LC is said to have over 200 candidates for symptoms, you can see why a scientist trying to get their arms around the problem would be very happy to shrink those candidates to 12. But is that true to the disease?

Because LASSO (caveats, caveats) has one problem. From the same source:

One crucial aspect to consider is that Lasso Regression does not handle multicollinearity well. Multicollinearity occurs when two or more highly correlated predictor variables make it difficult to determine their individual contributions to the model.

Amplifying:

Lasso can be sensitive to multicollinearity, which is when two or more predictors are highly correlated. In this case, Lasso may select one of the correlated predictors and exclude the other [“set their coefficients to zero”], even if both are important for predicting the target variable.

As Ted Nelson wrote, “Everything is deeply intertwingled” (i.e., multicollinear), and if there’s one thing we know about LC, it’s that it’s a disease of the whole body taken as a system, and not of a single organ:

There are some who seek to downplay Long Covid by saying the list of 200 possible symptoms makes it impossible to accurately diagnose and that it could be encompassing illnesses people might have gone on to develop anyway, but there are sound biological reasons for this condition to affect the body in so many different ways.

Angiotensin-converting enzyme receptor 2 (ACE2) is the socket SARS-CoV-2 plugs into to infect human cells. The virus can use other mechanisms to enter cells=, but ACE2 is the most common method. ACE2 is widely expressed in the human body, with highest levels of expression in small intestine, testis, kidneys, heart, thyroid, and adipose (fat) tissue, but it is found almost everywhere, including the blood, spleen, bone marrow, brain, blood vessels, muscle, lungs, colon, liver, bladder, and adrenal gland

Given how common the ACE2 receptor is, it is unsurprising SARS-CoV-2 can cause a very wide range of symptoms.

In other words, multicollinearity everywhere. Not basketball players vs. skiiers at all.

So is LASSO even the right algorithm to handle entwinglement, like ACE2 receptors in every organ? Are there statistics mavens in the readership who can clarify? With that, I will leave the shaky ground of statistics and Table II, and raise two other issues.

First, it’s clear that the population selected for “Definitions” is unrepresentative of the LC population as a whole:

If the patients in “Definition” are not so ill, that might also account for Table 2’s missing symptoms.

Second, “Definition”‘s questionnaires should include measures of severity, and don’t:

Conclusion

The Long Covid Action Project (materials here) is running a letter writing campaign: “Request for NIH to Retract RECOVER Study Regarding 12 Symptom PASC Score For Long Covid.” As of this writing, “only 3,082 more until our goal of 25,600.” You might consider dropping them a line.

Back to the checklist for one moment. One way to look at the checklist is — we’re talking [drumroll] the PMC here — as a set of complex eligibility requirements, whose function is, as usual, gatekeeping and denial:

what they did is create basically a means test to figure out a dx but for smthg that is still not fully understood. it's premature and rly limited, & this will only further aid ppl already dismissive of lc — Wendi Muse (@MuseWendi) June 3, 2023

If you score 12, HappyVille! If you score 11, Pain City! And no consideration given to the actual organ damage in your body. And after the last three years following CDC, I find it really, really difficult to give NIH the benefit of the doubt. If one believed that NIH was acting in bad faith, one would see “Definition” as a way to keep the funding gravy train rolling, and the “12 Symptoms” headlines as having the immediate and happy outcome of denying care to the unfit. Stay safe out there, and let’s save some lives!

NOTES

[1] Oddly, the JAMA paper is not yet listed on RECOVER’s publications page.

[2] “12” is such a clickbait-worthy brainworm. “12 Days of Christmas,” “12 apostles,” “12 steps,” “12 months,” “12 signs of the zodiac,” etc. One might wonder where if the number had been “9” or “14” the uptake would have been so instant.

[3] To be fair to the sources, most of them mention this: Not CBS, Chief Health Care Executive, or the Daily Beast, but CNN in paragraph 51, Smithsonian (9), PBS (20), AMA Update (10), and Benefits Pro (17).

[4] There was only one patient representative for the paper:

One seems low, especially given the headcount for the project.

[5] I was not able to find a nursing journal that covered the story.

[6] Unless it was, of course.

[7] Samuel Johnson: “When I take up the end of a web, and find it packthread, I do not expect, by looking further, to find embroidery.”

[13thdoctorposts]

Do people just not accept the fact that the 13th Doctor can sell on her own, and definitely more then other BBC characters and just because another Doctor might sell better doesn’t mean all the Doctors don’t sell, and are probably all top selling characters compared to other BBC properties so completely worth having products and expanded media on? I keep hearing that there needs to be 10 to get sales but I’ve easily spent $1000s on 13 era merch of just 13. The only thing I also bought even though it had 10 in them is the comics. But I didn’t buy for 10 I bought them for 13, I have no 10 only merch. He’s not my Doctor so it’s not where I wish to put my money.

If your thinking there isn’t that much 13 merch for me to have spent that much, well postage to Australia is expensive and our dollar is weak compared to the pound. But also I’ve had to re-purchase some items because they were damaged in the mail. It all adds up and I would buy it all again, just like the fan boys buy all their merch and I wouldn’t be the only one wanting to buy 13 merch there’s a lot of us. And our money is of equal value, money is money to corporations. If you really believe Jodie doesn’t sell your being ignorant, it’s not a requirement for each Doctor to sell the same amount to have products and expanded media on them because they can order products to the capacity to which they would sell in the market place and it still be highly lucrative for them.

And also look no further then the 13 build a bear or big chief studios statue/doll… you can barely find one now and if you do they sell for well above 10, you can more easily get 10 and other doctors at a steal compared to 13 for both those products, your looking at easily double or more if you wanna pick up the 13th doctor versions compared to 10. And that’s in the market place where people are bidding and so the market value is set by the consumer! 13 sells for more $$ then 10 there.

You might want to believe 13 doesn’t sell but she does. And I’m not just talking about 13 era fans because you can also take into consideration Doctor Who collectors who like to own every piece of DW merch, they would be buying stuff to even if they aren’t the biggest 13 fans, you see this a lot with the steel books people want them for their collections. So 13 can definitely sell on her own, and there’s probably a bunch of Doctors she sells better then.

Also I don’t actually mind multi doctor stuff but I would also love to see 13 with 9 personally, but also 11 and 12. Or do they also sell so poorly they don’t deserve products either?

Each Doctor should have a good amount of singular merch and expanded media and at times be paired with different doctors. That’s far more interesting then everything 10.

Also you know what it definitely looks like sells a lot? 13 Doctor cos play. When ever you see pictures of cons it always looks like there’s a bunch more 13 Doctor cos play then other Doctors. Wonder which Doctor cos play stores sell more of.

[landscapeinsights]

Tom Brady And Gisele Bundchen Are Officially Over: Divorce Finalized!

NFL star quarterback Tom Brady and supermodel Gisele Bundchen have been together for over 12 years. However, on the 28th of October, the couple broke the Internet by announcing that they had finalized their divorce. The couple married in 2009 and have 2 children together. Brady has another son with his former girlfriend, Bridget Moynihan. GISELE BUNDCHEN INSTAGRAM Read more: Tom Brady Net Worth: How Rich Is This Person in 2022! When did things start to go wrong? Recent disagreements between Brady and Bundchen over whether or not the NFL star was ready to retire had strained their relationship. Shortly after retiring in February, the quarterback announced his return to the sport via Twitter. https://twitter.com/TomBrady/status/1503147141795045378?ref_src=twsrctfwtwcamptweetembedtwterm1503147141795045378twgr14ecf48929ba57774965f013e519b477a07e7a23twcons1_&ref_url=httpspublish.twitter.comqueryhttps3A2F2Ftwitter.com2FTomBrady2Fstatus2F1503147141795045378widgetTweet After initially supporting his decision publicly, Gisele expressed her concerns regarding Brady being more present in their family and his un-retirement from the dangerous sport in her October Elle interview. The athlete was reported to retire again after his 23rd season to soften his relations with Gisele. According to People, In September, the couple parted ways for six weeks to de-escalate problems in their relationship. Read more: Shocking!! Tom Brady, Seven-Time Super Bowl Champion, Retires After 22 Years How did the couple break the news on the Internet? On Friday morning, Brady posted a statement on his story that said: “In recent days, my wife and I finalized our divorce from one another after 13 years of marriage. We arrived at this decision amicably and with gratitude for the time we spent together.” In the same manner, Bundchen took to Instagram stories to announce their decision to split by saying that the decision was definitely a hard one to make but simultaneously referring to her ex-husband as ‘Tom’. Sources revealed that the couple living separately for months hired divorced lawyers nearing the start of October to divide up their multimillion-dollar empire. Read more: Gisele Bundchen And Tom Brady Getting Divorce: Are These Rumors True? Conclusion According to court documents, Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen completed a “Parent Education and Family Stabilization” course before finalizing their divorce. As per Florida law, separating and divorcing parents are legally required to attend the course designed to educate, train and assist parents in the context of the impact of divorce on children. It seems that Tom Brady is now finally spending quality time with his kids. The athlete took his daughter Vivian and son Benjamin to the movies on Friday night, hours after the news of their divorce went public. Read the full article

[landscapeinsight]

Tom Brady And Gisele Bundchen Are Officially Over: Divorce Finalized!

NFL star quarterback Tom Brady and supermodel Gisele Bundchen have been together for over 12 years. However, on the 28th of October, the couple broke the Internet by announcing that they had finalized their divorce. The couple married in 2009 and have 2 children together. Brady has another son with his former girlfriend, Bridget Moynihan. GISELE BUNDCHEN INSTAGRAM Read more: Tom Brady Net Worth: How Rich Is This Person in 2022! When did things start to go wrong? Recent disagreements between Brady and Bundchen over whether or not the NFL star was ready to retire had strained their relationship. Shortly after retiring in February, the quarterback announced his return to the sport via Twitter. https://twitter.com/TomBrady/status/1503147141795045378?ref_src=twsrctfwtwcamptweetembedtwterm1503147141795045378twgr14ecf48929ba57774965f013e519b477a07e7a23twcons1_&ref_url=httpspublish.twitter.comqueryhttps3A2F2Ftwitter.com2FTomBrady2Fstatus2F1503147141795045378widgetTweet After initially supporting his decision publicly, Gisele expressed her concerns regarding Brady being more present in their family and his un-retirement from the dangerous sport in her October Elle interview. The athlete was reported to retire again after his 23rd season to soften his relations with Gisele. According to People, In September, the couple parted ways for six weeks to de-escalate problems in their relationship. Read more: Shocking!! Tom Brady, Seven-Time Super Bowl Champion, Retires After 22 Years How did the couple break the news on the Internet? On Friday morning, Brady posted a statement on his story that said: “In recent days, my wife and I finalized our divorce from one another after 13 years of marriage. We arrived at this decision amicably and with gratitude for the time we spent together.” In the same manner, Bundchen took to Instagram stories to announce their decision to split by saying that the decision was definitely a hard one to make but simultaneously referring to her ex-husband as ‘Tom’. Sources revealed that the couple living separately for months hired divorced lawyers nearing the start of October to divide up their multimillion-dollar empire. Read more: Gisele Bundchen And Tom Brady Getting Divorce: Are These Rumors True? Conclusion According to court documents, Tom Brady and Gisele Bundchen completed a “Parent Education and Family Stabilization” course before finalizing their divorce. As per Florida law, separating and divorcing parents are legally required to attend the course designed to educate, train and assist parents in the context of the impact of divorce on children. It seems that Tom Brady is now finally spending quality time with his kids. The athlete took his daughter Vivian and son Benjamin to the movies on Friday night, hours after the news of their divorce went public. Read the full article

[itsbenedict]

...and that was it. The time machine had worked. I'd been sent 12 years into the past, and now- per my extremely important mission the government had spent billions of dollars preparing to send me on- I could warn the authorities and retroactively have already averted the nuclear apocalypse.

But first, I had an irreplaceable opportunity.

The landing site I'd selected was a vacant lot just a block from where I needed to go, so the trip was brief. I took the stairs up to the porch two at a time, and knocked on the door.

The Strange Old Woman Who Was Hiding A Mysterious Secret answered the door- a little younger, now, and for the first time since I'd met her, not looking at me with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that indicated that she Was Hiding A Mysterious Secret.

She was in fact looking at me like most people would look at a stranger who showed up on her doorstep dressed like a scuba diver had an accident at the tinfoil factory. Namely: like she was weighing whether or not it was worth it to risk calling the police.

"Hi," I said, removing my helmet and breaking the awkward silence. "You have a son, right?"

The Strange Old Woman Who Was Hiding A Mysterious Secret's eyes went a little wider, and the mental scale tipped noticeably towards the 'yes, definitely call the police' end.

"Y... yeeeeeees?"

I smiled. "Good! Great! So I'm not completely wasting my time. He's alive, currently?"

The Strange Old Woman Who Was Hiding A Mysterious Secret reflexively looked behind her, to confirm that the telephone was where she'd left it. Estimating, no doubt, how long it would take her to dash over there and dial 911.

"He's alive, right?" I repeated.

"I... yes. Yes, he's... sorry, who exactly are you?"

I shook my head. "Doesn't matter. Time traveler. Don't worry about it."

"Time tra- don't worry about it?!"

"Yeah, it's- I'm here for another situation. This is just a pit stop. Personal thing. Don't tell my boss. So- your son's alive, right?"

"Y-yes, I said-"

"Right, right. So. In like, either 5 or 6 years, I think five but I might be off by one, I'm going to start working at the office you're working the reception desk for. I mean, the me from the past- not, this me. Y'know time travel? Young me."

The Strange Old Woman Who Was Hiding A Mysterious Secret, I was given to know, didn't trust mental institutions, so she was at sort of a loss for what to do with me. Obviously having me committed was beyond the pale- but what was she supposed to do in this situation?

I pressed on. "Young me isn't gonna have any idea who you are. But you're going to show like, a weird interest in getting to know him and being his friend. He's gonna seem uncomfortable with it, but he secretly appreciates it, so don't worry about that."

She held up a finger and started making mouth sounds as if an objection would make its way to her lips at some point.

"Now, at some point- I think it's a few months in- you're going to invite him over to your house for dinner," I continued. "This house. I, uh- I see you don't have photos on the mantle there, but by that point you're gonna have photos on the mantle. Right?"

"Wh- how can you be sure- how does time travel-" The Strange Old Woman Who Was Hiding A Mysterious Secret protested, unable to form a complete sentence.

"So young-me is going to see one of the photos of your son, and he's gonna ask 'oh, who's this?'" I said, pointing at the mantle. "And here's the important part: you're gonna lie."

The Strange Old Woman Who Was Hiding A Mysterious Secret, I could tell, was managing to follow along, her thoughts of 'who is this freakshow and why should I trust him' occupying only a small slice of her attention.

"You're gonna lie," I continued, "and tell him that that's a photo of your son- who died ten years ago in a drunk driving accident. You're going to be really convincingly sad about it- tear up a little, really put on a show. You're gonna say that you'd give anything to have your baby boy back, but there's just no changing the past."

A look of dawning comprehension on her face- the The Strange Old Woman Who Was Hiding A Mysterious Secret was always quick on the uptake.

I nodded. "Your son will, obviously, be alive and well. No drunk driving accident- he'll be totally fine. You're going to lie to my face and tell me that he's dead. It's not going to be a perfect act- I'm going to be a little suspicious of you from then on, I'm gonna have the vibe that you're, like... hiding a mysterious secret- but that's what I'll have to go on."

"Because..." she trailed off- not asking "why", because she'd already figured out why, because she was a smart Strange Old Woman Who Was Hiding A Mysterious Secret.

"Because time travel cannot change the past, so if- six or seven years later- I ended up with access to a time machine, the only way I could use time travel to save your dead son would be to act in a way that was consistent only with your son never having been dead in the first place. Meaning, falsifying every piece of evidence I'd previously had to believe he was dead. Which was- conveniently- just that you'd told me he was."

The Strange Old Woman, newly armed with a Mysterious Secret to Hide, had a lot of questions.

[skullrock]

stay - Steve x Reader

12 days of Christmas fics, day 6 - stay 

pairing: Steve x Reader

summary: Steve thinks it’s too cold for Reader to go home, and they agree. Tipsy shenanigans ensue. smut <3

warnings: gentle smut! alcohol mentions and swearin also

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this boi mouthy as heck ! I like writing talkative Steve so much... anyway ! hope u enjoy this! pls heed the smut caution. you can see the masterlist for tdocf here and join the taglist here. 

“Steve, I have to go.”

“One more,” he says, pulling you into him and kissing you again. He tastes like the wine you’d spent the last few hours sharing. He pulls back and smiles dopily. “Okay, wait, one more -“

“Steve,” you say again, pulling away from him, cheeks flushed. “It’s late and there’s going to be snow. I need to leave before I get snowed in.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says, watching you grab your coat. “Is it so bad to have to spend a night with your boyfriend?”

You roll your eyes. “I don’t have any pajamas.”

“You don’t need any.”

You throw a glove at him. “Perv.”

“Got me.”

You lace up your boots and turn to face him. Steve’s smiling sadly - he always gets like this, tipsy or not. Never wants you to go, ever. He understands you need space sometimes - and so does he - but, god, does he miss you when you’re gone. He holds his arms out and you walk into them, burying your head in the crook of his neck.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” you promise. “Unless the snow is bad, in which case, I’ll call you.”

“Not good enough,” he pouts. “Just be snowed in with me. It’s too cold for you to leave.” He smiles. “We have booze here!”

You contemplate it for a moment, but you don’t know how long the blizzard will last. You didn’t want to be stuck in the same outfit for days, and even though Steve insists you can wear his clothes, they don’t exactly fit. So you stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Next time.”

He scoffs. “Next time? What if it never snows again?”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He shrugs and kisses the top of your head. “Fine. I won’t make you stay.”

“I’ll see you as soon as I can, okay?”

He nods and crosses his arms, watching as you open the front door of his apartment. You move to step outside, but the reality of the weather slaps you in the face. The roads were covered, to the point where they were nonexistent. There had to almost be a half a foot of snow - the sidewalks were covered. And it was freezing, way colder than it was when you arrived in the early afternoon.

“Holy shit,” you say.

“Holy shit,” Steve repeats behind you. “Did we make out that long?”

“How did it show this much in eight hours?”

Steve makes an I don’t know noise and snakes his arms around your waist. “Looks like you’re gonna have to stay.”

You shut the door and turn to face him, trying to hide your smile. “You did this.”

“I did,” he says, pulling you inside more and stumbling slightly. “I paid Jack Frost one million dollars to make a blizzard.” He frowns slightly. “Do you want me to drive you home?”

“No way. You can’t drive as is, let alone with snow on the road and wine in your system.” Steve rolls his eyes and you kiss his jaw. “I guess I can spend the night.”

Steve smiles and fiddles with the zipper on your coat. “Take this stupid thing off.”

“Oh, you want to pick right back up, huh?”

“Always,” he says, absentminded, tugging your zipper down. “I think our session got cut… short.” He leans down to kiss under your ear, and you groan.

“Can you not be horny for five minutes?”

“Never in my life,” he murmurs, pushing the coat off of your shoulders. “Want me to get your boots?”

“I can,” you say, smirking. You turn around and bend down, making Steve groan, as you untie them.

“It’s not my fault I’m always horny when you do that.”

“What?” you say innocently. Alcohol always left you feeling a little bolder. “I’m just untying my shoes.”

Steve moves to the couch, waiting for you and turning a random channel on to act as ambient noise. The TV plays How The Grinch Stole Christmas, and you scrunch your nose as you come to join him.

“We can’t watch the Grinch while we fuck,” you say.

Steve reaches out to pull you onto his lap. “Why not? It’s festive, it’s fun, it’s definitely sexy -“

“Steve, you have to find something else!”

He rolls his eyes but grabs the remote and flips until he finds another movie. This time, he settles with A Christmas Story.

“Not this, either,” you argue. “There’s kids in it.”

“They aren’t watching us!”

“Well -“

Steve kisses you roughly, which easily shuts you up. He smiles against your lips and murmurs, “That worked.”

You pinch his side and he jumps before kissing you again, pulling you as close to him as possible. He loves feeling your warmth against his chest - being close to you was the happiest he ever felt. He groans when you wrap your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly, just enough to rile him up. His hand ghosts at the hem of your shirt before he slides up to cup your breast.

You gasp. “Fuck, Steve.”

“You like that?”

“No, you’re freezing.”

Steve laughs loudly. “I can warm it up right here, then.”

“Whatever works,” you say, and sigh when his lips meet your neck, sucking gently at the skin. He flicks his tongue out before sucking again and moving down, placing careful kisses where he knows you like it. You grind down on him and he moans, bucking his hips up to make you moan.

“You sound so pretty,” he says, gently moving his fingers over your chest. “Look pretty, too.”

“So do you.” You tug at his hair again and he moans once more. “So pretty, Stevie.”

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” he says, moving his hand from under your shirt and tugging on it. “Can I see you?”

“You mean the girls?”

“Hell yeah,” he breathes, and helps you move your sweater off.

He’s seen you countless times like this, but the sight always makes his breath hitch. All of you was beautiful - the softness, the squishiness, the curves. You were so soft to touch - and Steve moves his fingertips over your skin, admiring that fact. He smiles when you moan, bucking against him. His hands move to your bra, but just to tease you, not to take it off.

“You were so eager earlier,” you whisper. “And now you want to stall?”

“Not stalling,” he whispers back, eyes tracing over your body. “Just admiring.”

You blush and bite your lip as his fingers move to the band of your bra, unclasping it. He sits the bra aside and stares again, biting his lip too, before reaching out to touch you. You grind on him again as he pinches and squeezes, trying to get him to do more.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, looking up at you. “I want to take my time, okay? Show you how much I love you.”

You smile and run a hand through his hair before moving to grip his shoulders. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he says, smiling, and then leans forward to kiss along your chest. You groan but stay still for him, trying to be patient as he works on you slowly. It’s kind of torture - you’d been fooling around all day just to be teased again. But Steve’s look of pure adoration makes the wait worth it.

“Steve,” you moan, his lips meeting one of your nipples.

“What?” he asks, pulling back and smirking.

“Don’t be a dick.”

“Maybe if you asked nicely….”

You roll your eyes. “Steve. Play with my tits.”

“Please?”

“Please.”

“You’re so polite,” he jokes, then leans forward again to suck a nipple into his mouth. Your hips buck and he moves a hand down to gently grab your waist, steadying you. You dig your fingers into his shoulders as he continues, rolling his tongue over you before sucking again, nipping gently to make you squirm. His grip on your hip becomes harder the more he gets into it, and he’s soon letting out little moans of his own.

“M-more,” you moan, grinding on him. “Please.”

Steve smiles and kisses up your neck again, once more sucking on the sensitive skin there. Frustrated, you grip his hair and tug his head back before littering his neck with kisses, flicking your tongue out just as he was with you. Steve groans and bucks his hips, mouth falling open at the feeling.

“Such pretty sounds, Stevie,” you mock, whispering into his ear. “I think you have too many clothes on.”

“Up,” he breathes, and you roll off of him, working to unbutton your pants as he rips his own clothes off. He sits, and you slide off the couch and onto your knees, smirking as you place yourself in front of him. He’s already hard, tip pink and leaking, and he looks lost for words as you look up at him.

“Someone’s excited.”

“I… yeah,” he says, staring at you with blown pupils.

“Don’t watch the TV,” you say, and he shakes his head fervently.

“No way,” he promises.

You kiss the inside of his thigh gently, trying to hold back a smile as he already starts squirming above you. You alternate thighs with each kiss, moving slow and gentle, flicking your tongue out to make him huff. You kiss at the base of his cock, then up, finally licking at his tip. He groans and throws his head back, but you pinch him gently. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

“Trying,” he pants, looking back at you. “You’re too hot.”

“I know,” you tease.

“Maybe….” he trails off as you lick his tip again, but you stop.

“No, say it.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep the laugh from bubbling out. “Maybe you could, like, melt the snow.”

“Steve, shut up,” you laugh. “I’m trying to blow you and this is what you give me?”

“You should know how I act by now,” he says, and then gasps when you wrap your lips around his head.

Steve is never quiet. Ever. But he’s especially never quiet during sex. Whether that’s talking, or moaning, or just babbling, he can’t shut up. Add alcohol and he’s a blabbering mess. You listen as he groans and swears above you, taking him in more and more with each bob of your head. You move your hand to his base and move your head in tandem as you pump him.

“Oh, fuck, yes, like that, good -“

“You taste so good,” you moan, moving to kiss his tummy before taking him into your mouth again.

“O-oh, oh, Jesus,” he breathes. “Keep - please - talking -“

You move off of him, continuing your movements with your hand. “You’re so handsome, babe, just look how pretty this cock is.”

“Yes,” he moans, reaching his hand down to tangle in your hair.

Your cheeks redden before you say, “You want me to fuck myself on it?”

Steve moans loudly and pulls you up suddenly, laying you on the couch. He moves to the end of it, trying to face your wet core, but his legs dangle miserably off of the couch end.

“We can go to bed,” you start, but Steve cuts you off.

“Can’t wait,” he says, pulling you towards him awkwardly. “I - god, this hurts my dick-“

“Your bed is -“

Steve’s mouth on your clit makes you interrupt your sentence with a moan. He pulls you closer, licks a stripe up you, before sucking gently at your clit.

“F - Steve -“

“Could eat you out forever,” he groans, pressing a kiss to your clit. His eyes dart up to you and he’s temporarily distracted by how beautiful you look - like an angel, quite honestly. “You’re so gorgeous. How did I get so lucky?”

“I’m only in it for the money.”

“That sucks, because I have none,” he says, then leans forward to flick his tongue against your clit.

“G… good thing… you have a… nice dick,” you pant, and he smirks into you, gently fucking his tongue into you for a few moments before leaning back.

“I’m funny, too. And handsome. And athletic.”

“And smart, and brave, and the nicest person I’ve ever met.” You reach down to run your hand through his hair and he smiles gently up at you.

“Do you want to get off, or keep complimenting me?” He kisses your thigh. “I could go with either.”

Before you can answer, his mouth is on you again. He swirls his tongue around your nub and then fucks his tongue into you gently, never taking his eyes off of your face as he does. He feels himself leaking as you writhe under him, moaning out his name, trying to grind yourself on his face.

“Patience,” he says, pulling away. “Just relax, okay?”

“O… okay.”

Steve works on you again, forcing himself to go slower this time, moving his tongue gently around your core. His legs hurt from hanging off the end of the couch - he thinks it has to look comical - but he doesn’t care. He only cares about you and your pleasure, making you feel good, showing how much he loved you. When your legs start to shake, he pulls back, smiling smugly at you. “Coming so soon?”

“You’re good,” you say, sitting up so that he can awkwardly maneuver himself back onto the couch. You straddle him again, both of you moaning when the head of his cock presses against your folds. You kiss him as passionately and as slowly as you can, moaning when you taste yourself on him. Steve once again pulls you as close as possible, running his hands along your back slowly. Everything was slow, and as much as you wanted him, this felt good, too.

“Hold on,” he pants. “Gotta get a condom.”

“Whyyy,” you whine, climbing off of him. “Can’t you just grow one?”

He scrunches his nose and stumbles again as he heads for his room. “Gross!”

He comes back from his room with a condom and lube - why he wouldn’t just take you to the bed, you don’t know - and he stands in front of you. “How do you want this?”

“Let me ride you,” you say eagerly.

Steve smirks and sits, rolling the condom onto himself. “Just can’t resist me, huh?”

“We would have sex either way,” you say, straddling him again. You take the lube from him and pour some onto the condom, making him groan.

“Yeah, but you’re so obsessed with me,” he says.

Your brain hurts as you try to understand what he’s saying, the alcohol not helping. “Your penis would go into my vagina in literally any position.”

“Yeah, but you want to top me so bad.”

“Do you want me to tell you I love your cock?”

“That would be nice,” he smiles.

Without warning, you sink down onto him, slowly, but enough to make his mouth drop. You bite your lip as you sit on him, feeling him twitch inside of you, and you rest when you’re fully seated. Steve’s still, somehow, pleased into silence, staring at you with his mouth open. You lean forward and press your lips against his ear. “Your cock is incredible.”

Steve groans and grabs your hips. “More, please?”

You rise up slowly, then move back down slowly. Steve’s head lolls back to the couch, but you follow his ear with your lips. “Fill me up so good, baby.”

“Yeah?” he asks, licking his lips, voice cracking.

“So fucking good,” you promise, moving your hips again. “You’re so cute, Steve.”

He mumbles a thank you and you kiss his cheek before picking up the pace, hands on Steve’s shoulders. His mouth falls open and he gets loud again, speaking gibberish and swearing, slowly rocking up into you to meet your hips. Your mouth falls back open when he moves a hand down to circle your clit with his lean fingers. “Oh, fuck, Steve!”

“Yeah?” he asks, fingers digging into your hips. “Feels good?”

You can only nod, continuing to ride him, until he suddenly starts thrusting up into you. He’s quick and hard, and you lean forward to bury your face into the crook of his neck as he continues. He wraps an arm around the back of your waist, his other hand still working at your clit.

“You feel so good,” he groans. “Squeezing me so tight. So hot.”

You laugh suddenly, but Steve’s pace doesn’t falter, even though his brows quirk together.

“Am I go- shit - gonna melt your dick?”

Steve laughs, then moans. “Y… yeah, maybe.”

You grab his face to kiss him as he continues. You almost die when he slides his tongue into your mouth, cock hitting just the right spots. You know you’re close, but you want to focus on Steve, so you move your feet to pin his legs to the couch.

“What?” he pants. “Am I doing something wrong?”

“Wanna be nice and gentle with you,” you whisper, and then start riding him again, slow and deep. Steve moans and presses his hips into the couch to prevent himself from fucking up into you. When you move to suck on his neck again, he whines, and tries to move your hips down on his cock faster.

“Patience,” you moan.

“Goin’ crazy,” he moans. “I’m… I’m close, sweetheart-“

“Come for me, baby boy,” you whisper, right into his ear, making goosebumps form on his skin. “Wanna feel you come in me, sweet boy. Want you to feel good.”

Steve squeezes his eyes shut and works his fingers against your clit quickly, trying to get you to come with him. You gasp and shudder into him, moaning “I’m close,” into his ear, and that’s when he finally lets himself come undone. He shivers and moans loudly, eyes rolling back, thrusting up into you gently. You come soon after, shaking on him, pressing yourself against his chest.

“Shit,” he breathes after a moment. “Holy….”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Yeah.”

“You okay?” he asks, folding his arms around you, keeping you close to his chest.

“Hell yeah I am,” you laugh. “You?”

“Never better.”

You kiss for a moment before sliding off of him. He ties and throws away the condom before joining you on the couch, chest pressed against yours. He kisses you again, gentle and light. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you murmur. “You’re so good and handsome and kind, Stevie.”

He moves to rest his head on your chest, eyes falling shut as you play with his hair.

“Did you tell Jack Frost you needed it to snow to get laid?”

Steve smiles into your skin. “I know I don’t need snow to get you to sleep with me.”

“Just a bottle of wine, right?”

“Noooo,” he says. “You wanna fuck me all the time.”

“True,” you say, pressing a kiss to his head. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

His eyes drift shut as you both watch the end of A Christmas Story, listening to your heartbeat as he holds you.

“Do you wanna move to your bed now?”

“No,” he yawns. “It’s not time to sleep yet.”

“You’re falling asleep right now, Steve.”

“No I’m not,” he says, closing his eyes again. “I’m just laying here.”

You laugh. “You’re impossible, Steve Harrington.”

Steve smiles sleepily. “And you’re beautiful.”

===

steeb tags:  @harrington-ofhawkins @harringtonisadingus @sassisaluxury @gothackedalready @willowrose99 @pxtrickhxckstettxr @harringtown @m-blasterrr @anerroroccurrrrred @marvels-gurl @the-almond-dinger @ssanjuniperoo @darth-el @kurtsbuckethat @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @astil-be @troop-scoop @ilovebucketbarnes​ @punchdescartes@metuel18 @dark-academics-and-florals @simplesammyx @lukeskisses @write-from-the-heart @bethhxrmon @flyingrichardgrayson @scoopsahoy @strangest-hour @lucifer-reads @stevexscoops @prettysbliss @patientplum @theworriedman

[sneaky-salty-bitch]

Let me tell you a little story. When I first laid eyes upon these shoes of Ted’s I fell in love. I immediately searched the internet to figure out what type of Nike they were exactly. I found the name. I was so excited I looked them up and my heart broke. The average price is 230. Which. I would pay in a heartbeat. However, what they don’t tell you is that 230 is for M18. In order to get the shoe in my size, homeboy costs 365-600 dollars!!!!!!! But then I found a site. A beautiful site where it was only 125. I immediately bought it, knowing it could be a scam, but not worried because I used PayPal and it’s super easy to get your money back. I then brought red laces to go with it, to complete the look. It’s been 2 weeks. I’ve been stressed. The tracking number provided doesn’t tell me anything.

Today, I looked up the store and did more research because a questionable email had me sweating, and it is, in fact, a scam. And now I’m heartbroken because all I want in life are these shoes and I had even bought the red laces to complete the look so now I’ll just cry into the void 😭😭😭😭 if anyone finds any for a somewhat reasonable and non-scammy price in a size M7 please tag me immediately 😭😭😭😭💔

Also there is another air jordan (pictured below) I think is fire and it’s dropping on Wednesday and I found out you can only buy them if you win a raffle you enter within 10 minutes of it dropping and that’s how actually all of their stupid air jordan shoes work. Which I guess is fair so that everyone has the same opportunity. But also not fair because I want them so bad and might never get the chance omg 😂😭

Update: I have now found the shoe on another site, that I had seen when first searching for the shoe, but the actual price not as bad as I originally thought. It’s a bidding site and there are 12 shoes in my size so all I have to do is stay in between the 12 highest bidding prices and I’ll get the shoe. I have never in my life spent so much on a shoe, but dammit it’s going to be worth it 😭😭😭 and while I won’t tell you how much it will be… I will say I am obsessed with shoes, have been for years. Vans specifically. And have spent a pretty penny on them. And I have so many pairs I can’t even fit them in my closet. So this obsession with shoes definitely isn’t because of Jason, but I will say he’s definitely added Air Jordan’s to my exclusively Vans list and I hate him for it. Omg.

And in case you were curious. These are the ones that drop Wednesday, and I hope to god I win 😭😭😭😭

Ummf I have two obsessions in life. Shoes. And…. Well… a topic for another day (;

[trillian-anders]

four christmases

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings:  slight violence, angst, fluff, smut && SPOILERS

word count: 16k

description: part 2 of 5. CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS, PLEASE DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT WATCHED THE FILM. you’ve been working for the thrombeys for four years now,the last three years of your service being a glorified babysitter to the most annoying, self-absorbed, dickhead hugh ransom drysdale. These are the four christmases you’ve spent with the thrombey/drysdale clan during your times of service. 

a/n: this story is brought to you by season 4 of schitt’s creek and maybe 12 cups of coffee. it felt like it took forever to write, but i’m happy to bring it to you. this is the follow up for my other ransom one-shot ‘the assistant’. i hope you guys like it! 

2018

What a fucking asshole. 

“You have to be there, it’s your job.” Ransom huffed indignantly. You rolled your eyes from the passenger seat of his beamer, tablet open in your lap as you scrolled through your sister’s amazon wishlist. 

“I have a family too Ransom. I can’t just abandon my own family on Christmas just because you can’t get along with yours.” His knuckles turned white against the gear shift. Nothing else mattered, only him it seemed, and his whining Mommy complex. 

“You were hired to assist me,” Ransom pulled into the drive of his house, tires crunching on the gavel, “So assist.” What a fucking tool. He quickly exited the car not looking behind him to see if you were following into the house, but leaving the front door wide open with the expectation that you were coming right behind. 

You had just hopped onto this assistant gig a few months ago. There you were minding your own business as fall began, working for a temp agency, when Linda Drysdale rang you up and asked you to come work for the family again. You had recently been tutoring one of the youngest of the clan, Meg, with her English coursework for her last school year. The pay was good and you were kind of let down when they opted not to keep you on after summer concluded. 

Babysitting Ransom paid well, better than it had been to help Meg out, but was it really worth the price? Ransom was a fucking child. You cooked his meals, washed his laundry, and were forced to tail him as he went about whatever business he deemed worthy of his days. Just until 9 pm, that’s all you had to do. Twelve hours a day, five days a week. Off Sundays and Mondays. 

It felt like too much and not worth the paycheck. Even if the trust-fund asshole spent his days flirting around from one party to the next. More often than not he found himself a body to bring home leaving you to get an uber back to his place just so you could get your car to go home, or worse yet having you sit awkwardly in the backseat of the car as whoever was in the passenger seat desperately tried to give him road head. 

He loved it. You know he did. Eyes flitting to yours in the rear-view mirror as a girl ten years younger than him fumbled with his belt. A fucking smirk on his face. You wanted to punch him, but your sister’s private school tuition held you back. 

You followed him into the house, one you had just spent the entire morning cleaning as Ransom slept off his hangover. The prick had dropped his coat on the floor adjacent to the coat hook, shoes haphazardly kicked off beside it, glaring at him as you picked them up while he drank orange juice straight from the carton. 

“I’ll pay you time and a half if you come.” He bartered. 

“You don’t pay me anything,” You scoffed. “Your Mom pays me.” 

“Exactly.” He tossed the carton back in the fridge, coming around the counter to get closer to you. He dropped his voice in what he probably thought was a seductive whisper. The fire it lit in your core would lead you to believe that it actually was a seductive whisper and you just fucking hated him. “I’ll make it worth your while.” He drug a finger down your cheek softly. It only caused you to roll your eyes, batting his finger away and stripping yourself of your coat you turned back to him, 

“I want triple.” 

Your sister was going to be pissed, but she’ll survive once she realizes you were able to get her a new laptop for school. A compromise. 

She cried. 

The Thrombey’s were probably the worst people you’ve ever met in your entire life. Harlan was prideful, pompous. He cared about his family, to an extent. He created them after all, his monsters. 

Linda was okay, but she was a lot like her father. She felt as though she was better than everyone else simply because she ‘built herself from the ground up’ yeah, if the ground was a million dollars gifted from Daddy. Her husband, Richard, was a glorified sugar baby, you were sure at one point he was a real estate broker, but Linda had the business, he just rode on her coattails. 

Walt was a whiny bastard. He was meek. He walked around with a cane and you weren’t sure he even needed it. It could totally be a ploy to try and gain more sympathy from his father. His wife was a drunk, you couldn’t remember her name, but it didn’t matter because she wouldn’t talk to you anyway. You can’t talk if you always have your mouth wrapped around the lip of a martini glass. Their son, Jacob, was a little alt-right shit. Every comment that came out of his mouth was a dig on some less privileged 99% and if you didn’t need this job you’d shove his head in the toilet yourself.

That leads you to Joni and Meg. Joni and Ransom had both been given an allowance every month. That’s the way they were mostly the same. How they differed was that Joni was at least attempting to have some sort of entrepreneur business where she gained some income, but not enough to live the lifestyle she was accustomed to. She had Meg in this expensive ass private school that cost more than your salary a month and Meg found this group of liberal women and now she was becoming the extreme opposite of Jacob. They often bumped heads, with Meg slowly giving in. She always gave in. This was her family and as much as she wanted to fight for the 99% she never actually wanted to be one. 

But it was fine. 

It didn’t really matter. 

You just wanted to go home. 

Ransom hasn’t had an empty hand all day thanks to you. “If I’m ever without a drink,” He said on the way over, “You’re walking home.” So this is where you’re standing, with Marta and Fran, you sipping on a weak mimosa that Marta had compromised on, waiting for the day to be over. 

Ransom’s eyes met yours from across the room, hand raising his glass, the last little mouthful swishing against its side. You sighed and rolled your eyes, turning to grab the decanter behind you, walking over to fill his glass. “So I told him to shove it up his ass,” Linda was telling Harlan a story, “If you think for one moment I would give in to anything less than market price you’re out of your mind.” Please love me, she was saying, please see that I’m the best child you have. Harlan’s eyes were dazed, not looking at hers. Thinking. He was always thinking. 

The only time Ransom didn’t need you was when he disappeared into his Grandfather’s office. Presents were handed out just before, new iphones, apple watches, macbooks, cartier bracelets, rolexes, a couple of little bonus checks to their allowances, the spirit of Christmas was definitely lost on this family. 

It doesn’t matter. 

You had just filled Ransom’s glass before he entered the study and you knew he wouldn’t need you until some kind of argument broke out with his Grandfather and you had to be ready to leave the house at a moment’s notice. 

“How’s it goin’ kid?” Richard always kind of made you uncomfortable. He seemed normal, but you were uncomfortable in a ‘this is a rich older white man who liked to corner you alone’ kind of way. For the most part he’s been harmless. 

One time, this was early on when you first started to tutor Meg, he found you in a similar way. Alone, in the kitchen. This was one of the first times he had met you and he was sure to let you know, “You’ve got a really pretty face, you know that?” Ew. Thanks? He had gotten close, too close. “How’d a pretty girl like you end up as a tutor?” That’s worse. And cheesy. This looked like one of those times, except he’d been drinking since 8 am. 

“I’m fine thanks.” You had been trying to find a minute of peace. There was always someone talking in this house, during ‘debates’ there were usually three or four. This was supposed to be a break. Ransom having been passed off to another wet nurse he could suck off of while you got some rest, and maybe sneak a couple of those expensive chocolate artisanal cookies for good measure. Richard grinned at you, not in the way Ransom would when he was fucking with you, but something more predatory. He was feeling ambitious. 

“I just wanted to give you this,” He slipped an envelope across the counter to you, hand resting on it, waiting for you to take it. As your hand met the envelope, he did the fucking worst thing he could possibly do in this moment, and took your hand. Your heart was racing and you felt wildly uncomfortable. He held your hand, taking a step into your space, body crowding yours against the counter. You stared him down, please just let me go. Please just fucking let me go. “How’s my son treating you?” He asked. What exactly did he think you were doing for his son?

“Fine.” You swallowed harshly. Please just let me go. You could smell the whiskey on his breath, face coming closer to yours. 

“If you ever need anything…” Closer and closer. You wished you could pull back completely, get out of this situation, but the vice grip he currently had on your hand was making it difficult. 

“Y/N.” Your eyes snapped over to the doorway, Ransom. His jaw was clenched, face flushed from what you were sure was an argument with Harlan. “We’re leaving.” Richard turned and smiled at his son, releasing your hand. You quietly slipped the envelope into your jeans pocket, backing yourself away from him, and joining Ransom across the room where his eyes hadn’t yet left his father. It wasn’t until you made it to the front door, grabbing your coat from the coat rack did he stomp his way out of the house, digging his car keys from his pockets. 

“Ransom I don’t think you should be driving-” You started, but he turned to you, eyes wild. This scared you. 

“Get in the car.” He demanded. Fuck, he’s drunk.

“Ransom you’re drunk, you can’t drive right now.” His eyes looked behind you and you turned to look at his family, peeking out through the curtains to watch the show. He quickly grabbed your arm, tugging you to the passenger seat, wrenching the door open and shoving you in, slamming the door behind you to circle around to the drivers side. “Just let me drive.” You pleaded. He slammed his own car door, revving the engine and quickly whipping the car out of the driveway. 

He wasn’t saying anything and Ransom always had something to say. 

“Ransom-”

“Shut the fuck up.” His knuckles were white against the wheel, eyes staring straight ahead as he began gaining speed. 

60 mph,

65 mph,

70…

“Slow down!” He was scaring you, these roads were winding and dark, his high beams only did so much and you weren’t sure how many deer you’d be seeing tonight. His foot was heavy on the accelerator. 

75

80

85

“Ransom please!” You cried. His breathing was heavy. His eyes were moving wildly left to right as he moved the wheel to turn.

90

95

100

You were going to die. This was it, this was the end. The car hit the open road, the interstate, and to the left of the on ramp you had just flew through was a cop. Their lights started flashing, red and blue filling the car as Ransom kept accelerating. It wasn’t late at night, probably around nine or so. There were other cars here as Ransom kept gaining speed, swerving in and out of traffic. “You’ve got to pull over!” You yelled at him.

105

110

115

“Ransom for the love of god, fucking stop!” His eyes looked in the rearview, two cops now. It was then he began to slow down, moving over to the side of the road, your heart still racing in your chest. You relax your fingers which you didn’t even realize was gripping Ransom’s bicep in a steel grip. Both of you breathing heavily inside the car. It wasn’t until the cop heavily banged on the window that either of you even moved. 

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle.” A bright flashlight in your face as you dug around for his registration and insurance in the glove box. Exiting the car and circling to the trunk as Ransom was handing the four cops bills from his money clip. Why the fuck did Ransom have a money clip full of hundreds? Ransom’s eyes met yours as he stuffed his money clip back in his coat pocket before tossing you the keys which you caught awkwardly. 

“Take me home.” 

You looked over at the cops who were getting back in their squad cars before quietly getting in the driver's seat and shutting the door. Your heart was still pounding and as the adrenaline began wearing off you suddenly grew very tired. 

“Drive.” You didn’t want to hear his voice. You never wanted to see his face again. You never even wanted to hear his name again. 

“You’re the fucking worst.” You could feel yourself crying. That was the most terrifying experience you’ve ever had in your life. 

“Well you’re fucking my father so,” He sunk down in his seat. “I think I have some competition.”

“I’m not fucking your father!” You exclaimed, hand hitting the steering wheel. You hear him scoff from the passenger seat.

“Not today since I walked in on you. Which is funny, you put on this whole show about not wanting to be around my family and what was it all for? A fucking ploy so I didn’t know.” Ransom didn’t fucking know how much of a goddamn idiot he was being right now. 

As the gravel crunched beneath the tires of the beamer, your argument continued. “I’m not fucking your father, I’ve never fucked your father, and I never will fuck your father.” He wasn’t hearing you. 

“Is this why Linda pays you so much?” He scoffed, exiting the car. He looked at you from over the roof and continued, “So you keep Richard out of her bed?” You hadn’t stopped crying. Still half going from fear and the other half from frustration. It was so goddamn cold out that the tears were freezing against your cheeks. 

“Ransom, I am not fucking your father!” You yelled, “The reason she pays me what she does is because the exact fucking thing you’re doing right now.” He rolled his eyes, walking up to the front door of his house, 

“Give me my keys.” 

“No.” You were still standing by the car, keys fisted in your hand. “You’re being a fucking asshole right now.” 

He clenched his fist, slamming it into the front door before turning back to you and yelling, “Give me my fucking keys Y/N.” You both looked at one another for a moment. 

You took a deep breath. “I have nothing to do with your father Ransom. My only job is to wait on you like a fucking servant and that is what I get paid to do. Not be your fucking punching bag when your family turns out to be a bunch of dicks-”

“Give me-”

“I’m not finished!” You screamed. Tears were still streaming heavily down your face and Ransom stood five feet away from you awkwardly letting you continue. “I don’t deserve this Ransom. I really fucking don’t. You literally almost just fucking killed me. So you’re going to say you’re sorry, you’re going to go into your fucking house, you’re going to give me what you promised me for even having to deal with this shit tonight, and you’re going to give me the rest of the week off.” 

It was silent for a moment. The two of you standing in the cold Massachusetts air in silence. Your face was starting to burn and as the silence stretched on you began to doubt everything you just said. Fuck this could cost you the job. The envelope Richard had handed you weighed heavily in your pocket. Hopefully it would be enough to hold you over until you could get back to the temp agency. 

Ransom let out a breath he had been holding, turning fully to you, and walking down the two steps of his porch. You flinched back away from him, looking at his knuckles that were split and bleeding from punching the door. His eyes met yours and he looked like he was debating something. 

“I’m sorry.” His words were soft and whispered, hand coming forward with an open palm, waiting for his keys. You gently gave them back to him. That soft, whispered, ‘I’m sorry’ stunned you. You didn’t expect your yelling to actually work. You expected to be fired. His keys jingled as he reached in his pocket and brought that money clip back out, extracting a bundle of hundreds and holding them out to you between two fingers. “Go home.” 

That was never spoken of again. The thing with Richard in the kitchen, being pulled over on 95, the screaming match that ensued, and nothing was ever said about the solid gold, $6,500 cartier bracelet that was by no doubt wrapped at the store that was waiting for you when you arrived back at work five days later. 

2019

“What did he do?” You were sweating. It was so fucking hot in here, but you were afraid to take off your coat. The fanfare in which the detectives had pulled up to your apartment complex was embarrassing, quickly bringing you down to the police station and shoving you in an interrogation room. 

“What did who do?” The man who had introduced himself as Lieutenant Elliot asked you. Shit. What the fuck did Ransom do? The death of Harlan Thrombey was sudden, right after his birthday just two weeks ago. It was unsettling, the suicide. The funeral was uncomfortable to say the least. Ransom told you to go and then didn’t go himself so you stood there like some weird interloper on the tails of everyone’s grief. 

You were going to throw up, you’ve never so much as gotten a speeding ticket but suddenly you had a kilo of coke on you and an unlicensed gun. “Where were you the night Harlan Thrombey committed suicide?” You picked at your fingernails. 

“I was at the party,” Your throat was so dry, you were afraid to touch the glass of water they had set before you, “I always feel strange around the family so unless Ransom needs me I try to hide out in the kitchen.” 

“You’re his assistant?” Elliot asked, “He doesn’t have a job, so what exactly do you assist with?”

“I’m pretty much his babysitter.” You explained, “I make sure he doesn’t get into too much trouble…” It’s ironic right? You bit your bottom lip. “Why am I here exactly?” The other man in the room, Wagner, spoke up, 

“Hugh Drysdale has been arrested in the murder of Harlan Thrombey’s housekeeper.” Elliot gave him a dirty look. 

“Fran’s dead?” The shock was evident on your face. You leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair, discarding your coat and scarf and taking a large mouthful of water. 

“You seemed surprisingly absent from Hugh’s side throughout the aftermath of Harlan’s suicide, why is that?” The third man spoke up from his spot sitting in the corner of the room, the thick southern accent was almost comical. 

“Ransom gave me time off,” You recalled, voice trailing off as you finish your sentence, “He said I could go to my sister’s cello recital…”  Did he really kill her? “Why would he kill Fran?” It made no sense. “I mean, he’s an asshole, but murder?”

They played a recording. Ransom in his own, self-righteous, pompous voice. Fuck me. What a fucking idiot. “So tell us where you were on the dates in question, spare no details.”

You had thought it strange, Ransom had left you stranded at the Thrombey house and you were forced to find your own way back to his house to get your car. It wasn’t at all strange that when you got to his house his car wasn’t there. You’d just assumed he’d gone out. It wasn’t uncommon for him to go out after finding arguments with his family. But the next day when he suggested that you take the week off, spend time with your sister, go to that recital you didn’t know he knew about, you checked his forehead with your wrist.

“Are you sick?” You had asked. He gently pushed your wrist off of his forehead, giving you a terse look. 

“Harlan committed suicide last night, the funeral is tomorrow, but after that you should take some time. I need some time.” Your heart broke a bit. Yeah Ransom and Harlan butt heads all the time, but they were practically the same person so it made sense to you that they would fight. Both prideful assholes. 

“I’m so sorry Ransom.” Should you hug him? You didn’t know. You two didn’t have any physical contact really. You’d never seen him hug anyone. So no, no hugs. “Is there anything I can do for you?” You opted to just gently lay your hand on his wrist. His eyes met yours for a moment, silence. 

“Just come to the funeral.” With that he stood up and walked away. 

That’s why it was so off-putting when the bastard didn’t even show up to the funeral and as you stood there with his sobbing family you figured next time you saw him you were going to spit in his coffee. 

“I haven’t seen him since the day before the funeral.” You admitted to the officers. “He asked me to go, and didn’t even show up.” 

“If we have any other questions we’ll let you know.” And you were released from questioning, but you had so many questions yourself. Arson? Fran? He attempted to murder Marta. Was this worth it? The fucking asshole never had to work for anything in his life, and even now as you stood in the courtroom waiting to see what bail would be set as so you could relay to Linda, you wanted to smack his pretty little face for being such a fucking idiot. 

A bailiff read out the case number and in walked Ransom. You’d never seen him in any outfit that cost less than your rent and here the bastard was, walking in with a black and white striped jumpsuit, the county jail logo stamped in red on the back.  You were the only person that showed up for him. Linda was half waiting for you to text her a dollar amount so she could pay his bail, the other half of her was debating on whether to leave him there or not. At least, that’s what she told you anyway. 

You could only imagine what you looked like to him. Your eyes were puffy and red from just crying in the parking lot for an hour in between getting questioned and coming to his hearing. Before that the detectives had taken you practically from your bed. But you were here, in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, coat pulled over the ratty thing, and snow boots on your feet. It started snowing this morning. 

His eyes caught yours as soon as he entered, but he quickly looked away. It was like a goddamn movie, his wrists cuffed to his waist, a chain leading down to the cuffs around his ankles. 

Ransom Drysdale murdered someone. 

A chill went down your spine, “Bail set at a million dollars.” And a gavel. Cameras clicking behind you. Thirty minutes later you were waiting for his release. You handed a dry cleaning bag with clothes to the officer at the front desk. 

Ransom Drysdale murdered someone. 

It wasn’t long before the secure, thick, metal door behind the metal detectors opened and Ransom was walking through it back to you. He wouldn’t meet your eyes, quickly circling to the desk to get his phone, wallet, and keys back. The garment bag was shoved back in your hands containing the clothes he was wearing when he was arrested, and then he was out the doors of the county jail, speed walking to your car. His was taken in as evidence. 

You used your key fob to unlock the car, Ransom wordlessly climbing in the passenger seat and slamming the door behind him as you settled in the driver’s. This was uncomfortable. You drove in silence for a minute, awkwardly leaning over to turn on the radio. The song only played for a second before Ransom leaned over, smacking the button to turn it off again. 

“Just say it.” He spat out at you. Your hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. 

“Say what, Ransom?” You were scared of him now and he could tell. He breathed harshly through his nose. You could feel his eyes on you. 

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I did it? Why I did it? Yell at me for being a fucking idiot?” He threw his hands up in frustration. There was a beat of silence more, “Say something.” 

“I don’t know what to say!” You really didn’t. What do you even say? You’ve been cursing him for a while. In your head. Cursing him since you left the interrogation earlier. You didn’t know what any of this meant for your job, if you’ll be able to keep your sister in school, if you’ll be able to even afford the apartment you two live in right now. And all because Ransom wasn’t getting anymore fucking money from his Grandfather the fucking prick. 

“Anything. Fucking say…” He leaned over in his seat, growing close to you. “Are you scared of me?” He smirked. Not in his, I’m playing with you and getting my way, smirk. And not in his, I’m making you weirdly uncomfortable and it really gets me off, smirk. But some sick sinister type of smirk that made your stomach roll. 

“You fucking murdered someone Ransom.” You said between clenched teeth. He studied you for a minute before settling back in his seat. Silence took over until you made it to the front door of his house. Lawyers should be coming by in about an hour to start working on his case, his parents should be here soon as well seeing as they were backing all of this. 

“You think I would hurt you?” Ransom asked as he stripped himself of his coat, purposefully letting it fall to the floor just so you’d have to pick it up. You left it there. He turned to look at you, still in the doorway of his house. “I killed Fran because I had to.” He spat. “It was for the bigger fucking picture. You want to be paid don’t you? You like having money right?”

“Your Mom pays me Ransom.” You stated calmly. His voice was escalating in volume as he continued.

“So fucking what? Who bought you that fucking coat, huh?” He was talking about the expensive wool coat you are currently wearing. He bought it for you after seeing that your old bubble coat had stuffing pouring out of the right pocket. You didn’t ask for it. “Who pays for your fucking phone, huh?” You had a month-by-month plan before. Ransom gifted you and your sister iphones sometime in the spring, saying that he needed to be able to reach you without having every call get dropped due to bad reception. Your sister’s was just because they were buy-one-get-one, or so he said. You didn’t ask for it. “And that fucking bracelet on your wrist too? Is my Mom buying you jewelry? Or just me and my fucking Dad?” He was still under the impression that something had gone on between you and his father apparently. 

“That’s it! I’m done.” You yelled back at him. “I fucking quit.”  You stripped the coat off your shoulders and tossed  it on the floor beside his watching his mouth snap shut. You wiggled the bracelet off your wrist and threw that down on top of it before slipping your phone out of the side pocket of your yoga pants and throwing that on the pile. “I’ll mail Julia’s phone back to you.” You still hadn’t stepped foot inside the house, turning to walk back to your car when Ransom’s thundering footsteps could be heard behind you. 

Fuck he was going to kill you. 

It had continued to snow throughout the morning, the soft white stuff still falling heavily from the sky as you rushed to your car, you had to get away. You didn’t make it far before Ransom’s arms wrapped around your body from behind, tugging you tightly to his chest. You let out a loud scream before he covered your mouth with his hand. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered quickly into your ear. “Please stop, I’m sorry.” His large body was bent over your back as you were crouched over trying to get him to release you, both of you breathing heavily as you settled against him. “Y/N I’m sorry.” He slowly started walking the two of you back toward the house, “I’m not gonna hurt you!” He shouted as you tried to bite his hand. He uncovered your mouth, arms loosening. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” He repeated a little more calmly. 

He brought you back into the house, shutting the door softly behind him. You wanted to leave, eyes tearing up. What the fuck were you supposed to do now? Ransom stood for a moment with his back against the door before peeling the wet socks off of his feet. You hadn’t realized that he took his shoes off when he originally came in. His feet were bright red from the cold. You glanced to your left at the knife block there, slowly backing away. 

“No, no, no, I’m not going to hurt you.” He sunk down to his knees. He looked like a fucking idiot, face flushed from the cold, kneeling in front of the door. He slowly made his way over to you, not rising from his knees, shuffling forward with his hands open and facing you. Your heart was racing as he stopped at your feet, slowly moving his arms to wrap around your waist, burying his face in your ratty old college sweatshirt. 

He was hugging you. Actually hugging you, on his knees, face turned into your belly. You could have sworn he whispered, “Please don’t go.” But you couldn’t be sure. 

A pot of coffee was made, coats picked up, and floor mopped before the lawyers and his parents arrived. The only evidence of your earlier fight was the absence of the cartier bracelet you refused to put back on. It sat heavily in Ransom’s pants pocket. Their discussion was loud in the living room and no one looked up as you lay the coffee and finger foods on the coffee table, Ransom’s cup unmade for him out of spite. As you turned to make your way back to the kitchen, Richard’s hand shot out to grab you harm, halting your movements, 

“Grab me some Macallan for me, would you sweetheart?” Your eyes flit over to Ransom, who’s jaw twitched, sharing a look with you before looking back to his lawyers and mother. 

This was none of your business, but you needed to know what your future was going to look like. Were you out of a job? If Ransom went to prison there would be no one to babysit. So yeah, you would be. He admitted on tape to arson and murder. Pre-meditated arson was minimum of 10 years, Murder was 30 years. He’s looking at at least 40 years in prison. He would be an old man before he was even allowed parole. 

The group grew silent, or you couldn’t hear them as you started dinner for that evening. You were sure the four of them would be staying. “Y’N, would you come here please?” That was Linda. 

You made your way over to the group, shuffling nervously in your wool socks. “Yes Mrs. Drysdale?” Linda smiled, 

“It’s back to Thrombey now, but that’s another issue.” Hmmm. “If I was willing to pay you…. Say four times what you’re making now, would you take Ransom’s house arrest? That is, if we are able to work the judge down to that.” 

“House arrest?” You looked to Ransom confused, he wasn’t meeting your eyes. “Murder and Arson-”

“The only proof they have is the recording, the only thing they’re going to be able to pin on Mr. Drysdale here would be the attempted murder of the nurse.” A chill went down your spine, 

“You tried to kill Marta too?” You asked Ransom, incredulously. He didn’t respond, popping a cube of cheese into his mouth. His lawyers made you uncomfortable, they were definitely sleazy and you knew money could get you far in the justice system. If that recording was 75% of the evidence against Ransom and it was suddenly and accidentally destroyed, they would only have what was actually witnessed. 

“Well, would you?” Linda asked again. 

“I uhm… I have a sister who lives with me, I can’t just-”

“I’m sure there’s someone else who can take care of her. How long would it be for?” She looked to the lawyers, “Two or three years?” This was impossible. You couldn’t. Linda looked back at you. “How about this…” She leaned over and clasped your hands softly. “We will pay for your sister’s school, her housing, everything she needs while you’re doing this for us, and you’ll still get paid what I originally offered.”

“If Ransom gets house arrest?” You asked. 

“Yes ‘if’.” She was selling it hard. Julia could stay with your aunt. She didn’t live far from where the two of you currently reside. The majority of your income went to her school, books, clothes, rent, and groceries. Having all of that taken care of would mean you’d be getting four times your current salary and not having to spend any of it. Just for a couple years. 

“If Ransom gets house arrest,” you looked over at him, his eyes briefly meeting yours, studying you it felt like, “If he does, I will do what you need me to do. But I don’t even know how-” Linda’s hands quickly released yours. 

“We will figure that out when the time comes,” Linda has a shit eating grin on her face, “Write up a contract.” Directed at the lawyers, “Now, how are we going to get our hands on that recording?” That’s it. You were dismissed until they needed you again. 

“Why would you do that?” Ransom asked you. Everyone had left a little bit ago, you were busy washing the dishes, knowing as soon as this task was finished you’d be able to go home and this day from hell would be over. 

“Do what?” There was a piece of cheese melted on the side of the casserole dish that wouldn’t fucking come off. 

“Agree to take my punishment?” You paused in your scrubbing, 

“That’s if they actually settle on house arrest.” You finally unwedged the cheese, rinsing off the casserole dish and placing it in the dishwasher. 

“Hmpf.” Ransom had been cold and distant since he burrowed his head into your belly. Has to make up for his extreme weakness then. “But why?” He asked again.

You turned to him, eyes staring directly into his. You watched him fiddling with the gold bracelet you had taken off earlier, it was in his hand down by his side. “It’s what you said earlier right?” You scoffed, removing the rubber gloves from your hands and throwing them in the sink. You walked closer to him, not breaking eye contact. “Because I need the fucking money.” 

The two of you didn’t talk for the rest of the weekend. Usually there was texting here and there, ‘Where are my grey socks, the ones I usually wear with the navy Ralph Lauren slacks?’ or ‘Next week when you meal prep for my weekend can you make me this?’ with a link to a recipe. ‘Pick me up a pack of magnums on your way in.’ Fuck you. 

You got him regular Trojans. 

Monday was Christmas luckily enough, and you knew you weren’t going in. Ransom didn’t even text you to see where you were. His account was rapidly depleting funds, you checked every once in a while. 

234.72 ETRN-STD

523.50 DRNK

435.62 HAWTHNE

The list went on. Multiple spots a day over the weekend. That’s who he was going to be now, the old fucking white dude who sits at a bar all day hitting on girls uncomfortably too young. How many giggling 18 year olds would you kick out crying and screaming the next day? Disgusting.  

“Do you have them?” Them meaning the cookies that were currently at the bottom of your reusable Aldi bag. Your sister, Julia, was off to your right, setting a pot with water on the stove to boil. It was Christmas, just the two of you, and with the aftermath of everything that was going on with the Thrombey/Drysdale clan, you were happy to get some time off to relax. You might even push it so that you wouldn’t have to work tomorrow. We’ll see if Ransom texts you. 

“Of course I do.” This bag has been in your closet all weekend. There’s a bakery near your apartment that your Mom would take you to all the time, every time you got an A, won a game, gotten an award. Everything they made reminded you of her, and it was something you craved more than anything. Every Christmas they would make these fresh baked cookie packs with all kinds, chocolate chip, double chocolate chunk, snicker doodle, gingerbread, white chocolate macadamia, chocolate and peanut butter. 

Every Christmas, after dinner, you and your sister would slouch in front of the TV with scalding hot cups of hot chocolate and devour almost the whole box. Every year except last year when at the time your sister was home alone watching The Grinch you were in a car with Ransom going over a hundred miles an hour and scared for your life. This Christmas, Ransom would not be getting between the two of you, food was cooking, lights in the living room were dimmed. The tree was all lit up and the presents you had exchanged earlier that morning sat unwrapped beneath it. 

Christmas music was playing softly on the tv as you heard someone knock on your front door. 

“Coming!” You yelled. It wasn’t uncommon for a neighbor to have forgotten something, sugar, butter, milk, that they needed for dinner. It wasn’t uncommon for you to answer your door without looking through the peephole. What was uncommon was Ransom Drysdale standing sheepishly on the other side. His cheeks, nose, and eyes were red. The cheeks and nose from the cold, the eyes probably from the alcohol you could smell on him. You sighed heavily, feeling a headache coming on, “What are you doing here?” 

“Bar called me an uber and I didn’t want to go home.” He explained quickly, words slurring slightly. 

“Your parents-”

“Fuck my parents!” He yelled, you quickly shushed him, looking down the halls to see if anyone was peeking out into the hallway. “Fuck my parents.” He said quietly. 

“Ransom…” You sighed, stepping out into the hall, closing the door softly behind you. “What do you want?” His eyes were glazed, he shrugged dumbly, swaying forward. “Okay big guy,” I guess this is happening, “Come on.” You quietly ushered him inside, shutting the door softly behind you. 

“Who is it? Oh, woah.” Julia’s eyes bugged out of her head, shifting over to you. ‘Murderer’ she mouthed. 

“Go set the table.” You ushered Ransom over to the small table that could barely seat the two of you let alone a third, quickly brewing a pot of coffee and keeping an eye on your sister who was scared to get to close to him. “He’s harmless Julia.” You reassured her, or were you reassuring yourself so that you didn’t feel like such a bad guardian, letting a murderer into your home. He was past angry drunk Ransom, which is probably why the bar kicked him out, he was sad Ransom right now. You’d never seen him cry but this was probably the closest you were going to get to it. He was quiet, sat in the chair just staring as you and your sister finished dinner. 

You poured him a cup of coffee and a glass of water, hoping to sober him up enough that you could safely send him home later on. The three of you sat down to eat. Ransom staring listlessly out the window. You made him a plate and told him to eat. And he did. You told him to finish his water. And he did. You told him to finish his coffee. And he did. This was almost terrifying. He hadn’t said anything since ‘fuck my parents’, and he looked dead on his feet. 

“Send him home,” Your sister pleaded. The man hadn’t moved. Cleanup had already started and finished, he was still nursing the third glass of water you’d given him. Cookies were warming in the oven. His eyes were less glassy now. He was slowly sobering up. The large helping of mashed potatoes and three bread rolls he ate didn’t hurt either. 

“He’s my boss, I can’t really kick him out.” You explained, “Let me get him sober enough that I know he’s okay and then he’ll go home.” She rolled her eyes at you, stirring the pot of hot chocolate on the stove, adding more chunks of chocolate to melt. Ransom, still unspeaking, didn’t protest when you moved him into the living room, setting him up in the recliner with his own cup of hot chocolate and three cookies, before snuggling down with your sister and watching How the Grinch Stole Christmas. You moved only once when he tapped the mug against your arm. 

More.

“I’ve never done anything.” He said. “Never went to college, barely graduated high school.” He was rambling to himself, maybe to you? “I’ve spent the entirety of my adult years inside someone’s cunt.” 

“Alright, Julia. Time for bed.” You ignored her whining protests. The movie wasn’t over yet. “Please?” You begged her. She hated Ransom. You knew this. She knows you know this. ‘All he does is take you from me.’ is what she once said to you. Just to treat you like shit. 

“I have no money.” Ransom’s eyes met yours. “None.” 

“I know Ransom.” He scoffed. 

“I’m no better off than you now.” 

“You still have your house. I’d say you are still better off.” You started cleaning up around him, letting the asshole sit in his self-pity. 

“C’mere.” It was a quiet request. The Grinch was packing up his sleigh in the background. You dropped the two mugs you were holding onto the counter, circling back to the recliner. Ransom’s hand came out soft, wrapping around your forearm and gently guiding you to sit in his lap.

“Ransom, I don’t think this is appropriate.” You tried to pull away, heartbeat beginning to pick up. His still bloodshot eyes raised to meet yours. 

“Please hold me.” Fuck. What were you supposed to do with that? Heart melting you sunk into his lap, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in tight. It was quiet for a while. Sitting with the credits rolling, Ransom’s arms wrapped around your waist while yours were wrapped around his shoulders. Comforting him from whatever crisis he was currently going through. 

“Marta ruined everything” He whispered into your neck. 

“No Ransom, you did.” 

2020

The trial, fuck me, the trial. The whole fucking family showed to watch Ransom crash and burn and get exactly what he deserved. Well that and to stare down Marta Cabrera who sat with the prosecution in some shiny new digs, a stunning gold cartier bracelet on her wrist. That was familiar. Ransom’s cheap bought apology. There was a tension there, you knew. He always had a thing for ‘the help’. You wondered if that’s where he had been this past week. But it’s strange isn’t it? This whole situation. It was unsettling and for some reason you felt irreversibly used.  

“I knew the knife was a prop.” And that was that. Audio recording gone, attempted murder charge whittled down to aggravated assault. A slap on the wrist. Two years of house arrest. And here you were, in Ransom’s home with a fucking house arrest bracelet making your ankle itch. Unfucking believable. Ransom had sat in the courtroom, head raised, armani suit, legs crossed and body relaxed. He knew he was getting out of this from the minute he walked in. 

The Thrombey trial that was supposedly going to last three months only lasted a week. You still had a job, and in a remarkable turn of events Linda Drysdale and their legal team got exactly what they predicted. 

“I’m going out.” Was the first thing Ransom told you as you unpacked your clothes. He had half thought to buy you a bed and a small dresser that he haphazardly got someone to shove between his Pam Anderson Baywatch poster and the unplugged Space Invaders original arcade console. This was a 90s teenage boy’s dream bedroom. And now it was yours. He didn’t give you much time to respond and he was gone. 

They say that you never really know someone until you live with them. And you’ve never felt that saying more true. Ransom was a fucking asshole. 

During your previous employment schedule you would come in at 9 am with breakfast and let him know of anything he needed to do that day, if his Mom needed him for whatever reason, events his was scheduled to go to, dates he promised he’d keep. He’d let you know what to cancel and what he would get ready for, and then you were off. Cleaning and maintaining the home to the best of your ability, binge watching tv shows, trying new recipes from pinterest. 

Ransom was disgusting. 

Clothes discarded all over his floor, bedroom, living room, hallways. Beard trimmings all over the sink and what you would hopefully assume were more beard trimmings lining the bottom of his shower. You really didn’t want to think about Ransom’s pubic hair situation. He would do things like take his coffee mugs into his room or into the study and leave like a sip left in each one, letting it sit there until the milk began to curdle. Wet towels shoved into corners and every morning when you went in to make his bed it was like he was running in his sleep, loose and fitted scrunched in the corner of the foot board, duvet thrown off and pillows with half off shams. 

He was doing this shit on purpose. 

And you hated him for it. 

It wasn’t long after the trial that he began a steady routine. Gym, breakfast, some puttering around the house, making plans and then he would go out. And that’s when we come to this, 

“He said he would be back and we would have breakfast together.” The girl was pretty, but her voice was annoying. 

“I’m one hundred percent sure he did not say that.” You stood with arms crossed in the doorway, watching her fix her face in the mirror propped against his bedroom wall. An old antique thing that didn’t match with the decor of the house at all. 

“Hmpf.” She glared at you, “Fine, when he gets back, we’ll see who is right.” This was before you became practiced at this kind of thing. 

You felt your phone buzz in the pocket of your jeans, 

Is she gone yet? 

Fucking prick. 

“I’ll have him call you when he gets in,” You explained, “He has a lot to do today, I’m sure if he said you’ll go out for breakfast it’ll probably be another day.” 

“I said.” She stepped up to you, “I’m staying.” Fuck. You rolled your eyes and walked past her into the room, 

Not leaving, come deal with her yourself

He had been waiting down the street like a psycho, waiting to see her leave so he can come back home, but it’s not really working out in his favor. You could feel her eyes on you as you made the bed and picked his laundry up from the floor, tossing them two feet away into the laundry basket you left in his bathroom in hopes he would actually use it. The socks left discarded beside it was a clear message of disregard, a ‘fuck you’ from a petulant child. 

You could hear the door slam downstairs. Great, you looked at the girl who was scrolling through her phone curled up in the reading chair in the corner of his room, he’s pissed. You could hear his stomping feet climb the stairs and the girl looked up from her phone hopeful towards the door. 

“Alright, time to go.” He huffed, coming into view. The girl stood from the chair, shifting over towards him and trying to wrap her arms around his neck. “Nope. Let’s go, your uber is here.” 

“But, I-” She began, you could see tears welling up in her eyes and you began to feel bad for her. 

You were never one to have one night stands. You had one serious boyfriend when you were in college, but when your Mom got sick you had ended it and moved back home. You hadn’t dated or been with anyone else since. You just didn’t have the time. That being said, this girl honestly thought Ransom had a heart. She was naive and young, younger than you. Your heart hurt for her, but honestly, no one should be with Ransom anyway. 

His birthday dinner had soon come and gone. Linda and Richard sat around the dinner table eating Ransom’s favorite foods you’d spent the day cooking for him. Drinking whiskey and wine, Ransom’s glass never empty. You’d had a few glasses yourself with the tapas style dinner you’d put together. A beautifully iced spice cake sitting on the counter with unlit candles for dessert. 

This was the night that Ransom blew up on you for the last time. The night he cried into your neck, drunk and unstable. Clutching desperately at your body for comfort, burying himself against you all touch starved and needy. This was more intense than last Christmas where his dry eyed stare begged you to hold him in an uncommon moment of weakness. 

He was so hard to read sometimes and you were never quite sure where you stood. You knew you really hated him sometimes, other times… not so much. The more you knew his parents, the more you understood why Ransom was an ungrateful shit to begin with. You almost couldn’t blame him for how he turned out.

Almost. 

“Help me with this.” He stood in the doorway to the small office he never used. It was pretty much just for show. A large wooden ornate desk, his macbook, and a bookshelf full of books you know he probably never read. Including the ones penned by his own Grandfather. 

There were beginnings here. Multi-colored post its lined the desk, laptop left on the seat of one of the chairs in the room. 

“What is this?” You asked him, fingers plucking a post-it from the desk,

Crime of Passion?

He had been watching a lot of true crime documentaries lately. It didn’t help but creep you out. This man, a murderer, suddenly extremely into serial killers and murder itself. 

“I’m going to write a book.” He explained. His face was in a grin, almost giddy. 

“A book.” You looked at him incredulously. Your eyes drifted over to Harlan’s novels sitting stacked on another chair, spines finally cracked and pages thumbed through, sticky tabs stuck throughout the pages. You pointed to them, “A book?”

“Yeah,” He gestured around to the post-its, “What do you think?” It’ll keep him busy that’s for sure. You sighed, sticking the post-it back on the desk and looked at him. He was waiting, expectantly, why did he care what you thought about this?

“Is it gonna be about Fran?” You asked awkwardly, he scoffed,

“No, I’m gonna write books like my Grandfather wrote,” He plucked a post-it from the desk, showing you,

Wife murders husband?

“I’m gonna write a mystery novel.” 

He was good. You couldn’t lie about that. And you wouldn’t. This was a strange thing. The routine changed. Gym, breakfast, writing, lunch, writing, dinner, and then he would go out. His mind was moving faster than his fingers could and you were left reading a new chapter or two every night. You’d once loved Harlan’s novels. Your Mother was obsessed with them. It was partially why you had even taken the job tutoring Meg in the first place, but you know what they say. Never meet your heroes. 

Harlan was kind in some ways, funny, but proud. His pride is what eventually killed him you’ve found out. The medicine Ransom had switched wasn’t his cause of death, his refusal for help was. 

Ransom was as good as he was, better even. 

“He’s got a lot of me in him,” Harlan said to you once, “He could have everything I’ve ever had if he would pull his head out of his ass.” 

This was promising. 

You were honestly afraid when Ransom first said he would be writing a novel. What if he wasn’t a good writer? Could you really lie and try to support him even though it was absolute garbage? You supposed you would have to. You were relieved to find out that it was unnecessary. 

He slipped a red pen into your hand when handing you this last chapter, the book almost finished. “I want to see how you react to everything,” He explained, the book was coming to the climax, you were a chapter away from the big reveal and the aftermath, his hands gently massaged your shoulders before he bent at the waist, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you sat on the sofa. “Do you like it?” His hot breath brushed against your ear, a tingle went down your spine. 

“Ransom,” Your hand came up to lay over his forearm, brushing the skin with your thumb, “It’s amazing.” You could almost feel the grin that stretched across his face, he turned, pressing his face into your hair where you could swear he laid a soft kiss before releasing you. 

“Of course it is,” Here we go, “I’m a fucking Thrombey.” His fucking smirk. That's what he left you with, returning to his office to pound out the last two chapters. 

It was a process. The editing, printing, shipping off to multiple publishers. He got replies after a month. 

Eager replies. 

Whatever Ransom wanted, Ransom got. The lucky bastard stayed lucky.

“Look Babe.” Ransom dropped a heavy box on the table in front of you, “Look at this shit.” He grabs a knife from the block on the counter, slipping it under the packing tape to open the box revealing glossy black covers. He first fucking novel. There. Printed. A picture of a fireplace, chair facing it, empty. A blood soaked carpet. He picked one from the box, opening it. And there in the forward, the dedication, Harlan’s name…

...and yours. 

“Don’t get all big headed about it kid.” He smirked. Your heart was racing in your chest. 

“Why would you…” Your fingers gently traced the letters of your name, there in print, as it would be on every copy sold. 

“Wouldn’t have been able to write it without you being chained to my house, only seems fair.” He shrugged. “We can call it even.” You scoffed,

“Dedicating your book to me hardly makes my doing your house arrest for you even Ransom.” He smirked again, flipping through the pages, seeing his words in bold print. 

“I think it’s plenty fair,” Okay, now you wanted to smack him, “You live here for free, you eat here for free, and you get paid pretty well to do so.” His devilish eyes met yours over the top of the book he was still thumbing through. “If anything you’re still ahead because you’re the kept woman of a bestselling author.” 

“A kept woman?” You dropped the book onto the table. “I’m not your fucking whore Ransom.” 

“Not yet.” Audibly you made noise of protest, internally your core thrummed with heat. 

“Never.” You packed up your tablet and the new book, attempting to walk around him to go sit out by the fire pit for a while. His large hand gently grabbed your upper arm, tugging you into his body, wrapping his arms around your shoulders, your arms trapped between you.

“Tell me you’re proud of me.” He whispered into your hair, his voice suddenly soft, heartbreaking. 

“I am proud of you Ransom.” You shifted your belongings to your left hand, tugging your right from against his chest to wrap around his torso. “I’m very proud of you.” 

Book published, royalties rolling in, Ransom was making his own money now. He was more cocky than ever. Proud. The, I-don’t-need-you-anymore-mom, attitude. But can you still pay my babysitter? The girls came more easily than ever before, not that they didn’t come easy before the bestseller. 

Every. Night. 

Sometimes two girls were leaving in the morning, gently ushered out the door with promises of a phone call and a, “I’ll let him know.” It made you feel dirty, betraying almost. Like you were supposed to be on these girl’s side instead of cleaning up after Ransom’s mess. 

You could gag. The milky condoms, two of them, tossed haphazardly aside on the hardwood floor of Ransom’s bedroom. Disgusting. You could hear him laughing at you now. 

“It could be you,” He says, “Just say the word.” If you weren’t so irritated with Ransom for this very thing your panties would be dripping with the thought. 

He’s sitting at the kitchen island forking soft scrambled eggs into his mouth, cheesy with peppers and onions, the way he likes them, the way you made them, when you come downstairs. “You could at least throw the condoms in the fucking trash Ransom.” He looked up from his eggs to you, peeling off the latex gloves you’d just used, smirking. 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Asshole. 

“You’re disgusting.” You begin on the dishes, taking a sip of your now lukewarm coffee. You hear the stool scoot back against the floor, “That wasn’t an invitation.” You said, hearing his approach. His arms wrapped around your middle as you began to scrub. His head rested on your shoulder. 

“You love me.” He slowly rocked your body side to side, “You love how disgusting I am.” You tried to shrug him off of you, but he held you tighter. Since last Christmas when you curled up in his lap and held him for two hours until he was sober enough to leave you he’d been slowly getting more and more affectionate with you. He was touch starved, hungry for it. The intimacy of holding and being held. 

You didn’t picture Linda as much of a hugger.

The house was decorated. It was the least he could do for you really. This was the first Christmas since your Mother died that you and your sister wouldn’t be completing your tradition, but you tried not to think about it. Ransom humored you just after Thanksgiving, bringing home a fake Christmas tree, ornaments and lights. You’d ordered a couple of extras online and three stockings were on the mantle, Christmas lights lined the windows giving the house a warm glow. 

“I’m sending everyone in my family a copy.” He told you, “a signed copy.” Of his book. Rubbing their noses in it. The book has firmly held the number one spot on the New York Times Bestseller List for weeks. Already over a million copies have been sold. Whether its due to the fame of the not-murder trial or Harlan’s legacy you couldn’t be sure, but even without those things the book was incredibly good. 

Ransom could have made it on his own, a long time ago. 

“You don’t think that’s a little crass?” He released you long enough for you to finish loading the dishwasher, watching you place the pod of soap and shut it like he didn’t realize that’s actually what you’re supposed to do. 

“Fuck them,” He scoffed, “They’ve always hated me.” 

“To be fair,” You turned to the soft sweater clad man leaning against the kitchen island, “You’re an asshole.” 

He smirked, “Yeah, but that’s why I’m so charming.” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. 

It could almost be domestic. The way things were now. So different from before. Yeah Ransom was still bringing a new girl home almost every night and sure you could hear them fuck from your bed on the other side of the wall, but for the most part it was always just the two of you. 

His parents never ventured out here much anymore, since his book was published he had a deadline for the next book that needed to be completed so he wrote almost every day now, sometimes for hours. You made his every meal, on the odd occasion you’d order out. Sometimes when he needed a break he would come sit on the sofa with you as you watched whatever show you were currently obsessed with. One time you walked in on him watching Love Island by himself and you hadn’t let him live it down yet, maybe not ever. 

He grew soft, sweet almost. A kiss against your palm. Hugs from behind as you worked at the stove. A snuggle of feet under his thigh as you watched Miracle on 34th Street by a crackling fire. Wordlessly anticipating each others needs. It spoke to a high level of intimacy. Something you both chose to ignore. 

It was nice. 

He didn’t go out on Christmas Eve. Not only because his usual bar was closing earlier than normal because of the holiday, he assured you, but because he wanted to stay in. Snow was falling thick outside, a foot of it already blanketed on the ground. To tell the truth you didn’t want him to go out in this weather anyway. You knew he was willing to drive a little drunk and he didn’t exactly obey speed limits. It was safer here. 

You were still reeling from the argument you had with your sister earlier in the night. You called her to see what she was doing, but she was at a friends house and wanted nothing to do with you. Since the house arrest you haven’t exactly been on speaking terms. She wasn’t Ransom’s biggest fan and didn’t really understand why you needed to do this. You could kind of blame it on yourself for her having no idea how much money you needed to keep her in school, her cello and lessons weren’t cheap and nor are the electronics she seemed so attached to. This two year sentence you were playing out for Ransom would put you in the green, far in the green, so far in the green that you were willing to put up with all his petty bullshit and be okay with your sister hating you if it meant your futures were secure. 

After all this was over, you might just be able to go back to school. 

“Are you hungry?” You removed your feet from their spot beneath his thigh, grabbing both of your now empty mugs, padding over to the kitchen. Your stomach had just begun to growl. The stew you had simmering on the stove was ready to eat. 

“Yeah,” Ransom replied, not turning away from the television. Santa’s trial had just began. It was a strange thing, having him watch classic Christmas movies, soft in sweats and a comical christmas sweater you jokingly bought him. “I look good in anything.” He said. He wasn’t lying. 

You poured two bowls full, bringing over a plate with some crusty bread he was kind enough to go out and grab for you earlier in the day. “Thank you,” He said softly as he took the bowl from your hands, eyes still not moving from the screen. He quickly spooned some into his mouth, 

“It’s hot.” You said, his only reaction being trying to rapidly cool it in his mouth, his tongue probably burned. He gave you a glare, before resting the bowl on the coffee table. This could almost be a relationship. The two of you together. In this oddly domestic moment. He was the only man in your life right now, it wasn’t like you had many options for seeking others. 

That’s why you would get so hot and bothered with him. And that’s the only reason. 

He had never seen A Miracle on 34th Street before. You’d think with how old fashioned Harlan was he would have at least seen it once or twice, but then again, any time spent together as a family was always strained and argumentative. 

Even when he was a kid though? He was the first grandchild. His mother was the first child of Harlan. You were sure when he was a child he was spoiled rotten, more toys than he could play with, never wanting for anything. But that wasn’t exactly true. The touch starved trust-fund baby didn’t get the one thing kids need the most, more than presents, toys, electronics. Real genuine love. 

His Mother loved him to an extent. It’s why you were the one on house arrest instead of him, but she thought loving him meant giving him whatever he wants. When we all know that’s not what kids want. They want to be told no, given structure, rules. How many times have you gotten into arguments with your sister because you didn’t allow her to go roam the streets at night without supervision or give her money for some stupid thing she wouldn’t be even bothered with in two weeks?

But you could also see how no one really knows how to raise a child and you just try your best. Having Harlan for a Father couldn’t have been easy. 

Under the tree that you’d decorated and in the stockings you’d hung were presents. Ransom had everything he’d ever wanted, but you couldn’t help but want him to have something to open tomorrow morning. Granted it wouldn’t be much, but it’s the thought that counts. In the fridge you already have most of what will go into tomorrow’s dinner made. Hopefully your sister thinks about your extended invitation and Ransom can go pick her up at some point tomorrow. You missed her, a lot. Your heart ached with wishes that she was here right now. 

Ransom’s eyes had gotten shifty. The movie was coming to an end and his bowl was empty. “Did you want more?” You asked him, thinking that would be the cause of his shiftiness, maybe indecisive? 

“No.” He cleared his throat, “I’m not going to be home for dinner tomorrow.” You weren’t sure you heard that properly.

“You’re not going to be home….” You started, picking his bowl up from the coffee table and standing, “For dinner on Christmas?” 

He was scared to tell you, that’s cute. Your body was bristling with anger as you took the stew off the stove to cool before you could properly store it. He didn’t move from his spot on the couch. 

“My Mother wants me to go to this dinner with-” 

“So every other time your Mother wants you to do something it’s ‘fuck you’ and ‘eat shit’, but when we’ve already made plans for tomorrow and my sister-” You felt tears prickle in your eyes. “What the fuck Ransom?” His face was stoic from the couch. 

“Why does it matter?” He asked, “I stayed home tonight!”

“And that makes up for it?” You stood at the kitchen counter, staring across the room at him. “I already started on dinner, Ransom. You couldn’t have maybe said something while I was prepping all of this?” You gestured to the fridge. He shrugged. 

“I didn’t know that was all for tomorrow.” His face still betrayed no expression. 

“She can come here,” You offered, “We can have dinner here.” His eyes shifted away from yours to watch the rolling credits. 

“She doesn’t want to.” He stood from the couch, rounding towards the tree slowly, searching. 

“Why not?” He was being shady about this, the whole situation was strange. “I already have all of this food prepared and I can’t pick up Julia myself… Ransom?” 

“She doesn’t like being around you.” He stated honestly, he picked a box out among the presents under the tree, eyes meeting yours as he fumbled with it. 

“What?” You get it. She’s technically your employer. But she’s never had any issue dropping in for dinner or putting you to work on some task for herself. 

“Listen,” He came closer to where you still stood, your chest tightening. “Y/N, I hate my family-”

“Then why are you going to-”

“I have to do this.” His cheeks were flushed, you could tell he was uncomfortable. “My therapist… I don’t want to do this.” He slid the box across the counter top. “I don’t want to go, but I have to.” 

“Is this supposed to make me feel better about it?” You scoffed, picking up the gold wrapped box. His mouth opened and then quickly shut without speaking. You sighed heavily, a headache coming on. “I’ve got nothing, Ransom. All I wanted to do tomorrow was spend some time with my family and if you’re not going to be around…” 

“I know, I can maybe go pick your sister up in the morning?” He offered. Your eyes watery, staring at him. He doesn’t get it. Your heart was aching a bit. 

“You’re such an asshole.” You spat, leaving the present still wrapped in front of you, thumbing the thick wrapping paper. 

“I know.” He swallowed. 

“What does your therapist want you to do?” You never talked about what went on in his therapy sessions. He was too closed off after them, drank too heavily, lashed out too easily. You’d let him slowly work through his refractory period and let him cozy up to you once he was feeling better. 

Ransom felt awkward, you could feel it. He was uncomfortable. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?” He asked. He was turning. He got too emotional. “It doesn’t matter what I have to do or where I have to do it. I said I would go pick Julia up, I’m giving you what you want.” 

“Fine.” You were staring each other down. “I’ll let her know you’ll be there to get her around noon and then you can go have dinner with the people you hate.” He rolled his eyes, 

“I don’t know what you think this is, Y/N.” He scoffed, “You still work for me, we’re not playing house here.” 

“Then stop making me.” You spat back at him, both of you in a similar stance, hands gripping the edge of the stone counter top. 

“I’m not making you do anything.” There was a rage growing in his eyes. 

“You are, Ransom. I take care of you like you’re my own fucking child. I clean up all of your messes, I cook all of your fucking food, I do everything for you.” 

“I don’t ask you to.”

“You don’t have to! You literally just expect it of me.” You yelled. 

“Because it’s your job.” He laughed, throwing his hands into the air. “I have no loyalty to you Y/N. None.” Fine.

Fine.

You hated him. You fucking hated him. You were doing all of this for him. And you’ve never felt more dumb in your life. The house arrest bracelet on your ankle felt heavier than ever. It itches like mad. 

“Fuck you Ransom.” You rounded the counter, moving towards the stairs when he grabbed your arm. 

“Take the gift.” He slapped the box into your hand. 

“I don’t want the fucking gift, Hugh.” He looked taken aback for a moment.

“Don’t call me that.” His hand fell from your arm, stepping closer to you. 

“That’s what you want, right?” You asked, “You want me to do all of these things for you and take care of you and fucking hold you when you need comfort but when I’m fucking trying to make things easier for you, you’re all the sudden ‘I have no loyalty to you.” 

“Wait a fucking minute,” He growled, “I take care of you too. Who the fuck buys all the shit you want on a fucking whim? You’re in the mood for curry, I get you curry. You make a comment about how you really want to decorate for Christmas and who fucking gets you everything you need to do that? You say that you really want to get into fucking knitting and who gets you all the fucking shit you need to fucking knit?” 

“Buying me things doesn’t mean you care about me Ransom.” You shook the box in your hand for emphasis. “All I wanted to know is what your therapist wants you to do tomorrow, you can go have dinner with your Mother. It’s fine. I just wanted you to fucking open up to me.” 

“I am open with you!” He yells, “You know more about me than anyone else in my fucking life, it’s hard for me okay? I can never escape you, you’re always fucking there. I don’t get to fucking-” He placed his hands on his hips, turning from you. He let out a heavy, slow breath. Calming himself down. “I don’t want to go tomorrow, trust me Y/N, I really don’t, but I have to.” His eyes met yours, softer this time. 

You felt like some part of you was being irrational. This dinner might help his growth. Whatever milestone he was reaching with his therapist, this could be really good for him. But you also felt a little selfish, you wanted him here, with you. You felt more like his family than anyone else. Or at least, he felt more like your family and he should be here to spend Christmas with his family. You knew he felt at least somewhat the same, if the gifts addressed to Julia under the tree from him were anything to go by. You wanted him here, but he wasn’t yours. 

“I’m sorry.” You whispered, the tears that were once threatening to spill, now did. “It’s fine.” Your head was pounding. “It’s fine.” 

“I know it’s not,” He said softly. “But we can maybe do presents and lunch before I go,” He gestured towards the tree. “I should be back in time for the Grinch.” You were shaking a bit as he approached you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you tightly against his body. “I’m sorry baby.” He was so warm, a little sweaty from arguing, but warm. “I’ll make it up to you.” A soft whisper into your hair. 

The little gold box was soon opened, a new rose gold cartier bracelet slipped onto your wrist and Ransom left you and your sister the next day wearing the sweater you had so carefully knit for him. 

2021

Your breath hitched in your throat, back arching, a loud moan breaking from your lungs. How was he so good at this? Ransom’s tongue was at work between your thighs, large hands cradling your hips, burying his face in your moist heat. You were so close to cumming. And he knew it. 

“Oh god,” you moaned, bucking your hips into his face as you rode your orgasm until your body was too sensitive to continue, Ransom moving his attentions to press his lips sloppily against your thighs before making his way up your body. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he lamented as he pressed his lips to your flushed cheeks and panting mouth, parting your thighs fully around his hips to tease your opening with the blunt head of his cock. “So fucking beautiful.” He moaned into your open mouth as he breeches you. 

He felt so fucking good. You’d never get over it, you were sure. Ransom was patient, biding his time. He wasn’t that guy who had to be as deep inside you as possible, chasing his orgasm by stabbing your cervix. Over time he mapped out the location of your g-spot, shifting his hips and cock to brush against the spot with every thrust, working you up and making your eyes roll back in your head. 

Those girls screamed with good reason. Just as you did now. Gushing wet around him as you came for the second time, looking up wantonly into his flushed face, lips swollen from first kissing and then pulling you apart with his tongue. Your fingers curled in his chest hair as he picked up pace, chasing his own release now, your hips lifting off the bed to aid him.

“So fucking good baby,” His eyes screwed shut as he moans, arms trembling, “You fuck me so good baby.” He sat back on his haunches, pulling your hips roughly to his, your sensitive clit grinding against his pubic bone almost bringing you over again as he cums. Hips stuttering into yours as you feel him empty himself into you. 

His head tilted towards the ceiling, eyes dropping to find you, hands still gripping your hips and as much of your ass as he can manage. “I love you.” 

It never gets old. 

He said those words to you ever chance he got. It was as if he was trying to make up for a lifetime without it. Love. 

Early morning sleepy soft kisses, I love you.

Silent breakfast with your feet in his lap, I love you.

Scratching his back as you peered over his shoulder while he was writing, I love you. 

Feet stuffed under his thigh watching Outlander and drinking hot tea, I love you.

Buried deep inside you, panting mouths a breath apart, bodies flushed and sweaty, sheets damp with cum, I love you.

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” 

It was intense. His love for you.

He tried hard. He didn’t know how it was supposed to work. A real relationship, a real honest to god loving relationship. But he was trying. 

The first few months of the relationship you gained a lot of new jewelry, a new iPad, clothes, shoes. “You don’t have to buy me things to prove that you love me, Ransom.” 

Then came flowers and lots of them. Sometimes just one, sometimes a bouquet. Regardless there were multiple vases that stayed filled throughout the house, always with fresh flowers never given time to fully wilt. 

After that was the touching. Always some sort of physical contact. Whether you were cuddling on the couch or a blink away from sleep with his ankle wrapped around yours, if you were in a room together there was always some sort of contact. 

Your house arrest bracelet was removed, and a gold anklet replaced it. You were free to leave, live on your own. Move out and back into that shitty apartment with your sister, but this was early days in the newfound relationship with Ransom. 

He’d bought you a house. 

He’s paying for your sisters school.

He’s paying you to still work for him.

It was a Victorian. The house. Not at all like his contemporary cube he knew you despised. A rich dark brown with a large porch. Much too big for just you and your sister, so 6 months after the two of you moved in, Ransom sold his house and moved in too. 

Julia was warming up to him. At first she wasn’t a fan. It took a long time, many dinners with Ransom, ‘family outings’, you hoped she could see the way he treated you now. The way he’s kind of always treated you. Her love was easily bought with the new house, her latest generation iPhone and the fact that she now had a monthly allowance. It didn’t stop you from making her get an after school job at the school library though. 

Now with a house of your own, you were doing something you’d always dreamed of. Watching Ransom try to hang Christmas lights. 

“I’ll just pay someone to do it,” He offered, looking skeptically at the boxes you had placed on the dining room table, “I’m not going up there to do it.” 

But there he was, up there doing it while you looked up at him from the bottom of the ladder. “This is the fucking worst.” He exclaimed, taking the light clips and attaching them to the roof. “Why are we doing this?” 

“Because you love me and you want to make me happy.” You laughed. He rolled his eyes, squinting against the sun. 

“I’m not so sure,” He attached a few more clips within reach before steadily climbing down the ladder. “I think you’re trying to kill me.” 

“I’m the beneficiary on your life insurance right?” You jokingly asked as his feet hit the ground. He laughed at your bad joke, 

“I think that’s in pretty poor taste, but…” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, “Yes.” 

“Julia should be home soon and then we can decorate the tree,” You wrapped your arms around his middle, capturing his lips with your own, “And make some cookies,” You kissed him again, 

“And have a drink.” He smirked against your lips. 

“You have a therapy appointment today,” You walked over to the steps, “You’re not having anything to drink.” He rolled his eyes at you once more, shooing you into the house as he re-positioned the ladder to go back up and finish stringing the lights. 

You had to be proud of him. Court mandated therapy ended when your house arrest did, but he still went every week. At first it was due to a little pushing by you, but eventually he made the appointments on his own. He was getting better. Still a dick, but that was his nature. He wasn’t quick to anger anymore, his emotions took a more level head. And he was now publishing books twice a year. He’s got five books out now, and almost 100 million copies sold. Which is incredible. 

You started back to school, Ransom wanting to start his own publishing company, “I’m paying for you to go to business school as an investment in our future.” He claimed. Once you were done with school your job would be to then help him open his own publishing company where you’d overlook everything. A daunting task, but it was hard not to believe in yourself when Ransom made himself your own personal cheerleader. “You’re brilliant,” He would say, “You’re so smart, you’ve just been dealt a bad hand until now.” 

And now he was stacking that hand to the best of his ability. 

Finals had been last week and you still marveled at the fact that as you poured over your last assignments and studying, Ransom would make you coffee and massage your shoulders whereas you would usually do the same for him as he was finishing a book. 

You’d gone to a couple therapy sessions with him, the first time he’d invited you was strange and you didn’t know what would even be discussed, but as you sat in the session and he was finally completely bare to you, you couldn’t help but feel like it was his idea and not his therapist’s. 

That session changed the dynamic between the two of you for sure. 

After the dam broke, the two of you having sex for the first time and Ransom’s admission of love it wasn’t easy. He was still an asshole and as someone who had never been in a relationship before, this first real relationship, he didn’t really know how to behave. 

You had one session a month together and it was probably one of the best ideas Ransom ever had. 

He was a little sullen when he came home later that night, coming to curl himself around you as you placed the cookies you and Julia had baked earlier into the decorative metal tins you had just bought. 

Sometimes it was like this, sadness. His lips gently pressing themselves against your cheek, his body tightly pressed against yours trying to pull as much comfort as he possibly could. “I don’t want to talk about it,” He whispered softly, “Not yet.” 

“Okay.” You knew what he needed and what he needed was a little bit of time. You offered him a cookie, chocolate and peanut butter, still warm. He took it gently from your fingers, pulling away to go to his study, but not before pulling you into a soft lingering kiss. An apology for what you knew would be a distant night. A ‘I don’t know when I’ll be coming to bed’ night. You were sure you’d have three new chapters to go over in the morning.

You loved the snow. Almost a foot of it had fallen overnight, frosting the windows and giving your home a beautiful Christmas glow. It made your home feel cozy and well slept as you stretched your limbs out, hand coming to run across Ransom’s back. So he did come to bed after all. You rolled over to face him, laying on his belly, arms folded under his pillow facing you. 

God he is beautiful. 

You hated it about him. So handsome. You brushed his fallen hair out of his face, pressing a kiss to his scrunched brow. He was letting his beard grow out for the winter. It made him even more attractive, the bastard. 

Julia was just getting up for school, standing in the kitchen in her uniform, eating toast and facetiming a friend. She was in a carpool, this house you lived in, while comfortably distanced from others, was in a neighborhood of other kids that went to her same school. Something you’re sure Ransom took into account when buying this house in the first place. You drove the kids to school on Friday when you didn’t have any classes. Today was a different parent’s turn. 

“Can I take some of these to school?” She asked, picking up a tin of cookies. 

“Yeah, but take the red one.” You popped a k-cup into the keurig. “Those haven’t touched any nuts.” 

“Mila’s Mom said we can go to the mall after school to go get presents for the pollyanna our class is having, is that okay?” She was such a good kid. Getting older now, she was almost ready to learn how to drive, something you’d been dreading, but for whatever reason Ransom was really looking forward to. 

“You have money still?” You asked, preparing a second cup of coffee for the sleeping bear upstairs. 

“I mean,” She smirked, “Unless you want to give me more…?” You rolled your eyes, turning towards your younger sibling. 

“What time will you be home?” The car had just pulled up outside, horn letting out a quick ‘honk’ to let her know they were here. 

Julia shrugged, hugging you, “We might get dinner, but probably no later than 8. I’ll text you.” She shrugged her coat on, opening the front door as you called behind her, 

“Text me when you get to the mall and when you’re on your way home!” 

“Okay!” She yelled back, trudging through the snow to the car.

“Keep your location on!” You could almost feel her roll her eyes at you, 

“Okay!” Annoyed this time.

“I love you!” You shouted as she got in the car, slamming the door behind her. Your phone chimed with reply, 

love you too

With that you went to rouse the sleeping man upstairs. 

He groaned unhappily when you woke him up, but it was quickly soothed by the coffee you’d supplied him with. 

Christmas was quickly approaching. The first Christmas you’d be spending together as a real, honest to god, family. In your own home, ready to begin your own traditions. The house was beautifully decorated and almost always smelled like cookies and a Christmas movie or music was always playing in the background. 

There was a truly sweet moment you’d wanted to commit to memory for the rest of your life. Julia rolling out cookie dough, Christmas music blaring obnoxiously loud and Ransom coming out from his study yelling, 

“I can’t write anything in a house this loud!” Walking over to the sound system and turning it down to a soft ambling. Your sister and you looking at him and laughing, the red faced lumberjack quickly losing steam as he realized he was wearing the hideous Christmas sweater you’d jokingly bought him last year. “It’s the warmest sweater I own.” He claimed. Sure. Sure it is. 

He turned the music back up a little louder, coming to a happy medium. His embarrassment waning as he looked at the two of you in the kitchen. A family that didn’t argue with every other word. People who genuinely loved each other. Something he never knew he wanted or needed. He came over to you, gently clasping your hands before tugging you into his body to ridiculously dance around to Jingle Bell Rock. The three of you peeling with laughter. Was this even real life anymore? With a soft parting kiss and a peak over your sisters shoulder to steal some cookie dough he was reluctantly walking back to his study, coming to join you twenty minutes later after finishing the chapter he’d been working on all day. 

The three of you spent the rest of the night in the living room, watching the cheesy A Christmas Prince series on Netflix and eating what was sure your body weight in popcorn. Cozy with your little family. 

“Do you think she’d like a puppy?” Ransom whispered into your neck one night. 

“Do not.” You were close to sleep, just about to drift off, when his question stirred you awake. 

“I always wanted a puppy when I was a kid.” He pressed a kiss against your neck, fingers gently tugging your nipple. 

“I’ll be the one taking care of it,” You whimpered as his other hand sunk between your thighs, “Do not get her a puppy.” His lips met your shoulder and you turned in his arms, thighs parting as he lightly stroked your clit. 

“You’ll get there.” He pressed his lips against yours, teasing your entrance with his fingers, his now hard cock nudging against your thigh. “You’ll warm up to the idea.” 

“No…” You whined, his fingers beginning to stroke your g-spot, his body coming to lay over yours, his eyes half lidded and lips wet and red came to meet yours as he removed his fingers and replaced them with his cock. “Fuck.” His fingers laced themselves through yours, pressing your hands against the sheets as he began to rock his hips slowly into yours. 

“You’re so sweet on me baby,” He mouthed against your lips, “So sweet on us.” He moaned. Your hips ground against his with every thrust. This slow love making that was making you gush around him, pussy making obscene sounds with every tilt of his hips, gently brushing the parts of you that make your legs shake. He chest close to yours, the begging in his eyes, 

“You’ll be such a good mother,” His hips met yours a little harder on that one causing you to gasp, pussy clenching around him. “Gonna give me what I want for Christmas?” He asked. He did this sometimes, knowing you were still on birth control and the actual relationship was still relatively new, the two of you had been together for almost a year now, you knew that he’d been toying with the idea of having a baby. You’d talked about it in therapy recently. 

“I love you,” He moaned, his hips build up a little speed as your legs came to wrap high around his waist. “I can’t wait,” He groaned, “So good to me.” His lips capturing yours passionately as his hips stalled, grinding himself against your g-spot, pubic bone rubbing your clit as you found your orgasm, pussy gushing wet dripping down his thighs onto the bed as you moaned into his mouth. 

“You’ll be such a good mother baby, such a good fucking mother.” His hips picked back up in pace, “I’d do anything for you baby. Anything.” He was chasing his release now, thrusting against your sensitive clit making you reel again before releasing your hands and grabbing your thighs, pushing them back high against the bed, just making you take it. You both had to try to be quiet here, your sister on the floor above you, your hand covered your mouth as you tried to muffle the loud obnoxious squealing that came uncontrollably as his hips slapped against your ass in this position. Sweat forming on his brow and head thrown back as he groans through his teeth, feeling him empty his seed deep against your cervix. 

In all the years you’d known him Ransom was never a kid person. He didn’t like small children, but he also didn’t come into contact with them often which is why it was so strange two months ago when he originally brought up the idea. “I think we would make pretty okay parents,” He said, “Better than mine definitely.” It made your heart flutter, thinking of a life with him. Knowing that he was also thinking about a life with you, but it’s just not the right time. 

What wasn’t surprising about any of this was on Christmas morning, after breakfast and the exchanging of handmade sweaters, new books to read, a couple new apple watches, and your sister and you receiving matching earrings, a gorgeous little blue nose pit bull puppy, one that reminded you of your childhood dog was brought out with a little pink bow around its neck. Ransom ignored your glare as he handed the sweet little thing to your sister, who was crying in happiness. 

He would remind you later on that he found you cooing to the sweet little thing only a few minutes after that, the puppy curled up in your arms, licking your fingers in earnest. 

“Don’t you have something else?” Julia asked him. 

“Julia this is plenty,” You scolded, “He’s gotten you enough.” She rolled her eyes. 

“It’s not for me.” She laughed. The little puppy sleeping in her arms and you scratched it behind it’s ears, turning to Ransom who shifted nervously to one knee, a ring box open in his hand. 

“Stop it.” Came out from a very watery smile. He licked his lips, tugging his bottom one between his teeth before starting, 

“You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved.” 

.

.

.

TAGLIST //

@littlechillies @hellizhelusive2 @notbexmader @marvelouspottering @whitequeenasitbgan @Thegraylaway @readermia​ @i-believe-in-unicorns-and-you @princess-evans-addict @perplexed3001 @deidrashouseofpain @hailmary-yramliah​ @sleepycvpid​ @joannaliceevans-fanficblog​ @starlywars​ @gifsbysimplysonia​ @rocknbasil​ @imnotelasticheart​ @wannabegonnie @d1sconnect3d​ @heyguyz13 @unimomajo @this-is-serenaa​  @bookish-shristi​ @auroussss​

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH.12

It's late Friday night or very early Saturday morning depending on how you want to look at it. You're just laying on your couch playing Stardew Valley when your phone goes off. Without looking you answer it.

“Why are you even up?” comes Kirby's exhausted voice from across the line.

“Medical condition, wbu?” you place the phone in between you ear and shoulder but don't really change your position as you continue with your game.

“Jesus fucking Christ you did not just pronounce 'wbu' like 'wah-bah-u'.” he's ranting a bit and you know from experience this is the tired slap happy ranting where he sets himself off every five minutes on new topics. So, you wait it out and continue your quest in learning the wizard's secrets.

Kirby finally calms down after a few moments to get to the point of why he called. To remind you that Saturday Night Dead was canceled tonight due to the Pride Picnic tomorrow.

“I know.” you said plainly barely paying attention to the ginger on the line.

“You're a little shit.”

“I know that too.” a smirk graces your lips and you pause your game.

You listen to Kirby's rant for three minutes before asking if anyone else still “needed” a reminder. And when he said 'no' you sent him off to bed and said you'd see him Sunday morning. With a cranky man toddler dealt with you went back to your game.

Contrary to what you had originally thought, this week had been pretty chill. Everything had been going great, no drama in the town, no set backs with the picnic, your stalker had been keeping a low profile, and sure you were on day three of no sleep but that's just a you issue really. You didn't even have a foreboding feeling about the picnic. Everything was going great...at least it would be had Jo not   specifically requested you wear something red, to her recital in a few weeks.

It's going to be so hard to thrift something school appropriate, red, and in your size. You thankfully have three weeks but unfortunately you're limited to weekend trips since you work during the week and wouldn't be able to go a few hours out to larger thrift stores to drive a few hours back home.

Your do nothing day is turning into a do something day. And you definitely can't get any sleep tonight because now you know you have something to do at five AM and you just wouldn't be able to rest peacefully at all. Scared that you'd fuck up the shopping trip you had planned. God you hate executive dysfunction and the anxiety it gives you, even for something like sleeping.

Thursday evening you spent all night googling the towns within a five hour radius and their second hand shops, after Jo had made her request to you. Your big ticket shops were two closer to the border of Pennsylvania. They were in pretty medium to high income neighborhoods so were the most likely to have formal wear on hand. Your plan was to drive there and get to the closer one by eight maybe get some breakfast while you waited for the shop to open. Then go to the second, and if you still hadn't met the requirements for an outfit you'd go to the town an hour away from there. Just to rinse and repeat until you went to all eight locations on your list. Making one big circle back to Kepler.

You really hoped you find something to wear at the first two. Seriously you don't want to be out shopping all day but you'd rather have a buffer of looking for things now than rushing the night before her recital.

Checking the time you see it's just a little after one in the morning. You've been playing Stardew for a few hours and are starting to get bored. Maybe you should switch games? Exiting out you ruin any progress you've made for the day, but you couldn't remember so it probably wasn't important progress. And you are now scrolling through your games looking for something to play.

Spiritfarer? No you don't feel like crying right now. Undertale? No you really don't feel like crying right now. Onion Boy Commits  Tax Evasion? Hmm, possible...but it's a quick game and you'd be done and back here in thirty minutes. Sally Face? Yea! You've been meaning to replay it for a while now and this seems as good a time as any.

Loading the game you settle deeper into the couch to become a teenage ghost detective. And you stay like that for the rest of the night until your alarm goes off mid way through chapter two. You'd been so focused on trying to get secrets that you hardly noticed the time going by. Okay, you were looking at Gizmo and taking pictures of the silly furball.

Stretching you get up and make your way to your room to grab a change of clothes, neck snapping to the side as you went. When you enter your room you're met with a white face with blocks of black for the eyes and black lipstick as its only facial features looking at you from the corner just feet away from the door. Even though your heart jumps into your throat at the sight you notice the figure doesn't get closer to you. Noting that and its immobility you figure it's a really weird and specific hallucination.

'Fucking weird?' you think as you ignore the hallucination and start rummaging through your closet.

It wouldn't be the first time a source of media has either triggered or inspired one of your hallucinations. But the face isn't exactly Sal's mask but it is mask like. Maybe Sal mixed with a panda. That's a fun thought. But overall nothing you need to worry about. Just have to get sleep tonight so you could enjoy the picnic tomorrow without any issues.

When you turn back around with your clothes in hand the hallucination is gone. You shrug before going to your bathroom to change. In a blink you are out the door and on the road by five after five. You hope you pass a Dunkin' in an hour or so, you'll need a little energy boost to get your day started. But pushing that thought aside you turn up your radio and turn off your thoughts.

Just vibes for right now, just you and the empty road.

Making it to the first thrift shop you are pleasantly surprised to see a string of old ladies shopping today. Wonderful, they'll look at knick knacks and you'll look at clothes. Looks like there won't be a need to guard clothing with your life. However when you get into the store it becomes incredibly apparent that the only thing to look at here are in fact the knick knacks.

Sighing you figure it'll at least be worth it to comb through skirts and shoes. Skirts are very limited to paisley prints that give you middle school dance flash backs, and long khakis. Neither are really what you're looking for right now so you leave them be. They'll find their homes with some home schooled kid eventually. Shoes are a bit more promising as you find a pair of red kitten pumps in your size immediately, they're a little worn but nothing a little shoe polish and leather paint can't fix.

That is until you think you see something grab at your wrist.

When you jerk back a shoe drops from your hand and the heel pops off. Again a very easy fix, plus this may get you a discount. Dropping to your knees you try to grab the heel from under the rack and when you do you notice a pair of boots that look like they've been hidden behind several pair of knee high riding boots. You grab them, they're reddish brown suede heeled boots. They're in pretty good condition and the price tag says thirteen, not bad. And they're in your size! Best find of the day, calling it now. You quickly collect your shoes and make your way to the register. While you may not wear the kitten pumps often you for sure have just found your new favorite boots.

Getting back in the car with one of three pieces for your outfit and one store down you make your way to the next town over for its store. The second store had a much wider selection of clothing however you didn't find much of anything this time. But there was a cute mini pencil skirt that had a tiny orange heart on the left side hem. You couldn't resist it when it was only two dollars.

Third times a charm or so they say. But as you're looking through the racks of dresses and skirts you start hearing whispers. Briefly looking up to see if anyone was actually around to where you'd be able to hear them you see no one. It's weird that you'd get auditory hallucinations without a visible one or without being asleep. That puts you on edge but you ignore the feeling to continue your shopping.

You've just turned to go have a look at the blazers when a voice pops into your head.

'He's here.' there's an edge of static following the words and the buzzing is enough to cloud your own thoughts.

Neck snapping to the side twice before cracking on the third time, “There we go” you say as you look around  only see families with kids in the store with you. No one is on their own or even looking your way.

'That you can see.'

Your heart is pounding harshly against your chest and while every fiber of your being is saying run. You can't it'd be obvious or it'd make you look like a whack job. So with a sharp intake of air you steady yourself and being to walk calmly to your car.

It's broad daylight and you would definitely be making a scene if your stalker tried anything. If anyone even came near you right now you'd probably scream in self preservation.

But it turns out you didn't need to worry as you got into your car, locking the doors without hassle. You didn't bother turning your radio on as you drove to the forth store. There wouldn't be a point not like you could focus with your nerves so frazzled. And that frazzled feeling doesn't go away as you arrive at the store.

Staying in the car a moment you wait to see if any other car near by seems familiar. Or any persons exiting seem familiar, like you've seen their faces in passing. No one does, and while that puts you at ease you'll still be vigilant of your surroundings.

The store's much smaller than the previous three and you decide to start with the blazer section this time. It seems like a good choice, even though it looked like a sea of black ¾ sleeve blazers and jackets you caught a glimpse of red from inside one coat. Pulling the hanger off you notice it isn't a richly colored lining but that someone shoved a red Chinese inspired silk skirt into the blazer. You aren't sure if they were judging the compatibility of the items as an outfit or if they were trying to hide it, but either way it's ended up in your hands. It's beautifully decorated in golden swirls and a dragon pattern embroidery. Putting it up to you it curls around your waist. Could mean it'd be a bit big for you, but nothing a little sewing couldn't fix.

You're pretty sure you had a black turtleneck tank top that would look great with this, and still be appropriate for hot late July weather. But maybe an additional red blazer or shawl would be a good idea. Looking at the sea of black before you you think it'd be best to continue this hunt another week.

Right now your nerves are fried and the sun is already starting to set. With thoughts of getting caught alone in the dark with your stalker you can't help but want to get home as soon as possible or at least get to a town where people would know you if your body showed up in a ditch.

Checking out with your skirt you once again find yourself in your car driving along the highway.

You get back to Kepler a little after nine, gas tank near empty so you drive on to the mini mart rather than stopping at home. You notice another car, which isn't strange for a gas station but very rare that more than two customers are here at the same time. Getting in to pay for gas you're stopped by Ronnie's pissed off voice.

“Leave Dave or I'll ban you from the shop!” she seems to seethe at the man in front of her.

“You don't have that kind of power Veronica.” gross it's David.

Whatever feeling of uncertainty you had before vanishes instantly at seeing the slime ball try to “flirt” with Ronnie. He continues to pester her and the two don't even register your entrance. Unfortunately for Ronnie she really can't do anything to stop these advances without getting in trouble. Fortunately for you, you have no such qualms.

“She said fuck off.” you push past the man shoulder checking him as you get to the counter to start talking with Ronnie.

David stumbles away not expecting the rough push. He glares down at you and you ignore him now that you're in a setting with another person. A person who has access to a silent emergency police button if things go sideways. You have back up this time and an escape plan, there's no way David can harm you right now.

“Hey, I'm gonna need thirty on pump four.” you said hoping you could just ignore the man and stall by talking about useless merchandise in the store to get him to leave. But that was before you're interrupted.

“Oh did someone grow a back bone while I was away?” you roll your eyes and pause before you lie.

“...anyway is Tim on break yet?” hoping she caught the look in your eyes to play along.

Tim was a new hire that David probably didn't know since he just got back into town. Easiest one to lie about and make excuses for why there wasn't a fourth car in the lot. The boys only seemed to have the RV and the sedan so perfectly reasonable that he got dropped off because one of his roommates needed the car.

The way Ronnie's eyes widen at you aren't out of relief but more out of realization. She shakes her head slightly, and you want to smack her for being an idiot and ruining your attempt to scare David off when she turns and yells towards the back.

“Hey Tim! You have a visitor!” you jump a bit at her volume and notice that David tenses by your side as well.

'...is she bluffing...' if she is this is the dumbest fucking bluff in the world and so easy to catch on to. You'll have to get her acquainted with true crime podcasts and shows so she can be better prepared in the future.

It isn't until you hear muffled swears and the sound of thudding from the back room of the store. It isn't long before the door to the back opens and you hear Tim's hushed voice speaking to Marigold for a second, “can you please not walk in front of me.”, and you see Tim walk through the door.

Tim's brown eyes scan the store clearly trying to find either Brian or Toby. His gaze barely passes over David but when it settles on your form leaning away from said creep and Ronnie shifting from one foot to the other the situation seems to click.

It was such a subtle change in his eyes, something you're sure that had you not been trying to catch his gaze to get your message across you would have missed. The way the highlight died before picking back up. It was probably just a trick of the over head lights, maybe he shifted a bit and it caused the light to hit differently. Something you could brush off...something you would have brushed off had you not heard a different voice speak when he opened his mouth.

“YN hey, did'ya need somethin'?” it was a notch lower than normal and somehow the tone was smoother than his usual rumble. For a moment you think he put on a voice for bravado.

Something inside tells you that's not Tim. But right now you need someone who looks like Tim. Someone who despite their “short” stature has an obvious muscle mass to them. One that confidently says “authority” to scare off the creep next to you.

You wrack your brain for something anything to say that would seem normal in this situation while you could try to assert the discomfort of Ronnie and yourself in your current situation. Just as you go to speak David begins to talk over you as he greets the man in the room.

“Hey there, name's David. Nice to see a new face in this place, how long you been here?”

Tim slides his eyes away from you and back over to David. He seems to straighten out his posture and looks over you and Ronnie before staring back at David.

“A while, is there a problem up here?”

“Oh no 's nothing like that!” David says jovially as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. You jerk from the contact. “Just talking to these nice ladies.”

'Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting' plays over and over as you squirm out of his arm.

There's an emotion you can't quite place running through you as you heart rate picks up. You feel sick as if you can feel the bile rising to your throat. Are you having a panic attack? No that's not it you're too conscious and your thoughts aren't a jumbled mess. You're probably just over stimulated. You want to calm down.

'Do you' the whispered voice is back, 'Do you really?'

It's mocking you and the strange emotion from before spikes. Is this...is this rage? Are you so upset at being touched that you're experiencing genuine rage? One with such a burning passion that you can feel your body grow warm all over.

But what did the voice ask 'do you?' do you what? Do you want to calm down?

….no....

No you didn't you can feel it in your veins, in your bones, in your entire being. You didn't want to calm down you wanted to hurt David. You want to tear him to pieces. You wanted him to give you  a reason...any reason at all. Any reason to fucking destroy him.

You aren't entirely sure where these thoughts are coming from. Maybe you're just overstimulated, your  nerves fried from the weird feeling at the thrift shop today and then paired with someone you hated very much, touching you out of no where seemed to be your ultimate breaking point.

It's Tim who brings you out of your thoughts.

When did he get so close to you?

“I think you should leave. I know for a fact YN's boyfriend won't take kindly to you upsetting them like this.” he stresses the 'them' and it seems you've missed a few key points...like when the hell you got a boyfriend?

“Oh right, what's that scrawny kid gonna do twitch at me.” when did David start taking that tone with Tim and why was he talking about Toby? What did Toby have to do with this? How did David even know about Toby?

Seems David's taunt and knowledge of Toby unsettled Tim as well, if the hand on your shoulder gripping tightly had anything to say. Has that been there this whole time? When did he put it there?

“Trust me the kid's bite 's lot worse than his bark.” there's humor in Tim's voice as he says that but it's like an old joke no one else has context for.

'Fuckin' dick...is that suppose to be a joke about his mutilated mouth?' it really does sound like it. Maybe you're reading the clues wrong...maybe you heard Tim wrong.

Thankfully whatever the fuck is building up comes to an end when Pigeon walks through the doors. Oh she's on duty, Deputy Pigeon. She looks at the four of you and your positions. And although she has a pretty good idea what's happened from Ronnie's texts she can't help but ask.

“Al'ight, what's going on here?” it's clearly been a long day for her.

“Harassment. We've asked him to leave the store but he's refused and keeps bothering our customer and us.” Tim's fast response had you and Ronnie stumped.

Did a white cis male actually come to the aid of two decidedly not male people...instead of the other white cis male? Has Hell frozen over?

It's like he knew just what to say to the officer. And he didn't try to tiptoe around it to save the other man. Tim clearly didn't want this dragging out any longer than it already has. Even David himself seems a bit taken aback by Tim's, accurate, claims. Meanwhile Pigeon looks around the room and sighs. While she knows her younger sister wouldn't have texted if this wasn't serious she was the only one on duty tonight and would only be able to take the other three's statements.

“Al'ight I'll grab y'all's statements starting with you Nychn c'mon.” the tired looking woman took David outside so he could tell his side of the story. But even with two against one he'll probably end up getting a ban from the store. Especially since he did harass a customer and not just an employee.

After getting his statement and watching him drive off from the establishment Pigeon returned back inside.

“I swear tha' boy's head has never been on right.” shaking her head.

Pigeon asked for both your and Tim's sides of the story taking you a little ways away from each other  to “prevent compromising the other's story”.

“So... looks like I've got everything, I'll have the station call Monty in the mornin' and let 'im know that he's got a new ban.”

“What about Ronnie's statement?” Tim asks as Pigeon put away her pocket pal.

“Oh Tim, Pigeon's my sister.” it's the first time Ronnie's said something since calling for Tim.

At least you think it is after all you did have a little spell after being touched.

Tim nods and Pigeon heads off after warning the three of you to stay out of trouble. Now with just the three of you in the shop you turn to Tim.

“Thanks for the save Tim.” He just nods again.

“No problem, but you really should'a said somethin' sooner.”

“I don't know what happened I like blanked and forgot you went on break before he came in.” Ronnie pipes up looking flustered.

Weird. You've noticed that does tend to happen when David's around. Maybe you should look into memory stealers. Might be why David's vibes are all off. That or he's a fucking serial killer and your instincts are trying to warn you but there are so many red flags your brain glitches instead. Whatever the reason may be you'll have to keep your guard up when he's around. It's super sketchy he left when Bambi went missing and it's a strange time to come back to town after “helping” your sister after her divorce. Two months isn't enough time to find a new routine or settle court battles.

Tim leaves to clock in and continue his break for another twenty minutes. You aren't sure that's right but Ronnie doesn't seem to complain and you've got to admit he did save you guys from that creep unpaid so he kinda deserves it. You go to pay Ronnie for gas and for some of the frozen taquitos that they normally have on the rotation cooker. But she puts thirty dollars on your pump and then just hands you a pack of the taquitos.

“Thanks for...y'know.” she might be a bitch but Ronnie can be nice if the situation calls for it.

Plus you can see by the expiration date that she'd have to just toss these out at the end of the night anyway. Who are you to turn down free food?

You head home and take your clothes and taquitos inside. You toss the clothes in an arm chair in your living room. And fall asleep on your couch shortly after eating. You are thoroughly exhausted and you had actually been tired last night. Had it not been for errands you'd have slept last night. Now you definitely have to sleep early to wake up early to finish cooking for the picnic.

[anxietysroomsupport]

Hypermobile anon here. First, thank you so much. It's just nice to know there's someone here for me. And to give a little more info, I have a serious problem where if I'm not currently in pain. I don't remember how bad it was. I know everybody does this, but my brain literally checked out as I was going to bed recently and I fell on the floor. I nearly forgot to tell my physical therapist.about it because it didn't really hurt. So, I can't do the pain scale very well, and I never remember (1/2)

(2/2) It just makes it sort of hard for pain relief when I don't know I'm going to need it and don't have the energy when I do. Also, on the vitamin subject, I know that I've had vitamin d issues before (bad heat exhaustion and allergy scares = going outside less), bad enough that I was close to being diagnosed with hypothyroidism. I'm not sure about the others, but I do know I'm not amazing healthy, so? I take calcium pills for the vitamin d, though. Again, thank you guys for all your help.

.

We just got a bill from my PT place that says we owe money that we can't pay. They told us up front how much it would be with our insurance, and my mom's been paying each time, but it says we owe 177 dollars. Sure, it's not a lot, but we're not rich and trying to send a sibling to college. If we can't get this sorted out. I can't just not go. 10 exercises I can do at home and 5 appointments is not enough to help a chronic disorder. I cant focus and I have practice in 30 mins. -Hypermobility anon

Same day but later when I'm feeling a little better (my director was very supportive though so that's nice), I'd seen the letter and heard my parents talking a bit, but my mom told be as we got to school for rehearsal about PT. I got upset, and I felt bad because I could tell she felt bad because she didn't expect me to be upset, and in the heat of the moment I said "chronic illness" in front of my mom for the first time. She loudly (not quite yelling) (1/?) - Hypermobility anon

said to me "That is the most self-pitying thing I've ever heard. Chronic illnesses are like cancer". Sure, I probably should've said disorder and not illness, but I'm scientifically right. Then I said "It is, it's chronic pain, I am always in pain" and she said "Well then clearly PT isn't helping anyway" - I??? When I went in after 15 minutes after another girl, since we were both there for an hour and a half, I decided to stop trying too much to hide my crying (useful masks) (2/?) -HSD anon

since the other girl was in the hall to eat, and when I managed to explain to the director, she was understanding and nice, and when I said chronic, she said that I should never have to live with that, especially at my age. And when I mentioned not being able to sing at that moment from my crying, she pointed out how I was singing an empowering song that was about standing against the bad stuff in life, and I was perfect for it. I know my mom was just mad, but it just drained me.

Sorry I keep sending asks so often, I just feel like telling someone this. I decided to put 'zebra' in my bio. It's a thing that people with EDS and HSD sometimes like to call themselves. I like it, so even though I just have my name and pronouns, plus a random joke, in my bio, I added it. It just feels like a step in the right direction to remembering that I don't need google to tell me I'm dealing with this every 5 minutes. Accepting it, I guess. :) -HSD anon

.

My sleep schedule just keeps getting worse and I think it's my ADHD combined busy days and pain but I just never want to sleep anymore. I can't, I don't want to, and it hurts physically and mentally to just lie there and see if I can fall asleep. 80% sure my circadian rhythm changed to sleep at about 2 am but I get up at 7 and have a chronic disorder that's getting worse because of this I *need sleep*. And I'm so scared I'll mess up, want to make a side blog for it but want to make one (1/2)

for something happy first because I always figured that if I had side blogs they would be ask blogs or for fandoms or whatever. But I got a little better at not caring what other people think, so I haven't really needed one for fandom. But I looked through the tag and felt so comforted by some of the stuff that I just think it would help me. Maybe I'm just extra bad tonight because I went outside but also talked about it a fair amount with a friend I hadn't seen recently who didn't know. -HSD

.

I wanna talk to my physical therapist about hip braces because I tried a knee one we have and it honestly helps, but my hips are worst so I wanna see if it would help, but they're pretty expensive. It's hard to find dual hip braces, from what I've seen in my research, and even though one more than the other, both cause me issues. Idk, I'm conflicted, because it could help but is it worth all the effort? Also, even if it's under clothing it's still physical evidence (1/2) -HSD anon

(2/2) of my "invisible" disorder. Also, stopping exercises for a few days because of not feeling well from my covid shot reminded me of just how much time I spend on them, so it's another thing to deal with this. . . Idk, sometimes I just wonder if it would be better to just deal with it. I still have pain anyway, though it might be a little better. Less often, maybe? I don't really remember. It's not stressing at the front of my mind all the time, but the back of it. I'm just conflicted. -HSD

.

HSD anon here, idk if I mentioned it in an ask already, but recently I had a small breakdown because I was watching something where a character was in a car accident, as was trying to push through having trouble walking even with a hip brace. After a minute, I registered it and just thought "That could be my future". My joints had already been acting up and then they got worse, so I don't know if it was cause and effect? But I don't exactly know what to call it other than a trigger. (1/2)

Physical and emotional effect, at least I'm assuming on physical because I've had a bad reaction to something similar before, but like, I don't have trauma, I think it's more fear of the future. And I don't want to use trigger incorrectly, it's insensitive to those who actually have triggers. I'm just so confused.

Forgot to sign the last ask with 2/2 and HSD, whoops.

.

Hfnsiwk I'm not ready to walk into PT tomorrow and say that I don't think months of PT have been helping but I have no way to be completely sure because for all I know it's the weather since this is the first year I've known/it's been noticeable. Maybe it's just change, I don't know, but it just feels like such a waste of time if it really didn't help. Plus, I'd stop, and while that'd be great, I do enjoy being stronger, even if it didn't help pain. I have 12 hours and a bad pain day idek. -HSD

.

Hi Hypermobility Anon,

I think I found all your asks and got them in the correct order.  And found your last ask!

I’m so glad you kept writing in.  I think you should go ahead and make your side blog - you definitely have enough material for it.  Wanting to make a happy side blog also is a great goal to have, but if you don’t know what it will be yet, don’t let that prevent you from doing something you know you want to do and that will probably help you.  

You are dealing with So. Much.  Your mom especially sounds like she just is not ready to accept the situation.  It’s not self-pity to state your actual conditions.  It’s just reality.  

Forgetting about pain is normal, and really all you can do is try to write it down or make some kind of note about it in the moment or immediately after, so you can refer to it later.  Maybe you can track your pain events in your phone notes.

I think your idea to add “zebra” to your bio is a good one, this is part of your life and just something you have to deal with.  It sounds like you’re finding a community for this.  

Sleep schedules are tricky, and feeling like you desperately need to sleep can make it so stressful that it starts a vicious little cycle.  Some strategies to get around this are First, remember that just resting is okay and helpful too, even if you don’t fall asleep.  Letting your body lay there to rest is good for you.  

Second, if you’ve spent several minutes laying down without falling asleep, its okay to get up and walk around, or any small light exercise that’s comfortable for you.  The goal with this one is to get out of the bed for a bit.  It will help your brain to re-learn that the bed is for sleeping only, not for laying awake.  That association can help signal to your brain to start its sleep-process when you get into bed at night.

Third, it’s really common to have a changing circadian rhythm during your teens and twenties.  That’s just a thing that happens and you can’t do much about it, so just try not to worry too much.  Sleep when it feels right and when you can, instead of trying to force yourself to sleep when you’re “supposed” to.  

If hip braces would help you, you should definitely at least mention it to your physical therapist.  You might research online for any used ones as well.  A physical sign that you have pain can have good and bad consequences, but I think the good consequence of being in less pain far outweighs any others.

The triggering event you described is not so much a trigger as it is just a genuinely really upsetting situation.  You related really strongly to the character you were watching, because they’re dealing with similar problems to you, and to problems you could have in the future.  It’s a lot to process.  But while you could potentially be in a car accident, remember that television is made to dramatize events and probably made it seem a lot more difficult and scary than it really would be.   

Since we know you sometimes forget your pain, it’s safe to say that the exercises are helping you manage it, and you say that they’ve made you stronger in general.  Those are good things, and I would recommend you continue the exercises you can do on your own even if you end of ending  your physical therapy sessions.  We don’t know yet if your pain might have gotten even worse without therapy.  You’ll have to find that out on your own if you stop exercising, and then decide whether it’s more worth it to you to continue exercising or to live with the pain.  Whichever you choose, it’s Your choice, Your body.  Take care of yourself. <3

-bun

[jessicas-little-library]

Yesterday, 12/26, I drove three hours to this bookstore in Jacksonville, Fl called “Chamblin Bookcave” and I was NOT disappointed. I picked up 23 books and spent $130 dollars and if I had picked up a basket, I would have gotten more. I walked in and was immediately hit with old book scent. Counting the days when I can go back. Definitely check this place out if you are ever in the area. Totally worth the drive for me. I could have spent hours and hours in this place. The video only shows a small portion of the store.

[egcdeath]

a blip in the reader-verse

chapter 4: going once, going twice

summary: you meet an interesting character while attending a charity auction.

warnings: soft moments, angsty moments. asshole ransom, soft ransom. you’ve been warned.

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader, overarching steve rogers x reader

word count: 3.4k

author’s note: before anyone asks, i don’t really consider this cheating since it’s just steve in a different universe. but i’d skip this chapter if it won’t sit right with you! 

p.s. i had to google translate some french, please don’t hate me if you speak french and it’s awful🥺

previous chapter / series masterlist

Sounds seemed to be the first thing you noticed as you entered a new universe. This was absolutely no different.

Well, except for the fact that the first sound you noticed was the announcing of your own name.

From the moment your eyes opened, you were met with a blinding yellow light, and the urge to stand up. You glanced over at the table that you’d previously been sat at, and received raised brows from Aaliyah, who’d been sitting at the white, round table across from you, along with a hand gesture that shoo-ed you away.

You timidly walked up to the small and raised platform of a stage, and stood next to a person who vaguely resembled your old boss from your main universe.

“Alright, ladies and gents! Our final lady of the night, well, not a lady of the night, is the gorgeous Y/N L/N! Starting at $1,000, do we have any takers?”

You looked out into the ocean of round tables, and watched a decently handsome man, with dark hair and a beard raise his paddle, “1,500!” he called out.

The man received a death glare from someone else at his table, and looked up at both the stage and you to raise his own paddle. “2,500,” he responded in a bored tone.

After getting over the extreme ego boost that was being bid over, you let yourself take a good look at the second man who’d offered the cash, and,

Holy shit.

It was Steve, but it definitely wasn’t Steve. 

His hair was slightly darker, he was wearing a cream sweater and long, multicolored scarf that your Steve would never be caught dead in. He held an air of confidence and cockiness that you could see from miles away, and according to his bidding style, he was loaded.

After seeing him, you desperately wanted to find a mirror and find out if your own appearance had changed at all.

“Fine, $4,000,” the bearded man offered, glancing back and forth between you, and this alternate version of Steve.

“$5,000!” A new contestant jeered, this one a rather old man whom you could tell you wanted nothing to do with.

“Old fucking geezer,” the alternate Steve muttered. “$7,000.”

There was a gasp, and a silence throughout the audience. 

“$7,000 for Hugh, going once, going-”

“15,” the bearded man lifted his paddle once again. You glanced over to Aaliyah, whose eyeballs seemed to be bulging out of her head at this. 

“Fuck it, 30,” Hugh sighed.

The bearded man threw his hands up in defeat, and set his paddle all the way down on his table.

“45, final!” The old man called out.

“75,” Hugh glanced around the audience, a rather smug look on his face.

“Oh wow, $75,000 going once, going twice… sold to Mr. Hugh Drysdale! Miss L/N, is there something you’re not telling us about the nature of your date?” The auctioneer passed the microphone to you, and you laughed awkwardly into it.

“Nothing that I know of,” the rest of the crowd seemed to laugh with you at this, but you couldn’t help but feel the growing discomfort in your stomach. 

“Well, I’m sure the folks over at One Mission will be very happy at this sizable donation. Can we get one more cheer for Miss L/N?” You gave a friendly wave before awkwardly stepping off the stage while the people around you clapped.

You’d had a decent idea at this point of what was going on, but you couldn’t quite piece together why this Hugh character had decided to bid so high on someone he’d never even met. You sat back down at your table, and slipped your phone out of your pocket to look at yourself. Yep, same you. 

“Okay, what the hell was that?” Aaliyah asked you, a mixture of confusion and excitement present in her tone.

“Hell if I know,” you sighed, and scratched your neck nervously.

“I mean, I get it, you’re hot. But the price of a luxury vehicle for a date? You’re gonna have to let him finger you at least,” she giggled.

“Shut up,” you groaned at the thought. You were still feeling pretty confused about the fact that the Steve in this universe wasn’t actually Steve at all. You so far, you’d only really met Steves that were well… Steve. 

You internally lamented the situation, until you noticed someone plop down at the open seat at the table, causing you to turn and look at him. 

“This seat taken?” Hugh asked, and you shook your head. “Great, now it is,” he quipped.

“I’ll give you two a moment. I’m gonna go find my own socialite,” Aaliyah bantered, slipping up from her chair and following through on her comment.

“So you must really love those kids you just donated to,” you awkwardly chuckled.

“Oh hell no. Fuck those kids. I just hate losing, and I absolutely was not gonna let those douchebags win,” he looked down at his hands and played with his pinky ring in an extremely bored manner. 

“Oh, okay,” you nodded slowly. This man was a complete 180 to the type of Steve that you were used to. Your Steve was warm and caring, but this man seemed cold and apathetic. Your Steve would gladly lay his life on the line for anyone, and this man didn’t even seem to have the emotional capacity to hold the door for someone else. “So Hugh, what do you plan to do on our date?” You lifted up your glass of champagne and took a little sip.

“Call me Ransom, only the help call me Hugh. We’ll probably just go to Europe or something.”

You nearly spat out your drink at this. In fact, you felt a little carbonation in your nose. Then again, Ransom just spent ¾ of a hundred thousand on a date with you. “Jesus,” you murmured. 

“Think you can head out tomorrow?” 

----

Waking up in the bedroom of the apartment you seemed to share with Aaliyah taught you two things. One, you could apparently sleep in these universes and not wake up elsewhere, and two, the walls of your apartment were far too thin.

You glanced over at the clock on your bedside table, and noted the time. You had about an hour before you needed to be at the airport. 

You quickly threw a mixture of clothing, a phone charger, a packet of birth control, and some skincare products into a suitcase before heading out to the kitchen to grab a granola bar. You chewed half the bar before hopping into the shower, then tossing on some ugly, but comfortable travelling clothes. 

Maybe you spent a bit too long checking yourself in the mirror that morning with the newfound knowledge that you were now worth at least 75,000 dollars. Frankly, having multiple (attractive) men fight over you was the greatest boost to your pride that you’d ever been given.

Glancing down at your phone after the matter, you realized that you only had a few minutes to order an Uber to pick you up, unless you wanted to be late and miss your flight. 

----

You had your baggage checked, stumbled through TSA, and showed the screenshot of your plane ticket a boatload of times to a multitude of people before you finally reached the lounge, and found Ransom sitting on a sofa with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Why the hell are you dressed like that?” Ransom asked you as you approached, looking up and down at your outfit of a college sweatshirt and loose joggers.

“Because I want to be comfortable, you dick. Do rich people not like being comfortable?” You sat down beside him on the sofa, and slumped into the chair. Who knew travelling throughout the multiverse could be so tiring? “Besides, you have like seven holes in that sweater. I wouldn’t be talking about anyone else’s clothes if I gladly let moths have a four course meal on my things,” you scoffed.

That seemed to shut him up for a bit.

Eventually, your flight number was called, and you, along with the few other first class flyers piled into the plane. 

You sat down next to Ransom in a soft chair that seemed to lower back into some sort of makeshift mattress, and slipped your phone out of your pocket to send your friends a message that you were taking off.

“You excited?” You asked Ransom while he began to slip a pair of Beats onto his head. 

“Yeah, I like Nice,” he nodded, then grabbed his own phone to connect to the headphones.

“So you’ve been there before?” Ransom nodded, clearly trying to ignore you. “Do you have a plan on fun places to take me?” He shrugged.

You got the message, and huffed as you sat back in your seat. Right before takeoff, you received a message back from Aaliyah of a picture of her cat, and that was enough to bring a smile to your face. 

—— 

About 7 hours into your flight, you noticed Ransom picking out a movie to watch, and you found the idea intriguing. 

“What’cha watching?” You asked, leaning over a bit into his space. 

“Nothing,” he said stiffly, and you rolled your eyes.

“Porn?” You joked, glancing up at him to see if it landed or not. It did not. 

“You know what? You’re a lot prettier when you’re quiet.”

You slunk back into your seat at this and turned your head away from Ransom. The words really bit at you, considering that it sounded just like your Steve, and if you squinted enough, it looked like him too. But your Steve would never say something like that to you, right?

For a moment, you twisted the watch on your wrist consideringly, wondering if you should go to the next universe, where you might gain a little more respect from your partner. Yet something told you to wait it out. If this was still, in some convoluted way, Steve, he’d come around, right?

That alone gave you enough reason to stay.

---- 

You dragged your suitcase into a hotel room much too big for just two people after nearly 12 hours of an extremely awkward flight, and even more awkward cab ride to the hotel. 

After plopping your things down into the bigger bedroom of the hotel, you stretched rather dramatically in hopes of waking up some of the stiff muscles in your body. In the midst of this, Ransom came up behind you, and set a hand on your back, scaring the life out of you. 

“What the hell, Ransom! A knock or a ‘hello’ will do it next time!”

You turned to look at him, and became a bit flustered at his shirtless, short-clad figure. It was silly, because you’d seen Steve naked a million times before, and this was simply Steve in another universe. 

“You coming to the spa with me?” He smirked as you blatantly checked him out. “Okay, yeah. You’re coming with me. I’ll meet you at the front door.”

You spent around an hour at the spa with Ransom, sweating yourself out in the sauna until you were likely majorly dehydrated, soaking in the heated pool until your skin became pruny and wrinkled, and ending the night with a massage that sent you straight to sleep.

Like, deep sleep. When you became even slightly conscious, Ransom was laying you in your pillowy soft bed. As your eyes opened the slightest bit at him, he scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Pretending to sleep, how cute,” he muttered sarcastically. You’d argue with him, but you were simply too exhausted to do so. In fact, you were convinced you’d just given him a whole monologue about how travelling makes people tired, but the most that had exited your mouth was a tiny squeak. 

You watched Ransom leave the room, before your head collapsed onto your shoulder, and you fell back into a nice rest.

When you awoke, it was not on your own will.

An overly saturated light attacked your eyes from behind your eyelids, and came all at once, snapping you out of your dreamless slumber. When you glanced over at the harsh source, you noticed none other than Ransom by your window, with a hand on the drape.

“Time to wake up. It’s like, 3 PM, by the way,” he huffed before exiting your room, not even allowing you to reply. 

You groaned in annoyance, having an off handed thought about how jet lag was kicking your ass, before rolling out of bed and trying to find something nice to put on.

By the time you left your room, Ransom was standing by the door, aimlessly scrolling on his phone. “You wanna go for a walk?” 

“Sure, I guess. I’m kinda hungry though, so maybe we can stop somewhere first?” 

Ransom shrugged and gave you what seemed like the hint of a smile, and you hurried to put on your shoes before heading out. 

——

The two of you ended up on the patio of some local restaurant, your eyes skimming the menu while Ransom took sips of his complimentary water. 

What seemed to be out of nowhere, a burly man came rushing over to your table, and appeared to be approaching Ransom, as he turned his head to look at the man, then quickly looked away.

The man, who you could only assume to be the owner, clapped Ransom on the back, and in return, Ransom slumped over in embarrassment. 

You were definitely going to enjoy this.

“Où étiez-vous?, Ranny?” Where have you been?

“Occupé, Henri.” Busy, Henri. Ransom clearly had a dark red blush on his face now, and he glanced at you as if you could offer him some sort of assistance.

“Trop occupé avec la dame?” Too busy with the lady? Henri asked with a smirk.

“No!” 

“Présentez-moi à elle,” Introduce her to me. 

Ransom sighed dramatically, then sat up from hunching, “Y/N, this is Henri. He’s a family friend,” you couldn’t help but notice how pleased Henri seemed, “Henri, this is Y/N, mon rendez-vous,” My date.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” Henri extended a hand out to you and you gladly shook it. He turned back to Ransom, and continued grilling him. “Est-ce votre cavalier ou votre petite amie?” Is she your date or your girlfriend?

“Mon rendez-vous!” My date! You don’t think you’d ever seen anyone become this flustered so fast.

“Hey Henri,” you interrupted, feeling a tiny bit left out, “any way that we could order first, then you could come back here and tell me all the embarrassing stories about Ransom you can remember?”

“That sounds fun to me,” he shrugged.

——

During lunch, you’d learned more about Ransom than you ever knew you needed to know. In the midst of it all, you couldn’t help but to think about how different he was compared to your Steve. His parents were extremely wealthy (no surprise there), he went to boarding school in Nice (which explained his ability to speak French), and Ransom was a bit of an art nerd (perhaps some characteristics could transcend universes).

Surprisingly, he was starting to grow on you. Which was why you were far from opposed to his suggestion of going sight-seeing around the town. 

The first stop you took wasn’t too far from the restaurant. A quaint little gift store with tiny knicknacks lining the shelves, and a relentless, old, orange cat who did not seem to want to leave Ransom alone.

“You should pet her, Ran,” you suggested, leaning down to do so yourself.

“First of all, don’t call me that. Second of all, if you pet her once, it’ll literally never stop,” He glanced over at you from where he was standing at a set of tourist-oriented keychains.

“Are you speaking from firsthand experience?” You grinned down at the cat who was now aggressively rubbing its head against your hand.

“Yes. Luis may seem nice, but one second you’re petting his head, and the next, you’re carrying him around the store, the whole time he’s whispering in your ear for you to buy more things.”

You were a bit taken aback at this, for a second concerned that the man you’d impulsively travelled to Europe with had a few screws loose, since he was apparently hearing local cats speak to him. That’s of course, when Ransom broke into laughter. It took you a second before you laughed a bit too.

“That was so weird, man. Don’t do that again,” you lightly punched his shoulder, then went to pick up Luis who was more than happy to be transported around like an infant. 

After buying a nice mug and a postcard to give to Aaliyah once you returned home, and parting with Luis who seemed to feel a bit, you suggested hopping in a cab to visit one of the many art museums Nice had to offer. 

After a bit of bickering in the backseat, the two of you compromised on the Modern and Contemporary Art museum, and you couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit excited.

Around two hours post-arrival at the museum, you realized that, maybe modern art wasn’t exactly your thing. But it certainly was Ransom’s. He rambled on and on about different pieces that seemed completely mundane to you. Who knew that someone could talk for nearly half of an hour about a canvas painted completely one color?

You noted a shift in Ransom’s attitude towards you. It was clear that you were willing to put up with his little antics, and as the day went on, he began to let down more and more of the tough guy persona he’d had up for so long. To your Steve, at least, art was something that made him feel a bit vulnerable, and you figured that Ransom held the same sentiment. This thought made you feel vaguely homesick, and go in for a half-hug from Ransom, who gladly returned it while he shamelessly effused.

It wasn’t the same, but for you, it was good enough.

----

You very much enjoyed the rest of your day with Ransom, hopping from interesting site to interesting site with him, and sharing a multitude of fond memories that you hoped would stick with you throughout your inter-dimensional travels.

You ended the night with him on the piano bench in the lobby of your hotel. He wordlessly played a Chopin piece while you mindlessly listened. It was a rather relaxing experience, and quite the finale of your day. You had a bit of a nagging feeling that this was the finale of your time in this universe as well.

“Today was really nice,” out of nowhere, Ransom began.

You hummed in agreement, “it was.”

“I guess I shouldn’t have taken you to all my favorite places on day one, but oh well,” he half chuckled to himself, and you pulled back to look up at Ransom.

“You took me to your favorite places? That’s.. Wow. That’s really sweet,” you glanced down at the piano, then back up at Ransom. He gave you a soft smile in return.

This was the moment, right? The silence that followed that was your perfect opportunity to be kissed. Yet, Ransom wasn’t taking it. So you decided to lean forward slightly, and do it yourself. Catching onto what you were getting ready to do, Ransom moved away from you slightly, and shook his head.

“Hey, I don’t really do that,” Ransom looked down at you, and bit the inside of his lip. 

Deep down, you knew that this was just a man who looked like your man rejecting you, but the less rational side of yourself only told you one thing.

Steve was rejecting you.

He was leaving you again, he wouldn’t even kiss you. The thought of it put you somewhere between seeing red, and seeing nothing at all from the tears that were now flooding your vision.

The one thing that had once convinced you to stay, was now begging you to leave. 

You reached down to your watch, and fiddled aggressively with it. Part of you felt bad for leaving a version of yourself to deal with the awkward aftermath of what just occurred, but another part of you just wanted to get the hell away from all of the distressing emotions you were feeling. 

That part of you seemed to be stronger than anything else. You glanced down at your watch, pressed the button on the side that you were told could make you leave, and let nature take its course after feeling the soft vibrations run throughout your arm.

next chapter

[steveyoungjokes]

Veteran Feelings

[Unedited, please bear with me] I see many of my fellow veterans proclaiming that they feel sad about the fall of the U.S. client State in Afghanistan. Most of them say something like “surely we needed to leave, just not like this.” Many claim that their feelings are complicated. First of all, how did you see our exit going? It was always going to look like this! Secondly, I’m certain that their feelings are complicated. I had complicated feelings when I first realized that I was being used. That I’d been had. Taken advantage of. I served in Ramadi, Iraq, and watching it fall to ISIS was a horror. I know what you’re thinking and feeling as you watch us lose Afghanistan.

Your complicated feelings are the beginning of the realization that, despite your intentions, you were a tool for evil.

Whether it was to serve our country, pay for school, to just have a job, or (like a platoon sergeant of mine) because a judge made you, we all had reasons for joining. Most of us didn’t join up because we wanted to kill people (though there are plenty of those assholes), but our willingness to engage in violence for our country, or for college money, or whatever, was used by the folks in power to evil ends. Rather than serving your country, you served big business. I spent a total of 12 years in the Marines before becoming disillusioned and leaving the service. So when I tell you that you got played, I know how much that burns.

We weren’t in Afghanistan (or Iraq, for that matter) to build a nation, or to promote feminism or democracy, or even to capture Bin Laden; at best those were tangential goals. Even if you were sent there to give microloans to ladies, or to protect a polling place, you were only there to give a veneer of respectability to an illegal and immoral invasion. If you were sent by the U.S. government, you were helping its mission in making Afghanistan profitable for the companies that sell shit to the U.S. military and extract shit from Afghan land. At best you lent undeserved credibility to the U.S. mission there while maybe helping a local Afghan’s day better. At worst, you’re a war criminal. Most of us are closer to being war criminals than not, and that’s something we need to confront as a group and individuals.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise that it was about making money. And the folks that started the U.S. invasion there (and Iraq. I’m starting to sense a pattern) didn’t lose the war, even though their home country may now be leaving the place behind. Rather than losing, they made out like bandits, making billions of dollars at the cost of hundreds of thousands of dead, millions displaced, and a country in ruins.

If you think that we were the good guys, then answer me why U.S. Marines use the Waffen-SS flag? Would the good guys use prisons at Bagram as CIA black sites to torture and murder prisoners? Would the people on the right side of history have suffocated or shot up to 2,000 prisoners in after surrendering? What of the thousands of Afghan civilians that are still being killed or wounded every year after decades of our presence there?

If we were there to help build a nation, why, after 20 years does Afghanistan still rank 169th on the U.N.’s Human Development Index? If we were there to rebuild their country, why, after spending $143 billion dollars of Afghanistan’s reconstruction is there no significant improvement in the lives of the vast majority of Afghans or development of basic infrastructure? We can talk about the kleptocratic leaders of Afghanistan, but they’re small potatoes compared to the largesse raked in by U.S. corporate interests.

If we were there to get bin Laden, why did we turn down the Taliban’s offer to turn him over. Was it because they wanted evidence, and we didn’t have any at the time? Or did we really just want an excuse to invade? Probably both. The same day that the FBI said they didn’t know who committed these attacks, President Bush said they knew who to aim our revenge toward. He claimed that they “hate our freedoms”, without any evidence to support that he was indicating the right people or that they did indeed hate our freedoms. If they hated our freedoms, why did the 9/11 hijackers target the World Trade Center and the Pentagon and not the Statue of Liberty? Could it be that they had seen that U.S. forces had, for over a century, invaded or coup-ed dozens of countries throughout the world at the behest of corporations? Perhaps they wanted to strike a blow, not at our freedoms, but at the military and economic terrorism that our government has wrought around the world in order to make sure that companies were “free” to make money without the pesky natives getting restless. Perhaps they remembered the time when U.S. Secretary of State Madeleine Albright (#girlboss), said that killing 500,000 Iraqi children was “worth it.”

The enemy of the 9/11 hijackers is the same enemy as the rest of us. Our bosses. The person who tells us what to do. This is often a political leader. More often it’s a manager at work. For most of us, the boss just controls your schedule, your attire, and your pay (while making money off your work) and maybe your health insurance. These are relatively minor levels of freedom-usurpation. However, the managers and owners of the biggest companies, especially those that sell to the U.S. military, make billions off war whether we win or not! They only need the war to go on long enough to make a buck (well, billions of bucks). Political leaders in the U.S. rub shoulders, if not take orders from, those high-powered bosses. So any political repressions that our government engages is are usually aligned with the interests of the wealthy (see, e.g. the war on drugs). The present example is no different: in 2001 the leader of the Northern Alliance made an oil pipeline deal with an Argentine Company; we made sure he was killed on September 10, 2001. But now that the Taliban has vowed to not disrupt the pipeline project, and is actively extracting and selling minerals with the knowledge and aid of U.S. forces, it’s suddenly much less necessary for the U.S. to remain there.

If you have complicated feelings, it’s because you’re mad that you’ve been had. You wanted to do good, and only bad came from it. You wanted to help Afghanistan, but the U.S. only made it worse. That’s a tough pill to swallow when you’ve grown up believing that you’re on the good side. Now that you know that we’re the baddies, I implore you to help take power from the real bad folks, those who make sure that military options are on the table because they are the options that make money for the already wealthy.

Your complicated feelings probably include anger. Just make sure you direct your anger at the right enemy. The Taliban is bad, definitely, but they’ve objectively done less bad in the world than U.S. foreign policy has. Help us change this country so that it will serve its citizens, and not harm anyone. Get money out of politics, fight for democracy in the workplace, and the right to vote guaranteed for everyone.