#and then my harlan muse was like :) it's suggestion

[roetrolls]

live footage of my ben muse last night

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 4 Co-Written with @southerngracela​

Summary: Ransom shows you a softer side, but when the table flips he leaves you with no doubt that he’s still just as dangerous as he has always been…

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

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is Part 4 to our submission for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s Haunted House 2020  Challenge. My writing partner @southerngracela​ is currently on an indefinite hiatus from Tumblr, and I’ve sadly no idea when she will be back. However, this chapter was pretty much finished before she took her break and the rest of the series is also planned out to finish, so as per her blessing before she took time out, I’m intending on finishing what we started.

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

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

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 3

True to his word, Ransom had let you spend the day with him after Blanc's visit. It was a day interestingly enough your mind wandered back to, if not for the change in scenery, but for the change in his demeanour. A couple of weeks had since passed from then, but the memory was burned in your brain. And since, you'd spent far more than just a day above the confines of your room. Almost every morning since he’d ‘allowed’ you to make breakfast and most mornings, unless he was heading out to wherever he went, he then let you stay upstairs with him whilst he plugged away at the book he was writing. That in and of itself had come as a shock to you, to learn he was an aspiring author for sure, but you had simply nodded and encouraged him when he had told you. And you had quickly realised that when he was busy writing, you could get busy reading one of the many books or writing in your journal while sat in the large study and he left you pretty much alone.

Which is where you were currently sat now, curled up on the leather sofa as he sat at his desk, tapping away at his laptop, your journal open in your lap and a leather bound copy of ‘Great Expectations’ lay next to you, the page marked waiting for you to pick up from where you had left off the previous evening. As you thumbed the pages of your journal to find the next blank page, you had to smile at the little doodle of a Christmas tree that caught your eye in the top right hand corner of a page you’d written a few days back, the day you’d convinced Ransom that he should at least get one Christmas Tree. He’d obliged, had one; only the one, delivered and permitted you to decorate it how you’d wanted to and even managed a little smile when you stepped back and proudly showed the finished product to him. Then, of course, quid-pro-quo, he had had expected something in return which you’d given, because let’s face it, he’d have taken it anyway.

You’d seen a softer side to him that day, and not for the first time either. Granted, non-asshole Ransom wasn’t an everyday feature by any stretch of the imagination, but you’d seen it twice now. You paused, and then thumbed back a few pages to the day you were now remembering, the day you’d first been confronted with a very different Ransom to the one you were used to dealing with. One that came out of nowhere.

It was a wet day, an early winter storm passing through New England. You were sure it could have snowed but instead, it was just wet and cold. He'd come down with breakfast, instead of inviting you up. He'd brought you warm oatmeal with cream and cinnamon, a small bowl of blueberries on the side and a pinch dish of raisins, having forgotten how you took your oatmeal. A cup of coffee, steaming on the tray. He'd set up your breakfast on the table and sat across from you, not eating. He hadn't even brought coffee for himself. 

You'd assessed his mood as morose, distant even. You didn't press, but rather waited for him to out himself and his particular mood. You'd come to recognize when he was thinking and this morning, he was all thought and no presence. 

"I'll be gone most of the day," he finally came clean, just as you'd finished your oatmeal. 

"Okay," you replied. He hadn't ever really announced his plans to you before. He'd just come and go at all times as he'd liked, never leaving you home alone without the doors locked. This willingness to let you in on his plans for the day fielded a small red flag in your mind and if you were honest with yourself, you felt like this was a test. He said nothing else, just picked up your breakfast dishes and left. 

In the time he was gone, you'd managed to shower, nap, write and read. You were growing hungry for dinner, having had to skip lunch in his absence. Then you heard it, the tell-tale signs of his return. The clicks of doors and sounds of boots on the floor above you. The jingle of keys, and a few failed attempts at unlocking your door. A 'fuck' and a 'God damn it' before the door opened and there he stood. Soaked to the bone, dressed in all black from his coat to his toes. Was that ice on the tips of his hair? Was he drunk or just having a moment? Fingers frozen from the cold. 

'Jesus Christ, you're soaked.'  You said as you took him in. His lips looked a little discolored, his skin more alabaster than ivory. Throwing caution to the wind, you grabbed your throw from the chair as you passed it by. 'Get that coat off,' you pulled at its thick woolen collar. The heavy fabric peeled away from his broad shoulders and you let it fall to the floor. You heaved the throw over him and pulled it closed around his thick chest. 'You're not getting sick and leaving me here to rot.'

You moved to give him some space and guide himself further into the room, but ice cold fingers wrapped around your wrist and you stopped dead in your tracks. Your eyes moved upwards from where his hand swallowed you're wrist, along the wet fabric of his black sweater, water droplet covered neck, to eyes that were lost and distant, just as they were that morning, but much worse. 

You were nearly as frozen as his fingers were, not sure what to say or do. Worried about consequence. So you just stared back. 

'Thank you', it was barely audible as the words poured from his lips. 

'Of course.' You weren't sure what he was thankful for but you replied anyway. Cautiously, you continued, 'Will you come sit down? Do you want something warm to drink?' You wanted to ask where he'd been but that was a slippery slope. 

'Not here,' he replied. 

'Upstairs then, in the lounge,' you suggested. He nodded and turned on his heel, a glance over his shoulder to see if you were coming. You followed, pulling your cardigan around you tightly as the chill from the basement filtered through you, or was it coming away from him, you weren't sure. 

You'd thought the lounge was where you were headed but instead, he'd headed for the kitchen, taking a seat at the table there. When he didn't provide instruction or conversation, you inhaled deeply and thought of something to warm you both from the inside-out. You felt his eyes on you as you gathered the ingredients you needed, cocoa, chocolate chips, milk. The cinnamon sticks from the cupboard. You were careful not to make too much of a clatter as you pulled the sauce pan from under the counter. 

In minutes, fresh hot chocolate was in two steaming mugs with whipped cream and freshly grated cinnamon. You handed him a mug and then sat across from him, your mug between your fingers. You watched as he sipped from his mug, blowing a little on the liquid before his lips touched it. His eyes closed as if he was stuck in a memory, his expression softening. 

His eyes opened and he sighed, 'I can't remember the last time I had something like this. I was just a kid, my nana was still alive. It amazes me how they turned out from the two of them.'

'Money changes people,' you commented. You assumed 'they' meant his family, or at least more specifically, his mother and her two brothers, one of which had been gone for years. 

He scoffed, 'fuck my family.'

Throwing caution to the wind, you asked, 'is that where you were?' You couldn't have guessed, given he was usually extremely angry and frustrated when he'd spent time with anyone in the Thrombey-Drysdale family tree. 

He frowned and nodded. 

'What happened?' You couldn't resist.

'Harlan's memorial.'

'Oh' . You said unable to think of anything else to respond with, because really what else could you say. He’d attended a memorial for the grandfather that would still be alive had it not been for him. 

'Oh, indeed,' he mused, long fingers flexing around the mug. 'Surely, you’ve figured out I wasn’t particularly welcome.' 

You couldn't say more, he wasn't wrong. You bit the inside of your lip and swallowed hard. He needed comfort. But would you give it to him? Was he deserving of that? Hell no, but your heart ached for him a little. It couldn't have been easy. But maybe this was his punishment for avoiding the ultimate consequence.

'Go on, say it.'

'Say what?' 

'That I deserve it.' He looked at you, 'I know that’s what you’re thinking.' He leaned back, 'maybe you’re right.' 

Well, that threw you. 'I don't know what I'm thinking, to be honest.' You leaned forward, intending to slip the mug from his hands and take them in yours, but you caught yourself and stopped. That was a step that you weren’t quite ready for, or willing as might be more accurate, to take. 'But, I can tell you're hurting and despite what happened, how it happened, you deserve to say goodbye without the rage and selfishness that got you here.'

'Well,' he leaned back and took another sip from his mug, 'that’s certainly not what they thought. Meg assured me I'm still the stuck up prick without my trust fund.'

A small smirk played over your lips, barely noticeable, 'fuck your family.' 

'Careful, Sweetheart,' he smirked, but there was no threat in his words, not this time. He was genuinely amused.

You managed a slight shrug, 'If there’s one thing I learned from writing about you and your ridiculously entitled family tree, it's that each and every one of you is all about everyone for themselves.' You took a deep breath, waiting for the repercussions to fall. 'What happened, happened. Now, this is what you have, so own it.' 

You flinched a little as his hand reached to scrub at his clean shaven chin, finger tracing his bottom lip as he studied you for a second before he took a deep breath and reached back for his mug. 'I think you need to make this for me more often.' He stated simply, and just like that, the deep foray into his emotions and psyche was over, and the barriers were closed once more.  

'Sure.' You nodded. 'Whatever you want.' 

At that he gave a little scoff. 'Sure, whatever I want.' 

Silence filled the room again, your mind not sure what to make of that last comment, and his was clearly working overtime, you could tell by the way his eyes were still glazed as he simply stared down at the mug in his hand. The rest of the time you sat by the table was quiet, and you were surprised to find yourself a little disappointed. This was the first real meaningful conversation you’d had with him since arriving here. Sure you’d talked, but never once had you got any insight into what exactly made him tick. You’d learned more in the last ten minutes or so than you had in the entire six weeks you’d been his captive.

His captive. 

The words echoed in your mind and you swallowed as you remembered exactly what it was you were doing here. This wasn’t by choice, this man wasn’t your friend or your lover, he was your captor, keeping you for his own entertainment, which he was no doubt going to be seeking from you again tonight.

'I think I need a shower,' he leaned forward, disturbing your thoughts.

'Okay,' You replied. 'I'll, uh, well you know where to find me when you're ready for me. Anything in particular you'd like me to wear tonight?' 

'No, not tonight,' he answered with assurance, his voice carrying a low yet soft tone. 'You can go read or whatever it is you do when I'm gone.' You blinked, temporarily dumfounded and he looked at you, snorting a little. 'What? You want me to come and have my way with you?' 

'Is that a trick question?' You blurted out before you could stop yourself, before you swallowed and waited for the admonishing, but it never came. Instead he chuckled and shook his head.  

'Didn’t think so.' With that he rose from his chair, reaching for your empty mug as he passed. His fingers lightly brushed yours and you were jolted by the sudden sparks that flew up your arm and you took a little breath as he passed, depositing your mugs in the sink. Without another word he breezed from the kitchen for the first time, leaving you alone in the room.

It left you perplexed. Completely and utterly perplexed. He never left you alone, even the weeks on your cycle he’d found other ways for you to satisfy him, with your mouth or your hand for instance, but tonight…

Taking a deep breath, you headed back to your room. You didn’t even look at the main door to the house, there was no point. It was always locked and you knew what the consequences would be if you left. Besides, you wouldn’t get far. Not to mention you had no idea where you actually where and the thought of being outside alone in the dark, frankly scared you to death. No, you were better here. At least you knew it was warm, and familiar.

You headed down the stairs and got ready for bed. You settled in with your book, and after a while your ears pricked up as you heard footsteps outside your room. You swallowed, clearly he had changed his mind. But, as you set your book aside, it wasn’t the sound of the door opening followed by his feet padding down the stairs that you heard, it was the lock clicking as he shut you in for the night.

The sound of the doorbell jerked you away from your memory. Ransom frowned and looked up from the screen of his laptop before his eyes caught yours and he gave a little smirk.

“Expecting someone?”

You rolled your eyes at his asshole joke and he chuckled to himself, grabbing his phone. As he saw who it was at the door his good humour slipped from his face and without another word he rose from his chair. He paused in the doorway and turned to you. “No funny business, remember…” 

 “Yes, I know.” You replied quietly. “You know where my family are.”

He hesitated, almost as if he was about to say something else, but he didn’t. Instead he turned and left the room to answer the door. 

The study wasn't far from the lounge merely the next room down, and the lounge was closest to the door so you tuned your focus to the voice speaking with Ransom. You recognized it and suddenly found yourself adjusting your tee and duster, making sure the cuffs on your jeans were even. You could hear the distress in his tone, the guest was unwanted and you hadn't realized you were now in the hall beside him. You noticed he took a step back towards you, as if he knew you were there. 

Linda Thrombey's eyes raked over you, in shock and disbelief. “What the hell is she doing here?” 

As she glared, you shifted uncomfortably, your hands pulling on the sleeves of the duster sweater you wore as you swallowed.

“She’s with me.” Ransom replied, his tone even.

“With you as in 'with you'?” Linda turned her eyes back to him, distaste evident on her face.

“Is that a problem, Mother, because you know where the door is.”

It was a problem, you could see it in her face as she once more looked at you, but instead of sniping back she simply took a deep breath and cleared her throat.

"No, I just wasn't aware you'd have company." Her eyes flicked back to Ransom who simply shrugged.

"Since when did you know anything about what I do on a daily basis, Mother?"

"Don't start, Ransom. I'm not in the mood and I didn't come here for a fight."

 "Then pray do tell, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Can you stop being such a sarcastic little shit for once in your life?" she snapped.

You stilled a little, your eyes flicking to Ransom and you were surprised to find that instead of the usual anger you expected, his face remained passive on the whole, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes, something that, well had it been anyone else you'd have sworn was concern. But Hugh Ransom Drysdale wasn't concerned about anyone but himself...

“What’s happened?” he asked, his voice still gruff but there was a softer note to his voice. Linda took a deep breath and she shook her head.

"I felt a call to tell you wasn't appropriate and this needed to be handled in person." She fixed him with a look. “It’s your Greatnanna Wanetta. She died last night, Ransom.”

You froze, hearing the news leave his mother's mouth and you suddenly felt sorry for him. Ransom, stood there stoic, his eyes fixated on his mother.

“Was it peaceful?” he eventually asked, his voice measured.

“In her sleep.” Linda replied, her tone soft.

Ransom stayed silent for a moment, his chest rising and falling slowly as he took deep breaths. His expression was unreadable as he simply looked at his Mother, before he raised his eyebrows inhaling slowly.

“Was there anything else?” He exhaled, and Linda simply shook her head at him, a huff of annoyed laughter escaping her.

“That’s all you have to say?” She asked, incredulously, as Ransom shrugged with a petulantly nonchalant air, and you saw Linda’s face redden as she exploded "Oh for God's sakes, Ransom, you really are such a selfish little bastard, aren't you?”

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, his tone measured. “You said it was peaceful and she didn’t suffer.”

“No, I said she went in her sleep.” Linda corrected him. “I imagine she did suffer, how could she not after everything that happened, huh? Hell, she probably died of a broken heart”.

At that you saw Ransom’ nostril’s flare as his eyes burned into Linda’s face, a flush of red rising up his neck.

"Get out," he deadpanned. When Linda made no attempt to move, Ransom stepped forward yanked open the front door of the house, gesturing with his arm. “I’m not gonna ask again. Go.”

"Ransom..." Linda tried to strong arm her way to stay.

"Are you deaf or just fucking stupid?" Ransom replied, his voice didn't even raise in volume but something about it made you shiver. He was positively frightening when he was in this frame of mind.

You watched as Linda gave him a final glare and stepped outside without so much as a glance back, the slam of the door behind her making you jump.

Ransom saw his mother out but didn't return to the study, in fact he ignored Y/N's presence in the hall entirely. Instead, he sulkingly moved towards the wet bar in the lounge. He didn't even bother with the glass, he picked up the first bottle he could wrap his fingers around and white knuckled the neck, spinning the cap off, it clinking to the floor. He downed a long pull, the amber liquid burning sinfully as it coated his throat, his eyes stinging but not from the booze. 

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s soft voice startled him as he hadn’t heard her enter the lounge. Taking a deep breath, he wiped his hand over his face, and turned to look at her, his jaw clenching.

“Did I say you could leave the study? Did I say you could join the conversation with Linda?” His voice was steely, flat, but he knew full well that she understood that to mean he was pissed and she visibly recoiled in the doorway, her eyes widening. When she didn’t answer immediately he slammed the bottle he was holding down on the bar top, and when he spoke again his voice was louder as he demanded an answer. “Did I?”

“No.” She answered with a quiver, “But I…”

“But I…” he mocked, sneering before he scoffed. “You know considering how smart you’re supposed to be, at times you’re really fucking stupid.”

Y/N blinked a little, and opened her mouth to talk but she fumbled over her words as she frantically began to apologise, which simply served to irritate him even more. With a frustrated growl he reached out and grabbed her chin, forcing her head up to look at his.

"You do as I say, when I say it. That rule has NEVER changed," his voice was filled with venom. “I didn’t ask for your sympathy. And I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not...” she whimpered slightly, and the grip he had on her face tightened causing her to cry out. “Hugh, please!”

And there it was, that fucking name.

You immediately realised your mistake as his face burned red and his lips curled up into an ugly sneer.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…you were hurting me and…”

“You think I give a shit?” He spat, and the hand suddenly released your face only to wrap painfully in your hair. Without so much as another word he began pulling you from the room, ignoring your shouts of pain and protest as you wrapped both your hands around his wrists, desperately trying to get him to release you. But it was no good, the more you struggled, the tighter his grip became.

Before you knew what had happened he’d dragged you to the door that led to your room and down the stairs, your feet slipping slightly, causing you to stumble, harshly banging your knee on the bottom few steps where he finally released you, shoving you harshly. Your balance already gone, you stumbled and collided harshly with the side of the vanity table, the pain in your cheekbone causing you to yell out once more as the stars exploded in front of your eyes.

It took you a moment to shake off the daze, and when you finally did you looked up to see his retreating back heading up the stairs, slamming the door behind him. With a gasp you slumped down, your back against the wood of the dressing unit, your hand reaching up to your tender face. From somewhere upstairs in the house you heard another door slam, then a moment or so later there was a roar of an engine, which was followed by nothing but eerie silence.

Hugging your knees to your chest you let out a sob as the tears streaming as uncontrollably down your face.

***** All he could see was rage. Red, hot, firey rage. He slammed the basement door and didn't miss the bar cart on his way out, a full bottle of top shelf scotch in his hand, coat and keys in the other. He drove for miles, no destination in his conscious mind but a rather interesting one in his subconscious.

Headstones came into view until his SUV stopped at the end of the grassy knoll where the mausoleum stood surrounded by trees. He climbed out of the car, bottle clutched in his hand and shut the door behind him, simply leaning against the dark metal of his vehicle. For a long while, he didn't move, he simply stared at the entry, gulping large pulls of the scotch as he stared. His thoughts raced and raced, almost making him dizzy. It was that or the fast burn of the booze.

It felt like a flash of his life replaying in his mind. His great-nana, his grandparents, his parents, a life of entitlement growing up, parties, recreational drugs, booze, women, his fight with Harlan, his sudden plot to commit murder and then the crime, his arrest, and then the visions came to a halt with a mind bending pain and at the end of that pain was Y/N.

Her face, her scent, her voice. The way she felt beneath him, around him…those breathy, little moans, sighs. They’d connected recently, Ransom was sure of it, ever since he’d invited her upstairs and let her do something as mundane as cook. They talked more, engaged more, he no longer fucked her and left, instead he’d dress and hang around for a while, and he liked it. But then, today, after his Mother’s visit, those eyes which had mesmerised him from the moment he’d met her had once more reflected fear and confusion.

And Ransom didn’t like it.

Where that fear had, at one point, given him a buzz, now it simply served to remind him exactly how things had been when he had first taken her, and he didn’t like that one bit. He’d grown to crave the other things, like the way she would touch his arm or squeeze his hand. The way she smiled and spoke. The way she made him feel human, not some ghastly, beastly monster capable of killing someone. But he hurt her, more times than he wanted to admit. He hurt her and did things to her, he was vile and despicable. He WAS those things everyone said. 

He was a fucking monster.

He felt the upheaval of emotions begin to collapse around him and he fell to his knees. The sting started and he couldn't stop it. An outpouring of emotions, years, decades even of built up anger, resentment, unhappiness, disgust, fear, pain all erupted in a strangled cry as his chest heaved and his heart raced. Salty steaks of tears wet his cheeks.

And all Ransom Drysdale felt in that moment in time was utter defeat.

His Greatnanna, the only other member of his family who truly ever cared about him, that remained on his side or remotely understood him other than Harlan was now gone and the realization of loneliness hit him like a ton of bricks. His body shook, his chest ached, his mind grew numb and all he could do was cry. 

What the fuck had he become, WHO had he become? What did he do? Why did he do it? This was all his fault, Harlan didn't deserve to be cold in the ground. He did this, all of this. Again, but why?

He had absolutely no answer other than because he could. 

It grew cold, dark, and late. The scotch was gone, his eyes burned and he couldn't breathe through his nose. At this point he didn't care if he made it back in one piece. He was a piece of shit and deserved everything that came to him by way of a tragedy. He climbed into his SUV and tried to collect enough sobriety to drive towards home. Towards her.

******

You had no idea how long you sat on the floor, but by the time you finished crying and had mustered enough about you to move; you were cold, stiff and aching from sitting in the same position for so long. Your face hurt from the blow you’d taken against the dresser, your knee hurt from where you’d banged it but all that paled into insignificance to the pain that was going on inside your chest.

You didn’t understand why Ransom had flipped like he had. For a few weeks now, things had been okay between you, good even. He’d been reasonably amenable to most of your requests and dare you say it, almost happier in himself. But all this served to remind you what lay underneath that façade. A dangerous narcissist with the ability to swap his face and mood at the click of a finger.

Or, in this case, a visit from his mother.

You wiped at your face, hissing as your fingers brushed your tender cheekbone and with a slight whimper of pain you pushed yourself up off the floor and stumbled over to your bed where you lay down and curled up, hugging your pillow to your chest.

You must have dozed off, because the next thing you recall it was dark and you were still cold. Whilst the basement was equipped with heaters, you couldn’t shake the chill from your bones so you decided that your best option to warm up, and ease your aches and pains was a nice, hot bath. Stretching out slightly, you gave yourself a moment before you pushed yourself up, flicking on the lamp on the nightstand before you got up and headed into the bathroom, flicking on the light. 

You paused at the basin unit, glancing at your reflection and you swallowed at the sight of the bruise that was already forming around your right eye and cheek socket. Swallowing the emotion you felt at seeing your face marked once more in such a way, you turned your attention to the bath and the suddenly remembered that the other night Ransom had presented you with a bag from a Boutique you liked that sold home-made soaps and bath bombs, clearly having been in one of his good moods that day. You had yet to unpack it all and put it in the bathroom, so, deciding that you were going to use one tonight, you turned to head back and grab the bag, but as you emerged into the main part of your room, you were stopped short as a thick chest, covered in a ribbed white tee, a hint of a cardigan peeking out as broad shoulders kept warm by a camel coloured coat blocked your path.

You gasped and felt your belly drop out. Your body immediately began quaking in fear as he stood so close to you. You cowered away, taking a half step back but it wasn't enough to put space between you as his hand gently grabbed your upper arm and pulled you into his chest, a shriek emitting from your voice. 

"Don't," his voice cracked. "Don't scream, I'm not gonna..." his words trailed off and he just shook his head. 

He held you against him. You were sure he could feel you trembling as his large hands pressed against your back. You inhaled a deep, shaky breath through your nose and was met with his scent. He smelled so good, like an expensive aftershave with hints of amber and sandalwood, cedar and vanilla but there was an underlying, distinct aroma of alcohol, scotch you suspected, unless you were mistaken.  

You felt his face press into your hair as he took a large, shaky deep breath, as if he was inhaling your scent, which he exhaled before he pulled away, his hands cupping your face. He tilted your face slightly so he could examine your left cheek and you saw him swallow as he took in your bruising. Something stirred behind his eyes, a sad melancholy that you’d seen only once before crossed his arrogantly handsome features, and his head dropped slowly to yours. He held your jaw in his big hands, his lips on yours. You didn’t fight, fighting was futile, but as the kiss continued it soon became clear that this wasn’t like any of the times he had kissed you in the past. No, this one was soft, like a need to just feel you pressed against him. His plump lips pulling yours in and holding you there and you realised, from the lingering taste of something sweet yet ever so slightly tinged with sour, that your suspicions were correct.

Despite your earlier fear, you willed yourself to relax into the relative comfort. It was like he was back to how he had been before his mother had visited and whilst he was in that frame of mine, you knew you were safe, so keeping him there was in your best interests. Your fingers moved from your sides to his chest, the ribbed tee rough against your skin. You continued your movements as his mouth pulled you in just a little more until he traced his tongue over your bottom lip. Your fingers moved out to and up the lapels of his coat, the soft texture like a cottony suede under your fingertips, before settling on the back of his neck, his smooth skin and hairline a definitive juxtaposition to feel. He didn't balk or pull away as he had done previously when you’d tried to show him affection, and you continued to respond to his kiss, your touch seeming to be a comfort for him and in the back of your mind you wondered what had changed to make him act this way. He broke away and rubbed his nose along yours, almost as if he were touching a butterfly, soft and unsure. 

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." He continued to whisper, over and over. A soft, barely there kiss to your bruises and broken skin and more words, "Let me take care of you."

You were scared to admit that this felt good, the way he was being gentle, apologetic even. Pain radiated from his body once again, like it had just a few weeks ago, his eyes telling you everything he was feeling. The outpouring of emotions there were hard to ignore. You weren't sure if forgiveness was in your repertoire, but compartmentalization was. You looked back at him, and with a slow blink, almost hypnotized, you nod in reply to his request. 

Long fingers reached out and tucked a tendril of hair behind your ear, the other hand simply cradling your jaw. You swallowed hard as he bent down and placed his lips on your neck. Your body shivered at the feel of his mouth warm against your skin. His breath hot on your ear, “do you trust me?”

"I don't know," your voice was breathy as you replied. 

“Let me fix this," his voice wavered. It was a question, not a demand. He nipped at your skin and you shivered again from a combination of desire and disgust at the way this asshole could make you feel, how traitorous your damned body was. 

Ransom felt her breath hitch against his touch. She wasn't fighting him, she wasn't combative, she was...receptive. The thought nearly made him crow for, in that moment, he could feel her trust in him coming in, even if she couldn't verbalize it. He was debating on his lips devouring hers but he was... oh God, he was actually afraid of losing her in the moment. Of her closing herself off. No, he thought, it's best to wait. Ignoring the throw blanket on the floor and the mugs of cocoa on the table, Ransom held her face in her hands. "Do you trust me?" He asked again. She swallowed hard and blinked again, slowly. It was as fair if a reply as he'd get. He could see the war in her eyes, her mind battling with her feelings, her heart. "Stay here."

He left her standing there while he started the hot water. He could feel her eyes on him, watching his every move. He felt different, better even, from the moment he sought her attention when he'd come home. He started the tub faucet and as he brushed past her again, he shucked his coat, tossing it on her bed. He took a small bag he'd brought her earlier in the week and carried it with him. He emptied the contents of a small vile like bottle and watched a moment as bubbles began to firm in the hot but tolerable water. With the bath filling, he sighed to himself and turned to face her.

He peeled his own dusty blue cardigan over his shoulders and let it set over the basin unit. He pushed the sleeves of his white thermal up his forearms and held his hand out to her. She hesitated but slowly slipped her hand in his. He pulled her close and his hands gathered the lapels of her cardigan and peeled it away from her. Underneath her cardigan, Y/N sported a firm fitting white tee and jeans that looked well fitted for her hips and ass, toned legs, bare feet curling into the tiled floor. Ransom salivated as her nipples hardened through the material. He realized she had no bra on under her tee and his hand gently slipped under her rib cage, his thumb padding over her pert nipple. He lifted the thin white tee away from her body and tossed it to the floor. He was half hard just at the thought of her naked under her clothes and now he was solid. Discomfort growing by the second. 

A hooked knuckle traced down her sternum, between her breasts and along the center of her taught stomach. He watched as goose flesh covered her exposed skin. As his knuckle reached the waistline of her jeans, he took to his knees, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses to her belly, just above her flies. With just his fingers, he undid the button, unzipped the zipper and the peeled the material away from her legs, all the while deep blue eyes peered up at her. He wasn't disappointed to find she'd still worn panties under the rough material, in fact he was delighted. His eyes roved down to her black, lace panties and he reached out, fingers gently tracing long the detailed waistband. Those came down next and as she stepped out of the material, Ransom's hands traced patterns up her leg, faint kisses to her thigh, her hip, her belly. He stood and admired Y/N, completely bare, with less than a foot of space between them.

Ransom hummed, his right hand reaching out, pads of his fingers again trailing a path down the valley of her heaving breasts to her navel. He paused as her breathing hitched and with a smirk his hand dropped lower still, over the faint tuft of hair he insisted she kept groomed, his fingers slipping into her folds. She gave a soft gasp, eyes widening as he continued to tease her, her hands reaching to up to grasp at his biceps as he played with her. She was wet, so wet from just this little bit of play and with a sharp flick of his wrist, he pushed two fingers inside of her. 

He leaned forward, mouth brushing the shell of her ear, “Just say the words and I’ll make you feel so damned good, Sweetheart, like you’ve never felt before.” Ransom pulled away, removing his fingers from where they’d been, his hand curling on her hip, sticky with her essence. He backed her toward the tub's edge, his forehead pressed into hers. All motion stopped the second the back of her legs touched the tub. "Get in," he whispered. 

You sunk down into the water, the aromatic smell of calming lavender swallowing your senses. Bubbles covered your body, to the point they tickled your collar bone. You eyed him kneeling as he reached over you, grabbing the natural sea sponge loofah and dipping it into the water before he squeezed it over your skin, gently scrubbing. Your face once more met his and you carefully watched him as he exhibited a patience you had never seen from him before. Those blue orbs bore into you, but still he made no move to take you.

And it was unnerving.

But then, as you stared into those deep, icy blue pools something suddenly clicked in your mind. He wanted you to want him. That was what this was about. He’d spent his entire life with people who regarded him as unworthy of love or any kindness and he was seeking validation. Whilst you could see he was genuinely hurting, you also still knew this man was violent, angry, had taken you without your permission, taken what he wanted from you and when. You knew he would take what he wanted tonight too, regardless of what your answer was, the moment for you to back out had been and gone.

But something felt so good about his touch that you were shivering in anticipation of more rather than in fear and the feeling of enjoyment on your mind started to overpower the feeling of disgust in your belly as your core tightened with each breath you felt against your skin. You blinked, your head a whirl, as you were shamefully turned on despite the depraved nature of this entire situation. You broke from your thoughtful trance as a hand cupped your face, a thumb pad tilting you chin upward just a pinch to look at him,

"What?" You whispered. 

"Let me in?" He asked, his tone a bit contrite and hopeful. 

When she nodded in a slow reply, Ransom felt his stomach drop out from under him. Butterflies grew to take flight like an albatross deep in his gut. He dropped the sponge in the water and stood tall, towering over the tub. He reached behind his neck, between his shoulder blades and pulled the thermal over his head, his hair catching slightly on the fabric. He ran a hand through it to straighten it back up and tossed the garment to the floor. He watched as her eyes grew noticeably wide as they roamed over his taught, well-formed abs, his bare chest. He flexed a little, his muscles twitching as he focused on the buckle and flies of his pants. He'd kicked his boots off as he'd undone his belt, the clank an ignored sound as all he could do was watch her and she him. Ransom allowed the material to fall between them, his pants hitting his ankles and he was quick to slip out of his pants and socks. He palmed his hard cock through his boxer briefs as she watched him touch himself.

He could see the change in her, the look of desire and lust in her eyes. The way she was admiring him now, rather than cowering at him. She was appreciating what was before her. His pale skin, his sculpted body, his naked form. He’s seen her, stripped her bare. But normally he's pulled his dick out and just fucked her. This was uncharted territory, this was new. And he liked it. He liked the way she was looking at him, feeding his ego and willingly participating. This, yes, this was something fun for him. And oh yeah, she wanted this, he could see it all over her.

One foot, then the other, Ransom stepped into the tub and sat opposite of her, careful to avoid the faucet. The water felt inviting, the company even more so. Her one leg nestled between his legs while the other just to the outside of them. She slid her left foot up close to his thigh, bending her leg at the knee. At this new comfortable position, his fingers started drawing intricate circles along her shin and calf. He watched her inhale deeply and tilt her head towards her shoulder, observing him. 

As you watched him, carefully, you saw him swallow, the hollow of this throat constricting a little before he took a deep breath, his touch on your leg still feather light. You wanted to lose yourself, give into the desire that you were feeling whether it be wrong or right, at that point in time you were past caring. You were in this position, nothing was going to change that, so was it really wrong to want to feel something more than fear? It was like there was a game of chess being played between your mind and heart, your gut and will.

And then, Checkmate, the idea came to you. You had a chance here to keep Ransom satisfied but on your terms. You had the power. And as long as you kept it that way you could control his temper and his actions, and get what you now shamefully admitted to yourself that you wanted.  And the realisation that you had the winning move here was almost liberating.

Ransom shifted a little, the water sloshing around him as he sat up, his chest poking a little further out of the water as he studied your face, and you waited to see what he would do. His tongue poked the inside of his cheek, he was clearly going through a mental battle himself and eventually he licked his lips, his gaze dropping to your breasts which were just under the water line and he swallowed once more before his hand on your leg stilled and he squeezed your calf muscle gently before he moved, leaning forward, his large hand once more resting against your cheek as he drew you in for another deep, gentle kiss.

You leaned into him, letting his lips works softly against yours as your hand dropped under the water and grasped his solid cock, giving him a gentle stroke. The kiss stuttered immediately, and he let out a choked groan as his eyes flew open, locking onto yours.

“Sit back.” You encouraged, and he did just that, his back once more resting against the top as you followed him, your hand remaining soft but firm enough to keep drawing those noises of satisfaction from his throat. His head tipped back as he let you take control, his Adams apple bobbing, eyes closing as no words left his lips, no dirty talk, no hissed little demands about what depraved position he wanted you to adopt, nothing. You held the power, and that turned you on in a way it really shouldn’t.

He gave a strangled hiss as you gripped him tighter and then you shifted, letting go to allow yourself to move your right knee to his left side, following with your other, his eyes flying open, a look of surprise on his face as you lined yourself up and his hands reached up, surprisingly gentle as they rest against your hips. There wasn’t much room, but it was doable, and you sank down onto him, his eyes flying to your hips as you both gave a little whimper as he filled you completely.

His fingers flexed against your skin, blunt nails biting ever so slightly, as you remained still, your hands sliding up his chest, curling over his shoulders. He was tense, coiled like a spring, clearly fighting back the urge to slam up into you and you began to work at a little of that tension, fingers rubbing up and down his neck, the index on your right trailing that vein that was bulging along his throat. His eyes never left yours until you softly began to knead at the strained muscles along his shoulders and neck, massaging deeply as you worked at the knots, his hands still resting on your hips, contracting every so often as you found a particularly knotty spot.

Every so often, he would make the slightest of movements, simply because he was relaxed and you could feel your walls fluttering sporadically, just from being full and stretched to your fill. But, still he made no move to take over, until at one point you hit a particularly knotty area at the point his neck met his collar bone and he gave a little jolt which caused you to groan and he opened his eyes, searching almost for permission. When he found no objection, his hands gently started rocking you.

The pressure and friction on your clit was boiling. It was slow and burned in a way that was so delightful it was almost painful. And, before you could stop yourself you were rolling into him as he kept that same delectably slow rhythm, rocking you back and forth slowly, deeply, before one hand left your hips and grasped the back of your neck, pulling you down for a deep kiss.

Ransom pulled away from her, breathless, his forehead against hers. The words were barely heard, but he knew he said, "I want you..."

"You have me," she replied in a soft whisper. 

"Not here," he shook his head, their foreheads rubbing. He glided his nose against hers. 

He missed the way she felt around him the second she managed to stand and slip out of the tub. Ransom was quickly behind her, following, bubbles and water dripping to the floor from them both be damned. He followed her to the bed where she stood at its edge, her eyes inviting him. He took a seat, bare ass and thighs soaking the comforter, knees bent over the edge. His eyes roamed her body, taking her all in. His own deep appreciation for her firm an awakening in his soul.

Slowly, just like she had in the tub, one knee slipped passed a hip, the other following. His lips were on her breasts, inhaling the scent of the oils and bubbles clinging to her skin as his tongue traced a hardened nipple and then the other. As he did so, she sunk back down his shaft again, a guttural groan escaping them both. She was ready, the thick vein of his cock giving a seductive friction against her wall.

Ransom ran his hands up and down her back, long index finger tracing up and down her spine as hot open mouth, needy kisses covered as much skin as he could. His hands splayed over her shoulder blades as his hips met her grind, catching her as Y/N arched into his movements. Her head tipped back, sheer wanton pleasure radiated from her with a heat he could almost feel. His mouth moved to the spot he knew drove her wild on her neck under her ear and the little whimper she made was nothing short of delectable. 

As he began to lean back towards the mattress, he rolled her body against his, bringing her down with him. He planted his heels against the comforter and scooted them both to the center of the bed, still buried deep inside her. With a hand back to her hip, a gentle grip keeping his own pace with her rhythm, the other tangled in her messy hair as his tongue dove deep into her mouth, savoring each pass her own tongue made against his. He could feel her body flutter against him, sweet kisses her walls made against his solid cock. Her hands braced herself against his broad chest as she sat up, riding him with fluid, long rolls of her hips and he shivered, despite the searing fire between them. He was no longer fighting that desire to take control, he was more than happy to let her take the lead and respond accordingly, dare he say he was enjoying it. The slowness and sheer intimacy was something he never knew he’d craved until now and as she gave a particularly desperate roll of her hips he groaned, "Fuck yeah, Baby, just...like...that..."

A gasp and a shudder ran through you, your walls clenching down on him as a rush of power surged through your entire body. You rolled your hips deeper against him, the friction against your clit nearly too much. You brought your eyes down and looked down at his face, strong jaw, piercing eyes, his thick bottom lip sucked between his teeth. You had full control over him, beneath you he was as powerless as you had been made to feel. "Oh, God," you’re ready to sing a song of pure ecstasy as your body coils and tightens under your own volition. The signs of orgasm were just...right...there.

As you felt a deep thrust from his hips, hitting your sensitive and perfect spot within, your head lulled back and you felt his name roll off of your tongue, "Ransom...."

At the sound of his name spilling from her mouth Ransom gave a groan. It wasn’t Hugh, or Drysdale, it was Ransom. The one thing she had refused to say from day one and she had finally let herself go enough to give in to what he knew she wanted. His chest swelled, a warm feeling flooding from his toes right to his head and he surged up, his lips on hers, the kiss sloppy as with an easy movement he flipped them both so she was underneath him, all semblance of self-control now lost as her voice echoed round his mind, the soft, sultry way in which she’d cried his name repeating like a prayer. 

"Gimme one more, baby, just one more..." his hips were thrusting hard, but not painfully so."Say it again, please," his voice was laced with fire and emotion, a whimper or sob nearly on his lips.

"Ransom...." she replied coming again and his fingers gripped into her skin, holding her in place as his seed shot deep into her, filling her, his entire body shaking, no nearly convusling as he came.

Breathlessly, they laid there, his body gently caging her in, her fingers curling around his neck and into the nape of his hair.

“Thank you.” He whispered, and you blinked, not quite sure you’d heard him right.

“What for?” You asked, your breath still punctuated by your gasps as you came down from your high.”

“For trusting me.” His nose nudged yours and you looked into his eyes, “for forgiving me.”

“I’m not sure I have.” You replied honestly, and a frown furrowed his brown before he sighed and closed his eyes, his head hanging a little.

“That’s fair, I suppose.” He looked back at you before he moved, pulling out of you and immediately you missed his presence, the heat of his body gone as he rolled to his side. You waited for him to rise and dress as he usually did but he made no effort to move. Instead he lay still, looking up at the ceiling before he turned onto his side, his fingers gently trailing down your bruised cheek as it brushed the soft pillow when you turned to look at him.

“Can I stay?” He asked.

It was a pointless question. Because, let’s face it, you didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t want to go he wasn’t going to, and it wasn’t like you could leave. But, nevertheless, the fact he had bothered to ask you in the first place was another first. And you found yourself suddenly believing that if you did say no, he would leave.

Instead you nodded, and he gave you a small smile, not a sneer or a smirk, a genuine smile that lit up his handsome face as he leaned over and pressed his lips tenderly to yours.

Together you managed to get yourself under the duvet before you reached up for the lamp and clicked it off before settling on your side, facing away from him.

“My err, my cheek hurts.” You said quietly, offering him an explanation as to why you’d turned your back on him. He gave a small sigh and one of his arms snaked under your neck, the other curled round your bare body, resting just underneath your breasts. He gave your shoulder a gentle kiss, another unspoken apology before you felt him tug you back into him, your back pressing against the hard wall of his chest.

He was the first to fall asleep, his body spent as was yours but you laid there still feeling the electricity roll through your muscles, tiredness settling into your bones. You had given him what he wanted but kept your ground and done it on your terms. It's what he'd needed this entire time, to hear his name from your lips, to be wanted to be cared about, to be "loved". You internally scoffed. To be loved... you doubted he had any idea what that actually meant, to be loved unconditionally. But as you’d questioned the other day over hot chocolate, was that really his fault?

This situation was fucked up. What you were doing was fucked up, but, if giving him what he wanted and what he needed kept you in the driving seat, so to speak, you could work with it.

**** Part 5

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Fact or Fiction

Warnings: non-consent (fingering, toys, anal, vaginal, somniphilia)

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

Summary: Your publisher has died and now you must deal with new management

Note: This came to me out of no where but it was a ride yall. I wanted to write some somniphilia so get ready for some sleep action. Remember to read the warnings my guys and enjoy yourselves. Another double dick fic day.

Sidenote: it is a bit odd to write smut when your bf is listening to barenaked ladies lol

Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

It was funny how things could change in such a short time. More often, it was tragic. Deep in your gut, you had the feeling this change would be the latter. 

You stood in the elevator, counting the floors in dread. A month ago, you felt much differently on your ascent. That was a day full of hope. A young writer on your way to meet THE Harlan Thrombey, manuscript in hand. You’d left even more jubilant than you arrived. He loved it and hadn’t shied away from saying so.

Now he was dead and you feared so too were your hopes of a published book. This day you were to meet with another Thrombey. Ransom Drysdale, his grandson, had inherited the company to the surprise and chagrin of many, including his very own uncle. 

You couldn’t disagree with Walt. Everyone, especially him, expected him to take Harlan’s place. But he didn’t and he was gone now, buried in resent and jealousy. None had seen him since the funeral. Or so you heard. The publishing business could be almost as dramatic as its fictions.

Top floor, you stepped out and were surprised to find that Deb, the former grey-haired receptionist, had been replaced with another. Younger, blonder, and more concerned with her cellphone than the ding of the elevator. You walked up to her round desk and waited for her to look up. She didn’t.

You cleared your throat.

“Hello, I have a one o’clock with Mr. Drysdale,” You said. She nodded and giggled at her phone. “Excuse me…” You looked around and found a rose gold name placard. “...Selina.”

“Fine, go on,” She shrugged. “No one’s in there. Knock first.”

You sighed and glanced around. There were a few editors you recognized from before and they peered over at the receptionist with open detest. You passed her perch and wove between the desks. You assumed, knowing you wouldn’t get an answer from the oblivious blonde, that Ransom had claimed his grandfather’s former office. The letters printed across the clear glass door assured you. That was new too.

You knocked on the frame, afraid to shatter the door. Ransom was squinting at his monitor and didn’t even look over as he waved you on and called to you. 

“Come in.” He shook his head as he huffed at the screen. You entered nervously. “What is it this time?”

“Mr. Drysdale,” You greeted, “I’m here for our appointment.”

His brows drew together as he looked up. He hit a key and turned to you. He sat back in his leather chair as he leaned on the arm. 

“Uh, yeah,” He blinked as he lazily reached over and grabbed a manuscript from the pile atop his desk. “Laura?”

You corrected him and he fished out the proper print and sat up. He opened it but didn’t even pretend to read a single word on the page. He smiled as he shifted closer to his desk.

“Close the door,” He said. “Sit. This shouldn’t take long.”

That didn’t sound good. You did as he said and took the stiff seat across from him. The former cozy leather had been replaced with cold acrylic. He tapped his fingers on the pages and ran his tongue beneath his bottom lip.

“Well, seeing as we’re doing a bit of redecorating around here, we decided to do the same with our writers. Streamline, prioritize,” He began. “My grandfather was a smart man, talented author, but he valued ‘style’ too much over ‘marketability’.”

Your chest tightened and you tried not to show your discomfort.

“Of course,” You said. “It makes sense. New owner, new directions. I understand.”

“Oh, great,” He smirked. “Then you also understand that the contract my grandfather, god rest his soul, promised you, must be reviewed before we go through with the signing?”

“Review?” You frowned.

“It’s the same for all our new writers,” He assured you. “My editors are combing over every word of your manuscript before we throw the ledger across the table.”

“He already read my manuscript, your editors too. I don’t--”

“He’s dead and most of his editors are gone or have taken on new responsibilities,” He interjected. “As you said, new directions.”

“Alright.” You sighed. “And so when will I be informed of the results of this review?”

He tilted his head, amused by your tone as he leaned back once more. He grabbed a pen and tapped it on his lip as he thought.

“Couple weeks.” He said.

“A couple weeks? I’ve already waited over a month for a contract. Now I get the circumstances required it, as tragic as they were, but with all due respect, your offer isn’t the only one I have on this manuscript.” You argued.

“Lesser publishers, no doubt, but you understand that under our submissions guidelines, you cannot accept an exterior deal until we have made an official decision.” He countered. “So, you can wait the three weeks before you march down to Penguin or whatever lowbrow manufacturer you’ve been talking with.”

You stared at him. He was very much unlike his grandfather. Harlan, for all his accomplishments, had an air of humility. Ransom, for all he hadn’t achieved, was entirely arrogant.

“So, you’re holding my book hostage?” You asked.

“I’m allowing you an opportunity provided you have patience,” He returned. “I could say no right now and send you out without a hope of ever signing with us.”

The curve of his lips irked you, along with the loose weave of his sweater. He didn’t dress like the owner of a publishing house; he dressed like a spoiled frat boy. You were quiet as you thought about the much lower offer from Charter books. Modest but respectable. And there were many companies who you had yet to approach.

You stood suddenly and marched over to his desk. You reached over and slid your manuscript across the desk and closed it. You gathered it up and tucked it under your arm.

“I’ll take the no over your games, Mr. Drysdale.” You said as your heart beat wildly. This was either a moment you’d deeply regret or gloriously relive. “I hardly see how sitting on a stack of books will help your profitability.”

He blinked and his smirk fell. Then he scoffed and tossed his pen down.

“Well, you sure are saving me a lot of work,” He mused. “One less pile of kindling hanging around will save my editors hours.”

“Mr. Drysdale,” You said as you backed away from him “I may not have inherited an empire but I think I can see as clear as any that you are out of your depth behind that desk.”

A glimmer of anger broke through his facade and his jaw ticked. He was quick to reclaim his maddening smirk and he shrugged.

“You’re right,” He remarked. “You’re just a writer. Unpublished, at that.”

You nodded and swallowed the insult. You spun and swept back through the door, certain to leave it open. You strode past the reception as she watched some Insta story on a new eye shadow palette. Even Harlan’s name couldn’t atone for buffoonery.

🖊️

Charter Books wasn’t far from Blood Like Wine Publishing. For the second time that week, you were in the heart of the business district. You were tired of waiting. If Charter wanted to publish your work without fanfare, you would take it over waiting on a whim. 

Charles Halford was expecting you and as was your habit, you were early. The building didn’t bring you the same joy as Blood Like Wine had, though now that you thought of it, any such optimism had disappeared. You would settle and hope that this was a back road to a mighty second book. If your luck was to take an upturn, it might even be a sleeper hit.

You were directed to sit along the small line of chairs outside Halford’s office. You balanced your manuscript on your knee as you waited. You fidgeted impatiently and hoped the offer was still open. The email had seemed hopeful and that a meeting was scheduled on such short notice was heartening.

You looked up as the door finally opened. Your heart dropped at the man who stepped out. Ransom’s eyes caught yours as he turned back to Halford and tossed some quip at him. His forced laughter turned your stomach. The men were chummy; too chummy. Was this foreshadowing?

“Anyway, I should get back to it,” Ransom announced. “Figured I’d swing by. Get a few pointers.”

“I’m sure you’ll be back for more,” Charles boomed. “Remember, left to right.”

Ransom rolled his eyes and shook Halford’s hand. He turned and winked at you as he left, a cheery farewell to the receptionist. Halford perked up as he noticed you and distracted you from the unease that bubbled in your stomach.

“Early as always,” He said. “Come on in. We’ll get started.”

“Thanks,” You stood and he gestured you ahead of him. 

You entered his office and waited for him to sit before you did. He dug around for his copy of your manuscript and turned back to you. He didn’t open it as he plopped it on his desk.

“So, you’re still looking for a buyer, huh?” He asked.

“Well, you know there’s so many options,” You said. “I wanted to go somewhere my book fits.”

“Of course, and it’s a great concept,” He replied. “Really… but…”

“But…” You took a breath.

“Well, you know, we’ve had time to think too and we’re more akin to easy reads. Our clientele, they want something simple, straightforward. You have clever prose and intricate devices but… well, that’s not really who we’re selling to.”

“I don’t understand,” You said. “What changed? You made an offer and suddenly it’s just… gone?”

“Look, there’s lot of publishers out there who would be a better match I’m sure and in this era, self-publishing is growing.”

“A publishing house suggesting self-publishing?” You shook your head and stood. You were numb. “I can read between the lines as well as you can, Mr. Halford. Thank you for considering me. I won’t waste your time if you’ve made up your mind.”

“Hey,” He rose and reached across the desk. “There’s always the next book. Maybe one day, we’ll have a chance to work together.”

“I hope so,” You said as you swallowed the bitterness. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry it didn’t work out this time,” He said.

“It’s… business.” You sniffed. “I get it.”

🖊️

Charter, Storey, Hackett. Every no made the prospect of a yes even less likely. Your future stared back at you with paid online articles and ridiculous blurbs. It was a living, a meagre one, but it wasn’t your dream. It was starting to seem like a nightmare.

Another rejection and you were ready to burn the damn manuscript. You marched into the lobby that fronted Lucian LLC. You just wanted to go home but if you did that, you’d just sit and sulk as you had for days before. So instead you followed the scent of roasted beans into the coffee shop along the east side of the lobby.

You ordered a skinny latte and found a table in the corner. You dropped the heavy print on the table before you set down your stemmed mug and flopped onto the chair. You leaned your elbows on the table and rubbed your forehead. A cup clinked across from yours and you sat up, startled by the figure before you.

“Long day?” Ransom asked.

You looked around confused.

“What?” You replied. “What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was walking by actually and I saw you through the window. Almost didn’t recognize you but… you look… tired.” He smirked and you rolled your eyes. “And I saw that manuscript in front of you and thought maybe we could have another chat.”

“I don’t want to talk about you reviewing my book until you decide you don’t want it,” You hissed. 

“Okay, well, what if I told you we could have a yes or no by the end of our discussion, hmm?”

You squinted at him and ran your fingertips down the side of the hot mug. 

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeated coyly.

“What changed your mind?”

“Look, can I help it that I feel a little bad about how it all turned out? Seeing you here, sulking, it really got to me.” He feigned pity.

“I wasn’t sulking,” You insisted. “I was taking a breather between all my meetings. There’s a lot of interest over my book.”

“Is there?” He pulled out the chair opposite you and sat. “Because I made a few calls and I’m pretty sure there isn’t.”

“You what?”

“A lot of people don’t wanna snatch a book out from under the Thrombey stamp,” He explained. “And as far as I’m concerned, we didn’t finish our negotiations.”

You chewed the inside of your lip and considered him. There was a twinkle in his eye. This man would make himself the bane of your existence until he could declare himself the victor. As it was, he might actually be the only prospect you had left.

“Fine. I guess I’m here already. If you want to talk, let’s talk,” You said. 

His eyes sparked as they had back in his office. 

“Alright,” He began tersely, “May I?”

He pointed to your manuscript and you slowly slid it over to him. He turned it and opened it. He bent over it dramatically as he read. You waited as he glossed over a few pages and sat up.

“Promising. I said so to the editors but you understand that it’s not all up to me.” He said. “It’s not that I don’t wanna publish you, I’m just being cautious. This company is my legacy.”

“It’s your grandfather’s legacy,” You affirmed. 

He bit his tongue and blinked. He took a breath before he continued.

“Whatever,” He said. “It is my company now and I have to keep it alive. That means making smart decisions. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I’m just a writer.” You shrugged.

He sighed and reached for his mug. He dribbled a little down his chin and onto his blazer. He swore as he looked down and set his cup back on the table.

“Could you grab some napkins?” He asked. “Shit.”

“Napkins?” You repeated. You knew he was the type to have help but you were not looking to be his nanny.

“Please,” He said sharply as he held up his wet hand. “If you don’t mind.”

You slid out of your chair and grumbled as you crossed the cafe. You pulled out a dozen serviettes from the dispenser and returned to him. You dropped them on the manuscript and he grabbed them impatiently. He wiped up the coffee and left the napkins crumpled beside his cup.

You lifted your own, the foam entirely flat now, and took a sip. The espresso was strong and your cheek twitched. You set it down as you tried not to cough. The caffeine further addled your nerves.

“So what exactly are you offering?” You asked.

“I went over my grandfather’s notes and spoke with my team. It wasn’t all impractical. We can honour the printing terms but may have to tinker with the numbers…” He began and you nodded.

You listened intently as he went over his points and referred to your manuscript several times, flipping pages back and forth. He suggested a sex scene to liven it up but that didn’t really fit the motif of a medieval mystery set in a monastery. That disagreement didn’t last long as he plowed through his terms.

As you listened, you sipped and your head began to ache from the excess of caffeine. Three coffees a day would do that to you. Your stomach flurried as well and you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate. You left the dregs of your latte untouched and touched your stomach.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Drysdale…”

“Ransom,” He corrected.

“Sorry but… uh, I don’t feel very well.” You said. “I think… I hate to do this but I think maybe we should reschedule.”

“Well, there’s not much else to say. I’m sure you could give me an answer before you race off.” He stood as you did. 

You leaned heavily on the table and grabbed your manuscript. You took your bag and groaned. 

“Really, I feel… sick.” You said. “I gotta go.”

“Wait, wait,” He followed as you stumbled past him. You weren’t sure what was happening. Maybe it was the leftovers you ate for dinner last night. “You okay?”

“F-fine,” You shook your head to ward off the haze at the edge of your vision. You checked your phone. “Look, I gotta catch the bus.”

“You sure you can handle that?” He was overly concerned for a man who had as good as laughed you out of your office. “I can drive you.”

“Why would you do that?” You stopped just outside the building.

“Because you’re sweating a lot and I think it’d be a lot quicker to drive than to wait around for transit,” He said. “But hey, your call.”

You stared at him and your head pulsed. You touched your forehead and nodded. “S-sure,” You accepted. “Thanks.”

“Hey, we’ll just take it out of your final offer,” He kidded.

🖊️

Ransom

She barely buckled her seat belt before she was out. She slumped in the seat and thumped against the door at the first corner. Ransom hadn’t expected it to take effect so soon but she had downed her latte quickly. 

When she got up to grab the napkins, he sprinkled the foam with the powder and quickly sat back. The idea hadn’t occurred to him until he spotted her through the glass. The drugging, that was. The thought of what he would do to her had played over in his mind since their first meeting. He couldn’t just let a writer walk all over him like that. He was in charge now.

He glanced over at her as he pulled up his long drive. She was still out like a light. He had to admit, she wasn’t a great beauty but she had a charm about her. And she was perfect to test out his toys on. 

He got out and rounded the car. He opened her door and undid her seatbelt. Her bag and manuscript flopped onto the floor as he lifted her. He closed the door with his foot and carried her up the short walk. She was entirely limp. Completely helpless. He smiled.

He took her to the basement. It had taken more than a year but it was finally ready. Oh and what timing. It was like she was sent to him, just asking for punishment. Her trite little mouth had earned her more than a place on the scholarly blacklist. He had to make sure she paid.

He set her down on the velvet couch and undressed her a piece at a time. He fondled her chest as he bared it and sucked on her nipples just a little. She didn’t move at all. He checked her breathing and carried on. 

When she was naked, he played with her cunt. Spread her legs and poked his fingers inside as he looked her over. She was so tight his cock throbbed at the thought of her walls around him.

He lifted her from the couch and carried her to the special contraption he’d designed himself. He laid her over it on her stomach. The angled board had her ass raised and her legs dangling off the end. He secured her wrists and ankles with the straps to keep her from slipping. He wasn’t worried about resistance.

He moved her hips just slightly and reached under her to spread her pussy. He positioned her clit against the little bump beneath the leather. He took the remote in hand and turned the vibe on. The buzz filled the room and he watched her cunt quiver. He dragged his fingers along it and felt her arousal. She came within minutes.

He walked around her as he thought of what to do to her next. He wheeled over the machine in the corner. He carefully lined up the dildo with her pussy. He pushed it inside of her an inch at a time. He made her take all of it; a whole eight inches of rubber. She didn’t flinch though her breath shuddered. 

He neared her side and lifted her eyelid. He only saw the white as she remained entirely unaware. He rubbed himself through his jeans and turned the vibe up and hit the button for the machine. The dildo moved in and out of her as the device whirred quietly. Her cunt made wet sounds as she was fucked helplessly. 

He went behind her and watched it go in and out. He dialed it up just a little, her body jolting a little from each thrust. He tucked the remote in his pocket and strolled close to her head. He undid his pants and pulled his throbbing dick out. He rubbed it against her lips and smeared his pre-cum around her mouth.

He delved inside as he glanced back to the dildo. He held her head in one hand as his other dove into his pocket and increased the speed yet again. He began to rock his hips and soon kept time with the rubber. He sank so deep into her throat that she choked and her body spasmed. Still she didn’t wake and he could barely stop himself from cumming.

He pulled his cock out of her mouth and a trail of spit dribbled from her lips. He went to the machine and removed it from her glistening cunt. The leather-bound board was soaked with her cum already. It sent a thrill through him and his cock twitched. He growled and turned away as he resisted the urge to fuck her right away.

He went to the chest of drawers and opened it. He pulled out a bottle of lube and clear glass plug. He should start small, he told himself, but he wanted to see her stretch for him. He wanted her to feel him tomorrow.

He crossed to her and squirted the lube between her cheeks. He massaged it over her hole and mixed it with her natural juices. She was so wet he wasn’t sure he even needed the lube. He dipped his fingers inside her pussy a few times before he returned his attention to her ass.

He poked his index finger inside of her. She definitely was unused. He played with her and added another finger and then a third. She quivered as the vibe had her cumming yet again. He peeked up at her to make sure once more that she was still asleep. He didn’t need to be so paranoid. The pills would even have him out for the count.

He pulled his fingers from her ass and positioned the plug against her tight ring. He began slowly, pressing it just until she began to open and then retreating. He paused as he reached to stroke himself. He was so hard it hurt. 

He kept on, each time her hole gaped just a little more around the plug. At its widest breadth, he heard a sleepy grumble escape her. He pushed it just a little more and it slipped in all the way. Her ring closed around its stem and he thought he would cum just at that sight.

He shuddered and calmed himself. He grabbed his cock and tapped the tip against the flat end of the plug. He guided it down along her folds and felt the vibration ripple through him as he brushed against the hidden vibe. He angled himself up to her entrance and held himself there.

He wiggled the plug and slammed into her as hard as he could. Her legs jolted and he thrust again with just as much force. He wanted her to feel it, even in her subconscious. He wanted her to suffer. He picked up a rhythm, violent and frantic as her cunt clung to him. She came and he grunted as he fought to restrain his own climax.

He gripped the plug and pulled it out slowly only to press it back in. He did it again and again as he fucked her. His heavy breaths swirled around him as he watched her asshole gape. He was on fire, desperate for release.

He stopped and removed the plug entirely. He held it by the stem and held it against her back as he slipped his cock out of her cunt. He eagerly entered her ass with a rumble. She was still so fucking tight. He lost it. He fucked her so hard, his special toy shook beneath her. 

His voice got louder and louder as he every thrust sent a ripple through him. He snarled and pulled out suddenly. He stroked his cock as he rubbed the tip along her ass and spilled himself down her thigh. He would have to wait to cum inside her.

He let out a shaky breath as he let go of his cock. He pushed the plug into her ass again and backed away. He left the vibe on as he paced around the room and cracked his neck. A couple minutes and he’d be ready for another go. Maybe he could cum in her mouth this time. That was easy enough to clean up.

🖊️

You awoke with a start. You sat up on your couch and looked around your empty apartment. You winced as you felt an ache in your ass; your cunt too. You hissed and touched yourself gingerly. You glanced down; you wore the same clothes and there was nothing amiss but the thrum in your core.

You shook your head and rubbed your eyes. You could barely remember leaving the cafe but how had you ended up back here? You only remembered the headache and the horrible stomach ache.

You reached for your phone and found several notifications across the lock screen. Foremost was the email from Blood Like Wine Publishing. You opened it and quickly read through it.

‘...I am excited to work with you on your first novel and the company is eager to see this through to its greatest potential.

Hope you feel better and look forward to our meeting next Wednesday,

Ransom Drysdale Editor-in-Chief Blood and Wine Publishing’

You stare at the email in confusion. Had you said yes? Ransom offered you a drive home… then it was all black but you must’ve come to some agreement. You must have found your way into your apartment and passed out on the couch. So why didn’t you remember any of that?

[interstellarflare]

A Series of Unfortunate Events || Ransom Drysdale

Knives Out (2019)

-PART TWO-

Warnings: Swearing, sexual themes.

Summary: Having recently been hired by Harlan Thrombey as a housekeeper, it was also your job to plan many of the extravagant family gatherings. One particular night, you meet Ransom Drysdale, who is otherwise known as the black sheep of the Thrombey family.

Despite your game of hard-to-get, one manages to end up in the arms of your pursuer via a series of unfortunate events.

Ransom shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, removing his coat and carelessly tossing it over the back of one of the chairs closest to the door.

Linda choked on her words, placing her class of wine down upon the coffee table before her with an almost delighted expression. “Ransom, how nice of you to join us” she mused to her son, her eyes glistening with a mixture of surprise and distain. “The prodigal son returns...” Richard grumbled, snorting into his drink with a smirk.

“Alright, come on-” Walter tried to diffuse, only for Richard to try and defend himself with an exasperated gesture. The room fell silent as Harlan carefully rose from his seat, beaming brightly as he shuffled over to his grandson with his arms outstretched. Happily but all-but reluctantly, Ransom returned his grandfather’s embrace, his eyes moving around the room until his gaze met your own. It was clear that he did not recognise your form, that much was certain from his confused expression. But nevertheless, he didn’t seem all-too bothered.

“It’s so good to see you, have you been well?” Harlan exclaimed, pulling away to stare at the man before him with an expectant gaze. Ransom shrugged his shoulders again, ignoring the shocked and confused stares of his family as he spoke quickly “I’ve been fine for the most part, otherwise-” “Well, that is wonderful to hear!” Harlan exclaimed, placing his hand on his grandson’s shoulder and leading him over...straight towards you. Awkwardly brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear, you quickly hugged your arms to your chest. It was strange for Harlan to completely brush his family off, and instead chose to introduce you of all people, to his beloved grandson.

Then again, you supposed if anyone else was in Harlan’s situation, they would have done the same. “Ransom, this is my newest housekeeper, Y/n. She’s only been here for a few months, but she’s already become part of the family” Harlan spoke kindly, casting his gaze between the two of you eagerly. Harlan never acted this excited, perhaps it had something to do with his grandson’s appearance, or perhaps he had already had too much to drink. Ransom nodded wordlessly, extending his hand towards you out of necessity “Right, and I assume you’re the one responsible for planning this whole thing? Everyone is usually arguing before nine, and it’s now..” he trailed off, averting his gaze quickly to the clock on the wall “ten. I’m impressed”.

“The night is still young, my boy” Walt mused from his position on the couch, his tone laced with annoyance and sarcasm. You smiled, a small laugh leaving your lips. Taking Ransom’s hand in your own, you shook it in greeting “Thank you, I guess-” “So, why did you come Ransom? We were all taking bets on whether or not you’d show” Richard spoke dryly, most likely already drunk before the annual Thrombey Family drama-fest had begun. Just like that, Ransom’s hand slipped from yours as he sauntered over to his mother and father, smirking devilishly as he carelessly collapsed onto the green velvet cushions of the couch opposite his parents.

You released a breath you didn’t know you had been holding, earning a soft amused chuckle from the man before you. Harlan placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Why don’t you head into the kitchen dear, and prepare a few drinks...” Harlan suggested, walking with you into the hallway “it will take your mind off everything that has yet to happen”. You smiled, laughing quietly with a small nod of your head in agreement. As Harlan disappeared back into the living room, you dawdled into the kitchen, grabbing several champagne flutes and filled them with the few bottles of champagne that were left. You had just finished placing the now full glasses onto a tray, carefully holding it in your hands when a voice called form the doorway. “There you are, I was wondering where you had disappeared to”.

Richard. You cringed, turning to face him with a forced smile. “I was just preparing more drinks, I should probably get back to the party” you spoke quietly, trying to ignore how flushed you had suddenly become. He had cornered you, yet again in the kitchen, and he had no desire to let you go this time. As you moved to step around him, he cut you off, blocking the door with his larger frame. He grinned, his cheeks tinted a bright red from the alcohol he had already consumed. Richard stepped forward, whilst you took a few steps back. There was another door leading out to the hall, where you had come in earlier. If you could just make it...

Richard took one of the champagne flutes from the tray, downing it with a satisfied sigh. His eyes then focused on you, looking you up and down greedily. A shiver ran down your spine, your stomach churning in disgust. “Look, I need to-” “What’s the rush?” he quickly interrupted, now stepping closer to you than before. You were growing frustrated, annoyed, and beyond pissed. Richard extended his hands out towards you, aiming to place them on your waist. But before he could, you stepped back sharply into the hallway, everything suddenly moving in slow motion. Your back collided with a solid form, the force tipping the champagne flutes and spilling the alcohol all over your black shirt. You squealed as the tray fell from your grasp, the glasses shattering against the wooden floorboards with a loud crash.

Your entire front was completely soaked with champagne, quickly becoming stickier the longer you stood still. As Richard chuckled darkly, you turned to face whoever you had bumped into, your face becoming an even darker shade of red. It was Ransom. God, you felt so stupid. Your eyes welled with tears as you looked down at yourself. Your clothes were completely ruined, and you had gotten this black sweater-type shirt from Marta as an early birthday present. Without as much as an apology to Harlan’s grandson, or another look in Richard’s direction, you pushed passed Ransom and quickly jogged upstairs, racing into the bathroom and locking yourself in. As you paced about the small space, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and wiped the tears from your eyes.

You looked like an absolute train wreck. How could you go downstairs looking like this? Hugging your arms close to your body, you sat down on top of the toilet seat with a small sob, allowing the weight of embarrassment to overwhelm you. On top of all that, you would also have to clean up the mess you had made, whilst doing your best to avoid both Richard and Ransom for the rest of the night. It seemed like luck just wasn’t on your side tonight, as a soft knock rattled against the bathroom door. You bit your lip, suppressing another small sob as you wiped more fallen tears from your cheeks. “Who is it?” You asked, cursing under your breath as your voice broke slightly. Who it was was who you least expected. “It’s Ransom, can I come in?”. You froze, confusion contorting your features.

Ransom, of all people. You had never met him before, only heard stories from his family and Harlan. But nevertheless, he was the only one that came to check on you. Taking a deep breath, you reluctantly stood and made your way to the door. Your hand hovered over the handle for a brief moment, but with one swift tug, you opened the door and came face to face with Harlan’s grandson on the other side, his dark grey sweater in hand. 

[queen--kenobi]

Dead Body Chapter Seven

Chapter summary: Things begin to feel less and less in your control. It doesn’t help that Ransom might be changing for the better.

Warnings: Angst and gaslighting

Author’s note: I know this took a little bit! I’ve been having trouble adjusting to everything online again, and my muse for this went silent for a little bit. But, in good news, I got a fresh wind on this, and I’m excited for it to play out.

The fan rotates slowly, the shadows of the blades lagging behind them. You don’t know how long you’ve been laying on the floor, watching the blades spin. True to his words, Ransom had made a donation, and you did get a call from the organization the next morning. You told them that you were grateful he made the donation in your name. You said it meant a lot to you, and that you were confident they would do amazing things with the money. All of which were true statements. None of what you said to them was a lie. They were partial truths, though. You kept most of how you felt about it to yourself.

You were grateful he made the donation in your name, but you wished he hadn’t done it to try and manipulate you. It did mean a lot to you that he found such generosity in his cold, dead, rich frat boy heart; you just wish it hadn’t come at your expense. The only thing that wasn’t a partial truth was that you were confident they would do amazing things with the money. That was a fact. Still, even that felt wrong with the knowledge of why he did it. It tainted a good gesture. 

You let out a long breath. You probably should get up and do something, maybe take a shower or eat. Something to make this gross feeling go away. Not that it could ever go away completely; all you could do was make it feel less icky. Slowly, you slide your forearms down so they rest by your ribs. You push upwards onto your elbows . You stay like that for a moment before pushing yourself up to sitting. It takes you another moment to get to your feet. You stand there for several seconds and then stumble to the shower.

You feel moderately better once you’ve showered. That good feeling increases once you eat. As you munch on your food, you open your laptop and scroll through the news. 

You let out a snort. Sure, the donation was in your name, but all the headlines talked about how Ransom was the one who made it. They’re all variations of how he made the donation to the charity in someone else’s name. Your name doesn’t appear, and you’re not sure whether you’re grateful or disappointed.

One catches your eye. You let out a soft noise at that. 

“Accused Murderer Ransom makes donation... Is it for love or for gain???”

Who would have thought that TMZ would be the closest to the truth. You click the link. Part of you wants to claim you did it out of sheer boredom, but another part of you would willingly admit it’s out of curiosity. You’re expecting something completely stupid. To your surprise, it’s not entirely awful. The outlet did mention you in the article, and they do a short summary of the Colbert report. Namely, all of the speculation after the show. It’s absurd to read all the things that people are suggesting, but it makes you feel a little better.

You do notice that some of the speculation is about how Linda treated you. A small frown makes its way onto your face. You hesitate, cursor hovering over the link. Eventually, your curiosity wins out, and you click it. It’s nothing too bad. The majority of it is suggesting that Linda made Ransom make the donation. That makes you snort. She had no control over her son, despite how much she wanted to believe she did. You scroll through idly. One comment makes you pause.

Jerry writes: I’m surprised Linda didn’t take this woman under her wing! They both are clearly ruthless and don’t care who they harm.

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

You hated it when Linda and her husband came to visit Harlan. He never vocalized it, but you suspected that the writer felt the same way. Inevitably, a fight would break out between the real estate agent and her husband. You’ve lost track of how many times Linda has told you, in a drunken stupor, to never marry for love. Oddly enough, the person you felt the most sorry for was Harlan. Linda was a monster of his own creation. What made that fact even worse was that he was only just beginning to realize it. Sometimes, you could see the look on his face when Linda did something unpleasant, and it always broke your heart. It was clear to you he was trying to piece it all together and figure out where he went wrong. What he had done to make her act that way. 

The older Drysdales are supposed to come by tomorrow. You and Harlan are working on the deck, enjoying the sunlight. It’s a tradition of sorts for the two of you to work together before the Drysdales come over to the house. Harlan claimed it was because he knows he won’t be able to give you any instructions while he’s entertaining, but you both know it’s more than that. Harlan needs stability and clarity before diving into the fray with his children. 

Harlan says your name. You look up from the crossword puzzle you’re doing in the newspaper. 

“I have a favor to ask of you.” He’s giving you a serious look. You stiffen for a second, but then you see the mischievous glitter he’s trying so hard to hide. Whatever he wants to ask for you is important, but that look also tells you that whatever he’s about to ask is something that will drive someone else crazy. 

“Sure thing. What is it?”

“Please don’t let Linda know about your trysts with Ransom. I would ask that the two of you not have any dalliances while they’re here to be on the safe side.” Harlan seems far too amused for your liking. It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying. You look at him, eyes wide. That’s what breaks him, and he starts laughing. It takes a second, but you start laughing too.

“Did you think I wouldn’t know?” Harlan arches an eyebrow, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.

“Guess who’s idea it was to sneak around.” You respond.

“Oh, Ransom’s.” The older man scoffs. “You respect me too much to think of hiding it on your own. Ransom, on the other hand.... The little shit would see keeping it from me as a challenge.” You nod as you lean back in your chair. It’s a perfect assessment. 

“Would Linda flip out as much as Ransom says she will?” You have to ask. You think you’ll get a better picture from Harlan.

“Most likely.” He fixes you with a stare. “Had you planned on telling her?” That question makes you pause. You hadn’t immediately, but you did want her to know if this became a long-term and serious thing.

“Not at this moment, no.” You finally answer. “I don’t know it will ever reach the point where I want to tell her, but...”

“You want her to like you.” You hate how easily Harlan can figure out your motivations, ones that you weren’t even aware of yourself sometimes. 

“I think I do.” You pick up your mug and take a sip. “Is that bad?”

“No. It’s endearing in your case.” Harlan lets out a pained noise. “Unfortunately, I don’t believe she’ll ever like you.” 

You straighten up. It sounds like he’s about to say something important. “Why is that?”

“I tell you this so that you know to prepare yourself.” His tone is entirely serious. “My children can be ruthless, and I want you to be prepared for anything they might do.”

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

Your phone rings. You pick it up without looking at who it is. If you look at the caller ID, you might not answer. Highly likely actually. The person on the other says your name in a southern drawl, and you smile.

“Inspector Blanc.”

“Were you aware he planned on making this donation?” Blanc wastes no time in getting to the reason behind his call. 

“Not until last night.” You answer honestly. “He told me last night after he’d already done it.”

The man on the other end lets out an exasperated noise. You just hope it’s not at you. “Well, that makes things on our end a little more difficult. If it seems as if he has changed, it will be harder to get a favorable judge. Not impossible, but much harder.”

“He did it to try and win me over. He told me as much.” You rub your face with your free hand. “I fucking hate this. I really hate it. It feels like it will never end.”

“As do I.” The Inspector sounds just as tired as you feel. His voice does hold a note of determination, though. “But before you give up entirely, I do have some good news. I managed to track down a friend who can help.”

“A friend?” You echo. “What kind of friend?”

“A lawyer I helped with a particularly difficult case. He offered to take a look at your case as soon as I mentioned the involved parties. It would seem the Thrombey’s have made quite a number of people angry.” Benoit lets out a chuckle at that. You can’t help your own snort of laughter. 

“That does make me feel better.” You push your empty plate away from you, a smile being to grace your face. “So, what do I do now?”

“He will want to speak with you. I gave him your number. I assumed that you would be alright with that.” You let out another snort at Blanc’s understatement. He lets out a knowning noise in response. “I thought as much. He is currently working on a rather large case, but as soon as he can, he will give you a call.”

A thought occurs to you. “Should I go ahead and get a copy of the paperwork? They might get suspicious if an outside lawyer starts poking around.”

“That is a good idea.” Blanc sounds as if he’s considering something. “Go ahead and collect as much as you can. I will keep you apprised of anything on my end.” He says goodbye, and you do the same. You take your plate over to the sink before beginning work.

First, you make a call to one of your lawyers. You don’t explain to her what is going on, just that you wanted a copy of the agreement to review. She’s more than happy to help you out with that, although she does cation you it might take a bit before it gets released. You reassure her that’s not a problem. Next, you begin figuring out what you want to say to Blanc’s friend when he calls. You want to tell him as much as possible, but you aren’t sure what you can and can’t say. You take a napkin and make notes to yourself. Writing your problem out has helped you more than once. 

The phone rings once more once you finish writing out the gist of what you want to say. This time, you do check who it is. You sigh loudly before answering it.

“Ransom.” You keep your voice neutral. You aren’t sure what he’s got up his sleeve this time, or how this conversation will go. He says your name in response, a clear mockery of your tone. You huff. He laughs in response. “Why are you calling this time?”

“You know that favor I want?” Your brow wrinkles as you think.

“Knowing you, there are a lot of things that you think are favors.” You ultimately respond. You can hear the slap as he rests his hand over his heart.

“You wound me.” His tone is too mirthful for him to actually be mad. “That dinner date. The one I get because I called my family off?”

Oh. Yes.

That favor.

“Yeah.” You rub your temples. “I assume you’re calling it in now?”

“Yup.” He pops the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “We’re going tonight.”

Your eyes widen ever-so-slightly at that. “Tonight?”

“Yeah. That should give you time to do whatever it is you girls do.” He sounds so dismissive. You bite down on the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing at him. He clearly has no idea how much time getting ready to go out to the store meant, let alone getting ready to go out for something big. 

“I’ll see what I can do.” You respond dryly. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to live up to your expectations only given... What time are we going?”

“I’ll be by your place at 8.” You can hear him moving about a room. “Ten hours should be more than enough.”

“You’re assuming I don’t have a lot of other things to do.”

You can practically hear him waving your excuses away. “You’re a writer and an artist. You’ve got time. Grandpa always talked about how busy he was, yet he never did shit.”

“Huh.” You can’t help the noise that escapes you. The noise on the other end of the line ceases.

“Huh what?” His tone is curious yet also dangerous, as if he hadn’t decided if you’d just said the wrong thing or not.

“Oh, it-”

“If you tell me it’s nothing, I swear.” He doesn’t have to finish the threat. You let out a sigh.

“That was just the first time you’ve mentioned Harlan.” You cringe. You’re expecting him to yell or scream, something violent. Instead, nothing. Silence on his end for a few seconds before you hear a ‘huh’ identical to the one you just said.

“Yeah. Guess I hadn’t.” His tone is genuinely thoughtful. You can practically hear the thoughts mulling around inside of his head. “Speaking of Grandpa, I have a question for you.”

“Alright.” You can’t help the hesitancy that makes its way into your voice. Ransom lets out a soft chuckle.

“Nothing bad. I’m just... curious is all. Did he ever tell you that he planned on giving the publishing company to you at one point?”

Well. That was a question you had been hoping to avoid. You run a hand down your face and stare at your fridge for several seconds. You hope that he’ll take his answer from that and let you off the hook. You also know better than to expect any kind of mercy from him.

“We... talked about it.” You finally said. “It was only ever theoretical as I understood it.”

“Sounded pretty damn real when Walt went on a rant about it.” His tone has an undertone of glee to it. “Serves him right. He never did deserve the company anyway.” A tinge of bitterness creeps into his tone. “Honestly, once Grandpa realized what a shit show it was under Walt, I thought he was going to give it to me. Should have. Maybe we’d still have something left after his death instead of it all going to that fucking bitch.”

“Marta has done fairly well with it from what I’ve seen.” You can’t help the jab. “I’ve been meaning to invest some stock in it.”

“Careful there. Start talking like that, and people are going to say you’re sounding like me.” His tone is teasing on the surface. It’s easy to pick out the underlying anger in his words. You snort.

“According to Walt, I apparently already do.” You don’t mean for that to slip out. Ransom lets out a small noise at that, one you can’t place.

“He told me he went by your work a couple weeks ago.” His tone shifts to conversational. It’s hard to tell whether or not you should put your guard up for this next part. “Told me that I’d be real proud of what I turned you into.”

“What you turned me into?” Both of your eyebrows shoot into your hairline. “What does that even mean?”

“Apparently I turned you into a massive bitch. He was saying that as soon as you got your internship, though.” You can practically hear the eye roll. “He’s a paranoid fuck, constantly worried that someone is going to take his shit. Shit that he hasn’t earned.” A small peal of laughter escapes you at that. It was true; Walt didn’t deserve a damn thing that he got from Harlan. Neither did the rest of the family as far you were concerned, but especially Walt. “I heard him say something else too.”

Your heart sinks at that. “I’m sure it wasn’t pleasant.”

“He said he thought that we’d be perfect for each other.” Ransom’s tone is matter-of-fact. 

“That could mean a lot coming from him. It might mean he thinks I’m capable of murder.” You respond. You’re starting to get more and more uncomfortable as this topic of discussion goes on. You pad silently over to your fridge.

“Oh, you are.” That makes you stop dead in your tracks. His tone is so dismissive. “You like to pretend you’re better than us. Well, better than me. But if it came down to it, you’d kill someone for what you think is yours.” You can hear the smirk make its way into his voice. “I talked to...Laurel? I think that was her.”

“Laurel?” You try to keep your voice calm and collected.

“Uh-huh.” The malicious glee is clear in his voice. “That girl I brought home? The one that made you jealous?”

“She did not make me jealous.” You snap. “She made me realize that I was worth more than I was being treated.”

‘Sure. Whatever you say.” He scoffs. “You’re acting like you didn’t lay into her. A fucking Rottweiler with a fresh bone was nicer than you were with her.”

“She started it.” You can’t help how heated your voice gets. “If you heard me talking to her, then you also heard what she said to me.”

“Oh, I’m not denying she took it too far. You were a hick and arrogant bitch. Still are. But her whole schtick about fucking the whole family to get the internship was way too far.” His tone hardens somewhat at that last part. 

“And I told her how wrong she was.” You try to keep your tone even and light. That whole thing still made you mad. 

“She refused to talk to me for a whole month after you ‘told her how wrong she was’. She refused to have anything to do with me until you left.” Ransom’s tone is surprisingly serious. You can feel your heart plummet. Yes, you had been a little harsher than necessary with her, but you hadn’t gone that far. Had you? You weren’t so sure now. 

“I-” You close your mouth. The longer you thought about it, the less you had a leg to stand on. You had been awful to her.

“Don’t sound like you didn’t enjoy it.” Again, you can hear the eye roll. “She got what was coming. You saved me the trouble of breaking up with her.”

“I don’t want to talk about this.” Your grip on your phone grows tighter. 

“Fine. We won’t.” He huffs, clearly annoyed with that. “But it does back Walt up. For once in his life.”

“I’m not proud of the person I was then.” You hope he takes the hint to drop the topic. Mentally, you make a note to find Laurel and apologize. 

“Why? Walt, Richard, Linda, and Joni are like a pack of angry wolves when they get together. You managed to come out on top. That’s something to be proud of.” 

“No, it’s not! Why would I be proud of being terrible?”

“Because.” Ransom’s voice is surprisingly serious. “When you came in, no one thought you’d make it. Joni and Meg kept on talking about how worried they were for you.”

“I’m sure it was with glee in their voices.” You huff. That earns you a laugh.

“Yup. They’re annoying hypocritical feminists. ‘Women should uplift other women’ bullshit and then tear apart what someone else is wearing in the same fucking breath.” He seems a little more amused. “But you were supposed to be some scared little rabbit, and you weren’t. It was like watching a pack of wolves fight a lion.” Another laugh. “Guess what Walt calls you.”

“Nothing flattering, I’m sure.”

“He calls you Lady MacBeth.” The man on the other line seems entirely too amused with your nickname. “It’s hysterical when he does it.”

You’re silent. This conversation has given you a lot to think about already, and that nickname adds one more thing. You thought that you had done a good evaluation of who you were as a person and how you needed to change, but you clearly hadn’t. You frown. You can feel tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, and you have to close them to prevent yourself from bawling. Ransom says your name. His voice is surprisingly gentle.

“Listen. They’re just jealous bitches. Don’t put any stock in what they say.” He seems genuinely worried that you might be upset by this. “They don’t know how to handle someone they can’t buy. You did what you had to do. That’s just how you have to be in that environment.” He pauses for a minute. “The prison shrink kept on telling me that I’m not a terrible person at heart. It was just how I was raised, and that I could change. I’m sure the same thing applies here.”

“I don’t have the excuse of being raised that way.” Your voice comes out softer than you want. “I let myself get swept away in all of it.”

“You did.” You roll your eyes at his tone. “But we’ll figure something out to keep that from happening. I’d be fine if we don’t see them.”

“We?” You can’t help echoing. 

“Yeah. I told you, I’m working on changing for you.”

“You’re assuming I want you like that.” You roll your eyes, trying to keep your irritation at bay. 

“You do.” He sounds so confident in himself. “If I had gotten down on one knee back then, you would have said yes.”

“Hah. No. And even if I had, that was then. Things are different now.”

“Not that different. What we had for each other isn’t something that goes away like that.” He seems too pleased with himself. “The biggest change is that my family managed to scare you off.”

Well. That was true. They did manage to get under your skin and make you run. However, he was conveniently forgetting that he was part of the reason you left as well. You’re just about to open your mouth and tell him that when he speaks again.

“Look. You can be scared of them. I don’t care. I just don’t want you to be so scared of them you push me out of your life because of it. I’m not them. If having you in my life means that I don’t talk to them, that’s fine by me. And I know it will be a bit before you’ll let me back into your life, but I can wait.”

You frown deeply. You hate it when he gets soft and sweet; you know he’s just using his charms to make you feel better. It’s all a game to him. It also bothers you because he seems to know how much you want to believe him. You do honestly want to believe him. His soft tone makes you think of a different life, one where the two of you could have been happy. It makes you think of that tender morning together, and how you wanted more moments like that with him.

“We can talk about it more at dinner.” He seems to sense your hesitation. “I’m getting you at 8. You don’t have to go full fancy, but nice.”

The phone beeps, letting you know he’s hung up on you.

Tag list: @hurricanerin @readermia @marvelfansworld @captainsmallassrogers @cheeseburgersstuff @aubageddon91 @nekoannie-chan @stupendousshepherdloverpony @villanellevi @what-is-your-plan-today @candy-and-writing @mandylove1000

[victorineb]

Spacedust

My entry for the 2019 Reel Hannibal Fest (@reel-hannibal)​, a Spacedogs/Stardust AU, in which stars can talk, men can fly, and true love can be found in the strangest of places...

Also on AO3.

Adam regarded the candle. It was black, about ten inches long, waxen and, well, a candle. Nothing very remarkable about it at all. And yet his father had claimed, when he brought Adam up here to the attic only a few days before he died, that if the candle was lit, and the person holding it thought of a person or place, they would instantly be transported there.

Adam was rather sceptical about this.

His father had insisted, though, telling Adam that he had stolen it while adventuring beyond the wall in his youth. Adam had become quite distressed by this revelation.

“But it’s forbidden to go beyond the wall!” he had wailed. “That’s why Harlan guards it!”

His father had simply chuckled and held Adam close until he calmed. “In fact,” he had continued, once Adam was ready, “Harlan guards the wall because he helped me sneak past the former guard. His punishment was to be apprenticed to the old man and to inherit his role.”

“Oh,” said Adam. “Was he angry at you because of that?”

“For a little while, yes. Very angry, in fact. But as it turned out, Harlan enjoys his job, and he likes me too much to stay mad at me for long.” Adam’s father grinned and waggled his eyebrows, which Adam knew meant he was being cheeky. “Besides, my punishment was far greater than his, which made up for it.”

“How were you punished?” Adam asked.

The smile faded from his father’s face and suddenly he looked once more like the dying man he was. “That’s a story for another night, perhaps,” he’d said, ruffling Adam’s hair.

But, of course, that other night had never come.

Adam hadn’t looked at the candle since that first time. He’d been far too busy learning how to go about life without his father to bother about something so trivial. But now he was in need of a means of travelling beyond the wall himself and, unlike his father, he didn’t have any friends to help him sneak through. Except Harlan, of course, but Adam didn’t think it was fair to ask him to fool himself into letting Adam pass.

So, the candle it was. And if that didn’t work – and Adam was fairly certain it would not – then… then… Well, Adam didn’t really know what he’d do then. Perhaps Beth would be happy just to know he’d tried to bring her the star.

Although, he suspected she’d be more impressed by his father’s story and would want to know why Adam hadn’t done something brave like taking advantage of his only friend in order to break the law just to please her. That was the sort of thing Frederick would do and she seemed quite happy to marry him in exchange for a plain old ring instead of requiring an entire star.

Adam sighed. He wondered briefly if Beth was actually worth all the effort. But, despite her stubborn insistence that stars weren’t all that interesting really, she was kind and understanding, and she always smiled when she saw him. She made Adam feel that he wasn’t alone in the world and that, it seemed to him, was worth quite a lot of effort, actually.

Even if she did tend to tell him off for talking about stars so much instead of attending parties.

Maybe if the candle didn’t work, he would talk to Harlan. Maybe he would see that bringing the star back for Beth was important enough to make an exception to the law. Maybe he would remember that he’d loved Adam’s dad enough to forgive him and would forgive Adam too.

But first he would try the candle.

He reached for the pack of matches and drew one out, hands shaking only slightly. Adam didn’t like matches, especially not up here with so many dry and easily flammable bits of paper. But it seemed only right to do this amongst his father’s treasured possessions and so, after one last trip downstairs to check that the note he had left for Harlan in case of disaster was set clearly on the kitchen table, and that he had extra matches in his pocket for the journey home, Adam struck the match, thought of the star, and lit the candle.

Immediately he was engulfed by golden-white flames and, before he had even the chance to panic, there was an odd tugging sensation behind his navel and he was being dragged, faster than his mind could comprehend, out into the night and across the countryside. Adam had sometimes wondered what it would be like to fly but he had always pictured it as a leisurely, gentle activity. Not this breakneck, fiery, uncontrolled rush towards an unknown destination and, presumably, a rather messy death on impact.

He rather preferred his version.

The journey seemed, to Adam, to last both a lifetime and the blink of an eye but, either way, before he could muster his strength to graduate from shocked whimpers to really proper screaming, he was deposited, flat on his back, on something hard and unforgiving. After a moment’s thought, Adam determined that it was the ground.

He gazed up at the night sky, dazed and sore and oddly… exhilarated? He was pretty certain he should be feeling terrified just now – he certainly had while in the air – but somehow, upon landing the terror had transmuted into a thrill of excitement. Adam lay on the cold ground and felt it shiver all through his body, little electric curls of pleasure and adrenaline.

“Can I do that again?” he found himself musing out loud.

“Can you appear out of thin air like a fucking comet and nearly flatten an innocent bystander again?” came a deep, lilting voice, apparently from out of the sky itself. “I’d rather you fucking didn’t.”

Adam jolted, his brain still foggy and slow from the impact. “God?” he asked, tentatively.

“Not quite, darling, but that’s very much to your advantage,” said the voice. Without warning, a figure loomed over Adam’s prone body, peering down at him with a smile – no, a smirk – tugging at its mouth. “That old bastard would smite you soon as look at you, if you tried to knock them over like that.”

Adam stared up at the figure, mouth flapping, trying desperately to find his bearings. His eyes darted away from the man’s – for it was a man, or man-shaped being, at least – taking in the details of his clothing and person. He curled in a little on himself when he realised the man was tall and rather brutish looking, with a broad chest and strong arms exposed by the short sleeves of his shirt.

Adam made a small, frightened noise and immediately hated himself for it. Harlan had always told him never to show weakness, bullies could smell weakness and this man looked very much like a bully to Adam. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the blows to start.

After a minute, he opened them back up again to see the man still watching him from above. His eyebrows – what there was of them – had climbed very high up on his forehead, suggesting he had been surprised by something. Adam wondered dully what could possibly be more surprising than his appearance from out of mid-air?

“Darling, I’m not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about. It’d be like kicking a puppy and Sirius’d have my fucking guts if I did such a thing.” The man crouched down next to Adam and offered his hand. “Name’s Nigel. Well, technically it’s Intercrus but that’s a mouthful and not the fun kind. What’s yours, gorgeous?”

Adam regarded the hand dubiously but decided it was probably better to play along for the moment. He took it and was about to shake when Nigel smoothly turned it over, palm down, and deposited a kiss just below the knuckles. Adam sucked in a breath of surprise and, his voice shaking slightly, said, “I’m Adam and that was quite rude of you.”

Nigel grinned and his teeth seemed to sparkle in the moonlight, little points of light bouncing off the sharp points of his canines. “My apologies, darling, I forgot myself for a moment. I simply didn’t expect to find something so pretty all the way down here on the ground.”

“Oh.” Adam wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He’d never been called pretty before and he wasn’t entirely sure it was warranted. Nigel must be making fun of him, he decided, that was far more in line with his experience of how people spoke to him. Although, it must be quite a strange, subtle sort of making fun, because the other thing no one had ever done was address him in such a purring, smooth voice before, nor looked at him like he might be something delicious to eat. It was making Adam’s stomach flutter in a very strange way. Perhaps the effects of magical travelling were catching up to him.

“Um, is it all right if I get up?” he asked.

In lieu of an answer, Nigel – still smiling brightly at Adam – rose smoothly from his crouch, bringing Adam’s hand with him so that he was pulled into a seated position, before offering his other hand and hauling Adam to his feet. As they rose, Adam realised that they were standing in the centre of a crater, in a wide hole surrounded by slate-grey rock that rose into the sky like cathedral pillars. Adam gazed around himself, noting the way the rock looked as though it had been pushed out and up by force, as if something heavy had landed where he stood and… oh. This must have been where the star landed, this was exactly the kind of damage it would have done on impact. But there was absolutely no sign of any star, nothing to suggest that a huge piece of space rock had landed here.

Adam looked back at Nigel, intending to ask him if he’d seen the star land and perhaps… bounce? No, that was stupid, but Adam couldn’t understand how it could possibly have just vanished. And then the question was knocked completely out of Adam’s mind by the way he caught Nigel looking at him, his smile seeming to curl even higher as his eyes ranged the length of Adam’s body. When he raised them, eventually, to Adam’s face, he winked and his gaze glittered.

For his part, despite his slight daze, Adam had to admit he had judged Nigel rather harshly. Yes, he was certainly imposing, tall and broad across the shoulders, with hands that looked made to throw punches and a scar across his nose that suggested some experience with head-butting. But there was also something oddly delicate about him, in the slender taper of his waist and his long, fine legs that put Adam in mind of the ballerinas Beth had so admired when they were young. He was also clearly no ruffian, his clothes casual but finely-made, both shirt and pants fashioned from cloth of so deep a blue they could have been cut from the night sky itself, a colour that set off the silver-gold of Nigel’s hair to excellent effect. It seemed to sparkle in the light of the still-smouldering trails left by Adam’s journey, an effect even Beth’s pretty hair had never shown any sign of.

He was just wondering what such a man was doing in the middle of nowhere when he realised their hands were still clasped together and snatched his back with a gasp. Then he immediately panicked that he might have offended Nigel and looked, for the first time, into his eyes. They were… strange, initially a perfectly ordinary brown but, as Adam looked deeper, he realised that they seemed to glow, as if lit from within, lending them a warmth and richness that turned their brown to amber and trapped Adam there like an insect, to be suspended for millennia in their depths.

Then Nigel snorted with laughter and the spell was broken. “Darling, had I known someone like you was walking around down here, I’d have made the trip much sooner.”

“You’re on a journey?” Adam asked, brightening with the revelation. “I’m on one too! Perhaps you can help me, one traveller to another?”

“It would be my pleasure, gorgeous. I can think of few things I’d enjoy better than giving you a hand.” Nigel’s voice seemed to undulate as he spoke, and Adam watched, his stomach rather undulating too, as Nigel’s tongue flicked out to wet his lips. “Just what is it I can help you out with?”

“I'm searching for a fallen star.”

Nigel raised an eyebrow. “Really? Well, don't know about fallen, dropped like a fucking stone might be more accurate, gorgeous.”

Adam looked behind himself, wondering if Nigel had already spotted the star and was offering an oblique commentary on it. When he saw no obvious signs of it, he said, “I'm sorry, I don't…”

“You're looking for a star.” Nigel grinned and gestured to himself. “You found one.”

Adam stared at him, wondering if he’d misheard somehow. Surely Nigel couldn’t believe he himself was… “Excuse me but you're not a star,” Adam stated, just to make certain. “Stars are composed of gas – mostly hydrogen and helium – whereas you are very clearly a solid. Besides which, falling stars are misnamed, they are not stars at all but meteors, or meteorites if they reach the Earth's surface without disintegrating. And you can’t be a meteorite either because those are made of stone or iron and while you are rather craggy looking, you’re still made of flesh.”

Nigel blinked at Adam, with the raised eyebrows and downturned mouth Adam recognised as bemusement, a typical reaction of new people upon meeting him. Adam drew in his shoulders a little and awaited the usual laughter or enquiry as to whether he was some kind of freak.

Instead, the man gave him a sharp-toothed smile and said, “Maybe in the sky where you live, sweetheart. Where I come from, we've got a little more style.”

Adam wasn’t quite sure what style had to do with it – style couldn’t make a rock into a man. Style could win you the hand of certain beautiful women, he considered, thinking of Frederick swinging his sword around and Beth giggling at his showmanship. He pushed the thought away and opened his mouth to argue with the clearly crazy man who thought he was a star. But something was tickling at the back of his brain, a memory insistently making itself known. A memory of a story his dad used to tell him, about a boy named Tristan who had lived in their village many years ago. A boy who had become king beyond the wall, and whose queen had been a beautiful woman who had once been the North Star. And when they were old and tired of ruling, he had returned with her to the heavens where they still lived, happily watching as the people below went on without them.

It was just a story, of course, and yet… Adam was looking at Nigel, whose hair twinkled and teeth sparkled, and whose eyes seemed to glow in a way no human’s should. And he was remembering how in the story Yvaine – the name of the star when she was a woman – seemed to glow whenever she was especially happy and how she had saved Tristan’s life with the force of her light. And, for the first time in his life, Adam found himself considering that science might not be able to explain everything in the universe.

“H-how can it be possible, though, to be a star in one place and a person in another?”

Nigel shrugged. “Just makes sense, doesn’t it? Man needs a proper body to survive down here, wouldn’t get very far if I was just dissipating into the atmosphere, would I?”

Adam thought about this. It sounded logical but Adam was certain there was a difference between a fact and some total nonsense spoken with confidence. Still, he found his heartbeat had picked up a little – he wanted to believe in this, wanted to be, right now, talking to an actual star, one that could talk back to him for the first time, instead of simply listening as he told his secrets into the dark.

“Y-you’re really, actually a star. A proper one?”

“Really and truly, darling. Not sure I’m all that proper though, especially with a sweet thing like you in front of me.”

Adam ignored the commentary and instead flapped his hands as he tried to line up all the questions he wanted to ask. If this man really was a star, he would know all about them and be able to answer all of Adam’s questions. And if he wasn’t, well, at least he seemed to be happy to talk about astronomy, a rare enough event in Adam’s life to be worth enduring a little delusion.

“What constellation are you part of?”

“The Great Bear. Or Ursa Major, if you want to be poncy about it.”

“Do you have any planets orbiting you?”

“Just the one, darling. Named Arkas, though she prefers Gabi. Cute little thing with a temper – nowhere near as cute as you, though.”  

“Have you ever seen a star go supernova?”

“Saw my buddy Darko turn into a black hole. Fucking intense trip, he says he wouldn’t recommend it, felt like he was being turned inside out.”

Adam gave him a dubious look. “That sounds made up, Nigel.”

Nigel ducked his head, as if he was ashamed of himself, but Adam could see his smile glowing brightly in the gloom and doubted it was true. Sure enough, a moment later he looked back up and winked at Adam.

“You caught me, gorgeous, I couldn’t resist. Do I fail your test now?”

“O-oh, you knew what I was doing?”

“Might just have landed on earth today, darling, but I’m not lacking for wiles. Although, if you wanted proof, you could’ve just asked.”

“Um, all right. Could you prove that you’re a star, please?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Nigel said, and then stepped back a little way from Adam. “You might want to shield your eyes for this, sweetheart.”

Adam obediently raised his hand to above his brow, and only just in time, for a second later the entire crater filled with blinding, searing light, the clean, white kind, of cold winter mornings when the sun seems to have fleetingly regained its summer strength. Adam recoiled, moving both hands in front of his face and squeezing his eyes tight shut. Even then, his vision blared bright red and the blood seemed to rush in his ears as Adam wondered if the star – for now there could be no doubt – had only been playing with him and now was going to blast him into nothingness with the force of his light.

He flinched when he felt hands grab him and began to struggle a little. But the star was much stronger than he, and easily pulled Adam against his chest, placing an unexpectedly gentle hand against the back of his head to push it down against his shoulder. Stunned, Adam wondered if this was perhaps to put him at the centre of the light, where it was strongest and therefore would kill him the quickest. Then again, he didn’t feel as if he was burning and, he noticed, with his face pressed deep against Nigel’s shoulder his eyelids were no longer glowing red but merely a dim pink, and getting darker by the second.

“Sorry, gorgeous, didn’t realise I was packing as much power as that. Shouldn’t be, really, after such a fall.” Nigel sounded a little thoughtful as he said that but quickly recovered his usual bravado. “Never mind though, it’ll be ok for you to look in another minute, just stay where you are until I say it’s all right.”

Adam could only nod, half terrified, half desperately curious about what Nigel looked like all aglow. He felt the hand on the back of his head push down a little more firmly, the one around his waist tighten minutely.

“No peeking, kid,” Nigel admonished him, as if he knew how Adam was feeling.

“I promise,” Adam told him, voice muffled against the star’s shoulder. It was, all things considered, not the worst way to be trapped. Nigel smelled quite nice, like fresh rain and the edge of a cold wind, and he was very solid, easy to cling on to, warm and steady and strong. Admittedly, Adam’s back was aching a bit from his landing and he should probably have someone check him for concussion – probably not Nigel, because stars probably didn’t have much medical knowledge to hand – but it was all overridden by that fluttering, thrilling feeling returning to his stomach. He was, right now, wrapped in the light – not to mention the arms – of a star. Nothing in his life so far could possibly compare, not even the time Beth had got squiffy on champagne and kissed him.

By this time, his vision had drained completely of light and Adam felt Nigel’s hand lift from his head, petting through his hair a couple of times as if gentling a skittish animal. “Should be all right to take a look now, gorgeous, if you want to,” he said.

“Yes, I-I would like that, please.”

The hand lifted fully away from his hair and the grip around his waist loosened. “All right then darling, in your own time.”

Adam took a deep breath, then another, trying to get the swooping feeling in his stomach to stop. Then he raised his head, took a step back, and opened his eyes.

“Oh.”

Adam had thought Nigel thuggish at first glance but he had been wrong. He wasn’t thuggish, he was regal, beautiful, like a wild mountainside touched by the morning’s first light. Except this light wasn’t drawn from the heavens but from within Nigel himself, expanding outwards from his being in shimmering, shifting waves. And at the centre of it all, Nigel smiled his strange, sparkling smile at Adam and Adam returned it, feeling as if he too might start glowing with happiness.

“Believe me now, gorgeous?”

Adam blinked, surprised Nigel even had to ask, before exploding into enthusiastic babbling. “Oh, oh yes! I think there must be magic involved, because a human body can’t do that, and I’m quite new to magic because we don’t have it on my side of the wall and so I tried to understand you with science, which meant you had to be lying to me, or making fun of me which seemed to be the most believable option and…”

“You thought I was making fun of you?”

“Well, logically-”

“People often make fun of you, do they?” Nigel’s voice had taken on a funny, growling edge and Adam wondered if the change in atmosphere had hurt his throat.

“Oh yes, I’m very odd,” Adam said, making a note to get Nigel a cup of tea with honey as soon as they were back at his house. “Beth says it’s because they don’t understand me and people don’t cope well with… but that doesn’t matter. We shouldn’t waste any more time.”

Nigel blinked and set his head to one side. “I thought we were having a nice moment.”

Adam looked at the star blankly and then dismissed the comment as irrelevant. “Ok, well, come on. I've got to take you back to my town now.”

Nigel crossed his arms across his chest and asked, “Oh you do, huh? And why is that?”

“I need to give you to Beth. Or, well, probably just show you to her, since it would be inappropriate to give a person, well, someone shaped like a person anyway, as a gift.”

“Right. And what does this Beth character want with me? She’s not a witch, is she?”

“No, just a girl. A girl I am going to marry. Probably.”

“Probably.”

Nigel didn’t sound terribly encouraged by Adam’s words and so he tried to explain more clearly. “Well, she’s engaged to someone else at the moment. But when we saw the star – um, saw you – falling, I vowed to her that I would find it, er, you, and bring you back to her and then she would see that I’m worthy of her hand.”

“Right. Likes stars too, does she?”

Adam thought about it. He hadn’t really considered that when he was setting out on this adventure. “Oh, well, no, not really,” he admitted, eventually. “She says she doesn’t understand why anyone would want to spend all their time staring at the sky when there’s so many interesting things down here on earth.”

“Says all that, does she?” Nigel’s eyebrow had curved upwards again.

“In fact what she usually says is, ‘Stop staring at the bloody stars, Adam, and take me to this party.’”

Nigel laughed at this, but it didn’t sound like a very nice laugh to Adam, it was too short and rough. “She sounds delightful. So, let me get this straight – this girl doesn’t understand your interests and you don’t understand hers, she’s engaged to some other guy, and she let you go off on what probably sounded to her like a foolhardy quest to bring back a piece of rock that she doesn’t even find that interesting.”

“I… that’s… I think I must have explained it wrong.” Adam was feeling a bit confused himself at this point, he had to admit.

“Uh-huh.” Nigel paused for a moment, staring hard at Adam as if trying to see straight into his mind. “Got to be honest, Adam, I’m not sure I really fancy trekking all the way to some dingy little town to excite some dingy little bint. I’ve got a better idea to put to you. How about, instead, you and me take a trip back up to my home, sweetheart?”

Adam stared at him. And stared at him. And continued to stare at him until Nigel said it was making him “a little bit fucking worried, gorgeous.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Adam blurted, finally managing to fumble some words together. “It’s just that I’m not sure if you’re teasing me again. You must be, though, because it’s not actually possible for me-”

“Not teasing, Adam,” Nigel insisted, “not even a little bit. I’m not one of those assholes you grew up with, I’ve got no desire to make fun of you.”

“But, physically-”

“Told you, didn’t I? It’s a matter of logic – your body doesn’t want you to die, so while you’re down here on the ground it makes the very sensible decision to be human-shaped. And vice-versa when you’re up there.” He pointed to the sky. “Stands to reason.”

“I think,” Adam said slowly, “that may actually be the exact opposite of logic and reason.”

Nigel threw his hands up. “All right, fine, it’s magic and it’ll work just as well on you as me if I ask it. I just thought you’d like the scientific explanation better.”

“I think perhaps you should leave science alone before you do it any permanent damage,” Adam said, but he accompanied it with a smile so Nigel wouldn’t think he was really angry.

“Good idea, gorgeous. So, now we’ve got that cleared up,” Nigel went on, offering his arm to Adam, just like Frederick always did for Beth whenever he wanted to make it clear to Adam just who Beth belonged to. “How’s about it?”

“I, uh,” Adam hesitated. He was, he found, sorely tempted. There were two things he dreamed of in his life: marrying Beth, and exploring the stars. And, if he was honest, and – more importantly – proportionate, the ratio of dreaming was probably in favour of the stars. But it wasn’t really possible, was it? None of this was really real. None of it was grown up. None of it was normal. It was just stupid Adam, with stupid stars in his stupid eyes again.

Apparently Nigel noticed his inner turmoil, because he then asked gently, “Look, kid, lemme ask you: what is it you've got to go back there for?”

Adam thought about this, a stream of images of life with his father rising in his mind. But that was before, that life didn't exist anymore.

“There's my job,” he said, eventually.

“Like it, do you?”

“No.”

Nigel grinned. “Gonna have to do better than that, then, gorgeous.”

“Well…” Adam dipped his head, making sure there was no way Nigel could catch his eye. “There's Beth. I promised-”

“So you're gonna choose this girl who doesn't give a shit about the stuff you love, over the chance to float amongst the stars with a devastatingly handsome tour guide?”

“You?”

“Yeah me, darling, who else?”

“Well…” Adam was about to protest that it wasn't Beth's fault that she didn't understand the stars, that it was hard for people to care about his interests because he spoke too much and got too intense… And then suddenly Nigel was standing right in front of him, tipping Adam's chin towards the sky and Adam forgot what he'd been going to say.

“Look up, gorgeous.”

Adam did as instructed, staring up at the familiar wash of sparkling light, his eyes tracing the beloved shapes of his favourite constellations. Trying to find the space where Nigel would normally be, wondering how often he’d looked straight at him and never known someone was looking back.

“Is there anything better than that, Adam?” Nigel murmured.

“No.” The answer came out on Adam's next breath, no time necessary to consider it, since it came straight from his soul.

“No. Or…” Nigel tilted Adam's chin back down.  “…maybe one thing better,” he finished, and pressed his mouth softly to Adam's.

It startled Adam a little but not enough to make him pull away. Instead, he let Nigel kiss him, full of gentle but clear intent, and quickly found himself kissing back, making no protest as Nigel’s arms wound round him and pulled him closer. The only other person who had kissed Adam was Beth, and it had been quite messy and uncoordinated, and it was over almost as soon as it started because Beth broke out in giggles, apologising for getting carried away. This kiss, this one that Nigel was giving him, was nothing like that. For one thing, it had already gone on for quite a lot longer than Beth’s had, and showed very little sign of stopping. And for another, Adam was quite sure that Nigel would have no intention of apologising for it, given the way he had coaxed Adam’s mouth open and slid his tongue inside, stroking it against Adam’s own in a way Adam couldn’t resist responding to. Actually, he really hoped Nigel wouldn’t apologise for it, didn’t want him to apologise for it, wanted him to do it again and again…

Adam wasn’t sure if stars needed to breathe but he was aware – eventually – that he did, and would need to, quite soon. He made a little urgent noise and Nigel immediately broke the kiss, though he kept returning for smaller ones in between words, as though he couldn’t quite bear to stop completely.

“All right, darling?”

“Yes, just a bit breathless.”

“Ok now though?”

“Oh yes,” Adam replied brightly. “I didn't know stars could kiss like that. Or at all, actually.”

Nigel's smile was wide and dazzling. “We can do lots of other things too, darling. All you have to do is come with me and I'll show you all of them.”

“And the stars, too.”

“Of course, love, the stars too.”

Adam took a deep breath. “Ok.”

“Sure?”

“Can I… can I come back if I don’t like it, or if I miss Harlan, o-or just if I want to?”

“Of course you can, I’m no kidnapper. But, beautiful, I guarantee you’re gonna like it.”

Adam looked into Nigel’s eyes, into the glow that emanated from deep within them, and though he never normally could read anything from a person’s face, knew beyond doubt that the star’s words were truth. Perhaps it was because he wasn’t actually a person.

He nodded, never taking his eyes from Nigel’s, the usual compulsion to avoid eye contact muted just enough to ignore. “Take me with you.”

Nigel’s grin should have been bright enough to blind him but Adam found he didn’t need to turn away. Perhaps his eyes had adjusted, or perhaps Nigel’s magic was already taking hold. The star put an arm around Adam’s waist and asked, “Still got that candle handy?”

“Yes, it’s…” Adam slipped his hand into his pocket and drew it out. “It’s here.”

Nigel rewarded him with a soft kiss to the temple and the tightening of his embrace.  “Then light us up, darling.”

Adam smiled and struck the match. 

Epilogue

Adam did return to the village, just once*, little more than a month after he left. He had come to see Harlan, or so he told the old man, striding out of the darkness with such confidence in his gait that, for just a second, Harlan thought he was Adam’s father, somehow returned to youth and life and come to speak with his old friend. As he came closer, though, Harlan shook off this fanciful notion, seeing that it was indeed Adam, though changed in so many subtle little ways that he was more like a polished-up reflection of his old self. His hair had grown out somewhat from its old, scrupulously neat style and now soft curls fell across his forehead and around his ears in strikingly flattering fashion. Even his clothes were subtly changed. Adam had always habitually dressed in comfortable sweaters and carefully pressed pants, his idea of smartening up to put a plain jacket on top of his standard ensemble. Now, though the basic silhouette remained the same in generalities, in details everything was new and unfamiliar. His pants were perfectly cut, fitted yet not constricting, and topped by a soft, fine sweater in a shade of deep blue that looked almost black in the moonlight. And, strangest of all, he wore a long, flowing coat that streamed out behind him and looked as though it was a little big on Adam’s small frame, its sleeves only ending at the tips of his fingers and its hem trailing against the ground as if it were the train of a comet.

Harlan was still staring as Adam came to stand in front of him and they regarded each other for a moment (eyes carefully averted in Adam’s case, and huge as dinner plates in Harlan’s) before Harlan remembered himself and jolted into action.

“Adam!” he cried, gathering the boy into his arms. “Where the hell have you been, I’ve been frantic trying to find you, boy!”

From within Harlan’s embrace, Adam’s slightly muffled voice said, “Hello Harlan, I’ve been in space, how have you been?”

Same old Adam, then, thank goodness.

Harlan released the boy from his embrace and held him at arm’s length, both hands on his shoulders to ensure he didn’t vanish again. “In space, is it, kid? And how did you manage that?”

“With the magic candle Dad brought back from beyond the wall.”

Harlan was once again struck dumb. He knew Michael had almost undoubtedly brought back some souvenir from that damn-fool trip of his way back when. He didn’t realise Adam knew about it, though, much less that he’d think to use anything his dad gave him. And, now he came to think of it, the boy had come from the other side of the wall, from the so-called magical side, where witches and fairies dwelled. It was, he had to allow, just possible that Adam had stumbled across some way to visit his beloved stars.

Besides which, Harlan had never known Adam to lie a day in his life – indeed, he seemed to be vehemently against even the idea of lying – and so it might be fair to give even the most outlandish statement the benefit of the doubt when it came from the kid’s mouth.

“Well, come on then, tell me all about it. Did you find a falling star for that Beth?” Harlan hoped not – Beth was a sweet girl in many ways but she had let Adam trail after her like a puppy for years now and Harlan knew she had no intention of actually entering into a relationship with him. The idea that she’d throw off that fop Chilton and marry Adam if only he brought her some lump of space rock was absurd, not to mention cruel. He wished the girl would just be straight with Adam, then at least Harlan could pick up the pieces.

“Oh yes, I did find the star,” Adam told him, grinning happily.

Damn, thought Harlan. Now there would be trouble.

“Except,” Adam continued, blithely unaware of Harlan’s concerns, “when I found it, it wasn’t a star but a human – or, a star in the shape of a human – and he was very attractive and very interested in what I had to say about space and so when he asked me to go back up into the sky with him I said yes. He’s called Nigel and he’s a much better kisser than Beth so I think I made the right choice.”

Harlan blinked.

“You met a star… and he’s called Nigel? And he kissed you?!”

“Well, in fact his true name is Intercrus but he says that’s too long for everyday use so he prefers Nigel. And I think it is more accurate to say we kissed each other, although I suppose technically he did instigate it the first time.”

“Kid,” Harlan said, rubbing his temples, “I think you’d better start from the beginning.”

And so Adam did, telling the whole story in meticulous detail, from the first lighting of the match to the last, and everything that he’d seen and experienced since then (some of which Harlan had to request he skim over, since the sex lives of stars – or of Adam, for that matter – wasn’t something he was ready or willing to think about). And when he was done, Harlan had to concede that either Adam’s capacity for imaginative storytelling had miraculously increased from zero in the month he’d been away, which seemed unlikely, or the boy really was living in bliss with his beloved stars – and one more beloved than the rest.

And how could Harlan possibly object to that?

“Will I see you again, kid?” he asked, a little later, when the sky was slipping from black to indigo and they had exchanged all the words that seemed most important.

“You can see me any time you want to, so long as the stars are out,” Adam reassured him. “You just have to look up and I’ll be there, looking down on you.”

Harlan did just that, despite himself, turning his face up to the heavens and wondering which of the multitudinous points of light Adam fancied himself in love with.

He turned to Adam, minded to ask, only to find Adam gone, vanished again, no trace that he had been there at all.

Harlan thought that was unnecessarily flashy, not to mention that a goodbye might have been nice. Still, when he tipped his face back up to look at the stars, he thought one – or was it two? – twinkled at him particularly brightly, and he smiled to himself in the dark.

 *As it turned out, Adam had neglected to mention that he could come back to earth pretty much any time he wanted, so long as he stocked up on Babylon candles from time to time. So Harlan got the second fright of his life when Adam turned up on his next birthday, “Because you shouldn’t have to spend it alone, Harlan,” even though Adam knew full well that Harlan was spending it with his new friend Eleanor and didn’t need any company just at the moment, thank you very much Adam.

This became a yearly tradition (Adam’s birthday visit, not the appearing in Harlan’s bedroom at inappropriate moments) and, after a couple of years, he brought Nigel with him. Harlan immediately and vehemently disapproved of the starman, as was expected of him, but privately noted the way Nigel gazed at Adam, orbiting him like Adam was his very own sun, and concluded that if he still looked at Adam like that after three years of living with him, he probably knew just how lucky he was. Though Harlan still made sure to remind him of it at regular intervals, just to make sure.

[thisbrutalbelle]

Your muse kidnaps mine (as in Bella kidnaps Ephram)

Your muse kidnaps mine

         "You’re bad for my health, I should probably get some help, I can’t control myself, I’m addicted to the hell,” she sung over the music bouncing off the walls from the varying speakers in the isolated home. He could hear every sound; her heels clicking on the tiles as she walked, ice hitting glass and vodka being poured over it, the whirring of appliances and the chains as they dragged with each movement he made.

         Rotating his wrist back and forth, examining the pink fur cuff on each hand and the metal chain connected to the metal that fur hid that kept him locked to that bed - that room, to her - he heard the shifting of his chains strongly. The sound was a ring of familiarity, a strange horror and comfort. Yes, he was comfortable. In his satin covered bed, silk pajamas, his favourite foods when he was good.

        She walked over, holding her vodka glass in her petite hand with fake nails tapping on it, dark with dry blood, and sat down beside him. Lifeless eyes as she reached out with her free hand, pop music still playing and cotton candy scent mixed with blood on her hands. She ran fingers down his jaw of scruff. Gentle was her touch as she caressed his jawline, dry blood mixed into his hair, the smell stronger and stronger as her face fell away and he recalled that of the man she had dragged through the apartment by a belt around his neck. He wasn’t screaming anymore.

         Slowly her touch became less gentle, hands grabbing his jaw and a snarl coming onto her lips. “You look more and more like him each day,” she scolded, slapping him hard across the face. The sound was as familiar as the rattling of his chains. “Uglier and uglier,” she insisted, watching a redness form on his cheek. He could feel the burning warmth. “More and more like a man.”

         He swallowed hard, adjusting the silk nightgown he wore. “Shave?” he suggested. It was not just his scruff she hated though, it was the bulge seen in his nightgown, the depth of his voice. He’d forced himself to speak higher as he’d grown but it did little to assuage the woman’s rage. Shaving helped enough, she liked his lips, and seemed to clam from observing his lashes.

        “Clean up first,” Bella told him, taking a sip of her vodka and leaning back on his bed. The pink dress she wore was covered in blood and he could see it all down her legs, covering her shoes. She was never clean, no, that was his job. Keep it clean.

         The chain dragged as he walked down the corridor, never long enough to leave but long enough to make it to her room, void of all but her mess. His nightgown dragged, weak from days he was punished with no meals, dress soaking up blood even before he pushed the door open and saw the body. It was swollen with fat and arousal, most blood pooling at his crotch, soaking through his pants. Without thought he saw Harlan, not nearly so large but just as bloody. Cock sliced off and dripping blood into the hands of a girl only a few years his junior. Her tears had tricked him and she’d taken him.

          He’d cleaned up Harlan, it had taken a few days of not eating, of the teenage girl beating into him that men were nothing but filth and he’d become just as filthy. Each escape attempt was met with beatings, or no food, until he cleaned up the rotting form of his father, he’d never let one rot again. He wasn’t going to grow up to be like these men, he was going to be better.

          “Filth,” he whispered as he sunk to his knees, already able to hear her soft delighted moans, a telltale sign she was focused on herself for the evening. He could clean in peace. Hopefully she would bring him a new gown in the morning.

@ephrampettaline

[theintellectualchaos]

thriller filler

As my previous post suggested, I was very busy these last couple of weeks. Today, however, I handed in my term paper and now I may enjoy 5 days of freedom till a new semester begins..... and since I am still far, far behind with my book reviews, I’m gonna sum up some of them and give a short account on 5 thrillers I’ve been reading in 2016 - none of them leaving me in awe, so I guess it is alright to throw them together in one mash-up review. I’ll keep it short and simple. There might be quotes (if I found anything worthy of quoting) and I made sure there are no spoilers.

19.2016: Jeremy Robinson - The Didymus Contingency

If you could go back in time, and witness any event, where would you go?

Tom Greenbaum and David Goodman have discovered time travel and go on a journey through time and space to Jerusalem, the Twelve Apostel, and Jesus. As in any time travelling story, our protagonists are about to observe and change (Christian) history, facing dangers and threats from the past, present, and future. Sci-Fi meets thriller meets religion. Not a complete waste of time but not a page-turner either. Maybe if you’re into that kind of stuff.

20.2016: Marc Elsberg - Blackout

A worldwide terrorist attack causes a total blackout and within hours and days, mayhem ensues and the world as we know it collapses without electricity. Elsberg has written a fast-paced thriller that manages to feel real to a certain extent, in a way that you could actually believe it to happen if the scenario was played out. Neat and nicely done and well researched.

21.2016: Harlan Coben - The Woods

Twenty years ago, four teenagers at summer camp walked into the woods at night. Two were found murdered, and the others were never seen again. Four families had their lives changed forever. Now, two decades later, they are about to change again.

And so we follow county prosecutor Paul Copeland as he has to (literally) dig up old corpses in the woods and fiind skeletons in the closet to finally bring closure to him and all the others involved in this brutal tragedy. The more I write the more I have to spoil so I won’t. It’s suspenseful, it’s full of twists and turns and reveals a rather complex background story. Paul is a very likable protagonist and if you’re looking for a well-written, high-paced thriller, look no further. I couldn’t put it down. You’re welcome.

Favourite quotes:

She drove, enjoying the time alone. She listened to Tom Waits sing that he hoped he didn't fall in love, but of course, he does.

Raya Singh worked at an Indian restaurant called Curry Up and Wait. I hate pun titles. Or do I love them? Let's go with love. [so very relatable]

“Ground control to Major Cope.” It was Muse. She hadn't said the words – she sang them, using the old David Bowie tune. [I’m definitely singing it, too]

The first sip of beer on a hot day is like that first finger-dip when you open a new jar of peanut butter. I enjoyed what could only be called God's nectar. [true]

Margot was the camp va-va-voom, and man, did she know. [Va-va-voom!]

Barry McGuire's classic 1965 antiwar anthem, “Eve of Destruction,” was playing. Troubling as this song was, it had always comforted Lucy. The song paints a devastatingly bleak picture of the world. He sings about the world exploding, about bodies in the Jordan River, about the fear of a nuclear button being pushed, about hate in Red China and Selma, Alabama (a forced rhyme, but it worked), about all the hypocrisy and hate in the world – and in the chorus he almost mockingly asks how the listener can be naive enough to think that we aren't on the eve of destruction.

So why did it comfort her?

Because it was true. The world was this terrible, awful place. The planet was on the brink back then. But it had survived […] We always seem to be on the eve of destruction. And we always seem to get through it.

22.2016: Tess Gerritsen - Playing with Fire

Puuuuuuh. Tess Gerritsen. I never really got into her. Dee, however, told me to read it and advertised it as: “The protagonist is a violinist named Julia and her daughter wants to kill her.” Teased like that, I had to see what was happening to my musical namesake. The novel is focused on Incendio, a composition Julia buys in an antique store in Rome. As she practices it, the music seems to have some dangerous effect on her daughter. In order to protect her family, Julia goes on a quest to find out about Incendio’s origins and uncovers the music’s dark secret.... The problem I had with this book was how it started and how it abandoned its originial plot completely throughout the second half. Don’t get me wrong - both storylines on their own are perfectly valid. I just didn’t like the above described onset to introduce the ‘revelation’ and a then somehow rushed resolution to Julia’s evil child problems. So no recommendation from me. Sorry.

Favourite (only) quote and actually a really nice sentence:

He sees the world in mathematical terms, and even the way he moves has a precise geometry to it, his tie swinging an arc, criss-crossing into a perfect knot. How different we are! The only numbers I care about are symphony and opus numbers and the time signatures on my music. Rob tells everyone that's why he was attracted to me, because unlike him, I'm an artist and air creature who daces in the sunshine. I used to worry that our differences would tear us apart, that Rob, who keeps his feet so firmly planted on the ground, would grow weary of keeping his air-creature wife from floating away in the clouds.

23.2016: Jilliane Hoffman - Cupido

Nasty, gruesome story about a rapist-clown, a young law student and their reunion in court when she has to face her former perpetrator but keep it cool to make sure he’s gonna rot in prison... I used to like stuff like that but I’m more kinda grossed out by it these days. I guess I’m getting old...

Favourite quote and - I speak from experience - great life hack!

“Möchtest du ein Glas Wein oder bist du noch im Dienst?”

Er folgte ihr. “Ich dachte, du hättest Kopfschmerzen?”

“Habe ich auch”, antwortete sie und öffnete den Kühlschrank. “Wein ist gut gegen Kopfschmerzen. Man vergisst einfach, dass man welche hatte.”

After this little marathon I have only got so many more books left to review. I’m almost glad I hardly found time to read this year (not even 3 books yet!!). And then there’s Janacek and some more music to review and admire. And recipes to share. And places I’ve been to tell from. I’ll keep you posted, cheeky promise!

Now off to enjoy a well-deserved Feierabendbeer in the spring sunset on my balcony. Cheers!!