#divider by vesearartistry

[darby-rowe]

cw. big sister/little sister roleplay (r & abby are NOT related), voyeurism, incestuous dialogue, this is a fake situation, not proofread

the initial shock of walking past your big sister’s bedroom and catching a glimpse of her legs spread open made you do a double take. stopped dead in your tracks, your ears did not deceive you. the low hum of her vibrator and her moans were unmistakable.

heat quickly rose in your cheeks, spreading to your entire face and the tips of your ears as the situation befell onto you. you wanted to walk away, scrub the audio and visual of your sister masturbating clean from your mind. you wanted to vow to never speak of it, to never bring it up to no one, not even yourself.

except, you were completely kidding yourself.

the opportunity was perfect. so perfect, you almost thought it to be a trap. you had to be quick, yet gentle, with your steps as you strategically placed yourself within the cracked door — to where abby could be seen, but you were invisible.

legs spread, completely naked from the waist down, phone in one hand, vibrator in the other. slowly rocking her hips against the head of the wand, she was fixated on an image that you couldn’t quite make out from where you stood. you bit down hard on your lip to keep from making noise as you squeezed your thighs together.

fuck.

you really tried to deny it, to suppress those dark, forbidden feelings deep, deep down to where sunlight couldn’t reach. unable to pinpoint where it all started, this spiral quickly consumed your conscious thought, feeling shame at the way you got wet at any mention of your big sister. it was wrong. just wrong. and yet, the wrongness of it all was what made the chase all the more enticing for you.

for countless nights, you made yourself cum to the taboo theatre in your mind, feeding yourself fantasies of abby sneaking in your room and taking you in your own bed, no questions asked. you sometimes deluded yourself thinking the feelings were mutual.

you even went as far as “accidentally” sending her a picture of your ass in your favorite pair of lacy panties. you ran to her, face flushed and panicking, blabbering like Courage the Cowardly Dog, “i didn’t mean to send you that! i’m so sorry, sissy! i’m sooo embarrassed!”

and in the midst of your performance, your eyes frantically searched for any hint of abby secretly lusting over you. any hint of abby planning on going back to her room to make herself cum to the accidental nude.

there wasn’t any.

but feeling shame for how you felt was exhausting. and most of the time you just shut your brain off and let your pussy get wet for your sister, because life was easier living that way.

your panties were soaked in a matter of seconds, eyes trained on roaming abby’s body up and down, taking in every centimeter of her being as your eyes glazed over at the feeling of your fingers coming into contact with your swollen clit. your free hand clamped down over your mouth. there was zero trust in yourself to keep quiet.

you wish you could get a better look, to maybe even step inside abby’s room, just to feel an inch or two closer to her. you were deadly curious as to what was on her phone that made her so worked up she had to whip out her wand.

seriously, what was she looking at?

you thought you were prepared for the answer to that question, fully expecting for her to be looking at nudes from current “situation-ship” or something else that made you unbearably jealous.

but hearing your name slip through her moans was the last thing you expected to hear.

hearing your name, listening to her mumble “perfect fucking ass…” under her breath as she rocked her hips faster and faster, moans increasing in volume, you had to have been imagining it. your big sister was touching herself to you, lusting after you, indulging in her incestuous feelings about you. right in front of you.

the revelation was so shocking that you actually stopped touching yourself, and instead watched slack-jawed and drooling as abby’s orgasm rocked her entire body. her eyes squeezed shut, throwing her head back as she let her body be overtaken by an intense wave of pleasure.

you wondered if jumping on this opportunity was risky. what if she wasn’t as open to this as you were? what if she wanted this to remain purely a fantasy and nothing more? the symphony of clashing ideas warped your brain, filling your mind with nothing but “what if?”’s.

but you planted your feet where you stood, and told yourself there was only one way to find out.

you stepped inside her room.

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[buckets-and-trees]

Between the Lines

Characters/Pairings: Ransom Drysdale x curvy female!Reader Word Count: 4.4k Summary: When presented with a deal you can't resist, you agree to to create an illusion so you can achieve your actual dreams.

Content/Warnings: masturbation, slow burn, forced proximity, fake engagement, annoyed/disgusted to lovers

Notes: This takes place after the events of Knives Out. Yes, all of the movie. No exclusions. Dividers by @vesearartistry and @saradika. My humble offering for week seven of my Countdown to Chris-mas. Thank you @stargazingfangirl18 and @biteofcherry for both indulging some of my plot-talking for this fic!

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You sat nervously in the lobby of Blood Like Wine Publishing watching the gears behind the glass display on the elegant clock above the reception desk.

Up until the death of Harlan Thrombey, the publishing house had published his works exclusively with a new murder mystery being produced and translated into dozens of languages each year like clockwork, the gears and cogs a well-tested as the antique clock on display.

With no Harlan, the publishing house had opened to submissions and you and your agent had made it through the initial rounds of querying and contract negotiations.

But now, only a year and a half after the prolific genius’s death and transfer of ownership to his nurse and friend Marta Cabrera, Marta had sold to a new owner - yet to go public in name, and they had asked for a meeting before finalizing the contract.

You tried not to fidget as you gripped the leather armrests of the chair, willing the minutes to pass faster. The lobby was eerily quiet, save for the soft ticking of the clock and the occasional rustle of papers and the soft clacking of the keyboard from the receptionist's desk. The walls were adorned with framed book covers, each one a testament to Harlan Thrombey's literary legacy. You couldn't help but wonder if your own work would ever grace these halls.

As you waited, your mind raced with possibilities. Who was this mysterious new owner? What did they want? Your agent had assured you that this was just a formality, but the knot in your stomach suggested otherwise. You found yourself studying the intricate patterns in the marble floor, tracing the veins of gold and silver that snaked through the stone like the plot twists in one of Thrombey's novels.

Just as the clock struck ten, the elevator dinged, and a tall woman with perfectly coiffed short white hair strode out, her heels clicking authoritatively on the polished marble floor. She paused at the receptionist's desk, speaking in hushed tones before turning her piercing gaze towards you.

"I assume you’re my ten o’clock?" she questioned, her voice sharp and commanding.

You suppressed a gasp and abruptly stood, smoothing your clothes nervously as you approached none other than Linda Drysdale - the legendary daughter of Harlan.

"Yes, that's me.”

She gave you a once-over, then nodded. “Come with me.”

You followed Linda into the elevator, your heart pounding in your chest. The mirrored walls reflected your nervous expression back at you, and you tried to school your features into something more confident. Linda stood beside you, her posture perfect. In contrast to you, she seemed entirely at ease, tapping away at her phone with manicured nails.

When the doors opened, you stepped out into a hallway lined with dark wood paneling and more framed book covers. Linda's office was at the end, a massive space with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. The room was dominated by an imposing desk made of rich mahogany, its surface neat and organized.

"Please, sit," Linda said, gesturing to one of the leather chairs in front of her desk. As you settled in, she moved to a small bar cart in the corner. "Can I offer you a drink? Perhaps some whiskey? A gin and tonic? Coffee? Tea?"

You shook your head, politely declining. "No, thank you. I'm fine."

Linda shrugged, pouring herself a generous measure of amber liquid into a crystal tumbler. "Suit yourself," she said, returning to her desk and settling into her high-backed leather chair. She took a sip, savoring the whiskey before fixing you with her piercing gaze once more.

"I've read your manuscript," she began, her fingers drumming lightly on the desk's polished surface. "It's intriguing. You have potential, there's no denying that."

Your heart swelled with pride at her words, but you remained silent, sensing there was more to come.

Linda leaned forward, her eyes never leaving yours. "I'm prepared to offer you a book deal. A three-book contract, to be precise. The advance is generous, and the royalties - well, let's just say they're enough to make even my father's ghost smile."

You felt a surge of excitement, but something in Linda's tone made you hesitate. There was a glint in her eye, a slight curl to her lip that suggested there was more to this offer than met the eye.

"However," she continued, swirling the whiskey in her glass, "there is one small condition."

The word hung in the air between you, heavy with implication. You swallowed hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "What kind of condition?" you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Linda smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You see, my father liked to play games. In his will, he left us with one final trick. I don’t know how much of this you heard or followed in the news, but he left us nothing - his cash and assets, our home, and this publishing house all went to Marta Cabrera, his nurse at the time of his death.”

You would have been hard-pressed to have missed the news because it had spilled over into scandal.

“I don’t expect to see the sixty million, and that’s tough, but I can live with that - I’ve made my own fortune, and neither Walt and his family nor my sister-in-law and her daughter need to continue suckling off the teat of dad’s treasury. The house still hurts, but I’ll get it back - I can bide my time. But this? It only took me eighteen months of patience and strategy, working through subsidiaries and intermediaries, to close the deal on getting Blood Like Wine back in the family where it belongs.”

“I will go public with my ownership by the end of the week,” she continued, “but for better and for worse, the acquisition has ended up coinciding with my son’s pending release from prison.”

“Ransom?”

Linda nodded, a flicker of emotion crossing her face before disappearing behind her composed facade. "Yes, Ransom. As you can imagine, his... indiscretions have caused quite a stir in our family and social circles."

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure where this was leading.

"My son made mistakes, grievous ones. But he's served enough time, and now he needs a chance to redeem himself. That's where you come in."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm not sure I understand, Mrs. Drysdale. What does this have to do with my book deal?"

"The condition," she explained, her voice taking on a steely edge, "is that you convincingly pose as his sweet-as-a-peach fiancé for two years.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. Ransom Drysdale, the man who had attempted to murder Marta Cabrera and frame her for Harlan's death, and she expected you to agree to this? You stared at Linda in disbelief, and the silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft ticking of an antique clock on the bookshelf behind her.

"I... I don't know what to say," you finally managed, voice a little weak in your shock.

Linda leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of whiskey. "It's quite simple, really. You play the role of Ransom's devoted fiancée, help rehabilitate his image, and in return, you get your book deal. Three books, a substantial advance, and the backing of one of the most prestigious publishing houses in the industry.”

"But... Ransom... he tried to kill someone. He went to prison. How could I possibly-"

"Details," Linda waved her hand dismissively. "The public has a short memory. With the right narrative, we can reshape Ransom's image. A reformed bad boy, humbled by his time in prison, now devoted to his charming fiancée and ready to contribute positively to society. We both know the power of a well-crafted story. People will believe anything."

You felt your head spinning. This was so far beyond what you had expected when you'd nervously entered the building this morning. "And what does Ransom think about this plan?" you asked, grasping for any semblance of normalcy in this surreal situation.

Linda's lips curved into a tight smile. "Ransom will do as he's told if he wants to maintain his lifestyle and eventually inherit his share of the family fortune. He knows the stakes."

You sat there, stunned. The offer was tempting - a three-book deal with Blood Like Wine Publishing was beyond your wildest dreams. But to fake an engagement with a convicted criminal? It seemed insane.

"I understand your hesitation," Linda said, her voice softening slightly. "But consider this: you'd have unprecedented access to our family. Think of the material for your future novels. The inside scoop on one of America's most infamous families. Isn't that what every mystery writer dreams of?"

You had to admit, she had a point. The Thrombey-Drysdale saga was the stuff of legend in literary circles. To be on the inside, to see how they really lived and interacted? That alone could draw readers in if they thought there was any chance you’d pull threads and weave it into your future novels.

And besides, this was your dream: a multi-book deal with a prestigious publisher, the chance to see your work in print, and to potentially become not only a published author but one who with Blood Like Wine’s name and marketing department could be a truly successful author. How could you pass it all up?

“What would you say to four books?”

You blinked, taken aback by Linda's sudden offer. "Four books?" you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

Linda nodded, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Four books. And we'll double the advance. Consider it... hazard pay." She chuckled softly at her own joke.

Your breath caught in your throat. Four books? The offer was even more tempting now, dangling before you like a golden carrot. You found yourself leaning in, drawn into Linda's web despite your better judgment.

"I... I don't know," you stammered, your mind racing. "This is all so sudden. What exactly would be expected of me?"

Linda's smile widened, sensing your wavering resolve. "Nothing too taxing, I assure you. Attend some charity galas, be seen at upscale restaurants, perhaps a carefully orchestrated paparazzi shot or two. We'll craft a beautiful love story for the press - how Ransom found redemption through your unwavering support and love."

You nodded slowly, uncertainty swirling more strongly, gut churning because you were actually considering this. You could do public appearances…

“A year and a half,” you countered.

Linda shook her head firmly. “No, I won’t budge on the time commitment. Two years is a bankable amount of time to make sure we turn enough pages to fully close this chapter. But I’ll give you six books.”

Your heart leapt at that, and even though your gut was uneasy, your brain was shouting that this kind of deal was something you could not refuse. “Six books, and the first two released before the engagement period is over.”

“Deal,” Linda agreed.

You took a deep breath, your mind reeling from the enormity of what you had just agreed to. Six books. A multi-million dollar deal. And all you had to do was pretend to be engaged to a convicted criminal for two years. It seemed surreal, like something out of one of - well not one of Harlan's novels, but whatever romance author was currently trending.

"I think I will have that drink now," you said, your voice sounding distant to your own ears.

Linda's smile widened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. "I find a good whiskey helps smooth over even the most unusual of business deals."

You nodded, watching as she selected a crystal decanter filled with amber liquid. The soft clink of glass on glass filled the room as she poured a generous measure into a tumbler. The rich, peaty aroma of the whiskey wafted towards you, promising warmth and liquid courage.

Linda returned, extending the glass to you. Your fingers wrapped around the cool crystal and your eyes met Linda's. There was a moment of silent understanding between you - a recognition of the Faustian bargain you had just crafted and agreed to.

As you raised the glass to your lips, Linda's voice cut through the silence. "One more thing," she said, her tone casual but her gaze intense. "I'll up the advance to five million if you agree to move in with Ransom."

Your GPS led you to the top of a cul-de-sac in the Brown’s Wood neighborhood of Lincoln, Massachusetts. Beautiful trees and a typical New England landscape ushered you up the drive to the midcentury modern home owned by Hugh Ransom Drysdale. It didn’t scream home, but there was no denying it was a stunning feat of architecture - white walls and black roofing framing a structure of mostly floor-to-ceiling windows.

You sat in your car for a moment, gathering your courage. The enormity of what you had agreed to in Linda’s office had been sinking in all week, but this was it. Five million dollars. Six books. And two years of your life pretending to be engaged to - and now living with - a man who had attempted murder.

Maybe approaching all of this as if it was one big plot so of course it had to all work out was a ridiculous coping strategy, but it’s the one you had adopted.

But when the seven-figure advance had appeared in your bank account, giving you more money than you had earned in your entire life, you didn’t have it in you to back out.

If he murdered you, at least you would have paid off your student loans, credit card debts, provided for your parents’ retirement, and put away enough money in a trust for your nephew’s college fund.

The house loomed before you, a monument to wealth and taste that felt utterly alien. With a deep breath, you grabbed your bags from the passenger seat and made your way to the front door.

Before you could even ring the bell, the door swung open, revealing Ransom Drysdale himself.

He was taller than you expected, his presence filling the doorway. His piercing blue eyes scanned you from head to toe, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "So, you're the lucky lady my mother's picked out for me," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

You bristled at his tone but forced a smile. "And you must be the charming ex-convict I've agreed to shackle myself to," you replied, matching his sarcasm with your own. "Can we consider the awkward introductions done now?"

Ransom's smirk widened into a grin, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Oh, I like you already. Come on in, darling," he said, stepping aside to let you in. "Welcome to Hill House Drysdale. Try not to get too attached - I hear it's only a two-year lease."

You stepped into the house, immediately struck by the minimalist decor and open floor plan. The entire back wall was glass, offering a stunning view of the surrounding woods. It was beautiful, but cold - much like its owner, you mused.

The house was a stark contrast to the warmth of the Thrombey mansion you'd seen in news reports. This place was all clean lines, minimalist furniture, and an abundance of glass and steel.

"Nice place," you commented, setting your bags down. "I half expected to see crime scene tape and chalk outlines."

Ransom's laugh was sharp and humorless. "Sorry to disappoint. I save all my murdering for the family estate. This is my sanctuary."

You couldn't help but chuckle bitterly at his dark humor. At least he wasn't trying to pretend this was anything other than what it was - a business arrangement.

"So, where should I put my things?" you asked, gesturing to your bags. Some of your things had been sent off to a storage unit, but the things a moving consultant had determined would come here with you had been packed up and moved earlier in the day.

"The master suite is upstairs," Ransom said, closing the door behind you. "Stay out unless you’re embarking on a conjugal visit.”

You scoffed. “Charming.”

He winked at you, then began to take you through the house. “Other than that, you’re free to roam the house, and I’ll stay out of your space. Living room here,” he gestured around, then walked to the right, and you followed him into a sleek, modern kitchen. “Two Bosch ovens, a six-burner range, your choice of pretty much any appliance in one of these cupboards.”

“You cook?”

It was his turn to scoff. “God, no.”

He walked you through the length of it, coming out on the other end of the living room, and then walking through a dining room with a long black table and another two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows.

Ransom didn’t strike you as one for entertaining dinner parties, making this more of a feature room than anything else.

At the other end, you came to a new wing of the house.

“This is you,” he said simply. “First door office, second is your bedroom and bathroom.”

You hesitated at the transition point from the dining room to the other side of the house.

“What is it?” Ransom asked, turning and putting his hands on his hips impatiently.

“Linda said a contractor would be brought in to install a door and security system.”

“She said could, and you’ve got locks installed, but I own this house, installing a wall and door here is more invasive than I was willing to agree to, and since she’s a real estate mogul she conceded it would altar the property value.”

“I…”

“You can relax. I’m not likely to try to murder you - the memory of the inconvenience of being incarcerated will probably last for twenty-four to thirty-six months, putting you in the clear.”

You frowned.

“They’re nice rooms, state of the art locks, you’ll be fine,” he reiterated, rolling his eyes. “Digital reinforced with an analog component that you’ll have the only keys to.”

He tossed you a keychain with three keys, which you were quick to catch.

“Downstairs there’s another living room that’ll be for you exclusively and a laundry room.”

“So, you’ll be coming through here to do laundry then?” you asked.

“Cute of you to think I do my own laundry.”

Now it was you who had an eye roll to give.

"Speaking of, all your stuff was delivered safe and sound, but I took the liberty of having some clothes delivered for you. Can't have my fiancée looking like a struggling writer when we're out in public."

You bristled at his comment. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

Ransom's eyes raked over you, his gaze lingering a bit too long for comfort. "Let's just say they don't exactly scream 'trophy wife of a reformed bad boy billionaire.'"

You gritted your teeth, reminding yourself of the substantial paycheck waiting for you at the end of this charade. "Fine. When is the first public outing?"

Ransom checked his watch, a sleek, expensive-looking timepiece that probably cost more than your entire wardrobe. "We have a charity gala tomorrow night. My dear mother thought it would be the perfect opportunity to debut our 'relationship' to society."

Your stomach twisted with anxiety. Tomorrow night? That was so soon. You weren't prepared for this.

“Last thing,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Here’s your ring.”

Ransom reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black velvet box. As he opened it, your breath caught in your throat. Nestled inside was a ring that could only be described as breathtaking.

The center stone was a flawless oval-cut diamond, easily 3 carats, that seemed to capture and refract every bit of light in the room. It was held in place by a delicate setting adorned with two smaller diamonds on either side. Each facet of the ring sparkled with an intensity that was almost hypnotic.

"This," Ransom said, his voice uncharacteristically warm, "is a family heirloom. It belonged to my great-grandmother, passed down through the generations. My mother insisted I give it to you."

He carefully removed the ring from its velvet nest and held it out.

You reached for it, holding it delicately and studying it more closely.

“And I am going to insist that you wear it continually,” he added, tone back to its normal bite, “none of this on and off business. We’re engaged and there’s no reason to risk a slip up forgetting to put it on before you leave the house.”

The weight of it in your hand felt significant, both physically and metaphorically. This wasn't just any engagement ring - it was a piece of Thrombey family history.

"It's... stunning," you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ransom's expression softened for a moment, a flicker of something - pride? nostalgia? - passing across his face. "It is, isn't it?" he said, his sarcastic tone momentarily abandoned again. "My great-grandfather proposed with that ring after returning from the war. It's seen its fair share of family drama."

You couldn't help but chuckle at that. "I bet it has."

Ransom cleared his throat, his mask of indifference sliding back into place. "Well, go on then. Put it on.”

"Are you sure about this?" you asked cautiously. "Shouldn't a family heirloom go to someone real?"

Ransom's expression hardened slightly. "I’m hardly that sentimental. This arrangement is real enough for my mother, and it's real enough for me. Besides," he added with a sardonic smile, "you're as close to family as I'm likely to get these days."

With a deep breath, you slipped it onto your left ring finger. The final symbol of the elaborate charade you had chosen to undertake.

It was near midnight, and you were worn out and nearly ready to collapse into your bed. The movers had done most of the work, but you still had had some unpacking to take care of and moved the furniture around in your bedroom and the room that would be your office. After giving you the engagement ring, Ransom had left you alone the rest of the day.

You padded quietly through the dining room that connected the two halves of the house to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle before bed.

The house was eerily quiet as you made your way through the darkened rooms. Moonlight filtered through the expansive windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors. You tried to move silently, not wanting to disturb the stillness of the night or alert Ransom to your presence.

As you entered the kitchen, the cool tile against your bare feet sent a small shiver up your spine. You fumbled for a moment, searching for the light switch, but decided against it. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and the soft glow from the windows was enough to navigate by.

You had just placed your water bottle under the refrigerator's filtered, letting the cool water splash into your bottle, when another sound caught your attention.

At first, it was barely perceptible - a faint, rhythmic creaking from upstairs. You froze, straining your ears. The sound grew clearer: a low, guttural groan, followed by the unmistakable sound of skin moving over skin.

Frozen in place, your cheeks flushed hot as realization dawned. Ransom was fisting his cock and unabashedly enjoying it.

Part of you wanted to flee back to your room immediately, but you were paralyzed, afraid any sound of movement might alert him to your presence.

Your breath caught in your throat as Ransom's moans intensified, echoing through the quiet house. The rhythmic creaking of his bed frame quickened, punctuated by deep, guttural groans that sent shivers down your spine. You stood frozen in the kitchen, your water bottle forgotten as you listened, captivated against your will.

Your body betrayed you, responding to the primal sounds drifting down from above. Heat bloomed in your core, your skin tingling with unwanted arousal. You could almost picture him - his muscular body taut with tension, head thrown back in ecstasy, those piercing blue eyes half-lidded with pleasure. Your imagination filled in the details - the flex of his biceps as he stroked himself, the sheen of sweat on his chest, the way his abs would clench with each thrust into his fist.

You pressed your thighs together, trying to quell the ache building between them.

"Fuck," Ransom's voice drifted down, rough with need.

The raw intensity in his voice sent a jolt through you. Your breath quickened, matching the frantic pace of his movements above. You knew you should leave, retreat to the safety of your room, but your feet remained rooted to the spot.

The sounds grew more urgent, building to a crescendo. Ransom's groans became deeper, more primal. You could hear the desperation in his voice, the need for release. Your own body thrummed with sympathetic tension, your nipples hardening beneath your thin sleep shirt.

Suddenly, Ransom let out a long, guttural moan. The sound of it vibrated through you, igniting every nerve ending. You imagined him arching off the bed, his body taut as a bowstring as he found his release.

The house fell silent once more, save for the pounding of your heart in your ears.

Realizing you were still clutching your water bottle, you turned and tip-toed back to your room as quickly as possible.

You slipped quietly back into your room, closing and locking the door behind you with trembling hands. Your heart was still racing, your body flushed with unwanted arousal. You leaned against the door, trying to steady your breathing.

What had just happened? You'd come to get water and ended up an unwitting eavesdropper to your fake fiancé's private moment. The memory of Ransom's deep groans echoed in your mind, sending another shiver through you.

You shook your head, trying to clear the vivid mental images. This was ridiculous. Ransom was arrogant, infuriating, and had literally tried to murder someone. You shouldn't be affected by him like this.

And yet, the memory of his moans lingered, making your skin tingle and your core ache with need.

When you crawled into bed, you brought a book with you instead of your vibrator, refusing to sate the lust that had been kindled because you didn’t want to risk thinking of him. If you couldn’t resist him the first night living under the same roof, there would be no hope for you to make it two years.

And so you read until your eyes drooped and you were finally succumbed to sleep.

HAPPY KNIVES OUT NOVEMBER! It seemed like an appropriate point during the Countdown to Chris-mas to finally buckle down and write my first Ransom fic!

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[myrtles-and-blood]

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Love is the power that ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ignites life and destroys it

Homeric Hymn 10 to Aphrodite

"Of Kythereia (Cytherea) [Aphrodite], born in Kypros (Cyprus), I will sing. She gives kindly gifts to men: smiles are ever on her lovely face, and lovely is the brightness that plays over it. Hail, goddess, queen of well-built Salamis and sea-girt Kypros; grant me a cheerful song. And now I will remember you and another song also."

──── ( ❤︎ ) ────

May I be forgiven for my lack of worship, my lady. You do not leave my mind, don't believe I have stopped loving and honouring you. My beloved goddess, please accept this offering as an apology and as a new greeting, for I ask for your guidance once more in these difficult times I am facing.

──── ( ❤︎ ) ────

dividers by @/vesearartistry ✶ images from Pinterest

[ohmybueckers]

about: 22. wlw. big fan of women’s basketball, writing, movies, and megan thee stallion (one chance megan please). constantly running on diet coke.

i write for mainly paige bueckers, the rest of the uconn wbb roster and kate martin, but maybe more if inspiration strikes or i get a good request

never strangers masterlist

divider creds: @vesearartistry

[girlscomehome]

ABOUT GIRLSCOMEHOME

navigation

Used to be kindtim3 ୨୧

I go by Bey ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა (pronounced like bee)

20 yrs old

I go by she/her pronouns !

Bisexual ૮⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝ ა

pink divider by @vesearartistry

[spacequokka]

Resources & Credits

Image Editor

Canva

Dividers

@kodaswrld - planet divider

@successfulicons - halloween dividers

@enchanthings-a - space divider

@hayatoseyepatch - Christmas dividers

@strangergraphics - Christmas divider

@saradika-graphics - heart dividers, reblog divider

@bernardsbendystraws - flower dividers

@im4yeons

@sweetmelodygraphics

@vesearartistry - purple/pink divider

@omi-resources - mdni banner

Original posts re-blogged with my main account 💜

[ira-in-ink]

ᯓᡣ�� rules and regulations ᯓᡣ��

a few rules to follow whilst you are out and about in my blog.

DECREE: . ⸝⸝ absolutely no hate or malicious behavior will be tolerated.

. ⸝⸝ any text of that sort in my inbox, messages, comments, or reblogs will be reported and blocked. . ⸝⸝ my posts don't usually have nsfw or disturbing content. but if there is there will be warnings put on top of the post in case you aren't comfortable with that sort of stuff.

. ⸝⸝ with that being said, i want any and all minors staying away from posts that have mdni on top. please message me if you see any minors interacting with those types of posts in my blog although there won't be many.

. ⸝⸝ some posts may also be a bit suggestive, but there won't be any warnings put on top of them, so proceed at your own risk.

. ⸝⸝ however, if there aren't any mdni on top of my posts, then anyone is free to check them out.

. ⸝⸝ use of slander or disparagement is forbidden.

divider by: @vesearartistry

[stylosha]

xndead. (pronounced "ksun-dead")

morcia / natalie. it / vamp / he / ghost, transmasc.

16, filipino - saudi latino, christian.

schizophrenic + autistic. (please be patient.)

dark + mature content ahead with little to no tagging and i make suggestive jokes sometimes but nothing graphic!! i am not 18+!!! multifandom, and i must warn that i rotate between interests like roulette often! as of now, i talk about the vampire chronicles, as well as amc interview with the vampire, but mostly tvc. i love both, and im not here to argue about either. i hope that this will be respected! for tvc, lestat is my favourite character. for amc iwtv, claudia is my favourite character. (<— only talks about marius)

please read.

socials.

twitter — igagurijbol

tiktok — xxxndead

bluesky — xndead

ao3 — lucklessgambler

discord — odyseidon

other.

divider by @/vesearartistry, graphic png by @/pokipng.

ah, what else to put here... i like fashion and pudding and graphic design and roman history and stuff... i like to play and draw <//3 no matter what happens though! my target audience is myself forever.

tags.

xndead (yours truly!) tags.

xndead rambles — just me and the wall having conversations

xndead answers — just me and you having conversations

xndead writing — my writings and words

xndead art — my pieces and paintings

xndead edits — my photo / video edits

xndead fav — my favourite stuff saved into one stash!

marius de romanus - specific tags.

marius de romanus — general character tag

xndead father of lies — special marius character tag so i can feel cool... for only the most morcia-certified marius stuff... rambles analysis headcanon etc etc.

marifamily — my nickname for marius' human family, marius and his family

marimother — my nickname for marius' mother, marius and his mother

maricest / mariuscest — marius x marius selfcest ship tags (and yes i am completely dead serious)

marimae / marius x mael — marius x mael ship tags

maridoxia / marius x eudoxia— marius x eudoxia ship tags

maridora / marius x pandora — marius x pandora ship tags

marianca / marius x bianca — marius x bianca ship tags

avimari / marius x avicus — marius x avicus ship tags

mariustat / maristat / marius x lestat — marius x lestat ship tags

thornerius / thorne x marius / dead gods — marius x thorne ship tags

maavimae — marius x avicus x mael ship tag

[myrtles-and-blood]

✶ 𝐿𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝐿𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑓𝑒𝑟 ✶

Make my death the birth of a star

──── ( 𖤓 ) ────

──── ( 𖤓 ) ────

I decided to write a poem in my language because it's how I can truly talk to Lucifer. But in the end I decided not to post it and keep it to myself. It was very personal and certainly something that I want to keep for the future. Every time I write something inspired by him I get the best piece of writing I've ever done.

But you guys get to have the mood board ;). It's inspired by stars and the way he can make me feel like there's light in everything and everyone, including me. I hope he can make you feel the same.

Thank you, Lucifer, for always being my everlasting inspiration. Te quiero eternamente hasta que la luz de mis ojos se apague.

──── ( 𖤓 ) ────

dividers by @/vesearartistry ✶ Images from Pinteres

[girlscomehome]

GIRLSCOMEHOME GUIDELINES

navigation

I do not write for MLM!r sorry loves !

I will not write anything that includes incest, illegal age gaps, piss/defecation kinks, SA fantasies, raceplay, or animalplay. Requesting/submitting anything that includes this will be instantly blocked. 

All NSFW posts are for 18+ only !

Currently accepting requests ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹

pink divider by @vesearartistry

[girlscomehome]

GIRLSCOMEHOME CHARACTERS

navigation

── ✵ ABBY ANDERSON

(willing to write for other characters but she’s all I got so far lol)

pink divider by @vesearartistry

[girlscomehome]

GIRLSCOMEHOME MASTERLIST

 ── ✵ GUIDE

nsfw marked with ✦ sfw marked with ♡ navigation

── ✵ MOODBOARDS

ABBY ANDERSON a.a. moodboard - everywhere, everything ♡

── ✵ HEADCANONS

ABBY ANDERSON gf!abby ♡ gf!abby 2 ♡ gf!abby 3 ✦ famous!abby x popstar!reader ♡ + ✦ wife!abby ♡

── ✵ IMAGINES/BLURBS

ABBY ANDERSON sick 'n twisted ✦ sugar ✦

── ✵ X READER

ABBY ANDERSON the babysitter ✦

pink divider by @vesearartistry

[ira-in-ink]

༉ ˚ . about me and this blog ༉ ˚ .

BLOG:

༉ ˚ . this is a multi-fandom blog, so expect very random and mixed posts.

༉ ˚ . my current fandoms are:

anime- blue lock, my hero academia, oshi no ko.

books- harry potter.

movies/tv shows- bridgerton, modern family

༉ ˚ . i don't usually post nsfw/disturbing content but if i do, there will be warnings/mdni put on top of the post.

༉ ˚ . these warnings will tell you about: curse words, nsfw content, anything of that sort that may be uncomfortable or disturbing for other people.

༉ ˚ . similarly, warnings will be added if there are spoilers to anime/books/manga in any post.

ABOUT ME:

⋮ 彡 you guys can call me ira.

⋮ 彡 my pronouns are she/her and i am a student, so i may not always be active. but i do have lots of free time in my hands lately, so i will be posting a lot, or not at all.

⋮ 彡 if you want to be moots, we can be moots! i love meeting new people and making friends, so don't be afraid to reach out :)

⋮ 彡 since we're getting to know each other, here's a list of all my favorite things in life:

chocolate, rainy days, winter months, coffee, books, anime and manga, the color red, late nights, long car rides, roses, the smell of coconut butter, music, learning new languages, hanging out with friends/family, travelling, cats, flowers, fantasy.

⋮ 彡 and a list of all my hated things in life:

people with trash behavior, hot weather, tight or uncomfortable clothing, fish, matcha, all sorts of insects (especially roaches), miscommunication, procrastination, the color orange, bed hair, vanilla, red velvet, cheesecake, the feeling when you're eating something delicious and you bite on a cardamom.

⋮ 彡 and since no about me post would be complete without my kinnies, here they are:

draco malfoy

tom riddle

cardan greenbriar

aaron warner

jacks

itoshi sae

itoshi rin

nagi seishiro

michael kaiser

tomioka giyuu

todoroki shoto

haruka sakura

hayato suo

divider by: @vesearartistry

[ira-in-ink]

ᝰ CHOCOLATESANDGREYDAYS . | IRA ༉ ˚ . ノshe/herノ⋮ 彡 draco malfoy's darlingノsouth asiaノscorpioノprofessional delusionalistノolder sis ˎˊ

˛˛ multi-fandom blog for books, anime and manga. i will be sharing my thoughts on latest chapters, announcements, random things that pop into my head, all that sort of stuff. i may also post a few theories of my own, reblog art and other theories. some posts may contain spoilers/nsfw/disturbing content. if so, there will be warnings put up top. ⊹ ࣪ ˖

| ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ABOUT . RULES .

divider by: @vesearartistry