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chubbology · 4 years ago

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Inertia

prompt: a man gains weight trying to get his ex-girlfriend back, but goes way too far and gets addicted to gaining

He hadn’t gone to the gym even once in ages.

After a year of singlehood, he wasn’t ashamed to admit anymore that he’d only really gone in the first place to impress women. Ironic, of course, since his ex had never been more than vaguely dissatisfied about his gym habit.

When they first started dating, he had love handles he hated and his thighs had been too thick. He assumed she dated him despite these flaws. Only after he lost weight to please her did he find out that it was his chub that caught her eye. It was bigger guys she was into. It was a lot of miscommunication. A lot of insecurity on his part, since what her preferences meant was that she wanted him to be a little heavy, and he couldn’t possibly accept that with his society-ingrained doctrines about attractiveness.

But those doctrines meant fuck-all now; he was eating a double cheeseburger in his car, helping it down with an orange soda, thinking about dessert. He was wondering if she’d be proud of him now that he’d gained thirty pounds. He wondered if she’d look at him with half-lidded eyes like she used to, if he put on another thirty. Fifty. Whatever.

His phone buzzes. He sits up straighter, belly swelling a little into his lap. It’s her.

Hey. My friend needs to sell her two tickets. I know it’s your favorite band. Interested?

The next text was a link to an information page about an upcoming concert. He’d been so disconnected lately, he hadn’t even heard about it.

Even though he wasn’t actually all that interested, he replied that he was, and they set a date to meet up the next week. Shit. He looked down at himself. If she were someone else, she might be repelled. But she wasn’t someone else…

He was hit with a brilliant, maybe brilliantly stupid, idea. It’s execution began with going right back through the drive thru.

In the days leading up to seeing his ex again, he ate almost constantly. Since he was only doing freelance online at the moment, his work didn’t get in the way of this. He let himself eat whatever he wanted, in amounts three times what his body craved. He pushed himself to a state of being constantly past full. She liked fat guys? Fine. Even if she still didn’t want anything to do with him, he wanted her to see what he could have been, if he hadn’t been such a gym-rat douchebag. If he’d let himself become a lazy, docile boyfriend like she wanted instead, weak and overweight.

It was hard, gaining a lot of weight in a week. The number on the scale didn’t go up as much as he expected, even though he’d eaten enough calories to gain twenty pounds at least. He compensated by showing up to their meeting spot wearing clothes that tightly hugged his body, which now had a good forty-ish pounds of fat clinging to it. Looking in the mirror before he left, he’d almost seen what she was into. His ass had gotten kind of wide and dumpy, but in a sexy way?

He was all nerves when she showed up looking healthy and cute and indifferent about him, holding the tickets in her hands. Almost indifferent. She definitely gave him a once-over, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could tell she bit the inside of her lip.

“Well,” she said, meeting his eyes fearlessly. Were her cheeks a little red, or was that wishful thinking? “I’ll see you.”

“Really?” he blurted. “Kinda miss hanging out.”

She smiled and turned to leave. “Maybe.”

He went home and binged hard.

In contrast to how he grew too slowly in the week before meeting up with her, in the weeks afterward, he gained weight doubletime. Fat rounded him out as easy as if he were a swiftly filling water balloon, engorging his thighs and belly and ass and hips wide and heavy. He ate compulsively as his appetite skyrocketed, as cravings crushed his will to restrain himself. His budget was thrown out of whack as he spent his savings on pantry loads of unhealthy food. His clothes stretched and seams snapped as he struggled to fit in his largest clothes. He shopped in the plus sized section first for comfort, then by necessity.

All the while he could only think: I wished she was watching.

He started imagining her with him. In the car as he ate fast food. At the store as he bought new clothes. Walking beside him as he forced himself to get exercise.

“Slow down, big guy.” “No, I think you need one size bigger.” “Sweating already? You’re so out of shape.”

Why did he like it? Imagining her mocking him? Teasing him? Eyeing his body, fleshy and overfed.

The next time she texted, it was late at night, and his eyes were glazed watching television, eating huge spoonfuls of that miracle drug called Nutella. His belly swelled out of his shirt. His breasts and face were puffy. According to the numbers he punched into Google, he had long crossed the threshold of obesity.

How was the concert?

He stared at the words. This was it. Maybe his only chance. He replied: Didn’t go after all. Been feeling off lately.

To his (very manly) delight, this prompted more questions, and it became clear she wanted a real conversation. Was she thinking of him? Missing him like he missed her? He thought out every response with the careful focus of a rocket scientist. He wasn’t going to mess this up.

He didn’t seem to, and they texted into the early hours of the morning, catching up. Finally, finally she asked to meet up with him again, and - feeling more eager, a little reckless - he tapped out a disclaimer. Or to her, hopefully: motivation.

Just so you aren’t shocked when you see me, I’ve put on weight since I bought those tickets from you. I’m not sensitive about it or anything, but it’s a lot. So here’s a fair warning.

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. Held his breath. Held it…

Oh. Really?

Like before, they set a time the following week. This time, to get coffee. No big deal.

He knew he had more than fulfilled his little scheme of putting on weight to catch her attention, and he could push the breaks now, but he felt helpless against his inertia. At this point, he’d cultivated half a dozen habits that had his weight steadily rising, and he couldn’t just turn them off. If he so much as thought of eating less, his whole body seized up in fearful anticipation and unhappiness, and he found himself cramming a couple moonpies into his mouth just to calm down.

He gained another six pounds between their text conversation and their coffee date. He felt so out of control, so out of shape, so out of line with the standards of popular society that he felt oddly…free. In a way, he felt free of anxious self-consciousness as he heaved himself out of his car and waved at her through the coffee shop window. She was sitting in a corner at a table for two. Despite his warning, she looked a little shocked.

When he sat down across from her, his huge ass hanging off the ends of the seat, she appeared to inhale deeply. Her expression was inscrutable.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said.

Blushing, he supposed he deserved a bit of tactlessness, for the tactless way he broke up with her. “What? Oh. Yeah, no. I wasn’t.”

She sipped her coffee, eyes flicking between his flabby chest and his flabby face. In a low tone that no one else would hear, she said, “What happened? For you to get fat as fuck.”

He opened his mouth and closed it. This wasn’t how he was expecting this to go. “Well. I’ve been working from home, stressed out. I let myself go and…” He trailed off when he realized her eyes were cold. No - so hot they seemed cold, like his shower water when turned to the highest setting.

“Is this because of me?” she asked, cutting to the chase. She crossed her legs, now openly surveying him. “Did you decide it was okay to gain a hundred pounds because you thought I’d be into it?”

He was speechless. He swallowed.

“Well? Do you want me back that badly? Ever since I saw you last time, all chubbed out, I’ve been thinking maybe I should give you a second chance.”

“Um.”

“But I don’t know…” She shrugged, but a smirk was hiding just behind that indifferent frown, and he wanted. He wanted her forgiveness, whatever that meant. “How about you gain a hundred more and we’ll go on a real date? Sound good? You’re not the only fat guy out there.”

She was full-on grinning now, and he missed her little games like this. He could play them, too.

“Maybe, but I bet I’m the only guy who’s gotten this fat for you,” he said. She was immediately affected by this, and he licked his lips. “You really want to wait to see me a hundred pounds bigger than this, or do you want to stick around to watch?”

Even quieter, she said, “You saying you like gaining weight? How convenient.”

So she still doubted him. He put out his hands for her to see. “Just look. Look at how fat my hands are. I can’t…” And finally his composure cracked a little. “I can’t stop. I couldn’t stop if I wanted. Even if you never talk to me again, I’m gonna gain weight.”

Any playfulness was gone now from her. She looked like she wanted him, too. “Hmm. Maybe we should go before you break that poor chair, huh?”

He blushed again. God, he was getting docile. “I’m not that bad,” he muttered. But she gave him a cruel grin. She hadn’t entirely forgiven him. “You will be.”

And he knew then: he was doomed. He was already a little bit into his own heaviness, and she was going to take that feeling and amplify it tenfold. She was going to enable every bad habit he had, watch him flounder under his increasing size and become weaker under layers and layers of fat until he could barely lift a two pound dumbbell.

He knew she wanted this to happen, and maybe he’d broken up with her before because he’d been afraid.

But he wasn’t anymore.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

#weight gain #fic #male gainer

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wiypt-writes · 4 years ago

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Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

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

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

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

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

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

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

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Window. It’s a window.”

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

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

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

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

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

Yes that was it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

And now she was all his.

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

*****

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

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

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

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew then, you were in for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**** Part 2

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

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fuck-customers · 3 years ago

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So I guess my GM thinks I'm going crazy and I might not get the promotion or respect I'm due because of it.

Backstory: I've worked in and out of fast food for close to ten years now. I've worked at this specific Wacdonalds for four with a year and a half gap in between where I found a better job, then lost it during covid. The reason I left the first time was because I had a mental breakdown. I had to go to a psych ward for a week where the psychiatrist and therapist stressed to me that my job was such a huge stressor on my life that I needed to find a new one for my own safety and agreeing to do that was part of my evaluation for them feeling comfortable releasing me. I did go back after that for a few months but on a limited basis. I didn't do service, I dropped down from being a manager in training back to normal crew, my hours were reduced, and I started seeing a therapist. Unfortunately I was still owed money where I hadn't been properly paid for six months and my supervisor said Wacdonalds didn't do backpay. That was the final push I needed to go elsewhere.

Of course, it's always something going wrong and I lost my new job during covid. I tried finding something else and ended up jobless doing a very, very low paying babysitting gig for six months ($30 a day for a 7 to 8 hour day). Well, recently I ended up needing to get an apartment and needed an actual job. Only fast food was hiring and Wacdonalds was just the easiest thing, especially when it's all the same in my experience. The company who owned the franchise had changed but the same bitch supervisor was there. The GM was on maternity leave.

The first couple months were a STRUGGLE. Short staffed, poorly organized, no AC, managers were quitting without notice, closers were just not showing up. I felt so bad for the assistant gm who was running the show because she worked about every day and every day she walked into bad news. She did her best but the other gms who were supposed to be helping her were making it very obvious how much they didn't want to help and how big an inconvenience every little thing was. Still, she wasn't bad and she did her best to do right by the employees and that was refreshing.

The GM came back from maternity leave at the beginning of the month. People told me some stories about how she was kind of heartless, like telling a crying teenager who had just been called a bitch in drive thru to get over it. I wanted to give her a fair shake but tbh, I'm really done trying to outlast the horrible managers. I've been doing it for years and it's a part of the reason my stress was so bad. I came from a very abusive home and I've always been they'd put protector, so it's ingrained in me, but I just don't want to anymore and decided if that GM was going to treat me poorly, I'd put my foot down.

I work nights so I've only had two interactions with her. The first was when I had tried to reduce my availability to not include closing. We just came off of weeks without any closers and I covered every single night. We also are now closing at 11 and I don't have a car but I do have a two mile walk, so I don't want to do that. I was pulled aside and told my pay would be cut for it and that was the policy. I know that, but having been told it again felt more like a threat and I had just finished helping everyone out of a tough spot, so it felt really insulting. Especially since it's the third time I've tried to do something for my own health and have had my pay threatened. Again, I was an MIT, I'm certified in food safety, and I've been expected to train people in the few months I came back but I'm being paid the same rate as a teenager who joined yesterday.

So I went to the GM and explained this. She kept interrupting me and assuming what I was saying then responding with the typical cookie cutter bs. "Well that's what the owners want." And "This is a policy decided on by blah blah blah." She clearly wasn't listening and she clearly was not going to go out of her way to help an employee. So I just shrugged my shoulders and concluded she was a dead end. This was confirmed when the assistant came to me about the conversation and told me that the GM walked about with not only a different idea about what I had said, but straight up lied about some of the contents. I told her I didn't think I could talk to the GM after that at all.

Recently a sign was out up asking for people to sign up if they wanted a promotion. I signed up as a trainer because it's something I already get asked to do, I'm one of the few people who still know proper procedures, and frankly I'm overqualified. I want the raise and I don't want to be used as a trainer without being paid to be one.

Well, last night the assistant closed with us and we got into a conversation about the GM. She admitted to telling the GM what I said about not thinking I could talk to her and the GM allegedly said it was because I had just repeated the same thing. Now I get it, I ramble at times, but this was clearly not the case when the only thing she got out of the conversation wasn't what I had talked to her about. It's hard to stay on track when you're A) supposed to be working on table and B) keep getting interrupted by the person who is supposed to be listening. I said that felt like an excuse to not take what I said seriously. The assistant then told me that the GM didn't want to promote me to trainer because she thought I was "going crazy" and the assistant went to bat for me. The GM told her if I failed it was on the assistant... which again feels like an excuse to not take accountability.

At the time I made a joke that I was going crazy clearly we had just had a half hour discussion on how to hide a body, but a few minutes later admitted how upset the comment made me. My mental health battle has been uphill. I try to be as open as possible with it because I don't want it to be this shameful secret. I got help I needed. I know if I don't talk about it when it comes up, I will feel ashamed because I'm not the person who fully appreciates help or can easily ask for it. I know a lot of people in my job NEED to have similar help but don't say anything. Sometimes I play it up, being a little unhinged but mostly in times of stress because jokes are how I cope. It's clearly a joke. When I'm not joking I'm serious and quiet. I do jokes and act like a dork because that's how I help people feel comfortable around me. I want people to laugh, even when I haven't felt all that happy in some time. When people take it for granted, mostly because they have spent five minutes to get to know me, then it hurts. I try really hard to not let me convince myself that I'm actually just irreparably broken and going crazy.

I don't want to fail my assistant who is being convinced she's putting her neck out for me, but I also think it's a sign to go elsewhere.

#submissions #fuck managers

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thedevilliers · 4 years ago

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this is less a tutorial and more a semi in-depth explanation on my process while taking screenies. my do’s and don’ts about lightning, angles, text/dialogue, close-ups and other!

as a disclaimer, anyone is free to take their screenies however they want and this is just my personal preference and opinions ♡ everything is under the cut! i did say its LONG so dont say i didnt warn u 😳

i use the nobluv2 and noglo mods by luumia! i recommend them 100000%

1. lightning

with its exceptions, this being i’m in a room with candles/chandelier/anything that doesnt naturally produce a white light OR ambiance reasons, my setting with screenies is with the ‘Neutral White’ color. this is for me, more visually appealing than just bathing your sim in yellow light.

EXAMPLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

warmer white:

poor lit:

good <3:

i usually test my lightning before i actually take any screenies so my sim is well-lit but also preventing overexposure bc of the lighting. an example of overexposure is when for example the lighting is SO strong, your sim looks like its ‘shining’

you can see it here on her chest highlights, her arm and her cheeks. i exaggerated it here so its more obvious. fixing overexposure is HARDER than upping the brightness in a poor-lit screenshot. overexposure and makin sims look like they are SHINING is a crime. JAIL

the best light ever tbh. just dont get... to carried away

1.2 outdoor lightning

this is one a bit trickier depending on your location but USUALLY your screenies would look well dark. again, test lightning before actually shooting screenies! i generally look for a lamp posts that have good lightning and shrink them down so if im taking angled shots, it doesnt get in the way. change the color to neutral white and if its too much lightning, just lower the dimmer:

2. just no

just no to all this:

in general, you can ZOOM to the max, and with the scroll-wheel zoom out THREE TIMES. four times we on the edge but its still acceptable. five times and you are goin to JAIL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

in general i also recommend having a semi-big room so you can move around without any problems. small rooms DO work but chances are while moving around you’re either going to go outside the room, run into a plant in the shot or into another decor item.

for example, this is a ‘small’ room. while taking photos i have run into the bookshelves for over the shoulder shots like 8000 times. still, doable, but why put myself thru the suffering>?????

2.2 fill the room

nothin sadder than, for example, doing a bedroom scene and there just being...a bed. the game comes with so much clutter and theres also a lot of clutter cc to make rooms seem more ‘lived in’. its also a lot more visually appealing than the room being empty.

3. angles for screenies

my controversial OPINION!!!! i dont care for FULL surroundings shots for more than for a singular panel. THERE I SAID IT!!! usually i show the surroundings/scene setting in ONE panel and then i move on to other angles. again, has exceptions. these being a banquet, party, ball, another sim joins the scene, montages, etc! ANYWHERE that has something happening with multiple people in general.

for example, i don’t see why repeat the same angle with different poses. i can do it for one panel, but for the next ones? there’s the option of over the shoulder shots, detail shots, them looking at each other shots, cinammon tography shots........... more than likely your reader already has an idea of where your characters are so showing it in every single panel is not necessary.

always try and leave a lil breathin room for the heads on top so it isnt all CRAMPED! but this all depends on the pose, if theres a height difference included in said poses and the angle you are taking the screenshot from!

same thing about not just doing...full on surrounding shots for when something is HAPPENING. say, someone is fainting, collapsing...ANYTHIN!! theres so many shot options than just repeating the same angle over and over again. DONT BE SHY!!!! DO VARIETY !!!

we in photography class now. BUT yes keep these in mind ALSO while taking photos so it isnt just the same angle, same distance just different pose. your sim has a nice outfit? showing it once is enough! every panel? ummmm......... your sim is crying? do a medium close up/medium shot and not a full body shot!

3.1 close ups

your close ups and ALL screenies in general, don’t have to be FRONTAL only. they can be right/left side, a lil angled...

waist/chest level is a good level for a close-up sim wise since if you ZOOM in too much WELL

4. text/dialogue

i’d recommend any SANS-SERIF fonts. serif fonts are so hard to read even if nice looking. usually a font-size of over 40px+ works and you can add outside stroke and even drop shadow!

i personally use calibri (bold italic) for my screenies, but other subtitle fonts like arial, myriad pro, helvetica...really any sans-serif ones work.

my stroke settings:

i also wouldn’t recommend putting 4000 word paragraphs in ONE screenie because it’s just visually exhausting. the MAXIMUM i’d do and thats if ABSOLUTELY necessary is FOUR!!!! lines of text. id keep it to three ONLY and thats if your text is the same size as mine. if bigger then two 😳

yes <3:

another no-no for readability is INSIDE stroke or adding bevel/emboss to the text. pick bright, contrasting colors to the background or even clothes your characters are wearing so it’s not hard to read.

something a lil extra i also recommend is if your dialogue has different sentences and one ends and another one starts in the same line, continue it on another line. DOES THIS MAKE SENSE ok lets see:

the “Yes, maybe I went on [...]” continues on the first line, but to make it a bit easier to read just press enter and move it to the second line so it’s on it’s own line.

same thing for the "Be nice or [...]” line! it gets cut off to the third line anyways, so just put it in a singular line. final result:

for me, this is easier to read, less I GUESS ‘immersion breaking’ and easier on the eyes too.

and just other quick things to keep in mind:

will the post be horizontal or vertical? if its vertical, you have to angle and move the camera around keeping in mind you’re going to crop it later. yes, the scenary might be nice if its horizontal, but a lil vertical photo is cute!

best times for OUTDOOR lightning photos are 2pm-4pm. morning light is a bit too dark, 12 pm is the slightest too bright, but 2pm-4pm is just ENOUGH!!!

and thats all : ) i THINK i talked about most things screenies wise??? if you have questions, my askbox is always open : ) and remember these are just my opinions : )

#howto #AGAIN?? yes i again i talked for 5000 words or something #NO IM EXAGGERATING just a lil tho #why this feel like im doing a presentation for uni sdkjfksdjfks

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seventhrounder · 4 years ago

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I went thru my folder with old hockey magazines I had saved from around 2011 to 2015 and came across this one and thought it could be a fun to make a post about now in hindsight.

This is Jääkiekko magazine from May 2012, they always have a section of "99 questions with ..." and in this issue they interviewed Teräväinen.

I’ve translated the questions I found interesting under the cut! It ended up being about half of the interview. (*) are my additions.

On the cover "seuraava superjokeri" means the next super joker, he played for Helsingin Jokerit so it's a word play from that. Under, on the blue print it says: "The 17-year-old forward will become a first round draft pick in the summer. The natural goal scorer can dominate in SM-Liiga as soon as next season."

In the 2nd photo the headline and lead paragraph goes:

"A post with dents* - A year ago Teuvo Teräväinen was known only within a small number of hockey insiders. Few passers-by recognize him now either but after a flashy rookie season the Jokerit sensation is on the radar of every NHL team and is a strong contender to become a first round draft pick. Next season with Jokerit the talented second line center will be one of the main talking points in the SM-Liiga."

(*references the net Teräväinen had in his backyard and into which he practiced his shooting)

3. You've been described as a magician, top scorer, wunderkind and a prodigy. What do you think of these descriptions?

TT: Heh, those are some descriptions yeah. What can I really say? Don't really wanna comment on them much.

4. How nervous are you about the Draft?

TT: I try not to be nervous as best as I can. In a way I don't have anything to be nervous about since I don't care which team picks me or at what number I go.

6. Which is stressing you more, English interviews or physical tests?

TT: Maybe both. Bench press (laughs) and English interviews can be tough.

12. How far along have you planned your career with, for example, your parents or your agent?

TT: Haven't really planned things with others but I've thought about them myself. I try to go step by step and not jump too far ahead.

14. How does it feel to be so young with all the star players in Jokerit?

TT: How to say it? I haven't felt like I was young but a part of the team instead. The team's been very good with me and they haven't been looking down at me like: "oh he's young". It's been fun to play in an experienced team.

15. Is there a generational gap between players?

TT: You can see the age difference, older players look older but we're all childish, at least with our topics.

17. What does a 17-year-old do in the sauna nights of the team?

TT: I actually haven't been in any yet. I've always been at national team's camps or something.

19. Did you get the number you wanted?

TT: I did, yeah. I could've taken #18 but Semir (Ben-Amor) has it. But i'm happy with #86, it's good.

23. What are your strengths as a player?

TT: Offensive play and with that playing with the puck, passing, IQ, power play and skill, just the usual skill - skill with hands.

24. And weaknesses?

TT: They are to do with defensive play, strength and physicality. Battles and such but I think I took a step forward last season. That's a good thing.

25. Have you ever been "pressed into a mold" or has your playing style gotten to develop naturally?

TT: As a kid the play was mostly offensive/attacking, I didn't have to think about playing defence. Up until 15 years old, I got to attack pretty freely. Playing defence became more important when I started to play in A-juniors a couple seasons ago.

26. On a scale from 1 to 10 how determined are you?

TT: Maybe 8, feels like an 8.

32. What kind of role are you planning to take with Jokerit next season?

TT: I think a pretty big one. I try to be a top player and not just take others' example but give others example myself too. So that someone in the team can take something out of the way I do things on the ice and off the ice.

35. If you could pick anyone, who would be your car driver?

TT: Nico Manelius for sure. He's been my driver this season. I've had others too, like Riku Hahl but he's not nearly at the same level. Nico’s clearly the best.

36. What are the most important qualifications to be a good driver?

TT: The car is obviously important. Hahl's car is totally awful, he takes a lot of heat for it from the guys too. I wouldn't dare driving with him. Manelius is a steady performer, never lets you down.

38. What sports did you play as a 10-year-old?

TT: Hockey and floorball, probably football (soccer) during the summers at the time too.

42. When did you decide to focus only on hockey?

TT: So when I stopped playing other sports? Three years ago, before that floorball was kind of a side thing, I played a couple of games in the regular season and playoffs.

45. Do you follow floorball or other sports? Go to games?

TT: I don't go to games but I like to watch floorball on TV, it's an interesting sport. Sometimes I watch football too but I don't follow it much. Feels like they never score there.

47. Have you ever played with a wooden stick?

TT: As a kid I did play with a wooden stick.

49. You won the hockey players' golf tournament last summer even though there were more experienced players too. Are you good with all stick games?

TT: Well, I've been pretty good in all of them. I've played golf for a long time and still play it.

50. How is your swing?

TT: Pretty bold, kind of a hockey swing. I don't really care where the ball goes - as long as it goes far.

52. What do you think of off-ice training?

TT: Let's just say it's more stupid than being on the ice but you still gotta do it to be better on the ice.

56. Which word describes your professional relationship (with his coach, Tomek Valtonen), tranquil or colorful?

TT: Colorful of course. At times we're joking around, other times it's more serious but the relationship is really good.

57. Coaching you has been described in many words: good, bad, worse. What are they?

TT: Heh, well... I won't tell them here. He (Tomek) keeps the discipline during practices but sometimes when things haven't gone to a plan I've had to jump on an exercise bike in the middle of a practice.

58. What have been the reasons?

TT: I'll quote Tomek: "when I haven't been present".

59. Have you ever tried to turn the resistance of the bike to zero?

TT: (Laughs) Of course I have and sometimes I've even succeeded.

60. Describe your diet in three words?

TT: Greasy, healthy and good!

64. Your first name is not common for people your age. How did your parents come up with it?

TT: I actually don't even know. Maybe they didn't want a usual Ville*....

(*very common name for men of all ages in Finland)

66. Which of these is the most important: skill, unexpectedness or courage?

TT: Skill!

68. Your longest video game stint?

TT: Six hours, at least. I've played a lot of War of Duty lately.

72. The dumbest thing that has made you upset in hockey?

TT: Probably if I didn't get an assist on a goal even though I should have. Or even worse is if I score and they mark it down for someone else.

79. Have you had any concussions?

TT: I haven't had any, I've managed to always dodge them.*

(*ouch, tho it's good the recent one is his only as far as i remember)

84. In 2011 Team Finland finished in the 5th place at the U-18 tournament. Why only as 5th?

TT: Because we lost to Team Russia in the quarter final, just as well we could have won that game too.

89. You didn't get to be on the ice to accept the SM-Liiga bronze medal (because of the U-18's). When and where did you get it?

TT: I actually still haven't received it, I don't know where it is.

93. What is the population of Helsinki?

TT: There's like 5 million people in Finland so maybe around 500k in Helsinki? (to be exact 596k) Did i really get it right...?

94. Who's the mayor of Helsinki?

TT: I don't know, I barely know the president.

95. Do you think the municipalities in the capital city area should merge?

TT: Luckily I don't have to decide but they probably shouldn't.

96. What do you check first in the news paper?

TT: The sports section.

97. Your favorite tv show?

TT: Putous* was pretty good, I liked a lot of the characters. The grandma was pretty good.

(*Finnish live improvisation comedy/sketch show (there are still new seasons, the latest just finished). Every actor comes up with a humor character with a catchy phrase and one of them wins. "The grandma" is Marja Tyrni and I just got such flashbacks from typing this sentence.)

98. Last book you read?

TT: I don't read many books. The last book was a study book, a Finnish book. I wrote an essay on Tiki (Esa) Tikkanen's biography. An eventful book, great career and a lot of chirps.

99. Who should we ask the 99 questions next?

TT: Riku Hahl could have good stories, he's also seen a lot of the world.

#teuvo teräväinen #teuvo teravainen #carolina hurricanes #canes #hockey #nhl #mp #i knew i had this mag but i thought it was from 2014 and post draft #i really didn't rmbr i've been following turbo for this many years???#good on 16yo me for spending 8 euros on this tho that was excellent thinking

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golbrocklovely · 4 years ago

Text

cake tasting // colby brock

A/N: so this isn't a request, but i saw this tweet that talked about two ppl who were friends going into a bakery and trying wedding cake, and i just knew i had to write something based off of it. i could only imagine how cute it would be to go and do this with colby, omg. anyway sorry i haven't update anything else yet. i haven't been extremely motivated, but i'm gonna try to write thru out the week and hopefully get something else out to yall soon :) lmk what you think of this. hope you enjoy !!

prompt: you and colby go to a bakery and pretend to be engaged to try wedding cakes. you have a crush on him, but he doesn’t have one on you. or does he…? cuteness ensues.

trigger warning: PURE FLUFF BB, sickeningly sweet

word count: 1535

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you sure we should do this?" Colby asked, keeping his eyes on the road.

I rolled my eyes at his nervousness. "Of course! I've done this before."

"How often do you do this?" He snorted, turning to look at me for a moment.

I shrugged nonchalantly. "Occasionally. Mostly when I'm really in the mood for cake but don't know which type I want."

"I just feel bad about it. I feel like I'm stealing." Colby bit his lip uncomfortably.

"Well, I usually end up leaving a nice tip and buying some cupcakes, so it at least seems like I was interested." I replied.

"Wait, how are we gonna pass as a couple?" Colby doubted.

"Did you think I came unprepared?" I lifted my hand to show a big 'engagement' ring.

Colby gasped dramatically. "Jesus, you're gonna make them think I'm made of money with that."

I laughed. "Lucky for you it's fake, much like our impending marriage."

"Whatever you say, Mrs. Brock." He snickered.

We pulled into the parking lot next to our destination, Casey's Bakery. I slid out of my seat and followed Colby. When we got to the front door, Colby opened it for me. With a light bell ring, the immediate smell of baked goods hit me as I stepped inside. I crossed my arm through Colby's, walking up to the counter. A white haired, older woman stood behind the counter, her back to us. She spun around, a sweet smile coming to her face.

“Hello! I'm Casey, welcome to my bakery. What can I do for you two today?” She greeted.

I grinned back happily. “Hi! We were wondering if maybe we could try some samples of your cakes? My fiancé and I are planning our wedding, and we thought we might as well try some cake while we're out.”

“Oh! Is this the fiancé?” Casey guessed.

I nodded lightly. “Yes.”

“That's wonderful, congratulations!” She beamed. “What are your names?”

“I'm Colby, and this is Y/N.” Colby chimed in.

“You two look so young. How old are you?” Casey questioned.

“We're both 23.” I admitted.

“Oh, you're babies! Okay, is there any type of cake you're thinking about for the wedding?” She inquired.

I pursed my lips. “Um... no, not really. The wedding is still a long ways away.”

“When is it?” She asked.

“Ahh, next year... sometime in September. No final date just yet.” I stuttered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Colby nod.

“Oooh, a fall wedding. Might I suggest trying the carrot cake first then? That's usually our most popular for fall weddings.” Casey informed.

“That sounds great. We'll try that first.” I agreed.

“Goodie. You guys can go take a seat, and I'll be right out with your cake.” She mentioned, smiling.

I returned the smile. “Thank you so much.”

As Casey rushed off to the back, I sat down at the closest table. I finally realized, looking around, that no one else was in the bakery but us.

“How did you come up with that?” Colby queried, surprised.

I raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“The date of our 'wedding'?” He responded.

“I'm good on my feet, what can I say?” I explained smugly.

He shook his head, and then glanced around. “I feel bad. There's no one here.”

“Don't worry. I plan on buying those over there.” I pointed at the cupcakes in the display.

“They do look really good.” He noted.

“And it smells like heaven in here.” I borderline moaned.

Colby cleared his throat, moving in closer to the table. “So... where would you want to get to married, if you could choose?”

“I don't know. Probably on the beach,” I answered. “I've always dreamed of getting married on the beach.”

“That sounds nice. Have you thought about your wedding, like all the little details and whatnot?” Colby gushed brightly.

I cocked my head to the side, almost laughing at him.

“What? Isn't that something most girls do?” He argued jokingly.

“First off, not every girl dreams about their wedding.” I scoffed. “But secondly, yes I have.”

“Who'd you get married to?” He questioned abruptly.

I choked. “Um-”

Casey busted in, cutting me off. “Okay! Sorry about that. I figured I might as well bring out some other samples besides the carrot cake.”

She placed four plates down in front of us. Each had two little sections of cake on it. There was carrot, vanilla, chocolate, and red velvet. I could feel my mouth water as she placed two forks down.

“So, for any cakes that we do make, we can obviously do any form of icing. But traditionally, red velvet and carrot always have cream cheese icing. I do my own little spin on both, of course.” She babbled, giggling. “And then for the vanilla, I did vanilla icing. And the chocolate has chocolate icing as well. Go ahead and dig in.”

I grabbed a fork and sliced a piece of the carrot cake. I took my bite slowly, enjoying the sweetness of the icing, with a hint of cinnamon. I glanced up at Colby as he did the same, his eyes landing on me with a hidden smile.

“This is really good. And I don't usually like carrot cake. But this... so good.” Colby spoke, covering his mouth.

“That's great to hear. And what about you, Y/N?” Casey turned to me.

I praised. “Delicious. I love carrot cake, so this hits the spot.”

“I'm happy you enjoy it. I love a good carrot cake myself,” She confessed. “So, where are you guys planning to get married?”

“In Santa Monica. On the beach.” Colby stated.

My eyes widened, staring at Colby quickly. He gazed over at me, a smirk on his lips.

“A fall wedding on the beach?” Casey puzzled.

“Yeah. It's never really fall here anyway.” Colby commented.

“That is very true,” Casey chuckled. “A beach wedding, huh? That's so fun. What colors?”

“Red and white. And with some black thrown in. For him.” I teased.

“Aww, thanks babe.” Colby winked.

I felt my heart skip a beat for a second. I tried to brush off the butterflies in my stomach as hunger pains.

Casey sang. “You two are adorable! Now, try the vanilla cake. It's our top seller.”

After trying the rest of the cakes, Colby excused himself to go to the restroom. Casey sat down in Colby's seat, scooching in.

“Now I have to ask, how long have you two been together?” She inquired.

“Four years,” I lied. “Basically as long as I've known him.”

“You two already act like an old married couple. I can see how much he cares about you.” She disclosed.

I squeaked. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. It's so noticeable,” She swatted her hand lightly. “He's smitten, and I can see why. You are so sweet to him, and he just can't get enough. It's all in his eyes.”

Casey stood up and slowly cleaned up the plates, as I sat there in silence.

Was Colby really that into me?

Maybe she was lying. But something about her words stuck with me.

I’ve always had a small crush on Colby, ever since I met him. And everyone in our friend group knew about it. I always chalked up my feelings to me just being lonely and him always being there for me. But maybe there was something more in how I felt for him. The idea of marrying Colby didn’t seem bad at all. If anything, it was something I could see maybe happening. I mean, we were really close. And our friends always joked about us being a couple. Maybe they weren't jokes after all.

But does he even like me like that?

“Did you order the cupcakes, Y/N?” Colby’s voice broke my thoughts.

I stared up at him, stumbling. “Hmm? What? I-uh, no. I didn't.”

Colby’s dimples appeared as he chuckled at the fumbling of my words. “Okay. I'm gonna go order them then.”

I nodded, slowly standing up and grabbing my purse. I walked over to him, watching him pay for the cupcakes.

“Well, when you're ready to place an order for your cake, you let me know.” Casey addressed, handing Colby a business card and the cupcakes.

Colby assured. “Of course, Casey. Thank you so much for the samples.”

“And thank you for being such a fine gentleman. You take good care of Y/N, you hear?” She patted the counter near me.

He laughed softly, the both of us beginning to leave. “Absolutely. Have a nice day.”

“Same to you. Goodbye, my little love birds!” Casey waved.

We walked out of the bakery and back onto the busy street. Everything felt strange around me, like I just woke up from a dream.

Back to reality, I guess.

“She was... fun.” I remarked happily.

“Yeah, definitely.” He smiled, getting into his car. “I know what bakery I'm coming to if I do get married.”

I sat down, putting the cupcakes on the floor next to my feet. “We'll have to do this again sometime.”

Colby turned to me, his eyes snaking up my body and finally stopping on my face with a click of his tongue.

“Whatever you say, Mrs. Brock.”

#colby brock #colby brock fluff #colby brock x reader #colby brock fanfic #colby brock fic #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock oneshot #colby brock one shot

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what-is-your-plan-today · 4 years ago

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1

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

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

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

Series Masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes that was it.

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

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

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath.

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

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

*****

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

And now she was all his.

*****

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

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

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew then, you were in for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

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

Ransom Drysdale

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

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

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

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smutsonian · 4 years ago

Text

your king ii

Pairing: King!Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: No matter how much the king says you’re safe with him, you’ll never believe him. You won’t believe someone like him.

Warning/s: little angst, violence, asshole steve, some weird shit you’ll probably question, mentions of noncon, fires, not proofread so sorry for the headaches to come

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: so i made this thing a series? hopefully i come thru and complete this one kskskksks

chapter i

He kept his promise and gave you a hot bath. Although, he didn’t stay for long. He watched you as you got into the steaming water and you saw how his jaw clenched as well as his fists before leaving you all on your own.

You scrubbed every inch as hard as you could. The pain between your thighs was forgotten once your skin burned at the way you scrubbed your skin. You would’ve never stopped if it weren’t for the man who caught your attention.

“Are you planning on scrubbing your skin until you’re nothing but pieces of bones?” He snickered at you when you glared at him. He showed the huge robe on his hands to you before giving you a genuine smile. Something you didn't know you would get from any of the evil king’s men.

“I ain’t here to hurt you, my lady. I just thought you would want something to dry yourself up with and keep you warm.” He tilted his head at you as you continued to glare at the unknown man. He shook his head as he grinned at you. “Or maybe you don’t want it? No worries. I can just go back and leave you be…” He turned around and started walking away.

“Wait!” You quickly went out of the tub before running towards the man, forgetting about your nudity and eyes widening when the man turned around with a smirk before it fell when he saw that you were in front of him.

“Hells!” He quickly raised the robe towards you to block your body away from his sight as he closed his eyes as well. You were shocked at how this man was acting compared to the king and his other men. You quickly snatched the robe from him and wrapped it around yourself before coughing awkwardly.

He opened one eye before looking at you and breathing out a sigh of relief. “You’re one of the king’s men, are you not?” You asked him, trying to sound fearless but knowing that it was no use. You could never fight anyone even if you wanted to.

He nodded before cracking up another smile. “Yes. Do I not look like one? Do I look like a king myself?” He wiggles his eyebrows and you couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. You stopped laughing when you saw him looking at you with bright eyes. “No… You just act differently… More kind.” You mumbled while you looked at your toes on the ground.

“Well, I am flattered. My name is Sam, by the way.” He smiled at you when you looked back up at him. “I’m Y/N,” you whispered. “I know. Now, let’s go find you some more clothing.” He motioned for you to follow him and you did, instantly trusting the man named Sam.

Instead of the usual corsets, silk dresses, and thick fur, you were given a plain cotton top and a pair of breeches that were a little too loose for you. You were also given a pair of old dusty boots. They could’ve given you your own clothes but they didn’t. Sam said that he was ordered to give you those clothes. You were sure that the king wanted you to know that you’re below him and he’s way above you.

You stared out the window, glaring at the flag with the symbol of a shield with a star in the middle that was attached to one of the wagons. He killed everyone you knew. He killed your parents in front of you before he took you out to the snow and forced himself on you like you were nothing but a body to pleasure him. He made empty promises, assured you that you were safe with him but you felt nothing but fear and hatred. He’s a cruel man. Heartless. He killed your family and he’ll do the same to you. He’ll get tired of you eventually and you’ll meet the same faith as your family and friends.

Hatred. You’re filled with it. You tried to remember your mother’s words about hatred. Hate will bring nothing but war. It will bring nothing but pain. She always told you that you should never let your hatred grow because it will turn into something dangerous. She always reminded you that hatred will only bring bad fortune to everyone around you and yourself. You tried to remember her words. You tried to listen to it but you were blinded by hatred. You hate the man who killed your parents. The man who killed your people. The man who smiles at how he makes people suffer.

Your inner battle with yourself was cut short when the flag you’ve been glaring at ignited before it turned into crisps and ashes. The horse that was tied to the front of the wagon jumped and let out a fearful neigh. You gasped in shock before stepping away from the window. “What was that?” You whispered to yourself before jumping in the air when a knock came from the door.

Sam’s head poked out at the gap between the door before smiling at you. “It doesn’t look too bad on you. In my opinion, I think it suits you.” He walks over to you before taking hold of your chin and tilting your head from left to right. “Your face is more prominent with your hair up. I can see why they named you the beauteous princess.”

“Beauteous? Who said that?” You look at him with a questioning look but he only grinned at you before shaking his head and telling you to follow him out the small chamber bedroom.

King Steve entered the late king’s chamber with a frown as James did his best to keep up with the king. Steve sat down on the mattress that was covered with expensive furs.

“What have you done?” James’ voice was filled with worry when he asked. “Did you hurt the woman?” He continued. “Did you burn—” He was cut off by the loud and booming voice of the king. “Nothing happened! That bitch is perfectly fine. Unharmed. Why do you care so much, James? She deserves to die for everything she’s done!” Steve stands up from the bed before walking towards his best mate.

“She needs to die for what she’s done—” Steve repeats but James cuts him off.

“She hasn't done anything!” James exclaims.

“Yet!” Steve bellows. “The gods do not lie, James. We need not to wait until the visions come true.” Steve’s voice becomes softer yet still broken.

“And the gods told you everything you know? Did they talk to you directly? You must not believe everything that the witch tells you. You can’t trust her!” James’ face scrunches in frustration as Steve shakes his head in disagreement.

“Wanda is known for her clever words. The witch is known for her counsel to work. She said that the dreams that I’ve been having are real. It means that it will happen, James.” Steve explains with passion.

“But she also said something about your dreams not being complete. You can’t just kill the princess because of some nightmare you keep having.” James points out. “But, hell! You killed her family! And for what?! For a series of dreams that keep you up at night?” James lets out a dry laugh which Steve didn’t find hilarious at all.

“I am still your king, James. You should treat me as such and show me respect if you don’t want to be among those who are lying dead in their own blood.” Steve gives James a pointed look before chuckling to himself.

“And we both know that those people are not her true family.” He snarks before walking over to the door. “Now, move along unless you want to burn with everything and everyone in this pitiful town. We’ll start burning everything down.” He gives him another dark look before leaving the chamber.

Sam brought you to the same wagon you were watching from the window earlier. You were laid down on the wood while Sam was riding the horse. You stared at the empty thin pole that used to have the flag. You looked away from the pole and turned towards Sam. “Where is he?” You asked. He looked at you with a questioning look and you scoffed quietly before adding. “The man who murdered my people. Where is your king?” You say through gritted teeth.

Sam sighed before stopping the wagon and turning his full attention on you. “He told me to bring you to the castle. He’ll be with you tomorrow morning.” You don’t say anything so he says something else.

“He’s not the monster you think he is, you know…” Sam mumbles and you look at him with wide eyes, surprised with what he just said.

“He just killed every single one of my family in front of me before taking me on the cold snow like a horny rabbit. If that’s not a work of a monster to you then I don’t know what is!” You hissed at him, controlling your anger by laying on your back again and closing your eyes.

“He did what to you…?” Was the last thing you heard from Sam before the wagon started moving again, rocking you into a deep slumber.

The screams of a woman woke you up and the view that you found when you opened your eyes was new to you yet feels so familiar. Like you’ve been here before.

It was a small wooden cabin.

The screams of the woman continued as the cabin started to catch on fire. The screams of the woman were soon joined with cries of a baby. Your eyes widened and you tried to move to give help but you were frozen in place. It’s like you have no control over your body.

The cries of the baby got louder while the woman’s screams started to falter and you felt your heart break as the feeling of sadness washes over you.

You do your best to move, trying to wiggle your fingers on your toes and your hands. Forcing whatever it is that’s making you stuck away from your body. Your muscles started to come back to life and you’re able to move your hands and soon, all of your muscles.

You stumbled and ran as fast as you can towards the burning cabin. The door opens and you see two figures, one was holding something in their arms. You ran faster towards the blazing fire as the two figures started to disappear.

When you finally reached the cabin, you reached for the door, not feeling the hotness of the knob as you pushed the door open.

Flames and smoke blared out of the door, enveloping your form and swallowing you whole. The feeling of burn and pain that you should be feeling was absent but when you found two purple orbs staring back at you through the fire, a wave of pain clutches your heart and suddenly, you can no longer breathe.

Your eyes flew open and you started to cough for air. You covered your mouth with the sleeves of your cotton top and coughed into it until your breathing was back to normal.

“You okay back there?” Sam’s voice catches you and you turn towards him who was looking back at you with a worried look.

You nod your head once before looking back at the sleeves of your shirt. The edges were black and torn as if it was burned with fire. You took a deep breath before tearing the burnt part of your sleeves up and throwing out of the wagon.

What was that just now?

What just happened?

#dark steve rogers #dark fic #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve x reader #dark steve rogers imagine #medieval au #king au #king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #au fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #angst

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neoraso · 4 years ago

Text

royal guard!minho

requested | some gender neutral hc for how he starts to wish he was maybe more than just a guard to you

to put things lightly, minho was the ace of your entire guard

like he was better than anyone …at everything

so originally he was on (your father) the king’s immediate guard

he was nothing but professional and saved the king too many times to count even from like stepping on rocks idk

when you turned like 17 and had to do more public appearances obv u were in a lot more danger so ur father jumped at having minho reassigned to u as the head of your personal guard “nothing but the best for his child”

the first time you met him… he only nodded or said yes or no to everything u asked him n ur jus like ok not much of a talker that’s not so bad ig haha ʕʘ‿ʘʔ

he was so quiet and “polite” for months despite you constantly trying to get something out of him

ur other guards always tried not to laugh bc if only u knew he had like two friends and was generally a pretty serious guy

but one day there was a festival in your kingdom’s central city so obv you had to make an appearance which u were very excited abt bc you only get to go into town like twice a year and THIS was one of those times

being “of age” and that much closer to taking the throne you might as well have painted a big red target on your head to signal people against the throne

everything was going fine, everyone was having fun and you decided to visit some of the booths and musicians around the square

minho was already suspicious of the situation and tightens the rest of your guard without u evenn rlly noticing but like

just as you turned to show these cute little candies to minho to maybe get a reaction for once -

the second he looks at you, someone moves to grab you but the flash of a knife in his other hand causes minho to jump immediately into action

honestly who knows what rlly happened minho moved so damn fast but the next thing you know, ur in the middle of your whole guard squad

looking through the gaps of their shoulders you see minho pinning down your assailant with a blade against his neck waiting for someone to arrest him even though he rlly wanted to just execute the guy right there

the festivities were kind of killed for u after that bc you and your family were rushed back home which u might’ve been more sad abt if u werent in so much shock :<

obv minho was the one to escort you back but like all he said was “you’re okay?” and after u dumbly nodded with wide eyes he walked with you but kept a hand around your shoulder

no one really talked after that which wasn’t unusual for him but in his mind he was rlly like

“?? ok i know its literally my job to protect this family but?? hm whyyyy do i seem to care sm more rnnn??//?” help him sdhskjd

u just looked so shaken up and disappointed and suddenly he was like damn </3 they rlly have no fun in their life and this one time they could was ruined :///

u had to stay inside for weeks after that bc it turns out there was a whole conspiracy to “eliminate” your family line so you waited in safety until the criminals were “taken care of”

minho had everything triple checked around the castle for your safety and secretly made sure you had extra treats and warm drinks sent to your room sometimes with little notes that he had the cook pretend to have sent because lately he’d heard you had trouble sleeping sometimes he’s shy boy aw

he started to realize how much he had gotten used to your smile and your little jokes and the way you sometimes tripped on the corners of rugs. and he thought maybe it was a good thing you guys didnt have many interactions lately because he was way too attached

you on the other hand, couldnt even rlly complain about having to stay inside so much bc you had everything you needed and- you knew it was for ur safety but- it wassss kind of suffocating at times

u tried sneaking out at first ((just to the garden!!)) which obviously was a bad idea bc it’s impossible to get past minhos fcking hawk eyes lmao

he STILL didnt say anything like he would just follow right behind you

n like u kinda huffed but whatever honestly at least it was just him and not 15 other guards like everyone acted like you needed

plus it was somewhat comforting to have someone so solid around even if he never talked smh

one night you sat near the little pond and tried to calm your mind by watching how the moonlight rippled in the water

you can feel him behind you so u just turn around and look at him ignoring how he was already looking at you

“would you at least sit with me?”

he kind of hesitates bc …what if someone tried to come up behind you? but with the sad look on your face he cant help but give in and sits on the stone bench at the opposite end of you

it becomes actually somewhat peaceful until you just decide to ask everything you’ve been wondering n u just blurt out-

“would it kill you to talk with me once in a while? i mean, talk like a normal person and not a machine? i dont bite i promise..”

he furrows his brow bc he’s shocked you cared at all and also he doesnt rlly know how to respond without being like “its not really in my job description to make conversation” but he honestly just thought you were being talkative out of niceties.

before he could even form a sentence you continued,

“i mean- i’m always trying to get your attention. i dont get to meet many people for obvious reasons but my guards are the closest people to me-literally, and i dont want there to be a big gap between us just because of my status..”

he cuts you off before you ramble yourself to death

“i didn’t know you were this troubled by it… i just take my job very seriously and i dont want to risk anyone’s safety for the sake of conversation”

u almost roll ur eyes but not wanting to be rude ur just like “even at home? i know you’re serious about your duties, believe me, i just… i get lonely.”

smthing inside him literally breakkkssss when you say that like u are such a pure and sweet person that deserves to have all the love and friends and fun in the world so he just gets quiet for a second and looks down

“im sorry.” he said it so softly you almost didnt hear him “i’ll be there for you more- if thats what you need. im essentially in charge of your safety and care and i’ll do anything to fulfill that responsibility.”

ok.

well this was good right? so why did you still feel unsatisfied?

“i dont want to just be a responsibility, cant we just be like friends? or…”

you cut yourself off before talking too much again

you had to admit to yourself you had developed a bit of a liking for minho, not just because he was probably the most handsome person in your kingdom, not even just because he saved your life, but he had really been a pillar of security in your life and you respected his loyalty and ambition.

he was more than admirable and everything you wanted as a standard for your kingdom

sometimes you let your mind wander to him getting on one knee and leading alongside you..

no, now youre getting sidetracked and delusional and he can practically hear the gears turning in your head so he stands up and reaches his hand out for you to grab

“of course you’re more than a responsibility to me, come on, lets go inside it’s getting cold.’

taking his hand and realizing the conversation was over, you moved to link arms instead as he walked you all the way to your bedroom door

u slept a lot better that night

from that point on you could not get rid of minho

like everyone was borderline uncomfortable with how jarring his change in attitude was

like he was constantly behind you looking right over your shoulder or grabbing your arm to stop you from bumping into things

even when he wasnt technically on duty he had taken it upon himself to give you little lessons in archery and even some defensive moves to help you protect yourself in case someone wasnt fast enough to help you

your tried not to get flustered every time he adjusted your form and the way you could feel his breath behind your ear

or the head pats when he walked you to your room at night

or his hand on your back when you guys would take walks in the garden

honestly it did not take long until one night you were sat next to your pond and after some comfortable small talk you noticed how close his face was to yours

but he noticed you didn’t pull away even as he leaned in closer and finally just kissed you

when he pulled away and saw your eyes still closed and how soft you looked his heart almost exploded

“i didnt mean to make things weird i just,, couldnt help myself, sorry”

his rushed confession pulls you out of your daze and you’re so happy (a little shocked) but you’re quick to reassure him

“it’s ok, i’ve been wanting you to do that for a while …”

he’s jus like “rlly?😳”

obviously this complicates things a lot and you aren’t really sure if you would even be allowed to have a relationship with minho bc of ur position

or if he would get in trouble for breaking the rules of attachment to u

all of this is kind of racing thru both of ur minds as you look at each other but you laugh after u both start talking at the same time

you prod him to go first so he grabs your hands and says like

“look i care about you a lot, and i know we’re not really supposed to be doing this but if i can be by your side … beyond my duties…i would really love to. but if we can’t, i can survive with just being here to protect and serve you in anyway i can”

he’s so honest and genuine and earnest it shocked u a little

even tho you were uncertain abt the situation as well you knew you had grown a little too fond and dependent on minho that you would do anything to make it work

luckily an arranged marriage was not required for you so that wasnt really the issue, but falling in love with someone not at all royal..? it was a daunting thought how the idea would be perceived

you wouldnt have said anything if you both weren’t completely sure of your feelings; but you really could not imagine being content or safe spending your life with anyone else so you mustered up the courage to ask the king and queen…

when you brought it up to your parents they looked pretty concerned

minho went on the whole “i’ll do anything to protect them and this kingdom” speech and your father just waved him off and was like

“i know u would …. i’ll allow it because there’s really no one better to represent the kingdom and because i want only the best for my child ;)”

u and minho were literally in shock but just quietly said thank u and left the room

when you had privacy he immediately pulled you in for a kiss (maybe several all over ur face)

you had a lot to figure out and many responsibilities but now you had an amazing person by your side to help you through it :.) <3

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sisterssafespace · 3 years ago

Note

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته

recently i’ve been struggling a lot. i was diagnosed with depression, anxiety and bpd not too long ago now. but, i have been struggling so much with bearing it all? i haven’t told my family anything as i’ve told a few close friends. so, i cannot blame my family for the fact i’m very emotionally volatile. even though, i know i’m struggling i keep pushing people away & maybe it’s the embarrassment? the shame? that my anxiety attacks are coming back & they’re more frequent, more painful & so much easier to trigger now. i feel like i have this huge secret that i’m carrying around & it fills me with shame. i know mental health isn’t something to be ashamed of but, in a way i’m the one in my family who can do it all? so, the fact i’m struggling so much that i cry in my room a lot of the time whilst they all are chatting away fills me with sadness? i’ve never been close to my family so, it’s been this way for a long time. i’m very independent but to a fault even when i need help i won’t reach out to anyone. i know i have Allāh swt who will help me through anything & everything. but, i don’t know i feel overwhelmed i feel horrible every moment i’m alone my eyes tear up and i begin to cry because i’m hurting so much. sometimes the world feels so unbearable like i cannot go on any longer but then i remember [2:286]. sometimes, i feel as though i’m not cut of for this world it brings me so much pain & suffering. do not me wrong, i am blessed with so much but in my heart there is a lot of sadness & pain. i feel so weak the days are passing by & with each other my resolve to carry on gets weaker too. i have been referred to therapy & to take some medication but i have no time to go i have no will power to get up & seek treatment. it feels like i’m watching myself slowly wither away with each passing day. i try to make dhikr to distract myself but i end up having an anxiety attack because all i can think about is how i’m a bad muslim. that Allāh swt loves me so much He is putting me through these battles to strengthen me but, i cannot even handle them. i honestly see myself wishing that i could just disappear sometimes. - 🌊

بسم الله الرحمان الرحيم،

قال الله تعالى في سورة القصص :

وَأَوْحَيْنَا إِلَىٰ أُمِّ مُوسَىٰ أَنْ أَرْضِعِيهِ ۖ فَإِذَا خِفْتِ عَلَيْهِ فَأَلْقِيهِ فِي الْيَمِّ وَلَا تَخَافِي وَلَا تَحْزَنِي ۖ إِنَّا رَادُّوهُ إِلَيْكِ وَجَاعِلُوهُ مِنَ الْمُرْسَلِينَ

We revealed this to Moses' mother: 'Suckle him, but when you fear for him cast him into the water. Neither fear, nor sorrow because We shall restore him to you and make him among the Messengers.'

[ Qur'an 28:7 ]

و عليكم السلام و رحمة الله و بركاته 🌸

My dear sister, I started my answer with an ayah about one of my favorite stories in the Quran that is the story of how Musa (as)'s mother had to let him go as a newborn and throw him into the river (to save his life) because Allah swt told her (inspired her to do) so. This story is also mentioned in surat Ta Ha (20) - the surah that I love to call my anti-anxiety pill - but I chose this ayah from surat Al-Qasas for the precise words that Allah swt orders to Musa's mother :

ولا تخافي و لا تحزني | Do not fear nor sorrow (grieve)

The grammatical structure for these phrases is : Prohibition "النهي" which means that Allah swt orders you against doing that thing, it is not a request, it is not a piece of advice, it is actually stronger than that. It is prohibited that you give into your fear (i.e. anxiety) or fall into sorrow, saddness (i.e. depression). The same structure is used when Allah swt spoke to sayyidah Maryam (Mary as), when she was in labor and she was all alone, scared, confused, in pain, she even wished for death,

فَنَادَاهَا مِنْ تَحْتِهَا أَلَّا تَحْزَنِي

But (a voice) cried to her from beneath the (palm-tree): "Grieve not!"

[Quran 19:24]

I personally support and adapt the tafaseer that explain this as that Allah swt loves, appreciates and cares for the women and the girls of the believers so much that He swt prohibits them to feel sad or anxious. - But we will get back to this later in the answer, in shaa Allah.

Now let's go back to the beginning. I have 3 main ideas, let me bullet them not to forget anything:

1) The diagnosis: You said, my beautiful sister, that you were diagnosed not too long ago, with 3 mental health issues. So I take it a shrink/ psychiatrist diagnosed you. And then what? it is not enough to have a diagnosis, what is more important is to have a plan, i.e. therapy. It is important to identify the issue but it is more important to figure out how to deal with that issue. Sis, you need professional help. That ache in your heart and those worries, those thoughts in your mind they won't just disappear on their own. You need therapy. 🥺🥺. Which brings me to point number 2:

2) Asking for help: There is a story that I heard somewhere, a long time ago, but is so iconic that it stayed with me. One time this man's boat drowned. And he was fighting for his life in the middle of the ocean, and he asked God to save him, after a while a boat passed by and stopped for him, they wanted to rescue him but he said " no I don't need you, I have God, He will save me", so the boat moved on. And the man made duāa again and asked God to rescue him. After another while, another boat approach him, and they wanted to rescue him. Again, he declined and said " I have God, He will save me " so they went away. Eventually, the man got tired and couldn't do it anymore. He drowned. After he died, he asked God why didn't you save me? I was waiting for you to rescue you me.. and God said " who do you think was sending you the boats? " ..

Why am I telling you this story? I feel like you are doing the same as this man.

Sometimes people are a means that Allah swt puts in our way to save us! Yes, you are being all toughened up and 'strong' by trying to retrieve from people - even your own family - and not bother anyone with your issues, but you are actually doing more damage and more harm to yourself and to your loved ones this way. No good ever comes from passively sitting in a corner and isolating ourselves in our pain and suffering, especially to us girls, we are very social creatures who thrive and heal with compassionate, empathy, sharing, co-dependence (not in a negative sense), and solidarity. Half of the problem goes away just by talking about it. We immediately feel so much lighter after we have a good talk/ crying session with someone we love. By isolating yourself and drowning in your misery, you are going against your nature and that only amplifies your pain 💔🥺 So I am begging you, to take a step towards your support system, be it family, a cousin, friends, a teacher, a therapist.. you need help and you can't do this alone. Asking another human being to be there for you never means you trust Allah swt less or that Allah swt is not enough for you! On the contrary, maybe that person is fulfilling a purpose for the sake of Allah swt by being there for you. Allah swt has created us this way, there is no shame in asking for help I promise.

⚠️ ALSO OMG HIGHLY IMPORTANT THERE IS NO SHAME IN HAVING MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE I HAVE TO SAY THIS!

I don't know how much we have to deconstruct, how many walls we have to break down to set ourselves free from all the negative feelings that culture and the patriarchy installed in us since a very tender age, like shame, guilt, self-loathing.. it is A LOT, but we have to. There is no other way around it to free ourselves. And one last thing, my sweet sweet sweet sister, even if you think you can do it all, you can keep it all inside and put on a brave face and go on about your day while there is a battlefield in your head and a fire burning in your heart, you don't have to. Have mercy on yourself. Allah swt would never approve of this, you putting yourself through so much pain by refusing to seek help. And you wonder why your anxiety attacks are back! 💔🥺 which brings me to point 3:

3) Anxiety attacks: Are you sure they are anxiety attacks not panic attacks? How do you identify them? What are your symptoms? And how do you deal with them? How do you cope? See, beautiful sister, this is very very serious! You can't keep going like this and think " oh Allah swt is putting me thru this to make me stronger. " Umm actually, no, Allah swt is not putting you through this. He gave you this at the beginning yes, but He showed you the way, and you stubbornly refused! So now, you are putting yourself through this, my dear, and you do not deserve it!

Please do not take this with a rough note, I am using a very very soft tone, I promise. And also, lots of hugs and caresses 🥺❤️

I want you to promise me that you are going to consider my words, and seriously think of asking for help. For the sake of Allah, for the sake of yourself and your sanity. Remember, you do not own yourself, you do not own your soul, you do not own your body. It is all an amanah that we are responsible for keeping safe and sane until we return to Allah swt, and we are going to be held accountable for what we did with it. Allahu al'mustaān.

Looking forward to getting your updates!

May Allah swt sooth your pain and give you thr courage you need to ask for help. Ameen.

Fi Aman Allah.

- A. Z. 🍃

#sisterssafespace #tw depression #tw anxiety #mention of bpd #mental health

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