#redeemed by ransom

[annlillyjose]

chapbook update – redeemed by ransom

this user is obsessed with their book and is dealing with separation anxiety with her characters, so she wrote something else with them – a chapbook!

when @coffeeandcalligraphy did this, i knew it was something i’d love to do, too, so i gave it a go. the plan was to write it before finishing dairy whiskey (as an exercise to help with the book) but when does anything ever go by plan?

i wrote this last night in a span of two hours. there’s five poems in this and i’m so proud of them all!

i loved writing it, so you all get to read it, too! i’ll leave a link at the end of this for ya’ll to download the book for free (and the link to my paypal if you’d like to support a struggling artist, but no pressure ofc).

but before all that, here we go – the five poems in this book, under the cut.

children with expiry dates

this poem reads as an instruction manual to mariam. it’s both empathetic and hateful, it’s a confusing blend of emotions. “chandeliers are for non-believers”, the poem opens, and goes on for two pages.

litany in which certain tomorrows are promised – after richard siken

the longest poem in the book, running a total of fifty lines, talks about the central relationships that dinah maintains with people. talks about religious and childhood trauma, but ends with a sort of hope/consolation.

map of a mother

a poem that lists out the specifics of dinah’s memory of her mother – what she thinks about, what she feels, and what she willingly forgets.

holding rain

talks about another world or life, a sort of euphoria, where dinah has a simple and tender relationship with ephron, totally unlike the dynamics they share in the story.

it is okay to hold hands / it is okay to taste lips

a tribute to the most beautiful couple i’ve written (till date), this poem is all about dinah and austin. it’s beautiful, it’s tender, it’s promising, and it’s intimate.

so, that’s it with the poems. if you’d like to read this book, you can download a free copy here!

if you'd like to support my work, you can donate on paypal. i am super grateful for any and all contributions, but again, there's no pressure. you can always just read the book for free and let me know what you think.

looking forward to hearing from you. hope you enjoy reading my poems!

general taglist (ask to be added or removed)

@shaonsim @heartfullkings @vnsmiles @dallonwrites @sienna-writes @violetpeso @flip-phones @rowansghost @ambidextrousarcher @zoe-louvre @writing-with-l @magic-is-something-we-create @femmeniism @frozenstillicide @wizardfromthesea @rose-bookblood @coffeeandcalligraphy @rodentwrites @saltwaterbells @snehithiye @at-thezenith

[justana0kguy]

2023 SEPTEMBER 22 Friday

"Yet in no way can a man redeem himself, or pay his own ransom to God; Too high is the price to redeem one’s life; he would never have enough to remain alive always and not see destruction."

~ Psalms 49:8-10

[darsynia]

I love how you start the chapter with a thesis statement of how Ransom is used to loving and wanting things: because they're HIS. Which, ya know, isn't healthy, heh.

IDK if anyone else caught 'liquid stone' but you know I did!

“You know what?” He’s about to lunge out the window to choke that fucking prick. “Definitely eat shit.”

Flawless.

Ahahahhaha oh my god it's a shame 'road head bitch' isn't a line you can show off in polite conversation but it's so perfect here.

The filthy, desperate for more than one way sex scene being so heartfelt, gosh, we don't deserve you, woman.

Now, to Ran's surprise, he loves you, and he has no fucking clue how to love both. He doesn’t know if he can keep both.

“A week? Well, I hope I pay better than that.”

You really are ridiculously good at arguments, I'm dying

Oh and then you go and prove how good these two are together as if we weren't already just FULLY INVESTED how dare

By the time you come on Ran’s fingers, he’s completely feral thinking about all those little ways you showed your feelings, all the ways you showed him kind touch is not weakness. You also showed him that touch doesn’t have to be weak to be kind. He can be rough with his feelings for you, intense as they are. He can sink his cock into you, practically screaming that he loves you, too, but the words aren’t spoken.

NONE OF US DESERVE THIS but fuck I'm glad we have it. The amoeba line is just as good in context as it was when you told me as you wrote it!!

This is so good, I do not at all judge you (as you worried) poorly for having written it so well, and thank you for posting it! ALL the flowers for you!!

The Root Of All Ransom (Finale)

Ransom Drysdale x rich!Reader (see previous or series)

Summary: Ransom figures out how to undo his disinheritance.

Warnings for language (I'm never kidding about how many f-bombs this boy drops), smut (blowjob, p in v sex that is consensually unprotected, general smuttery), vague contemplations of murder but we ain't going the canon route. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY. There is plenty else for you to read on my Light Masterlist. This is not your story!

I have somehow managed to put Ransom Drysdale deep in his feels. This is only OOC if you haven't read up to this point, but we do end on a soft!Ransom note. WC 6954 (oh my fucking wat???)

Ransom huffs out a foggy breath in the night air, cold in more ways than one. All the windows glow from the mansion, yet it looks completely different in light of what Harlan’s done.

Thrombey Manor is his birthright. He doesn’t love the architecture or the eccentric layout. He hates the furniture. He’s never really enjoyed anything about the place. It’s the polar opposite of his own house, but it was his in a way, part of his status, part of his baseline of existence. He’s not prepared for any other eventuality. Ransom built his life on a perfectly stable bridge that some idiot just blew up with C4.

No, no, not some idiot. His own family. The only member of his family he would think could never do this to him. Fuck Harlan.

Ran’s been flying high on a lie, and the magic money carpet’s been ripped away.

He has one lifeline, one option he’s grasping onto.

If he can manage this, nothing will change. He won’t lose the allowance. He won’t lose you. You’ll never know how unworthy he is. He can just have everything and never speak of this again.

Harlan. Marta. Inheritance. Killing two birds with one liquid stone.

Ran could do it. He will do it, but you cannot know. He can’t have you around. He has to push, to start giving you a safe distance, to leave you plausible deniability. If you suspect, you’ll leave him anyway. 

If he succeeds, worst case? He’s rich and alone. If he does nothing? He’ll be poor and alone.

One of those scenarios used to be acceptable, but not now, not anymore.

Pushing you away tonight might be the last time you ever look at him without pity, and he’s not ready for how heavy that sits in his roiling gut. He has to though. He has to make you leave, if only for the rest of the night—but it might be forever, his brain reminds him. Fucker. It’s not like Ran’s pleasant to be around. Getting away from him shouldn’t be a hard sell.

When you emerge from the house, however, what he hoped would sound sharp and dismissive sounds oddly open-ended.

“You could just walk from here,” he tries wishfully.

True to form, beautiful, pissed-off you sidesteps his expectations.

You take his coat, your coat, and the Birkin to the passenger’s side with a ferocious look.

“Get in the car,” you manage through tight lips.

Fuck. He misses you already. He hasn’t given up. He won’t, but his center of gravity is gone. He’s reeling from this.

Hugh Ransom Drysdale revolves around money.

His whole life he has stretched wide and greedy limbs to capture numbered, green rays of meaning. He hasn’t only lost the light of his sun now. No. Nuclear winter has just stripped him bare and knocked him on his ass. Ran cannot articulate all the reasons he’s so upset.

He values you and him together for relatively selfish reasons. From all he’s seen, you don’t need any more people in your life that exist so far below you. You don’t need ‘help.’ You need an equal, a free and independent equal. Ran isn’t even fucking close anymore.

With a stroke of a pen, he’s now dependent. It’s pathetic. If he stays without even the means to be your not-quite-equal, then he’s everything he hates. He’ll be clingy. He’ll be needy. He’ll be in the way. He’ll finally do it; he will annoy you.

He will bore you.

What a fucking world.

You snap him out of his dashboard stare.

“Do you want to talk about it now or at home?”

“Neither,” he quips easily. “I’ll drop you at the Carlyle’s.”

His eye twitches at his faux pas. You don’t have to correct him. He knows it’s your place, your name, your property, and your right to claim. He doesn’t need reminding.

His key twists in the ignition just as your hand comes up to his shoulder.

He can’t even glare at you properly because a tap rings off his window pane. Both of you jump in alarm because night fell hours ago. Who sneaks up on a car in the fucking dark?

Ran’s father is fucking who. Of course. The window peels down, and Ransom feels as if the last seconds of his life are draining away after the plug’s been pulled.

“Trouble in paradise, you two?” Dick asks with cheeky concern.

“No, Mister Drysdale,” you say politely, no hint of insincerity in your smile.

“Richard, please, honey. You’re practically family.”

Smug asshole, do NOT call her ‘honey.’

“Eat shit,” Ransom mutters overly loud again, but your sudden slow grip on his kneecap tells him to behave. Ol’ Dick has no right to call you ‘honey’ though. Ran’s not even sure what he’s allowed to call you, and he’s pissed, sure. He’s…something else, too; he’s obedient beneath your hand.

Richard ignores Ran’s attitude. “Listen, son, I just wanted you to know that whatever happens, your mother and I will always love you. In case…ya know, in case you ever doubted, and…well, we’re family. We stick together.” He even gives Ran a squeeze on the shoulder for emphasis.

Ransom has no fucking clue what his father intends with that entirely useless statement but doesn’t fucking care. “You know what?” He’s about to lunge out the window to choke that fucking prick. “Definitely eat shit.”

Your grip tightens, and Ran’s insides clench, knowing he toes a line.

“We should really go,” you add with a now painful, strained civility.

“Okay, you crazy kids,” Richard pats his heavy hand on the door frame. “Thanks for coming to the party and we’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Of course, Richard.”

Ransom rolls the window back up without looking at you. That sure as shit was not his father’s reaction to Harlan throwing millions at Marta fucking Candelabra. He can’t be near these people anymore, so Ran slams his foot on the gas, peeling out of the driveway, and scattering gravel in his wake.

Your sigh releases with the pressure on his knee. “I suspect it’s about his affair.”

As if that narrows it down. “Which one?”

“The first one as far as your grandpa knows,” you snort, “which hopefully Linda buys too from the way you’ve talked about it. Jesus, really? Slow down!”

Ran doesn’t want to slow down. The car is finally catching up to his racing thoughts and a plan coalescing. If Harlan knows about Richard’s affair, then his mother will absolutely divorce him, leaving Dick with nothing—and if you know that Harlan knows about it then—

“Hugh—” the hand has slid from his knee to his crotch, the heel of your palm gently digging into the stiff fabric of his jeans “—we should have taken care of you before…”

Fuck, that feels good.

You’re right, of course. Ran really should have planned a few minutes of privacy for you both to get off after the airport. Not that it’d have to be private for him (parking lot, terminal, or tarmac—he wouldn’t fucking care), but the thought flashes in his mind like the bright spots behind his eyelids that he might not get to fuck you again. That’s profoundly upsetting, and your grip on the outline of his swelling cock is profoundly distracting.

He swats at your arm, blood rushing to his tension-white knuckles only for a second, but you simply swivel in the seat to change hands, dragging down his zipper.

“Sweetheart“ slips out. Is he allowed to say that anymore? He should still act normal, right? Except he’s been a raging mess for a quarter-hour already and oh fuck. “What are you…”

Ran’s been wrong this whole time: you are a road head bitch.

He’s so taken aback by your spit-slicked lips cooly brushing the head of him that he nearly elbows your spine. The car swerves slightly as he strains to collect himself, to think of just one other thing instead of your fucking tongue sliding down his length to tease at his still-covered balls and—

Mother of fucking mercy, he has to pull over.

Only by some miracle, some blessed (or horrible) gap in his distraction, is he able to consciously choose parking off the lane just beyond the menagerie elephant statue because, otherwise, that pervy-ass groundskeeper could relive his long-forgotten past of grainy porn. Because that’s what this is turning into. Pornographic is the only way to describe the choked grunt Ran finally lets out as he slams on the brake and you snap the car into park just to get the gear shift out of your way.

“I’m only here three days,” you say around a mouthful of cock, bobbing a few more times before switching to your hand. “I’m not letting you ruin it by being fucking baby.”

“I’m not—fuck—“ he’s not expecting you to climb over him in the cramped car “—you don’t understand.”

“So you don’t want me right now?”

He shakes his head furiously, half in hope of collecting genuine thought, half in desperation for you to continue.

Space is so limited between Ran’s body and the steering column that your bent knees pin his arms to the door and the console. It should hurt but fuck if he’s gonna say anything while he watches you peel your panties to the side and line yourself up. 

“Gah, you just—“ he pants as his heart rate spikes. Instead of putting him in you, Ran’s paralyzed to stop two of your fingers from sinking into your soaked pussy. You’re drooling for him, mouth and cunt, and goddamn, he is so torn between pounding you into next week or tossing you out of the car to get on with his plan.

It’s about an 80/20 split in favor of fucking you.

And then he thinks…yeah, he could definitely get off and get you to the Carlyle’s—your place—in time to sneak back. So he just lets go, shoving his face forward to capture your lips, enjoying the wet sounds as you prep for him, and eating up your moans and curses. He knows you’re purposefully dragging your knuckles against his dick as you bring them out with each stroke. Why are you so fucking hot? Why can’t he just have this without Harlan’s help? 

He’s dependent.

Ran realizes he always was, but he fucking hates it.

Removing your fingers makes the bunched-up dress pool over your hips and graze his raging erection. Great, now your spit and his precum are smeared all over your clothes. Normally, that wouldn’t bother him. Normally, that would be even hotter. Now, Ran wonders how much that damn thing costs because he never even looked; he just knew it suited you.

A steady grip at his base and suddenly Ran can’t wonder about any fucking thing under the sun. Your walls welcome him inch by inch like he’s goddamn worthy of that silky squeeze, but he can’t say shit. All he can manage is craning his neck forward to mouth over your nearest breast, arms still pinned. Fuck it. More fluids on the dress. If you don’t care, he doesn’t care. Maybe. Maybe he’ll just care later. Maybe he’ll learn to look at the cost of things. Maybe he won’t have to when he succeeds at fixing this dumpster fire of a situation.

His teeth graze against a barely felt but hard-peaked nipple, and you gasp out another moan. You have to shift to wedge your leg down by his side and repeat with the other one. One of his forearms is tingling, asleep, so he switches his mouth around and uses the functioning arm to play.

You’re moving so slow, too slow.

“You fucking love to mess with me,” Ran growls, all but biting through the layers before yanking at the neckline, savoring the plush skin he exposes. “Love fucking me,” he mutters again.

“Yeah, baby, why do you think that is?” You use the name so condescendingly and roll your hips so deliberately that Ransom bites back a ‘fuck you,’ instead forcing out a strangled whine. You just drag yourself up and down until he answers, pushing his t-shirt and an errant tail of his cardigan out of the way. Your fingers gently scratch the flat plain of his abs.

“Say it.”

He knows the answer. He’s known for a while, but that’s not something Ran’s ever gonna be ready for. It’s just already the truth.

It’s as soft as a hum against your skin.

“Say it, Hugh. Tell me why.”

He can tell by how you’re getting sloppier with your movement, by how hard you grind forward against him, that you’re close.

“Because you love me.” Ran winces at how desperate he sounds. It’s almost a cry, but he can’t really resist repeating it. “You love me.”

Your hands bury in his hair, and he’s literally covered in you while trapped in this fucking steam room of a car. He can’t control anything he’s doing.

“You love me,” he says again.

“Yes.”

“You love me.”

“Fuck, yes, baby.”

You’re fluttering around his cock like a dream, shouting encouragement, and it just slips out.

“I love you.”

He has no idea if you even hear him because you come so hard that your back bends, slamming you against the steering wheel.

The horn blares in the quiet woods.

You wait for him to yank you forward and erupt into sated giggles while Ran is a whole different kind of paralyzed, hiding his face in your chest for as long as you’re simmering without care.

Your fingers card through sweaty hair, your heartbeat slowing more than his does.

“Think you need this,” you say in a breathy whisper. You pull away to cradle his face.

He’s terrified you’re gonna ask. You’re gonna want him to say it again, he thinks, and Ran’s not sure he can with your eyes boring into his, knowing what he knows, being what he is until the will is void.

“I want you to come, Hugh.” Your thumb traces across his bottom lip, gaze following before it flickers back up.

You sound so fucking innocent while your slick is smeared all over his low belly and seeping through his underwear. His boxers are kinda in the way but kinda immovable while in such cramped quarters. Pushed aside, they hinder only as much as your bunched-up panties do. Easy enough to live with.

You keep staring expectantly.

“Do you want me to stop—“ fuck NO “—or will you give me what I want?”

Ran’s whole chest clenches, and it’s only because he slams his mouth to yours that you can’t see his eyes roll in fucking ecstasy. Perfect. You’re goddamn perfect. He couldn’t deny you anything much less this, and he knows that if this is the last time, he has to take advantage.

Sliding down slightly on the seat (because everything operates in centimeters at most this close), he takes two giant handfuls of your ass and spreads you, lifting so he can thrust his hips up at a brutal pace. He doesn’t fucking care if his knees bang against unyielding metal. He doesn’t care that a vein in his neck might snap from strain. He just needs this one thing, and then he’ll let it go. He’ll be ready for whatever outcome Harlan’s death triggers.

Because Ransom needs money. He had money long before he had you. It’s what he needs the most in life. He loves money.

If losing you is what it takes to keep the money…

That’s the thought he can’t finish as control of the urge to come slips from his bruising fingers. His desire for his status quo is faltering. His equilibrium’s changed.

He does love money. He does.

Now, to Ran's surprise, he loves you, and he has no fucking clue how to love both. He doesn’t know if he can keep both.

But friction is friction. He’s surrounded by the feel and sound and smell of sex. It’s familiar and more than a little haunting to him if this is the last time, but Ran crests that mountain before any coherent thoughts form. He can’t trust himself to speak. He might repeat what he never should have said aloud.

The groan when he empties himself inside you is almost pained, swallowed immediately by your adoring and hungry kiss. He’s sweat straight through his t-shirt and his jeans are a fucking mess. Your dress is damp, stained, and wrinkled. You’re practically bonded to the leather seat, but he just absently runs the back of his fingers up and down your thighs while he comes down.

When you release his mouth, your arms settle across his shoulders, and he buries his face in your chest again, hiding, relishing, stalling.

Shit, he’s gonna miss this.

After a minute, you rest your forehead against his and lift your hips until his limp dick slides out of you. Through half-closed eyes Ran watches you bite your bottom lip, gnaw on it like he wants to, like he moves to—

“Is this about the will?”

Ran freezes.

“Did—Harlan told you, didn’t he?”

“WHAT THE SHIT.” Ran’s rage explodes, heaving you off of him and into the passenger’s seat. “YOU FUCKING KNEW?!”

He shoves himself back in his pants and scrambles for the damn zipper.

“Ransom, it’s fine. He just—“

“Why the fuck wouldn’t you warn me? Jesus FUCK.” He’s unlatched and kicked the door open before you even get a word out.

“Harlan is my friend and—“

But he slams it shut, leaving your words muffled while Ran fumes in damp fucking clothes in the frigid air.

His fists almost—almost—pound on the hood of his car as he bites out, “I could have killed him.” 

Ran’s pacing toward the tree line when you finally shuffle from the beamer, pulling your dress back into place.

“Harlan’s my friend and he asked me in confidence if it made sense.”

“I’m sorry, he asked you? As in, my grandfather might not have done this if you hadn’t thrown me under the bus.”

“It wasn’t just about you.”

“It makes sense to leave me destitute? And you knew! You lying bitch,” he growls, immediately wishing the word hadn’t popped out, clawing at his scalp in a punishing attempt to think. “You watched me throw all that fucking money away and didn’t think I deserved to know?!“

“I’ve met you. Why would you listen to me about how to spend your money? That isn’t something you do, Ransom.”

“That’s not the point!” And stop calling me fucking ‘Ransom.’ “I can handle myself.”

“Then I guess your answer is ‘that’s how you spent the money,’ by choice.”

“I wasn’t given a choice. You lied to me. You’re the one who didn’t trust me.”

Your stalk forward in the dry leaves, stopping just outside of arm’s length away. “What the hell did I just say in there, huh? I love you. I said I love you, then you go and call me a bitch, so who’s the liar between us, huh? Who’s got trust issues?”

Ran’s face scrunches in distain. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Guess,” you spit back easily. 

Well, he isn’t fucking saying it now. Fuck you. Fuck this. This is the worst-case scenario: poor and alone because if you know, he can never get away with his plan.

“Why do you always do that?” he growls with a venom that poisons no one but himself. “Why the fuck are you here then?” Why are you with him?

“I’m here to support my piece of shit boyfriend at a piece of shit family event because Hugh asked me to.”

Nope. The right name is wrong. It sounds much worse than he expected.

Ran doesn’t know what to do with all this sick energy churning in his gut except burn through it. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He doesn’t know what to do with his life.

“There it is. There’s the truth,” he yells, leaning into your face. “I know it. You know it. This isn’t going to work. We’re not the fucking same. We’re not even close—“

“I don’t want someone the same as me.”

“I’m a useless—”

“Ran.” Your hands fly to gently land on his face.

“—talentless—“

“Seriously, please.”

“—sack of shit and you—“

“HUGH!” The grip at his jaw slips as he jerks back.

Ran tenses, shoving his chilled fingers into his jean pockets, pushing the wet material in front away from his crotch. He goes awkwardly quiet.

Yelling. He remembers the yelling. He’s been comfortable with yelling for longer than he’s been comfortable with affection.

“For fuck’s sake, just shut up.” You cross your arms over you chest and shiver. “This. This bullshit is why I didn’t tell you, but so what? You don’t have your own money. How do you think Harlan and I started out?”

He gives a look that shouts back everything he can’t put into words.

“You’re not useless or talentless. You’re entitled. That’s all, and you can change that state of being pretty fucking easily.”

“How? What am I supposed to do? Be a houseboy who eats you out once a week?”

“A week? Well, I hope I pay better than that.”

“Oh, what the fuck,” he grouches.

You giggle. You fucking giggle at that. “You started these jokes!”

“You don’t have to rub it in—”

“—just rub it out, huh?”

He doesn’t want to laugh. It’s not funny. His fate isn’t a laughing matter, but like everything else tonight, he fucking fails. A smile twitches at his lips.

“Ok, asshole, you want to be useful? How ‘bout driving us home? I’m freezing.”

He starts to protest but is cut off by a flinging arm.

“If you don’t get in this damn car, you will be helping me balance to pee in those woods.”

“Fucking gross,” Ran whines.

“Yeah, well, your ability to self-access is appalling too,” you jovially clap back, “but we’re working with what we’ve got.”

Fair.

Savage but fair.

He frowns and follows you into the car.

You talk his ear off on the way to his house, but he isn’t in the least bit annoyed. He’s engrossed. It’s all a type of flattery Ransom can hardly fathom: honest praise.

“I was miserably alone before you.”

He wouldn’t have pegged that based on how he saw you at all those events, but now that he considers how you’ve opened up about your frustrations and the exhaustion of being the center of attention, it makes sense. Ransom takes attention away from you. He loves that shit. He doesn’t even care if it’s negative attention. Hide behind his broad back and shine that spotlight on him; he’s game.

“You know what people you pay to be around you—people who want something from you don’t do? Argue. No one has a real conversation. No one has an opinion contradictory to yours. No one calls you out on your shit. It’s so…”

“Boring,” he whispers without thinking.

There’s a long pause until you continue softly.

“No one calls me out on my shit except you, only you.“ 

Your hand finds his. Though your skin is cold, he’s warmed by the touch. 

“So no, I don’t think my money will change anything. If money—mine or yours—were going to change you, it would have done it by now. I mean, sure, you could stand to be less of a dick sometimes, but you don’t have to. I already…”

Your voice trails off, and Ran knows. That’s just it. You love him and he’s a dick, the poor asshole who understands what the feeling is, the one who can’t say it, not on purpose, not yet. The tectonic shift in his life’s framework leaves him uneasy. As wonderful as you are, as perfect as this has been, he has to start over.

He has to build himself up from scratch. He’s been transplanted to an alien planet that he doesn’t have the means to make hospitable. Money was his means to everything. Money provided for him. Money protected him. Money separated him from others.

He never had space for two in his now-demolished castle of selfishness.

“I thought I’d be with someone so different from you,” you laugh without heart. “I’m…glad I was wrong.”

All he can manage is a squeeze of your hand.

“But Hugh, you’re proud of my success, not fucking threatened by it. You let me work, but you also know when I need a break and won’t take one. You’re devoted without being smothering because you have your own damn life, things you want to do. You aren’t intimidated by all this shit in my stupid world or the money. You don’t give a fuck what other people say.”

That’s true.

“You make me laugh,” you say quietly, and though he can’t see your face in the dark of the road leading to his neighborhood, he hears your smile. “You asshole.”

As he turns into the driveway, he glances over and winks. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

He watches that throwaway statement melt you, and then he realizes why.

Ransom trying to do absolutely fucking anything is a big fucking deal, and he has tried. He simply has no idea where to go from here.

He turns off the beamer and makes no move to get out.

“What am I supposed to do?”

Your hand releases his to glide up his arm and lace through his hair, lightly rubbing the base of his neck. “Help me,” you breathe.

“How the fuck would I help you?”

“Hugh,” you cock your head to the side, retracting both arms to brush your palms down the fabric of your (ruined) skirt, “you know damn well you’d like to control my whole wardrobe. You would do far better dressing me for all those functions than I do…and undressing me.”

He knows what you’re doing, but instead of smiling or laughing, he tightens his jaw and huffs. “Can I burn some of your—“ he does half air-quotes “—'wardrobe?'”

It’s so hideous. That one black dress you keep fucking wearing? No amount of dry cleaning will make that look new again. That’s getting flambéed.

You purse your lips. “Donate, but yes. I would consider that a huge help.”

“You’re serious.” Ran’s not sure whether he means it as a question or a statement.

“Yes. I am. Thank you for noticing.” You swivel to open the door. “Now, you can also help get my bag in while I use the restroom.”

The dance of readying for bed becomes you pointing out things you have now that you did not have before him. Taste being one of them, Ran thinks to himself. The important thing is he could say that to your face, but he’s strategically not pushing his luck tonight.

It’s true. Nearly every article of clothing and every toiletry now links back to his insistence that you have nice things that are for you, not just for life in general. You come before the rest of the world; you come before your work. That’s his gift. That’s what he’s good at, and you make it clear: you need him for that talent.

All of these nice things, all these reasons he seems good to you, and all this need for him have Ran feeling some sorta way when you crawl into his bed naked and reach to turn off the light.

He grabs your hand before you make it to the switch, forcing it back to the mattress, keeping you facedown. His heated breath and heavy body roll over you, teeth grazing your shoulder and moving slowly to your earlobe.

“You know what else I’m good for?”

His free hand slips between your thighs and finds what slick you couldn’t clean up. The knowledge that some of it is his cum still inside you makes Ran shudder. How would he ever have lived without this?

You sigh, your mouth falling open at the intrusion, and your eyelids flutter closed.

“Fuck,” you moan, high and quiet.

“That’s right, baby,” he hisses, mimicking your condescension from the car. Oh yeah, he’s gonna ruin more than that goddamn dress tonight.

He takes time to torture you with his fingers, his weight rendering you immobile. Ran sweeps falling hair out of your face with free reign to pepper open-mouthed kisses across the stretch of skin he’s claimed since that very first fuck.

You always knew what you wanted. He never thought you’d truly want him, certainly not for more than a day. After tonight, it’s inconceivable you want him still, yet here you are, burying your face in the sheets to muffle little cries as he humps your ass cheek to get harder and harder.

Good god, why do you want him? He fucked around, he yelled at you, he called you horrible names, he left you for weeks at a time in a foreign country alone, and yet you are here.

Then your words spring to mind. He argues with you. He has opinions. He makes you laugh. He treats you like the independent person you are. He treats you like your money doesn’t matter.

Because it didn’t to him.

Ransom realizes now that you treat him as if his money didn’t matter because it doesn’t to you. Nothing changed when you knew he wouldn’t have it anymore. Not a single thing. Somewhere over the last months, Harlan told you his plan, and the only perceptible difference to Ran was you falling in love with him.

Because you love him. He is so grateful he’s almost angry. You could do better. He can give you better.

By the time you come on Ran’s fingers, he’s completely feral thinking about all those little ways you showed your feelings, all the ways you showed him kind touch is not weakness. You also showed him that touch doesn’t have to be weak to be kind. He can be rough with his feelings for you, intense as they are. He can sink his cock into you, practically screaming that he loves you, too, but the words aren’t spoken.

He presses a thick forearm across your back to keep you pinned. He spreads his legs to widen yours. He thrusts in possessive and messy movements. No words escape. His range of motion is limited this way, but he gets all of your glorious noises. They’ve become his favorite sleep track. It’s hard for him to rest without hearing your happy, panicked pleasure beforehand.

You make desperate fists in the sheets and arch your ass up higher. He sees the unnatural strain in your body, all for him, all so he can have just that fucking tiny bit more of you.

He can’t stay in this position forever though. You’ll never come again like this, and he wants to see your face. The car was dark, but the lamp is still on. He can watch you fall apart with him deep inside.

“Turn,” he orders, enjoying how dazed and shaky you are as you struggle to control your muscles.

You’re a sight. Erratic breaths hardly settle your gasps. Pliable and ruined. Torn to whimpering pieces and stitched back together only to be split apart again.

He drinks in his handiwork, climbing slowly between your legs, delicately helping to cross your heels at his ass, and sinking back into your heat slowly, so slowly, like your teasing in the car.

“Hugh,” you mutter, and fuck, he has never heard you beg.

Ransom has always loved sex, but this is different. He meets your glazed eyes with floundering blue depths and wonders why he can’t just enjoy it as basic sex anymore.

He’s always loved money, too, and although he doesn’t want to take it from you, Ran feels the weight of your charity. Money was his sun, his whole world, but it was not enough. You provide more, warmth that lets him spread out in contentment, light that keeps him from withering.

Money doesn’t need his love; it’s indifferent.

You, on the other hand, you are fucking radiant, glowing and hot with his arm tucked beneath your shoulders to grab at your hairline. He makes you look at him. Your fingernails scratch at his back while your hips grind together.

“So beautiful,” he rumbles, nose almost touching yours. “Come on, sweetheart—“ Ran drops to lave kisses down your bared throat “—one more for me.”

This time, you have no words, only grunting uh and hng as he speeds up. Your noises get higher. Ran gets rougher, a brutal rhythm for a brutal realization.

He can’t hold back when he sees you like this; he’s gonna say it.

He gets close, so very close to breaking, but you fall first.

“Please—ah.”

You fucking writhe beneath him, your whole body spasming like your silky pussy ripples over the sensitive skin of his cock.

“That’s it,” he coos in your ear. “That’s right. Good girl.”

He has to chance meeting your eyes because he wants to see you unravel again. Ran always does whatever he wants.

He slows his hips to intermittent thrusts that sizzle your nerves over and over, pulling his arm out from under you to lift your chin. You’re open for him in every sense of the word, and he is fucked in every possible way.

He’s an amoeba of a man staring evolution in the face.

You’re his. It’s clear in the light that he owns you. He’s earned you, or at least, he’s trying to. That’s a big deal for Ransom Drysdale.

Quivering, your mouth hanging open, his thumb rolling over your swollen bottom lip, he gets one word.

“Daddy.”

Barely a whisper, partly a question, but mostly an invitation. He slides his thumb up into your mouth, only letting you suck on it for a moment before it drags out.

Ran never thought you’d ever say that. He never imagined you’d beg either. You’ve always known what you want and taken it. You have never needed anything from him.

“Please,” you say again, holding your mouth wider still.

Shit. He throbs at the prospect, and he’s too far gone to deny you this. He plants one small peck on your jaw before pulling out and clambering over your hips and chest.

“Ah fuck,” he moans when you suck on one of his balls, stroking him with a smooth and firm grip. “Love y—love your mouth…so much.”

Ran leans against his headboard, hand clamped over his trap in a desperate attempt not to blabber, but you continue. You’re in tune with when he’s ready, when you’ve taken the teasing far enough and he needs to come. His hips stutter to shove himself just a little farther down your throat. He collects his wits only enough not to choke you, muffling a cry.

You’re gentle with him as he loses his absolute shit trying to keep it together, thighs shaking, breath hindered, biting the fuck out of his hand.

“Sorry, I…” he tries.

“I…I—“ he tries again.

He just can’t fucking do it.

Ran digs his palms so hard into his eyes he sees stars. His chest is tight like it’ll explode any second. The relief of orgasm has evaporated instantly, and he just really fucking can’t.

“Hey, hey,” you soothe, shifting up onto your kneels behind him, “it’s okay.” Your warm arms encircle his chest, over one shoulder and under the other, and you pull his own pliable and ruined body toward you.

He collapses back on his heels, leaning against you.

“Hugh, it’s alright.” Your whisper makes his eyes sting. “I know.”

Ran raises his arms to hold your wrists. His head drops to kiss the back of your hand. He still stays silent.

“I know…”

Your bare legs stretch across his lap, and Ransom lets the hand warmed by his mug grasp your ankle gently. You’re off in your own mind, staring out the window of his living room, worrying your bottom lip. He watches while you don’t notice.

Ran never particularly liked the unknown, and after Harlan’s shit last night, he’s off surprises for a fucking lifetime. This, however, this with you, sitting in comfortable quiet, makes him feel perfectly at ease with an unsure future.

For someone so fascinating to him, you’re so normal.

Sure, you’re beauty trumps the view outside, you’re dedicated to your work, and you’re smart enough to run circles around anyone, but…

You’re just you, sitting with a hot drink on his couch in the morning, wearing one of his sweaters again. Could be a sixty-dollar sweater from a thrift shop—or six cents for all Ran knows about secondhand sales—or the six-hundred-dollar one that he stoopidly bought three weeks ago; it doesn’t matter to you. The only thing that matters to him now is who wears it. That garment means nothing without you in it.

You sip at your tea, and he follows, staring at you staring at the world.

You two spoke more about it last night in the dark about everything but that one little phrase that’s eating him alive, a tangled mess of yourselves and the sheets. Nothing has to change except where the money comes from. Ran gets what he’s wanted all along: control over your wardrobe and, essentially, your entire presentation to that world you’re staring out into. He is not, however, permitted to burn your favorite Little Black Dress, but for fuck’s sake he’ll get all of its seams checked and the damn thing refitted. He’s hoping if he makes enough fuss, you’ll choose to toss it just to shut him up.

Fucking rules. Ran hates rules. If you kept standards on par with your New Money maybe he’d follow your rules. He’ll get you in the good stuff: the good house with good furniture, the good clothing with good lingerie beneath, right down to the good wash and lotion.

You can keep your perfume. He likes your perfume.

Yes, he’ll get you into what he wants, when he wants, where he wants, and all that implies. Ransom always gets what he wants…because you let him.

It’s remarkable what you let him fucking do, too.

He slides his hand from your ankle to your knee, knocking you out of your reverie just in time for his phone to buzz.

He holds your legs to him while sneaking a glance at the screen. Linda. Fuck no, he’s not answering that. It’s not Sunday and he’s not ditching anything. Fucking wait. Fucking choke for all he cares.

Ran instead sets his nearly empty mug down beside your two phones on the coffee table and curls up in your corner of couch. You open your arms to tuck him into your chest, and sure, it’s cutesy and gross in a way that should make Ran want to gag, but who fucking cares when he’s this comfortable. He plants a kiss right on your nipple through the knit for fun, feeling you shiver, then listens to your heart.

His phone vibrates again, dancing closer to the stoneware he just put down.

His mother’s persistence is as admirable as it is annoying. Predictably, Ran’s bored by her usual shit and ignores it again.

Instead of pushing up his sweater to wrap an arm around your waist though, he shoves his now chilly fingers between your hot thighs and sighs. His ear rings with the airy sound of your laugh through flesh.

Then your phone dings, and he just fucking knows it’s her. His groaned protest goes unheeded as you swap your mug for the device and bring it to you.

Ran snorts, and you smooth your free hand over his hair.

“Hello—“ there are harsh but restrained mumbles but he can’t make out the words “—Linda, why on Earth would I be with a man the night he yelled at me like that?”

Because you love him, Ran thinks, but he hears garbled disappointment from the other end.

“And after how your brother and his wife acted—” more rushed excuses “—I don’t have time to go around looking for your adult baby. I have work to do and a plane to catch.” There’s obvious desperation in Linda’s tone, but you don’t care. “Goodbye.”

You let your phone drop to the rug, carding fingers through his hair before finishing with little scratches. Your nonchalance is still pure honesty. You wouldn’t waste time on him, not if you didn’t want him, and you did not let him speak to you that way for more than three sentences because you knew exactly how to shut him up.

“Vicious little bitch,” you mutter.

And…in all your perfect, honest, niceness, you called his mother a bitch—not to her face but you’ll get there, Ran’s sure.

He fucking loves you. He is really so fucking in love with you that it’s fucking gross. He’s disgusted and doesn’t fucking care.

After a big sigh, your hand finds his between your legs and moves it to cup your sex. “Where were we?”

Ransom shifts up over you at the same time as you slide beneath him on the buttery leather cushions. His wildly true and blue eyes meet yours with stern sincerity.

He’s looking at everything he ever wanted, and it’s not money. There are all sorts of things he can use to survive, loads of things he can replace, an infinite amount to take, but only one you, only one complete package. Not a thing. Not replaceable. Finite. Earned. New. Fascinating. Teasing. Messy. Sexy. A total hardass badass with a great ass.

Ran lays his hand heavier on that thin layer of silk, possession laced in the caress, and the words just flow right out.

“Marry me.”

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

Oh my god, gang, I can't believe I fucking did it. Truly, this fic has been one of the craziest things I've ever attempted, and honestly, I'm so damn proud. I'm proud that I wrote it, I'm proud that it's over, and I'm proud of whatever reception it gets. I murdered my soul for this and am delighted. Thank you all so much for reading!

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[lady-griffin]

Small Parallel I love with Knives Out and Glass Onion

Neither Harlan Thrombey nor Andi Brand are good people. They’re not. They’re also not evil people to be clear, but again, they’re not really good people.

By the kind of people his family and especially his children are, we get a sense of who Harlan is or largely was in his life, especially with the comment that there is so much of him in Ransom.

Andi was also clearly more than okay with both Birdie and Duke as not just acquaintances but close friends; as well as what other nonsense came out of Miles before “Klear,” and she was his business partner and friend.

She wasn’t some moral beacon of wholesomeness.

Her standard of good was – 

Let’s not put this very dangerous and unstable thing that hasn’t even come close to being properly tested out into the world, especially not under our company’s name; because we are not some daring startup company anymore, we’re an established conglomerate and this could easily sink us.

That’s not exactly a high bar of morality.

And that’s okay.

Really it is.

I like how neither movie truly idolizes Harlan or Andi to the point they are made out to be truly good people, BUT yet, we still see why Marta and Helen clearly loved and cared about these two and why their deaths matter.

Marta and Helen are our truly good souls for these movies. 

The two main groups of people - The Thrombeys and The Disruptors - are all various shades of the same kind of bad person for each movie.

The Thrombeys are all willing to live off Harlan’s hard work and they all believe they are entitled to his fortune because it’s their family right. It’s theirs. And once you peel back the layers of liberal or conservative, they’re all the same, because they’re all a bit more than willing to defend what they think is theirs, with knives out and teeth bared.

The Disruptors are somehow even more reliant on Miles than the Thrombeys were on Harlan (which is saying something); and they will cling onto him until they see his boat is doomed to sink. They literally know he killed two people; two of their so-called “friends” and they’re not willing to do anything. At least, not until Miles is truly fucked. 

They all care more about their own survival and ambitions than doing the right thing. And once more, when you peel back the layers of liberal or conservative, we once again see they’re all the same, they’re all more than willing to lie for a lie and stab a “friend” in the back.

But Harlan and Andi are our mixed bags of morality.

This is clear enough with the two types of people they are associated with.

The Thrombey Family and Marta.

The Disruptors and Helen. 

They’re kind of like an optical illusion, it really depends on how you look at them and what you see when it comes to their own morality. 

However, they do have two traits that I think redeem them for the audience, or at the very least make them more admirable to us.

They are genuinely self-made people.

Harlan was a brilliant murder mystery writer. He was. And he did build this publishing/franchise empire of his.

Andi was a brilliant mind who dabbled in many different things, but her real talent (as I saw it) was being able to spot a certain something-something in people. She saw the doers in the world, even when they weren’t quite there yet, she saw their potential to be the kind of person who others would notice and remember.

They were also both willing to stand by their values and once they made a decision, they would not be bullied into changing it. 

Harlan decided to cut off his family and was sticking by that. 

Andi decided to walk away from Miles and was sticking by that.

And I don’t know, I just like that little bit of extra moral complexity these two characters bring to these movies.

Oh, and Benoit Blanc is a good person, but he definitely isn’t governed by what the law or society says is good. He’s an eccentric who’s here for a good time, a fun and challenging mystery, and is more than willing to help out the good souls in the world when he gets the opportunity.

[bluebutlikenotalways]

Laddies we got an Au

Long post below the cut and some disturbing imagery, so be advised.

So it takes place after Pearl sunk Abalone and his fleeting. This time however her sisters actually stuck around to check on her after everything and actually managed to help her open up…some how.

Though her heart wasn’t stained black she will never be the same.

However she was able to build up the strength to talk to Lord Oyster again. She never fully forgave him for giving away her pearl, but he was there after the attacks to take care of the pirates who had somehow managed to avoid dying to take them to justice. This showed the mermaids that some cookies could be trusted. Because of this Pearl became a guardian for The House of Oyster and oh boy did that do wonders for their reputation!

With her making peace with all her pain she didn’t fully become Black Pearl and is kinda grey(-ish purple) I need to work on her design a bit more obviously, but she followed a lot closer to Crimson and takes her job as a protector seriously enough. Some may wonder if she enjoys a good fight more than defending her friends.

Also her sister and Frilled Jellyfish have her tokens to try and brighten her up some.

Through all this Lord Oyster swore he would redeem himself to his moon (she asked him not to call her that anymore lol) So he dedicated a good chunk of resources to trying to locate her pearl! This mission was passed down through the generations until finally…

Oyster Cookie had finally gotten a big lead and was able to send one of the best captains and his crew out to try and recover it.

Unfortunately they ran into a slight problem.

The sea the pearl was said to be found in was rough and could capsize a ship twice their size. Caviar wanted to go alone, but with a crew as stubborn as he they braved it together as one! (Candy Diver died in a different accident and Caviar still managed to find them and bring them aboard because he’s just that good at sniffing out crew mates.)

Alas it wasn’t just a storm.

It was a trap.

A band of pirates forged a letter hoping Oyster herself would show up so they could get a nice tidy ransom, but when a harder than nails crew showed up in their place they were far from pleased.

The Salty Shark crew hold their ground well, but being outnumbered four to one never seems to end in your favour.

Caviar was the last to go down and was thrown overboard to his watery grave like the rest of his crew. After The Silent’s crew was demolished completely the pirates set out to “commandeer” her, but immediately things started to go wrong for them. Things went so wrong that at least two were killed on their scramble to get off the boat while many more met their soggy fates as they threw themselves overboard in preference to whatever was on their with them.

Guess what movie franchise this is based on :D

As the legend says the captain pulled himself up out of the deep that night and sails his waters of the Duskgloom searching for his crew to bring them safely aboard and finally leave that damned place. However the captain’s kindness runs short with strangers who cross his path, especially those who fly the skull and crossbones.

The Silent is still under his full command and all orders are carried out will full efficiency.

Now Oyster wanted the return of her pearl to be a surprise with a big celebration after, but when the captain never returned and those she sent to look for him disappeared she had few other choices than to send her most capable guard.

[bigtreefest]

I really like the ex-boyfriend trope because it’s a reminder that at some point, the asshole was soft enough to care for that person. To learn so much about them. And I really love that for Ransom. It’s so rare that he genuinely cares and you can see it in his face, the full joking smile when he sarcastically talks about his parents, the concern etched in his brow about reader’s mom. He’s really doing this for her own good and that’s such a swoon. 🥺 I mean, sure, he’s still Ransom, but I love the mushy edge that their previous relationship gives to him. Kind of like “you’ll always have a place in my heart.” Probably bc reader is the only person he’s met in these circles that actually cares about him, despite the fact that he simply tries to play it off on her good looks. Kris, I’m in love. He’s an asshole, but he’s perfect. “Mean man who’s only nice for me” kinda perfect🫣

I'm Feeling Like I Never Should

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x female reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Summary: It's bad enough you've been forced to be at this charity gala, but now you have to deal with your ex, Ransom.

Warnings: Explicit language, anxiety, insults, bad parents All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

A/N: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bonenanza!!! The prompts I used were seeking comfort (or sexy times) from an ex and “Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you?” which both screamed Ransom to me. 😂 Thank you for hosting such a fun event, Siri!! I hope you had a great birthday!

Thanks as always to @paperweight91 who has an endless supply of patience for talking through ideas with me and helping me whenever I'm stuck.

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The noise from the party floated down the secluded back hallway, muted but still audible. You took a deep breath, leaning against the wall. You really hated these things. Too many people. Too much smugness. You didn’t understand why you couldn’t all just donate to charities in private. That’s what the internet was for. But no, you had to watch each other do it to prove how good you all were while eating canapes and drinking too much in designer gowns. You really hated these things.

And your parents knew that. Your mom, especially, knew exactly what rooms like this, full of distant acquaintances and strangers, did to you. Knew how hard forced mingling was for you. Knew the way it made your chest ache. And still, she’d insisted. And then she’d–

You wiped the stray tears from your face. It was pointless to get upset over things she’d always done, over a person who’d never change. You should know better by now.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and you reflexively looked over at the noise to find Ransom Drysdale standing in the doorway in a tux. Shit. Shit. He, of course, had seen you too and now he was striding over.  

 “Not fucking now, Ransom,” you whined, but of course he didn’t listen. He’d never fucking listened. Not when you were kids and knew him in passing. Not for the entire time you’d dated as adults. Why would he start now?

“Wow,” he said, gesturing to you with a crostini in his hand. “There’s a party going on out there and you’re playing wallflower in here? Color me shocked.”

“Yeah?” you said. “And what are you doing in here? Trying to find a caterer to pay to blow you?” No one could get your back up like him. He’d always brought the vile out in you.

He gave you a mean little smirk. “You rather I slipped you a fifty instead? Your mouth always was one of the best things about you.”

You felt your skin start to heat in embarrassment (and something else you had no interest in naming) as you growled, “Fuck off, Ransom. I’m sure this building has other hallways for you to lurk in. Please just leave this one to me.”

You looked down, waiting for him to leave, but he didn’t move. Instead, you felt his intense stare on you. When you finally looked back up, his gaze was softer than you expected. “Is it your mom again?” he asked. 

You pushed yourself back into the wall, for lack of anywhere to hide. It was easy to forget when he was such an asshole, when all you did was trade barbs, how much he’d seen, how well he knew you. All you could do was shrug, with a quiet, “You know how she is.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Still wants a mini-me instead of an actual human daughter?”

You sighed. It was too much, too real, to have him here like this. You almost preferred it when he was insulting you. “I really just want to be alone right now, Ran. Please.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, shaking his head. His voice was so sure, firm.

“Excuse me?” you bit out, the acid coming back.

“If I leave you alone, you’re just going to stand back here and spiral until you’ve made yourself completely fucking miserable. To the point where it’ll take you days to come out of it. That is not what you actually want.”

His certainty lit a fire inside of you. “I know,” you growled out, “that you think you know everything, but you aren’t actually the expert on me, Ransom.”

“Aren’t I?” he asked, with a hint of that smirk returning. It made you want to punch him in his beautiful face.

“Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Goddamnit, will you just fucking let me do this for you? I know it’s been a while, but I know you. Better than any of those assholes out there.” He threw an emphatic arm back towards the party. “Including your fucking parents. You can talk to me.”

“And say what, Ran? That she’s still dragging me to these things even though she knows what they do to me? That she’s decided that there’s not much to brag about in a single daughter to her society friends, so these fucking events have become matchmaking opportunities too? That she will never tire of reminding me just how much I’m not the person she wants me to be? It’s just the same old bullshit. It’s not your problem anymore. It barely was even when we were together.” You sagged back against the wall, all of your energy leeched out of you.

Ransom was quiet for a very long moment. You hoped that meant he might leave, finally seeing what a lost cause this all was. Instead, when he finally spoke, he said, “She always really hated me.”

“Yeah, Ran,” you sighed. “She hates a lot of people.”

“No,” he said, with a smile that still had a touch of meanness to it, but, as always, you could somehow tell that none of that meanness was directed at you, “what I’m trying to say is I bet it would fucking piss her off if you walked back into that party with me on your arm. Spent the whole night with me. Left with me, even. I bet she’d be so angry. I bet it’d ruin her whole fucking week.”

You burst into laughter. You couldn’t help it. No one could do petty like Ransom. You’d forgotten how fun that could be. “Yeah? That’s why you want to hang out with me? To piss off my mom?”

“No, that’s why you want to hang out with me. I want to hang out with you because you’re always the hottest person at these things.” And then he gave you the most shameless once-over you’d ever received.

“Oh my god,” you chuckled with an overly fond eye-roll, despite yourself. He was always just so Ransom. The things about him that pissed you off and drew you to him in equal measure never changed. You were sure they never would. “What about you? I’m sure you have lots of people to piss off. How are Richard and Linda?”

He gave you a bright smile. “Oh, just the absolute fucking worst. As ever.”

You laughed again. “Glad to hear we’re still in the same boat, at least.” You pushed yourself off the wall and took a step closer to him, feeling like you might finally be ready to venture back into the party. “What were you doing back here, anyway? Do you need to finish finding whatever it is you were looking for?”

Ransom glanced away from you for just a moment and then shrugged. “Nah. I was bored out of my mind out there and then saw your mom swanning around, in rare form even for her. Figured I’d probably find you back here.”

You touched his arm without thinking, warmth spreading through your chest. “Wait, you were looking for me?”

He shrugged again. “I know how much you hate these things. Thought you might need checking up on.”

All you could do was stare at him, all the best feelings from your time together rushing back over you. “You’re very surprising, Ransom,” you said, quietly.

He shook his head with a rueful grin. “No,” he said, “definitely not that. I’m just the same old asshole.” He offered you his arm. “Come on, let’s see if we can make that vein in your mom’s forehead throb.”

Tag list is open

@stargazingfangirl18 @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @midnightramyeoncravings @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly

[familyabolisher]

ive been intrigued by ur recent posts about glass onion, and i was wondering: did you have similar issues with knives out, or do you feel that glass onion's weaknesses are unique to that film?

i think that knives out suffers from the same liberal sensibilities as glass onion, though glass onion was noticeably more smug and self-important in its conviction of its own political significance. if anything, i think the shift in political logics governing how rian johnson tackles the detective genre between knives out and glass onion makes for a very effective synecdoche of the changing sensibilities of the wealthy american liberal class between 2019 and 2022. knives out is very much a product of the trump era, when american border violence was front and centre of liberal discourses (and broadly understood to be the consequence of a republican presidency rather than a necessary prerequisite to the maintenance of the settler-colonial regime itself). the ethos at the heart of the detective fiction template is one of affirming the necessity and moral integrity of policing and moving the image of policing away from an overtly political register towards one in which crime is predominantly interpersonal, and a contemporary piece that looks to build on the detective genre and grapple with its political accountabilities should reasonably be expected to challenge this notion. certainly there are gestures made to the role that policing plays in upholding border violence in knives out – a significant part of the stakes of the film come from the dangers of police involvement in the case when marta’s mother is undocumented – but at the end, ransom is arrested, marta gets the inheritance, the courts step in to administer justice, and this is presented as a satisfying ending, in keeping with the traditional end to detective fiction. knives out, whilst conscious of systemic violence to some very liberal degree, still closes with the assumption that i think most liberals of 2019 would have taken at face value; that ransom being arrested and marta getting the inheritance was enough, that that in itself was a politically expedient depiction. 

between 2019 and 2022, the american liberal sentiment around policing underwent a sea change; the 2020 BLM uprisings in the wake of the murder of george floyd introduced a liberal articulation of police abolition to people who would previously have thought of that idea as an extremist commie position. this was ofc watered down to calls to ‘defund the police’ and other such electoralist bullshit, but the idea that the criminal justice system served the interests of capitalists and enforced white supremacy such that Black people were subject to police brutality was now something that had taken root in the liberal psyche. the idea of a metaphysical notion of justice being served when the perpetrator is arrested at the end of the detective story just wouldn’t quite gel with the american liberal in the way it might have in 2019 (though perhaps this imagines american liberals to be more serious about the politics of policing than they are; at the very least, i think rian johnson seems to have been tuned in to this shift in awareness around what policing is and does, and intended to tackle this). hence how, at the end of glass onion, we see benoit blanc acknowledge that his power to deliver ‘justice’ to miles bron is limited to the powers that he answers to, ie. the police and the courts, and that miles’ wealth + the lack of ‘evidence’ that would be afforded legitimacy in a court of law made prosecuting him impossible. stymied by the system’s inability to deliver ‘justice,’ he galvanises helen to – essentially – destroy miles’ property instead. (& in doing so ofc makes prosecution possible; the fuel that bron was developing is proven to be dangerous, his friends redeem themselves in the eye of the narrative by agreeing to testify against him, etc. – the narrative trips over itself a little as it tries to guide the viewer towards a deliverance of ‘justice’ outside of the courts only to bring our focus back there after all.) there’s a new sense that the criminal justice system doesn’t serve the interests of Black people, that it serves the interests of elon musk-types, and that destruction of private property constitutes an understandable response to such a fundamentally unfair system, but it’s not really … developed into a meaningful or original anti-capitalist or anti-racist ethos as much as it just reflects what american liberals have managed to absorb into their worldview. 

anyway, knives out is still broadly v toothless when it comes to ‘saying’ anything about wealth or capitalism or border violence or racism. harlan thrombey, though a wealthy patriarch, is understood to merit a significant degree of sympathy and appreciation from the audience, because 1. he is, putatively, ‘self-made’; all the ‘dislike’ for wealthy people on the part of the audience is channelled towards his children who are presented as spoiled and vacuous and thus undeserving of his inheritance (which, when picked at, is a fundamentally capitalist sentiment that reifies meritocracy); 2. he is intelligent, which goes back to what i criticised about glass onion – so-called ‘intelligence’ and fluency in ‘culture’ is a white supremacist class marker, and failing to interrogate these concepts or ask if a wealthy person with these supposed assets is still a wealthy person complicit in the same violence as the wealthy person who lacks them is a critical failing of an anti-capitalist narrative that near enough collapses it into old money complaining about the uncultured nouveau-riche; 3. he knows marta’s mother is undocumented and wants to protect her from police investigation, which is supposed to endear us to him despite the fact that he had this knowledge and did nothing for her or marta until he himself died, and 4. he participates in what a liberal imaginary might claim constitutes a ‘redistribution of wealth’ in allowing marta to inherit his capital + assets, which in practice only imagines a shift in ownership over the means of production & capital into the hands of marginalised people to constitute an effective counter to racist border violence. (very good post here identifying how marta’s inheritance of the thrombey’s estate plays into the same great replacement logics that the film wants to refute.) marta is seen as a worthy heroine and inheritor of his wealth because she, unlike the thrombey family, ‘deserved’ it – she’s kind, and intelligent, and makes a ‘useful’ social contribution through working as a nurse, and is so driven by an ontological ‘goodness’ that she can’t even tell a lie without vomiting. i appreciate that some of those characteristics are in keeping with what makes for a compelling heroine of the detective genre, but it just makes me wonder — does the film not hang on to a sense of there being ‘deserving’ vs ‘undeserving’ immigrants? would the film have so strongly insisted on marta’s ‘right’ to inherit american wealth and american power had she not been played by a white actress/had she been, say, ‘morally ambiguous’/unemployed/homeless/criminalised? it’s a very palatable narrative, and one that doesn’t really challenge liberal sensibilities or take serious aim at hegemony. 

i do think knives out was at its most compelling when it made the point about how people with wealth and power might well identify themselves at almost any point on the political ‘spectrum,’ but will all unite when it comes to the preservation of capital. unfortunately, this collapses in on itself a little with the suggestion that a concentration of capital of the sort that the thrombeys hold/held is fine as long as it’s in the hands of the ‘right’ person, and rings a little hollow considering … the rest.

i don’t believe the detective genre is inherently, irreparably reactionary – disco elysium, for example, is a work of detective fiction that clearly sets out to interrogate and undermine the reactionary ethos that powers its genre touchstones, and by and large does succeed – but i do think that the fact of the genre having emerged out of the development of modern policing with intent to affirm certain paradigms (the ‘individual’ rather than systemic nature of crime and punishment, the integrity of the law and its enforcement as upholding a metaphysical notion of justice that extends beyond capitalist hegemony, the naturalisation of the modern policing system) is something that contemporary creators have to be prepared to tackle, and i think rian johnson has yet to tackle any of that effectively.

[blac-ivy]

Twilight fandom is inarguably one of the biggest, most enduring fandoms, yet there is so little work written for it, which really surpises me.

Did anyone watch the riot club?

I hated thoses rich bastards but I need an x reader fic fix so BADDD.

Like the girlies who like Draco Malfoy, Ransom Drysdale, Lloyd Hansen and other rich asshole characters with little to no redeemable qualities y'all didn't eat it up like I did?

Y'all seen Max Irons in that movie? Douglas Booth? Sam Claflin? And you felt nothing.

Please I need a The Riot Club revival.

I know they suck majorly but I just do.

[backgroundasexual]

People shipped Marta with a man who literally tried to kill her so I doubt they're deterred by racism

ya im gonna be honest seeing ppl go "peg and birdie are dating!!" when the movie makes a point of showing how horrifically racist birdie is and that she treats peg, a woc, so badly that she's willing to ruin peg's life and career to save her ass is. it's not great

[myths-tournaments]

Awful Characters Round 1 Part 4 (2/8)

Propaganda under the cut!

VEGAS THEERAPANYAKUL

he's such a polarizing character because there's the group of us who are like Vegas <3!!! and then there's the people that point out his many crimes against humanity and lack of redeemable qualities or actions. he brutally tortures his love interest. he commits lots of crimes against the protagonist including drugging him. he's literally the villain. I love him so much though he's the poorest little meow meow of all time

As the oldest son in the minor mafia family in Thailand, Vegas seeks every opportunity to outdo his cousin from the main family. He hires an assassin to go after him. On another occasion he drugs, kidnaps, and assaults a guy to get at his cousin. He secretly schemes with the Yakuza, plots to frame that same guy as a mole working for the main family, fakes being in love with his cousins ex-boyfriend to the point of getting engaged (and then ditches him), and allegedly has done the same thing with the actual mole working for the main family. The definition of manipulate, manwhore, manslaughter. Vegas has a whole ass Patrick Bateman-style murder coat for torture. Methods of torture used: extracting a man's Cochlear, electrocuting a man's balls, forcefeeding by shoving said man's head into slop, whipping him with his own leather belt, setting a fake escape trap only to chase the hostage down and tase him. Whenever he makes deals he'll slip his hand into the other person's with a firm grip before they've consciously expressed a choice (so it always goes in his favor). He shields himself with other's bodies during shootouts, letting several people die for his sake. He's into BDSM (this isn't one of the bad things, but hoo boy people will act like it is). Listen, he's a piece of work. He cries because his pet hedgehog dies. He falls for his hostage, fucks him, and then continues to be shitty so the guy knocks him out to escape. He gets pathetic about it. He confesses his love and kisses him in a parking garage full of dead bodies in the middle of a mafia coup that he is leading. He's absolutely reprehensible and is treated as the main villain of the show for several reasons. Except I love him and his insanity. He gets a lot of shit that he doesn't deserve (both in canon and in the fandom). Not that I wanna fix him, that wouldn't be fun! Vegas and his partner deserve to serve cunt, be disgustingly in love, and murder to their hearts desires because I said so.

CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON

This is based on vibes and general like…hesitancy in others to agree that Milverton is worth simping over. He's the true evil foil to a necessary evil protag. He is always on a power trip he finds himself smart but can't pivot when things go off script, he's the king of blackmail because he isn't trying to get the money he's trying to make the person come to ruin and really wants to watch. His goon pissed on what they thought was Sherlock Holmes' Stradivarius, simply to humiliate him. He's a wet rat, sexy as hell, and entertaining af.

Look, the man is pure evil, he blackmails people not for the profit of taking the ransoms but to watch them frantically scramble to gather the ransom and then watch the light die in their eyes as he brings their worst nightmares to life before them. He ordered the death of a disabled child (and i’m still mad about it). He made his boyfriend destroy a violin (as far as he knew, a very expensive violin at that) by pissing on it. He would kick a puppy. But he’s also dramatic and fun about his pure evil, and I’m attached. He tries to make clowns out of my favourite couple, and gets called the whole circus for it. It’s funny. Also, his depiction in the musicals (specifically the fourth musical) dials this drama up to 11, while also giving him a very cute relationship with Ruskin. He’s the literal worst, but he’s fun about it, so it’s all totally okay.

He blackmails people for fun. He isn't after their money, hes already rich, but still he asks amounts of money that are over the limit for the people he blackmails. His greatest joy is to see good people blackmailed into doing bad things.

[zoewithabba]

In the Jewish people it was customary for the older brother to repair the honor of the family by going to look for the younger brother, but in the parable this does not happen.

However, Jesus came in search of us as an older brother, to save us from our bad walk.

“But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to sonship.” Galatians‬ ‭4‬:‭4‬-‭5‬ ‭NIV‬‬

We were separated from the Father and without the possibility of returning home because of our sin, but Jesus became the mediator between God and men and gave his life as a ransom for all (1 Timothy 2: 5-6)

[butterflies-and-bumble-bees]

Exult, let them exult, the hosts of heaven, exult, let Angel ministers of God exult, let the trumpet of salvation sound aloud our mighty King's triumph!

Be glad, let earth be glad, as glory floods her, ablaze with light from her eternal King, let all corners of the earth be glad, knowing an end to gloom and darkness.

This is the night, when once you led our forebears, Israel's children, from slavery in Egypt and made them pass dry-shod through the Red Sea.

This is the night that with a pillar of fire banished the darkness of sin.

This is the night that even now, throughout the world, sets Christian believers apart from worldly vices and from the gloom of sin, leading them to grace and joining them to his holy ones.

This is the night, when Christ broke the prison-bars of death and rose victorious from the underworld.

Our birth would have been no gain, had we not been redeemed.

O wonder of your humble care for us! O love, O charity beyond all telling, to ransom a slave you gave away your Son! O truly necessary sin of Adam, destroyed completely by the Death of Christ! O happy fault that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer!

O truly blessed night, worthy alone to know the time and hour when Christ rose from the underworld!

This is the night of which it is written: The night shall be as bright as day, dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness.

But now we know the praises of this pillar, which glowing fire ignites for God's honor, a fire into many flames divided, yet never dimmed by sharing of its light, for it is fed by melting wax, drawn out by mother bees to build a torch so precious.

O truly blessed night, when things of heaven are wed to those of earth, and divine to the human.

Therefore, O Lord, we pray you that this candle, hallowed to the honor of your name, may persevere undimmed, to overcome the darkness of this night.

Receive it as a pleasing fragrance, and let it mingle with the lights of heaven.

May this flame be found still burning by the Morning Star: the one Morning Star who never sets, Christ your Son, who, coming back from death's domain, has shed his peaceful light on humanity, and lives and reigns for ever and ever.

(my favourite parts the Exsultet)

[hivemire]

so! I said I'd tell something about miss rachele, my rogue trader

rachele might have not always carried the von valancius last name, but still was born to comfortable nobility and all it entails under the gaze of the god-emperor. one of all too many sisters, she was the sole one to visibly inherit some stray voidborn genes fluctuating here and there in the family pool; aesthetically this has no true consequence except making of her a bleached, stretched out copy of her siblings, far too pale and far too tall, reaching the height of 190cm. the skin she conceals with treatment and makeup. the height she stresses even further with heels whenever possible. turns out there is no shortage of advantages in towering over most, especially when you carry blue blood in your veins too.

the fact that far too many sisters had been existing for longer than she means that rachele understood early and clear that she was not going to participate in any game of inheritance, no matter how well read or ruthless she was. instead, she turned her efforts towards the military. through both personal skill and an equal amount of nepotism she managed to obtain herself a career in the imperial navy, becoming an officer of sort of local renown. she might not be the best shot, but she is a leader. though an ant in the immense mechanisms of the empire, she is respected, looked up to. she settles feudal disputes. she wins battles. her star is rising, and shining brighter with each passing day.

it makes her reckless. at one point rachele, daughter of nobles still, is abducted for ransom- unused to true threat, always too loud and too confident that if not her rank then her blood will shield her from any consequences, she does not believe something during this stay could happen to her. of course, she is wrong. it is not long before she is rescued, but enough for her to be recovered with severe physical damages. her wealth can buy much, but cannot buy miracles. one leg, despite surgery, will remain permanently weaker than the other.

her right hand is unsalvageable. it is amputated, and replaced with an augmetic. it's fine steel. it is still less of her flesh.

this event mars her in the mind indelibly. if even before rachele was as callous and cruel as your average noblewoman- firmly believing that it was her birthright to be as abominable as pleased on account of her status- this event bends her in an even worse direction. worse: it confirms that then what she believed is true. the world truly is divided in who holds the whip and who is flogged; she intends to never again lose her hold on hers.

time passes. scars grow. she turns 44. somehow, impossibly, she is summoned by the head of the von valancius dynasty. the rest is history.

rachele is ultimately a woman with close to no true redeeming qualities. she is a selfish, insensitive hypocrite with a sadistic slant, and it is safe to always assume that any generosity on her part is purely performed for her own interest. she is the center of her own world. anyone else is to be used and discarded as she sees fit. but, probably, should one manage to somehow garner her respect, it could be possible to become her "friend". still I simply cannot advice that! 0/10 woman she just really sucks

[jewishbuckley]

tag 9 people you want to get know better!

tagged by @buckbylightning and I'm pretty sure several other people I'm just normally terrible at doing these lmao

last song: started this tag game listening to get used to it by ricky montgomery and I'm ending it listening to sleeping all alone by dixon dallas

favorite color: the same shade of blue as Spider-Man's suit in The Amazing Spider-Man (2012) (also I honestly don't know what shade that is called because I get varying answers so it's just easy to be extremely specific to avoid being misinterpreted... I promise I'm a normal person)

currently reading: making sense of the troubles: a history of the northern ireland conflict by david mckittrick and david mcvea. also technically the conference of the birds by ransom riggs even though I put it down about 70 pages in a month ago :/

this commercial brought to you by jewishbuckley... if anyone has any nonfiction (historical, auto/biographies, etc) books to recommend... let me know!! now back to your regularly scheduled tag game...

currently watching: umm nothing really? sort of rewatching

last movie: bolt... yanno the 2008 disney animated film starring miley cyrus as the voice of penny and john travolta as the voice of bolt

sweet spicy or savory: hmm... I think I go for savory above all else. I'm extremely white so too much pepper (yanno like salt & pepper) burns my mouth (if I say that I will still sometimes eat spicy foods does that redeem me?) and I don't have that strong of a sweet tooth so :]

relationship status: very happily in a relationship with a Nice Jewish Boy

current obsessions: unfortunately I don't think I have one?

tea or coffee: sweet southern iced tea- I don't care if that wasn't one of the options within "tea"

last thing i googled: ups tracking (my case for my new phone, which I can't open yet, is on the way so I'm tracking it religiously)

no pressure tags: @bambibuckley @dadbodbuck @wikiangela @tommystummy @buckera and I'm blanking on names :]

[sandsu03]

heheh he was redeeming a god ransom but in his cruelty daunting

[theprayerfulword]

September 27

Jude 1:20-21 But ye, beloved, building up yourselves on your most holy faith, praying in the Holy Ghost, 21 keep yourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life.

Acts 1:8 But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes on you; and you will be My witnesses in Jerusalem, and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the ends of the earth.

1 John 5:4 For every child of God defeats this evil world, and we achieve this victory through our faith.

2 Corinthians 10:4 For the weapons of our warfare are not carnal but mighty in God for pulling down strongholds,

Romans 6:13 Do not offer any part of yourself to sin as an instrument of wickedness, but rather offer yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life; and offer every part of yourself to Him as an instrument of righteousness.

1 Corinthians 13:4-5 Love…does not seek its own…

May you listen to the Lord, as do all who pursue righteousness and who seek the Lord, and look at Abraham and Sarah, whom God blessed and multiplied, for the Lord will surely comfort you and look on you with compassion, making the barren wilderness surrounding you to be like Eden and the wastelands you know so well like the garden of the Lord, so that joy and gladness will be found there with great thanksgiving and the sound of singing. Isaiah 51

May you hear the Lord as He speaks to His people to declare that instruction will go out from Him, His justice will be a light to the nations, His righteousness draws near speedily, His salvation is on the way, and His arm will bring judgment to all the peoples, and the coast-lands will wait expectantly upon Him in Whom they hope. Isaiah 51

May you lift your eyes to the heavens and look at the earth beneath, for the heavens will vanish like smoke, the earth will wear out like a garment and its inhabitants will die like flies, but the salvation of the Lord will last forever and His righteousness will never fail. Isaiah 51

May you hear the Lord, as do all Who know what is right and have the instruction of the Lord in their hearts, and do not fear the reproach of men or be terrified by their insults, for the moth will eat them up like a garment and the worm will devour them like wool, but the righteousness of the Lord will last forever and the salvation of God will endure through all generations. Isaiah 51

May you cry unto the Lord to awaken and clothe His arm with strength as He has before when He smashed the proud one and pierced the scaly one, drying up the waters of affliction and making the sea-bed into a road for the redeemed to follow, so that the ransomed of the Lord will return and enter into Zion with singing, crowned with everlasting joy, as gladness and joy overtakes them, causing sorrow and sighing to flee away. Isaiah 51

May you not forget the Lord your Maker, Who stretched out the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth, lest you start to fear mortal men who are but grass, causing you to live in constant terror daily because of the wrath of the oppressor, who is bent on destruction, for He, even God, is the One Who comforts you, and what can they do before Him? Isaiah 51

May you rejoice in the Lord your God, Who churns the sea so the waves roar the name of the Almighty, for He Who set the heavens in place and laid the foundations of the earth, saying to Zion, “You are my people,” is He Who has put His words in your mouth and covered you with the shadow of His hand. Isaiah 51

May you, who have known the rebuke of God and been afflicted, hear what the Sovereign Lord says, your God, Who defends His people, “See, I have taken out of your hand the cup that made you stagger and you will never drink from it again, for I will put it into the hands of your tormentors, those who accuse and condemn you, seeking to gain authority over you,” for they will be cast down from the heavenlies. Isaiah 51

May you awaken, shake off your dust, rise up, freeing yourself from the chains on your neck as you clothe yourself with strength, putting on your garments of splendor and sit enthroned in the joy of your Beloved, in the presence and authority of your Lord and King, for just as you were sold for nothing, even so He has redeemed you without money. Isaiah 52

May you see how beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news and proclaim peace, bringing good tidings and proclaiming salvation, as they say to Zion, “Your God reigns!” causing the watchmen to lift up their voices as they shout together for joy. Isaiah 52

May you see it with your own eyes when the Lord returns to Zion, causing you to burst into songs of joys with the rest of the people of the Lord as He comforts you with His redemption, baring His holy arm in the sight of the nations and showing the ends of the earth the salvation of God. Isaiah 52

May you not travel in haste or go in flight as you journey on in your pilgrimage to the city of the Lord, but recall that you carry the precious treasure of His glory that the Lord has entrusted to your vessel, and walk worthy of that hope, keeping your vessel clean and unspotted from the impurities of the world, for the the Lord will go before you and the God of Israel will be your rear-guard. Isaiah 52, Colossians 1, 2 Corinthians 4

My child, come to Me with nothing to recommend yourself. Draw near to Me with only your need and the confident assurance in My word that I can fill your need. Away with those whose hearts are filled and overflowing with pride of self and bearing lists of their accomplishments. They are an abomination to Me. Heed the rod of My chastisement, My willful one, and let My godly sorrow have its cleansing way in your heart. I will not ever be angry beyond measure with you, My precious one, nor will I remember iniquity forever, for you are Mine, sought after and purchased with My own blood. Do not seek for that which I have not given you, My acquisitive one. Be convinced in your heart that I have not overlooked a single good thing you need, or forgotten a single item that I intended to give you. I would not be so uncaring toward you as to supply you with that for which I have not yet prepared you. That is what you are walking through now, for I have much that I desire to bless you with in knowledge and wisdom, in understanding and revelation, in compassion and authority. It is down the path I am leading you that you will be able to learn to handle the truth of My Word in mercy, and to walk tenderly with those who are wounded and in need of healing. Obey the leading of My Spirit in order to walk meekly before Me in the knowledge of My glory as you carry it in your clay vessel. You must be able to show My glory to others without the desire to keep any for yourself, for that would be deadly to you, even as it was to Uzzah. My child, it is not the wicked who will know happiness all their days, but it is My own who will. My foes will not be given endless comfort, but My chosen will. My enemies will not rejoice with mirth in their inheritance, but My family will. Though there are times of difficulty and sorrow, sadness and exhaustion, there is never a time when the streaks of light are not visible which foreshadow the dawning of your eternal day. Be strong and of good courage, rejoicing, for I am with you always.

May you believe the message of the Lord as it is spoken to you and see the arm of the Lord as it is revealed to you, for though there is nothing of note for the natural senses to see or hear, yet He took your infirmities and carried your sorrows, was pierced for your transgressions, crushed for your iniquities, punished to gain you peace, and wounded that you would be healed, even though you had gone astray and followed your own way, for it was the will of the Lord to cause Him to suffer so that afterwards He will see the light of life and justify many after He bore your sin and made intercession for you. Isaiah 53

May you be an imitator of God, like a dearly loved child, and live a life of love, just as Christ loved you and gave Himself up for you as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. Ephesians 5

May you behave as God's love impels you to, without immorality or impurity, because these are improper for God's holy people, but letting your speech express thanks and appreciation, as is appropriate for one who has received so much, for your inheritance in the kingdom of God is not available to those who are disobedient to God – they only get God's wrath, so do not join them in their activities. Ephesians 5

May you live as children of light, bearing goodness, righteousness and truth, which is the fruit of light, and seek to find out what pleases the Lord, having no interest in the fruitless deeds of darkness, but rather expose them to the light that they may be removed. Ephesians 5

May you be very careful that you live wisely, making the most of every opportunity to understand what the Lord's will is and, as you are filled with the Spirit, speak to others with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs in your heart as you sing and make music to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ. Ephesians 5

May you understand that you are a part of the body of Christ which we are all being formed into, and He is the head, so learn to submit to Him Who is in charge, knowing you can trust Him to love you for He gave Himself up for you to make you holy, cleansing you by the washing with water through the Word so that He can present you, as part of Christ's body to Himself, a member of a radiant church, without stain or wrinkle or any other blemish, but holy and blameless. Ephesians 5

May you be confident that the Lord knows how you have been scorned, disgraced and shamed by your enemies, and how it has broken your heart and left you helpless, unable to find sympathy or locate a comforter, for He has experienced it Himself, and has assigned His own Comforter to dwell with you, that you may be healed and walk in the abundance of His Love, carrying His grace to others as a wounded healer, whose scars bear witness to the healing power of the Loving Physician. Psalm 69

May the salvation of God protect you in all of your pain and distress. Psalm 69

May you praise God's name in song and glorify Him with thanksgiving, for it will please the Lord greatly for the poor to see this and be made glad. Psalm 69

May you seek God, for then your heart will live. Psalm 69

May you know that the Lord hears you when you express your needs to Him, and He does not despise His people when they are in bondage and imprisoned. Psalm 69

May you not be like a fool who considers wisdom to be no more than an expensive ornament and not worth the high cost of time and effort required to obtain it Proverbs 24:7