#they could probably bribe me but i would put a spoiler at the beginning at the post to indicate i was paid to say stuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trillian-anders · 4 years

Text

therapy

pairing: ransom drysdale x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, mental illness, eventual smut && SPOILERS

word count: 16k

description: part 4 of 5. SPOILERS; DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN THE FILM -- ransom’s therapy sessions during the assitant && four christmases and a little bit beyond.

note: so this took me forever and i was originally going to write couples therapy at the end, but it just didn’t flow as nicely. i’m probably only going to write one more part for this, but i hope you guys enjoy it. honestly. i’m writing this for you.

session #1

“Court mandated therapy,” He scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. “What a fucking joke.” He looked across the dining table at you, noticing how you were growing impatient. This whole situation, you moving in and encroaching on his bachelor pad, the house arrest, was fucking annoying. And now therapy. Your jaw twitched in annoyance, a tell tale sign he knew well.

“You’re getting off easy,” you would remind him, “I’m taking your punishment after all.” Taking his punishment, sure, and getting paid almost 210k a year to do it. There’s no sympathy there. You’re getting your money and his life goes on, almost, as normal.

To be fair he was pretty fond of you. You were the only consistent thing in his life for the past two years as much as he’d hate to admit it, nothing would get done if you weren’t around. Not a damn thing. He’d never tell you that though. Especially not now when you’re rearranging his unused study for use of him and the therapist who would be arriving soon, setting out water, a couple snacks, and optimistically tissues.

“Just in case.” You told him. Ransom doesn’t cry. He remembers the last time he really cried, like really cried and it was when he was a kid. His father had laid into him for playing with his novelty golf clubs. Screaming, red faced, spittle landed on his own hot cheeks.

He shook his head to rid himself of the memory.

“I don’t want to do this.” He sounded like a child, whining. He knew. But to be fair, he really didn’t want to fucking do this. He watched you walk away towards the kitchen to clean up what you’d made for lunch. You’d only lived with him for a week, but it was longer than any other woman had ever stayed with him.

It was strange.

He felt his cock twitch in his pants as he stared at your ass while you wiped down the counter, catching crumbs. You hated him, he knew. Not completely, which he also knew, but enough that you’d never fuck him. Why would you want to?

He couldn’t resist, wrapping his arms around you from behind as you rinse the rag off in the sink. “You can tell them I’m sick, can’t come down.” Muffled into her shoulder. He really sounded like a child now, Mommy please make the bad guy go away, I don’t want to see him.

“This could be really good for you Ransom.” Her damp hands covering yours. “Go get changed, he’ll be here soon.” He was still in his gym clothes, sweat ring dried around his neck. He was sure he smelled pretty foul too, about thirty minutes later and a quick jerk in the shower left him a little more relaxed than before.

The man was older, bald, glasses. He looked like he just stepped off the screen typecast as a therapist in a psych ward. Tweed. So much tweed. He started a tape recorder, “My name is Henry Dowd.” You had greeted Dr. Dowd with a pleasant smile and shook his hand. Ransom had immediately felt a vein of envy, you’d never smiled at him like that. “I’m fifty-seven years old, I’ve been practicing for just about 25 years now—“

“Fantastic doc,” Ransom sunk back into his chair, “Listen, what do I have to pay you to make you go away?” The Doctor froze, adjusting his glasses before leaning back in his own chair.

“Do you often use money to eliminate things that make your life uncomfortable?” Of course he did. He immediately thought of you, sitting not more than twenty feet away probably unironically watching Forensic Files on the couch while folding his laundry.

“I don’t need therapy.” Ransom scoffed, “C’mon.” He smirked at the Doctor, “You don’t wanna make this drive every week just like I don’t wanna sit in this room and whine to you about my problems.”

“So are you admitting you have problems?” The Doctor asked, fingers meeting his chin.

Ransom didn’t like this guy. Fuck this guy. Ransom stared at him in silence for a minute.

“What’s your plan here Doc?” Legs spread wide, sunk in the armchair, Ransom mimicked studying the man just as he was studying Ransom.

“Hopefully we will discuss what in your life led you to murdering someone simply because you weren’t going to get you allowance anymore.” The Doctor was slick. He said it with an air of superiority.

Fuck this guy.

“You wanna know?” Ransom asked, sitting up and leaning forward in his seat. “You really wanna know why I murdered her [Fran]?”

The Doctor’s eyebrow raised.

“She didn’t tuck in the corners of my sheets how I like em.” Ransom smirked.

The Doctor hummed in response, taking a notepad and scribbling something down.

“What’re you writing?” Ransom tried to peer at the legal pad in the man’s lap. Dowd lifted it away from his gaze. “This is fucking pointless.”

“Whether you like it or not I’ll be with you for an hour every Thursday for the next 104 weeks.” Dowd smiled, “Whether you take this seriously or not is up to you, but I’m sure someone as intelligent as you knows that you will get as good as you give. The whole reason for me being here is because you have no money, isn’t that correct?” Ransom’s jaw clenched. “So I’m not going to take your bribe, but you can go ahead and try next week if you’d like. Maybe between now and then you can think of something to talk about.” Dowd packed his belongings, shoving the tape recorder in a side pocket of his bag and scribbling once more on his legal pad before storing that too.

“That’s it?” Ransom looked at the clock. It had only been twenty minutes. Dowd smiled at him.

“I’m going to give your babysitter out there some homework for you in preparation for a week from today.” Dowd went to leave the room, “Let her know I’ll take a tea next time.”

Ransom’s knuckles were white, fisted at his sides, he stood up from the chair a minute later, peeking out into the living room to watch you talk to the Doctor, a soft smile on your face. He wanted to hit him.

He wanted to hit him real fucking bad.

He watched you gently place a hand on the Doctor’s arm and guide him from the house. “We’ll see you next week!” The door shut and the smile fell from your face, turning to meet his eyes in the doorway of the study. You let out a heavy sigh and rubbed your temples.

“You can’t try and bribe a court mandated therapist Ransom!” There was a fire in your eyes, it made his cock twitch. He had a brief thought about biting your bottom lip, “He can actually help you!” You continued as you approached, walking by him to clean up the snacks and water that went untouched.

“I don’t need help.” He claimed. You gave him a disbelieving look.

“You need help.” He felt his neck flush with anger.

“Fuck you.” He watched as you walked away from him, not responding. “You need help. What kind of fucking person agrees to take someone’s house arrest huh?” He asked, following you into the kitchen. “You’ve got to have some kind of fucking issues doing something like that.” You’d slammed the tray on the counter, turning to look at him angrily. He was at half mast.

“Why don’t you go out Ransom?” You seethed, “Go have a drink.” He could feel his face heat up, he’s not going to let you win this.

“You know what?” He spat, “I think I will. I’m going to take my untethered ass out. Have fun sitting inside these four walls for the next two years you ungrateful bitch.” He could tell you were holding back, but he didn’t wait for the response, grabbing his coat and slamming the door on the way out.

Later that night, drunk and speech slurring he slammed the body of a girl against your door. Rutting his sloppy hips against her panty clad core.

He’s not going to let you sleep tonight.

You didn’t deserve to.

session #8

“We can sit here for the entire hour in silence, just like all the others,” Dowd started, “Or you can choose to talk today.” Ransom wouldn’t meet his eyes. He was still pissed that you’d taken his phone so he couldn’t sit here and stare at it like he had been for the last few weeks.

“He told me that you’re on your phone the entire time!” You had shouted, “It’s disrespectful.” He’d rolled his eyes heavily, “He’s gonna come back every week whether you do something or not.” You seemed brave. Your started putting your foot down more lately. Ransom wasn’t going to lie to himself and say he didn’t like it.

He was itching to do something else, anything else. The beginning of the manuscript that sat open on the desk behind him and he was pretty pissed he’d been disturbed right when he started chapter six. He found that if he was stopped in the middle of a chapter it was hard to get back into the flow of it, the words pouring from his mind out onto the computer screen faster than he could keep up with.

It was like being edged.

Ransom was into instant gratification.

He could hear an old clock he’d taken from his Grandfather’s study ticking on the bookshelf to his left.

“I see you’ve begun writing.” The Doctor offered, “Have you always thought about writing a novel?” Ransom’s jaw twitched.

“No.”

The Doctor gave him a forced smile. “Have you found it enjoyable so far?” This was a waste of time.

“Yes.”

Scribbling.

“What is your book about?” Ransom smirked.

“Murder.” The Doctor hummed,

“Following in your Grandfather's footsteps then?” Ransom studied the Doctor for a minute.

“What did your Grandfather do?” He asked the man. The Doctor tapped his pen against the armrest.

“He was a traveling salesman.” Dowd humored him. “Much more lucrative business before the internet and the home shopping network.”

“Didn’t know I’d be good at it.” Ransom admitted gruffly, “You wouldn’t be a good salesman.” Dowd gave him a real smile.

“I would be a terrible salesman.”

Silence for a few minutes more. The ticking of the clock driving an ice pick into Ransom’s brain.

“Do you think he would be proud of you?” Dowd asked. “Your Grandfather?”

Harlan wasn’t proud of anyone but himself.

Linda had built a real estate empire and he still wouldn’t give her the validation of knowing she’d done a good job. His last dying action was letting her know her husband was fucking someone else. What kind of father was that?

Harlan wouldn’t have cared if Ransom had begun writing before his death. He would have dismissed him. Not even competition.

Ransom scoffed at the man’s question, not answering.

“So he wouldn’t?” Ransom felt uncomfortable now. He watched the guy out the corner of his eye lift the tea cup you’d gently placed beside him before they began and raise it to his lips. Ransom had let his guard down. The guy was playing with him.

“His opinion doesn’t matter to me.” Ransom spat, eyes flickering over to the clock. They still had thirty minutes left.

“Seems like it does.” The Doc rubbed his fingers together, thinking. “What was Harlan Thrombey like?” Ransom sucked his teeth,

“Why? You a fan?” He laughed, his hand gestures to the bookshelf beside him. “I got a couple signed copies up there if you want one.”

The Doc shook his head, “He must have been pretty distant. I’ve heard writers tend to be.”

“You’re basing your analysis off of rumor?”

“Well, you’re a writer,” he smirked, “You’re plenty distant.” Ransom’s knuckles grew white at his sides,

“I’m not my Grandfather.” He said.

“No,” Dowd assured him, “You’re not. But we all bear the scars of our own upbringing in one way or another.” The timer went off.

“Time to go, doc.” Ransom stared at him as though daring him to continue, but he didn’t. He turned the tape recorder off and packed his bag as usual. Ransom didn’t raise to watch him leave, but he heard him through the open door thank you for the tea.

“We have a couple different kinds if you’d like something different next time.” He hated the sound of you being pleasant right now, especially to that man. The fucking prick.

“No, no. It was perfectly fine thank you.” The door shutting and the quiet ramble of the tv. Ransom shot from his seat, walking to the bar cart he’d had you set up in his room, he poured himself two fingers of whiskey and shot it back before pouring four.

He’d heard you clear your throat from the doorway, coming in to clean up the doctor’s empty teacup and his own untouched coffee. “How was your session?” You asked him.

He felt heat creep up his neck. “Get out.”

He could feel your eyes on his back, the rattling of the cups as you gathered them with one hand, your other coming to rest on the middle of his back.

“Ransom, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” He slowly turned, taking a sip of his whiskey and grabbed your arm, the promise of never hurting you again that he’d made after his birthday dinner alerting him somewhere in the back of his mind.

He attentively grabbed your arm in a soft grip, “Get out.” Whether it was a plea or demand he didn’t know. He held direct eye contact, your face held a flash of fear. Somewhere he would feel guilty about this. He’d released your arm and watched you walk from the room, casting him one more glance before he none to gently slammed the door behind you.

Later that night he could swear he had alcohol poisoning. An angel had rolled him into his side as he’d vomited. She’d gotten him into bed, she’d even undressed him and was kind enough to leave a glass of water and two aspirin on his night stand.

It must have been a dream, because his study was spotless the next day and the bottle of whiskey he’d sworn he’d reached the bottom of sat full on his bar cart. He looked over to you for a moment, hand holding the cup of coffee you’d wordlessly prepared for him, before entering his study and shutting the door.

It was your job, why would he be surprised that you’d done it? And why should he thank you?

session #12

“Let's talk about something else today.” Dowd started, “You’re not giving me much headway for your family so let’s talk about something you love talking about.” He gave a playful smirk, “Yourself.”

Ransom rolled his eyes, cocking his head to the side looking at the Doctor across from him. The door had just shut and the prick was starting straight out the gate. It’s been four months and he hadn’t gotten anything out of this yet, other than being irritated and his monthly liquor consumption increasing exponentially. He’ll humor him.

“Why not?” Ransom shrugged, sinking into his seat, resting his ankle on his knee. “Whatcha got Doc?”

“What did you like to do before the trial?” He asked, “Give me a day in the life.” Ransom traced his bottom lip with his tongue before starting.

“I would wake up, go to the gym, come home, eat breakfast, watch some tv, go out with friends.” He shrugged. “The usual.”

“Do you still have contact with these friends?” No. He didn’t. He jaw locked.

“No.” The Doctor nodded.

“So where does Y/N come into this day?” Ransom shifted in his seat.

“She would work 9 am to 9 pm, Tuesday through Saturday.” He picked a piece of lint off of his pants.

“And what does she do for you?” What do you not do for him?

“Cook.” He stated. “Clean.” A smirk pulled across his lips, “Take out the trash.” By trash he meant whatever girl he brought home the night before a joke he loved but you hated,

“They’re real people with real feelings Ransom.” You would tell him.

“Does she do anything else?” Dowd asked.

Ransom thought about the house arrest bracelet on your ankle, “She’s my assistant, so she does whatever I need her to.” He shrugged.

“And how does she fit into your day?” Ransom shook his head,

“She’s just there.” He gently bit the inside of his cheek. “She’s always just there.” The Doctor scribbled something into his notepad.

“How long has she worked for you now?”

“A little over two years.” Ransom fingered the handle of his coffee mug before decidedly bringing it up to his lips, he woefully realized that he could go for some whiskey in it.

Next time, he assured himself. Next time.

“Does she provide some stability for you?” The coffee mug clanged heavily on the end table next to him.

“I’ve always had stability.” Lies.

The Doctor took a sip of his tea, “But surely having companionship on a daily, consistent, basis must give you some comfort seeing as you no longer have contact with your friends.” It was jab wasn’t it. The friends not being there anymore.

To be fair as soon as Ransom was arrested and the news of the will broke he's not surprisingly had no longer been invited out. His so called friends seemed to be surprisingly absent in his time of need, but he reasoned if it had been any of them in his situation he would have done the same. They all knew they were parasites sucking off of each other, he didn’t need them anyway. He’d found a new source.

“Why are you making a big deal out of it?” Ransom snapped. “She works for me, that’s that.” The Doctor shrugged,

“If that’s how you feel.” Ransom scoffed, shaking his head.

“It is.” It wasn’t.

The two of you had been living together for four months now. He’d seen you wet from the shower. He knew what your perfume smelled like, distinctively. He figured he could pick you out of a crowd by scent alone. Everything you cooked tasted better than any food he’d ever had in his entire life. Sometimes when you were in an especially good mood you made these cookies with caramel in the middle and he’d eat three straight from the oven. Tongue being burned by molten caramel be damned.

He found himself looking at you sometimes, like really looking at you. Your brows would pull in concentration as you read the pages he gave you. Watching how you always slowly clicked the pen cap, sometimes sticking the pen in your ponytail when you’d get up to go make yourself your second cup of coffee. You always had two. Every morning.

He found himself not knowing why it mattered so much. Why your opinion mattered so much. His novel was almost finished but he had the feeling if you didn’t like it he would throw it straight into the garbage. Himself with it.

There was something about it, the contact. You didn’t seem to mind so he began taking different liberties. It’d started with hugs. He cringed at the thought of him sitting in your living room when you still lived in that god awful apartment. The scent of the building a mix of different foods seeping through the walls that almost made him sick. He hadn’t known what possessed him to do it, but pulling you into his lap had been one of the most comforting moments of his life.

He was touch starved he’d supposed, but it didn’t make much sense. He got plenty of touch from whoever was spreading their thighs for him. He had scratches down his back to prove it. Something was just different.

He would feel almost high with his arms wrapped around you. God forbid there was skin to skin contact somewhere. He would get lost in it. Hugs turned into thighs pressed against one another on the couch. An arm slung over the back, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers.

“Do you feel like you’ve always had stability?” The Doctor brought his attention back, Ransom blinked twice as if in a daze.

“Of course.” He shrugged, “I had routine before all of this. I did the same thing every day and while those things changed, I have a consistent routine now.” The Doctor scribbled.

“Have you always had a routine or is it something that’s developed over time?” Truth he told his routine formed the day you walked through his front door the first time. The constant schedule that you’d laid out for him, right up to you finishing the dishes and leaving at 9 pm on the dot. He would follow you out into his own car and leave for the evening. A bar, a club, a dinner party.

“Over time.” He’d answered. He looked at the door, as though he could look through it and see you sitting on the sofa playing a game on your tablet, whatever show you were bingeing playing in the background.

The Doctor hummed. The timer went off. The session was over.

Tikka Masala. That’s what you’d made for dinner. He’d been smelling it for the last hour sitting in the study still typing, two glasses of whiskey in. Not enough to be drunk but enough to feel it.

“Are you going to eat here, or the dining room?” His eyes met yours in the doorway, you looked so soft.

“Here.” He said, not having room for much else as you disappeared from the doorway, reappearing a minute later with a steaming bowl and placing it in front of him. You lay a hand on his shoulder, he found his head tilting to the side to rest against it almost instinctively.

“How’s it coming along?” You’d stopped asking him about the therapy sessions. He thinks he probably scared you the last time you asked but that was just fine with him. He didn’t want to talk about it.

Any of it.

“I’m gonna have another chapter for you to read in an hour or so.” He brought a steaming forkful to his lips.

“It’s hot.” But too late, in his mouth, trying to rapidly cool it like an idiot, but fuck if it wasn’t delicious. He saw you roll your eyes at him and he turned to watch you leave. He’d found a small joy in seeing your ass in yoga pants. A skirt. Jeans. Sweats. Whatever you’d decided to wear around the house. His dick stiffened at the thought of grabbing it.

But he was a little tipsy. And he was getting tired.

He just wanted to finish the fucking book already.

session #26

Ransom was not having a good day today. He’d stubbed his toe getting out of bed, his cursing woke up the redhead who was still tangled in his sheets. She tried to pull him back into bed which caused him to yell at her. So she cried and angrily threw her clothes on cursing him all the way out the door. He got to the gym and realized he’d forgotten his AirPods and had to do his workout without music. Then to top it all off someone had the audacity to have all of this happen on a Thursday. Fucking court-mandated therapy day.

He irritatingly wondered what color tweed Dr. Dowd would be wearing today. The fucking loser. His wife probably cucks him. He’s probably got a fucking micro. The lunatic.

Ransom was seething. He’d already snapped on you twice, but to be fair you’d made him eggs when he wasn’t in the mood for eggs and then you were really calm about making him oatmeal. Too fucking calm. What was your problem? Jaw locked as he paced his bedroom. He wasn’t coming down. He wasn’t doing a session. He didn’t fucking want to. And no one could make him.

He was wearing a hole in the carpet when you’d knocked. His anger flaring. Why couldn’t you just leave him alone? Why did you always have to be right there no matter where he went? He wretched the door open, “What?” He felt crazy. Maybe he was.

You were staring at him with what looked like vague fear in your eyes, arms wrapped around yourself defensively. “Dr. Dowd is downstairs.”

“I’m not coming down.” You sighed heavily, looking down the hall at the stairwell.

“Ransom you have-” Door slammed he stared at the other side of it.

“I don’t have to do shit.” He screamed, locking the door and sitting on the floor in front of it. He felt like a child. His anger while still bubbling in his chest, was slowly ebbing away to a simmer. He felt like an idiot. He heard your footsteps disappear down the hall. Now he was fighting with his pride. He lay back against the floor, two vertebrae cracking as he stretched it out, staring at the ceiling.

It was silent for a minute. Then two. Then three. His breaths evening out as he lay on the rug, he could almost imagine himself sinking into the rug, becoming part of the stitching. His body dissolving into nothing. Was this depression?

Ransom would swear he’s never been depressed a day in his life. He has everything he could ever want. Including his freedom. He’s always had nice clothes, nice cars, there was never a lack of sex or money. If he wanted something it was his. So why did he feel so shitty? Right now in this moment. He’s never stopped to think about it before he figures.

Never stopped or tried to feel anything.

And right now as he was imagining himself decomposing into the floor he reasoned it must be because of depression.

“A lot of people get depressed, Ransom.” You’d explained to him once, “There’s no shame in it.” He’d been having a bad day, but those days just happen. He had scoffed at you for even assuming he was depressed, but right now he thinks you’re probably right.

There’s something wrong with him.

His book had just been published and it was doing well. Selling really well. He made the bestseller list this week. So there was really no reason for him to be feeling like such garbage right now. It was the only logical explanation, being depressed.

At least then he had something to blame it on.

Another gentle knock, “Ransom.” You voice called to him, breaking him from his reverie. “Dr. Dowd would like to come up and talk to you, is that okay?” Your voice was various, a little guilt formed in his chest. His voice cracked when he replied,

“Yes.” His face felt hot and the room felt stuffy. You had kept the windows open with the nice weather you’d been having lately. Airing out the house, a candle always burning with a calming scent. Ransom regrets telling you not to open his windows. He wanted to open them, but found himself unable to move from the carpet.

“How are you feeling today Hugh?” The Doctor’s voice came from the other side of the door. Ransom heard your soft footsteps retreating, the third step down the stairs creaking as you made your descent. Ransom’s heart began to steadily raise in pace.

“Just great Doc,” He bit, “Can’t you tell?”

“Are you feeling the need to harm yourself or others?” He asked, suddenly very serious. Ransom thought for a moment. Who would he hurt? You? No. Definitely not. Himself? He’s too vain for that.

“No.” His voice cracked again, why does it keep doing that? “No harm to myself or others.” The other side of the door was quiet for a moment more before the Doctor spoke again,

“Are you comfortable right now?”

“Yes.” Laying on the floor felt great on his back truthfully.

“Emotionally.” What is that supposed to mean? The turmoil churning in his gut screamed at him. Playing dumb won’t help him here. “What happened today that you won’t meet me downstairs? You haven’t missed a session yet.”

Ransom shook his head wordlessly. He’d been fighting the Doctor. Every week, skating around questions, not answering them all together. He felt an urge to let it go. To just spill everything that was churning around in his gut. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

Maybe a little.

“It’s just a bad day.” That was enough. It should be.

“What happened?” There was a creak on the other side of the door. A settling sound.

Ransom explained. His morning was just frustrating. One thing compounded on another causing his whole routine to be thrown off.

His routine.

“Is it possible that all of this frustration and anger have come out due to your routine being interrupted.” Yes.

“Probably.” Yes.

Silence, then the doctor spoke, “You can’t change the world around you, Hugh. You have no control. You will never have control.” Something was tight in Ransom’s chest. Fists clenched. “The only thing you can control is how you react to the world.” Hands relaxed, he felt his eyes prickle.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He shook his head. He felt out of control. He was completely out of control. He hated this. But maybe the Doc knew what he was talking about. Maybe this explains the disruption he’s felt. The anger that had ebbed away to a dull ache in his heart.

“Listen, Hugh.” The Doctor spoke kindly from the other side of the door, “Routine is good for you, it’s good for everyone. It’s beneficial for us to stick to our routines, however, if something happens that we can’t control it doesn’t mean the whole day is ruined.” The fan spun idly on the ceiling, Ransom dazed looking at the steady rotations as Dowd continued, “Get off the floor and move on.” His eyes dragged from the fan to stare at the door. “Get on with your day and try to do better next time because that’s all we can really do, try to do better.”

His hand met the knob and turned, shifting up to his feet as he met the sight of the older man on the other side who was leaning against the wall opposite the door. Ransom stared at him silently for a minute before opening his mouth to ask, “How?”

session #31

It was just there. Your wrist, open to him. And he wanted to kiss it, so he did. You’d stalled above him, hand still hovering where you’d just placed his cup of coffee next to him on his desk. He did it almost without thinking, gently wrapping his hand around your forearm and bringing your wrist to his lips, “Thank you.” He’d murmured, eyes not leaving the screen.

His second book has become much harder to write. He’d started three books. A couple chapters written for each, a path split. Where would he go? He was unsure. But the coffee you’d placed next to him that was made exactly how he likes it, it helped. A lot.

After the soft kiss placed on your wrist, the one that he’d not realized he’d even done until it was over, you’d gently rubbed his back for a moment before leaving, “Dowd will be here in about an hour if you need anything.” Your soft voice as you left. He’d wished you would have sat down for a bit, but he knows you have your own routine to follow.

“Describe your Mother to me.” Ransom scoffed, chest tight.

“Getting right to it.” He joked, Dowd smiled and nodded,

“We’ve been meeting for about eight months now and you’ve yet to talk about her.” Had it really been 8 months? Ransom’s palms suddenly felt very sweaty.

“She’s…” Ransom shrugged, eyes drifting to stare at something, anything else but meeting Dowd’s eyes. “She’s a Real estate Broker. She owns a company that is fairly successful. She’s recently divorced my Father for his infidelity—“

“Hugh, what about you?” Dowd asked, “How was she when you were a child?” Ransom hated this. He didn’t want to do it. Why did it matter?

“She was busy.” He said simply. “Always working, on the phone, both her and my Father.” Why did it matter? Dowd nodded, scribbling.

“Do you have some good memories of her?” Ransom didn’t. He knew his Mom loved him. He was her only child. There were pictures, her holding him when he was a baby, red faced and mucus covered in birth. His first birthday, she was sitting on the floor in the background, Ransom in the foreground standing, smiling with a ball in his pudgy baby hands. A picture of them in front of Niagara Falls when he was three. But none of that he can remember. Not really.

What he can remember is his first Nanny. A blonde named Samantha. She was young and sweet. She used to make him pancakes with blueberries in them. He wonders now if she left because of his prowling Father.

A different nanny, older had taken her place. He couldn’t remember her name but he could remember, vaguely, the crack of a ruler on his knuckles. His Mother had flipped her kid when she came home and seen them. Knuckles ripped open and clotted.

She’d given him a Nintendo 64 for that. It still sits upstairs in the bedroom you now occupied. He thought and he thought hard before replying, “No.”

He’d felt cheap. “Every good memory of her involves money in some way.” He stated plainly. The Doctor had told him instances of money bought happiness didn’t count. Ransom had always been rich of course, money as a substitute for the love of his Mother, Dowd explained. He wondered if his Mother paying you to take his house arrest was an apology for his parent’s quick divorce. As if he even cared.

“It’s okay to be hurt by her,” Dowd started, “She didn’t provide the love and affection a Mother should. Children need nurturing to form themselves as they mature into adults. The lack of nurturing in no doubt has affected you in some way.” Ransom felt uneasy. He didn’t like talking about this. But Dowd has told him time and time again, he’s not going to like talking about anything. Just try.

Ransom tugged his bottom lip into his mouth, looking at the empty coffee cup beside him.

“Do you think that maybe,” Dowd started, “You saw money as love and when that money was being taken from you then you realized that you’d have nothing left?” The Doctor rubbed his own chin. “Murder seemed like the only viable option?”

A chill ran down Ransom’s spine. A shake of the head. “I can’t do this today.” Dowd nodded.

“Okay,” he shifted in his seat, “What is Y/N making for dinner tonight?” This was how they had been cooling down. Every session since the one where Ransom has broken on the floor of his bedroom. A weekly distraction, bringing him back down from reaching his threshold. His hard limit. A little farther every week.

“I think she’s making—“ Ransom shrugged, “I mentioned wanting chicken parm, so that’s probably what she’s making.” That’s all he did. He would mention craving something and you would make it. The ingredients ordered through the local grocery store’s delivery app. You kept him happy and fed. His pants felt a little tighter around the waist recently. He’d have to work harder at the gym it seems.

Dowd nodded, “Sounds good.” He looked at the door that separated them from you. “She’s a sweet girl.” Ransom looked at the door as well,

“Yeah, she is.” The two sat in silence for a moment. The clock ticking. Ransom felt uncomfortable. Which wasn’t a new sensation in these conversations. He felt this sense of foreboding on Thursdays. Not that he didn’t when the sessions first started, but now that he’s actually talking in them acid was rolling in his gut on Wednesday night. The turmoil drowned in vodka sodas and a girl he thinks was named Bethany sucking his dick in the kitchen last night. His mind blissfully blank as she swallowed his cum. Her giggling mouth as her tangy lips met his.

His cock twitched at the thought, thinking about where he’s going to go tonight. Thinking about the girl he’d be bringing back here. The anger in your eyes tomorrow morning as you hand him his coffee after the gym, bitching about throwing the girl out and not so subtlety telling him that he’s an asshole. He really liked that. Your cheeks flushed. Eyes in a steady glare.

It’s what he deserved, he reasoned.

He wanted you to hate him. Because you should.

session #52

“Ransom.” Your gentle voice called to him, your back was facing him, chopping something by the stove.

“Yeah?” He called back, watching your arm move up and down, knife chopping steady against the butcher block cutting board.

“Something strange happened today, and,” You paused, huffing quietly. He watched your back tense, “There’s a letter on the table.” It wasn’t uncommon for you to open his mail. You sorted through it daily and it was something, frankly, he couldn’t be bothered with. He only wanted mail deemed important, didn’t care much for any Christmas cards or invitations to parties. Not that much came anymore.

The envelope sat ominous in the dining table. The top slit open in a straight line, white paper peeking from within. He picked it up, no return address. It reminded him of one thing and one thing only.

I know what you did.

He felt his neck grow hot, the chopping had stopped from behind him. What kind of joke was this? It had been a little over a year since his verdict. A little over a year since he…

He swallowed heavily, opening the letter, the bold black marker bleeding through the page.

You took her from us and you got away with it. You sick bastard. I hope you burn in hell.

And that was all of it. He carefully folded the paper back up, slipping it inside the envelope. The house was silent. No chopping. His hands braced on the back of the dining chair, he turns his head to look at you. You’re standing there in anticipation. For what?

Maybe he’ll scream. Shout. Bellow with anger so loud that the neighbor, closest one half a mile away, could hear him. Maybe he’ll break something. The four glass jugs that used to be five until he used one to commit arson. Maybe he’ll pull glasses out of the cabinets and shatter them on the ground by your feet. Maybe he’ll just collapse on the floor right here and cry.

For once in his entire pitiful life, a strange feeling brewed in his gut. A sick feeling he couldn’t place. Later on in the session, Dowd would tell him it’s guilt. But right now as he places the letter back down on the table, he walks to the downstairs bathroom and shuts the door before turning the sink on full blast and emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He grips the porcelain sides, coughing and sputtering. Eyes only watering from vomiting he’s sure as a choked sob echoes in the bowl. He spits, and spits again. Bare knees cold against the tile he stares at his vomit for a moment, before flushing the toilet and watching it disappear. The sick feeling is still there but he’s left with nothing but bile.

He stands, taking two stumbling steps to the sink and washing his face. Swishing around some mouthwash as he stares blankly at himself in the mirror. He knows another feeling. He knows this one. Disgust.

Self-loathing.

His knuckles gripping the sink and white. If he were any stronger it would have shattered under his grip.

He was in a state down with himself. Daring himself to move. Do anything. Move.

You pathetic piece of shit. You fucking baby. You really couldn’t do anything for yourself could you? So fucking scared and worthless that you had to try to fucking kill someone to keep some fucking money? And you were fucking stupid because you got caught. You were so fucking selfish because you killed her so you wouldn’t get caught.

You selfish bastard.

You worthless piece of shit. You don’t deserve this. You don’t deserve any of this. You should be where she is now. Rotting in a fucking grave. Maggots feasting on your flesh.

You did this.

His reflection looked pale. He felt sick again but all he did was dry heave. This was the worst feeling he’d ever felt in his life and he didn’t know what to do.

A gentle knock on the door.

“Ransom,” Your soft voice, “I have some ginger ale, it’ll help your stomach.” He hadn’t been as quiet as he thought. He unlocked the door, stepping from the bathroom. Suddenly tired. The glass was gently handed to him and he took a small sip. Eyes not meeting yours.

“I need to lay down for a bit.” A mumbled sentence. You nodded. Gentle hands grasped his biceps, rubbing soothingly as his head found your shoulder. Arms wrapping around each other you both stood there for a moment. Not saying anything.

He didn’t deserve you.

He knows that now.

“Has the family tried to contact you before?” Dowd asked later on that day.

Ransom felt unwell. He hated this. “No.” He shrugged. He must have been a sight. Still in his gym shorts and sweat stained t shirt. He was sunk down into his chair, hand covering his mouth, eyes blankly staring at a spot somewhere in the room past Dowd.

“So why suddenly do you feel this way?” Dowd asked, “You’ve not brought it up the entire year we’ve been talking.” A year since he murdered Fran. A whole year.

“I just haven’t thought about it.” He said. Why would he want to think about it? Dowd hummed, scribbling on his legal pad.

“They’re never going to be okay,” Dowd started, “They lost a daughter, a sister. Someone they can never get back.” Ransom was sure that made sense, the loss of someone you love. But he didn’t love anyone. Only himself.

His heart panged.

He couldn’t reason at the time because if any of his family members died it wouldn’t make a difference.

“What if someone had done the same to Y/N.” Ransom’s heart stopped, eyes finally looking at the doctor’s. “If she was working for someone else and they murdered her to cover up a scheme that wasn’t even successful in the first place.” Ransom’s neck grew hot. His hand at his side clenched in a fist.

“I would be angry.” He reasoned. Dowd nodded.

“That’s what they’re feeling right now.” He explained. “They’re angry because you took her away from them.”

Ransom’s throat felt like it was closing up. What was he supposed to do. He couldn’t change anything. He couldn’t go back.

“It’s a good thing,” Dowd assured him, “That you’re feeling this way.” Ransom felt sick. “This guilt, the remorse you’re feeling. You’ve come a long way in the last year Hugh.” Tears pricked at the corners of Ransom’s eyes. He willed them to stay put. “You can’t change what you’ve done. You’ve murdered someone, you took a life, for what was no reason. And you’ll have to live with that for the rest of your days, but you can try to do something for them. Anything. Nothing will ever make up for it, but you can try.”

He didn’t want to. He wanted to go to bed. He wanted to sink into his sheets and disappear. Maybe he could convince you to leave him there until he just wasted away. That sounds nice right now.

It was for no reason. Fran’s death. He could have just paid her off and gotten rid of her. There was no real proof that he’d done anything. The toxicology reports came back clean. His little switching of the bottle trick did nothing. Harlan skit his own throat.

Marta deserved the money.

He saw that now. And it didn’t matter if he’d been cut off or not because now he had his own money and his bank account was acquiring more every day.

So what was it all for?

It seemed so important at the time. He needed to do this. He had to. He needed the money. More than anything in the world. He was so focused on the one object before him. Tunnel vision. He didn’t see the details around the edges.

He couldn’t see the big picture.

What a selfish baby. A fucking coward.

This self loathing was all consuming.

He hadn’t left his bed in two days since the session. Since the letter. He knows you’re concerned. You check on him every once in a while. You trade out his picked at food and bring him fresh glasses of water. You’ve rubbed his back a couple times until he’s shrugged you off.

“Leave me alone.” Biting. He doesn’t mean it but he couldn’t stop it from coming out.

He was angry. Depressed. He didn’t know what to do. What can you possibly do?

It was snowing. The chill permeating from the glass. Contemporary floor to ceiling windows meant cold. It was falling in thick sheets, almost a foot overnight. And he was just staring at it fall. He’d been staring at it fall all night.

A clinking of a tray. The gentle click of the door closing, you rounded the bed, placing down a cup of coffee and some toast, removing the dishes from the end table.

“Ransom.” You whispered, brushing his greasy hair off his forehead. “You’re gonna finish this coffee, eat this toast, and take a shower before you come downstairs.” Your tone was authoritative. “You smell like shit.”

You sat there for a moment longer. He could feel you staring at him. He parted his chapped lips, “I killed her.” A whisper in a quiet room. His eyes red and blankly watching the snow fall. Voice raspy. “For nothing.”

“Yeah,” Your voice soft and sad, “You did.”

He wrote a letter. Put in a clause on the contract of his next book. Nothing would make it right, but he apologized. And Fran’s family was going to get a percentage of royalties from here on out.

He still felt sick.

session #67

He doesn’t remember what it feels like not to be hungover. The self loathing was drowned out with alcohol. It was the only thing he knew to do. The bottom of a bottle felt very comforting until the next morning when his sticky eyes couldn’t pry themselves open. The sick rolling in his stomach as he untangled himself from the mess of limbs. A sweat slick body in his sheets. A girl he couldn’t recognize. Sleepy, stumbling, hand coming down to unstick his balls from his thigh as he found the light switch.

Wincing and collapsing in front of the toilet to empty his stomach. Dizzy with it. Head spinning. He blindly reached for the clean blue towels you had placed next to the sink. Wiping his mouth and pulling himself up to brush his teeth, drinking water bent over, slurping loudly from the tap. There was a gentle relief to his body, like finally some water.

He shuffled back into the room, not casting a passing glance at the woman still asleep in his bed and he dressed to leave. He’ll go sweat this out in the sauna and she’ll be removed by the time he gets back.

He didn’t deserve you.

You should just leave.

He wants you to leave. He wants to be alone. Forever. It’s why he tries to make your job as hard as he possibly can. Never ending guilt churning in his stomach. The sickness sweats out in the sauna and when he pulls back up to the house the only car that sits in the driveway is yours, unused.

You’re humming when he enters the house and his cock twitches at the sight. It had just begun getting warmer outside. You’d ditched your cozy cardigans and wool socks for sundresses and tank tops. The appreciation shows. He adjusts himself in his shorts as he passes you, the knowing hand wordlessly giving him a cup of coffee made exactly how he likes it. He appreciates you. The comfort he’d not felt with anyone else.

He had a roommate in college.

A guy he had been friends with up until the trial. Another rich boy. Just like him. His name was Jeremy.

Ransom hated living with him. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the guy, he just liked his own space. Heading off to college he thought his parents would splurge for a private apartment. He remembered being so angry when the three of them arrived and he found out that they booked him on campus housing with another fucking kid. Furious. He didn’t talk to his parents for the first half of the semester. Not until they withheld his money and forced him to contact them.

This was intimacy.

He’d read that in a book. Dowd had recommended some to him. At first he’d scoffed about ‘self-help’ books, but Dowd convinced him that he’s the only person that could really help himself in the end. It didn’t help that Dowd had handed you the list and you’d bought all of them. You’d been reading them too. A quiet understanding that Ransom’s pride was still fragile and neither of you would talk about what you’d read, but just knowing that you’ve both read the same words. You’ve learned the same things.

Whether you put them into practice or not was another story.

But he knew this was intimacy.

It didn’t have to be romantic intimacy. There was a familiar soft intimacy. Just from knowing each other. Truth be told you were the longest relationship he’d ever had. Even if it was just a boss/employee… but sort of friend relationship. You knew him. You really knew him. More than even his own parents. You knew when he wanted to be touched and when he wanted to be left alone. You knew his routine and every variation of it. You knew what he liked to eat. You anticipated each and every one of his needs.

And he didn’t deserve it.

You were too good for him.

That was in all of his thoughts.

Every time you handed him a cup of coffee. Even a second cup when mentally he had been debating having a second. You’d bake cookies or brownies or these cinnamon buns just when his sweet tooth was really kicking in. You knew every craving. He swears you could even sense when he was getting sick. An extra order of tissues, ginger ale, and cough drops delivered to the house a day before he’d even started coughing.

He should treat you better.

That’s what he thinks while he fucks his fist in the shower. Hand slapped against the tile, soft groans as he thrusts his hips into his soaped up hand, thinking about how all he really wants to do is bend you over the sink.

He imagines it, your perfect ass, panties pulled to the side.

As he cums he can’t help but feel the emptiness he feels every night. The vacancy of emotion that leaves his mind void and desolate.

He writes three chapters that day.

“How do you feel about medication?” Dowd asks. The room is quiet. It’s been very quiet this session, Ransom wasn’t feeling very talkative lately.

“I’m not fucking crazy.” He scoffed. Dowd shook his head,

“No, but you’re depressed.” Dowd explained. “Medication will help with your moods, make you more level.” Ransom nodded, sighing heavily. “The guilt may never go away Hugh, you have to learn to live with it. You’ve taken responsibility for your actions.” Ransom rolled his eyes, partially.

“There’s more work to do.” The Doctor explained. “It’s not going to miraculously fix itself overnight, but medication will at least make it a little easier to go throughout your day. Might help you rely less heavily on drinking too.” He knew. Of course he knew. Ransom wondered if Dowd could smell the alcohol still in his sweat. Did he know Ransom popped four ibuprofen right before the session? Did he know that he washed it down by taking a pull of whiskey straight from the bottle?

You knew.

But did Dowd?

“I’m proud of you.” That caused Ransom to look up from his own lap to look at the old man sitting across from him. “You’ve come a long way since we first started.” Ransom shook his head.

“I feel worse.”

“Yeah, but you’ve made a breakthrough.” He explained, “The guilt, remorse, you’re feeling is a good thing. Even if you hate it.”

“It doesn’t feel like a good thing.” Ransom whispered. He picked at the sweats he was wearing.

“It’s not going to,” Dowd assured him, “Not for a while, but the fact that you even feel guilty means you’ve come a long way from being the self-centered narcissist you were when we met.” Ransom chuckled,

“I’m still a narcissist.”

The Doc started him on an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer. The two pills waited for him with his morning coffee from that day forward.

session #74

“You look like you’re having a good day.” Dowd smiled. Ransom was having a good day. He hadn’t drank a lot last night, had pretty descent sex with a pretty red head twice, you’d made him his favorite breakfast and had baked those really good caramel cookies he loved. You were in a good mood, so he was in a good mood.

His mind drifts back to you singing softly as you pulled the cookies from the oven, he was trying to be nonchalant standing off to the side, stealing a cookie as you set the baking sheet on top of the stove, ripping it open, molten caramel burning the tips of his fingers as he shoved the sweet morsel into his mouth. Tongue scorched but worth it.

The quiet hum as you rinse the bowl of cookie dough, his fingers finding your waist, pulling you against his chest as the soft rambling of music played in the background. The two of you rocked from side to side. The endorphins of skin to skin. The chemicals that flood his system giving him comfort.

He didn’t deserve it, but he wanted it.

He wanted it so badly.

So he just took it. Your soft hands covering his as some acoustic version of a pop song played over the wireless speaker in the kitchen. Cheek pressed to yours, ever aware of your ass nestled softly against his hips. Innocently. So innocently.

The light was soft through the windows and Ransom tried desperately to commit this to memory. The way it shines through your hair, the way it makes your skin glow. Your hands are so soft. So soft. He could almost taste it on his lips. Your skin.

“Thank you for the cookies baby.” A whisper. You allowed it, him calling you baby. A soft sweet pet name for someone he didn’t deserve.

“You’re welcome.” He had brought the plate of them in here, in the session.

“I’m doing alright,” He breathes, breaking another cookie open, letting the strings of caramel wrap around each other as he shoved half a cookie in his mouth. “The meds are finally working, so…” He shrugs, “I’m not feeling quite as down.” There were still bad days, but this wasn’t one of them.

“Can we talk about something hard today then?” The Doctor asked, “Is that okay?” Ransom was apprehensive. But… what could it hurt? Only himself. And he still deserved to be hurt so,

“Sure.” A sip of coffee and he settled back into his chair, resting his right ankle resting on his knee.

“I want to talk to you about your family.” He thought of Harlan with his throat slit and a Mother who contacts him once a month. The last time she called him it lasted, according to his phone records, two minutes and forty-four seconds. A ‘how are you?--good, good--is y/n taking care of you--good,good--gotta go. Bye-bye.’ She resented him and Ransom knew that. She’d told him once, drunk of chardonnay that she never wanted to be a Mother.

It shows.

His Father was just as dismissive.

He thinks about the money clip. One that he was gifted when he turned 18 was a match to his father’s. He waved it around plenty of times. Ransom thinks back to the first Christmas you’d spent with his family. The fear, tears in your eyes as you stood there dumbly holding his registration information for the police who didn’t care after he’d slipped them a couple of Benjamin's each and they were on their way. The wad he had handed you from his own money clip silently begging you not to leave him, hoping you’ll return after your long weekend.

Please don’t leave me.

He didn’t say that, but that’s what he meant.

“I don’t know how real people act.” He says, eyes not meeting the Doctor’s. “The whole family…” Harlan, Will, his parents. “None of them are real people,” Shaking his head.

“Is Y/N real?” Dowd asks. Ransom nods, looking down at the cookies. A whisper against his ear. Comfort.

“Yes.” He says. “She is.”

“Have you learned anything from her in the past… how long have you known each other now?”

“Close to three years now.” Ransom smiled softly, really smiled, “The first year she worked for my Grandfather as a tutor for my cousin, Meg. The past two she’s worked for me.” He thinks about your apartment. The one you lived in with your sister.

He’d only been there once.

It felt more like a home and he thinks about how you and your sister acted together. You truly loved one another. The little bickering laced with affection. No fight was ever a real one. Not even when you were yelling at her over the phone, defending him for no real reason. He never understood why someone would say a house is not always a home until he stepped into that apartment.

Yes, it smelled like the curry your neighbor was cooking and yes, it was for lack of a better word crowded. You would say it’s cozy. The furniture worn and much more comfortable than any he’d ever sat in. The way the two of you just steadily accepted him moodily sitting in the corner, in a chair, as their night went on. Even if your sister kind of hated him.

You were kind. You were forgiving. You were welcoming. And you’d taught your sister to be that way too. Even if she was a teenager and hated everyone and everything. To be fair he deserved to be hated and he was confused, but grateful that you didn’t hate him yourself. You said you did, but he knows you didn’t mean it. Not really.

You treated him like he mattered. You believed in him and supported him when he had the idea to write his novel. You picked him up off the ground when he was too drunk to walk. You gave him a shoulder to lean on when he needed a place to lay his head.

You were compassionate.

“I don’t deserve anything she does for me.” Ransom whispered into the quiet study. He shook his head, “She’s going to leave me as soon as the house arrest is over.” Dowd shook his head,

“You’ve done something that is irreversibly wrong.” He stated, “You can never take it back,” Ransom felt the guilt pooling into his stomach. A rain cloud over a sunny day, “The only thing you can do is try every day to do a little better. Put something good into the world. Create something good.”

“Be better.” The Doctor nodded.

“Be better.”

session #86

He was trying. Really trying. A stipend from his books goes to Fran’s family. A monthly donation to Planned Parenthood and another towards a local domestic violence nonprofit. It soothed his soul somewhat, but still didn’t feel like enough. He started looking at houses. For you.

You deserved it. When you left him. When you went back to your normal life. The normal routine. When he was left in his empty house, alone again. Like he wanted. Like he deserved. He was meeting a realtor for lunch tomorrow, but his hobby lately has been browsing house sites looking for a house for you.

Some were too big, some too small. Some too modern, some too old.

Nothing really fit you. Not really.

“Ransom,” You called from the living room, “Are you hungry?”

A few clicks and his computer screen was back on a word document. You poked your head into the study a minute later, a sandwich, cheese toasted on the bread, melted ham and swiss. A sliced apple and the sweet grapes you’d been craving that he had brought home yesterday and two little cinnamon sugar dusted cookies. A glass of water.

“Yeah,” He smiled. You placed the dish next to him, peering over his shoulder at the words typed on the page. “Thank you.” Always thank you, always please. Please love me, please care about me, please, please, I’m trying to be a good person. Please see that. A kiss to your wrist, arms wrapped around his shoulders, chin resting there.

“How’s it going?” You ask. He rubs the bare skin of your arm with his thumb, sighing,

“It’s getting there.” He typed a few more words, flipping through two different word documents. “I’m not sure which story I want to work on, I’m kind of stuck here.” He felt you nod, silently scanning the open page before you before laying a hand over his on the mouse and clicking over to the other one.

“You’re a little farther on this one I think.” It was a story about a situation similar to his own, yet very different. A woman in it that may or may not be referenced heavily by the woman beside him. By you. Who's to say? All likeness to any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

“Do you like this one?” He asked. You had to. Your opinion matters the most. Say the word and he’ll delete the whole thing right now. He felt pathetic. What kind of man was he? Definitely not his father, never his father.

“I do,” He could feel your grin, “You should finish this one next.” He didn’t know what to do with you. Half of him knew you would never love him, not the way he wanted you to. Those girls he buried himself in every night were proof of that. He started imagining they were you, lusty and breathless.

He could never do that to you. Ruin yourself with him. He just couldn’t.

“Thank you for lunch.” Another kiss to your wrist.

“You already said that,” You laughed, melodic. His heart skipped. “Don’t forget you have therapy later.” How could he?

“I won’t.” A bite into his sandwich and he was back looking at houses. Maybe he could find a fixer upper. Dowd said he needed a hobby, right?

“What’s on your mind today Hugh?” Dowd was in a good mood. Not that he wasn’t always in a good mood, but today he was in a very good mood. He showed up to the session and very unprofessionally showed you pictures of his newborn grandchild. A little rosy cheeked, baby girl named Ellie. Ransom admired how your eyes softened and lips pulled into a bright smile. He wished you would smile at him like that.

“I’m gonna buy a house.” Giddy almost. “Fix it up.” He nods, “My hobby right? Work with my hands.” Dowd looked at him skeptically.

“That’s a lot of work,” He laughed, “Have you ever lifted a hammer?” Ransom shrugged.

“Can’t be that hard.” It would be… very hard. But he’ll find that out later. “Lots of people do it, right?” Dowd gave a weird grin.

“Yeah but most of them have had some prior teaching or are professionals.” Ransom’s mouth opened and then closed again, eyes squinting as he thought. Surely he could do it, right? He had to.

It was penance.

“I’ll figure something out.” Ransom took a sip of coffee, “I’ve been journalling a bit.” He said, pulling a leather moleskine from the seat cushion. He’s learning to deal with the guilt. The regret. He gets emails about how his contributions have been saving lives, women who need free healthcare, domestic violence victims that have been rehoused thanks to his donations. It doesn’t make it better, he reasons, the murder.

But it’s penance.

“Are you almost done?” Dowd asked, “With the second book?” The first book he’d published he had given Dowd a signed copy, he would willingly give him a signed copy of the second one too.

“Yeah, just about.” He sighed, “A few more chapters.” Dowd nodded.

“Do you want to talk about the self-loathing you’ve been feeling?” Dowd was perceptive. Ransom knew this, but the question still blindsided him. He wonders if you’ve mentioned anything to the Doctor while scrolling through the 200 pictures and cooing over the newborn in a hundred different outfits. Ransom knows you’ve seen it too. You’re perceptive too.

“Not really.” Ransom answered honestly. It made Dowd laugh, “I know you say I have to learn to live with it, I have to live with the guilt for murdering Fran, but I don’t know…” He stared at the Doctor, eyes betraying the sadness he felt in his soul. The despair. “How does anyone live like this? How does anyone live after they’ve murdered someone?” The last question was a whisper, eyes glazing over and staring at the floor.

He should have just gone to jail. He should have been in jail for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t. He didn’t. He’s not. He’s here. Double jeopardy. He could write a book right now on how he killed Fran, how he set up Marta, how he pushed his Grandfather to suicide and you know what would happen? Nothing.

You can’t be tried for a crime you were acquitted from. The jury found him not guilty. Only six people really knew the whole truth. The three detectives, Marta, himself, and you. The three detectives didn’t matter anymore.

Marta didn’t matter anymore.

He didn’t matter anymore.

You never brought it up. The murder. Not unless he brought it up first. It was a hard limit. A line not crossed. You had to forgive him. You just had to. Didn’t you already? Did you hate him? Were you secretly seething with the fact that you had that house arrest bracelet on? Were you really only here for the money?

He wouldn’t be able to take it, he doesn’t think.

Maybe he’ll become a recluse.

Everything is digital now, ordering groceries, maybe he’ll just get a maid to clean up once a week. You can go, take your money and leave him. It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He will survive.

It’s his penance.

He watched you make dinner, Dowd’s words ringing in his ears, bouncing from one to the other, “You can’t hate yourself forever for this, nothing you can do will make it right, you’ve become a better person. An empathetic person, just be better. Every day, try and do better.” He thinks you’re beautiful.

You’d asked him what he wanted to eat and always was his reply of whatever he’d been craving that day, but tonight he said, “Whatever you feel like eating.” So he didn’t know, but it smelled amazing. He’d eat garbage if you put it in front of him. Whatever it was, it was delicious. Some kind of soup. A couple of heated rolls straight from the oven and a green salad, drizzled with a vinaigrette you’d seemed nervous about.

“I found it on Pinterest.” You had explained, “If you don’t like it--” It was delicious. Everything you made him was delicious. He didn’t care.

“It’s good.” He said. He meant it. He wondered now, with less than five months left of his sentence, how soon after it was over would you leave him? And would you never want to see him again? Because he doesn’t know if he could handle it. He needs you.

He really fucking needs you.

session #95

The girl came back. The one you had kicked out of his bed while he was gone. He told you he was at the gym, but what he was really doing was checking on the work done on the beautiful dark cherry wood Victorian with wrap around porch he’d recently purchased. He couldn’t fix it up on his own, that was the truth. Dowd was right, but he was working with a contractor and small crew.

One day a week he would go over there and help them rip out cabinets or tear down walls. Not too many because the house, he reasoned seemed more like something you would like if it wasn’t completely open concept.

He’d sat there, in the early morning light, watching the sun come through the windows. Dust filtered through the air from where they had sanded the floors, refinishing them. They’ll lay down the stain and seal them today. The windows caught the light perfectly. The sun rose and set over this house beautifully, glowing with natural light. You were going to love it.

He was sure of it.

A shout, stumbling in the gravel of the driveway, “FUCK YOU RANSOM.” A laugh drowned in his coffee.

“What’s on the agenda today Ransom,” He watched you shut the door, irritated with him, “Because if I have to do that again tomorrow I’ll quit.” Lies.

You couldn’t quit.

Not for another nine weeks.

“Don’t worry,” He said, “I’ve got a deadline to meet.” It’s true. He did. Four more chapters and the book was done. He coffee mug in your hand. An emptiness in his heart with the realization of you leaving. Nine weeks. And you’re gone.

He threw himself into it. He was going to finish it this week. The frustration he felt, he just wanted to be done with this book. He was over it, but he was so close to finishing. Doesn’t mean he’s not still a liar.

He needed a fucking break. His head was pounding and you’d come in the office in thin worn out black leggings. When you bent over to pick up the pillow that fell on the floor, he could see the thong you were wearing. His dick was hard.

A promise, “I’ll kick her out myself.” And he was gone.

The girl he brought home, she looked a bit like you. Enough like you when she rubbed her ass against his lap that he’d drug her home. Her lips were attached to his neck. He could imagine her as you. Faintly. Almost.

He felt passive aggressive. He was sort of taking out the anger of not being able to have you on you, not realizing, or not caring? His back met your bedroom door, the girl moaning enthusiastically as her lips trailed down his chest, button down splayed open. Belt clinking and his dick was in her mouth.

Fuck. Head hitting the door. He whispered your name in his head.

He wanted you so bad.

He wanted you so fucking bad.

He pulled the girl off him by her hair. He was going to cum too soon if he thought about it. He could do this.

As he lost himself in her body, bed rocking, hips swinging in a punishing rhythm, the girl’s loud moans drowned out the whisper of your name on his lips.

You were a sight. Sleepy, red marked paper in front of you. You’d found the chapter’s he’d finished just hours before. The ones he had forgotten to give to you. Your hair was messy and your cozy sweater had fallen from your shoulder. He wanted to press a kiss to the exposed skin, but obviously he couldn’t.

“What do you think?” He asked. He watched you jump in your seat, hand pressed quickly to your chest.

“You scared the shit out of me.” You laughed nervously, “It’s good,” You cleared your throat, “I’m not sure how much longer I can wait for you to finish to be honest.”

“Let me see.” The packet was scribbled over.

I think he did it, he’s an asshole.

I don’t like her either.

Ew, why would anyone ever say that to anyone else?

Add more detail here, I can’t picture it well enough.

“What are you doing out of bed?” You asked, you rolled the chair side to side. It was cute. Endearing.

“I told you I was going to kick her out.” She wasn’t happy about it. She tried to get him to go another round, but he felt empty. He didn’t want to. You were waiting downstairs after all.

“And you couldn’t start doing this sooner?” He smiled, he liked that you hated it. It maybe made him think you could be jealous. In some universe. Maybe not this one.

“I like how much it bothers you,” He answers honestly.

“It’s annoying,” you snarked back quickly, “Worst way to start my day.” You were being funny.

“That’s the only reason?” Ransom responds, he leant back in his chair, throwing the packet onto the desk. Please say you want to be with me. Give me permission here.

“You’re such an asshole, you know that?” You scoffed, angry with him. Clearly. You made to walk by him, to leave the room. He reached out and grabbed your arm to stop you, softly.

“If you want to take their place, just let me know.” A wink, a playful slap on his shoulder and you were gone.

“Dick.” Reverberated in the office. A playful laugh.

Therapy today.

He hadn’t slept a whole lot, four hours total. He was tired. And grumpy.

“She loves you, you know that right?” Dowd said halfway through the session. Ransom was deep in his self-loathing today. Probably from the lack of sleep.

Definitely not because each day got closer and closer to you leaving him. Definitely not that.

He shook his head, “She works for me, she gets paid to be nice to me.” Dowd frowned.

“You can’t really believe that Hugh.” Ransom shook his head,

“I don’t deserve her.”

“Men don’t deserve women,” Dowd said, “Period.” He laughs, straightening his tie. “My wife, we’ve been married for thirty years now and I can’t honestly remember life without her in it. She worked to help me get through school and now with my practice I’ve been able to let her do whatever heart desires.” He was smiling fondly, thinking about it. “She’s given me three beautiful daughters, we have a beautiful granddaughter now. A beautiful home, she can’t cook to save her life, but that’s what I’m for… she’s the love of my life, truly.” Ransom looked at the grey old man across from him, the Doctor’s eyes were misty. “She helps me run my practice.” He says, “I would be lost without her and I will work hard to even be close to the man she deserves.”

“It’s just not meant for me Doc.” Ransom swallowed heavily. “It’s not.”

He needed to get out of this fucking house. He couldn’t look at you. He got rid of Dowd. A little harshly. He felt bad about it. You looked up at him from the couch.

“I’m going out.”

Was this love? Yes. He knew he loved you. He’s no a fucking idiot. But you were too good for him. Who forgives a murderer? Who? Why did you have to be like that? So fucking perfect.

You were. So fucking perfect. This house he was fixing for you, the car he was going to buy you after the next book. You deserved all of it.

You and your sister will be taken care of. You’ll never want for anything. You were talking about going back to school maybe, once it’s over. You could do that. He’d do anything for you if you’d ask. He’d pay for all of it. Anything. It’s yours.

How does he resolve this? He doesn’t know.

The donuts, the latte, and his mouth between your thighs a day later. He doesn’t know how to be a good man, but he’s going to fucking try, and try until he gets it right. Until he makes everything right. For the both of you.

“I think you’re the only person I’ve ever loved.” You’re so receptive beneath him. He loves you so much. The only person he’s ever felt this intense affection for. Not even his own parents he’s loved.

He buries himself between your thighs twice that morning. Panting into your mouth the first time, into your neck the second as he rocks his hips into your tight wet heat from behind. Ass nestled against his hips how he’s always dreamed, teeth biting into his thumb as the two of you lay on your sides.

“I don’t deserve you.” He whispered against your neck. His heart racing from his recent orgasm. “I’m sorry.”

session #104

This was it. The last day. Ransom noticed your ankle looked pale, empty now that the bracelet was gone. He would have to fix that. “What am I gonna do now that the dumb bracelet isn’t taking out my ankle anymore?” He whispered into your ear. The damn think had knocked against his ankle bone multiple times in sleep or during sex, enough to make him wince and comment on it multiple times.

Your laugh was melodic to his ears. It was just the two of you now. His Mother stopped by with the same man who had placed the damn ankle monitor on you two years prior to remove it. She made a big show about staying for breakfast.

“So I’m assuming she’ll be moved out by dinner,” She had laughed, “She’s probably sick of you.” Ransom felt a little hurt by that, but his Mother also didn’t know the two of you were now together and ‘moved out by dinner’ was actually going to be him taking you and your sister to dinner and then to your new house that was just finished this morning.

The two of you shared a look and agreed not to say anything.

He dried the dishes as you washed. This oddly domestic moment giving him true belief that maybe this could work. He could have it. He could have what other people have and be okay.

“I love you too.” You’d whispered into his mouth last night. You hadn’t said it back yet, it was the first time. Hands tangled in his hair as you angled his face down. “Please don’t hurt me.” He could never, would never. Not if he could help it.

He brushed his hip against yours as the soft crooning melody played in the background. After the therapy session today the two of you were going to go pick your sister up early from school and drive down to the harbor. He wanted to take you both to dinner. Somewhere you’d wanted to eat for the past two years. A little hole in the wall Spanish place that had ‘the best ceviche and sopas you’ll ever have’ you’ve been talking about it for two weeks now.

Things had changed a lot in the past nine weeks. And not just because the two of you began to have sex on a regular basis. The house seemed more calm. There was an ease now, a tension that had left Ransom’s shoulders. You seemed more at ease too from what he could tell. You’d begun showering him with more affection, sweet lingering kisses down his spine before you left the bed, a press of your lips to his as you enter or exit a room. Thumb releasing the tension in his brow when he was too focused on writing, a kiss wishing it away.

The two of you fell into step as though this was a two year anniversary instead of a two month.

It was nice.

It was very nice.

“It’s good to see you happy.” Dowd said. “I’m very proud of you. You’ve come a long way in the last two years.” Ransom nodded. He felt proud. He did. The guilt still gnawed at him sometimes. But he’d received a letter about a week ago.

Fran’s Mother.

Forgiveness is a tricky thing. And while the two of them would never meet, and probably never speak again. Fran’s Mother believed that God was telling her to forgive him. She thanked him for the royalty checks she’d been receiving in the mail. It helped with her husband’s increasing medical bills. But she will never have her little girl back.

And it was his fault. But she forgave him. Just how he was learning to forgive his parents.

Forgive himself. That was the hard one. He’ll be working on that maybe until the day he dies he thinks. Maybe.

“She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Ransom explains. Dowd smiled softly,

“And she’s not going to leave.”

“Yeah,” Ransom agreed, “She’s not going to leave.” Well she is, but not completely. He was an adult. He could start taking care of himself, but she was still going to technically be his assistant.

“This is our last session together and before it ends is there anything you’d like to say?” Dowd asked him. The old man had taken on a new light for him over the last two years, Ransom really liked the guy. There was no doubt he helped him a lot, but it was more than that. Dowd was a good man. It was admirable. Ransom had never met a good man in his entire life.

Dowd loved his family, his wife, he loved his job. He was a good guy and if it wasn’t wildly inappropriate Ransom would have loved to take him golfing. Maybe invite his family over for dinner. Maybe one day. Maybe once the Doctor retires.

“I don’t think it should be our last session.” Dowd smiled at that.

“That’s exactly how you know you’ve improved.” The man assured, “Cause you’re nowhere near done.” Ransom should have taken offense to that, but he knew. He was still a work in progress. He still needed help, just maybe not as much as before.

Dowd parted with a cookie tin full of those caramel cookies Ransom loved so much, but he was too excited to care. You were ready to go. You wanted to see your sister more than anything else and he was happy to take you there.

He smirked as you ran into your sister’s arms. The fourteen year old was taller than you now, her face dotted with acne. She glared at Ransom over your shoulder.

He deserves it. Honestly.

Dinner was no better. The teen ignoring him completely as he sat awkwardly in the smallest restaurant he’d even been in. You’d spoke practiced spanish to the server and older woman he’d also seen flipping tortillas on the flat top in the back. You’d placed a paper plate with radishes, limes, and a mix of spicy peppers, onions, and cactus in front of the three of you.

A mess of plates were served. This little hole in the wall served the best tacos he’d ever had. Acidic ceviche that he’d eaten scooped into chips, the second order he ate with a spoon straight from the bowl. He didn’t interrupt the two of you and your jovial conversation.

Julia gossiped about a girl at school who was apparently a total bitch and everyone hates her, but she had secretly been dating another girl they went to school with and was now being super nice because she wasn’t closeted anymore.

There was another story about a teacher who had recently lost a child that your sister and her club had been trying to get money together to help pay for the funeral, “How much do you need?” Ransom interrupted.

Julia looked at him with wide eyes, almost forgetting he was there for a moment. “Uh… like we’ve raised almost $2,000 but we were trying to get a full ten.” Ransom nodded, squeezing a lime over his taco.

“Remind me to write you a check before I drop you back off.” He felt your eyes on him, a soft smile. You weren’t going to spring the relationship on your sister quite yet. Not when she still wanted to strangle him.

“That- You’re going to give me $8,000?” Julia asked incredulously. Ransom nodded, chewing and swallowing.

“It’s hard to lose a child.” He offered, “It’s hard for everyone.”

“Especially the parents.” Julia bit. He deserved that. He nods.

“Especially the parents.”

He was nervous. What if you didn’t like it? He’d sell it he’d suppose. But you had to like it. He broke into your tablet one night and sent screenshots of your Pinterest saves to an interior designer. It should be what you want, how you wanted it.

“Where are we going?” You asked. You had sat in the back with your sister. The two of you holding hands and talking about how homecoming went and how there was a junior guy in band who had asked her to the prom.

“We’re almost there.” He pulled into a paved driveway, turning the corner he tapped a few times on his phone the dark house lighting up before him. He heard two collective gasps from the backseat.

“Ransom, what is this?” You were confused, obviously. He exited the car, the two of you following.

He stepped up on the porch, not answering. His heart racing in his chest. He dug out the small key chain that had been weighing heavily in his pocket, turning to the two of you and hanging it from a finger. “I know you hate expensive gifts, but I can’t let you go back to that apartment.” His mouth was dry.

“Ransom.” You breathed. The keys were snatched from his finger, Julia moved past him to unlock the door, rushing inside.

“Oh my God!” She squealed from inside. Ransom shrugged softly, hand still outstretched towards yours.

“Please take it.” He whispered. A few seconds ticked by as he watched you decide. Please take it.

“Y/N,” Julia called, “This house is incredible.” She was panting in the doorway, shoes already discarded. He watched you look past him to her, the smile on her face. And you took his hand.

You’d been dating for a while when Ransom suggested couples therapy. Pretty much as soon as you’d moved in together. It was a nice break. Six months not seeing each other every minute of every day. He picked you up on real dates. You’d gone to real movies. You’d taken real walks in a real park. You had after dinner drinks at a real bar. One which you’d remembered he had ignored you in what seemed like a lifetime ago.

Julia had just gone to bed. She had a soccer game in the morning. He’d suggested it while you were getting ready for bed. A box of his clothes sat still packed in the corner. The last box. One you hadn’t quite gotten to yet.

“There’s nothing wrong,” He defended. “I just think that it would keep us in a healthy relationship.” And you agreed. He was happy you agreed. He didn’t want you to think that he felt as though there were problems. Other than him leaving his dirty socks and coffee mugs around the two of you hadn’t had much of a disagreement.

Yet.

Dowd was kind enough to still make house calls, something Ransom was fortunate for. He was working hard getting his next novel out. Deadline coming on quick as the two of you sat in a session where the Doctor looked at you and said,

“He’s treated you fairly poorly over the last two years.” Ransom felt offended. Dowd was supposed to be on his side, but he came out the gate swinging. It didn’t stop it being true.

You opened and closed your mouth. “I wouldn’t say…” You rubbed your hands down your thighs, drying the sweat on your palms.

“It’s not okay.” Dowd responded. “We both know him, we know how far he’s come.” He gestured to Ransom and Ransom nodded.

“He’s right baby.” A hand on your thigh in a way Ransom hoped was comforting. “The way I treated you is not okay. I’ve made a lot of bad decisions.” You sat awkwardly. Ransom wondered if you were beginning to regret this.

“But Ransom, honey, I just--” You looked so nervous, sinking down into the couch, your eyes fixed on Dowd. “You’ve changed so much, and you’ve never really been…” You gestured with your hands. “You’re a victim of circumstance.” You began, “I don’t believe that if you’d had loving parents you would have ever been in the situation you were in… not that you know, nature versus nurture and I just think, I don’t know, maybe... “

“It’s okay.” Dowd put a hand out. “Listen, this is a lot to start with and it’s okay. We don’t have to get too far into it. The next session I would like to have both of you write a letter to each other, something about how the last two years have affected your life. I think that’s where we should start.”

Intermingling breaths and hips pushed into the kitchen table, loud moans echoing in the kitchen as Ransom sinks himself into you over and over. “So fucking hot baby.” He breathes. “So fucking hot,” He hitched your leg up onto the table, enabling him to go deeper. “You’ll do anything for me, wont you?” He asked. His snapping hard against your perfect ass, hands roughly gripping the globes, tinted red by the palm of his hand.

“Yes,” You moaned roughly, “Anything.” Ransom moaned, reaching a hand down to steadily rub your clit, so wet for him. Only him.

“I love you so fucking much.” He moaned, hips beginning to falter as you came around him. Pussy contracting, milking his cock as he released inside the condom, panting.

“I love you too.” You whispered heavily into the room. Both of you trying to catch your breath.

“Thank you for doing this for me.” His fingers tracing softly down your bare spine. “I know it makes you uncomfortable.” He watched as you pulled your discarded shirt back on, shifting your leggings back up your hips as he discarded his condom, pulling his sweats back up over his own.

“I think it’ll be good for us,” You said, “In the long run.” He nods in agreement.

“I would hate for us to turn out like my parents.” He whispered.

“We’re not ever going to be like your parents.” You assured him, gripping his hand softly.

“I don’t want you to resent me in twenty years.” He looked into your eyes, searching as you replied,

“You think we’ll be together in twenty years?” You asked. He rolled his eyes as you let a watery laugh part your lips. He pressed his lips tightly against yours, fingers tangled in your hair.

“I sure as hell hope so.”

The sessions continued. One a month. Each month.

The two of you worked together to make this relationship work. You tried hard. You grew and you grew together.

“I think we’d be pretty good parents.” He said once. A few weeks before the marriage proposal. It got the both of you hot for it. The idea. Not something you’d been planning on acting on anytime soon but when he was balls deep inside your tight wet pussy he couldn’t help but imagine you swelling with his child, breasts heavy, firm belly pressing against him as he thrust inside you.

He was hot for it, always.

And you were thinking of it too. You’d spin your engagement ring around your finger and stare at him wistfully, tongue coming out to wet your lower lip.

You were riding him. Hips circling on top of his, panting and moaning. Your body glistening with sweat. Hands curled in your hair, back arched. “You gonna give me a baby?” You asked. He nodded, panting, he wanted to thrust into you but he couldn’t help but love the way you looked right now. Chasing your own release. Selfish. Wanting.

He fucking loved it.

You held his wrists to the bed, using your knees to rock back and forth on top of him as you pressed your lips to his. A whisper against his lips. “You gonna cum inside me?” You moaned.

“Yes, baby.” He braced his feet against the bed grinding his hips against yours, rubbing your clit against his pubic bone until you were shuddering on top of him, moaning into his mouth with your release. You collapse against his chest, his arms coming to wrap around your waist, his braced feet giving him the leverage he needed to fuck you. His hips starting a punishing rhythm. The loud slap of his thighs meeting yours filling the room.

“I can’t wait.” He breathes, “I love you so fucking much.” Your choked moans did him in, his release spilling inside you, not willing to let you go quite yet as the two of you stilled. The sweat covering your bodies began to chill you.

“I love you too.”

The wedding was small. Springtime. For months after the proposal and very quiet. Neither of you had very much family and fewer friends. A small group in your backyard. A cake from your favorite bakery. Promises of a bright future and a new life. Here, together.

You’d feel the flutter in your belly a few months after that.

taglist // @littlechillies @hellizhelusive2 @notbexmader @marvelouspottering @whitequeenasitbgan @Thegraylaway @readermia @i-believe-in-unicorns-and-you @princess-evans-addict @perplexed3001 @Diedrashouseofpain @hailmary-yramliah @sleepycvpid @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @starlywars @gifsbysimplysonia @rocknbasil @imnotelasticheart @wannabegonnie @d1sconnect3d @heyguyz13 @unimomajo @this-is-serenaa @steviemae @bemysugarbean @truefangirlheart @babiiface95 @mydarlingharry @elzzin @sweetheart-syndrome @behindthesehazeleyes27 @bassclarinety @orenjineki @southerngracela @songforhema @mjey12 @thatgaldonna @annedub @patzammit @bloatedandlonly @bookish-shristi @saturnki @jennmurawski13 @geeksareunique @the-soulofdevil

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale #chris evans #knives out

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featheredpheonix · 3 years

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I watched the 4th (and final, if reports hold true) season of Netflix’s Castlevania series, and I am now putting as many of my (many, many) thoughts on it in the read more below to prevent them from continually filling my head until I die from a brain herniation. Spoilers for the new season obviously below.

The really short version of this is that, in contrast to a lot of the sentiment I have been seeing online, I don’t think this season is very good. I think it might actually be worse than season 3. If that thought offends you, please bear with me for a bit, as I suspect it is Netflix itself rather than the showrunners who are to blame.

Season 3′s fundamental flaw, in my opinion, was that it tried to cover too much at once, which made the pacing really fast and resulted in the season’s more obvious problems (how inconsequential Trevor and Sypha’s arc felt, how generally messy and underwritten Alucard’s whole section was, etc.). However, Season 3 did bear some merit, as so far as some of the conflicts it seemed to be setting up held some decent potential. Alucard was poised to have some real inner turmoil as he sent back to square one of his isolation in the castle, and by way of a far more traumatic series of events than during his initial farewell with Trevor and Sypha. Isaac was faced with a pretty open suite of paths to take his life, and a new philosophy on life to help guide him. There was the question of how would the world react to Carmilla’s expansionist ambitions, and just how far she would go to see them through. There was even a lot of engaging stuff that could have come out of Hector’s entrapment into magical servitude by Lenore. I was ready to give Season 3 some slack because I saw it as setting up interesting conflicts for Season 4, which while technically counting as kicking the can down the road, might have at least counted for something.

The issue with Season 4 then, for me, begins with it utterly ignoring or cutting short many of the potential story lines just discussed, opting in favor of conflicts devoid of set up, with threadbare emotional stakes, and which didn’t really challenge the cast in any way beyond testing how well they can swing a sword or throw a fireball.

Alucard seems barely fazed at all by the killing of his father or his brief pair of homicidal lovers, so much so that his recounting of the latter, an event which must have been a traumatic experience for him, is delivered off-screen and then promptly joked about. Carmilla’s character her arc is resolved with her complete abandonment of any of the political wit or strategic thinking she displayed in seasons past, getting promptly curb-stomped by Isaac for reasons only tangentially related to her manic world domination plot, and then girlbossing so hard she explodes. Most inexplicable of all, Hector, Lenore, and the story in general appear to have forgot or moved on from the whole “sexually-induced magical slavery” thing altogether, and the two are getting along swimmingly until Lenore decides to kermit herself (If I had a nickel for every morally-questionable vampiress who committed suicide this season, I’d only have two nickels, but it’s weird that it happened twice). Only Isaac’s story at all resembles what was being foreshadowed in Season 3, and even then only by the narrative being very vague about what his future plans actually are.

What we receive instead of payoff on previously established story threads are a coalescence of the different character arcs in a manner so rushed as to make them logistically impossible were it not for the sudden and conspicuous abundance of magical teleportation mirrors, a rogue’s gallery of new villainous vampires who exist only to be introduced and killed off in quick and meaningless succession, and a BBEG-from-the-machine who could have been interesting and entertaining if he had been given any build up or time to breath as a character, in either a previous or current season. Even the happy endings I was hoping for this season feel somewhat spent, more a product of consequence than something the characters actually struggled for. As such, the resolutions of the character arcs I did like felt less like rewards for sticking with the series, and more like bribes meant to convince me to forget the bad writing which preceded them.

Now that I’m finished beating this season with a stick, I think it’s worth noting that none of this feels like something the showrunners should be blamed for. Rather, this feels to me like one of my favorite Netflix properties being brought low by Netflix’s internal policy of cancelling beloved shows in search of greater market yields. I suspect that the showrunner did not choose to end this series after four seasons, but were commanded to do so by corporate higher-ups sometime either late into season 3′s production, or more egregiously, prior or even during the creation of season 4. This would obviously mean the Castlvania crew were doing the best they could to deliver any sort of half-decent ending in the short time they had left, and any blame for the faults of the show should instead be laid at the feet of the larger corporate machine behind them, and at the feet of the capitalist mode of production more broadly.

As far as the show itself is concerned, I’m still a fan, and would probably still watch whatever spinoff might be in the works, if hints from the Castlevania team are to be believed. Even in isolation, the first half of Castlevania still more than makes up for the latter seasons, with Season 2 being perhaps one of my favorite seasons of TV ever, and the S2 finale being one of my favorite finales respectively. Still, I wanted to express my critiques of this season, albeit from a place of love. I feel like there was a lot more story the team wanted to tell, that they would have preferred to tell, that they were ultimately made unable to tell by the external constraints of their less-than-benevolent corporate overlords. If such a desire existed amongst the Castlevania team, I can certainly say that I share in it, and hope that whatever they make from here on out is given the opportunity to be all that it can be.

#also feel free to reply I'm curious to hear what other people's thoughts are #castlevania #castlevania season 4 #castlevania spoilers #long post

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optimistic-dinosaur-nacho · 4 years

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Chapter X

Story Rating: 14+

Warnings: Violence, Murder, Mentions of Murder, Language, Mentions of Rape, Drugs Mentioned Summary: Y/N is Andy and Laurie Barber’s 14-year-old daughter who is a high-grade student in Archer Middle School. Her best friend, Alice Miller had been gone for a while. They search for the lost student and find out that Alice Miller’s body has the prints of Andy and Laurie Barber’s daughter, Y/N.

Chapter I Chapter II Chapter III Chapter IV Chapter V Chapter VI Chapter VII Chapter VIII Chapter IX Chapter X Chapter XI Chapter XII Chapter XIII

---DEFENDING JACOB SPOILERS---

Just watched the last episode of Defending Jacob, can’t stop crying now

~~~

The drive was somewhat soothing. The music blasting in the car, one of Y/N’s songs she listens to 24/7 if Andy guessed she had. He glances over to see her sticking her head out the window, her hair up and not down to reach her shoulders. Revealing the traces of her jaw and her neck.

Andy wanted to give Y/N some air. Not feel like she’s stuck in the house forever. Make her feel special. Taking her out fishing was more of a father and son thing, but she loved fishing.

A little father and daughter time out in the lake was better.

Her hair flowing in the wind, some strands covering her forehead as she looks over to him and grins. “It’s pretty good, right?” She asks, referring to the song, “Admit it.”

Andy nods, “Yeah, it’s not bad. I like it better than the last one. It’s got kind of a Bryan Ferry thing going on,” He says.

“Who?” He heard her say, he turns over in shock. Mouth gaped as he tilts his head at her, “Who?” Y/N grins. “Oh,” He reaches for his phone, “I’m picking the next one.”

Y/N grins up at him and turns away to continue looking out. The two completely forgetting about the bad things that were happening. And looking forward to the good parts.

Y/N held onto her fishing rod as Andy nods at the man, “Thank you.” Andy comes over and grabbing the container along with his rod.

Y/N reached for the lures box and followed Andy. Setting up by the dock, Y/N grins at the lake in front of them. “I feel like we’re in a commercial. One of those father-daughter moments. Or maybe father-son moments.”

Andy smiles, throwing out his hook into the lake. “Can I ask you a question?” Y/N asked, Andy doesn’t respond but he welcomed her to ask. “Was it weird seeing your dad again?”

Andy squints up at the lake, thinking about what happened back there. Seeing his reflection match the side of his father’s. Haven’t seen him in 30 years probably.

“A little.”

Y/N turns, “He look the same?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Older,” He shrugs. Y/N licks her lips and turns, “He was a dick to you, huh?” Andy chuckles at that, thinking she might’ve shared the same mind as him.

“That’s one way to put it,” He says. Y/N’s leg bounces up and turns to look at him again, “You hate him?” Andy thought about that. Sure, his father killed someone. Raped. But he was still a father to him.

“No,” He mumbles, “No, not really.”

“You don’t feel bad for him, do you?” She asks. Andy shakes his head, “No. Not at all.” After that, Y/N gotten quiet. It gave him the time to think about what last night was.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” She says, cutting up his thoughts, Andy looked over, “You wouldn’t have had to go see him if it wasn’t for me.” Andy cranes his neck back.

“Hey,” He says, “Hey, listen to me.” Y/N looks over, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, okay? Nothing,” He says. Y/N looks away from him and gently nods. It all got quiet for a second, Y/N learning to process what was going on with their lives right now.

What would happen in the future. Andy thought about the party. The thing Sarah had said and the reason why Y/N always tried to shut him out. He probably has the chance now.

“Look... I know this isn’t what you don’t want to talk about, but it’s my job to know what happened at that party. If that happened to you, I need to know who and what.”

Y/N lowers her head, “I don’t remember.” Andy nods at her, “Just try. Start from the beginning when you got there.” Y/N stared at her hands gripping the rod. Swallowing hard, she breathes in shakily.

“I just remembered getting there and Alice was already starting to drink. She kept forcing me to do it.”

“So you took the drink?” Andy asked, Y/N nods, afraid to answer about it. “Then I remembered just that before I woke up... and I realized I was in a bedroom.” Andy shuffles in his seat.

He knew what happened now. Who knew if Alice asked for Y/N’s pics and she never responded, getting the chance to rape his daughter at a party. Possibly drugs in the drink. Or Derek might’ve done it. Him and Henry could’ve done something to his daughter.

Maybe when Y/N was left in the bedroom, Derek found out about it and killed Alice for it. Or if that middle-aged man who was short enough to act like one of the high schoolers ended up sexually touching his daughter.

Andy tried not to look upset about the possibilities of who done this to her. Derek could’ve wanted to draw himself away because of what he did to Y/N. Between three or four people who could’ve touched his daughter in that way.

He had to tell Joanna about this. He hoped Y/N could possibly get out with this and be proven innocent.

Y/N’s leg bounces again, “Dad...”

Andy looks over to her, seeing her eyes look around the lake as if she was looking for someone or something to help her give her some soothe. “I’m scared.”

His eyes soften, “I know you are. Believe me, if I could take your place, I would. In a minute.” Y/N nods, “I know. It’s just all I think about sometimes. Going to jail.”

“We’re not going to let that happen.”

Y/N somewhat grins, “Bribe the jury?” Andy grins softly at her, “Trial’s still eight weeks out, sweetheart.”

“Seven weeks, three days,” She corrects, Andy nods, giving her some optimistic, “That’s still a lot of time. Anything can happen between now and then. And if we go to trial, we’re gonna fight harder than anyone’s ever fought. They gotta convince all 12 jurors. We just gotta convince one.”

Y/N looked over, him spotting the hint of gloss in her eyes. “Look, I know it’s hard, sweetheart, but why don’t you leave the worrying to me, okay?” Y/N looks away as he follows her gaze out to the lake.

He gently grins, “You wanna make yourself useful? Catch us some dinner.” Y/N smiled.

“That was fun. Thanks, dad,” Y/N says, Andy stares at the ground, thinking about something to do at home, “Movie night?” He asks. Y/N shrugs, “Sure.” He looks up to the shack, holding the cooler in hand. “You wanna choose or should I?” He asked.

Y/N thinks, “Um... Are there any good Eddie Murphy ones I haven’t seen yet?” She asked. Andy nods, “Yeah, absolutely. Let me think.” Andy flinches when his phone began to rang.

He reached into his jean pocket and pulled it out, “Hang on a second, honey.” He reads the caller as Joanna and he took a walk over to the boat, answering, “Joanna.”

“I tried you earlier. It kept going to voice mail,” She says.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re in a bad area,” He replies. “CPAC has Alice’s phone. Derek turned it over,” She said. Andy pauses, “Really?”

“I just brought a motion to compel. If there is anything on that phone, we’ll get to see it. Logiudice looked like he just locked his keys in his car.”

Andy pierced his lips together, “Yeah, I bet.”

“Oh, and I have more news. I got a message from Liz Vogel when I was at the courthouse. Apparently your father’s had a change of heart,” She states. Andy lifts his head up, “What do you mean?”

“He’s agreed to give a DNA sample. She’s going back to the prison to pick it up first thing in the morning,” Joanna says. Andy goes silent as he turns out to the lake. William from being the asshole who didn’t help last time, he finally chosen to do the test.

What made him change his mind?

“Andy, did I lose ya?” Joanna asked. Andy turns back, “No, I’m here. Just... You sure he’s not messing with us?”

“It doesn’t sound that way. Listen, I have to go. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Andy nods, “Okay. Thanks, Joanna.”

“Bye-bye.” Andy hangs up and slips his phone back into his pocket to join back with his daughter who watched him closely. “What’s wrong?” She asked. Andy shakes his head, “Nothing. That was actually good news.”

Y/N turns and glances at him, “Tell your face.” Andy cranes his neck back, “Ha ha ha...” He fake laughs.

Once they returned home, surely enough, the family of four watched a movie in the living room. Milo at Andy’s feet, he reaches over and pets the dog’s head before returning to the movie.

Laurie and Y/N laughed at the movie causing Andy to look over just like he did every movie night. Seeing his family smile, haven’t seen them do that for a while now.

As if everything that was happening to them washed away. Only to have it grow back like mold on wood.

After that movie, Laurie decided to clean up in the kitchen after Y/N had gone to bed. Coming over to stand behind her by the sink, Andy drops the dishes in the sink and washed them out. Laurie doing the same at the counter.

Not turning around to face her, he spoke, “You went to go see him today, didn’t you?” He asked. Laurie pauses at the question while Andy faces her. “You got him to change his mind,” He adds.

Laurie wipes down the counter, “We only talked for a few minutes. He wasn’t as scary as I thought he would be.” Andy shakes his head, “You didn’t have to do that.”

Laurie turns around, facing her husband, nodding, “Yes, I did.” A few seconds into gazing at each other, she slowly shook her head. “What?” Andy asked. She sincerely looked into his eyes that seem to be red at the slightest.

“You have his eyes.”

He stared blankly at her, he felt a punch feeling to the chest but it didn’t feel negative. He wasn’t so sure what he felt. Was she referring to a murderer’s eyes or someone who could be a good man. Someone who could change.

Who knew if Y/N shared the same eyes. Would Laurie say the same to her?

That night, Andy watched Laurie sleep soundly next to him. Thinking that she did all of that to see someone she never heard much about, to do one small but huge thing for her daughter. Their daughter.

Laurie wasn’t scared to see him. Braver than Andy was. Just then, his phone buzzed on his nightstand. Turning onto his side, he sees the unknown caller ID and he pulled it up to his ear.

“Hello?”

The loud metal music screamed in his ear, no one was answering. “Who is this?” He asked. The caller didn’t respond, he thought this was some prank caller. “Hello?” His phone beeps three times to indicate they hung up and he stared at the screen and placed his phone back.

He exhales softly, leaning back on the bed. The phone buzzes again, he groans, “Damn it.” Reaching over again, he sees the same Unknown ID caller and answers the phone, “Hello?”

The same heavy metal music played in the back, “Look, either have the guts to say something or don’t call this number again,” He growls. The caller hangs up again and Andy stares at his screen.

Madelyn groans, throwing her phone on the bed, “Fuck!” Dropping onto her bed, she lifts up the bong to her lips, using her lighter, the water bubbles. “Maddie,” Her mother calls, she pulls away and blows out the smoke, “Turn down the music!”

Reaching for her hair, she lightly tugs and ignored her mother’s calls. Dropping fully on her back, she stared at the ceiling. Her teeth gritting against each other at the thought of what the man spoke about.

About Leonard Patz.

Ten days before the trial, Joanna had called about the phone Derek had turned it yesterday. She wanted Andy to come over for them to check out the phone’s data and what Alice may have been doing behind everyone’s backs.

Something they can tie in with the case.

Find a way that Y/N isn’t guilty.

“Hey, Mr. B,” The man at the food truck spoke, an old friend of Andy’s, “I thought that was you.” Andy turns and grinned, “Hey, Bobby. How you doing?”

Bobby nods, “Not too bad. Can I get you something off the truck?”

“No,I’m okay. Just waiting for somebody,” Andy replies. The man nods, “All right. Well... stay strong for your family, okay?” He points. Andy turns away from him and looked down at his feet, hearing the door open from the courthouse.

“Andy,” Joanna spoke, he turns, “They’re ready for us.” He nods, following Joanna inside the courthouse over to the room where they’ll be going through his phone.

Walking up the stairs, they meet the hall. Andy spotted Neal at the end speaking to a fellow staff. Andy’s gaze seem to get tougher. “Ignore him. He can moan all he wants. The judge already ruled on the phone,” Joanna states.

Neal looks up to them and glared, going back to the files in his hands. “Mr. Barber has every right to be here, Neal,” She said, catching his look of oh-god-he’s-here.

Neal looked up, “Well, technically I could argue that he doesn’t since he’s a possible witness in the case, but I’m letting it slide.” Andy squints up at him. Joanna grins, “What a mensch.”

Neal grins back. Andy jumps in, “You’re not going in there with us, if that’s what you think was gonna happen.” Neal shook his head, “Of course not. I already examined the cell phone.”

Joanna nods, “We are well aware.”

He shook his head again, “I was up here for something else unrelated. I do have other cases.” Joanna shuffles, “Goodbye, Neal. And the next time you want to conceal evidence from us, don’t.”

Neal stood there as the two walk into the room. Before Andy could reach the room, Neal spoke, “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask,” He says. Andy turns. Neal looks over to him, “How’s your father, Andy?”

Andy stops and turns fully to him, “What’d you say?”

Neal blinks at him, “I asked about your father.” Andy’s glare began to be feral. Angered. Neal continue to agitate him, “How’s he doing?” Andy steps up. “You know, I knew criminal law was a passion of yours, but...”

Andy was just a feet away from him, “I had no idea it was the family business-Whoa!” Neal shouts as Andy grabs him by his suit and shoves him back. “You think this is a joke? Do you!” Andy growls, jerking him forward.

Pam rushes over, “Hey! Hey, Andy!” She pulls him off. “Come on, Andy!” Joanna says. Andy shrugs her off and storms out of the halls. “Jesus,” Neal hisses. Andy grits his teeth, “Fuck.”

“Don’t lecture me about concealing things,” Neal spoke, Andy turns back to walk back till Joanna steps in front. “Just let it go,” She says. Neal reaches down for his files. Pam holds her hand up, Andy panting furiously at her, “Hey.” Andy turns back around.

“I will say this,” Neal says, “It explains a lot, Andy, about you, about your daughter.” Andy reaches for his face, grazing his beard as his teeth grit in frustration and anger.

The whole scene now made him feel like this family has some signs of aggressiveness. Closing his eyes, he tried to calm himself down, releasing an exhale through his nose. He dropped his head, “Damn it.”

The two women look over to him, “Detective, are you ready for us?” Joanna asked. Pam nods, “Yeah.” Andy turns around to face them. Pam looks over, “You okay?”

He sighed, holding his hands up, “Sorry.” He turns away and shakes off the tension in his limps. The women began to walk over to the room so Andy follows behind, keeping his head low.

Joanna turns to face him, “We knew he’d find out sooner or later. It’s fine,” She whispers, she gently pulls his arm to bring his attention to her when he looks out. “Andy, we’re already ahead of it.”

He nods as they walk in towards the table, sitting down. “That’s the passcode her parent’s provided,” Pam says, “Take all the time you need.”

“Thank you, Detective.”

Once Pam walked out the door, Andy folded his hands together. “I should’ve told you this sooner but I found out what happened at that party.” Joanna looks over, “About what?”

Andy sighs, “From what I’m hearing, Y/N was drugged and sexually assaulted.” Joanna’s face drops and turns to him. “Andy... Are you sure this happened?”

Andy shakes his head, “I wish it didn’t. We don’t know who it was... If Leonard was caught on the same night in that park, it could’ve been him or Derek.” Joanna shakes her head, “It would be no use if Alice was the one to do it cause she wouldn’t be charge either way.”

Andy drew his eyes toward the bag as Joanna lifts it up. “We’ll figure it out another time. We have something in front of us that could help.” Joanna turns the phone on, showing a photo of her and a familiar face.

Milo.

Alice liked Milo. Her parents didn’t allow her to have dogs but the only close one was the Barber’s dog. After that, they looked through her phone.

The session had gone on for a while now, Laurie had been staring at the same painting on the wall to zone out. Mouth gaped, she didn’t even realize she was doing, she turned away from the picture and heard the door open.

Laurie picks up her purse and stands up, Y/N walking out with her hands in her sweatshirt. Vogel comes out, “Sorry to keep you,” She says. Laurie nods, “That’s okay.” Her eyes look toward Y/N, “Hey.” Placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, Y/N ignored her gaze and slightly ignored the small gesture of Laurie’s hand.

Laurie draws her eyes back, “Same time next week?”

“Actually, today was our last session.”

Laurie pauses, “Oh. I didn’t realize. So then-”

Vogel gestures slightly, “So then you and Andy are scheduled to meet me with Joanna at the end of next week, the 17th, I believe. We can go over everything then,” Vogel states.

“The 17th?” Laurie asks.

“That okay?”

Laurie turns and gestures to Y/N, “Yeah, no, it’s just. That’s Y/N’s birthday,” She says. “Oh. Um... Well, if you want, we can just--”

“No, it-it’s fine. Uh, she has her tutor that day, actually so...” Vogel nods. “All right.” Laurie looks over to Y/N, “Ready?” Y/N turns and took a step, “Yeah.” Laurie looks over to Vogel in confusion. What did she say to make Y/N so stumped?

“She’s probably a little talked out.”

Laurie manages to nod, “I’ll see you next week.” Vogel grins, “Right. Take care, Y/N. Happy early birthday.” Y/N shoots a look at Vogel before replying a grumbled, “Bye.” She was the first to leave and Laurie looks at Vogel once again.

Only to have the doctor smile at her so Laurie gives her one last nod before following Y/N out of the building.

The drive was oddly quiet. Usually Y/N would speak throughout the whole drive back about her tutor or talk about her birthday coming up. Laurie was growing concern, “You’re quiet.” She stole glances at Y/N. Her daughter stole the next, “How was your session?” Laurie asked.

Y/N sighs, “It was fine. Annoying.”

“Annoying?” Laurie asked. Y/N looks out, “She just asks me the same questions every week, or different versions of them. When I call her out, she plays dumb... or at least tries. As if she didn’t realize she already asked me.”

Laurie gently shakes her head, “She’s only trying to help us.”

Y/N licks her chapped lips, “If you say so.” The seconds in, Y/N’s phone dings. Looking at the corner of her eye, she sees Y/N slip her phone out. “Who’s that?” She asked.

Y/N ignores her and began to type on her phone, “Y/N, who are you texting-?”

“Nobody. Dylan,” She says. Laurie tilts her head, “Dylan Stone?” Y/N’s phone dings again, “He’s at a sleepaway camp. This kid doesn’t believe he knows me so he’s trying to prove it,” Y/N grins.

The thought of her being popular around the country of being a murderer wasn’t what Laurie wanted to happen. The texting was selfish. Not right in her perspective. Very childish.

“How’s Matthew and Sarah? Haven’t heard their names in a while.” Y/N and Laurie look at each other for a second. Laurie turns away, “It’s good for you to have someone your own age to talk to.”

Y/N scratches the back of her head, “We’re not talking, so...”

Laurie looks over, “Is that your doing, or--”

“Mom, please. Don’t,” Y/N interrupts. Laurie stops and glanced at Y/N. Always had the habit to shut her out. Just like Andy would do.

Sent by Alice Got back my math test. 92!!

From Eric Amazing!

From Marla Super proud! We’ll celebrate at dinner, babygirl!

Andy looks over the messages in the phone and came across every small thing that just didn’t feel wrong to him. Just simple happiness to the family and prove how innocent they were.

A happy family

Sent by Alice Grace is coming over after soccer!

From Marla Is she staying for dinner?

Sent by Alice I’ll ask :)

The next conversation was between her and her dad, Eric. The game that happened to not come across to Alice. A soccer game that happened to be a week after Alice’s death.

From Eric PHOTO Got us tix for next week

Sent by Alice Awesome, thanks daddy!

Andy continued to scroll through the messages. The only names who were recent was her parents. It slowly broke his heart to see how much their family was just like his before everything came crashing down.

From Marla PHOTO Aunt Lisa just sent this. So cute!

The door opens to Joanna who walked in with two cups of coffee, she sat down and placed a cup in front of Andy. “Thanks,” He mumbles, he reaches over and takes a sip of it. “Anything?” Joanna asks.

Andy slowly shook his head.

The five hours of searching through Alice’s phone, Joanna began to sign the form for people who were last to check Alice’s phone for safety reasons. A check-in and check-out form to be exact.

“Thanks, Detective,” Joanna says, handing her the clipboard, Pam nods, “Yeah. You got it.” Joanna’s phone began to ring as she lifts it up and glances at Andy who leaned in the doorway. “It’s my office,” She says, “Can you give me a minute?”

Andy nods, “Yeah.” Hearing her voice answer the phone, Andy kept his head low as he stared at his feet. Without knowing, Pam watched him stand there and she took the courage to walk up.

“Hey,” She says.

Andy looks up for a second to say, “Hey,” back. His head still hangs low as she sighs softly, “Listen, I just want you to know, I think it was fucked up, what Logiudice did.”

Andy lifts up his head, “Nah. He was being a lawyer. If I was in his place, I’d probably try to bury the phone too.” Pam shakes her head, “No, I think you would have thought about it, but you would have done the right thing... That’s not what I was referring to though,” She says.

Andy looks over to her and slightly changes his footing, putting his right foot over the other, “You mean what he said about my father,” He nods, “Everybody knows, huh?”

“Started going around yesterday. You know how people talk around here.” Andy sighs, knowing if people could gossip when Andy’s not working no more, they could say anything about him or his father.

“What have you heard?” He asked.

Pam stared, blankly, “That he’s serving life at Northern for rape and murder one.” Andy lifts up his hand and slowly breathed in, “He went in when I was a kid.” He looks over to Pam.

She lowers her chin, “I take it Laurie knows?” Andy turns away, “She does now. Y/N too.” Pam lowers her head next, taking her feet over to stand in front of him before speaking.

“I have a brother,” She spoke, “I told you about him.”

Andy lifts up his head, “Yeah.” She nods, “So I know what that’s like, carrying something like that around.” Andy couldn’t speak as his lips close shut as she sighs. “Listen, my hands are mostly tied on this case, but, you know... if you need any more of my help you know how to reach me.”

Andy nods at her, “Thank you.”

“Don’t underestimate him. He sounds real sure he’s gonna win. Too sure,” She says. Andy thought over confidence could somewhat be embarrassing. Proven wrong it could really change you, especially for something big like this.

Footsteps began to approach the two and Joanna comes up with a small grin. “Shall we go?” She asked. Andy looks over, “Let’s go.” Andy turns to Duff and gently winks at her.

“Thanks, Duff.”

Following beside Joanna, she spoke, “That was my assistant Ellen. She has a niece Y/N’s age,” Andy looks over, “They live in Needham, but you know how all the kids know each other these days.”

Andy and her continued to walk as she looked at him again, “It seems Y/N has been going online again.” Andy comes to a stop and looks at Joanna.

God dammit.

Andy busts through the door and slams it, “Y/N!” He calls. Laurie turns to Andy’s calling and sees him walk in quickly. He spots Laurie and stops, “Where’s Y/N?” Milo rushes in and began to wag his tail at his boss’s presence.

Laurie had the change look of worry and confusion, “Upstairs. How did it go with the phone?” Andy grits his teeth and clenched his fists, “It was a bust,” Turning his heel, he rushes upstairs. “Y/N!”

Laurie stands up from the table and follows behind.

Andy storms into Y/N’s room, seeing her on her laptop. “Are you May Kobbs?” He asks, harshly. Y/N perked up and Laurie comes in. Andy’s fists go pale, “Answer me, damn it!”

“Andy,” Laurie says.

Y/N crosses her legs, “It’s not that big of a deal,” She mutters. Andy’s brows furrow in anger, Laurie looked confused and scared. “Don’t tell me what’s not a big deal! Show your mother. Show her what you’ve been up to,” He says.

Y/N swallows thickly as she goes onto the account. Andy shakes his head as he heard the typing. Turning her screen, Laurie sees the post.

May Kobbs What people think of me

The photo was a photoshop of Y/N’s face on Patrick Bateman, the American Psycho film. With only one follower and one post. Laurie’s face drops, “Shit. Y/N!” She says.

Y/N lowers her head, “It’s just a dumb joke.”

“Do you have any idea what this looks like?” Andy asks, “Joking about being a murder suspect?” Y/N looks up to him, “It’s not like anyone even knows who it is,” She stammers.

“Everybody knows!” Andy shouts and leans forward, “How do you think I know?” Laurie drops her hand, “Andy, calm down.” He looks over but quickly whips back towards Y/N.

“This-” His hand lifts up, “-is damaging. This is evidence, and you’re either too stupid or too arrogant to know the difference.” Y/N’s eyes began to get glossy. “I’m not stupid.”

“Then what’s wrong with you?” Andy asks.

“Nothing! You’re making too big of a deal out of this,” She says. “Do you have any idea what they’re gonna do with this picture?” Andy asks, he lifts his arm up, “They’re gonna wave it around in front of the jury and they’re gonna say it shows consciousness of guilt. That’s the phrase they’re gonna use.”

Y/N lowers her head and a tear streams down her cheek, “They’re gonna say this is how Y/N Barber sees herself, a psycho!” Laurie throws a look at her husband, “And they’re gonna use that word over and over again.”

“Andy, enough,” Laurie says.

“Jesus Christ,” Andy grits, turning to the door, “Do you know what’s at stake?” He asks, turning back, “Do you realize what they want to do to you?” Laurie gapes at him, “Stop it already.” Y/N had more tears fall down her redden cheeks. “You’re scaring her!”

“Good!” He shouts, turning to his daughter, “She should be scared! I’m scared!” Y/N drew her eyes down and inhaled slowly, “It was just a joke. I can delete it.”

“That doesn’t mean it goes away,” Andy says, his shoulders heaving up and down and the look of fear and anger. Y/N gently wipes her cheeks with her sleeves. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“You can’t do things like this, Y/N. You just can’t,” Andy says. She swayed a bit, shaking at the slightest, “I said I’m sorry.”

Laurie looks over, “I think she should delete it anyway.” Andy sighs, nodding, “You’re goddamn right she’s gonna delete it. She’s gonna delete it right now.”

Y/N sniffles and reaches for her laptop, beginning to delete it, “This can’t happen again,” Andy says, “I need to know you understand that.” Y/N taps on her keyboard and nods, “I do. There,” She turns the screen, “It’s gone.”

The account may_kobbs has been permanently deleted.

After that, Laurie walks out of her room. Leaving Andy there with his daughter. She slammed her laptop close and curled up on her side. Andy slowly lowered his head and shook it, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

Y/N doesn’t respond, eyes closed, hoping that all this was just some nightmare and open her eyes to see her dad not standing there any longer. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I just...” He walks over and sits on the edge of her bed, by her feet.

“I’m trying to look out for you, honey. You gotta understand that-”

“Just leave me alone...” She mumbles. Andy looks over, “Y/N-”

“Please...” Her voice cracks in sorrow, the voice filled with tears and fear. She brought her feet closer to her and Andy saw that. Taking it as a sign, he looks away, “Okay,” He softly says.

He stands up but then stops, to say something but she spoke. “Okay, so go,” She says. Andy lowers his head and began to walk out. Y/N gently shuffles, “There’s nothing wrong with me,” She adds. Andy turns to her, “I know exactly what they’re going to do to me. I don’t need you to tell me that...”

The moment Andy heard her, he stopped. Not knowing what to say, he knew nothing was wrong with her. She was just a kid and she doesn’t know what they could see on the media. He just left her without another word.

Laurie pours in water and dog food into Milo’s bowl late at night as he took a small sniff and trotted away. She spotted Andy on his laptop, scanning through the webs.

His eyes burned at the screen

All in the Family: Convicted Murderer “Bloody Billy” Barber Spawns a New Criminal Generation

“Are you gonna take out the garbage out, or should I?” Laurie asks, looking over to him. His shoulders were down as his finger grazes over the pad, “It’s everywhere.”

Laurie drops her head and shrugs, “It is what it is.” Andy continued to scan the websites and reports of his father.

A few minutes later, Andy walks out with the can rolling behind him. Milo was out in the front sniffing around for moles or weeds in the grass as Andy pulls up to the curb with the can and parked it.

Andy glanced down the road and spotted a car parked in front of his neighbor’s house. He could see a faint light in the car from the cigarette being dragged and the smoke flowing out of their car window.

That car was familiar to him as he turned back and walked up the stairs, glancing over, “Milo, come.” The dog snorts and follows Andy up the stairs. Stepping through the front door, he lets Milo in and closes it.

“Have you noticed an old blue car on the block recently? A Lincoln?” Andy asks Laurie in the kitchen. His wife looks up, “No. I don’t think so. Why? Who is it?” Andy shakes his head, “I don’t know. I saw him idling in front of the MacGreeveys’ house the other day. And now he’s in front of the Parson’s.”

No further questions were asked as Laurie followed Andy outside to see this blue car parked out in the street. Looking down the road, right to left, Andy didn’t see the car. Laurie shivered slightly and crosses her arms, “Where?” She asked.

Andy looked over to where he spotted the car, “It’s gone.” She follows his gaze as he turns, “It’s probably nothing. It’s okay.” Gently placing his hand on his wife’s back, he follows her back into the house and they got ready for bed.

That night, at 3 am, Andy woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing. Turning onto his side, he peers down at his phone and saw the Unknown Caller once again.

Prank callers.

He gripped his phone and pulled it up to his ear, “Look, I don’t know who this is, but if you keep calling this number--” He cuts off to the familiar female voice. “Who?”

He then remembers who they were. “Oh, right, right,” He pulls the sheets off him, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course I remember.” He pauses once they started talking more. “When?”

Thinking he may need to write this down, he goes over to his notepad on his stand and grabbed a pen. “Okay. All right. I’ll find it.”

Just minutes after that call, Andy takes a night drive to the pizza parlor. Just across from Domino’s, Andy walks across the street and swings the door open. Seeing the blonde hair at one of the booths, he walks over.

Madelyn turns to see him come in view. “Hey,” She greets, Andy slides in the booth, “What’s going on?” He asked. She runs a hand through her disheveled hair, “Look, I’m sorry I called you so late. It’s just--” “Yeah, that’s okay,” Andy says, “It’s okay. What’s up?” Madelyn glanced up at him a few times, her eyes began to gaze around. He leans forward, “Madelyn,” His hands hold out to her in a ‘what?’

“You said you had something to tell me.”

She nods, “I do. It’s just...” Her hands tap on the wooden table nervously. Andy lifts up his head, thinking about that Lincoln earlier, “Wait. Are you the one who’s been coming to my house?” He asked.

Madelyn furrows her brows, “What?”

Guess not. Andy shuffles in his seat, “Nothing. Nothing. Forget it. Go.” Madelyn sighs, “I wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause, I mean, what’s it my business? But I can’t fucking sleep. It’s, like, on me--”

Andy shakes his head, “Madelyn, I have no idea what you’re talking about-”

“Your girl...” She cuts him off, she shook her head.

“She didn’t do it.”

“Tell me about Leonard Patz. Where did you meet him?” Lynn asks. That next day, Andy asked Madelyn to somewhat explain everything towards the DA who could prove something that Leonard Patz could be attached to this case and prove that his daughter is innocent.

Madelyn and her mother both sat at the table with Duff, Andy, Joanna and Lynn. Neal was behind Andy listening. Madelyn had her blonde hair up in a ponytail, acrylic nails were almost half chewed or the polish was rubbing off. “I was at C&M. You know, the pizza place,” She replies.

“When was this?” Lynn asked.

“About a year ago. Last summer,” Madelyn says, Lynn raises her brows, “So you were 15 at the time?” The girl nods, “Yeah.”

“This morning is the first I heard about any of this,” Maddie’s mother says, Lynn nods at her. “I understand. Please continue.” Andy looks over to the teenager. “Anyway, Patz comes up to me and asked if I wanted something to eat. He said he��d buy me whatever I wanted if I’d sit with him, ‘cause he hated eating alone.”

Neal shoots a look at the back of Andy’s head before he looks over to the kid, “So I said fine. I mean... It’s free food,” Madelyn says, “So then we’re eating, and he tries to sound like some tough guy to impress me or whatever, you know, and I’m playing along, letting him think I can’t tell what a loser he is. And after a while, he starts talking about his sweet apartment, and how he’s got all this beer there, and if I wanna go back and hang out with him.”

“And did you?” Lynn asks.

Madelyn shakes her head, “Hell, no. I knew what he wanted. Straight up told him I wasn’t going nowhere with him, but...” She pauses to take a deep breath through her nose, she glanced over to her mom. “Maybe if he had some money, we could work something out.”

“Go on,” Lynn says.

“So, he says he’ll give me 5 bucks if he can touch me over my shirt. So, I told him I’d let him do it for a hundred,” She says. “And he agreed?” Lynn confirms. The teenager nods, “Yeah, like, right away. So after that we’d meet up here and there whenever he had some cash, do the same thing, just different places.”

Her mother looks away with an unexplained look. “He never tried for more?” Lynn asks. “Well, one time he asked if he could reach his hand down my shorts, but I told him I’d break his fucking arm.”

“How’d he react?” Lynn asks. Madelyn shrugs, “He backed off quick.”

“And these meetups, how many were there in total?”

“I don’t know, six. Maybe seven.”

“Including the one at the library?” Lynn asks. She nods, “Yeah, that was the last time. Leonard said he didn’t wanna pay me anymore. I told him if he didn’t, I’d report him, so I did.”

Neal stands up, “I’m sorry. I-- I don’t see how this relates to our case,” He says. “Well, you see, that was his whole reason for dropping me. He said there was this new kid he was into, some kid named Alice and some other, he didn’t mention. Said to have h/c hair.” Andy’s shuffled in his seat.

“Just Alice and the h/c girl, or did he give a last name?”

“No, but I know it was the same kid ‘cause of the park. He was gonna make a move after this party he heard. That’s where Leonard met her,” Madelyn says. “So you’re saying Patz knew Alice Miller?” Lynn asks.

Neal rolls his eyes and sits back down. “I don’t think he actually knew her. But he spoke to her a couple times. Mostly just watched her,” Madelyn said. “Did he say anything else about Alice and this other girl?”

“Just that she was ‘beautiful’ and ‘perfect’. He used those words,” Maddie replies. Lynn looks and nods at her, “That’s all?” Madelyn slowly nods. “Yeah.” Glancing over to Y/N Barber’s father, she saw his brows raise up.

She inhales sharply, “Oh, shit, wait. He also had a knife.” Neal scoffs at that. “I only saw it once, but he carried it around sometimes, you know, in case someone gives him shit. Anyway, he tried to give it to me for money once time. I told him to fuck off.”

“What did it look like?” Lynn asks. Madelyn shrugs, “A knife, you know? With those little teeth on the side of it. It was kind of sick actually.” Lynn furrows her brows and blinks up at her. “Why did it take you this long to come forward?”

“Well, I mean, I got kind of a record, you know, with the whole possession charge, and lying about the library thing. I just wanted to stay out of it, you know? I heard his kid was getting blamed for it and I just kept thinking about--”

“Wait a second,” Neal interrupts, he stood up, “Did Mr. Barber compel you to come forward?”

Madelyn looks over to her mom and smiled, “Compel me?”

“Did you feel pressured in any way by Mr. Barber?” Lynn asks, Andy turns, “She called me with this.” Lynn looks over to him, “Please let her answer, Andy.” The two look back at the girl.

“No, I mean, he came to me first. I didn’t tell him anything, and so I guess, I don’t know, it was a little bit of both.”

“Yes or no? Were you coached in any way by Mr. Barber?” She asks. Madelyn laughs, “No, what I told you three is the truth. I got no reason to lie.” Neal perks up, “Really?” Madelyn looks up to him, “‘Cause you’ve made it pretty clear that you’d do a lot of things for money.”

Madelyn’s mouth gapes at the man. Joanna shakes her head, “Oh, that’s outrageous.” Mrs. McGrath scoffs, “The fuck? That’s my daughter you’re talking about.”

“Neal,” Lynn says, sternly. He looks at her and silently turns away without another word. Madelyn sighs, “Can I go now?” Lynn nods, “Thank you for coming in. I’m sure this wasn’t easy. Detective Duffy will take down your information in case we need to talk with you again.”

The two nod and stand up from their chairs, Duff steps behind them as they walked out quietly, leaving Lynn, Andy, Joanna and Neal in the room. Lynn turns to Andy, “I don’t know what to make of that girl’s story or how you cam to hear of it.”

Andy cranes his neck back, Neal nods, “I don’t believe a word of it.” Lynn looks over to him, “It’s too convenient. I can’t believe we’re entertaining this,” He whispers the last sentence.

Turning away, Lynn thinks about this Leonard Patz. It wouldn’t hurt to look in his house, if he’s been after a kid named Alice and some other girl that could be linked to Y/N. They needed answers.

Lynn glances at Andy who quirks his brows up for an answer. She sighs, “We’ll write up a search warrant for Patz’s home.” Neal turns away in defeat. “See if we can turn up a knife,” She adds.

Andy shuffles in approval, trying not to grin.

“Thank you.”

~~~

The season finale is tomorrow, but that doesn’t mean, my story ends now.

TAGS:

@jtargaryen18 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @chrisevans-imagines @marvelouspottering @patzammit @sophieelizebeth-01 @irishfaulk97 @ssebstann @avengerswon @wandascarlett @sweater-daddiesdumbdork

Want a tag? Just ask!

#chris evans #andy barber #andy barber x daughter!reader #andy barber x reader #chris evans x reader #christopher evans #defending jacob #laurie barber #murder #crime drama #apple tv series #imprisoned series #imprisoned #optimistic-dinosaur-nacho #opti-dino-nacho #opti-dino-nacho series

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ichika27 · 3 years

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Thoughts about Yashahime pt2

Because I have more stuff in my mind and I have to ramble or else I’ll lose it. This is supposed to be a part of the overall post I did after watching season 1 but it was longer than expected so I made a second post. I wanted to post my thoughts on sessrin but that would make this more unbearably longer than it already is jfc.

This is my “additional thoughts on season 1 stuff and what I wish to see in season 2″ filled with spoilers and actually have more screenshots.

Thoughts on Moroha:

I know you’ve probably heard of it from everyone else but I’ll say my piece, too: they wasted Moroha’s character. I know the main protag is Towa and Setsuna (as seen by the summary) but it’s not an excuse to just... not give Moroha anything. Inuyasha’s main characters are Kagome and Inuyasha but they also gave their companions (Sango, Miroku, and Shippo) the spotlight with episodes dedicated to them and their issues and in battle, they do get to shine. Moroha keeps getting thrown off, injured, or passed out and the twins (esp. Towa) gets to finish off the bad guys (sometimes the buildup to it is too much but how she beat up the bad guy is anti-climatic). It’s a waste cause she’s a bounty hunter who is not only trained but also has a lot more experience than Towa does. She doesn’t even have to land the finishing blow but at least don’t make her lame.

I do understand why the battle in both Inuyasha and Yashahime is different though. The Shikon Jewel is powerful even when it’s in pieces. Even a shard could give an advantage to anyone who has it and so many demons are drawn to it and to the person who has it. The more Kagome and the gang get, the more enemies they would attract especially Naraku and his minions whose goal is similar to the protagonists that they also want the entire jewel. As such, there are many enemies to fight with and so even if Inuyasha and Kagome are fighting the boss, there are other enemies for their companions to fight with showing us what they’re capable of.

Yashahime has the seven rainbow pearls which not everyone knows about and while powerful, it’s not as great as the Shikon Jewel that helped create it. There’s also just one main bad guy group - Kirinmaru, his sister Zero, and the four perils (one of them is dead before the story starts, too so 3 perils). Not all of them have minions or bring a horde of demons in battle so in a fight with the trio, there’s a lack of enemy. Some episodes at least have 2-3 or so but the later boss fights are like, 1 or 2... and Moroha gets thrown off and the twins get the spotlight and there’s no other enemy they can give Moroha who ends up being used as comic relief.

I hope this changes in the second season at least. Let Moroha show off more of her badass abilities. Even if she's a quarter-demon, she is also the daughter of Kagome and have sacred abilities which can actually fight off demons and make her immune to some debilitating stuff for demons like her as shown in one of the episodes. There's so much potential there!

Also, I wish they let Hisui be a part of the team. Like, he’s Miroku and Sango’s kid. Can’t he be a part of the main cast, too? It’s a waste cause he is close with Setsuna having worked with her as a Demon Slayer. He could be incorporated in the story and could even give us insights as to what's happened with his family in the time when Inuyasha and Kagome disappeared and all that and even give a reason to have Miroku and Sango appearances from time to time.

Thoughts on Yawaragi and the wolves:

Another thing wasted. She helped raise Moroha who is a main character so she should've gotten a bit more screentime rather than everything about her shoved in one episode and is barely talked about after. If they just didn't do the whole mystery thing with Moroha's backstory they could've put more flashbacks with her time with Moroha earlier in the show. You can't tell me they weren't trying to make Moroha's past mysterious when she barely talked about her Master or her childhood with not even a single second of flashback showing up before the episode with Yawaragi. There's also that time when Towa asked why Moroha is trying so hard to get money from bounty hunting and then Moroha dodged answering. So many theories came out of that interaction! People thought her bounty hunting and debt is connected to her real parents even.

If they didn't go with this route we could've gotten attached to the idea that even if Moroha didn't have her real parents around, she's got someone else that care about her and their reunion and battle against each other would've felt more dramatic. I personally would've felt "No! She could've been here longer to see Moroha grow as a fighter and even talk to her parents once they're back!" but due to how it was done, I couldn't feel that. Moroha is already independent when she's introduced and again, we barely hear anything about Yawaragi. It would've also helped develop Moroha as a character cause we'd know more about her and how she became who she is now.

Also, Moroha is given to the wolf tribe led by Koga. Imagine if they showed that in flashbacks and expanded on it! Koga's a supporting character in Inuyasha and was even in a love triangle with him wanting to get Kagome. It would've been interesting to see the characters we knew from back then while also showing us Moroha's childhood.

Like, one of the things I mentioned that I wanted to see when I found out the sequel is about the next gen kids is seeing how the now grown up cast of Inuyasha interact with the kids and how they are as parents. With the kids' actual parents not around for reasons (depriving us of seeing how they'd handle being first time parents which is a shame), the kids' interaction with their foster family is the next best thing. They gave us a couple of episodes about Towa and her life with the Higurashi's (specifically, Kagome's now adult younger brother Souta and his family) and later Setsuna living in the hanyou village under Shiori - also a supporting character like Koga but appears only for a few episodes. Again, something for the twins but not much for Moroha. It could've been something!

Thoughts on Takechiyo:

He's kind of like the Shippo of the show but isn't treated like he is. I like it actually cause seeing the promotional materials made me think he'd be Shippo 2.0 but just like the other characters, he didn't become an actual copy-paste.

Takechiyo works for Jyubei just like Moroha does but he's more of Moroha's supervisor (could order her around and would send Jyubei reports of what Moroha is doing on the job) while also acting as transportation for Moroha (or Towa if bribed) towards where the demon they need to fight are. He's not a part of the main cast but shows up a lot due to the transportation thing.

He does seem to have a deeper backstory but it is barely touched upon at all. I do hope they do something about it in s2.

Thoughts on Riku x Towa:

From the episode where Riku is first introduced, many fans already wanted to ship Riku with Towa. They do have that feel to it with their interaction at the beginning - it's cute! It does get the spotlight and the fans do get an episode which is really shippy but as I pointed out in the main Yashahime post, it felt rushed.

The first time Riku appeared, they had a bit of moment and then Riku has Towa framed up for stealing a sword he probably took himself for entertainment, probably as there seem to have not been any important reason for this. It gets settled as we saw from episode 1 but it's never brought up again. When he shows up in front of the trio later on, he gets greeted like the issue never happened.

Anyways, Riku does get scenes for himself but it's either him being mysterious or interacting with the enemies (which made it hard for fans to pinpoint exactly where his loyalties lie and it was hard to know how exactly to feel about him). He doesn't have much interaction with the trio either only showing up from time to time and there didn't seem to be any personal talks either.. you know, bonding moment that isn't just going into battle?

I'm bringing all of this up because the shippy episode is, as I said, felt rushed. Riku suddenly feels something for Towa but it felt like it came out of nowhere due to the lack of meaningful scenes together. He's not human nor a normal being (he's a doll, apparently?) and don't understand emotions that well and the buildup to him suddenly having feelings for Towa felt unrealistic. Emotionless or stoic characters gaining an understanding of feelings, especially their own, is a big deal. Sesshoumaru himself, Towa's father, went through this and his character development from always annoyed and angry villain to actually-starting-to-care anti-hero is really fun to watch and it was something I looked forward to seeing in the original series. Riku's development didn't really have give the same satisfying feeling due to how it was handled. There was a lack of gradual buildup.

Upon revisiting past episodes and remembering that he doesn't think very well of half-demons and humans (probably cause of what happened to his mistress, Zero with the whole heartbreak thing) it makes the thing even weirder. I could maybe think that he might be lying to Towa but a couple of his actions later on like lying to Zero about Towa, it seems he does honestly care about her.

There's still a chance in s2 though since the two didn't really get together and were more "I don't get it but maybe I do feel something." in that episode. It's not fully romantic yet but could actually get there. With Riku being connected to Kirinmaru and Zero though, I'm kind of scared for how his character would develop outside of ships (like he could end up becoming a bad guy firmly on Zero's side with no hesitation anymore to uh... I do hope they don't kill him in the end).

His role of being in the enemy side but slowly cares for the heroes have so much potential for a fun story development!

Finally, thoughts on Kirinmaru:

He’s been kinda weird from the start. He could’ve killed the girls himself when he found out about them but he didn’t even though there’s this prophecy thing which is strange. I mean it was talked about like it was urgent but then again, most of it seem to be fueled by Zero and her personal issues at being heartbroken lol.

Kirinmaru is as confusing as Riku when it comes to understanding what he’s on about and where his character is gonna go. A bad guy who doesn’t really act like it and have mysterious plans. I guess this’ll be focused on in season 2. Hopefully. Please don’t drag this out longer than it should be.

On the other hand, a minor thing: final battle between the girls and Kirinmaru at the first season’s climax: Setsuna is probably dead and her sister and cousin are enraged. Moroha goes Beniyasha-mode and Towa finally goes demon-mode and both unleash their most powerful attacks onto Kirinmaru. They got beaten which isn’t as surprise at all cause Kirinmaru is supposed to be as powerful as the girls’ grandfather who is a Daiyoukai and there’s no way in hell a bunch of kids (with one lacking in a lot of battle experience) could suddenly beat him just like that.

Anyways, Moroha uses her most powerful attack which is something her grandpa, the Daiyoukai Toga created but had evolved into something more her own. Towa is similar with her using her most powerful attack that came from her father but this time, changed into something of her own. Kirinmaru notices and while blocking off their attacks actually talks to them basically saying “These techniques you’re using that originally came from your grandfather and father respectively have been changed into something else by yourselves so you guys should rename them appropriately.”

He said it so calmly before defeating them afterwards. I thought “lol this guy sounds like a teacher.”

Hehehe

#yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #yashahime: princess half demon #inuyasha #anime #sana_post

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guardmesherlock-rowan · 4 years

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(image changed to show oldest message first)

So Enola Holmes... is... alright.

I definitely think I set myself up for disappointment by reading the first book however. Then again it wouldn’t be the first time a movie adaptation failed to live up to my expectations, and it didn’t wander off from the novel as much as other movies have (that I still haven’t forgiven).

This will contain some spoilers, and I’m still not sure if all my mental ducks are in a row. And if anyone who has read the rest of the books can explain some of the additions to the movie please do!

Rant below.

When it came time to watch the movie I thought I would make notes while I was watching it, stayed up till it released at 2am my time, got some popcorn and prepared. Though I honestly felt like I was not prepared for a nearly 2 hour movie. The set up for her family dynamic was off from the get go. Book wise, the issue was that her mother gave birth to Enola so late in her life that to others it was a scandal like how could this woman avoid having a child for so many years between Sherlock and Enola. The way the movie presents it, it’s no different than me not knowing my youngest sibling well because I went off to college when he was 4. It’s presented in the movie as the boys got busy in their own lives and never visited, and Mycroft had put an time limit over his mother’s head that she could live there until Enola became 16. To make him look like an even bigger jerk. In the book this was presented as an unfairness that Mycroft took ownership of the home after their father died due to being a male heir, but that he was still leaving the care of it to his mother. There was no threat of possible homelessness after a while.

Adding this detail where the guys simply moved on with their lives, and removal of this potential scandal, removed the fact that Enola’s mother told the guys not to come around. Which showed her mother plotting this escape for a long while, and now just shows how if the brothers had just spent more time with their family they would’ve realized what was happening. Also making it their fault they don’t have a relationship with Enola, and not her mother’s.

In the book Enola’s mom:

Left Enola alone to teach herself.

Left Enola alone most days so she could wander (she would bond over art)

Told Enola she was fine Alone, which can be a form of gas lighting when you combine the mother’s absentee behavior to the fact that

She told the boys not to come visit, creating a wall between her children

It’s highly understandable, being the only family Enola’s known, that it would be important to find her mother. But also why it wasn’t a big leap for Enola to start living on her own with the time came.

The only connection Enola had with her brother was through the articles about his cases. Which makes the cute scene with Lestrade later in the movie where they compare knowledge of Sherlock Holmes very odd. Adorable, but odd. Though Lestrade in this also has me a little ruffled with his henchmen like behavior later when he breaks down a door on a mission for Mycroft.

Mycroft deserved better, but at least he got to act like a shady government big brother character, it was entertaining.

They made comments about how Sherlock and Enola are more gifted than him. They also made comments about he was a jerk and cruel to Enola and their mom with what he said about them staying until Enola was 16. And I have a feeling they put in the finish school scenes so she could have the blow out with Mycroft as he brought her there. Which would of course also include a space where Enola could be semi-rescued by her now love interest, and give reasoning to Mycroft later washing his hands of her, despite his adamant belief that he is responsible for her.

Of course Mycroft’s reaction, Enola’s mother’s change of focus, and the new family dynamic set up for another change in Sherlock Holmes. Now we have the middle child who was not as cruel as his brother, but was still at fault for not visiting. But he remembered some things about Enola from the time they lived together that he would bring up to show he cared. Would even be used as ammunition against her mom in their last scene together. (though it is a fair not to be distracted by the far past kind of shut down instead of an accusation that her mother didn’t care)

Instead of being on the opposition of Enola, he seemed to be on her side. Even in the last moment where he tried to trick her into coming to see him, it didn’t seem completely malicious. He appeared to be proud of her when she beat him to solving the mystery, though he had not been active on it where she had been because he was busy trying to find her. Not because she was curious and got herself involved, but because the guy was stowing away in her cabin and got her involved. It was definitely her choice to step into it, but she had already turned away once before so she would meet her train.

This love interest character is not my favorite. In the book we have a kid who had some romanticized notions of seafaring and had his mistaken beliefs squashed by reality, hard. He became determined to go home and actually talk it out with his mom how she was babying him. Now we have a guy who is about Enola’s age (16, which was 14 in the books), who is knowledgeable in wild plants, willing to be adventurous, and even a little wild with Enola. Even changing it up where his interest in being a sailor was a cover to send people in the wrong direction of the fact he would want to work with flowers.

This all leads into the new piece of the Enola story. The mystery. Instead of a child running away, attempted kidnapping and ransoming, we have one murder and one attempted murder. Which also ties into the big political part of the movie regarding voting. It is revealed that there is a domestic terroristic plot due to not everyone having the right to vote (not said outright but hinted that this about giving women the right to vote). It would be voted upon by the lords later.

~~Politics~~

Which leads to a bit that gets me a touch upset. There were a lot of ties between protests and this bomb making lab that were not said, just indicated with flyers and other signs. Enola is later confronted about how they don’t have to set off the bomb because they thought they would have to make noise to be heard -rewatching that ending scene right now to make sure I remember it-

“You have to make some noise if you want to be heard. Oh, it’s funny. I thought I was the one that was going to change the world. The reform bill, is it true what you did?”

This part got me so angry. What Enola did was save her love interest who just happened to have a seat of power in which he could vote and help sway it in their favor with his one vote. In a certain light it felt like they were saying that believing in those with the power to change will change is better than protesting. The line is not wrong, but it felt like they were putting the bombs on the same stage as protests, which they are not.

It feels like they used the political aspect to help propel a more compelling mystery, which was definitely better suited for the big screen than the earnest story in the book. However, I can’t help but feel that it was muddled and poorly done. The fact they used politics doesn’t bother me as much as how they used it. Politics is used in stories all the time. Law making, what is just, what isn’t. Driving to the grocery store and what I see there, who I see there. It affects day to day life. However, if they want to focus on the element of protesting versus voting for change there is a debate there that I have feelings on, but not in a position to debate it.

Though it was very odd that they would want to talk about politics in the time frame and not show them as much in the movie as they did in the book. Keeping politics effects on life at arms length enough to use political shouting and protests without the more compare and contrast which THEY COULD’VE done with the love interest if they felt more inclined. But while the book version of him actually seems to have learned more about the outside world, this one just came in mint woke condition and only needed saving from the murderer and some mild convincing to go back and vote because they didn’t want him to.

~~Less Politics~~

Which also brings in the humorous political and societal norm that was ignored in the movie but brought up in the book. Women’s clothing. Enola’s mother uses it as a mean to hide her essentials while running away, and Enola does the same. She also does a good many things while dressed up as a woman, not bribing men to change clothes with her as often. The clothes that Enola once had despised at the beginning of the book she would grow to appreciate, especially the corset whose ribbing protected her from death with a knife caught on it. Honestly same though, it’s funny when a piece of sturdy material you’re wearing saves your life and stops a blade (personal experience, mine was metal).

It felt like a dishonor to change that thought process, especially when Book Enola also didn’t disguise herself as a guy because she thought it would be too obvious. Where as a lady, or a nun, or a widow would make better disguises when they only see a child when they look at her and presume she doesn’t care for womanly attire.

It is probably better to go book to movie in this case. You get a different story that is more exciting for the screen. Whereas going movie to book might be disappointing without the literature equivalent of jumping from a moving train..

The book was a fun read, Enola was a strong young woman who definitely feels like she is a Holmes without having to subject herself to them.

The movie is exciting, with a fractured family feeling with some political commentary.

Each of the pieces have their own positive traits and negative traits. I can see why certain changes were made. Though I may not agree with them.

#not gms related #enola holmes #rant #long post

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pidayforpi · 4 years

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Rigmor of Cyrodiil is a wasted golden opportunity

(I should probably only post this on reddit, where people will understand. But...I feel like posting this here as well. Probably no one will understand.)

TL;DR, I give this mod a 60/100.

This is a review of the Skyrim mod Rigmor of Cyrodiil. This is the first time I have written a review for a mod. I thought of whether I should do it (let alone post it online), but since Rigmor of Cyrodiil (let’s call it RoC, not Republic of China) has a special place in my heart, I will do it just for this mod.

———————————————————————————————

First off, disclaimer. I...

...haven’t played the prequel Rigmor of Bruma. I will probably play it, but not soon because I need a rest.

...also haven’t played the sequel “Dragonchild”.

...don’t really care about the “lore” aspect. Skyrim is the only Elder Scrolls game I have played, so I can’t say I am familiar with the ES lore myself.

...also don’t really care about time-sensitivity. I am talking about modern slangs used in the mod. It just doesn’t bother me.

...don’t care about character stereotypes. It’s not easy to think of unique character settings all of the time. Cliché and a bit boring they may be, character tropes are hard to be avoided.

...don’t care about my character being forced to be the character the mod intents for me to be. I play a male/khajiit/friend-type character in my playthrough. I also haven’t touched the Skyrim main quest, so I am technically not a Dragonborn. I know many people get bothered by the limited choices/forced role-play aspect of the mod. But in my opinion, my character is just a character I lend to the mod. The mod is the story. The mod author is the storyteller. I don’t and don’t need to have any say about my character. I am just here to listen to the story.

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Overview (spoilers, of course)

RoC, as I see it, is a romance/politics/adventure genre of story. A quick description of the story:

The first part of the story revolves around Rigmor being forced to sign a legal document due to her noble status of her hometown Bruma. Being a free spirit, Rigmor just wants to sign the document, leave, and continue her carefree adventure with her boyfriend Bobby.

However, when she is in the capital, she is framed to be a traitor, as she is supposed to be the legal queen of the empire due to her family history. Thus, the current “bandit king” (who took the throne by force) and the queen Morag want to get rid of Rigmor to protect their own power.

You (the MC) has to rescue Rigmor from exile, and during the journey on Roscrea (?), you both learn that Morag is behind all of this conspiracy, including bribing Akaviri vampires and Tsaesci samurai with human flesh, and the reason behind her immortality is that she (1) is a vampire -> (2) is Molag Bal (I think?) -> (3) is relying on a soul gem powered by the souls of children.

Back home in Bruma (with the help of a pirate old friend and his crew), Bobby (who betrays Rigmor) and his men are attacking Bruma along with the central imperial government. You fight back, and capture Bobby.

After briefly settling the attacks on Bruma, you start your attack on Morag. To destroy her, you travel through the mountains to a ruins, along with a girl with the power to destroy the soul gem with her arrow. You raid the ruins, destroy Morag (Molag Bal), and go back to the base camp.

You suddenly fall into a near-death situation due to Morag’s curse, but is later saved by the goddess Alessia. When you wake up, war has already begun between Bruma and the imperial government. You, Rigmor and the protectors of Bruma launch a counterattack, successfully driving the imperial soldiers away and winning the war.

At the ending, you and Rigmor march into the imperial palace once again (the place where Rigmor sign the document), and kill the illegal bandit king (who fakes an armistice to assassinate you and Rigmor). You and Rigmor thus become the king and queen of Cyrodiil, when Rigmor announces she is pregnant with the next Dragonborn. The story ends.

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Obviously this is a very brief run-through of the plot of RoC. I omit many small encounters both intentionally and unintentionally, because that would be a lot (examples include...

-Rigmor falling sick on Roscrea

-The battle between locals of Roscrea and Akaviri

-The battle between the pirate crew and Akaviri

-The chancellor asking for peace between Bruma and the capital

-A mysterious old priest

-A wood elf general offering help to Rigmor, who hates elves due to her father being murdered by elves (I think it has something to do with Rigmor of Bruma the prequel?)

There are probably a lot more of these things in RoC, but I just can’t remember, nor will I list them all out.)

At first, RoC gives me a very good first impression.

Actually, in general, RoC is pretty enjoyable in its first quarter (not first half, mind you). That is, the first 2-3 hours of gameplay. I will say what I like about RoC in the next section, where I list what I like and don’t like in RoC.

I first started the mod last year in April. However, I stopped at the ship ride sequence back to Bruma due to study. I wanted to marathon the mod, but it was taking up too much time.

After finishing my public exam, I started the mod again (from the beginning) this year in July. I think it took me...2 weeks to complete it (to be fair, I have other things to do).

Even after finishing it, RoC still is a gem in my eye. Unlike any other Skyrim (story) mod I have played, RoC caught my eye. I have never been hyped by a mod. It’s just a shame how it progressed towards the end. It started with a pretty good image, but kept going downhill as I played it.

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Things I like about RoC

1.Thing I like the most about RoC: Beautiful.

And I mean that on multiple layers (so that probably concludes most of the things I like about RoC).

Assets: The world of Cyrodiil is beautiful. I use no ENB, only a weathers mod (that has some reshade I think), and it’s still beautiful. I took a lot of screenshots throughout my gameplay, because the scenery is just so wonderful. Be it the wilderness on the Table Mountain, or the bustling Imperial City...It’s crazy. The only mod (I have played) that beats RoC in terms of aesthetics is Malsea.

(Yes I know (some of) the assets are borrowed from Beyond Skyrim. But that doesn’t stop them from being beautiful.)

Screenplay: The scenes of RoC are beautiful. This is actually what caught my attention when I first played RoC. The signature scenes are overlooking Cyrodiil with Rigmor on top of a tree, and Rigmor devastated with her fate in front of her childhood “secret base”. These two scenes are crazy powerful. I have never seen such powerful, sentimental scenes in a video game, let alone a Skyrim mod. Even without playing RoB, I could feel the emotions: Only because she’s born to a noble family, Rigmor has to endure all of those matters. Later, it’s even found out that not only is she chosen by mortals, but she is also chosen by the gods. Sometimes, perhaps, Rigmor may even prefer the wandering, dangerous life in Skyrim to the boring, controlled life in Bruma.

Also beautiful are some of the dialogues written. Example is when the Chancellor Blackwell describes Rigmor being tortured when she’s arrested. When her hair is cut, when her clothes are torn...I could picture the whole scene and feel the sadness of Rigmor.

Characters: Rigmor is beautiful. No, I don’t mean her physical appearance. Rigmor actually reminds me of Princess Garnet from FF9 (you can call me a Zidane): A princess yearning for freedom but caught in a destined tragedy. On the other hand, her personality makes me think of Tifa Lockhart from FF7: A seemingly strong, yet emotional young woman. That’s why I think RoC is a tragedy and its ending is a sad one. Rigmor just wants freedom, but throughout the story she’s pushed around by others (arrested, forced to save the country, bare a child, only due to her family history and fate). In the end, she’s trapped in an even harsher cage: As the queen of Cyrodiil, how can she possibly run away? The story of RoC destroys the life of Rigmor, forcing her to accept the fate bestowed upon her. Her life is a tragedy, a beautiful tragedy.

Also brilliant is the voice-acting. Most of the main characters are professionally voiced. Rigmor, Bobby and Morag Sethius (?) are my favourite. I don’t find many mods that are voiced, let alone professionally voiced.

Story: The story (to a certain extent) is beautiful. RoC is a story-oriented mod and we all know it. The story is extremely detailed. Almost all side characters have character development to a certain extent. There are many dialogue scenes for character developments, such as Rigmor and you talking about the past, as a comparison to the sad present life you are experiencing now. Side characters have backstories, such as the orc warrior and her partner from the Burma Fighters’ Guild. Old, recurring characters have (I assume from RoB?) stories that detailed why they are in the position they are in now (such as a character becoming a Jarl in Skyrim). That fills up many plot holes, to the point of developing the holes to hills.

(Mind you, detail is also a problem in itself. I will discuss it later.)

The story is rather unique and not very lore-heavy (in its first quarter, at least). A pet peeve of mine when finding Skyrim story mods is the massive amount of lore in these mods. Stories that revolve around Dwermer, Daedra (etc.) immediately put a slightly bad taste in my mouth. In my opinion, lores are unnecessary, complicated and boring. I don’t care about a non-lore-friendly story. I just want a story that connects to me in a personal level, talking about issues that we, as real-life modern human beings, can relate to.

That’s why RoC’s story gave me a breath of fresh air when I first played it. Rigmor’s story is extremely relatable at first: Being forced to do something you have been running away from. You strongly want to continue running away, but you know the problem will come back to bite you, or others will suffer the consequences for you. Should you run? Or face it? I think many of us have, unfortunately, experienced this dilemma in real life.

Relatability is a very important aspect in storytelling. You have to let the readers relate to the main character on a personal level, so that readers can feel the emotions themselves. We don’t face celestial invasions or supernatural disasters in our everyday lives, so Skyrim lore-friendly story mods are more often than not non-relatable.

That’s what makes Rigmor’s story stand out (initially, I will talk about how the story goes on later).

2.Effort.

No matter you like the mod or not, you have to admit a lot of effort is put into the mod. A lot. RoC is very long, almost like an official DLC, or even a brand new video game. We have a huge map. We have many locations. We have many cutscenes. We have voiced characters. We have composed music. The programming alone is crazy effort. We have to give applause to the team making RoC (and RoB). They really put a lot of time and sweat into making a free Skyrim story mod.

Also give a big hand to the voice actress of Rigmor. She has voiced thousands of lines for one character. And the writers, as well. Millions of lines written in books, notes, dialogues.

All these efforts are not lost on me.

I can never make a Skyrim mod myself, so I admire all modders in the community. For team Rigmor, you surely deserve a seat as one of the most important modders of Skyrim.

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Things I don’t like about RoC

1.Thing I don’t like the most about RoC: Long. Too long.

The problem is not the mod duration. The problem stems from the awkward pacing and tension.

I would like to make a comparison between two video games to demonstrate this problem: Okami and Persona 5. For people who have played these two games, you may understand my opinion better. I assume most have not, so I will not spoil...much.

(ok there will be spoilers i will keep it as small as possible)

(you can skip this section if you just want to see the mod look for the “Back to RoC...” subtitle)

(also for people who have played and loved okami please don’t kill me i know a lot of people love that game)

(also i’m aware that is a kid’s game, but i’m judging it in terms of story pacing)

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Both games are of similar length, mind you. I used a year to complete Persona 5 (with school and study, of course), but I lose count of how long I used to finish Okami (I finished it this May).

This is because Okami was...sadly, getting boring. And this is due to its unbalanced pacing.

Games, or long stories in general, should have an ascending pacing and atmosphere up until the climax. The actions should get faster and faster. The missions should get more and more important. Little exception.

For Okami, I feel like the story was loosely planned. As if the story was being forced to extend when the developers realised the story was not long enough.

From the start, it is stated that Orochi is the main menace of the world. Then you would assume Orochi to be the final boss, or at least the second final boss, right?

The part up to Orochi is great. You save a local village, another village, and proceed to the capital of Japan. Neat.

Then the showdown comes down between you and Orochi. The battle is epic. Very dramatic (though a bit stupid for comic relief). I thought the game finale was at hand, given the fast pacing and the tense atmosphere.

But no, there are still at least 3 bosses until the final boss.

Then what is the tension all about?

The next boss (Kyuubi/Ninetails) also has a pretty good buildup. It leads to the deaths of two rather major characters, and you have to destroy it in its lair. Awesome.

But it’s still not the second final boss.

I stopped after the attack on Kyuubi, because it’s getting too long and boring. I felt like the story was never ending, and my patience was running dry. You kept giving me high tension, only for it to be a fraud. Similar to how the goal of the marathon keeps shifting backwards.

When you give me something that wows me, I will beg for more wows, stronger wows, until the finale.

It’s like competition. You try a 10km marathon, you then want to try another, and the next one will be a 15km.

You try a 15km marathon, you then want to try another, and the next one will be a 25km.

You win your friends in a chess game, you want to win the community.

You win the community, you want to win the country.

You win the country, you want to win the world.

Stories and games are like this too. If you give me cheap fast-food steak after I have tried a prime angus beef steak, I feel nothing. If you continue to do so, I will feel bored. Until you give me something better (or, at least equal).

That’s also why I think the ending of Okami is rather...simple. The tension before is too high, that the ending feels like it was rushed. There isn’t any buildup between the second final boss and the final boss. I beat both bosses in one day. You just...go.

I believe Persona 5 is no shorter in length than Okami. Then what made me so intrigued in Persona 5 that I followed it nonstop for a year? Pacing and atmosphere done right.

The first boss (basically a tutorial one) is a school teacher. Okay.

The second boss is a nation-famous artist. Great.

The third boss is a crime lord/gangster boss. Awesome.

The fourth boss is your future teammate. Cool.

The fifth boss is a world-famous entrepreneur. Magnificent.

Just from the status, do you see an ascending importance from each boss to each boss? From a nobody to someone everyone knows. You are evolving from a local hero to a world hero.

Although the fourth (and sixth) boss is a nobody again, they are linked to you personally. If you don’t do something, you will be in trouble. You face direct danger.

The seventh boss is the second final boss. They are the person the game hypes to be close to the final boss (similar to Orochi in Okami), and right after beating them, the final boss is at hand.

Not to mention the increasing linkage and pacing between the bosses.

Linkage-wise, in Okami, every boss is a separate monster. No linkage otherwise.

In Persona 5, the first boss has nothing to do with the main plot other than facilitating your awakening and forming your cool team (not really a spoiler the trailer shows it).

The second boss and third boss also have little to no importance to the main plot other than making you a greater hero (this is, however, a part of the main plot).

The fourth boss’ mother investigated the power you are using to beat bosses, and died because of her investigation.

The fifth and sixth boss are parts of the conspiracy of the seventh boss. And the seventh boss is your destined arch-enemy as shown by the game.

The final boss is the reason behind every boss you have beaten.

The linkage grows stronger and stronger from each boss to each boss, making you want to continue playing to find out the mastermind behind.

The pacing does a good thing to keep you focused as well. From first to fifth bosses, there are celebrations and fillers between the bosses. But from the sixth to final, no chit-chat whatsoever. One boss, onto the next. The breaks from first to fifth bosses are also really just breaks. Short and simple. One event per intermission. These breaks also give clues to future events, such as you seeing your future waifu teammate while watching fireworks after the third boss.

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Back to RoC...

Now you know the importance of pacing and tension, let’s discuss about RoC as a case study.

I believe (from many reviews online) that the unbalanced pacing is the reason why many players do not enjoy RoC. The weird pacing hurts the enjoyment of RoC a lot (I will say a -25 point goes to that).

There are many occasions where the tension is broken and the pacing halts to a crawl, mostly using dialogues. For example, the excessive use of military strategic conferences. These conferences are boring, whenever they are placed. When you put these conferences in between battles, it feels weird and extra boring. I know it is realistic for conferences to be held to discuss what to do next, but these conferences are just too long.

Times I think RoC has had weird pacing and tension (in terms of chronological order, of course including but not limited to):

-The escape on Roscrea. There are many times you both take a breather and chat. I get that it is used for the character development of Rigmor, but that’s just too much.

-Rigmor falling sick. This whole section feels unnecessary. I get they want to include Alessia (the witch-doctor of Rigmor) as part of a foreshadowing, but with you needing to gather ingredients for the Alessia and listening to her (fake?) backstory, it takes up a lot of time.

-Sabotaging the supply of Akaviri vampires and saving human slaves (on the way home to Bruma on the pirate ship). I get that they want to include that in a realistic, strategic sense, as well as show the kindness of Rigmor to save the innocent, but again, it’s not really that important, yet takes you a lot of time.

-Military conference back at Bruma, and the meeting with Chancellor Blackwell. Bruma is under attack. The tension is high. I recommend just get to the fighting part. More dialogues hurt the pacing in such a dire situation.

-Rigmor (and Blackwell) meeting with an imprisoned Bobby. I get that is for Rigmor to officially cut ties with Bobby, but in times of war, doing that slows down the pacing.

-During the expedition (to destroy Morag Sethius), too many breaks.

-After destroying Morag Sethius, any sequential military meetings (or human problems, except wars) seem boring. You just slain a Daedra. There’s nothing more exciting than that.

-Character developments for the Fighters’ Guild side characters right before the finale...? (I don’t want to be mean but I hate that)

These unnecessary (or unnecessarily long) interactions before or in a high tension situation harm the story very much. I don’t feel anything for these interactions. If you give me more of these, I will only feel bored. Until you give me something that wows me.

I think one of the general problems with the pacing of RoC is that a very high tension event is placed in the first half of the story. I am talking about the rescue of Rigmor. Rigmor is in a life-and-death situation, either she will be killed by men or demons. Saving Rigmor, bringing her home is (at least, to me) very important and put me on the edge of the seat. Therefore, after that, I assume the story will pick up its pace, and the ending is coming soon. But that is not the case. There are still 10+ hours of playthrough, not to mention the story slowing down multiple times with the aforementioned “breaks”.

I will feel bored, until you give me immense danger again like you did with the rescue of Rigmor. Putting the Rigmor rescue arc in the near beginning forces you to pick up the pace and end the story quickly.

Another problem with the awkward pacing is a logical one. A significant example is the expedition arc. I don’t want to be mean, but aren’t you saving the world? Why are you always taking a rest? Even have time for Rigmor to take a bath? Another example is right before the finale. You have the empire at your mercy. Why do you still have time to ask a side character about her backstory? Don’t you want to get the war done? Aren’t you afraid the empire will launch a counterattack?

2.The Ending.

The problem is not that the ending is a sad one. The problem is of atmosphere and logic.

Although, having a sad ending will undoubtedly decrease enjoyability. After all, who doesn’t like a feel-good ending? With the already low enjoyability of RoC, having a sad ending surely add salt to the wound.

Atmosphere-wise, unless you really investigate the story, the ending doesn’t seem like a sad one. You don’t see Rigmor devastated with being forced to be the queen. The ending is progressed quickly without much buildup. The credit scene uses a...very epic remix of the Dragonborn theme. It looks...awkward. Similar to if Thanos snapped half of your favourite superheroes to oblivion, they and the other half are emotionless. No tears. No anger. No awesome, encouraging last words.

Logic-wise, I think neither you nor Rigmor would accept the ending. Both you (through dialogue choices) and Rigmor have always showed immense disgust with fate forcing them to do what they don’t want to. There are many occasions where both of you are like “screw the rules and prophecies”, even right before the finale. Then why would you two suddenly become so submissive and accept fate? You become the empire, while Rigmor becomes the queen and bears the Dragonchild.

You can say you both “mature” (even though I personally don’t think accepting whatever life puts onto you is being “mature”), but this is not shown. Rigmor and you, up to the ending, still refuse to accept fate. But the moment you enter the palace, you both suddenly mature and accept the thrones. This transition feels extremely sudden and weird.

3.Technical Problems

I seldom find technical problems the bane of my enjoyment. But when the problems are game-breaking, that is a problem (a famous example being Sonic ‘06).

Bugs: There are quite a number of bugs in RoC, either guaranteed or easily encountered. A significant example of guaranteed bugs is the Mara shrine scene. Again, I don’t want to be rude, but this is the first time a (serious mod, not joke) mod requires me to use console command to solve a bug. Immersion-breaking is not the problem. The problem is that if I did not know how to solve it, I couldn’t continue. I didn’t even know the command “TIM” (Toggle Immortal Mode) before I looked up on how to solve the Mara shrine bug (“TGM” doesn’t work for that situation).

Easily-encountered bugs are a lot in RoC. These bugs can break your quest, making you unable to continue your story. Examples include:

-Running from the trolls and giants on Roscrea. I think the game wants you to guide them through thin ice, so that the monsters will fall. But it just didn’t work for me. In the end I had to manually kill all the monsters (because Rigmor kept fighting/being attacked by the monsters).

-The meeting with Mr Bear. Because the meeting is placed right after a battle scene, Mr Bear will often be still in its “battle mode”, making you unable to interact with it. Worse if you (accidentally) past through the cave before the cutscene between Rigmor and Mr Bear (due to the lack of directions). I encountered this bug where Rigmor was on the other side of the mountain, yet the cutscene with Mr Bear still hadn’t finished. I had to use two third-party mods to solve this bug (by literally carrying Rigmor over the mountain).

-The battles on the sea. Did the mod team test-run the mod, or invite beta testers to test-run the mod before releasing? Given the narrow battle area and large amount of enemies, people going overboard (falling off the ship into the sea) is extremely easy. Worse when Rigmor or any quest characters have fallen overboard. I had to, again, use console command (“kill”) and a third-party mod (unlimited jumping) to kill every enemy that went overboard and get back onto the ship.

-Rigmor dying. I’m serious, this is possible. There should be an option where you can toggle her essentiality (?), but the option had to be unlocked through console command (at least for me). “Resurrect” console command will break Rigmor. A quest-given shout that should be used to resurrect Rigmor doesn’t work. Why don’t we just make Rigmor essential in the first place?

-Technically not a bug, but the game is sometimes too clueless for you. I’m okay with handholding, but not with no handholding at all. Lack of quest markers, vague directions, no signs that a cutscene is continuing...All these sometimes make me clueless as to what I should do. And it hurts the gameplay enjoyment. The large amount of flags (conditions you need to fulfil before the quest can continue) also lead to a lot of bugs, as you can easily miss those flags (such as talking to a certain person).

My recommendation for anyone who wants to try the mod is to save frequently. Not quicksave. Save. Especially before any battle scenes.

Difficulty: The mod is just too difficult. I play on Adept (default difficulty) because I want to experience the difficulty mod authors intend for you to have, but even that is too difficult for me.

Whenever there is a battle, it is almost always a large-scale one. Having a ton of enemies rushing at you makes surviving extremely difficult, let alone eliminating all enemies. I had to use a third-party (rather) OP spell to eliminate the enemies, or I would have to use whosyourdaddy God Mode. Unless you have a powerful character, or you play at a lower difficulty, legit combat is near impossible. Again, did the team test-run the mod at least once? Or is the mod supposed to be played at a lower difficult/with a very strong character?

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That’s all I have to say about Rigmor of Cyrodiil. It will always have a special place in my Skyrim gaming experience. The concept is great and unique, but the problems in execution just hurt the overall enjoyment of the mod. I will not advise against playing the mod. If you have time, please experience it for yourself, if story-oriented mod is your cup of tea.

This is the first non-fiction passage/review I have written (well, outside of school and exams). Thank you for reading!

(16-7-2020 ~ 17-7-2020)

#i still dont know why I post it here #skyrim #rigmor of cyrodiil #skyrim mod #skyrim mod review #other stuff #i dont know what else i can put here #im sorry

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sh-sh-sh-sh-sh-shelby · 4 years

Text

Possibly my most epic DnD session yet! (now with sloppy illustrations!)

****Late-game spoilers for Hoard of the Dragon Queen****

I play as Killian Lyle. Level 6 human fighter, eldritch knight, lawful good. +4 str, con. -2 cha. You know the type.

Others in the party are: Rat-Rat, the forest gnome druid. Syrris, the wood-elf rogue. Montagor, the half-elf bard.

So, the last thing Killian did the session before was reenter a tavern our party got kicked out of and try to bribe the tavern keeper to help us get past some baddies. Big tough-looking tavern keeper grabs his weapon. *Roll initiative* End of session.

In Killian’s hands were a shield and a loaf of bread he had recently been served in that tavern. He was alone, the rest of his party discussing plans outside. We all rolled initiative, but only Killian was aware there was going to be combat so far. A couple of the party members got to go first. Basically just wandered town square, taking in surroundings. There are a whole bunch enemy guards nearby, watching, but not picking a fight with the group.

Killian’s turn. He steps forward and tries to FORCE THE LOAF OF BREAD INTO THE GUYS MOUTH to catch him off-guard and maybe keep him quiet for a second. SMASHING SUCCESS! Guy is unable to stop me from jamming those carbs down his throat and drops his weapon. I bonus action my sword to my hand.

Tavern-keeper’s turn. DM has the guy do a con save to make sure he doesn’t CHOKE TO DEATH AND DIE! *shit, shit, I didn’t want to kill him!!!* Luckily he saves and is able to clear his airway of bread. He starts swinging fists and misses.

Keep going in initiative order. Guest calls out “HES FIGHTING THE BARTENDER!” Most guests at the tavern flee upstairs, but 2 pull daggers and join in. Montagor the bard hears some commotion and opens the door to see Killian shoving bread down the tavern-keeper’s throat and other people moving in with weapon’s drawn. Tries playing the bagpipes nice and loud for extra diversion, but nat 1′s and pops the bag. Syrris the rogue comes in and starts quietly and *permanently* eliminating anyone attacking with a weapon. Killian tries multiple times to thunk the tavern-keeper on the head with the hilt of his sword well enough to knock him out, but the dude keeps fighting. Poor guy can’t make a single hit though.

This fight’s going longer than Killian was hoping. He tries a different tactic: INTIMIDATE. Another smashing success. Like a 19 or something, since intimidate is his one charisma-based skill that doesn’t get a negative modifier. BARTENDER GETS A NAT 1! Surrenders. Killian backs off just before the Captain of the group of enemies walks in.

“WHAT”S GOING ON IN HERE!?”

Killian gambles on deception. NAT 20 “Some guys were fighting the tavern-keeper. We helped. They’re dead now.”

Intimidated tavern-keeper nods, says they were going to rob him.

Enemy captain thanks us for protecting his friend and leaves. WOW, DODGED A BULLET THERE!

We head out too, Killian dropping a couple of gold coins for the tavern-keeper as he heads out, and start looking for a good way to get past the guards. We’re trying to get into a GIANT ICE CASTLE that’s about to FLY AWAY. Time’s running out. I’m not sneaky, but we’re about to give it a try, see if our amazing rolls continue. We decide to peek in the giant stable that had HUGE REPTILIAN GROWLS coming from it. This would either be really bad or really good for us.

Really good! Tied-up wyverns along one wall, riding harnesses on the other. The ice castle begins to take off. Guess we’re doing this! We smell the stink of meat from a nearby building. The rogue is unable to carry a full pig carcass herself. Killian goes to help. NAT 20! Throws a pig over one shoulder, and a sheep over the other and marches off toward the wyverns. Killian has crap animal handling skills, but Rat-Rat the druid doesn’t. Killian keeps the things distracted with bites of meat, Rat-Rat puts the harnesses on them with great success. We climb on, again without incident. And Rat-Rat is apparently a natural-born dragon-rider because he came up with an incredible plan that worked without a hitch.

Minor-illusion the image of a fat turkey, flying just out of reach of the wyvern. Bard prestidigitation’s the smell of juicy meat coming off the “turkey”. Wyverns were eager to follow. Probably more complicated than it needed to be, but hey, it has pizzazz!

We are able to catch up to the ice castle and land they wyverns near another stable that they seemed trained to fly to. Looking around, ogres and kobolds seem to pay us no mind. Guess randos flying in on the backs of dragon things is a normal sight around here. But as it starts getting dark, creatures seem to hurry their tasks and make their way indoors. We figure we’d better do so as well. Quietly enter the first door we approach. Amazingly, nobody’s there. Not out and about anyway. There’s a comfortably furnished room right when we walk through the door, but we decide to keep exploring. Rat-Rat casts detect magic. The comfortable room has an illusory wall to an outside platform, but nothing else of note.

We hear a familiar voice arguing with another voice in another room. A wizard we’d rather not exchange blows with if we can help it. Luckily, according to the DM’s dice rolls, they notice nothing.

Then, further down the hall we heard another familiar voice. Rezmir, the dragonborn cult leader we’ve been tracking for MONTHS. Basically in the first spot we look. Wow, really? And none of us are hurt. Most of us have all of our spell slots and other abilities still available to us. Could this be more perfect? Rat-Rat does see a bit of magic in the room in the last moments before his spell times out, but that’s to be expected, right?

There is a lock.“It looks much more complicated than any lock you’ve encountered before”, the DM tells us. But our rogue is pretty skilled in her arts. She decides to give it a try.

“With my modifier that was a 30.″ Huh. What luck. DM said later that was a DC 25 lock.

Rezmir was inside, sitting on her bed in her pajamas, just loving on her doggos. I mean attack drakes. Not paying us any mind whatsoever. *roll initiative*

Syrris goes first. Perfect opportunity for an assassination with her poison dagger and all those extra dice rolls she gets in just this sort of situation. She steps into the room and is SNATCHED UP AND HELD DOWN BY A SENTIENT AREA RUG! I should’ve drawn this part too because I can’t help but imagine the magic carpet from Aladdin wrestling the elf.

Anyway, fighting then ensues. Attack drakes come running, keeping the rest of the party besides the rogue out in the hall. Rezmir starts out unarmed, and shoots off a scary-looking spell at our bard. It misses and melts the wall behind him. Thank goodness it missed. Rogue takes 2 turns escaping the rug, Rezmir runs for her sword across the room. Rat-Rat’s moonbeaming Rezmir rather successfully. Killian and the Montagor are mostly in melee with the drakes, but Killian did start with a firebolt to Rezmir’s face. This fight hurts, both sides taking plenty of damage.

The rogue is taking the brunt of the damage trapped inside the bedroom with the dragonborn and that mean magic carpet. She takes it like a champ, but there’s a turn for the worse when she’s ready for healing. The bard’s starts coming to her aid, and she takes more damage, this time from the sword. Healing has no effect from that point.... The sword did something to stop her from regaining hit points, and after the significant damage from its blade, that’s bad news.

Bard and Rogue get caught in a breath attack, and the rogue goes down. Killian and Rat-Rat are still outside of the room, Killian around a corner and can’t actually see Rezmir from where he’s at. Shit. We still have one drake remaining. Killian tries his best with two attacks to eliminate it, but does min damage on both and it remains standing. Fuck it. Time for an Action Surge. Moves past the drake to where he’s in melee with Rezmir herself, stepping out from around the corner. Double attack again. Hits on both. NAT 20 ON THE SECOND!

“How did it happen?”, the DM asks. I’m floored that I managed to down her in that hit.

“Killian steps around the corner, swinging his sword to where her saw the breath attack originate, slicing through her pajamas into the scales beneath. He then makes eye contact with her and sees the recognition in her face as she looks his way in surprise, even as he’s pulling back his sword for a second strike. Killian lunges full-force, plunging the sword right through her before she has the chance to react.”

“FOOLS!”, she cries out with her final breath as she disintegrates into ash, her sword and a couple of keys clanging to the floor where she had stood. Simultaneously an ornate chest in the far corner of the room violently explodes, destroying anything that might’ve been inside.

We rush to the Syrris, and Rat-Rat stabilizes her. Killian places her on the bed to rest. Then eyes turn toward the items Rezmir left behind. Killian voices that the rogue won’t be pleased to see the chest exploded when she regains consciousness, but doesn’t personally care much that the loot is no more. The party uses one of the keys in the pile of ash that was Rezmir to relock the room so they can use the comfortable chamber for a night of recuperation before continuing venturing back into the castle.

“Killian, I think you’re the only one of us that could wield that sword.”, Rat-Rat squeaks, pointing to the one remaining object on the ground.

The sword is jagged and black with a purple crystal in the hilt. Something about it makes Killian uneasy.

Killian replies, “A greatsword... Doesn’t really suit my fighting style. But it seems a powerful blade. ” Then he picks it up off the floor feeling powerful magic coursing through it, and hears a voice in his head.

“Hello”, the sword whispers, darkly. “You enjoyed that kill, didn’t you.”

Oh man, having my lawful good, magic fanatic, fighter boy weigh the benefits of wielding a legendary magical sword of untold power, against the moral drawback of it being intelligent and EVIL is going to be a wild ride. He has attuned to it, and we’ll see where this takes us.

I’m still reeling from all the amazing things that happened in this session. What a day for Killian in particular.

#dnd #dnd stories #dnd art #dungeons and dragons #human fighter #eldrtich knight #hoard of the dragon queen #dnd story #rezmir #dnd comic #magic weapon #dnd adventures #sketch #fighter #hotdq

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recurring-polynya · 5 years

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I try to make this Tumblr a place for my truest friends, those nice people who read my fanfiction, to get bonus content. I wrote this a couple of weeks ago, on a wave of inspiration. It’s an expansion of an event that came up in Between Tides – Renji breaking his arm back in Inuzuri. This will eventually be a flashback in a larger story, but not for a while, so this is sort of like a preview. (mmmaybe The Heart is a Muscle p6? I am mid-p4 now).

Anyway, here’s a sad story about Inuzuri, dirtbag teens in love, and back-alley surgery. I heard you like flashbacks, dawg, so I put some flashbacks inside of the flashbacks.

Rated T for some gruesome imagery and one cuss. You don’t have to have read any of my previous work, although I guess this contains some mild spoilers for the Heart is a Muscle.

As usual, @diademchiofthetripod made it better for me, particularly the beginning, but if there are parts that are still bad, those are mine.

In later years, when she recalled The Accident (which she usually tried not to), Rukia always thought of herself as the stupid one, but really, she wasn’t doing anything much stupider than usual.

She saw the man’s lead pipe, of course; dull and heavy, hanging by his side. It was a serious weapon in Inuzuri, and he was a large man with a mean face, but he was also sloppy drunk, and his money pouch was beyond tempting, only loosely tied to his belt. She had made it ten paces away, nearly across the street, when she felt the hand clamp onto her arm like an iron band. What she had failed to notice was that her mark had a partner.

Said partner had one hand tight on her neck, the other twisting her own hands painfully behind her back, while the mark tapped the pipe in his hand and slurred out all the things he was going to do to her after he split her head like a melon. Rukia was running numbers, examining possibilities, playing out scenarios for escaping.

It was not looking good.

The man raised the pipe.

Rukia squeezed her eyes shut.

It was the worst sound she had ever heard in her life to date, a meaty crunch, the shattering of bone. Later in her life, there would be worse sounds, the sound of a sword sliding through flesh, the sound of an Arrancar’s Resurrección. But this was bad enough.

Rukia also had a partner, a loud boy with a stupid amount of red hair, who had just interposed himself between Rukia and the lead pipe. Wait. That was incorrect. He was not a boy any more. This was, in fact, the exact moment when she stopped thinking of him as a boy. He towered over almost everyone she knew in this town, this awful place where everyone and thing was stunted and twisted. His shoulders were wide and strong, despite never getting enough to eat. He had not been a boy for a while.

Right now, the air around him boiled. The lead pipe was bent ridiculously over his forearm. Rukia could not see her rescuer’s face, only his broad back, and past his shoulder, the wide eyes of the man with the leadpipe. Then, Renji growled out what the terrified man could do with himself, and clocked him in the face with a left cross before whirling on Rukia’s captor.

The partner was startled by the arrival of this flame-haired monster, and Rukia slipped his grip, kicked the man in the nards, and beat it. She was not abandoning her partner, she would never. This was standard protocol. They had stayed alive in this brutish place for over eight years by being small and quiet and very, very quick. They would need some new strategies, Rukia, realized, because Renji was no longer small and quiet. He was still quick though, she could hear his heavy footfalls behind her, feel his presence in her wake in a way that, as far as she knew, only the two of them could do. She was glad he had stuck to the old standard operating procedures, too, even though he now very well qualified as one of the brute class.

She ducked between some decrepit buildings, under some hanging laundry, around the stench of the tanner’s, and skidded to a halt in a dank alley illuminated by a thin shaft of dirty sunlight.

For a long moment, she breathed in and out, watching the dust motes hanging in the air, afraid to turn around.

“Rukia… are… are you alright?” Renji panted behind her.

She slowly turned. He was cradling his right arm in his left.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Let me see it.”

She should have called him an idiot, a moron. Could he not find a weapon, a stick, anything, rather than his own precious body to put between her and certain death?

“It doesn’t look all that bad,” he admitted, experimentally holding it out for examination.

It looked terrible. It should have been a bruised lump of blood and pulp, but instead, it just looked wrong. The bones were not in the places where arm bones should be, nor were they the right shape, but the skin was miraculously unbroken. He could move it around and flex his hand well enough, although this caused things to shift around sickeningly beneath his skin. The entire arm was slowly turning a deep purple.

“Does it hurt?”

“Yeah, it hurts pretty bad.”

“Dammit, Renji,” Rukia glowered at him.

The look in his eyes was sheepish through the pain, and her heart twisted in her chest. Why did she always have to be so impulsive, so stupid? Why?

* * *

Rukia hated taking so much of the food, but she and Renji might need it and Fujimaru didn’t. Mameji was sick again, so Rukia left some for him, though they weren’t sure whether it actually helped. It seemed like he was through the worst of this spell, but she didn’t want to take any chances, as if waking up in Inuzuri every morning didn’t constitute taking a chance.

“Make him stay in bed for at least two days after he seems better,” she ordered Fujimaru, as if he didn’t know this, as if they hadn’t all been through this a dozen times now. “Thank you for staying with him.”

“Whatever,” Fujimaru said glumly, his eyes glued to the mangled mess of Renji’s arm.

Renji was uncharacteristically quiet. They had already had the argument, screaming through the night, and he had lost. Renji was the biggest of them, the strongest. His stoicism meant nothing, the gang depended on him. They had to try to get it fixed.

There was a healer, more of an apothecary, really, who lived up in 76. Seeking medical attention was a valid reason to get a travel pass, but they lacked the finances for the bribe, so they traveled by stealth instead.

Rukia and Renji went up to 77 all the time for thievery purposes. They were too well known in Inuzuri, and also, there was better stuff to steal up there. They didn’t take the others with them, not anymore. One border crossing was a calculated risk, less so when you could use your spiritual pressure to lighten your feet and keep air in your lungs. Two was exponentially more dangerous. When you arrived in Soul Society, they branded a number on your soul with demon magic. The penalty for being caught in a place that didn’t match that number was supposed to be a second death, but the vile souls that passed for law enforcement down here would probably find some much worse things to do to you first. One district away meant safety was only a mad dash for the border to get you back where you belong. Two districts was something else entirely.

Rukia tried not to think about how Renji had made this journey once before, in the middle of the night, with herself, dying, tied to his back. She imagined he didn’t like to think about that much, either. She had been gored by a wild boar, out in the woods, her side ripped open. Renji had stopped the bleeding with his spiritual energy, a feat that he had not been able to reproduce, nor did he wish to, because it hadn’t healed anything, only burned the wound closed. The old apothecary had apparently had to tear her open again, and sew everything back together with needle and thread and his own meager healing abilities, while Renji looked on and held down her convulsing body.

The old man was not a kind man or even a good man. He did not work on charity cases, but he saw a strong young man who could read and write and even do a few figures, so Renji spent the next six weeks working off his debt, collecting payment from deadbeats on top of a little light bookkeeping and writing out prescriptions, while Rukia slowly recovered in the back room.

Renji could have stayed. Rukia was listening at the door when the man offered to get him a work pass. A work pass, the value was immeasurable. “They’ll let you keep the girl with you, if you tell ‘em she’s your wife,” Rukia remembers the apothecary saying, the words burned into her brain, and for a moment, her head swam with possibility. Renji was always trying to gain steady employment, but there was little to be had in Inuzuri. This work was mildly unsavory, but hardly the worst thing they’d ever done. She hadn’t seen much of life in District 76, but surely it had to be miles above 78.

“Thank you,” he had said quietly. “But I got friends depending on me back home.”

“You’re a moron,” the man told him.

Renji never mentioned it to her and she wasn’t about to admit she’d been eavesdropping. She agreed with his decision, it was absolutely the correct one. Still, it sat heavy and dark in the pit of her stomach, the idea of what he had given up, alongside the guilty feeling that some part of her, no matter how briefly, had wanted him to agree to it, especially the part where she got to stay too.

After that, she asked him to teach her to read and write, a crusade he’d given up on after years of her rudely brushing him off. She could still do neither as well as he could, although, she realized with a sick feeling, that it was his right arm that was broken, his writing arm. She hoped she could be as valuable to the old apothecary as Renji had been.

But when they reached the shop, it was run down and in ill-repair. The apothecary, whose name was Kitajima, looked old, very old. One could theoretically live forever in Soul Society, but most souls become worn down eventually, and once the degradation began, the end usually came on quickly.

“Barely have any business these days,” he grumbled. “Don’t need any help.”

Fortunately, for as poorly as the job turned out, Rukia had managed to make off with three silver coins from that asshole with the lead pipe. The apothecary’s rheumy eyes locked on them. “I will take a look,” he agreed.

“As I told you the last time you were here,” the old man growled at Renji as he examined the arm, “You have the demon magic in you. The shinigami use it to cast spells, but also to push their bodies past what is normally possible. Like a fool, you have done this without proper training. You have broken and healed yourself simultaneously, but with no skill, and you have made a hash of it.”

“I wasn’t trying,” Renji pointed out plaintively.

“Can you repair it?” Rukia asked.

“I can rebreak it,” Kitajima replied, addressing Renji only, as though Rukia didn’t even exist, “and set the pieces properly. It will take all your silver. I will need the girl to help. It will be terrible.”

The more powerful painkillers had been sold off long ago, so Kitajima gave Renji some willow bark tea before they started, and optimistically suggested that he would probably pass out very quickly. Rukia had seen Renji take a lot of damage before, and had an awful sense that this cheerful prediction was not to come true.

The things that happened next are best glossed over. But when it was finished, Rukia sat with Renji’s sleeping head in her lap, smoothing his hair back from his sweat-glazed forehead. Kitajima was trying to give her instructions, but her head still spun from the horror of it all.

The old man would not bear the risk of harboring souls outside of their home districts, not this time. As soon as Renji could stand, they needed to leave.

It was likely that Renji would be set upon by fever. Kitajima pressed a few more packets of tea into Rukia’s hand. It might help. If she could not keep the fever down, it would likely kill him.

There was one last thing. The old man took her wrist in one withered claw. “There are ducts in the arm. They are not real. They cannot be seen without the second sight. It is how the demon magic runs through your body, from your heart to your hands. His were injured, possibly ruined. I have fixed his bones, but this cannot be fixed.”

“I understand,” Rukia replied, even though she didn’t, not really. Later, she would see pictures in textbooks, and truly understand what he had lost.

The fever set in even before they left, but the old man’s good will had worn out, and it was nightfall, the best time for going, so they went. Renji’s temperature increased steadily as they moved south, sticking to the treeline, away from where people lived. His eyes were bright and wild, and he spoke of things that didn’t make any sense, a farm, a mother, a pet dog.

Rukia couldn’t decide whether it was better to stop frequently, to give Renji rest and a chance to drink his medicine, or if it was more important to get him home, to a roof and a blanket and most importantly, safety. She compromised by dragging him through the night, his huge bulk leaning more and more heavily on her shoulder, until they crossed the Inuzuri border, where they collapsed together in a pile of dead leaves under a big oak. The sun was coming up, and the bare branches of the tree did little to block its rays, but Renji fell unconscious almost immediately.

Rukia rested, but she did not allow herself to sleep. Renji was burning up. Maybe the sleep would help, maybe it wouldn’t. She wanted to bathe his forehead, but she needed to conserve their clean water to mix with his medicine. She thought about searching for a stream, but she was terrified to take her eyes off him, even knowing there wasn’t a thing she could do if he took a bad turn. It was a chilly day at least, and she wished for cold breezes, even as she shivered.

She wanted to be furious with him. How dare he even think about trading his life for hers, as though outliving your friends was some sort of mercy! But she couldn’t stay angry. She knew, she had known since they put Kosaburou in the ground, that she had it in her to push onward though sorrow, through despair. But Renji had anchored himself to her, even moreso than the others, although he would never admit it. When she died, so would go the thin threads of common sense and self-preservation that tied him to this plane. He wasn’t the depressed type, at least she didn’t think he was, but he would just keep doing progressively stupider and riskier things until he’d finally earned his lottery card for meeting up with her again in the World of the Living.

Luckily, after a few hours, his fever broke, and not long after that, he woke. Rukia propped him up against the trunk of the tree, and made him eat one of their sour, wrinkly apples while she heated his tea with her demon magic, as the old man had called it.

“When did you learn to make heat with it?” Renji croaked. “Can you teach me?”

“You have to get better first,” she replied gently.

“Ru– Ru– Rukia, I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“You dumbass,” she chided him. “It was me. I was the one who was stupid.”

“We– we both need to be more careful,” he wheezed.

She studied his face. There was the faintest shadow of stubble on his jaw. He wasn’t a boy anymore. “No, I think that’s wrong,” she replied. “Being careful isn’t going to save us. Enough people saw you block a lead pipe with your bare arm. That’s a good start for a reputation. We would be foolish to waste it. It’s time to stop sneaking and skulking, and be bold and brash instead, to take this town for all its worth.”

He leaned his head back against the tree. “Can we start… tomorrow?”

Rukia laughed, and brought over his tea. When she bent to give it to him, a bold and brash thought seized her, and as his hands took the cup from hers, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. He froze completely, his muscles locked in something like rigor mortis. She knew, with utter certainty, that his brain had abruptly devoted 100% of its processing cycles toward not dropping that tea.

This was the second time she had kissed him. The first had been many years prior. Inuzuri was a bad place for children, and girls in particular. Rukia had decided early on that, even if it wasn’t necessarily good, she wanted her first kiss to be freely given, and with someone she thought fondly of. She had carefully considered all four boys; any of them would have sufficed. Kosaburou would be gentle and thoughtful about it. Fujimaru, cheerful and easy going. Mameji would take the obligation very seriously, and never tell a soul. And then there was Renji. Grumpy. Pessimistic. She wasn’t even entirely sure he liked girls– he scolded the other boys any time they had “romantic notions,” as he put it, and he stiffened like a board if he thought she was going to touch him. Perhaps, like a cat, she was drawn to him because of the discomfort she sparked, but he was the one her heart settled on. She cornered him under a different tree, one summer morning when the others had already headed down to the river for some fishing.

“I want to kiss you,” she informed him. “Just the once, not a regular thing. Is that all right?”

His eyebrows drew together. “Why me?”

“I like your hair,” she replied, the first thing that popped into her head.

He contemplated this for a minute, then shut his eyes and clenched up his entire body, like he was ready to take a punch. “Okay. Go ahead.”

“You can just say no if you don’t want to,” Rukia replied. “You look really, uh, nervous about it.”

He took a deep breath in and out through his nose, and then his face relaxed, if not the rest of him. “Naw, it’s okay. I want you to. Go ahead.”

Rukia didn’t actually know much about how kissing worked, so she just sort of pressed her face up against his, their lips and noses squishing together uncomfortably. When what she gauged to be the correct amount of time had passed, she retreated again. “Did I do okay?” she asked.

Renji’s gaze was unfocused and he seemed to be having trouble breathing. “Yeah, it was nice,” he agreed, his voice sounding very far away. She suspected he was just trying to be kind.

“Let’s go fishing,” she said, and then he chased her down to the river like nothing at all had happened.

Rukia had observed a few more kisses since then, and had a better idea of how it was supposed to go, although Renji was no more helpful. She squeezed his fingers gently as she backed away.

“You saved me,” she said very quietly. “The hero is supposed to get a kiss.”

“Rukia,” he murmured, staring into the cloudy tea, unable to meet her eyes. “You shouldn’t’ve. We can’t.”

“You don’t want to,” she suggested.

“That’s… untrue,” he managed, and took a sip of his tea.

“Then why can’t we?”

“It would be unfair. The others…”

“I love all of them! I love all of you!” Rukia proclaimed, and Renji stiffened. That was the true sin, not kissing, but loving, in this forsaken place. They never said that word, none of them, not even once. But they had lost Kosaburou already, and everyone knew Mameji’s cough was never going to go away, and being careful wasn’t going to save any of them. Rukia swallowed. “But you’re the one I want to kiss.”

Renji squeezed his eyes shut and drank more of his tea. It wasn’t fair of her to do this to him while he was in tremendous pain, but she had almost lost him, she could still lose him. The fever might return, the wound might sour. And even if he recovered, there was the next heist, the next lead pipe, the next boar. Rukia felt seized with the need to make the most of every minute in between.

Renji sat back, rubbing at his splinted arm ruefully. He looked awful, pale and hollow-eyed and clammy with old sweat. Rukia loved him so much, she couldn’t stand it. She shouldn’t have said it out loud, she realized. The word was, indeed, a curse, an evil magic spell.

Renji turned his head to the side, pressing his cheek against the bark of the tree. “You’re such a bother, Rukia. You saved my life the first day we met, and you’ve been nothing but trouble to me ever since.”

“I know,” she replied.

“Can I go back to sleep, or do we need to get moving again?”

“You can sleep for a bit if you like, but you’ll be more comfortable back at the squat.”

“I’m comfortable enough here.”

He closed his eyes, and Rukia wondered if he was going to sleep like that, propped up against the tree. After a minute, though, he opened them again.

“If you want to kiss me now and again, I suppose that would be all right,” he pronounced with an air of finality. “But I kinda feel like shit right now, so maybe we could start that tomorrow, too.”

#renruki #bleach fanfiction #my writing #inuzuri times #maybe a 6 on the ol' feels-o-meter

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