#and is preferable to dropping out and being homeless

[awkward-teabag]

So tired of everything being derailed by racists.

Want to talk about jobs? Blame immigrants.

Want to talk about the state of housing? Blame immigrants.

Want to talk about post-secondary education? Blame immigrants.

Want to talk about healthcare? Blame immigrants.

Want to talk about the state of the economy in general? Blame immigrants.

And it's never about the systems in place that lead to immigration or the how companies exploit young workers from elsewhere in the world (by taking advantage of their inexperience, their lack of support network, taking their money, and so on), it's all about how those dastardly non-whites are trying to screw honest Canadians out of everything by taking advantage of us, and they're personally going after you.

You can be talking about something and even be open to talking about the complex issue that is immigration but it immediately gets taken over by THEY TOOK OUR JERBS! assholes.

It's at the point where as soon as immigrants/immigration comes up, I peace out unless I know the person and can expect them to have a point beyond bigotry and fascism.

Because it's never about our systems, decade(s) of neglect, neoliberalism or conservatism, or anything like that, it's about how selfish, rich, and anti-white brown kids are and things would be perfectly fine if not for them.

[lorelune]

lobotomy commission

|| jing yuan x gn!reader || T || love sick hopefully lovers || wc: 3.9k  || ao3 ||

The Xianzhou Alliance has... never allowed lobotomies? Why are you so insistent on receiving one?

(The General, the Divine Foresight.)

minors, antis, and ageless blogs dni

a/n: oh mister general jing yuan you have me so damn heart eyes. here's a lil sweet treat!!!!

CW: fluff, friends to lovers, jing yuan being a bit silly, alcohol consumption, FLUFF, a bit of crack being taken seriously

"Lady Fu, I need to be put down." Your cheek hits the low table. You feel pathetic. It's a Thursday and you're teary-eyed after far too little wine to be in such a state. You sniffle.

"No one is 'putting you down'!" Fu Xuan huffs from the other side, patting your arm. "It's rare that you’re this mopey. What’s troubling you?"

"I am not 'mopey'. I need a lobotomy. Which of the commissions would handle this procedure?"

Lady Fu frowns, clicks her tongue, and sighs your name, “A lobotomy, really?

"Yes, exactly. As soon as possible, preferably.” You down the rest of your cup and restlessly flip your phone screen up. 

"This is particularly pathetic. Stop drinking and wallowing and just tell me what's wrong."

"Fu Xuan, you will scold me." You push yourself up on the table and shake your head. "No, actually, you will fire me. You will send me to my office this very instant, force me to pack up my things, and turn in my permissions. I'll be out of a job. Then, I'll be homeless. then—"

"No, nuh-uh, no more dramatics!" Fu Xuan slaps a hand over your mouth. You're glad you’re seated in a private corner of the bar, as this is a rather pathetic display on both of your parts. "Please just tell me, what’s the matter?”

Your dilemma. 

"I like the General."

Fu Xuan frowns, expression pinched, and her hand falls heavily onto the table. "That... isn’t exactly new information? Even if it’s a... questionable call of taste, the general is handsome. Occasionally charming when he isn’t being an oaf on purpose. I don’t think having a bit of a crush on the Divine Foresight is anything unusual. Half of the population of the Luofu holds the same opinion.

“Okay, but,” you unlock your phone, a ceramic, cat-shaped charm swinging from the vase as you wobble. “What if the General were to return my feelings? And he invited me for a walk and a meal tomorrow evening?”

Fu Xuan's jaw drops. "You're joking."

"I'm not,” you whine and slide your phone across the table.

...

Divine Foresight 🦁:

Are you free tomorrow evening? I know a terrace that has a splendid view of the overlook near the Cinnabar Eyeline. I would be delighted to take you to it and share a meal after, 

Divine Foresight 🦁:

If you'll have me :3c

...

“Oh... wow.”  Fu Xuan looks shocked. It’s hard to shock her, but she does tend to avoid divining the destiny of those she is close to (unless entirely necessary.) Her intuition regardless of mathematics and astral geometry is, however, keen. Yet her eyes are wide and she struggles to gather her words. “What a menace.”

“I know.”

“The General is rarely so forward. I’ve never heard of him being so forward.”

“I know.”

“Except, perhaps—”

“With me?” You rub your cheeks. They’re warm from the wine. 

“Only you. Though this is particularly... telling. I’m sure it’s sincere.”

“I would agree.” Your stomach flutters, and you swallow the feeling down. 

Fu Xuan narrows her eyes and says your name, mouth in a thin line, "You haven't replied."

“And that’s why I need the lobotomy.” You swallow. “I’m going to turn him down.”

“WHAT?!”

You need another drink.

Fu Xuan clearly does not. Her cheeks flush rosy pink as she slaps her hands on the low table. “Why would you reject him? Even if he’s a scoundrel— he is genuine.”

“I know, that’s why I can’t accept his... proposition.”

Despite knowing that Jing Yuan serially denies any potential suitors or daring admirers. You know that it has always been like this— from the time long ago when he first gained rank, to his ‘withered age’ as he self-deprecating refers to himself now. He is always kind about his rejections, you’ve witnessed one or two of them, but he never even entertains the idea of romantic partnership. You’ve never heard him mention it or any desires. 

So, for him to so bluntly ask you on a date—

He couldn’t be more clear with his feelings. 

“You’re a fool.”

“Now, you’re getting it.” You pour yourself another glass of plum wine. Your shared bottle is nearly empty. “This is why I need the lobotomy.”

Fu Xuan watches you drink your glass in a single go. Her brows are pinched and her arms are crossed. Her shoulders sag a moment later.

“I do believe I understand your reasoning, and I don’t think it’s lobotomy-worthy.”

“... High praise.” 

“[Name].”

“Alright, alright. I’m sorry.” You laugh behind your palm. The world feels sticky and bouncy, all at once. You crave the respite of your own bed. “I can’t accept his proposition in the form of a text. I mean, Lady Fu, he's the most powerful man on the Luofu. He is renowned in all fields of battle, strategic, and social graces. He’s kind. He probably like, kisses babies on Sundays at the markets."

"He does not."

"You never know!" You groan. "That's all to say that I won't accept an invitation to a date with this little effort put into it."

"... Because it's a text?"

"Because it's a text." You nod.

Fu Xuan pauses, then sighs. 

“I can’t decide if that makes you a fool or not.” Her hair is frizzing up with the humidity. "Perhaps you have a point, the General is old enough to know and have some decorum when going about these things."

"Maybe he's a virgin? But like, for dating." 

"I'd have to check... certain records. Archives. To confirm or deny that."

You wilt, “He probably isn’t. I’m being foolish.” 

“No, you’re not.” Fu Xuan smooths a hand over your cheek with a frown. 

"Lady Fu," you cry and wish you were at home. In bed. Maybe you should block his number. "You're supposed to say, 'You absolutely are, my most beloved junior, I will schedule your lobotomy and—’"

"No more talk of lobotomies, please."

"Fine, fine." you sigh and finish off your final cup as Lady Fu does as well. "Do you think I'm nuts for turning him down?"

"... No, I don't." Fu Xuan looks shy for a moment. A lot more human than her lofty station implies. "I don't doubt that... Jing Yuan has feelings for you. I see how he looks at you. But he ought to romance you a bit. A text is low effort. You should reply regardless though."

"I'm going to, I just needed some courage. And moral support." You give her a soft smile and tap back into your messages. Fu Xuan practically crawls around the table to your side. She leans her head on your shoulders and her eyes droop. You take a heavy inhale, then exhale, attempt to focus your blurry vision and craft.

...

You:

General, though I'm flatered by your offer, I will need to decline. Though I will ackknowledge what I would imagine (and hope)) to be your genun

You:

geuine

You:

gennuie

You:

genuine

You:

feelings, I cannot accept an invitation in the form of a text message. I must be wooed.

You:

lady Fuu says "if you are capable of such things"

You:

pls don't fire her she's a good boss and so nice

You:

[picture from XX/XX/XXXX @ 2:14 AM]

...

The next morning is hell. Hell. You wished you had undergone your requested lobotomy. It certainly feels like someone has stuck metal rods into your brain, with the migraine pounding the back of your eyes. Maybe a hangover this bad is somewhat equivalent to a lobotomy. Your memory of your night prior is... cloudy, to say the least. Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you manage to down a glass of water and a handful of peachy-colored pills. You speed walk to the Divination Commission, shooting Fu Xuan an apologetic “sorry, running late, forgive me 🙏" text. 

You mentally pat your drunk self on the back. After you sent your... rejection (ouch) to the General, you muted his messages and deleted the thread. No evidence, no way to feel awkward about it sober. And no way to dwell on it either. Besides, you hardly remember what you said to him after your last glass of wine. It’s hazy in your memory.

It was... perhaps a foolish way to go about things. You certainly could have approached the General and talked about it, but he sometimes spoke in circles about matters of the heart. Maybe... maybe you felt too fragile to dance that dance, if it came to that. Maybe, you were a bit overwhelmed by his invitation. You know all too well that he does not let himself be pursued. He does not pursue others. 

You feel blind-sided by the whole thing.

But that doesn’t matter— because you cleanly rejected him and your only repercussion is a hangover that you’re sure Fu Xuan is twinning. 

And besides, it’s better that you rejected him. He’s of such a high— highest station. He wouldn’t have time for you, surely. You... have gotten used to your entirely and completely platonic, twice-a-month lunch dates and the occasional star chess lesson (where he never lets you win but you swear you'll give him a run for his money.) But it's fine. You can let go of those things, along with your feelings for the General.

It's better this way.

You think these thoughts somewhat confidently until you arrive at the Divination Commission and find a crowd swarming the central platform under the Matrix of Prescience Ultima. Frowning, you try to weave through the edge of it to your office, where you conveniently have a few nutrition shakes stashed away that you most certainly need. You’re already late and this hangover needs to go. You have a full docket for the day that you need to make fuller so you don’t think about—

You nearly stumble when you hear a rich, familiar, roll of laughter. You freeze, slowly turning to the sound. A crown of fluffy hair peaks above the small crowd, a red ribbon waving in the breeze.

Absolutely fucking not.

You duck, just in case, and try to creep below the crowd. You probably look ridiculous, but you absolutely cannot see Jing Yuan. You can’t. Your poorly-thought out, hungover plan of not caring about the General does somewhat heavily rely on not seeing the man. You trip over over your own feet and barely catch yourself so as to not tumble to the ground.

Jing Yuan calls your name and 

You freeze before jolting to your full height a moment later. The gaggle of your coworkers part enough so that you’re able to see him— lit so well and handsomely in the morning sun, smiling so easily with... perhaps a hint of mischief in the curve of his lips. 

He waves with his free hand, while a massive bouquet is pillowed in the crook of his arm.

The flowers are beautiful— off-ship exotics, clearly. The colors are all bright oranges and vibrant blues. Thinner stems are topped with bundles of white, delicate flowers that break the barrage of colors. They look fresh, like they’d been cut this morning. Fu Xuan stands next to him, clearly hungover herself and close to popping a blood vessel. It’s incredibly rare that the General do anything in the mornings, especially causing a commotion in the Divination Commission. 

Jing Yuan, who is more than likely aware of this, looks entirely unbothered. Actually, he glows as he calls your name, gentle and rich, and the sound of it hits you in the chest, “There you are.”

"Here I am." You're not. You need that lobotomy. You nod to him curtly, "General. Is there something I can help you with today?"

Fu Xuan looks like she’s going to expire right there on the platform. 

Jing Yuan cocks his head knowingly, “There is, yes. I have a rather personal matter to discuss in private with you. Are you available?”

You have things on your schedule. You can make yourself appear busy, if it means not dealing with the General you can’t really hide from and the beautiful bouquet in his arms. “Well—”

“They’re free.” Fu Xuan all but pushes you toward him. You regret covering her tab the night before. “Especially free, since I’ll be rescheduling our weekly meeting to tomorrow.”

“Is that really necessary—?” You laugh and wring your hands. You feel caught in the worst way. “General, will this personal discussion take much time? I am quite busy today—”

Jing Yuan, who has been watching your exchange with Fu Xuan wordlessly, looks a bit... crestfallen. It’s hard to tell on a man who holds himself like the General, but it’s there. A crease between his brows that’s slight, but visible and abnormal. Maybe he’s holding the bouquet a little tighter than he probably thought. There’s a sheen of sweat on his temple that, if asked, he would probably blame on the heat index for the day.

Your words die in your throat as you take him in and force yourself to meet his gaze. Honeyed and sad, a bit like a kicked dog.

“... I suppose, I could arrange a proper appointment with you. Perhaps it was uncouth of me to expect such accommodations to be made for me last minute. I apologize.” You can hear his tone change. It may be imperceptible to someone else, but you notice the shift in him. Gone is the playful lilt and air of mischief, on his a veneer of niceties that you... had forgotten he loses around you. 

Something in your chest aches.

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Floundering. Jing Yuan adjusts his hold on the bouquet—

“Enough of this.” Lady Fu shakes her head. She shoos a hand toward the lingering onlookers. “Back to work, now. Don’t eavesdrop either. I’ll know if you do.”

(Debatable, but it’s Fu Xuan’s favorite threat.)

Once the crowd has dispersed, she turns toward you too. You needed that lobotomy, like, yesterday. 

“I will make the necessary changes to your schedule so you can speak privately for as long as you need." She points at you, then Jing Yuan. “Sort this.”

The General raises an eyebrow at her. She’s bold to speak in such a way to someone above her own station, but Lady Fu doesn't dare back down. She glares at him, then you, partially covering her mouth to block Jing Yuan’s view before mouthing, “FIX THIS!!!!” 

...

On the way to your office, you walk side by side, in silence. You’re trying to think of the right words to say.

“... Are you sure you have time for this, General?” You ask him, softly. “I don’t mean to ask as a slight— just— I don’t want to inconvenience you is all.”

“Of course.” He replies easily. You turn down the long, quiet corridor that leads to your office. It’s tucked away in a corner of the divination Commission, facing outward toward the Arbor’s stump with tall windows providing a sunlit view. You’re glad you don’t have to look at him as you unlock the door with a thick-looking key. “This is a rather pertinent, time-sensitive matter we’re discussing. My own schedule is not consequential in this case. Haste, moreso.”

You laugh under your breath.

“Great Lan, Qingzu is going to kill me.” You sigh before pushing the door open with a shake of your head. Perhaps a smile curls on your lips. Who’s to say. “Did you at least not leave a pile of paperwork for her to delegate in your stead?”

“And what, diminish the time I have for my afternoon nap with busy work?” Jing Yuan laughs. The sound fills you from the bottom up and you want to choke on it. You tear your gaze away from him. “Such a thing would be unhealthy, you know. I’m an old man.”

“An old man who needs an ample amount of beauty sleep.” You tease him, it’s easy to. You speak before you even have a chance to think about the warm nature of your words. The meaning behind the bouquet in his arms that he still hasn’t given to you. 

Why Jing Yuan is in your office at all. 

“... If this is about my texts my last night—”

“It is, partially.” Jing Yuan hums. “I’m afraid I’ve slighted you, and it’s of the utmost importance I correct my transgression.”

 “That’s— That’s not necessary, General.” Your cheeks burn. 

“It is. Entirely, in fact. Stating my intentions with you over text messages was... a poor choice on my part. I must apologize appropriately, don’t you think? 

“I mean— that’s—” Your words flounder in your mouth. “Kind of you.” 

It is kind of him. He certainly doesn’t need to be here, in your cramped office, with a bouquet that costs close to what you make in a day of work. He doesn’t need to be showing a sincere, lovesick smile as he speaks. He’s showing you a card he’s kept close to his chest. One you, perhaps, guessed he had, but hadn’t intended to ever see.

He presents you with the bouquet, “You said you must be wooed, and I am here to begin that process explicitly.”

"... I said what?" You’re going to burst into flames. 

“I thought you may not recall your exact words. Did you and Lady Fu have a fun night together?” Jing Yuan chuckles, and you flush so hot you feel almost faint. “You said that I must, and I quote, ‘woo you’.” 

He smiles at you, the glint in his eye a bit more mischievous. More knowing. He’s toying with you. 

“I— no— I’m so sorry, General.” You cover your face with your hands and back into your desk. “Forget I said that. Please forget I said anything.”

“Please, use my name.” He corrects, gently. “I’d prefer not to forget. You have a point, I should have stated my intentions clearly and to you in person.”

You peek at him between your fingers. He still holds the bouquet out to you, like he’s trying to lure a cagey cat in for a pet rather than make a confession. You feel out of sorts. Off kilter. That said— it is nice to hear him in person. Your heart has been oscillating between fluttering and pounding. 

Jing Yuan tilts his head sweetly at you. You take the bouquet from him and examine it closer. There’s yellow and lilac pollen dusted on the filaments, fresh and fragrant. 

“Jing Yuan, then.” You reply to him, softly. It’s hardly the first time you’ve called him by his name, rather than a title, but he preens when you speak regardless. “... So, you intend to woo me then?”

“Entirely.” Jing Yuan hums to himself, looking quite proud. “I do fully recant my offer I sent previously. Though I would be happy to lounge with you in the terraces and see some lovely views, I’ve secured a reservation for this evening at a lovely restaurant in the Exalting Sanctum, if you would accompany me.” 

Your stomach flips pleasantly.  You can’t help the little smile that’s twitching over your lips. You take care to not crush the bouquet in your arms, despite the urge to squeeze it to your chest, just to tamp down the thumping of your heart. Stroking your thumb over the silken petal of lush, round-petaled bloom, you let yourself smile. 

You can practically hear Jing Yuan holding his breath. His eyes look hopeful and young. 

“I accept,” you reply. “Consider me wooed.”

“It was that easy?” Jing Yuan’s voice takes that air of smugness that you know is a farce but you still can’t help but to approach him and bat your hands at his chest.

“I already like you, you know,” You laugh. “I was more offended that you wouldn’t face me and tell me your intentions. I hardly know the General to be a coward. I was a bit slighted.”

Jing Yuan catches your wrists in one of his hands and gently holds them against your sternum. His fingers lay over the thump of your heart; you wonder if he can feel it. You feel pleasantly woozy when you meet his eyes and all their intensity. Intention. 

“I apologize.” He speaks smoothly, easily. Perhaps ducking his head down to be closer to your own. “It’s quite difficult to proposition someone so beautiful and kind.”

“Ah, so the General was hiding behind a screen, then?” You laugh over the heat rising in your cheeks. “I’ve never known you to be a coward.”

Jing Yuan hums, and you pop up on the corner of your desk. He’s close enough to feel the heat of him, and see the threading of his uniform and the glitter woven into the rich fabrics.

“Hm, I wouldn’t say it has anything to do with cowardice.” Jing Yuan shakes his head. His breath is warm over your cheeks. “I planned to tell you my intentions of courting you at the Terraces, once you accepted. I, perhaps, was too presumptuous in expecting you to assume beyond my initial ask. I should have been more clear.”

You stifle a laugh and flex your hands, still held in his firm, but kind grip. 

“Jing Yuan, if you continue to speak to me so directly, I’ll demand you take me out now and not this evening.”

“Is that so?”

“Entirely.” You struggle to maintain eye contact and not let your gaze drift down to his lips. “I’m not used to you speaking so clearly, only your riddles.”

“What riddles?” He tilts his head, curly, a sweet smile on his face that is far too mischievous for who he is expected to be.

“Oh, you know—”

“Do I?” Jing Yuan asks. He steps between your thighs, the width of him forcing your legs wider. As if your flush could be any more intense. “You must tell me more over lunch. I’ll send a message to Lady Fu and clear your schedule?”

“... She did say to take as long as we need to sort this,” You soften, a bit intimated, if only for a moment. “Is this sorted?”

Jing Yuan hums, “You did say you were wooed. I’d consider that fairly sorted.”

“And you’ll have me?” You ask him, daring to slide your arms over his shoulders. The contact bubbles up months of tension over Star Chess boards (during games that, perhaps, were not entirely platonic). 

“I’d be honored.” Jing Yuan’s voice sounds sweet, more quiet than you’ve heard before, like it’s just for you to hear. 

There’s an edge to it all still— something raw and new that will need to be tempered. That is the nature of immortality and the relationships and partnerships that come with it. Complexes develop, heal, and grow differently within the self. You’ve already gamed out a few of Jing Yuan’s (a cursed Master who he will only reference in melancholy, unrequited love he was too young for, so many tragedies that he somehow manages to give himself for not preventing). He is perceptive. You’re sure he has put together some of yours as well. 

For now, there’s a promise of good things. There’s the feel of him pressing his lips to yours, gentle but unyielding, strung with a mutual yearning that, in retrospect, would’ve been a shame to crush and hide away. There’s the warmth of him so close, and closer still when you drag him closer by the nape of his neck.

You can feel his grin against your lips, and you mirror it easily.

No riddles, only a fragrant bouquet and intention. 

[enthusiasticharry]

the one where YN gets a job as Harry's maid and his occupation comes as a shock to her - he writes erotica.

author's note: i'm back! (please don't kill me, i'm sorry that it's been so long <3) this is something that's been in the works for basically over a year now, but it's finally coming to life! it's also got a lovely lil' flash-forward at the end (which you all know i love) thank you all for sticking with me and i hope it won't be as long the next time.

word count: 13.2k of scandalous smut, fluff, 1800s society and harry being a sexy man of the house erotica writer.

let me know what you think of desire here. love u all <3

London, 1817

YN didn’t have a single shilling to her name. 

As well as not having a single shilling to her name, she was currently homeless and squatting in dark alleyways. Her start to life hadn’t been the best, and her skill set wasn’t full of attributes that may help her in her quest of finding employment. As for a family, YN didn’t necessarily have one. Being the sixth child in a household, one that wasn’t surviving with five children it already had, meant her life wasn’t as black and white as it looked. She has spent the last few days, after finally deciding to pack up and leave home, looking for any sort of job and she truly meant any. So far, she hadn’t found anything, and she was running out of the food that she had stolen from the kitchen back home and that meant she was running out of time. 

It was the fourth day in her quest when she found something. She hadn’t necessarily thought she would find anything when she had picked up the newspaper that morning (or rather stolen it from the bag of a newsboy) but there it was in black and white. The advert was four lines at most and gave relatively nothing away. It asked for a female maid, who had experience in household chores. So far, all the boxes, YN could tick. The next asked that she’d be able to live on site, in the house she would be working in. If anything, that was better for YN than having to find somewhere to live. The last line gave the address of the house, and the preferred times for visiting. 

YN thankfully saw a man walking past with a pocket watch and politely asked him the time, to which he replied that it was a quarter to two, meaning that YN still had two hours to hopefully find the house and herself a job. The side of town that the house was on YN had never been to, in fact she’d never even been a mile in the vicinity of it, so she did have to ask a few people. YN wasn’t easily intimated, but when the people she had to ask obviously had money and were quietly judging her dishevelled state she struggled. 

She didn’t know the time, and YN struggled to figure out how much time had passed usually, and all she could do was pray that she hadn’t gone over the time stated on the newspaper advertisement. When she arrived at the house that she believed to be the right one, she felt thankful when she could see a man gardening just by the gate – a person she could ask to affirm that she was in the right place. 

“Excuse me, sir,” he seemed to sigh as he dropped his trowel and turned to look at YN, “Is this the Styles residence?” 

“It is,” his accent wasn’t what YN expected, she hadn’t met anybody before that wasn’t from London, “How can we help you, miss?” 

YN cleared her throat, “I’m enquiring about the advert you placed in the newspaper. The one for the maid role.” 

“I’m sorry, miss,” he sighed, finally standing up and wiping his hands on his trousers, “You’re too late, Mr Styles has already interviewed all of the candidates.”

“Oh,” the smile faltered on YN’s face. All of the excitement she felt about the advert had left a pit of disappointment in her, “I’m really sorry, sir, it’s just that I had to walk from the other side of town, and I don’t have a watch to tell the time.”

“I am sorry, miss, but there’s nothing that I can do. Mr. Styles will already be making his decision.” 

“Well,” she sighed, placing the newspaper in the pocket of her jacket, “I’m sorry to have disturbed you sir, I’ll let you get back to your gardening. Is it possible to just ask you directions on the quickest way to get back into town?”

The man seems to hesitate for a second. He looks down at his gardening, and the back up at YN before sighing and wiping the sweat off his head. She felt slightly out of place and stood waiting for his response for a few seconds. 

“He might be in a good mood,” he mutters, “Please come in, miss, and I’ll go check with Mr. Styles. Even if he says no, we can get you a nice cup of tea.” 

YN couldn’t be ever more grateful. 

The closer that YN made it towards the house, or should she say mansion, she could almost feel her breath catching within her throat. Even though it was now highly unlikely that it would be the case, there was still the thought in the back of her mind that she could end up living here. She followed the man inside the towering door, her body feeling incredibly out of place in the grandeur of the house she was now in. 

If YN was honest, this house may possibly be the biggest house that she had ever seen, never mind stood in. The exterior of the house certainly didn’t do the interieur justice at all. The house was immaculate, and YN wondered if there was already a maid on site. The man she was following stopped in front of one of the doors by the main entrance and opened it. 

“You can take a seat in here,” he motions to the seating in the middle of the room, “I’ll go and check if Mr. Styles would like to see you. Can I take your name, miss?” 

“YN. YN YLN.” 

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss. YLN,” he beams, “I’m Mr. Towers.”

“A pleasure to meet you too.” 

The door slammed shut behind Mr. Towers, allowing YN to finally take in a deep breath to release the tension within her body. Looking around at the room, YN was shocked at the size of the parlour she was in, as well as the large bookcase filled to the brim with books. One of the things that YN prided herself on, which allowed her to find this opportunity in the first place, was her ability to read. It wasn’t usual for a woman of her status to know how to read, but she had met a kind gentleman at the market once and he spent his Sundays with her, teaching her how to read. 

YN stopped in front of one shelf that seemed to have books from the same author along the entirety of it. H.E. Scott. It wasn’t a name that was familiar to YN, but she couldn’t help but want to reach out and pick them up. Just as her finger was about to touch the cover, the door swung open, and YN flinched away from the bookcase.

“Miss. YLN,” She immediately dropped her hands down by her side, “Mr. Styles will see you now.”

“Thank you, Mr. Towers.”

Following Mr. Towers out of the room, YN was led up a grand staircase that she could only dream of owning one day. YN had no idea about the architecture of houses, nor as to what wood complimented each other or anything like that – but she knew what appeased her eyes and everything about this house appeased them. YN held the banister with one hand and lifted her skirt up with the other and followed Mr. Towers.

At the top of the staircase, a corridor spilt up to the left and to the right. YN couldn’t help herself, and all she wanted to do was to explore and see every single corner of this mansion that Mr. Styles calls home. She followed Mr. Towers all the way to the last door on the left.

He knocked on the door and after the “Come in,” from the other side, Mr. Towers opened the door.

“Good luck,” Mr. Towers smiles.

The door shut behind YN once she stepped in, and she slightly jumped at the sound. There were few things in life that could make YN nervous, but the way that her heart was about to beat out of her chest she honestly thought that she was close to a heart attack.

She hadn’t known what she had expected of Mr. Styles. Her main instinct was an old man, close to his death that needed extra help around the house because his wife had passed. What she hadn’t been expecting was a man whose age was like hers, with dark brown hair that framed his entire face, and hard features that she was having trouble drawing her eyes away from. There were few people that intimidate her (her father being one of them) but she had a feeling that she was going to be adding Mr. Styles to that list.

“Mr. Styles,” YN shrugged all of her worries and walked towards him with her hand outstretched, “I’m YN YLN.”

He didn’t stand up, and he didn’t shake her hand. He didn’t even take his eyes away from whatever piece of paper he was reading. She nervously gripped the sides of her dress as she walked towards him, the heels of her shoes hitting the floor with a tap every step she took.

“I’m…” She hesitated slightly, not exactly knowing what to do. Did she sit down? Did she remain standing? Did she wait until he spoke to her? She hadn’t a clue what to do, and she was truly starting to panic, “I’m here for the job as the maid. I know I’m a little late, but I came from across town and-”

YN watched as he lifted his hand up, as though to shut her up. It did. He didn’t even look up at her, just continued looking down at the heaps and heaps of paper that were sat in front of him.

“Do you know how to clean?” YN’s eyes almost widened in shock at the sound of his deep, coarse voice. It was as though he hadn’t spoken in years, or that he had been speaking too much and that it needed a rest.

“Uh… yes I do.”

“Are you sure about that?” His reply came quick, but he still didn’t look at her.

“Yes,” YN nodded her head, “I do know how to clean.”

“Do you know how to cook?”

“Yes.”

“You’re hired,” Finally, he lifted his head up from his papers and looked directly at her, his green eyes boring into YN’s. She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, “Speak to Mr. Towers about the details, you shall start immediately. You’re dismissed.”

“Thank you,” YN nodded her head and turned to walk out of the room, unable to hide the smile that danced across her lips.

“Clean up and get changed before you start,” She stops in her tracks at the sound of his voice again, “You’re filthy.”

“Of course, sir.”

“Your room is down here, by the pantry,” Mr Towers explains as he walks her towards her room, “There’s a uniform already in there for you, along with a pot of water ready to boil for a bath.”

“Thank you, Mr. Towers,” YN nodded her head at the older man.

“Don’t thank me yet,” The older man threw the door to her room open, “It’s only tiny, but you have a bed and a fire, so you won’t be cold.”

“It’s…” After stepping into the room, YN couldn’t help the smile that beamed over her face. The room itself was the size of the room that she shared with her entire family growing up – and it was all to herself, “It’s perfect.”

Mr. Towers looked at her with a puzzled look on his face but shrugged his shoulders, “If you say so… Mr. Styles expects his dinner by seven weeknights, and eight on weekends when he has his guests over.”

“Is there anything that Mr. Styles prefers to eat that I could make for him? To say thank you?” She asked, placing her bag down on the bed.

Mr. Towers laughed and shook his head, “Mr. Styles has groceries delivered to the house every day. It has what he wants to eat in plenty, and we eat whatever is left in a broth.”

YN nodded her head. She had never known anything like it, and she couldn’t believe how much money and power Mr. Styles seemed to have.

“Thank you, Mr. Towers,” YN nodded with a polite smile, “I shall see you later.”

“Good day, Miss. YLN.”

Mr. Towers shut the door behind him, and once she had heard his footsteps growing lighter, she dropped backwards onto her bed with a laugh. It was almost as though she was sat within her own fever dream, where she had finally found herself a room, a bed and a job all at the same time.

Looking up at the small clock that sat above the fireplace, YN saw that it was just past three and she decided that it was probably time that she washed herself and made sure that she had plenty of time to prepare Mr. Styles’ dinner. Seeing that the pot of water was sat by the floor next to the fire, she made quick haste hanging it over the fire to heat up. It was at this point she saw the tin bath in the corner of the room, as well as her lavatory pot. A small mirror sat on a small cabinet, that once she opened, she saw contained a button up shirt, skirt and apron that she guessed was her uniform. She placed it neatly upon the bed, along with the fresh towel in the drawer and stripped of her current clothes.

One thing that YN always struggled with was the sight of her body. It was dirty and grimy, and malnourished to the point where it was sometimes painful. She was hoping that having control over the meals she ate meant that she could gain more strength and finally be happy with herself. The first step in that was getting into the bath, a thing that she hadn’t had in months. The feeling of the warm water on her skin, and the grime leaving her skin and the feeling of freshly washed hair was something that she could get used to. She left her hair drying in its natural state as she dressed, enjoying the feeling of new clothes on her skin also.

There wasn’t much that YN could say that she enjoyed in her life, but these small little luxuries that she’d never had before were certainly things that she enjoyed. She couldn’t believe her luck if she was completely honest, and that was made even more clear when she stepped into the kitchen. It was bigger than the entire house that YN grew up in, and it was filled with all the luxuries that she could have only dreamed of.

She saw some fillets of beef, along with vegetables and potatoes that she knew could be made into a divine meal. She got started right away, peeling and boiling the potatoes, cutting and preparing the vegetables and even cooking the beef until it was perfect all the way through. It seemed that her skills in the kitchen, albeit very basic ones, were coming in handy in more ways than one. With everything that was left after she’d plating Mr. Styles’ up, she made into a broth and left to simmer on the stove.

YN had the food prepared five minutes before it was ready because she knew that in this mansion that Mr Styles called his home, she would have to find the dining room. She hoped that whatever he liked to drink was there, because she couldn’t find anything in the kitchen that he might want.

She passed the room that she had waited in earlier in the day but knew that wasn’t the room that she was looking for. It was the room across from that, which had its door opened slightly, showing a large dining table which made YN realise that was the room she was looking for. Nerves bubbled in the pit of her stomach when she realised that Mr Styles was already there and waiting for her.

YN wiped her slightly sweaty palms on her apron and knocked twice on the door, waiting for Mr Styles to say that she could enter before she did. It didn’t take long before he was taking a few steps into the room and closing the door behind her. Whilst he wasn’t sat in his study anymore, he still had a stack of papers that he was reading in his hands. YN wondered what he was reading.

She took rushed steps towards him, being sure to make haste so that he couldn’t say anything to her. She was on time, and all she could hope is that he was happy with what she had produced for him. YN placed his plate down in front of him, and he finally looked up from his papers at it. He didn’t say anything to her but seemed content enough to place the papers down.  

“I expect a glass of whiskey poured with my meals.” He says to her, picking up his cutlery to start his meal.

“Of course, Mr. Styles.”

It didn’t take YN long to spot the bar cart in the corner of the room and make her way over to it. She picked up a glass and turned it over so that she could pour the drink into it. She hadn’t ever tried alcohol before, let alone know what whiskey was but she guessed that it was probably the one that looked the most loved. She poured the drink so that the bottom of the glass was about a third full before walking back over to Mr. Styles and placing it in front of him.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” She asks, and he shook his head.

She began to walk towards the door when Mr. Styles spoke to her again, “I’ll be having guests over tomorrow, so I’ll expect a full dinner service. There will be three of us.”

“Certainly, Mr. Styles.”

YN still had no idea what Mr Styles did for work, or what type of guests he would be having over to his house. Saying that, it was only her first day, but it would be nice to have some sort of incline as to who she was working for. As she walked out of the dining room, she remembered the books she had seen in the room across the hall earlier.

There was no sign of Mr. Towers, and she knew that Mr. Styles would be eating his dinner for the foreseeable and decided that she had plenty of time to make her way over to the sitting room. She took small steps, trying not to make the sound of her shoes on the floor too obvious to the rest of the house. With one last glance behind her, she slipped through the door and closed it as quietly as she could.

If there was one thing, she could say about Mr. Styles, it was that he certainly knew how to decorate a room. His entire house was so beautifully decorated, but so minimal at the same time. Every wood matched, the accents of the rugs and curtains matched in each room, but this room was the one that YN was the most impressed with so far. It wasn’t the rugs, or the chandelier in this room that impressed her, but more so the grand bookcase that covered two walls of the room.

Her feet almost moved automatically as she made her way towards the middle shelf again, ones covered to the brim with books from that same author, H.E. Scott, the author that YN had never heard of. She hadn’t seen such a collection of books before, and she was curious about every single one. Why were there so many? Why did Mr. Styles enjoy this author so much to have what seemed to be every single one of his books?

YN couldn’t help but reach out and take one. It was the third one she decided upon, revelling at the hard backed emerald book with gold lettering on them.

From the Dining Table, H.E. Scott

Nothing about the cover, or even the name gave anything away and that became even more obvious when she opened the book. She skimmed over a few pages, only taking in a few words from each page but it was blatantly obvious that it was a romance novel. It was only until YN was about two-thirds through flicking through the book that she figured out what it was.

Darkness covered his eyes as he looked at her. She had never seen anybody with eyes clouded by such a fierce lust before, and she had never suspected that those eyes would be piercing directly at hers.

His barn, only lit by the flickering oil lamp in the corner was silent, so silent that the void was filled by the pattering of the rain on the roof. The same rain that had caused her clothes to be sodden and clinging to her, showing him every rise and fall of her chest.

“Do I make you nervous?” One little shake of her head and he was taking small and slow steps towards her. She thought that it must have been possible for him to hear the whirring of her brain, and the quicker beating of her chest, “Are you positive about that, kitten?”

“I am,” As he took small steps towards her, she was taking small steps back. That was until she ended up right upon his dining table. Her hands dropped upon the table behind her as his hands spread her legs so that he could stand between them.

“Tell me what you want,” He whispered, moving closer and closer until she could feel his breath upon her skin, “I want you to tell me what you want, kitten.”

“I want…” She whispered back, trying to not make it obvious that the feeling of his lips hovering above her neck, “I want… you.”

“And how do you want me?”

“I want you here.”

“What are you doing?” YN had never slapped a book closed faster in her life.

Seeing Mr. Styles stood there in the doorway, with one of his hands in his pocket looking upon her with a sneer of his face that she hasn’t seen on anybody’s face before in her life knocked her. She was that invested in the book that she obviously hadn’t her the door across the hallway open, or Mr. Styles’ footsteps on the wooden floor on the corridor, and she didn’t hear the door open in front of her.

“Mr. Styles…” YN tried to find the right words, but none were springing to mind, “I was just…”

“You were just what?” He takes one step towards her, and she automatically took one step back, “You were just snooping? Looking through things that don’t belong to you.”

“Mr. Styles… I’m sorry,” YN stood there fumbling on her words, still with the culprit in her hands.

“Don’t let me catch you again,” YN nods and places the book back on the shelf, “I’ll need one of the guest bedrooms prepared for my guests tomorrow. Preferably make it the one opposite my office.”

“Yes sir.”

By the time that the door had slammed behind him, YN didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or scream and what had just happened. One thing that she did know was that she was hungry and had a broth waiting for her in the kitchen that would hopefully fix all of her problems.

After waking up the next morning, YN had spent the day cooking breakfasts and lunches and cleaning bedrooms and dining rooms and sitting rooms. It had been a lot of work, but it was the first day in a while where YN hadn’t even glanced at the clock and prayed for the night to come. She was that busy that when seven rolled around, and the doorbell rang YN was just about ready for it.

As Mr. Towers opened the door, YN stood just behind him to the right waiting to greet the guests and prepare them some drinks. YN hadn’t seen Mr. Styles all day, and after the situation yesterday she decided that was probably the best thing to happen. She knew that she would have to see him tonight during the dinner service, but that was work and she couldn’t do anything to make him that upset, could she?

“Welcome, it is lovely to see you both again,” Mr. Towers greets the couple walking through the door.

YN wasn’t used to the glitz and glamour of high-end London socialites and that became very apparent when Mr. and Mrs. Williamson walked through the door. Mrs. Williamson was petite, blonde and insanely gorgeous stood in the hallway in the most beautiful deep blue gown that YN could only dream about. Mr. Williamson stood next to her; his hand rested on the small of his wife’s back.

“This is Miss. YLN, she’ll take you through to the parlour and get you some drinks.”

YN painted her prettiest smile on her face and led them through to the parlour watching as Mr and Mrs. Williamson sat down upon the sofa.

“Mr. Styles has brought a red wine that he would like to two of you to try,” YN picked up the bottle to show the two of them.

“Then try it we shall,” Mr. Williamson spoke, sharing a laugh between himself and his wife.

YN moved over to the bar cart where three of Mr. Styles’ best wine glasses sat. She poured the first two but hesitated on the third just because she didn’t know when Mr. Styles would be joining the party. She didn’t have to wait very long.

“Well, it seems as though this party has started without me!”

As YN watched Mr. Styles greet Mr. Williamson with a ‘man hug’ and kissed Mrs. Williamson on the cheek, she made sure that she’d poured his wine and walked over to pass it to him. He didn’t look at her, and he didn’t even acknowledge what she had done.

“That’s all,” He still didn’t look at her, “We’ll be in the dining room at eight for dinner service.”

YN nodded in his direction, even though he wasn’t looking at her and left the room. YN didn’t know what kind of meal this was going to be, whether it was business or pleasure, but she knew that snooping to ask questions probably wasn’t the best point of call at this time.

For the first time the whole day, whilst she was finishing off the dinner that she had been making the entire day, she was clock-watching. Her eyes were always placed upon the clock making sure that everything was ready in time, and that she wasn’t late. As the hands clicked towards eight, she made sure that all three plates were ready, and brought them all to the dining room. At that point, Mr. Styles and the Williamsons were making their way over. Laughter rattled around the walls of the house, and it was the loudest the house had been since YN had arrived.

She placed Mrs. Williamson plate down first, followed by her husbands and then finally Mr. Styles’. Mr. Styles and Mr. Williamson were still entrapped in whatever conversation they were having in the parlour, and Mrs. Williamson was listening with a polite smile. YN made sure that all their glasses were refilled, and that she gave Mrs. Williamson a little more than the men which she seemed to appreciate with a look that was sent her way.

“Is that all, Mr Styles?” She asked, addressing Mr. Styles for the first time since last night.

“Yes, that is all,” With a fleeting glance and a slight shake of his hand he dismissed her, and she left the room. The second she was out in the hall she didn’t know what to do with herself.

YN could have some food, but she wasn’t hungry. She had cleaned everything in the house from top to bottom, and there wasn’t anything else that she could sort. One thing that she could do was turn down the guest bedroom ready for Mr. and Mrs. Williamson. She started by walking in the room and lighting some of the candles that were necessary for people to see. Next came turning down the bedsheets and airing them out so that they were ready for the couple when they decided to come to bed.

Once she was happy with the room, she decided that it was probably time to go check on them and their dinner and see if they needed anything. As she opened the door, she was shocked to hear footsteps ascending the stairs. Instead of walking out of the room straight away, she poked her head around so that she could just see the end of Mr. Styles and the Williamson’s walking up the stairs. She knew that she would have to step out of the room if they turned in this direction, but they didn’t. Instead, the couple and the man of the house started to walk towards Mr. Styles’ room at the end of the hall.

YN didn’t know what to think, and she didn’t know what to do. Her eyes almost fell out of her head when he saw Mr. Styles smiling at the couple, especially when they kissed each other. Maybe they were just walking Mr. Styles to his room? Maybe that was it?

YN knew that wasn’t the case when the two of them walked into the room, and with one fleeting glance in YN’s direction, and with what YN could only describe as a dashing smile at her he followed the couple inside his room.

YN didn’t sleep a wink that night. She had no idea what she had witnessed the night before, but she knew that it wasn’t to the standard of high society, or at least not what she knew high society to be like. Whatever happened in that room was unknown to her, and whilst a part of her wanted to know, she also didn’t want to know at all.

The Williamsons had left about an hour ago, and YN had spent the morning washing the linens from their room (which they did use later in the night) and washing Mr. Styles’ linens (at his request). YN didn’t find anything suspicious within the rooms, but she didn’t look for anything.

It was mid-afternoon at this point, and she had finished all her work for the afternoon and was just waiting for the time that she needed to start preparing and making Mr. Styles’ dinner. As she now had this spare time, she decided that it was the perfect opportunity to sit outside with some bread and butter and enjoy her favourite book – Jane Eyre.

She reread the book every so often, even though at this point she knew it word by word. She had been given the book by the man who taught her how to read when she was younger, so it was very well-loved and quite tattered, but YN didn’t care. She found a secluded spot by a tree, near to the back entrance of the house into the kitchen just encase Mr. Styles needed her at any point.

YN was about a third into the book when the back door opened, and out walked Mr. Styles with a cigarette and match in hand. YN hadn’t known that he smoked but seeing him stood there it was something that he had done before. When he turned to the right and saw her, she immediately looked down at her book, as though she hadn’t been looking at him and that he hadn’t caught her.

She heard his footsteps, but she didn’t look up at him. If she looked up, she didn’t know what she would find, and she didn’t know how she would deal with it.

“What are you reading?”

“Jane Eyre, sir,” Her eyes still never left her book, even though she wasn’t reading.

“You obviously like to read.”

She finally looked up at him, confused to see him leant against the edge of the house a few metres away from where she was reading her book. YN thought that she would be greeted by a look of malice, but there was nothing of the sort.

“I do, sir,” She offered him, “It is one of my favourite things to do.”

“I suppose it is,” He nodded his head in her direction, “Seeing as though I caught you snooping in my own collection not long ago.”

“I’m very sorry about that, sir,” She wasn’t, but she had to keep appearances up with the man that employed her.

“No, you’re not,” YN opened her mouth to speak but Mr. Styles shook his head, “You don’t have to be.”

“But they weren’t mine, sir,” A small smile, “I shouldn’t have assumed that I could do such a thing.”

“You can, if you want,” Not a smile in her direction, but more so a less harsh glance than before, “If you would care to borrow a book from my collection you can, but it must be placed back once you’re done.”

“Thank you, sir,” She nodded.

YN was in shock, but she was not going to let him know that. After the way that he had spoken to her a few days prior about the event, she thought that he would never let her touch anything of his unless to clean it or serve it to him.

“Don’t thank me,” He shrugged, “Just let me know what you think of it, once you finish. I assume you’ll be finishing the book you started?”

“Most likely.”

He laughed. A proper laugh. She couldn’t help the small smile that crossed her lips, watching his stern face break out into a smile, dimples in his tanned cheeks showing and everything.

“I look forward to it,” Still smiling, this was new. Then it dropped, “I also want to discuss what you may have seen yesterday, upstairs with my guests and I.”

“Rest assured, sir, I didn’t see anything.”

“You did, we both know you did,” A small lift of his lips, “It is okay, I know it must have been quite a shock to you. But I just want to let you know that it is my work. Or, well, part of it.”

“Sir, you don’t need to –”

“I know I don’t,” He shrugged his shoulders, “But I fear I must, for the sake of my work and yours. What you saw is sometimes a frequent occurrence in this house, and I expect you to take a blind eye to it. If you cannot, then I don’t believe that this is the job for you.”

“Mr. Styles, rest assured I didn’t see anything, nor will I see anything.”

“Good,” He dropped his cigarette on the floor and stumped it out with the sole of his shoe, “Dinner at seven, let it be prompt.”

“Yes sir.”

With that, he left her. YN continued through the evening on autopilot. All she could think about was that once her work was finished, and Mr. Styles was fed and either in his study on in bed, YN could go to the parlour and retrieve that book and continue what she had been reading. She wanted to know what the book contained, and why Mr. Styles had so many of them. She knew that by reading the book one of her questions would be answered.

“I’ll be retreating to my study,” Mr. Styles spoke after YN removed his empty plates, “You won’t be needed for the rest of the night.”

“Thank you, Mr. Styles.”

He walked out of the room before her, and she followed a few steps behind him. As he ascended the stairs, he threw one fleeting glance back at her and continued walking up. YN doesn’t think that she had ever washed plates and cutlery so quickly in her life. Once it was finished, she rushed into the parlour, retrieved the third book on the shelf and rushed back into her room where her oil lamp was waiting for her.

YN knew that she could start the book from the start and try and understand the story before rushing to the part that she had read the last time she had this book in her hands, but it was no use. YN flicked through the pages until she was right back where she was the days prior.

“Your wish is my command, kitten.”

It was the first time that they had kissed, with her sat upon his dining table, soaked from the rain and him stood in between her parted legs. As their lips touched and moved in a rhythm too profound to the blind eye, his hands started to dance the length of her legs. Moving upward from her stocking to the flesh of her thigh that was exposed underneath her skirt.

As his coarse fingertips moved up her smooth skin at a pace that was too slow for her liking, she found a heat pushing over her body that she needed to be put out. It was so fierce and burning so far in the pit of her stomach that she had no idea how he would put out the flames.

He removed his lips from hers, only to move further down her neck until his teeth began to nip and explicit sounds escaped her lips. Everything seemed to be going so slowly, but then it was though a switch turned within him and everything became sort of feverish.

His hands moved from her thighs towards her bottom, where he grabbed the flesh and pulled her even further towards the edge of the dining table. He lifted the material of her skirt up so that it was around her waist and reached for her bloomers, in an instance ripping them straight down the middle until she was exposed to him, all of her was exposed to him.

“May I?” At this point, he was down on his knees, face to face with the heat that was threatening to explode out of her.

“Please, please do it and never stop.”

That was all it took for him to reach out and touch. He used his hands to spread her thighs apart once more and wasted no time to start devouring her.

YN slammed the book shut. Closing her eyes, she tried everything to regulate her breathing, but nothing seemed to help. Her heart was beating out of her chest, and the heat that the lady had been describing within the book seemed to have enlightened within her. This was a feeling that YN had never felt before in her life, and she had no idea what to do with it. So, she decided to read on.

YN read the book, from start to finish in that entire night. YN knew about the relations that took place between a man and woman, but she had never read them in such detail, especially not in such a way between a lady of the house and her groundskeeper. This sort of relationship would be known as a scandal – something that would ruin the lady forever. In the book it was something sensual, and something to be desired. The only word that came to YN’s head after reading that book was desire – the desire to feel like that with somebody.

YN had no idea how to shake herself of that feeling.

“What did you think?”

It was early the next day, and YN had just placed Mr. Styles’ breakfast in front of him along with a serving of tea. Normally, breakfast is silent and after the sleepless night that YN had prior, she was excited for a silent breakfast, a speed through of her chores and then possibly a nap. What she hadn’t anticipated was Mr. Styles striking up a conversation with her.

“What did I think about what, sir?” YN didn’t know that she was going to be playing it as though she hadn’t a clue what he was going on about them.

“The book, Miss. YLN,” He wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin, “I noticed this morning that from the dining table wasn’t in its usual spot. A good choice, if I must say.”

YN couldn’t draw her eyes away from the small smile upon his face. It was as though Mr. Styles was plaguing her, and by the look on his face he knew that he was too. She had no idea how to respond to him, or even how to obtain the words to answer his question.

“It was…” She hesitated, and he raised his eyebrows at her. Was he shocked that she seemed to have no words for him?

“Ground-breaking?” He wiped his mouth with his napkin one last time before placing it on the table and standing up, “Scandalous?” He took a step with each word that left his mouth, “Romantic?” Until he was stood directly in front of her, so close that she could almost feel his breath on her skin, “Sensual?”

YN stood planted to her spot, trying not to crack under Mr. Styles’ gaze but it was a little too difficult. She opened her mouth to speak, but she had no words. It was almost as though he could feel how nervous she was and knew exactly what strings to pull to make it worse. Her breathing was ragged, and she almost felt as though she was turning a little light-headed.

“Yes, sir.” YN nodded her head, swallowing to reduce the coarseness in her throat, “All of those things.”

“And how did it make you feel?”

YN looked down at her hands, and then back up to Mr. Styles. He had a devilish look in his eye, that same look that he had when she had seen him walking into his chambers with the Williamsons. It shook YN to her core, but she had to stand there and answer his questions, even if she didn’t have a single thought in her head that could help her with that.

“It made me feel,” She hesitated for a moment, but said the only word that was coming to her head, “Desire.”

It was the same word that she had mulled over last night when she had finished the book and closed it. After more thought last night, she not only had the desire to feel that with somebody, but the desire to read all the books like that she could. In her entire life she had never read anything which such a scandalous tone, but here she was with a desire for more.

“Desire,” He nodded his head with a smile, “That’s a good one. What did you feel desire for?”

YN cleared her throat, “A desire to read more.”

“Well, there’s a full bookcase of other books in the library for you to fulfil that desire,” He leant one of his hands upon the top of his chair next to him, “But what did you really feel desire for?”

YN felt stuck. In all honesty, she felt as though he could read every single thought that was whirring through her head – she hadn’t a single idea about how that could be possible.

“Mr. Styles I –”

“No, Miss. YLN, I want you to tell me exactly what you felt after reading the book.”

YN nodded, “I felt a desire to feel like that, to be –”

“Kissed like that?” YN nodded, “Touched like that?” Another nod.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

He nodded his head and looked her up and down, as though he was figuring out his next move. YN honestly felt as though she was trapped by him, and by the way that every hair on her body was standing up and her body felt as though it was on fire, she couldn’t decide whether she was enjoying herself or hating every moment.

“Miss. YLN, once you have finished your chores for the day, I’d like you to read the first book on the shelf, Sign of the times, and when you’re done, I’d like you to come and find me.”

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

“Good,” He turns to walk towards the door, “I’ll be in my office, and I do not want to be disturbed until you’ve finished the book.”

With that, he slams the door shut behind him.

It had taken YN just above an hour to finish all her chores, and once she had finished, she rushed to the library with the book in her hand to replace and ready to pick up the one that Mr. Styles had chosen for her. Once she had picked up the book and made her way towards the tree that Mr. Styles had found her reading beneath she sat down and started reading straightaway.

It was a tale of lavish lifestyle, complete with balls and luxury and husband in a manor which had an eye for his wife’s lady’s maid. It was becoming more and more obvious why Mr. Styles had asked her to read this book, and it was making her quite hot under the collar.

It was about halfway through the novel that YN was starting to feel so uncomfortable within her clothing. Her dress felt scratchy against her skin, and her corset felt too tight in all the wrong places. YN was truly captivated by a chapter that takes place within the husband’s office, with the lady’s maid sat upon the desk having only the most scandalous things done to her.

The feeling that she was talking about with Mr. Styles was back. For this book, however, it was certainly more of a desire to feel the way the lady’s maid felt in the book. Compared to the first one she read, there was something so real about this one. She didn’t know if it was because she had so much in common with the lady’s maid, or because the husband had so many characteristics that resembled her employer who was waiting for her to finish the book.

It took her a few hours to finish the book, but she had always been a fast reader and that really helped her do that. Once she had finished the book, and still felt hot under her collar and nervous bubbles in the pit of her stomach at the thought of the next conversation she was going to have.

It felt as though she was acting automatically, walking up the stairs and towards Mr. Styles office without actually telling herself to do so. It wasn’t until she was stood outside of his door, with her hand hovering over the door to knock that reality was kicking in.

With one deep breath, she knocked on the door twice and waited for Mr. Styles to call her in before opening the door.

“Finished already?” YN was surprised that he was the first one to talk, and she was also surprised about how much paper Mr. Styles had piled up on his desk.

“Yes, Mr. Styles.”

“Please, come in and take a seat,” He motions to one of the empty seats in front of him, “And shut the door behind you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Under his intense stare, she felt as though everything else that was happening within the world didn’t matter. The way that he was looking at her, sat behind his grand desk in a suit that complemented his frame in a way that YN had never even thought of until reading those books. Whilst she hadn’t seen much similarity between the husband in the book and Mr. Styles, but the situation was becoming more and more like reality – especially now that she was sat within the walls of his office.

“Now, I want to know what you thought,” He says, leaning forward with his elbows on his table, “I want to know the truth, no trying to hide it.”

YN knew what he was doing, but the problem was that she had no idea how to describe how she was feeling to him without speaking so scandalously to her employer.

“Sir, it was… unlike anything I’ve ever read before,” YN couldn’t help herself. If he was going to ask her for the truth, then she was going to give it to him, “Both of the books were.”

“In a good way, I’m guessing?”

“I’m not too sure about that, Mr. Styles.”

He raised one of his eyebrows at her, “Is that so?”

“It’s just sir, I’ve never read anything like that before in my life and I hadn’t ever thought that a book could be so enjoyable and scandalous at the same time.”

Mr. Styles laughed; a full belly laugh that showed those dimples that YN only managed to see in a blue moon. There was no doubt in her mind that Mr. Styles was a handsome man, and that the books hadn’t sparked something in her that she hadn’t ever thought of before reading them. Every single time she watched the man run his hand through his hair, she wanted to be doing that exact thing whilst his head was in between her legs – just like the scene on the dining table in the first book. It was a scandalous thought, and it made her cheeks flush.

“I take it that you enjoyed it, then?” As scandalous as the book were, this conversation with her employer was seemingly more scandalous.

“Yes, I did sir.”

“What if I told you that I wrote them.”

YN felt as though she was shocked all the way to her core, “Sir, you –”

“I wrote them, yes,” He nodded his head, “I take it that this is a shock to you.”

“Just a little, sir.”

“Did you not wonder what I spent hours and hours doing with all of this paper every day?” He asked, as though he was sort plaguing her for her opinion on the matter.

“I did sir, but I never thought that – you were – doing…”

“That I was writing such scandalous things?”

“Well, yes.”

“Well, that is completely understandable,” YN nodded at his words, because it was very true, “I understand that it is such a shock for you, but without these books there is no house, and no job for you.”

“I completely understand that sir,” YN nodded, not wanting to push any buttons that could end with her losing her job.

“Good,” He nodded his head and tapped his finger on the table, “Now I have a proposition for you.”

YN’s eyes widened at his words, “For me.”

“Yes, there’s nobody else in the room is there?” YN laughed at his joke, even if it was at her expense, “I have a proposition for you to be my editor.”

“Your editor?”

“Are you going to repeat everything I say?” It could have been malicious, if it wasn’t for the smile on Mr. Styles’ face.

“No, sir.”

“Good,” He nods his head, “The main reason I am asking is that my editor has been indisposed and I have a deadline for my next book, and I know that you won’t be shocked by the content anymore.”

“Sir, I haven’t edited book before.”

“I know that,” He stands up and moves as he talks, before resting himself in front of her on his desk, “But it needs to be someone I can trust, and that I know won’t be scandalised by the content.”

“Sir, if I may, just because I have read the content doesn’t mean that I wasn’t scandalised by it.”

“Really?” This seemed to shock him, “So you were scandalised by the book.”

“I think it to be improper if I wasn’t scandalised, sir,” YN was truly shocked that he didn’t think that she would be. Did she come off as an improper girl? “The content you write, that was something that my mother told me was only between a man and a woman in the marital bed.”

He nodded his head, “You can always say no, and just continue to be my maid.”

“I never said that sir,” YN was maybe a little too enthusiastic with her response.

“So, you’ll do it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Great,” He turned around and picked up a large pile of papers and passed it to her, “This is what I have so far, and I can give you a quill and some ink to edit.”

“Okay,” YN was trying her best to balance the papers that she had been given, “Thank you, Mr. Styles.”

YN and Mr. Styles had been working together for the past couple of weeks, with Mr. Styles writing chapters upon chapters and YN editing every single one until they were ready for publishing. They were about a quarter of the way through the book when Mr. Styles hit a block, and YN ended up sitting in his office whilst he paced around the room.

“I need it to be more… pleasurable, I need it to be about her,” YN was nodding her head, flicking through the paper that he had just written, “But I don’t want it to be too similar to the things that I’ve already done and written. I want it to be new.”

YN understood exactly what was being said, and as she was reading, she was trying to have some sort of ideas come to her as to what she could do. This was different to what she had read of Mr. Styles’ books before, and that was a few now. When she had started edited his books, she decided that she would read more just to see how he liked his books to be edited before they were published.

“What if she was the one to take control?”

Mr. Styles stopped his pacing and turned to look at her, “What?”

“Well, you said that you wanted it to be new, and about her,” YN repeated his words, placing the paper down on the desk and turning to look at him, “Why don’t you let her take control? Let her be the one to make the decisions. That hasn’t been shown in your work before.”

He nodded his head, as though he was coming to his senses with what she was saying. It wasn’t too much of a stretch, but Harry so far has written the majority of his characters where the male is the one to take the lead, why couldn’t the female? (YN knew exactly why in some of the cases the female didn’t, but it would be fun to try.)

“It’s a good idea,” He nods his head, finally sitting back down and stopping the pacing that was driving YN a little up the wall, “But I don’t know the perspective, I don’t know what a woman would say in that situation.”

If he was asking her opinion on this situation, then she had nothing to offer him. YN had never been in a situation even remotely close to the ones in his book – all she knew was the conversation she had with her mother when she was younger and everything that she had read within his books.

“Don’t you have any friends that you could possibly ask?”

“It isn’t exactly a conversation that you bring up over dinner, Miss. YLN,” There was a little maliciousness behind his voice, but YN had spent enough time with Mr. Styles over the past few weeks that she knew to take everything he said during his ‘creative process’ with a pinch of salt.

“What about the Williamsons?” A little timider now, but she had to ask, “Couldn’t you ask them?”

“They came to me with their problems, YN,” Mr. Styles explains, “They’ve been my friends for years, and they know what I do. They were having issues in that aspect of their relationship.”

That made a lot more sense now, and whilst YN hadn’t a clue what had gone on behind those closed doors weeks ago, she had a feeling that it maybe was and wasn’t what she was thinking all at once.

“I understand, Mr. Styles.”

He stood up again and started pacing and YN felt as though she was a second away from rolling her eyes, “Maybe you can help.”

“Mr. Styles,” Normally YN’s tone was shocked at his ideas, but this was a complete shock, “You can’t be serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious,” He stops right in front of her, leaning on the desk behind him with his arms crossed, “We don’t have to, but if you want to, you could help me.”

“And how could I do that?”

“YN, if we could get you to experience that pleasure and tell me exactly how you would take control and want that control to be portrayed.”

“But sir, how am I supposed to do that?”

“I would help,” Mr. Styles said, without any hesitancy, “I can help, if you’d like.”  

“Sir, thank you, but I just… I don’t know –” YN looked at him, looking at her as though she was his only option, “I’m sorry.”

Walking out of the room, YN didn’t know what to do. All of that desire she had been feeling to feel like the women in the books was laid out to her on the table, and she ran. She couldn’t say that she hadn’t imagined Mr. Styles in that way, but he was her employer and that would be drawing a line in a way that she hadn’t before.

Instead of Mr. Styles pacing around the room, it was YN. She was pacing around the entire house, cleaning everything that she could and doing everything that she could. By the time that Mr. Styles’ dinner was ready, she had placed it down and left the room before he had even gotten there, and she waited until he was done before going back to clean up.

Once the house had gone quiet, YN’s thoughts were whirring around in her head. She can’t help the heat that had coursed through her entire body at what Mr. Styles had offered all day. It was a little unbearable, to the point where she couldn’t lay still and couldn’t think about anything but his offer.

What would be the problem if she went through with it? He could fire her. She would be scandalised forever. But she didn’t have much going for her anyway, and she had given up the idea of marriage long ago. What if this was her last chance?

YN didn’t know the time, but it was late, and with a candle clutched in her hand she walked out of her room and upstairs. Her feet carried her towards Mr. Styles’ room. She thought that he would be long asleep, and she would be going right back downstairs but at the sight of the light flickering from underneath his door she knew that wasn’t the case.

“Mr Styles?” She knocked on the door, waiting to hear something before she came in, “Are you awake?”

YN heard shuffling from the other side of the door, before it swung open to reveal Mr. Styles stood there with only his trousers on, his suspenders laying vacant by his sides revealing his entire chest to YN. She couldn’t help her eyes wander down to his chest, and across his arms.

“Miss. YLN,” He seemed shocked, but there was also a bit of concern laced within his voice, “Is everything okay?”

“I was just thinking about what you said earlier… about what you offered,” She cleared her throat slightly, “And I would like to help you, if there’s truly no other option.”

“YN,” It was the first time that he had used her name since she joined him. YN didn’t even know what Mr. Styles’ first name was – he wrote his books under a pseudonym, “Are you sure that this is what you want?”

“I am,” She nodded her head, “I promise.”

That was all it took for Mr. Styles to lean forward, grasp her head between his hands and place his lips directly on hers. YN was a little shocked by it, seeing as though she had never been kissed before, but the second that his hands slipped into her hair that had dissipated. It didn’t take long for her to stumble into his room, where he moved his hands down her body until they were underneath her thighs.

“Jump,” YN did as he said, the words that she seemed to understand when he mumbled them against her lips.

With a swift move, Mr. Styles had his hands underneath her thighs and her legs wrapped around his waist. He pushed his door closed behind and walked her towards his bed. This wasn’t the first time that YN had been in Mr. Styles room but kissing him whilst having her legs wrapped around his waist in only her slip was certainly a different experience then cleaning the room.

Mr. Styles placed YN down on the bed with such ease and light touch that shocked YN if she was completely honest. She was nervous, and truly didn’t know what to expect from this but so far nothing was making her feel too scared.

“Are you still sure about this, YN?”

When he mumbled that against her lips, she didn’t know what to do so she just nodded her head and mumbled a, “Yes,” against his lips.

Mr. Styles’ soft lips removed from yours and started to move down the soft skin of her neck, and every once in a while, she could feel his teeth scratching against the skin and also his tongue grazing every once in a while.

He continued planting kisses down her body, across each part of her skin even over her slip. As he continued moving further down her body, he used his hands to push her slip up. It was almost as though he was asking permission to push it further up and reveal herself to him. With one quick nod of her head, he was doing just that, pushing it up until he was face to face with her. It was the first time that anybody had seen her pussy, and there was no time in her brain for her to be scandalised by the thought.

“Are you okay up there?” He asked, moving his hands lightly up and down her thighs.

“Yes, sir,” She nodded her head, “Just… I’ve never felt like this before.”

“I know you haven’t,” He smiles and places a few kisses along the soft skin of her thighs, “I’m going to start now.”

It only started at first with a soft kiss around where YN needed it the most. It felt as though your entire body was going to combust at any moment, and that Mr. Styles certainly knew what he was doing as she was completely dripping for him. She wouldn’t be surprised if she had dripped right onto the bed beneath him.

Within one blink of her eyes, he was kissing directly on her clit. It was a sensation that she’d never felt before, and she didn’t know whether she’d feel it again. He then moves from kissing to licking right up and down her slit, collecting her arousal before bringing it up to circle her sensitive clit.

“Oh, Mr Styles!”

“Harry,” He mumbles against her, sending shivers all the way down her spine, “M’names Harry, say my name.”

“Harry!” It was the first time that he had told her his name, and now that she knew it, she didn’t know if she would every stop saying it.

He smiles against her before continuing to pleasure her. The feeling of his tongue against her pussy had her almost panting. The fact that he knew how to add the exact pressure onto her clit that have her squirming and moaning his name was unbeknownst to her, but he did. Every small sound that she made had him grinning against her, and he must have been enjoying himself them.

He changes from rhymical laps to her clit to teasing it with the tip of his tongue. It was only when he started to gently suck on it that she started to feel a tightening in her stomach. YN’s legs started to shake, and her breath got caught in her throat.

Harry can tell that YN is getting closer and closer, and knowing that he brings fingers under his mouth until he can sink one of them inside of her. It was almost instantly that she started clenching around his finger. YN immediately reaches out and grabs the blanket that screwed up on the bed behind her. When Harry notices, he immediately reaches out his free hand for her to take – which she does with a lasting squeeze. The intimacy of holding Harry’s hand whilst he does this to her is something that she’ll never forget. The squeeze that YN has on his hand is something that keeps her feeling slightly grounded even though she feels as though she’s truly only a second away from exploding.

Harry pushes another finger inside of her and starts to thrust them in and out of her pussy, coaxing something from the pit of her stomach that she had never felt before in her life. It was as though YN could see stars, and as though she could feel everything on her body more and more. YN can feel just how firm his tongue is, every ridge of it and how warm it is. The feeling to YN was indescribable to her, but yet she had read a scene within one of Harry’s own books that describes it. The only thing that YN could say is that the books definitely do not do the feelings justice.

“Harry…” YN started to squeeze his hand tighter, as she was worked closer and closer to a point that she had never felt before, “Harry, its –”

“I know, love,” He mumbles against her, “Just feel it.”

Seconds later, YN does just that. The feeling of her orgasm on Harry’s fingers and tongue was something that had her mouth opening, her eyes falling shut and her back arching. He doesn’t stop as she reaches that point, he continues working his fingers and his tongue and bringing her past that point.

Once she was coming down from her high, he doesn’t stop his fingers all together just slows them down until she pushes him away due to the sensitivity that she was feeling. He laughed and moved further up until he could kiss her again. Her entire body felt numb, but the second she felt his lips on hers she was brought back down to reality and to the feeling of what had just happened.

Once her breathing calmed down, Harry dropped beside on her on the bed on his back. His chest seemingly seemed back to normal as well. YN didn’t know what to say, and she didn’t even know what to think. For some reason, not knowing what to do she couldn’t help but laugh.

“What?” Mr. Styles said, and she could hear the smile on his face.

“Nothing, Mr. Styles.”

“What did I say?” She turns to look at him, and he looks at her too, “My names Harry.”

“Nothing, Harry.”

“You’re cooking something up in that head of yours.”

“No,” YN shakes her head, “No, I’m not.”

“Yes. Yes, you are.”

The only sound that can be heard is YN’s laughter as Harry starts to kiss her neck again.  

YN had spent the last week or so splitting her time up between cleaning and cooking, editing what Mr. Styles was writing and laying between the sheets of Mr. Styles’ bed. It certainly wasn’t a conventional way of living, but YN had never been happier. It was the same for Harry, YN thought. In the few months that she had been with Mr. Styles, she hadn’t seen him as happy as he was now.

Before, he normally kept himself hidden within his office, only ever coming out when it was absolutely necessary that he did. But now, he was always coming out of his office to find her, kissing her and touching her in ways that she craved for more.

The first time that they had sex was a few days ago now, and YN hadn’t wanted to stop. They had been doing it all over the house, in the kitchen, on Harry’s desk, on the dining table and even on the stairs (even though YN would never admit it.) There was even the one time that they did it under the tree that YN had become very fond of in the course of her employment, and Mr. Towers walked around the corner and received the shock of his life. YN didn’t speak to Harry for a few hours, but when he started to attack her neck whilst she was making his dinner, she had no choice but to talk to him.

YN had been planning this for the past day now, and now that he was working in his office, she saw it as the perfect opportunity. It was taking a lot of courage for her to do this, but she knew that she had to do it – for the sake of the book that was.

YN walked up the stairs towards Mr. Styles’ office with purpose, and when she reached his door, she didn’t knock she just walked in. He was sat at his desk (like he always was) with a piece of paper in his hands, obviously reading through something that he had written. At the disturbance of YN walking in, he looked up and at the sight of her just in her slip he couldn’t help the smile at her.

“Is it night-time already?” Unable to stop himself from poking at least a little fun at her.

“No, it’s not,” YN shut the door behind her and started making her way towards him at his desk, “But it is time for something.”

“What is it time for?” He leant back in his chair, allowing for space for her to drop down onto her knees in front of him.

“Do you remember when you first proposed this?” He nodded his head, pretending not to be distracted by her hands working the button on his trousers, “Do you remember what you didn’t know? And what you wanted to know?”

He nodded his head, not being able to think of anything to say as she wrapped her hand around him.

“How would a woman take control?” She teased, running her finger across his tip, “What she would do? And what she would say?”

He moved his hands down, attempting to thread them through her hair.

She tutted and shook her head, “No. Hands by your side.”

He did what she asked, and she decided to finally stop teasing him. She started by just a few kitten lips to his tip, before placing her whole mouth around him. His eyes fluttered shut as she started to take more and more of him in her mouth. Her other hand was cupping his balls, massaging them gently.

“Fuck, YN,” The explicit word just slips out of his mouth, his body completely overridden by the pleasure he was feeling, “You feel so good.”

His hands were gripping the side of the chair he was sat in, so hard that his knuckles were turning white. His breathing was becoming more and more shallow, and she knew exactly what was coming next. This caused her to pull away and for him to moan at the loss of her lips around him.

“Not yet,” She shakes her head and stands up, pulling up her slip until she was bare for him. There were few things that could get her dripping like Harry does, “I didn’t say you could, did I?”

“YN!” His hands come to grasp her hips as she stands up, straddling his waist and lining herself up with him. He watches down between them in anticipation as she sinks down onto him. One of her hands lifts up to grasp her neck, squeezing lightly as she leans down to kiss him. Once he was comfortably inside of her, she started to grind her lips on him.

“Jesus, YN,” He whispered against her lips.

“Feel good?”

Harry opens his mouth to speak, but the only thing that comes out of his lips are another moan. YN continues to lift her hips and drops them back down on him, allowing her head to rest on his shoulders as she does so.

“Do you want to touch me, Harry?” She asks, leaning forward to catch his ear between her teeth.

“Please,” Harry almost begs her to let him touch her, all he wanted to do was touch her and take over.

“Well, I have not decided that you can yet,” YN continues to bounce, leaning back slightly. Her breasts bounce as she moves, and Harry wants to do nothing more than to reach out and touch or take them between his lips.

“YN,” Harry whines, “Please let me touch you, please let me kiss you. Let me take control.”

“No, did you not hear me?” YN continued to bounce up and down, bringing the both of them closer and closer, “You wanted it from my perspective, and that is what you’re getting.”

Harry felt as though he was going to combust. The waves of pleasure were coursing through his body, and he felt as though he was going to tipped over the edge at any second. YN knew that she wasn’t going to have to make him wait much longer, as she was already feeling her own peak closing in on her.

“Are you close, Harry?”

“Yes,” He leans forward to capture her lips on his again, “Please, are you darling?”

“I am.”

“Don’t stop, darling.”

“I am not going to stop, Harry, don’t worry.”

The second YN reaches her peak, Harry does too, and he spills inside of her. YN takes one look at him, with his eyes closed and his head tipped back, hair all over. YN couldn’t help but smile at him, pushing his hair back off his face. Once he opens his eyes he has the biggest grin on his face, and YN can’t help but kiss it off him.

“Was that, okay?” YN mumbles against his lips, and he grins again.

“Okay?” He laughs and pulls her closer, “That was more than okay.”

One Year Later

“YN!” The door slammed shut not that long after the call of her name. She had been sat in the parlour, curled up with a book but at the sound of Harry entering the house. He had left earlier that morning to go into the city centre and YN hadn’t been expecting him back for a while, so she was shocked when he walked through the door.

“In here!” She closed the book that she was reading (not one of Harry’s which may come as a shock).

Harry came bursting through the door of the parlour with the biggest grin on his face that YN had ever seen. He was obviously hiding something behind his back, and YN was positive that she knew what that was.

“It’s ready!” Harry exclaimed, showing her that it was a book that he had been concealing behind his back, “After one long year it’s finally done!”

He walked towards her and sat down next to her on the lounger, passing the book to her so that she could see. Once she had the emerald, green covered book with the gold lettering with the title and the name in gold embossed lettering, YN honestly felt as though she could cry. They had put blood, sweat and tears into for over the past year. But then again, lately anything was making her cry.

“Oh, Harry,” Her eyes did start to water up as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling him closer to her chest, “It’s beautiful.”

“It is,” He places a kiss against her cheek, and she leans into his touch, “I want you to open it. Look on the inside.”

YN opened to the first page, where she saw that there was a dedication page.

To the person that showed me what Desire is,

this is for you, my Mrs. Scott.

“Oh, Harry,” That was it, the tears had truly started to fall down YN’s cheeks now and there was no stopping them, “I love it.”

“I know that it’s a shame that we couldn’t write Mrs. Styles, but for the sake of the book you are my Mrs. Scott.”

“And you’re my Mr. Scott.”

YN closed the book and turned her head, pouting her lips for a kiss from her husband. He obviously obliged, not wanting to upset his wife.

“And soon we’ll have our baby Scott,” Harry smiled against her lips, moving his hand so that it was laid across her protruding stomach.

The pregnancy hadn’t been a shock to either of them, especially since they hadn’t been careful before they got married, but even more so when they did get married, seeing as though the scandalous part of their relationship had gone.

The most shocking thing that happened was the night that they finished the book completely, it was all written and ready to be sent off and Harry got down on one knee and asked her to marry him. YN was more shocked than she could believe to the point where she pinched herself because she didn’t believe it was true. YN never thought that she would even know anyone that she could even see spending the rest of her life with, but Harry was that.

It was a little stressful at first for YN to leave maid mode and move into wife mode but once she fell pregnant it became easier. They also hired a new maid, Dahlia, who came from a very similar situation to YN herself, but she was nice enough and did her job as well as they would like her too.

The thought of Harry even looking at Dahlia the way he had looked at YN hadn’t even crossed her mind. The only way that YN could describe Harry since they were married, and even more so when they found out that she was pregnant was that he was completely and utterly armoured by her.

“This baby is a Styles, Mr. Styles,” YN rolled her eyes at his comment, to which he laughed at her, “This baby isn’t going anywhere near the books.”

“That is true,” He nods his head and placed another kiss on her cheek, “You’re right Mrs. Styles.”

“Have you not noticed that I am rarely wrong?” He laughed and kissed her cheek again.

Even though their relationship came about in a very unconventional (and very scandalous way), YN had never, ever been happier and she had Harry to thank for that – and she would for the rest of her life.

[seenoversundown]

For Death Or Glory : Chapter Eighteen

Jake Kiszka x Charlotte (Fem OC)

Warnings: Some vague spiritual mentions, VERY LIGHT spooky theme, yearning, pining (can you tell it's a jake chapter?) anxious themes, slightly tense conversation? (not an argument don't worry) fluff fluff fluff fluff, may cause butterflies, a lot of physical touch type of affection, and certainly important: Jake is the definition of 'if he wanted to, he would.'

Word Count: 6k 🤭 (couldn't stop yapping this chapter)

Summary: Jake has a cute little surprise for Charlotte, which is why he insisted on her spending the night.

Author's Note: FOLKS- this one is fucking cute. The words just kept flowing and I think we're at a point in the story where this is going to be a trend. (We're in the home stretch, which makes me want to cry, but also-there's just so much to say in the chapters, that I don't foresee them getting much shorter from here on out!) I can't wait to see how you feel at the end 🤭 ((I'm sorry in advance, don't yell at me))

Crystal - Stevie Nicks "Like the love that had finally, finally found me, Then I knew, In the crystalline knowledge of you."

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

God, it’s early. 

I managed to carefully slide out of bed without her waking up, which was already difficult because I wanted nothing more than just to stay curled up around her. But I need to be awake for a little bit before I surprise her today.

She told me when she was upset that her best friend and she had a tradition of going to Salem for her birthday every year. She wasn’t super into the spiritual side of things, but she loves Halloween, and with her birthday only being a few days before, she’s a bit biased. 

Unfortunately, this year, they never made it, and my heart shattered watching her tell me that the funeral was just a week prior to her birthday. I’ve never wanted just to squeeze someone harder than her at that moment.  When I had gone and talked to Josh, I had asked if he minded covering the bar that night because she was so upset and I didn’t have the heart to just.. let her be alone after that. But I told him that I would stop by the bar before I came home so I could talk to him about today. Thankfully, he was happy to take care of everything for the day, with the help of Danny. 

I sip on coffee as I figure out what I’m going to wear for the day, assuming that she will probably look nicer than my typical outfits. I know it doesn’t really matter what I’m wearing, but I want to make sure she has a good day and that I can manage not to look homeless sometimes. 

Grabbing a few things from my closet quietly, I sneak back out of my room so she can sleep for as long as possible. I drop them on the couch, deciding to really just go for it today. 

I pull my hair back into a bun, stealing a little more of Josh’s shaving cream, it’s not super grown in, but I may as well. Taking the time to make sure my face is clean-shaven before waking her. Remembering the fact she said I looked cute on Facetime after I shaved reluctantly, but if this is what she prefers, then I don’t mind.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I sit on the bed next to her, just watching her sleep for a minute. She’s curled up with my pillow, which she must have stolen when I left the room. I don’t want to wake her up; she looks so comfortable. 

Softly, I run my hand down the back of her head, and she doesn’t flinch at all. I gently scratched her back, hoping that the contact would help, but still, she didn’t budge. 

I lean down, kissing her temple and then whispering. “Hey you,” into her. Pressing slow, soft kisses into the side of her face. 

“Mmm..” her sleepy little groan made me laugh. 

Peppering a few more kisses against her cheek, mumbling, “Goodmorning.”

It takes her a minute, but she finally opens her eyes slightly and looks up at me. 

I whisper, “There she is.” 

“Why are you up?” She mumbles, reaching her arms out to me. Wrapping her up in a hug, she tucks her little face into me. Maybe we can just stay like this instead. 

“You should get dressed and come with me. I have a few things I need to do,” I tell her, hoping she’ll not fight it. 

“How dressed are we talking?” 

I sit up a little to look at her, “Um.. we’ll be like.. in public.. Does that help?” 

She touches my face, ignoring my answer, “Did you just shave?” 

“Mhm,” I respond, choking back a laugh. “Come on, sleeping beauty, don’t get distracted.” 

”Your face is soft,” she says quietly, as she’s running her hand down my cheek and holding my chin. 

“Just for you,” I giggle before leaning down and kissing her. “I have coffee for you, too.” 

“What are you up to?” She squints at me; there’s no way she’s figured it out already. 

My eyebrows pull together, “What do you mean?” 

“You’re being extra sweet this morning..” her voice trailing off. 

“Am I not allowed to be nice to you?” I laugh. “I can be mean if you’d prefer.”

She laughed with me this time, “I can’t even imagine that.” 

“I don’t think I could be mean to you if I tried.” I would never. ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

While she’s getting herself together, I pull on the outfit I had picked out earlier. Cuffing the bottom of my pants so they sit nicely with the boots I’m about to grab. Am I hoping that she’ll think I look nice? Maybe. Opening the drawer of my nightstand, the few rings that I have and my watch sit there. I slide on one of the rings and decide to actually wear my watch today. Staring at myself in the mirror, I feel like I look kind of put together? I don’t think I could tell you the last time I tried this hard with an outfit. 

I’m sitting on the couch, just scrolling through emails, when I hear her walking out of the bathroom. I glance up from my phone as she walks over to me. 

Her voice was so low when she finally let out, “Okay, I’m ready.”

I take her in, her sweater tucked into a little plaid skirt, leaving her legs on display even if they’re covered by black tights. Even with a coat over it, she looks so good. I just quietly stand up, still looking at her but unable to form words. 

“Oh,” she squeaks, looking me up and down. “You look cute.” 

“Hah, thank you,” I can’t shake the nerves from my voice when I say it. “You–” I hesitate, not even knowing how to compliment her at the moment. 

“I’m what?” 

“You just look,” I start, glancing down at her again. “Wow.” 

She giggles at me as I struggle to find words, “Stop it!” 

I shake my head as if it’ll help me refocus. I wasn’t prepared for her to be able to look like this on a whim. 

“Alright, you, let’s go.”  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Once we’re in the car, I hand her my phone, letting her pick whatever for music. I had already put an address into my maps, just to at least get me to Salem– assuming that she would have something picked out by the time we got there. We hardly make it to the turnpike before I feel her staring at me. 

“Jacob,” she pauses, “Where are we going?”

“Well,” I glanced over at her for a second. “You said you always went to Salem around your birthday and that you hadn’t gone this year because of everything going on so..” 

“Wait- really?” Her voice was small. 

I reach over, resting my hand on her thigh, “Mhm. I figured it’s not fair for you not to do anything for your birthday, and I’m sure you already know some things you like to do there.” 

She leans over the center console, kissing my cheek a few times before letting a small “thank you” squeak out. 

“Of course,” I can feel my face warm, squeezing her leg a few times.  Her hand holds my forearm gently, and the little bit of contact gives me butterflies. 

“I’m assuming you’ve been to Salem?”

“Not in a long time, so whatever you want to do will basically be new to me.” Her eyes light up, and she quickly grabs her phone. 

She’s quiet for a few minutes, just buried in her phone until she holds it out in front of me, “Loook! We could do this!”  I pull it closer so I can actually see; it’s a video of people getting their aura photos done. 

“We can, if you want,” I tell her. 

She’s precious; the way her face lights up when she’s excited makes me want to just give her everything and anything she wants. 

She spent a lot of the drive there finding little things that we could do and excitedly telling me about them. Even if I had to keep reassuring her that whatever she chose was fine. I don’t think she’s used to people doing things for her.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Her voice is quiet when she asks, “Can we get coffee?” as if she thinks I’ll say no.

“Mhm,” I hum back. “Just pick where from.” The way she gets shy asking for things makes me laugh to myself. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Mhmm,” I giggle, looking over at her. “Whatever you want, Char.” 

After finding the one she had decided on, I listened to her try and decide which drink she wanted to try; the way she was tied between the two made me laugh.

“Whichever one you get, I’ll get the other one,” I whisper to her. 

Her head whips over, “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” 

“I don’t mind,” 

We finally move up to order; I make her go first so I can order the other drink she didn’t pick. Avoiding looking at her when I could almost feel the wind from how fast she snapped her neck to look at me. I pull out my wallet and quickly pay as her jaw slacks open, staring at me. 

“What?” 

“You just-” 

My eyebrows raise as she hesitates, “Don’t worry about it.”

“Well,” her voice is low, looking at the ground for a second. “Thank you.” 

“Of course,” I tell her, grabbing her hand and pulling her over to a table. “I’ll go grab the drinks; make yourself comfortable.”

I pull out my phone while I wait for our drinks to be made. Clicking on the app for our cameras, which I honestly don’t really look at often. I can just look real quick, so I don’t have to bug them. 

Switching between the few, everything seems normal, but I still feel compelled to check my texts. Nothing. 

Me: hey, if you need anything just let me know okay? 

Me: Also, daniel will be there around like 4pm so you won’t have to close alone

Josh: i know! don’t worry about us just go have fun with your lady! 

‘Jake’ gets called, and it pulls me out of my phone. I grab our drinks and wander back over to the table. Her hands reach out as soon as I get close to her; she’s almost vibrating with excitement over it. 

She sips on her drink, letting out little ‘mmm’s as she does. It’s unfair how adorable she is. Thankful that the drink I chose wasn’t terrible, I finally tried it, realizing that she had her eyes locked on me. 

“Here,” I hand her my drink, her eyes lighting up as she takes it from me. The fact she didn’t hesitate to sip on it gives me butterflies. You would think I’d never kissed her with the way my body reacts to basic things she does. 

Josh: do we have more downeast somewhere or is this it 

Josh: it’s not urgent just whenever you get a second 

Mel: do you want me to go in at all? I can just help out if you don’t want me to make drinks. 

‘Motion Detected’  notifications from Josh opening the bar sit on my lock screen. 

“Hey,” she says, bringing me back to reality. Her hand reaching up and tapping in between my eyebrows lightly, “What’s going on?” 

“Just have a bunch of texts from Josh about the bar,” I tell her, trying not to let my eyebrows pull back together. 

Her eyes look between mine as we sit there, “Everything is going to be fine. Danny won’t let the bar burn down.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” I tell her, sliding my phone into my pocket. “Where would you like to go first?”

“Do you want to see some of the witch trial sites?” She asks.  “Or is it too spooky for you?” Followed with a slight giggle as she looked at me. 

“Oh, don’t start with me,” I laugh before deciding to tease her back. “I’ll hold your hand if you get too scared, though.”  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I can tell she really enjoys it here because she can just glance at her maps and then know where to wander off to. She really seems in her element getting to bring me to all these sites. Almost makes me wonder if this is what they would do every year. Telling me about everything that happened in each of the spots. She made sure to point out little details that she really enjoyed. 

My phone has vibrated a few times, and I’m genuinely fighting demons, trying not to look at what it is. Everything is fine. Dan is there. It’s okay. I spend a minute trying to shake the thought and refocus on her as we walk through a little bit of the cemetery. 

“Not too scared yet, are you?” she taunts. 

A slight grin sneaks onto my face, “And what if I was?” 

“Oooohhh, poor baby,” she teases me further, her hand running over my cheek. I know she’s trying to be funny, but hearing her call me ‘baby’ makes my knees weak. The way her lips pouted when she said it also made me wish I could just kiss her freely. 

“I offer to hold your hand, and you just make fun of me?” I let out dramatically. “I see how it is.” Hearing her laugh is worth having to be a bit dramatic. I pout my lip out at her as she giggles at me. 

“I’d take it back,” She starts. “But, you’re cute when you do this.” She taps my bottom lip gently, and I can’t stop the grin that forms when she does. Maybe I am scared. 

“Where else do you want to show me? Or are we just trying to pick up some spirits to bring home with us?” 

She finds a few that she hadn’t been to in a while, leading the way. I would gladly follow her around even if she were lying to me about every single thing. She kept touching my arm when she would tell me things, and it was taking everything in me to stay calm about it. It’s not that deep, Jake. Chill out. I try to tell myself, and then she tells me the history of the next place, and her hand lingers on my bicep for a minute, which makes all the hair on my body stand. 

I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket as we walk to another spot that she’s excited about. It’s not important. They have everything under control. I try to ignore the feeling and focus on her. But the incessant vibration against my leg is making it difficult. 

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

Bzzt.

For fucks sake, what could be happening? 

I pull out my phone for what feels like the thousandth time, seeing a handful of notifications sitting there. 

Josh: imagine I just get super drunk because it’s slow!! 

Josh: i’m so kidding 

Josh: or am I? the world will never know.

Danny: Please just ignore Josh. He’s cackling like a witch behind the bar so I know he’s being a little shit. 

Josh (in the Caravel Chat) : Hear me out- We just close early today for fun!

Sam: why is josh asking me to come help him lol 

Quinn: Did you leave Josh alone at the bar? 

Danny: Everything is fine I swear.

Sam: actually if you pay me for the night, i’ll do it 

Staring at all the texts that have come in, I can’t fight the way my hand rubs over my face. As I’m trying to decide what to respond to first, I feel her hand grab my arm. 

“Babe,” she says, squeezing me gently. My heart is simultaneously pounding at her casual pet name but also aches at the look on her face. Get off your phone, you dumbass. 

Locking my phone and shoving it into my pocket, I look back at her, “I’m so sorry.”

She gently grabs my chin, forcing me to look at her, “I think it’s wonderful how much you care about your job, but they can handle it.” 

“No, no, you’re right. I’m still sorry, and I promise I’ll stop,” comes out a bit sadder sounding than I expected. She leans up, placing a kiss on my cheek. 

“It’s okay,” she says quietly, “I just want you to have fun too.” 

“I am,” I whisper. “Come on, the aura photos are calling our names.”

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

I pull open the door to the little shop that offers the photos, letting her excitedly go in first. She doesn’t go far, just waiting for me to come in with her. There’s someone already talking to the girl working there, so we just wander around looking at the selection of crystals and stones they have. She’s kept herself close to me while I pick up random crystals to look at them closer. Is she nervous? She has such a strong personality when it comes to her job, which I know is part of the gig for her, but it’s interesting to see how she acts when she doesn’t have to be in charge. The fact she has been attached to me from the moment we walked in is throwing me off. 

Hearing the door chimes ring, the girl behind the counter glances over at us. 

“Hi! Did you have any questions?” her voice was bubbly. 

I feel her gently tap my arm, seeing her stare at me from the corner of my eye. I have to fight the laugh when I realize she wants me to ask.

“Actually, yes,” I start. “Is there any chance we can get our aura photos done?” 

“Oh, absolutely!” She says. “Did you want individual ones?” 

“Please,” I tell her. “If you have time, obviously.” 

She laughs boisterously, “Lucky for the two of you– after Halloween, we die off so quickly! I have so much time; I don’t know what to do with myself.” 

She brings us to the area they have set up, explaining the process and how it works before having Charlotte sit down first. She’s so graceful as she gets situated. So, she carefully made sure her hands were in the right place after adjusting her hair a few times. The girl working here was so friendly and was talking her through it to help make sure that she was relaxed, so she got an authentic reading. 

I don’t know what it is about her that is so incredibly captivating, but the entire time, I can’t look away from her. I stand far enough out of the way that she can’t see me, but all I can think is– she is effortlessly beautiful. The feeling I get when I look at her scares me; my heart races, and the way my stomach turns. The witch trial sites could never compare. 

It only takes a few minutes before we’re swapping spots. She, on the other hand, stays within eyeshot for me. Doing everything I can to focus on the employee and not her, I feel myself calm down a bit. The girl leans down to take the photo, and I can see Charlotte in my peripheral. With the soft smile on her face, as she watches, I find myself unable to hold back the full smile as I hear the shutter of the camera.

“If you want, I can give you guys a little explanation of what your colors mean!” The girl offers, and we have the time to kill, so we obviously take her up on the offer. 

  We follow her back up to the counter, where she slides both of our photos over to us. My eyes go to her right away; our colors are not the same at all. 

“Ladies first,” the girl says, nudging Char’s photo forward a bit. “You have quite a bit of red in here, dear. Red typically represents a passionate, intense, loyal person. Depending on the shade of red, it can also have some romantic representations as well.” 

I glance over as Charlotte is just beaming at this girl while she explains. “You also have a little bit of a deeper purple in there, which means you may have something that is bothering you. Some sort of obstacle that you need to overcome.” 

Oh no. My hand finds hers, lightly tapping just to let her know I’m still there. She so softly wraps her hand around my index finger, squeezing a few times, almost like a ‘thank you.’

“And now for you,” the girl taps my photo forward. “You have majority green, which is usually characterized by the person’s nurturing disposition. You embody compassion and understanding. Since yours is also more of a mint green, you must be someone who just radiates peace and serenity to those around you.”

Charlotte’s soft laugh, “Sounds about right.”

“You’re obviously welcome to look up more about the meanings behind the colors! I just figured I would give you a baseline of what they mean,” she tells us.

“No, thank you so much for that, actually,” Charlotte finally chimes in.

The girl chuckles as she runs my card for everything, looking at me as she hands it back, “You know it’s kinda cute; your aura colors complement each other well.” Shooting me a wink as she glances down at the photos. Why is she trying to torture me?

There’s no way my face isn’t a little red at her comment, and then I glance over at her; the subtle pink in her cheeks makes me feel less insane. But is she just embarrassed, or is she into that? 

“Thank you again,” I tell her as we go to leave, pushing the door open for Charlotte to go out first.  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“Where to next?” 

Her excitement is palatable, “Oooo, I have an idea!” 

I watch her as she leads me to another little shop that she likes to look through. My heart feels.. different as I watch her. Seeing her get excited over these things that she looks forward to year after year, the way she just beams back at me like I’m the one who founded this town. She keeps holding my hand, and even when she lets go to show me something, she always finds her way back to it. She walks so close that she bumps into me constantly. Okay so.. I have a crush on her.. But how could I not? 

Her sweet face when she turns to me with something that she’s found. I don’t know what’s worse, the soft sparkle in her eyes or trying to focus on anything beyond how perfectly painted her freckles are over her nose. Her little voice every time, ‘Jacob look!’ she would whisper, made me laugh to myself. 

“Do you want it?” I whisper after she’s shown me just about everything in the store. 

And she’s suddenly shy again. 

“No, no, it’s just cute,” she tries to backpedal. 

I take the dainty chain bracelet from her, “It’s very cute.” Inspecting it closer, knowing I’m going to just hold onto it even if she tries to fight me on it. She can’t just show me a million things and think I’m not going to offer to get one of them, at the very least, for her.

I go to set the bracelet back in its place, “Do you want to keep looking around?”

She nods quickly, grabbing my free hand gently. As soon as she turns her head, I pull the bracelet back to me, keeping it tucked in my hand so she doesn’t see it. 

We spent a few more minutes wandering around with her, continuing the same routine of finding something she liked and turning to show me. 

“We can go,” her soft voice rings as we’re walking towards the front. 

I look over at her, fighting the urge to smile, “Give me like two minutes.” 

Walking up to the counter, I hand the bracelet to the employee, knowing there’s no way she isn’t going to notice. Her hand tightened around mine as they dropped the bracelet into a little paper bag, handing it over to me with my receipt. 

Tugging her behind me as we leave, I turn to her, holding out the bag, “For you.” 

“You’re so–” She starts, but pouting her lip when she’s stumped for words. “Thank you, babe.” 

Please just keep calling me that. If I thought her pet naming me woud be bad, I was severely unprepared. 

“Can you help me?” She sweetly asks, holding up the ends of the bracelet to me. 

I grab them from her, and she holds out her wrist for me. Something about the motion of clasping this little chain on her feels like time has slowed. The look on her face, her skin is so soft, and the dainty bracelet looks so perfect on her. I turn it around to see the little charm that’s on it, just holding her wrist for a second. ‘Crush’ may not be the word anymore.   ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

We spent a little while wandering in and out of shops throughout the little street. As we walk further, the iconic Witch House comes into view. A giant black house with three distinct peaks in the roof, it’s hard to miss, but she still points it out to me. 

“Ooooh! We used to take cute pictures in front of it every year.” 

“Are you saying that you want a picture?”

“Maybe,” She grabs my hand, tugging me along with her. She pulls her phone from her bag, and I reach my hand out, thinking that she just wants me to take it. “No, come here.” 

She pulled me close to her and reached out to take a picture of us. She wants.. a picture of the two of us? My arm wraps around her waist gently as she tucks herself into me; she beams at the camera; her smile could light up a room at this moment. 

“You better show off those teeth, Jacob,” she says, making me chuckle to myself. Smiling but looking at her, I can see her clicking the shutter button out of the corner of my eye. 

“Um, do you guys want me to take one for you?” a stranger quietly interjects as they’re passing by. 

“Oooh, yes!” she quickly hands them her phone. Okay, we’re doing this now, haha, that’s so fine. 

She comes back to me, leaning into my side and letting her hand rest on my stomach. Oh, uh.  My arm pulls her into me, and my hand sits on her lower back; I can feel her staring at me, so I glance over. Her lips pulled into the cutest smile; I swear she could feel my heart pounding. Her eyes dropped to my mouth and then back up, making me fully smile at her. 

“Perfect,” she whispers as she looks over at the person, but I don’t want to stop looking at her. I force my head to turn away from her. I looked over to the camera and felt her leaning against me slightly. It takes two seconds before they start walking back over with her phone. She clicks on her camera roll, quickly swiping through them and thanking the person for helping. She turns to me as she looks through them again. 

“Stop, this one’s so cute,” she turns it to me. They caught me looking at her.. We look like a couple; my stomach tenses at the thought. I... Watching as she sends me a bunch of them, taking a second to favorite a couple of them so she doesn’t lose them. “Oh wait, this one too!”  The one moment of her looking at me, her hand sitting on my stomach and full teeth smile on display, looking right at her– my heart flutters at the sight of it. I hadn’t considered how we look together.. from someone else’s point of view. I look like I’m in lo—.

She cuts me off, “Do you want to get some food? I don’t know how late you planned on being here, but at least then, we aren’t starving on the drive home.”

“Um, yeah, we probably should,” I stumble over my words for a second. “Was there somewhere you had in mind?” ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

We wandered around for a bit trying to decide what we wanted. It probably would have gone quicker if we focused and weren’t talking about all the things in the window displays as we passed them. But the way she hardly let go of my hand the entire time, I wasn’t about to stop her from doing whatever it is she wanted. 

We almost walked past the restaurant she decided that she wanted to try, but I think if you looked hard enough, you would have seen the smoke from how fast she hit the brakes when she realized it was next to us. It was a treat for me to see her so.. joyful. 

The server dropping off our drinks and taking our order, we have time to just stare at each other and I listen to her tell me how she’s been looking at this place on instagram for a while. 

I finally ask, “Was this a good surprise at least?” 

“Are you kidding? Of course it was,” she said, leaning forward with a sweet little grin on her lips. 

“I know it’s not the same, but—“ 

She stops me quickly, “If I didn't think she’d hear me, I’d say it might be even better.“ Don’t tell me that. 

“I don’t know about that,” 

“Hey,” she almost scolds me. “It was very sweet of you– no but’s allowed.” 

I giggle at the tone of her voice, knowing she would absolutely yell at me if I kept going. The server dropped off our food quietly as we kept talking about the little things we saw today. She kept asking what I liked most, and I couldn’t be honest because it was just getting to be with her.  She told me about how she and Cass would always try to find new things every year, but they also just enjoyed wandering through the same historical sites because it was just interesting to see. 

“Are you still panicking over the bar?” She asks, scooting her plate away from her. 

It hits me that I’ve been distracted enough that I hadn’t even looked at my phone. 

“Actually.. I hadn’t thought about it,” I tell her. 

She fakes a gasp at me, “Well, look at that.”

“Growing up so fast,” I giggle.  Or it could be the fact I spent the whole day getting to watch a beautiful girl smile at me for bringing her here. 

“Proud of you,” she whispers with her foot grazing my leg. 

She’s absolutely killing me. 

Our server came over with our bill, and I had just held my hand out for the little black folder. I slid my card in without hesitation and handed it back to them. I quietly let out a small ‘Thank you’ as they took the small folder away from me. I look back over to her, and the pink tint to her cheeks is more noticeable than I’m sure she’d like. What is she blushing over? 

“You okay?” 

“Mhm,” she hums back.

“You sure?” 

“Yes,” she laughs. “..just you.” 

The server comes back with the folder, taking my card out. I can feel her stare as she watches me sign the receipt and slide cash into the folder for their tip. I look up at her and softly ask, “You ready?” Letting her lead the way out, my hand found its place on her lower back, trying to keep her close to me. 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

“It’s so cute here when it’s dark out,” she says as she’s looking at all the shops lit up now that the sun is set. 

I just watch her take everything in, the pure joy on her face, and my heart feels like it’s melting for the hundredth time today. She slides her hand into mine, leaning into my arm and wrapping her free hand over my bicep as we walk. What is she doing? 

“Thank you for everything today,” She squeaks out. 

I look over, placing a kiss on the side of her head, “You’re very welcome.” 

She stops walking, tugging my arm lightly. I turn around to face her when she closes the gap between us. Tilting her head back slightly as she leans into my chest, leaving a few sweet kisses against my lips. 

“I’ve been waiting for that all day,” she mumbles into me. She’s been waiting? I COULD HAVE DONE THAT SOONER?

“I’m sorry, hun,” I mumble back. “I’ll just have to make up for it now.” Earning the biggest smile out of her, making me laugh at how eager she just got. 

“In that case,” she laughs, wiggling herself out of my arms but grabbing my hand instead. “Let’s go, baby!” 

After a lovely little walk filled with giggles and a few more pit stops that she insisted on just to give me a kiss, we finally made it to the car. I can see her trying to readjust to be more comfortable, moving her legs around every which way. 

I look over at her, letting out a small ‘hey’ before patting my leg. I reach over, carefully grabbing her ankles and pulling her legs out over my lap. We sit in the comfortable quiet for a bit, whatever song she’s chosen playing softly while she just looks through her phone. My hand hasn’t left her since I moved her legs. Rubbing little circles on her ankle or just sliding up the side of her foot. Anything to keep some sort of contact, and she doesn’t seem to mind. 

She reaches over, lightly running her fingertips over my cheek. It’s hard not to smile at it; she’s so fucking cute. 

“Your face is still so soft,” she giggles. 

“I wanted to look nice,” I admit. 

She rebuttals quickly, “You always look nice.” 

“Mmm,” I start. “But standing next to you all day, I wanted to make sure I at least looked half as good as you.”  ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The drive home felt short in comparison, but the lack of anxiety I felt this time probably helped. We immediately head up to the apartment, surprisingly avoiding the bar.

“Sooo..” I start, keeping my voice low as I sneak up behind her, sliding my arms around her waist. “The bar doesn’t close for a couple more hours..” 

She twists around in my arms to face me, “Jacob, you’re not about to go to work right now.”

“That wasn’t my thought, but thank you for that,” I let out in the most monotone voice. 

“Oh! Are you turning a new leaf already? One day of me pestering you to stop working is all it took?” She teases me with a little smirk plastered on her face. 

“You really don’t have to make fun of me,” I say, letting my hands settle on her hips. “But, yes— maybe it helped.“

Her hands held the sides of my face, “It is nice to just enjoy you outside of the bar.” 

I mumble back, “Is that so?” 

“Mhm,” Her body leans into me. “I don’t have to share you with anyone else this way.” You’re not sharing me in there either, trust me. 

“Are you trying to say you want more attention?”  I question her. 

“From you? Absolutely,” her voice is so sexy; my body feels like it’s on fire. I want quite literally nothing more than to do that.

Pulling her into me, I whisper, “What kind of attention do you want, hun?” 

“Mmmm…” She hums, before her head tilts slightly and with a delicious little smile on her lips. And then she whispers, “You’re full of surprises today; why don’t you decide, babe?” 

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Nineteen

FDOG Master Post | Masterlist | Playlist

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[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! Here are all the amazing fics I read this month:

Hiding Green Smiles | HoldingOnToChaos | [45k] Louis’ heart is racing in his chest. The idea of temporary bonding—letting Harry bite down right on that spot without it being a real bond—makes his mouth go dry. He didn’t even know something like this existed! His mind fills with all the possibilities and questions. What’s it going to feel like? How will it affect his orgasms? How will it affect Harry’s knot? What parts of a bond does it simulate? When Louis goes with Liam to a hidden sex shop, he discovers a new sex toy, the BiteMat, and he can't believe his luck. He loves being bitten, has a biting kink, even, and now he can be bitten over his bonding spot without the fear of anything permanent. He hastily buys it to try with Harry, his friend and roommate, and his regular heat/rut partner for the last eighteen months. They've been friends-with-benefits outside heat or rut for eight months now, and Louis' been desperately in love with Harry for at least five of those months. -- Or the BiteMat fic

Secrets in Winter | softfonds | [82k] If Harry Styles thought he was going to have a peaceful winter while staying far away from the rake who lived across the street, he was sorely wrong on two fronts. A Victorian AU.

Don't Change Me | Sharyn28 | [157k] Once in every fifty years, the moon shines brightly over the town of Holmes Chapel for 24 hours. The moment it turns red, any alpha pack leader becomes incredibly and outrageously powerful. For approximately two hours until it subsides, the alpha has the power to change any secondary gender. For example, an alpha can turn another alpha into a beta or omega and so forth. It doesn't matter if the chosen person agrees or disagrees, they have no choice. Once the decision is made, there is no turning back. All it takes to seal the deal...is the alphas howl to the moon, proclaiming their intentions as they stand around a bonfire, where the change will take place immediately. How is Louis going to react when his best friend and alpha leader retracts his alpha status, turning him into an omega so they can mate? Especially when Harry doesn't talk to him about it first.

Drop and Draws - What a feeling | Elmeiko88 | [50k] Ever since he presented as an Alpha, Harry can't stop drawing the same person over again. Louis, since long before he presented as an Omega, has always had behavioural problems... When Niall sees one of Harry's drawings, it becomes clear that these two must meet, and quickly. Everything should be easy, shouldn't it? Except, perhaps, Louis is on the other side of the Atlantic, firmly attached to Ricky...

You Could Give That Aspirin the Headache of Its Life | LetTheMusicMoveYou | [3.6k] Louis had once heard that the chances of being struck by lightning are 1 in 700,000. He wonders now, how those odds compare to randomly being seated next to your ex boyfriend on a 10 hour flight. Honestly, if the universe is going to insist on ruining his life, he really would have preferred the lightning thing. (Or the one where Louis is a football player who gets stuck on a flight with his ex-boyfriend Harry. The universe might be conspiring against him, or is it?)

The Room Thief | 2tiedships2 | [12k] Louis: Can I come over? Need your help. Niall: Did someone die? I don’t need to help you bury a body do I? Wait, did you behead one of your alpha flatmates? I hope it was the one that smells like cherries. That is such a weird scent for an alpha. It’s disturbing. And I can’t even smell it. Louis: I’ve just been kicked out. Can I crash on your couch? Niall: Zayn’s in class. I’m here so get over here NOW. Louis: Thanks mate. Gonna pack a few things and will head over. Be there in about a half hour. --- When Louis comes home and is confronted by his knothead alpha flatmates, he knows it won’t result in anything good, but he didn’t expect to be left homeless, effective immediately. He definitely didn’t expect to fall for the specific knothead who stole his room.

i would know you from touch alone | staybeautiful | [73k] They had never been face to face before now. They’d never touched, skin to skin, until Harry landed a punch to his face, high on his cheekbone. Louis shoved him off and was pulling his fist back from Harry’s abdomen before he realized his face wasn’t tingling because of the pain. It pooled out from his cheek, over his face, down his neck and spine. A shiver in the late September night. Heat, sparks - whatever you wanted to fucking call it. or The Tomlinson and Cox gangs have hated each other for over forty years. Harry Styles, the grandson of Gritty Cox, was freshly back to the city after uni when, on his first night out, he punched the Tomlinson heir in the face. It shouldn’t have mattered, their gangs have done worse to each other. But all it took was one single touch to recognize your soulmate. Louis was adamant that being soulmates changed nothing, not who they were or which family they were loyal to. Or, at least, it shouldn’t have.

In Jest | LadyLondonderry | [4.8k] Louis, who smiles at Harry as he reclines in his chair. Louis, whose soulmark is visible thanks to his low-cut top. Louis, Harry’s soulmate, who seems to either be blissfully ignorant of that fact or maliciously ignoring it. Harry would really like to know which.

find a way (to send me a sign) | we_are_the_same | [666] Everything is dark, and Louis feels like he can’t breathe. For a moment, he is unsure what woke him up, until he hears it again. The soft buzzing of his phone on the bedside table. He pushes down the duvet that’s been covering his face and squints at the clock, the red digits telling him it’s exactly 3:00 AM. Rubbing at his eyes, Louis swallows back a yawn and reaches for his phone, intent on swiping the call away until he notices the name on the display. His heart jumps as he brings the phone to his ear. “Harry?”

Into The Mist | babyhoneyhslt | [63k] Sneaking on board the famous pirate ship Compass Arrow to get a story for his journalist father, Harry must do everything to keep a low profile. But when one of the crew discovers him, hiding from the ruthless Captain Tommo becomes almost impossible.

Tea Thyme | Fandom_Larry | [10k] In a town where omegas are expected to mate young, Harry finds himself still single. Instead of finding love, he chooses to live his life pining away for an alpha far above his class. That is until a mysterious courting gift shows up at his shop. What happens when he lets go of his dream and holds out for reality? Is it possible to still get everything he wants? Only the fates know.

Something About You Feels Like Home | MarWritesStuff (Ta_Ma) | [40k] When Harry starts paying attention, he feels his tummy fluttering. The singer is gorgeous in an almost ethereal way. He can tell that the man is an alpha just by looking at him, and he’s shocked to feel himself getting slightly wet. or The one in which Harry is a sheltered and inexperienced omega, brought up in a very traditional family, who just moved alone to London to finish his studies. There, he attends a concert by indie band The Rogue. Louis is the lead singer of The Rogue and is a bit tired of not finding a connection. Harry wants to let go of his family's rules and restraints, and Louis wants to find an omega to cherish and take care of.

[xxaraaq]

𝙎𝙥𝙤𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙚 𝘾𝙤𝙤𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙚

masterlist

word count | 5.6 k

cw | suggestiveness, smut, that's really it

Choso x Black!reader

A/N | Sorry that I haven't posted in a long time. This is really shitty but I wanted to post something for Halloween before I probably disappear again. I hope you enjoy. Also, the costume is the first one when you click on the link.

Choso wasn’t one to be at any type of social event, much less a Halloween party. He hated everything there – from the alcohol filled bodied rubbing against each other to the shitty costume, he could barely stand the thought of it.

He’s always preferred to stay in and watch any horror movie franchise ranging from Saw to the Conjuring. It was one of the best ways to spend the night in his opinion, and he wouldn’t think in a million years that it would ever change. 

Until you.

He doesn’t even know how he bagged you, with the fashion sense of a borderline homeless man, to a face he would consider as pale as a corpse. But he did, and easily at that. You were obsessed from the moment you saw him in the dining hall. It was early – around 8 AM, when you first met. He made your heart drop down to your stomach, and you knew then and there that you were gonna have him.

Safe to say he was surprised when you came up to him in nothing but a hoodie, pj pants, and a bonnet asking for his number. He thought you had him mistaken for somebody else, even looking side to side with a look full of confusion. “Ain't nobody behind you if that’s what you're looking for.”

He looked at you before looking at your phone, taking it in his hand before quickly typing his number into it, “Here you go.” He says, an unreadable look on his face. You chuckled playfully, taking your phone with a confidence he’s never seen before. “I’ll see you later I guess.” You smirk, walking away with an extra sway in your hips.

What the fuck is wrong with me, saying ‘here you go’, shit is mad corny, he thinks to himself, a grimace forming on his face.

Your relationship with him grew fast after that, constantly spending time with each other in your dorms, doing everything from watching shitty comedy movies to talking shit on half of the professors. Seeing you was the highlight of his day, and vice versa. It didn’t help that you were a tease though. With all the lingering touches and possessiveness, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

You’ve always had a confident and solid aura, and it didn’t stop when it came to him. You knew that he wasn’t experienced – at least not as much as you – and you honestly didn’t care. You loved when he would go short of breath when you gave him hickies while he was supposed to be doing homework. And you loved it even more when he would moan, whimper even, when you slowly grinded against his crotch. It was a fun game for you, but you were getting restless. 

So when one of your friends told you about the halloween party being hosted that Saturday, you knew that it was your chance. 

“Baby pleaseee, we’ll look so cute together.” You whined, moving the hairs out his face. “Do we have to? Being around that many people for that long doesn’t really sound like an ideal setting to spend Halloween to me.” He sighs, gently grabbing you by the waist, pressing chaste kisses on your shoulder. “You wanna make me happy?” You ask, turning to face him. “Of course I do.” He sways back and forth with you. “Then you’ll do this for me, right?” You say, sultry tone lacing your voice. He stares at you in contemplation, and that’s when you know you have him. “Who do you wanna be? He asks, groaning in defeat.

It works every time.

—

“Choso, come here please.” You ask, pulling your stockings up to your mid thigh. “Come, lemme take a picture of you.” taking your phone. You posed, before taking it back. You knew he wasn’t going to, so you didn’t even bother to take a picture of him. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.” You say, dragging him out the door.

By the time the two of you got there, it was already packed. Music rattling every known surface and people already out in the front yard. When you stepped in the house, the smell of smoke and other substances hit your nose like a truck. You grabbed his hands, leading the two of you to the kitchen.

 “This is soo fun.” He says, pouring you a drink before pouring himself one. “Stop being a pessimist Choso, we just got here.” You say, rolling your eyes. You can tell he’s getting a second and high by the way his eyes are already lidded. “You ok? You're staring y’know.” You joke, taking the rest of your drink down before stepping closer to him. “Oh I am? What, you don’t like it?” He teases, eyes darkening as he pulls you close.

 He breathes in your scent, almost moaning as he feels himself harden. You giggle, dragging your hand against his clothed erection. He hissed at the sudden feeling, but you retract before he gets the chance to fully enjoy it. “Don’t be a fucking tease.” He says lowly, taking your chin in his hand. “You gonna do something about it?” You say, gliding your hand under his shirt. He chuckles, taking your hand in his before leading the two of you upstairs. 

–

You don’t know how it progressed so quickly, but it did. One minute you were making out, practically tearing each other's clothes off. Next, you were grinding against each other like dogs in heat. Now, he was fucking you into the mattress.

“Ohhhh fuckk.” He groans, digging crescents into your hips as he pounded into you. You moaned like a pornstar, gripping his muscular arm as you fucked back. From the way he was hitting your sweet spot like a man starved to the way his balls hit your clit every time he bottomed out in you, you didn’t know how much longer you could last.

“Choso,” you whined. “S’good, sooo good. Keep fuckin’ me like this.” You cry out, tears staining the pillow. He took all of you in, from your angelic moans to the way your ass bounced on his pelvis, it was almost too much for him.

Almost.

“Shhh, it’s ok baby, you’re doing so good. S-so good for me.” He sighs, leaning over to press light kissed on your back. He gripped the back of your neck, pulling you back to create a near perfect arch. “You so pretty like this baby, fuck, so pretty.” You could tell that he was about to cum, and you smiled at the fact. “Cum in me.” You gasp out, hand coming to reach for his. “You want me to cum in you? Hmm” He asks, thrusting into you with more fervor than he has the entire night.

“M’cumming, m’cumming, m’cumming.” You chant like a mantra, seeing stars as you cum. “M’close, so close.” He says, still fucking into you. You whine at the overstimulation, slyly going forward to escape his ministrations.

“Where you going? Stop running from this dick, take it like a good girl, okay?” He says, pulling you back as his thrusts become sloppy. You take what he’s giving you, eyes rolling back. “Best pussy I ever had.” He moans, cumming with his final thrusts.

He lays down next to you as you both catch your breath. “If I knew you fucked like this, I would’ve taken you to a party sooner.” You laugh, rolling over onto his chest. He wraps an arm around you, tugging you close. “You make me cum like that again, I’ll go wherever you want.” He says, placing a chaste kiss on the side of your head.

His view on Halloween parties has definitely changed.

-Nene

[ephemerasnape]

This is the self insert/OC fairy. 🌼🧚‍♀️When you get this in your ask box, please tell us 3 facts about your S/I or OC and pass it around. Let's learn about each other's S/Is/OCs! 🌈🌷

Well my self-insert being me is kind of boring, so let's talk about Oswald, although I don't really see him as an original character, but That Exact Guy™. Having added two chapters to Paying the Piper in the past 24 hours or so he has been on my mind a lot lately...

Name: Oswald Tarrington Age: 19 Nationality: English Blood Status: Unknown father, pureblood mother, making him at least a half-blood. Occupation: Ashwinder Scout (Extortionist in charge of collecting tribute for the Rookwood Gang in Hogsmeade) Physical characteristics: Auburn hair, pale skin, pale green eyes, average height, slim build. (See above: he is that exact Scout.) Personality: Practical, can play the role of the menacing Ashwinder well, but he's not particularly cruel and has a soft side. Aspirations: Leave the Ashwinders for a better life, preferably one that does not involve sleeping in a tent year-round. History: Oswald never knew his father and his mother died when he was young, so he was raised by his grandparents. When they also died while he was attending Hogwarts, he became homeless over holidays, and dropped out to join the Ashwinders out of necessity at about 16. He's lived in a tent on the outskirts of Hogsmeade ever since. A more generous headmaster might have stepped in to help but Black could not have given less of a fuck. Hogwarts House: Slytherin.

There's a basic profile for Oswald. Sorry, I lost the plot before I wrote all that then looked back and saw it was supposed to be three fun facts. Here are some "fun facts" about our favorite Scout that aren't in any of my fics:

1. He's a lightweight, and it's gotten him into trouble. 2. While he acts tough, he's never actually hurt anyone. At least not physically. 3. Oswald's not aware of it, but a certain notorious dark wizard has taken a special interest in him.

Happy to answer any questions you might have about Oswald. Thanks for the ask, @esolean

[cupcakes-and-pain]

Charles & Ollie: Past

Hey guys. Um. It’s been a while since I’ve written. Sorry. Anyway! I really love this piece. It’s also much longer than most chapters I write, I’m pretty sure. Almost 2.8k words. So that’s fun.

Enjoy!

CW: pet whump, slave whump, refusing to use someone’s name, insults, perceived abandonment (technically not real), fear of punishment, self hatred, unreliable narrator, drug trafficking, drugging mention, police, starvation, escape/running away, homelessness, fear of death

Masterlist

— — —

It had been a normal day.

Wake up, make breakfast for Master, kneel quietly, and hope that he did well. Hope that he wouldn't have to spend the next few days tied up, bleeding, and starving in the basement. It was always his fault for being so stupid and deserving to be punished, but he could hope. Not want, of course, that'd never be allowed. But he could secretly wish and dream for a time when Master was forgiving.

Luckily, Master didn't find anything wrong with his pet's behavior that morning, so he set out. But not before giving his slave a strong kick to the ribs to keep him in his place. Pet preferred the kicks, the other choice for a daily reminder was a slap. Pet hated the hand marks. They made his already hideous face look even more ugly.

Pet set about his chores, washing the dishes and wiping the counter. He caught his blurred reflection in the polished granite. His collar was tight around his neck, the little tag hanging from it jingling.

He touched it gently, longing to hear his Master say the name written on it, just once. He knew that he needed the reminders because he was so stupid and useless. He'd forget his place if he wasn't called names all day. "Slave. Pet. Stupid. Ugly. Mutt. Useless. Fleabag. Bitch. Dog." On and on, all the cruelest things Master and his friends could think of, perfectly suiting for the crushed and bleeding thing that so often laid at their feet.

But Pet longed to hear his name, his real name, so badly. It had been so long, he knew it was bad, he knew he was selfish and worthless and dumb. But... no one would know, right? If he said it, just this once? Such a tiny word, only two syllables.

"Ol-"

The door flung open, and Pet jumped back, arms above his head. It was like the ground crumbled beneath his feet, and his stomach dropped. He fell to the floor, curled up, trying desperately to protect his most vital organs from attack. Had Master been waiting for this? He knew that his slave would mess up, didn't he? And he was just waiting to beat the living daylights out of the useless, worthless, disgusting piece of flesh that he owned.

"Hey, no, stupid dog. Come here." Master hauled him up off his feet and dragged him towards the basement. Pet whimpered but was in awe that Master was able to hold his fury in until they got to the basement. Usually, he'd just beat Pet wherever he was and make him clean up the blood from the floor and carpeting later.

"M-master, please, I-"

"Shush. You know what, hide! I'll be back in a few days. Some guys might come through, maybe a cop or two. Listen to me, you pathetic excuse for a dog." Master grabbed Pet's face roughly, fingernails digging into his cheeks. He was forcing Pet to look into his eyes, something that was rarely allowed. But it must be okay this time if Master was the one causing it.

"You have to understand.” Master said, “Do. Not. Come. Out. For. Anyone. However you need to do it, just get it through your thick skull. Don't stop hiding until I come back and say it's okay to leave, okay?" Master half-heartedly threw him to the floor, his slave more confused than he had ever been or probably ever would be. With one last disapproving glare, Master left.

Pet never saw him again.

- - -

It was true, he soon learned, that many people would be coming through the house. Pet feared he would feel lonely and bored while waiting, but there was a lot to keep his thoughts occupied and off of... other things.

First, cops searched the entire building. Pet heard them and dashed to a tiny closet in the basement, wedging a piece of wood in the handle on his side of the door. The police tried and failed to get in and even discussed cutting it open with an ax. Pet trembled, sweat dripping off his forehead while he tried to stop himself from hyperventilating.

Eventually, though, one of them protested, not wanting to do more work when they already had evidence. And so they left, making the house silent and (somewhat) stress-free once more.

Other people came and went too, talking and cursing. Most of them Pet recognized as the voices of Master's friends. He knew better than to listen to people's conversations, but they all kept mentioning drugs and pills, the type that had once been used on Pet. He remembered the experience, although things were still a little fuzzy.

It made his head hurt for days afterward, but at the moment, everything had felt so nice and peaceful for a few minutes before the blackout. When he woke up, he was covered in bruises and cuts, but it had still taken a few minutes for the relaxation to wear off and the pain to settle in.

Master had gotten very upset that his friends wasted the pills on a pet, after "everything he went through to get them." Despite already being beaten just an hour ago, Pet was punished severely for taking the pills. He had wanted to protest that the men had made him, but he knew better. The men were superior to him. They couldn't be faulted for it. So the blame must lie with Pet. It must. Master was never wrong.

In the present day, after many days of hunger and freezing nights down in the basement, Pet felt like he couldn't go on like this. No one had visited in a while. He knew what he was thinking about was bad. He knew that if Master found out what he was about to do, he'd be furious. He made it absolutely clear that his pet was not to leave the basement.

And yet, Pet finds himself sneaking up to the kitchen. He filled two bags with dog food and then, with some careful consideration, took three apples. Master never liked fruit but would still buy it; Pet was never quite sure of the reasoning behind that. And Pet had already been so bad, a few apples that would've rotted away even if Master had been there was nothing.

Pet then made his way to the living room and took several blankets and pillows. Then, noticing the mail had been delivered, he also took the newest copy of Pet Paper. Most of the articles either were boring or scared him, but they usually had fun pictures and a few games.

Carrying all of his loot and feeling surprisingly okay for a disobedient mutt who may have been abandoned, Pet made a little camp for himself in the basement. He decided to put the pillows and blankets in the closet where he had previously hidden from cops. The tiny space felt almost like his cage upstairs and he knew now that it was suitable for hiding.

Then he sat on the floor, grabbed a handful of dog food to munch on, and started reading.

Several more days passed before Pet started to get incredibly worried. He had heard the garbage truck pass by this morning. That was the second time since he had last seen Master. More than two weeks had gone by and still, no sign of where he had gone. What was previously just another anxious thought had transformed itself into a legitimate concern. Had Pet been abandoned?

Of course, it didn't make any sense. Why would Master leave everything just to get away from his pet?

But he couldn't deny that something was wrong. Even Master's friends had stopped visiting too. He didn't get it. Of course, he was so stupid, he could never understand why humans do the things they do. But he just couldn't think of any other explanation. So Master must've abandoned him.

Pet waited another week before finally deciding to leave. The dog food was running out, even after he had made several more disobedient trips upstairs. And if Pet had been thrown away, shouldn't he get out of his Master's house? Maybe Master was waiting until he left to come back to the house. Pet was probably being bad for staying there for so long. He was so selfish, not wanting to leave the comfort of the building for the scary outside world.

But he had to now. At least there would be food outside. And also cruel people, the cold, sickness, and probably death. But a bad pet like him deserved all of that, surely. He was such a rotten animal.

Pet's first steps outside were cautious and weak. He nearly stumbled from the sheer shock of it all.

He had done it. Ollie had done it. He couldn't believe this... this... this whole new world.

but it wasn't new, not really. It wasn't new at all. He just hadn't been here in a very long time, if ever.

He felt like he had stepped into a fantasy world after only hearing of it in fairytales. The outside world, the land beyond the kitchen window, was never allowed to him before. It might as well be something that only existed in legend.

- - -

Ollie sat huddled under the bridge, violently shivering. He hadn't eaten in two, maybe three days? He didn't know.

He was cold, wet, tired, and starving. He deserved all of it for leaving his Master's house. He should've accepted his fate and died there.

He was horrible.

- - -

Earlier in the day, Ollie had run away from some police. It was only because he was so small and capable of hiding that he got away. His muscles were very weak as of late, so he could've been easily caught. He'll have to be more careful next time.

But now, because of all the distance he had worked hard to put between him and the officers, Ollie had found himself in an entirely new area.

It was late at night, so restaurants had probably thrown out their leftovers already. If only he could find a place and dumpster dive for spare food.

As he wandered, he spied yet another cop. He was so frightened that he ran into the first available hiding place he saw: a bright, bustling building. He hadn't been thinking. He was so stupid. He dashed in and joined the crowds, trying to hide himself in the large group.

When someone first noticed him, in his dirty, smelly, roughed-up state with no shoes, she shrieked and backed up so fast she bumped into a man, who fell on a waiter, who spilled two glasses of wine they had been carrying.

Soon enough, everyone was in a great commotion, trying to get away from Ollie and call security.

The pet began to cry, overwhelmed and tired and hungry and not at all wanting to deal with this. He was sorry, he was, and he would do whatever they wanted to make up for it. Just please don't hand him over to the police. Please. He didn't know what they'd do to him, and he wasn't eager to find out.

The guards approached Ollie and he fled, going deeper into the crowd, until he tripped over his own feet and fell. He curled up and lay trembling on the floor, sobbing and so terrified.

He heard a bunch of people shuffle and he looked up to see the crowd part as a man walked through, headed straight for Ollie. This man didn't look like a security guard but rather was dressed in an expensive suit and had a stern, irritated expression.

When the man saw Ollie, however, his expression changed a bit. Ollie didn't know how to describe it, having never been looked at with such a visage. But it seemed less upset than the previous one, so that might be a plus? Maybe? Maybe this man won't kick Ollie as hard as he could, or won't insult him while throwing him out.

The man looked around.

"Whose pet is this?"

Of course, no one stepped forward. The man looked back at Ollie and asked if his owner was here. He shook his head.

"Are you lost?'

"Um, yeah... I-... I was abandoned, sir."

"Oh. I am very sorry to hear that. So you need a place to stay, then?"

Another nod. The man bent slightly and extended a hand. Ollie flinched away, bracing for a slap, but none came. He looked back and the hand was still there, just resting in the air. Ollie hesitated, but the man nodded encouragingly, and so Ollie took his hand and got helped up.

He whimpered as pressure was put on his ankle, then froze. He was bad.

His ankle must've been injured when he tripped, which was his fault, he shouldn't have run. And now he had the audacity to whimper?? He was so, so bad. This man would realize what a pathetic mutt he was and hurt him for it.

Glancing up fearfully, he saw that the man was indeed frowning. Ollie shrank back, hand slipping out of the man's grasp. He started shaking even harder.

"Oh dear, easy, it's alright," the man soothed. "I didn't mean to further injure your ankle by forcing you to stand. I will call a doctor for you immediately."

Did he think Ollie was upset because his ankle hurt? But.. why? Sure, the pain was intense now that he was trying to stand, but it was nothing compared to what he's been through.

"There's no need to be so concerned, sir. I'm alright. I can take it and more. I can take whatever you want me to."

The man frowned again and Ollie nearly cried.

"No, no, don't be ridiculous. I have no reason to harm you. You've done nothing wrong, dear. I don't want you to be unnecessarily hurt."

The man hesitated, then spoke again.

"That's not how I want one of my workers to be treated."

...

...what?

"What do you mean, sir?"

"I do not wish for you to be harmed, regardless of your status, but especially if you agree to work for me. You don't have a home or... employer, do you?"

"No, sir, I don't have either of those. But really, you don't have to, I'll only be a bother and a burden-"

"Nonsense. I have heard of how they train you guys. I'm sure you are wonderful. And besides, I am forgiving, I promise."

Ollie couldn't help but notice some of the crowd looked doubtful at that, which was very concerning. But at the same time, the man did not possess the same cruel glint in his eyes, the expression of deceit, the glee in waiting until the perfect moment to strike.

Of course, the man could just be better at hiding those things, or Ollie was dumber than he thought.

But what other choice did he have?

This person was offering him a lifeline, a chance at a new home and a new life. Ollie would die if he continued to be homeless. Maybe not right away, but he'd eventually catch an illness or upset someone or get caught, and then it'd be all over.

He didn't want to die.

"Okay. Of course, sir, I'd be happy to be your slave."

The man just nodded tight, and the pet was certain that he had already messed up.

But still, the man didn't do anything to him. Instead, he addressed the crowd.

"Apologies for the interruption," He announced, not sounding apologetic in the slightest. "I have urgent business to attend to with my worker, so I must leave. Enjoy the showing, it will continue until 10:30 PM as planned. My accountant will be handling any further purchases. Good night."

Then, looking back at his new slave again, Master spoke much softer.

"What is your name, dear?"

Oh god. Oh no. He knew what he was supposed to say, he knew he had to be good. He should tell the man that he can call him anything, even horrible insults, and the slave would readily accept it. He had to show his new owner that he could be good. But the man had asked. Please. The pet wanted to be allowed his name, his real name.

"Ollie, sir. My name is Ollie."

The man nodded, not seeming angry at the slave's terrible presumption that he could demand a free person use a particular name for him.

"I am Charles Durand, please to meet you, Ollie. Come with me. I'll help you to a couch to rest until the doctor arrives."

Given no other option, Ollie followed him, allowed to dangerously lean on his arm as he hobbled along.

Hopefully, this man wouldn't be too cruel to him.

— — —

Tag list: @whumpzone @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpsweetwhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @apples-and-whump @professional-idiocy @nicolepascaline @cowboy-anon @wolfeyedwitch @kim-poce @guachipongo @badluck990 @secretwhumplair @batfacedliar-yetagain @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @morelikepainsley @catawhumpus @starfields08000 @mylovelyme

[simpforwebtoonmen]

Hardships || Eli Jang x reader

a/n: writing this during training at my new job 😘

warnings: short, not proofread, maybe romance? maybe fluff? definitely has no point to it at all 🧍🏽‍♀️

˚✧₊⁎ You helped Eli during his toughest times as a homeless. He never forgot about you and the lessons you taught.⁎⁺˳✧༚

When you were 10 years old, you’d often go to the nearest convenience store with the little pocket money you had and bought yourself whatever you preferred.

One day, during your trip to the convenience store, you saw a boy your age. He was cute; he had black fluffy hair, and the most gorgeous eyes you’d ever seen. But he was dirty, his clothes were torn, and you swore he needed deodorant more than any other boy you’ve met.

You just assumed that he probably liked being dirty or wasn’t aware of his own dirtiness. But then he took a small snack from the shelf and stuffed it up his shirt. He looked left to right to make sure no one was looking, but he caught you looking. He was frozen in place before he bolted the other way and then out of the store.

An employee tried to chase after him but you were quick to stop them and pay for the food that boy stole.

You wondered how hungry someone had to be to resort to stealing food.

the next day, you asked your (parental guardian) for extra money. you had a hunch that you’d see that boy again.

At the convenience store, you browsed the aisles while you waited. You entered another aisle when you saw him. the same dirty and worn out clothes, the same black fluffy hair, and those same gorgeous eyes that seem to look a bit more feral now that you were taking a better look.

He was quickly taking things off the shelf and stuffing them up his shirt, too focused on that than to see you approaching him and then putting a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away immediately, dropping everything that was in his shirt.

Instead of chasing him away or calling someone for help, you smiled and waved. “Would you like me buy you something?” you asked him. He stood there and looked at you with a confused expression. He wasn’t sure how to feel about your generosity, or what to do with your kind offer.

But finally, he gathered his thoughts and nodded, accepting your offer. Your smile grew wider, “well, you can pick as many things as you want!”

unfortunately for you, he chose too many things and you weren’t able to get anything for yourself. But you were glad you were able to help out and feed him.

As the two of you sat at a nearby park that was conveniently empty that day, the starving boy ravaged his food, nearly choking a few times. You had to keep reminding him to slow down or he’d keep choking or worse, get sick.

When he swallowed you decided to properly introduce yourself, “Well, I’m (name) (last name). Whats your name?” You tilted your head in wonder.

He only stared at you, as if you were something out of this world- not in a good way. He looked at you like you were the oddest thing in the world.

“Eli Jang.”

“…oh, well, hello Eli Jang! I hope we can be friends!” you found it a bit odd how he didn’t properly introduce himself and how he stared at you in an odd way. But you decided to let it slide.

As the days went on, the two of you became more acquainted. Everyday, you’d buy him food and then the two of you would play at the park. For the first time in his life, he actually had fun. He wasn’t being hit or yelled at. For the first time, he was allowed to laugh and have fun.

Even after all these years, he did not forget about you. Not when you took him into your home and introduced him to your (parental guardian). You took him in and feed him, bathed him, and gave him new clothes.

Too bad your (parental guardian) wasn’t as nice as they let on. They kicked Eli Jang out once they realized he was a runaway. Since then, he hasn’t seen you. Not once.

So when he saw you hanging around an all girls middle school, greeting Sally by the gates and giving her a hug. He had no idea you and Sally were friends.

He wasn’t sure what to say. Should he bring up the past? Maybe you didn’t recognize him? Maybe you didn’t ever want to see him again, not after he got you in trouble.

Sally turned to him and smiled, looking at you before turning back to him, “Eli, this is (name), (name), this is Eli,” She introduced the two of you.

You nodded, “yeah, I know who you are. Hopefully, you remember me too,” you chuckled. Upon hearing this, he nodded profusely. His gorgeous eyes shone with hope and cuteness, his black fluffy hair was longer than before which was somehow better, his build was bigger, and all in all he looked more mature. And with all of that, you could still see that sweet and sad child that you used to hang out with years ago.

And you couldn’t help but hug him. he wasted no time to wrap his arms around you, snuggling his nose into your shoulder. The hug was sweet and very much needed for the both of you.

If your (parental guardian) hadn’t caught onto his real identity, you would’ve never stopped being friends with him. You wanted nothing more than to make his life easier for him. You wanted to take away all his pain and suffering and make him forget about his trauma. You knew you wouldn’t be able to do half these things, but you would damned if you didn’t try, not after all these years of not seeing each other.

And Eli never stopped thinking about you. Every time you’d catch him stealing, you wouldn’t yell at him or even feel the slightest bit of disappointment. Instead you asked him, “do you want me to pay for that?”

In the time that he spent with you, he never stole anything and he never beat anyone up. He didn’t even feel the need to make money for himself because you were always there for when he needed you. He felt safe and loved and wanted when he was with you.

He would never forget about you and the lesson you taught him. That there will always be someone out there who is willing to help him.

[baelonthebrave]

spearmint and nicotine

sydney/richie [Ao3]

continued in salt fat acid heat

word count: 1,828

rating: gen

summary: Richie thinks about all the things that are difficult in his life and the one thing that's easy.

warnings: mentions of canonical suicide, post Season 2, angst

Kissing Sydney is easy.

It’s like letting waves crash over his head. Just giving in to the current. For once, not fighting.

It might be the only thing in his life that’s easy.

His job is difficult, but Richie tries to perform it with some ease - no, shit, he does perform it with ease. He memorises names like he’d swallowed a phone book, works out who’s an asshole and who’s not by the slope of their shoulders and the set of their mouth. 14 likes spice - don’t hold back, quick but readable on a slip of paper no bigger than a credit card, pressed into Gary’s hand to relay back to expo. Look people in the eyes, but don’t be too intense about it. Drop their names gently, like you want them to know you remembered but you’re not trying to show them you remembered. Manage the front. Manage the back. Just as important to keep the chefs happy as it is the diners.

Being a dad is difficult. He could live to be a thousand and he’d still wake up in a cold sweat, convinced he was doing a terrible job, and Eva would be a homeless crack addict or the next Mussolini, and it’d be all his fault.

Being Tiff’s something is difficult. He rolls his wedding band on his finger like Marcus rolls out pastry - meticulous and anxious and afraid. He can’t say she’s his ex-wife, it just lodges in his throat like a peach pit. He can’t resent her for saying she loves him. She wouldn’t be Tiff if her heart wasn’t two sizes too big.

Working with Carmen is difficult. Depending on the day, Carmen’s head is like ground beef, or a ship taking on water through a canon blast in the hull, or a fucking lit Molotov cocktail. And Richie loves him. Wants to forgive every wretched word he ever said in anger. Wants to reach into his chest and scrape out all the hurt. Wants to protect him the way a big brother ought to.

Missing Mikey is difficult.

Being the one left behind is difficult.

Every time he thinks about Michael on that bridge, he wants to scream at him, who the fuck do you think you are? You think you get to kill yourself? You’re just so special and your problems are bigger than everyone else’s? You think you get to make me bury you? He wants to hold him, kiss his hair, just stand there with the blistering wind stripping away his skin until Mikey stops shaking in his arms.

All of that is so difficult.

Kissing Sydney is easy.

They get a star - Sydney gets them a star. All night, her braids are whipping that way that they do when she’s moving like lightning. Carmen’s fucking yelling because he’s anxious - anxious about the star and anxious about checking his phone to see if Claire’s returned any of his calls. The kid never did know how to let people be good to him. Richie rides it out - busing, greeting, seating, breathing, four in, four out. Cousin, I need you to stop yelling or I might do something dumb like break your nose straight-

They get the star.

Sydney vomits behind the dumpsters. It’s something that still needs work.

He grabs her one of those fancy kombuchas from the walk-in. He doesn’t know if she drinks alcohol, but her dad is sober - could be a preference, could be a sensitive subject - and alcohol probably isn’t the best additive to the potent mix of adrenaline and cortisol running in Sydney's veins right now.

Pink grapefruit kombucha. She’s trying to pull herself together by the dumpsters when he presses the sweating bottle into her hands.

“Thanks,” she manages, peaky and sweaty. She twists the screw cap, swills kombucha around her mouth, then spits it out into her vomit puddle. Richie tries not to look at it - just because he’d cleaned up Eva’s vomit plenty of times before doesn’t mean he’s got an iron stomach. He watches Sydney in silence until he’s sure she’s not going to collapse or start throwing up again, taking small sips from the bottle.

“That was incredible,” he says, jerking his head at the entrance to the kitchen. “I knew you were special, but…” he let out a low whistle.

Sydney smiles weakly. “It’s not so impressive when the comedown is me dumping stomach acid out my mouth and nose.”

“Don’t feel bad about it. We can work on that,” he says, bravely resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose.

Sydney laughs, a little hollow. “Are we gonna do meditation? Deep breathing?”

“Uh, yeah,” Richie says. He lights up a cigarette and tugs at the tie around his neck. Tastes ash and feels a slow sense of medicinal calm drip into his blood. “I’ll become a Buddhist if it keeps you doing that wizardry you were doing in there. I’ll light incense, bang gongs-“

“Will you wear the robe? The orange robe?”

“The off-the-shoulder robe? Maybe flash a little tit? Fuck yeah, I’d do that.”

Sydney is snickering into her kombucha bottle now and it’s a sound that sets him on fire from head to heel. “You’d do that for me?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Convert to a religion I know nothing about and dedicate my life to your wellbeing? Shit, Syd, you’ve got to ask?”

She gives him a smile that’s bordering on soft, and she’s so beautiful when she smiles. Warm eyes, full cheeks. “I meant the tit flashing.”

It’s his turn to snort, and the smoke he pulls into his lungs on the inhale burns a little, but nothing like the way he’s burning up under her gaze, so aware of every nerve ending in his body. “Hey, they’re good tits.”

She’s laughing. Her hand falls on his arm, now-empty bottle swinging at her side. “Don’t wear the robe,” she says. “I meant it when I said I liked the suit.”

And Richie’s forty-five. He might be a moron and a jagoff, he might know jackshit about living a happy and fulfilled life, but he knows a come-on when he hears one. Knows what a beautiful girl with big brown eyes and a kind smile means when she lays a hand on your arm, tells you she thinks you look good.

Kissing her would be so easy.

But he doesn’t.

She doesn’t need it. Not right now. Not when she’s peaky and smells like kitchen, and he’s running on nicotine and fumes. The taste would be noxious. Tobacco and vomit and kombucha. Anyone could walk out here at any time and see them.

And maybe - if he’s very honest with himself - a part of him doesn’t want it. Because kissing her would be easy, and things would start to make sense. Because he would have to make some fucking decisions, and make some changes, because life would make sense and he would be happy. No more excuses. He would kiss her and this house of cards of excuses and fucking misery he’d built for himself would topple in the wake of the fucking lightning storm of Sydney.

He takes her hand off his arm, holds it in his own, and presses his lips to her knuckles. Her hand is a little cold in his. She gives him a funny look. Somewhere between smiling and frowning.

“Can I give you a ride home?” He asks. She shouldn’t be on the L if she was sick.

She raised a brow. “Depends.”

“On what?”

Her hand leaves his but only because she has to set aside her bottle and fix her bandana, pulling her braids over one shoulder.

Richie fights the urge to tell her he could have fixed her hair for her. Instead, he drops the stub of his cigarette into the dregs of her kombucha and listens to the hiss.

“Depends on whether you’ll kiss me at the door.”

Richie gets hit with a crest of stars not unlike what Sydney must have been feeling minutes ago when she was throwing up behind the dumpster. Meet me halfway. Kindle a flame. Do something easy.

Do something scary. Let go of the past - it had already given Richie everything it had to give. Tiffany, The Beef, Mikey - they were still there, still in his soul, in his bones.

The future was The Bear. It was steadying Carmen by the shoulder and patiently giving him love until he realised he was allowed to take it. It was holding Sugar’s baby and being Uncle Richie. It was Michelin stars and long nights and fear and rage and every emotion a human body could conjure, because you can’t ask for the astronomical highs without taking the deep, dark lows.

The future was Eva’s elementary school graduation. Algebra tests and soccer games and rapidly outgrown clothes. First boyfriend - or girlfriend. Falling out of love with Taylor Swift when she was an angsty teen, then rediscovering her later and having fond memories of her dad yelling along to Love Story at the Eras Tour in 2023. Anywhere she went, he wanted to be there.

My kid would like you, he wanted to tell Sydney. Because you’re smart, and you always say what you mean, but you’re also kind. You have such a big heart. You’re brilliant. You’re brilliant, and I don’t know if I’ll ever measure up. But I’d like to try. Fuck… yeah, I’d like to try.

He’d tell her one day.

“I could kiss you right now if you want me to,” he says plainly. Simply.

She glances down at his lips. “What’s stopping you?”

He tucks a braid behind her ear. “Toothpaste,” he says, and she grins, “or the lack of toothpaste, really.”

She’s laughing again. He could spend all day every day just making her laugh. “I have some in my locker. If I use it, will you drive me home?”

He takes a breath - deepest breath he’d taken all day - and nods. She nods back and slips past him to go finish closing, brush her teeth, grab her stuff.

Richie’s heart is thumping in his chest as he closes up front of house. He feels a little nauseous as he grabs his jacket and keys and spots Sydney waiting for him, surreptitiously taking congratulations and goodnights from Tina and Marcus and Ebra.

He turns around, pops his locker once more and takes a stick of Wrigley’s from a discarded pack, because he’d rather Sydney tasted spearmint than tobacco on his lips.

Months later, Richie would realise she didn’t throw up after hellish services anymore. He’d ask her how she managed it, if it was the deep breathing? Or was there a secret gong he didn’t know about in the walk-in? She’d just laugh, say no, no incense, no gongs, no Buddhist monks, and produce a pack of gum from her pocket.

From that night on, the taste of Wrigley’s gum was enough to bring Sydney down.

all likes, reblogs, comments massively appreciated ❤️

[palestaticexchange]

LA VACHOLIER ET LE CHAT

You don't like putting the trash out. The four flights of stairs you have to carry the bin bag down is your first gripe, not to mention the stink of the bins themselves. Besides, the slim alley keeping your bins safely away from the road is on the dark side of the building. It reminds you of *more than one* crime scene.

So as you reach the steel bin - in your sandals, naively calmed by your evening shower - you can't *really* be blamed for shouting as something grey shoots from the bin causing you to drop the bag.

The bin bag splits on the tarmac. Your hand shoots to the side of your jumper. The skin beneath your armpit is gripped painfully as you clutch for where your gun *should* rest. But you've been home for over an hour and your armistice hangs on the rack by the door.

You notice then the quick, grey mass is an errant and irritated tom cat. Its tail flicks upwards in indignation as if considering whether or not to spray the bin he was trapped within.

You drop your hand, ignoring the white-hot shame creeping up your spine.

After a deep, calming breath you bend and lift the bag with both hands. The split in the plastic runs along the bottom and you lose only a few scraps of paper as you huck it into the awaiting bin with a sigh.

The cat strolls a few feet away and watches you over its battered shoulder, now bored. You consider its predicament. One of the dockworkers, or a bored child, must have dumped it in the bin as a cruel joke. You hope it was a joke at least. The thought of being slowly crushed in the back of an Revacivic truck makes you shudder.

You wouldn't call yourself an *animal lover* by any means, but the creature is small; and has obviously seen its fair share of woes.

Half an ear missing, one cloudy eye, scratches line its flank and the thing's primordial pouch is mostly bald. There's also a droop to its mouth that speaks to missing teeth.

As you place the steel lid back on the can, the cat sits on the wet tarmac and grooms one paw. "I'm cooler than you are," this gesture says. "O' Vacholier, scared of his own shadow."

You don't see the cat again for a week and a half. You forget about it, you're a busy man after all.

It's only as you approach your tenement building, soaked to the skin and shivering from the day's endless downpour, that you're reacquainted. You hear it before you see it; a guttural yowling of misery, ringing out every two seconds on the dot. The creature actually resembles the toupee of a suspect from earlier in the day.

You didn't need Harry to nudge you and whisper 'That man's hair is fake, Kim!' The sodden grey strands had parted to reveal the faint yellow of hypoallergenic adhesive.

Similarly, this *sad* little beast crouches under the tiny awning over the front of your building, it's jowls pulled down by the weight of wet fur. As it hears the jingling of your keys its head snaps to you, orange eyes wide as it directs the next yowl in your direction. "Miserere mei, Deus!" It seems to say.

But you didn't waver under the suspect's earlier begging, and you will not be broken by some pitiful animal either.

It's a rare day off and you are *content*. You're curled in the preferred corner of your sofa, a fresh mug of tea steaming away on its arm. In your left hand you hold the little pamphlet of poetry that Harry had given you.

The poetry is *actually* okay. You'd turned your nose up at the gesture, and Harry had raised his hands; already predicting your baulking. He'd insisted.

He explained he'd bought it from a homeless man who'd cut clippings from abandoned newspapers and included writings of his own. Harry had loved it *so* much that he'd circled particular stanzas for Kim's enjoyment and told him to read those. You figured you could at least entertain the highlighted sections.

You don't posses an artistic mind, but practising volta means you have a softer spot for poetry. Besides, the sections Harry had highlighted were all to do with Revachol, community, and companionship. It was a sweet gesture.

You pull back your thumb and tilt the book to the left, letting the page flutter sideways then pinning it in place by replacing your thumb. Your right hand scratches the cat under his chin.

Yes, *that* was a development.

About a week ago you'd been making dinner. The only shop open in your neck of the woods by the time you'd finished work was the corner store; and it had flooded. Shut. That meant dinner had been *cans found in the back of my cupboard that happen to still be in date* special.

One of the tins was mackerel that you didn't even *remember* buying. None-the-less it *was* in date and Dei knows you could do with the Omega-3.

As you spooned the *rankest* looking stew you'd ever seen into a bowl, you heard yowling from outside. The cat. That wasn't unusual.

He'd started hanging around your tenement almost exclusively. Even following you to your Kineema in the morning - tail raised to the skies - and greeting you upon your return.

What *was* unusual however was that he sounded *close*. Because you live on the 4th floor. You had blinked, and upon considering that you weren't particularly *excited* to eat your watery creation, walked to your balcony. As you pulled back the curtain, two orange eyes peered up at you from the dark.

Later in the week you'd actually manage to catch the cat scaling the fire escape and leaping between balconies to reach *another* room within your tenement; by virtue of an open window. A moment later you heard a woman shriek and watched the cat scarper back out, followed swiftly by a hairbrush.

But on that evening you'd been baffled, and in a moment of weakness opened the door to offer the spent can from your mackerel. Something about the way the beast had purred like an old MC as it licked the tin around your balcony had caused something in you to snap.

You'd let him in the moment you heard the first drops of rain.

You sit at your sewing desk fixing the long tear in the back of your bomber jacket. You've been working long enough that you've released the tension from your jaw.

The Detective had *insisted* you *had* to climb the barbed wire fence. You watched him swear, pricking himself over and over, allowing a smug little smile- *once* he'd made it safely to the other side, that is. A smile that had been promptly wiped from your face upon hearing the snag, tear, *rip* of your jacket catching at the end of your deft vault.

He had grovelled and apologised profusely. *You* had been pissy the rest of the day.

However, you were beginning to calm down. You'd already decided you'd pick up croissants on the way in tomorrow as an apology for your sour mood.

There's a whine from behind you and you turn to see the cat stretch out its back legs on the sofa. Good idea, you think; uncurling from over your desk and raising your wrists above your head.

At that moment there's a pounding on your front door. You roll your eyes. It's just gone 10pm. Whichever drunk dockworker has forgotten which room is *his* can help himself, or sleep in the hallway. It wouldn't be the first time you'd had to step over a burly man on your way to work.

Then you hear your landlord's muffled voice. "Lieutenant? It's the 28th." Last Sunday of the month.

"Shit," you whisper harshly, shooting from your chair. "Merde. God *damnit*." You lean over your desk and throw open the door to your balcony. Then you scoop the cat from your sofa and practically *bowl* the creature, confused and sleepy, through the door; sliding it swiftly shut.

"Lieutenant? Are you in?"

"One moment please." You call back, grabbing the envelope holding your rent off the breakfast bar and opening the door to your flat.

The man's at least a foot shorter than you but holds himself like he's a giant. He enters your flat without invitation and squints as he peers around. "Evenin', Lieutenant."

"Trevor," you reply, offering the envelope. You're hoping he'll take the hint promptly this time. You used to try boxing him *out* of your flat, but the old man's insistent, and you've long since grown tired of wasting your breath.

The landlord swipes the envelope with a grunt, opening it with practised ease and thumbing through the bills. "The damn smell's back."

Great. This wouldn't be a prompt visit then.

He sniffs thickly, seemingly satisfied with his counting, and looks up at you. "When ya gonna shift those kids, Officer? Can't have 'em smoking weed in the stairwells."

You place a hand on your open door, lightly brushing Trevor's shoulder as your arm passes him and effectively guiding him towards the exit. This is your second hint that you'd like him to leave now. You have explained multiple times that you are a *homicide detective* and that kids smoking hemp is decidedly *not your problem* but your landlord doesn't seem to care.

"It's a damn shame too!" The man continues, "Could charge more for the upstairs rooms if the place didn't stink!"

You think about pointing out how the building gets wetter the higher you rise within it, but you've got a pretty good *thing* going on. You *barely* insinuate that you might, one day, do something about his issue of the month; and he doesn't raise your rent. On days like today you're not sure it's worth it.

"You any closer to figuring out who it is?" He cocks his head at you.

"When are you fixing the central heating?" You cock your head in the opposite direction.

He sniffs again. You raise an eyebrow.

Then the man fills his lungs and tucks your money away in his pocket. "I understand, Lieutenant. You're a busy man after all." He clears his throat and steps back into the hallway. "Thanks for rent."

"See you next month." You shut the door.

The cat blinks at you in bleary betrayal as you draw the curtain back and let him in again. You sigh as you collapse on the sofa and he jumps up next to you, already beginning to rumble.

You think about *les papiers scientifique* that claim proximity to cats improves longevity. Something or other about blood pressure and heartrate being effected by their purring. As he curls in a ball on his side and nestles against your thigh, placing his paws over his eyes, it doesn't seem too far-fetched.

You think, not for the first time, of naming the beast. You've been calling him 'Chat' or 'Moche Chat' when you're feeling particularly playful, but these aren't real names.

You don't name him - not because you'd rather not get attached, it's a little late for that - but because there's only one name you *want* to call him. One, mortifying, *embarrassing* name that makes your face flush with heat even when you're alone in your home.

You'd noticed it the first time he lay like this, curled up on his side. The missing teeth meant a couple of things;

One: he drooled. The first day you'd let him stay in your flat while you were at work you could tell exactly where he'd slept by finding the tiny circles of wet on your bed and sofa.

Two: when he lay on his side, like he was doing at present, the fur around his face drooped into his mouth. It was akin to an uneven jaw, skewed further by the long, drooping whiskers that framed his jowls. It almost looked like a rather distinctive style of facial hair.

"Khm." You clear your throat and look out your balcony at the lights of the GRIH.

"Will you come for a few drinks, Lieutenant?"

You finish the sentence you're on, then look up from your report at Officer Minot. She's already wearing her bag over one shoulder, smiling tiredly at you. You notice Chester hanging around by the door to the bullpen. They try this every week or so.

"No thank you, Officer." You say, offering a polite nod. "I should really like to get this done this evening."

"Aww c'mon, Lieu!" Chester calls. "All work and no play makes... Uh... Howsit go again?"

Every other Thursday Harry leaves the precinct early for his psychological physio. It's not the sort of thing he'd have been able to afford outright, but Mr. Heidelstam had mentioned his unusual brand of retrograde amnesia to a colleague studying for a PhD. Apparently the detective made for an interesting subject of research.

It had lightly worried you when Harry told you this, wondering if his condition was being exploited, but he'd been going for a month and it didn't seem to bother him. In fact he actually *enjoyed* his sessions. They seemed to have him playing various word and memory games while wearing an EEG cap. The following Friday you took lunch together and he'd tell you about the games in great detail. On the Thursday evenings however, your new colleagues would try to entice you to the bar.

"And I can't change your mind?" Judit asks, sadly.

"Course you can't!" Chester answers for you. "Guy's a stick! Probably goes home to eat plain oatmeal and do the crossword!" He barks a laugh.

You purse your lips lightly. You don't mind being called boring - you are boring - but something about an Officer as incompetent as McClaine *almost* guessing your evening plans rubs you the wrong way. You were quite looking forward to your crossword. And bran *with* sugar. 

Judit winces sympathetically and you sigh. "I suppose," you begin, rising from your desk. "Just this once I'll entertain you. If only so you'll stop asking."

Officer Minot's mouth forms a little 'O' of surprise, and McClaine's face splits into a wide grin at having *convinced* the steeled Lieutenant Kitsuragi to bend to his will. Sure: you'll go out. You'll be *boring* and constantly *bring up work* and they will *never* ask you to join them again. That tends to do wonders.

You wake on the sofa in the dark. The dark is not a problem for you. The dark is safe. The dark *is* unusual for this time of evening however. You are hungry. Where is Your Vacholier?

You stretch languidly, cracked claws piercing the leather of the sofa before you hop down. You pad into the thin room separated from the main space by only a breakfast bar. This is where the *smells* come from. 

Some days ago Your Vacholier had returned from his pesky outings with a look of minor guilt.

Up until this point you'd ate like a king. Scraps of ham, fish, bits of cheese, small saucers of milk, and the scrambled egg that he once could not finish. Now you got biscuits. Not as tasty, but more regular with bigger portions.

When you had finished your meagre meal, you returned to him and let him scratch you under the chin while he scanned a long piece of paper. He made mutterings about 'reál' and 'stupidity' and you realised his guilt was not directed at *you*, as it should be.

You could smell the worry on him however, so you supposed you'd let it slide.

The longer claws on your back paws click against the linoleum as you approach the cupboard containing your biscuits. You can smell them through the door. Yet no matter how you paw at the cupboard, or manipulate your head underneath it, it does not open. 

Well. Only one thing for it then. You turn and with a flick of your tail piss up the front of the cabinet. 

Your Vacholier had started pinning the tiny window in the kitchen open, despite the cold. This allowed you to come and go as you pleased. However, his decision to abandon his usual schedule - and therefore you - was a serious transgression and could not go unpunished. 

It's at this moment that you hear the key in the lock. You raise your tail and pad back into the main area. He should *really* have made it in by the time you reach the sofa, but he seems to be struggling. You sit on the rug in front of the sofa.

A moment later Your Vacholier lurches into the room blanketed in interesting new smells. He holds a box in one hand that makes your mouth water. The loud, orange, uncomfortable fur he choses to wear crushed under his opposite arm. He throws it at the rack he hangs his things from and misses.

He slaps at the wall and winces as the dark leaves. Then he spots you. "Oh, hello." 

You barely open your mouth as you yowl in return. You have nought the energy to do so. Can't he see you're starving?! Practically wasting away?!

Your Vacholier coughs making for the thin room. Finally! You dart between his legs, tail raised, and he stumbles in his effort not to tread on you. "Oop!" He usually possesses more grace than this. He smiles down at you, "Easy~" He sounds different too. Whatever. As long as you get your biscuits.

He drops the box onto the breakfast bar and you're hit with a wave of that wonderful smell once more. *That* requires investigation. As Your Vacholier bends down to open the cabinet you jump onto his back then onto the counter.

"Hey!"

The box is easily chewable paper and likely holds prizes most enticing. You stick your face in the tiny gap on the side but before you can do much damage a firm paw catches you under the belly and sweeps you *off* the bar, dropping you on the floor. You mewl. You're starving. You need that!

"Thas mine- not yours, *Chat Moche*." He slurs down at you. He's holding the box of biscuits.

You jump back on the counter. It's a little harder on your old joints without Your Vacholier as a middle step, but you make it and- *god damn* he's pushing you off the counter again.

"Enough! Not for cats!" He picks up the box with his free hand, then pours biscuits into your bowl with the other.

Well. You *suppose* they would do. You take greedy mouthfuls and hear Your Vacholier hiccup behind you. Then he's gone. You hear him pick up his ugly fur and hang it on the rack. Then there's clicking as he unbuckles his horrid device, some acrid smelling thing that reeks of fear, and hangs that up too. Boots next. He does this every day, in this order. You hear the one hit the floor, then swearing as he stumbles removing the second. Then he's *laughing*.

You finish your bowl and wander back into the main area. He's sat on the sofa, smiling to himself. "I did *shots* today!" He declares as he opens the paper box. Once again, that wonderful smell washes over you as he pulls something from it. Fried chicken!

You're on the sofa in an instant, climbing first onto his lap, then when he pushes you away with his elbow you change tactics and take to the back of the sofa. He must have eaten most of it on the way home as only a few scraps of chicken remain. More than you'd usually find by the bins however.

"Said I'd win!" He smiles at you before engulfing a strip of chicken. He's not usually this chatty. "S'wot you geh! Neffa fuh wih Kim Kits-" He hiccups again and the smile leaves his face. He swallows. "Ah... This may h- have been theh plan, actually..." You wish he'd talk about something interesting. Like the chicken for example.

You walk onto his shoulder and peer down at the box. He quickly passes it into the other hand and holds it out at arm's length away from you. How rude! You turn your head and meow, loudly, right into his ear.

"Ack!" He swipes backwards at you. "Gerroff!" He grumbles shaking you back onto the sofa.

Fine then! If he wants to withhold his fried meats then you will resume your position of a poor, lowly street cat. The world's favourite punching bag. A martyr for cat kind and enemy of everyone. You heave a heavy sigh and settle into the cushion next to Your Vacholier. You hear him place the box on the arm of the sofa and then more munching.

Then he's scratching the top of your head and you decide you'll let this *second* transgression go. You're benevolent like that. You begin to purr letting your eyes drift shut. You spend a few blissful moments like that, then suddenly that wonderful smell is back and stronger than ever. Your eyes ping open. He's chewed the skin from a piece of chicken and is holding it in front of your nose. You wolf it down in seconds, careful to avoid his leathery paws, and purring tenfold.

When all the chicken's gone he actually picks you up. He usually leaves you to your own devices, but this evening he holds you to his chest and runs long strokes along your back. This is not your preferred way to be pet, but you chose Your Vacholier for two reasons;

One: he had most graciously freed you from your prison some time ago. A benevolence that *had* to be repaid with your presence.

Two: he smells lonely.

The second reason reminds you of your First Vacholier. The old woman who fished you from that wet box, surrounded by your deceased littermates, and fed you milk by bottle until you were well again. You had loved her with all nine lives, then one day that screaming flashing box of metal had taken her away and you never saw her again.

You're pulled from the past as he kisses your crusty head and rises from the sofa. As he stands, he better scratches that favoured area just under your jaw and you drool on his shirt as thanks. The spot always itches. Even now a mass of cells slowly forms there that *nobody* in the building will be able to afford to treat.

But tonight you purr in the arms of Your Vacholier as he sways towards his bedroom. He has gifted you food, and warmth, and a place to sleep without fear of dogs or other cats or men. He has gifted you love.

He drops you at the foot of the bed and braces a hand against his bedside table. Then he grips the end of one sock and whips it off, almost stumbling as he does so. "Aww, fuckit." He mumbles, removing the glass from his face and dropping it on the table with a clatter.

He clambers onto the mattress then falls face first into the pillow. He's purring within the minute, legs still half hanging off the bed. This is ideal as far as you're concerned. You jump onto the back of his thigh and walk up his body, settling into the small of his back.

Tomorrow he will clutch his head and mumble words like 'Bastards' and 'idiot' as he cleans up cat piss and retches. But tonight he shares his bed with you, and the three of you purr; you, him, and La Revacholiere.

[haggishlyhagging]

Anne Royall, a journalist, "was kicked around like a mangy cur" when she protested the cruel injustice of forcing erring women into either prostitution or starvation. And when in 1829 she accused the U.S. Congress of an "un-Christian" callousness toward the female sex, that august body, incredibly, sentenced her to be ducked in the Anacostia River as a "common scold."

Anne Royall had had the unique good fortune of having married a man who believed that wives should be allowed to inherit their husbands money; and when he died he left his wealth, as firmly as the law allowed, in his wife's control. In the few years it required the law to wrench it out of her hands and bestow it on her deceased husband's nearest male relative, Anne had made good use of it. She had traveled.

In her travels around the new, young United States, initially undertaken for pleasure, she was appalled at the conditions she found among "working" and "fallen" women. She wrote articles on her travels, burying in them, at first unnoticed by the editors who published them, facts about the shocking conditions in which the vast majority of laboring women and children were forced to work. The penny-an-hour slave-laborers in the sweat shops—all women and children—aroused her burning ire. But her reports on these abuses went unnoticed. The plight of "fallen" women who preferred starvation to prostitution was also reported in her articles, and still no one heeded.

After her money had been taken from her and she had been forced to give up her travels, she moved into a small cottage in Washington and there attempted to eke out a meager living with her pen. Despite her own poverty, she took "fallen" women into her home and shared with them what little she possessed. Then, at last, notice was taken. She was arrested for harboring disorderly persons!

"What did our Savior?" she asked in her defense; and the charges were dropped. But the experience did not silence her. She continued stubbornly to share her small home and her smaller means with the abandoned, homeless women and to write article after article in their behalf and in behalf of the slave-laborers in the sweat shops. Finally, utterly disillusioned by the stony harshness of the government and the law toward helpless women and children, she publicly abjured Christianity, citing as her reason that “the good Christians in power in Washington do not see any connection between their religion and the social conditions around them.”

For these and other unfeminine words, Anne was sentenced to a public ducking, and the Washington Navy Yard was ordered to prepare a ducking stool for her punishment. But at the last moment Congress relented. The woman was aging, she was no larger than a child, and she was "light as a feather." They feared the experience of being ducked in the chilly Anacostia River would kill her, and they did not want her death on their consciences. She was freed, but the terrifying experience had broken her spirit and for the remainder of her life she observed complete silence in the public press. The nation and the Congress soon forgot her, and for the rest of the nineteenth century she was unheard of. She has had a revival in the 1960's, however, and some of her books are back in print today.

-Elizabeth Gould Davis, The First Sex

[batmanfruitloops]

Can you guess who's next? Eddie, our favorite riddle-spewing gremlin!

Eddie was born to two parents where neither wanted to take care of him so that's pretty unfortunate, but it wasn't too bad at first. His grandma, Emily Nashton, happily raised Ed from a baby when her son Elliot (I'll be referring to him by his middle name as Eddie is actually a jr. - also he really hates the name "Edward") unceremoniously dropped him off at her house. She'd have preferred to just dote on and spoil him, but she'd rather Ed be taken care of properly.

Eddie has always been very blind, so he's had glasses for pretty much forever.

Eddie got to stay with his grandma until he was about 6 (I'm still not too sure, he's pretty young at least) when his dad randomly showed up again claiming he was going to take over raising Eddie from then on. He was confused, but he figured it was just for a visit. However, Eddie rarely got to go back to his grandma's from this point. His dad barely took care of Eddie either, mostly ignoring or berating him. The dad lived off of Eddie's child support and spent most of it on booze and rent.

Eddie missed having a full stomach, being able to ask all the questions he wanted to, and knowing he was loved. He got used to sneaking around to get things done, like scarffing down food when his dad was out of the house or asleep, or quickly taking a shower, or even sneaking out to visit the library and do laundry.

He also got to attend school and while his grades were impeccable, he wasn't able to make any friends. They all thought he was too loud, too annoying, too angry. His teachers also scolded him for causing disruptions, when they usually only started because other kids were being mean. Sometimes it's because of Eddie's OCD and OCPD, as that makes it hard to not have things a certain way, or more specifically how Eddie perceives it should be. Again, I'm by no means an expert on such topics, but that's to my best understanding. Eddie was also on edge a lot at school because of his dad. His dad was bitter and jealous about how smart Eddie is, and so he accused him of cheating a lot. For context, this Riddler is NOT a cheater as a know some versions are willing to do so.

There were three good things during Eddie's school years. He had one teacher who understood him well, and so Ed was behaved in that class. As mentioned in my previous post regarding this au's Joker, Eddie got to see Arthur at Cobblepot Park most days of the week, and they also understood one another very well. They could just talk and talk about whatever and not have to worry about their home lives. Eddie also got birthday cards from his grandmother every year, and got to visit occasionally. He often found them stuffed into the garbage and the money she had sent with it was never in there, but he cherished them all and still has them to this day. His grandmother also liked to slip him money during his visits, which Ed hid under his floorboards along with her cards.

When Eddie was 12, Arthur stopped showing up. Eddie assumed Arthur was just sick or something, but he never showed again. It made Eddie feel betrayed. From this point, Eddie is a bit more skeptical of people, but he does still try and remain optimistic that good people are out there. Most of them are just lousy, it seems.

Eddie's senior year, he got a job as a cashier at one of the local grocery stores. He liked asking customers riddles when they went through his isle. He came off as rude to a lot of customers and some of his coworkers, but he still defended them when a customer was wrong. This is also where Eddie learns how to speak Spanish, although it's very little. When Eddie turned 18 though, his father and him got into a fight that led Eddie to being kicked out. He had to scramble to pick his few things out of his room, load them into a suitcase and go. Eddie never told his coworkers that he was now one of the many homeless of Gotham. They weren't close enough for that. So Eddie's bedraggled state from sleeping in abandoned buildings and eating little from his paychecks seems a bit out of nowhere. Eddie also finally gets fired. He's just had too many incidents of fighting with customers, even if he's always remorseful afterwards. Now with no income, Eddie is panicking. He'd also be becoming more and more upset with those in power, and the rich class. They were bad people and yet they got to get away with it. Can't hand them over to the police since the whole district is corrupt. What else can be done about it? Why, expose it of course. And so Ed takes on the role of the Riddler, every waking hour spent coming up with traps and riddles and clues on who to go after. Luckily there's plenty of abandoned tech and whatnot around. His physical health would continue to decline though. This is about where the au starts. Eddie is already an established villain and is enjoying his time harassing bad people and getting Batman's attention.

- Sarsee

[opinated-user]

https:/ / archive. ph/ svv67

archive for lily telling britt to unalive herself.

thank you, anon! you're a real one!

reading through this, i have no doubt in my mind that LO send that to herself just to have an excuse to try to one up Brittany... even though Brittany has her own blog to do that on her own space. which brings the question, LO, if you have anything specific to say about anything we claim, what exactly is stopping you from just screenshotting those pots and respond to them directly instead of this weird "anon brought me this thing you say and therefore i get to rant about it while pretending i had nothing to do with how this information came to me" you do? just about in general, you comes off less trustworthy because of this because nobody is actually seeing what you're reacting to. you can make all the angry anons you want. doesn't mean that people are going to actually believe that is Brittany. anyway, there are some point in the response of LO that i want to talk about for a second.

so, sincerely speaking? from my bottom of my heart, hypothetically, if LO was actually a ghost writer and she was earning enough for a comfortable living, enough that she can drop youtube entirely, i'd be honestly happy for her. i'd prefer that she became a full time ghost writer than a youtuber, because you can't groom people with ghost writing gigs. you can't form an audience around being a ghost writer, only inside clients who need your services, who are all pressumably going to be adults in the first place. whatever bigotry or misinformation you spread on that job comes from what a clent asked of you, not from you having horrible opinions about issues that either don't affect you or you don't actually care about or generally being an awful person. because the thing that LO is missing is that nobody is trying to deplatform her because. we want to do that and encourage people to not give her views ever, no matter what kind of video she's making about what topic (which is why my pinned post will always be resources for people to avoid going to give her clicks), not because we want her to become homeless and struggle to have her basic needs met. we know that it's not going to happen anyway because she's daddy's girl and will always count with his money when this youtuber thing completely fails for her, but even if that wasn't a factor, nobody is aiming for that. we want to deplatform LO because she has actively used her platform to abuse, hurt and traumatize people. i'm not talking about her bad takes on anime or show or animation or anything she claims we have an issue with. i'm talking about the way she has groomed people, used her money to make vulnerable people do things they wouldn't otherwise, exposed minors to think they shouldn't have been exposed to by a trusted adult and spread outright lies to defend rapist or other dangerous people because it was convenient for her narrative. we want LO to not be watched anymore by anyone because she has shown, time and time again, that she'll never try to not hurt someone the moment she has a chance for it. because as long she gets views, has subscribers and has any level of influence, she's still a danger.

i'm sure that the Brittany hivemind agrees with all of this as well. so no, LO, you had it all wrong. if you had a job outside of youtube or any social media, we'd love that for you. if anything, we'd encourage it so much more than keep creating bad essays in video form. but we both know that it's not true and you told us that yourself without realizing. so we have to call out the obvious lie you naively expect people to just take.

literally the first result in google search when you type "do ghost writer write fiction":

the second one:

who is the one who looks like they have no idea how this industry works? (although, if i want to get extra petty here, another reason why people can have reasonable doubt about your ghost writing job, beyond the fact that we have evidence of the many lies you tell on a regular basis... a ghost writer by definition has to know to be versatile and write on an more than acceptable level, if not being also good for the editing. LO, you don't even edit your own scripts. you record them in the first draft. your writing style is terrible, both in a grammar sense as an stylistic sense. so you mean to tell me that for your fanfiction, videos, posts, and everything to do with your name, you make zero effort into making it look decent and reserve all your hidden abilities for... writting for crappy apps? oh and flavor text on some unnamed RPG? seriously? how is anyone supposed to believe that?) anyway, the relevant portion is this:

LO, you're a despicable horrible human being. every ounce of compassion or grace i was ever willing to give you have killed it, smothered it, turned it into ashes and then piss on the debris just to spite me. every chance i gave you to be a better person, to do the right thing, you have squandered it and ignored it. you genuinely disgust me. you're repulsive. i feel sorry only for myself for ever believing you were more than a parasite, a groomer and an abuser. Brittany has never been better than the day you both stopped being friends. your sibling, who never liked you in the way you wanted them to and never would have, is a better friend you never was. everyone who has left you is better for it and someday that fact will fully crush you, but there won't be anyone there to console you and tell you that you "deserved better" because you'll be all alone. nobody will be responsible for that when it happens. not me, not Brittany, not Courtney, not any of the other blogs who criticize you. you. you always be your worst enemy and, the best part is, that is the one you'll never get rid of.

[triptychgrip]

I had a dream last night that one of my favorite anime characters (Viktor Nikiforov, from Yuri!!! on Ice) met another one of my favorite anime/manga characters (Sohma Ayame from Fruits Basket) and now I very well may have to write a crossover fanfic.

For one thing, the two of them seem to share some fundamental personality traits (easily excitable, very practiced in masking insecurities), but secondly, I think their meeting and sizing each other up would be so fun to write about. Like, I can totally see a situation where Sohma Yuki and Yuri Plisetsky bond over how extremely irritating they find the collective energy of Ayame and Viktor, together. And Mine and Yuuri would just watch their significant others with fond/exasperated expressions. Plus, I think it'd be hilarious to write about Viktor and Ayame being envious/admiring of the other’s hair care regimen and flair for the dramatic.

But that’s actually not what I intended this post to be about.

This dream got me thinking about the parallels between both shows, so I decided I'd make a 3 point pitch to fans of each to go check out the other, if it’s not already on your radar. I talk about both shows pretty broadly, so I don't believe I'm spoiling anything with this post.

Both pieces of media (I say ‘media’, because I prefer the Fruits Basket manga, even though both the original anime/remake are excellent) get me so in my feels, so I’ll try not to go on forever and ever. That being said, please do read to the end for my two disclaimers.

Reason 1: I think fans of both would agree that a big theme of their canon work is the transformational power of vulnerability. This feeds into the sub-themes of found family, and how the “practice” of letting love into one’s life (because it truly does take practice, despite society making us think it’s easy-breezy) can deeply shift us as people.

At its core, each implements huge characters arcs for their MC's that demonstrate this.

For Yuri!!! on Ice, this applies to Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor Nikiforov -- two professional male figure skaters, the former known as "Japan's Ace" skater, and the latter dubbed a "Living Legend" -- and for Fruits Basket, this applies to higher schoolers Sohma Yuki, Honda Tohru, and Sohma Kyo (though, truly, it could apply to all of the Sohmas). Right off the bat, I'll say that a big difference between yoi and furuba revolves around age. Yuuri and Viktor are adults, while Yuki, Tohru, and Kyo start off as (what seems to be) high school juniors. Yuri!!! on Ice fans, don't let that dissuade you from checking out Fruits Basket, however; its themes are very complex, and will challenge you.

Both media start off with their main characters at low points.

Katsuki Yuuri has just come in last place at his first Grand Prix Final competition: the competition it seems he's been working towards his entire career, and the one where he'd hoped to gain Viktor's attention (as he's looked up to the "Living Legend" since he was just twelve years old).

Similarly, we see that Tohru Honda has recently lost her mother (her father is also dead), and is practically homeless. She is living in a flimsy tent on Sohma Shigure's property. While Yuuri decides to leave the United States to move back home to Japan, and is contemplating retiring from figure skating altogether, Tohru is taken in by Shigure and Yuki in exchange for helping out with chores around their house.

In yoi, the plot moves along when we see Viktor -- who has just won his 5th World Championship title -- decide to drop everything and move to Japan to be Yuuri's coach, after seeing a viral video of him skating to one of his routines. And in furuba, the plot moves along as we watch Tohru meet more of the Sohmas, and learn about the big secret plaguing their family.

Canon shows us that while Katsuki Yuuri has a lot of love/support in his life prior to Viktor’s arrival in his hometown (his parents, his ballet teacher, etc), his own anxiety/insecurities makes it so that he struggles to realize the love around him. He has a hard time seeking out comfort or opening up to people when navigating hardships. But this fundamentally shifts with Viktor’s role in becoming his figure skating coach (and, eventually, romantic partner).

I would be remiss if I didn't make a content warning, here. Generational trauma and neglect are big themes in Fruits Basket.

In Fruits Basket, the zodiac "curse" -- a generational Sohma family trait that makes physical contact between its members and those of the opposite sex challenging, as touching leads each Sohma member to turn into its zodiac animal (i.e. Yuki turns into the rat, Kyo turns into the cat, etc.) -- as well as Sohma Akito's cruelty has made it so that Yuki and Kyo have been brainwashed into believing they are burdens...that they are unlovable, with no redeeming value, even in the eyes of their own family members.

But the presence of Tohru in their lives (and her ripple effect of positivity that completely upends the curse dynamic) causes Yuki and Kyo to unlearn these entrenched beliefs, and to realize that they have always, inherently, been worthy of love *brb sobbing*

While the idea of cute zodiac animals might lead one to think the manga/show is this cotton-candy fluff ride, there is a lot of heaviness that I personally found super compelling, and a reason that ppl who don't typically like content featuring high schoolers might make an exception for it.

Now, of course, Yuri!!! on Ice has its own heavy themes: navigating anxiety as well as feelings of apathy/depression, and while it's not canon, the lack of detail on Viktor's backstory has led many in the fandom to develop headcanons around possible strained family relationships/trauma history. Because it's something I actually have been wondering about, I thought I'd make a poll.

Reason 2: Both are very funny, with compelling romantic development.

Regarding the former, I found myself laughing out loud while reading/watching. I think a huge part of the reason has to do with the 'tsundere' archetype that Yuri Plisetsky (another figure skater) embodies in yoi, and that Sohma Kyo embodies in Fruits Basket. These grouchy characters are hilarious and lovable, and the audience enjoys seeing their energy play off of contrasting personality types.

Reason 3: It's more obvious off-the-bat in Yuri!!! on Ice, but the element of surprise is used to great effect in both. While there are tons of examples I could give, I'll say that each contains a fundamental "twist" that really makes you reconceptualize your entire understanding of the storyline/character relationships. I know that's not a lot to go off of, but each major surprise really shifted my perception of the pre-conceived power dynamics that we are led to believe exist in each.

It's no secret that Yuri Plisetsky is actually a big fan of Katsuki Yuuri, but his teenage pride won't allow him to admit this. Seeing Yuri adamantly insist that he thinks Yuuri is a loser, and just generally being aggravated by Viktor's extraness is pretty comical. Similarly, Kyo is quite prickly, and it's clear that Tohru Honda's diametrically opposed nature (i.e. she is warm and caring, to a fault) throws him for a loop. Seeing him flustered by it is hilarious.

I won't say any more about the romance development b/c I don't want to spoil anything in Fruits Basket, but suffice it to say that both media have plenty of "awww" moments that will have you swooning as characters open up to one another.

Disclaimers:

1) I think it's unfair to compare these pieces of media solely based on the amount of canon content around them.

Yuri!!! on Ice is an original anime, and (thus far) only has 1 season of 12 episodes (whyyyyy MAPPA?! I like Attack on Titan as much as the next person but please, I beg, give us season 2!). On the other hand, Fruits Basket has an original anime, plus a remake, and was a manga that went on for years. Thus, you will likely think the characterization/plot development is much richer. But, one thing I absolutely adore about the yoi fandom is how much fan-created content exists. Like, years after the show came out (in late 2016), there are still ppl actively writing fic (like me! I discovered it in 2020 but only started writing last year), making fanart, etc.

2) Another note about comparison that is pretty important:

Because of the overtness of certain elements in Fruits Basket (i.e. two very clear kisses happen, and we also see follow-up content that was released that shows a marriage take place in the future, etc.), fans might watch Yuri!!! on Ice and be disappointment with what they might characterize as understated romance between Yuuri and Viktor. But I think it's important to note how revolutionary the show was for portraying a queer romance between its main characters, especially in a show that was never marketed as a yaoi (boys' love) series. Despite several obvious indicators of the romantic nature of Yuuri and Viktor's relationship, there are still ppl that will argue that these two were merely coach/skater, and nothing more, and I just...don't even know where to begin in addressing that without dropping spoilers. If you're that curious, go to my AMA feature and drop me a question and I will happily write you a novel of a response.

Alright, that's mostly it...if you've gotten this far, thank you so much for reading! If you do end up checking out one or other, I hope you'll let me know what you think.

The very last thing I'll say is that I've only written fanfic for Yuri!!! on Ice (all post-canon, I've linked my Ao3 Dashboard), but I've been ideating around some Fruits Basket ideas, so may give it a whirl in the coming weeks. With every fiber of my being, I wish that I had artistic ability so that I could make fanart of Ayame and Viktor meeting...one can dream lol

[x-neurotoxin-x]

Can we know more about Paperbag Dabi's system 👉👈

Aaa, gladly.

Realistically, especially given Dabi's a programmed system in this series, he would probably have more alters than just Touya, and likely a high alter count. I didn't feel like writing a ton of alters and trying to keep track of all of them so i just stick with Dabi and Touya.

Dabi has some amnesia when Touya fronts and vice versa so they doesn't remember much of what goes on when the other fronts. He'll get bits and pieces back slowly, but they don't have very good communication.

Since Touya is a trauma holder, Dabi repressed a lot of the csa/csem from childhood and Touya holds that. Dabi's aware of it, at least to some degree, and remembers bits and pieces but not very much.

Programming talk now, Touya was primarily subjected to programming for the purpose of csem and trafficking as a kid once Enji decided he can't train him anymore. Touya was groomed already by then both for hero work and due to the csa (I hc Enji began sexually abusing Touya years before he went on to traffick him within the commission) so the commission used the grooming and pre-existing conditioning as a foundation to build off of for the programming.

He's primarily doll programmed, which basically causes him to believe himself to be an object meant to be used sexually by others, and when cued or the program is tripped, he dissociates hella hard, has trouble moving, and has trouble disobeying anything that can be seen as orders. This works on either alter/the entire system, but since it's Touya's trauma, it usually triggers him out. Tripping his programming can happen accidentally but a lot of the times in Paper Bag his programming is intentionally cued by Tomura since Tomura learned how to do that from looking into Touya and finding csem of when he was a kid (which I think happened in codependency?) Basically, with his cues, certain phrases and/or physical contact (usually coupled together) will cause certain programmed responses. They're used frequently enough that of you're looking for them in the series you can spot them. I try to stay consistent with them, so I wrote them all down;

Grab face, “Be empty and still like a good doll.” – Makes him be directed into whatever position and be unable to move or speak unless program is stopped (snapping fingers three times) usually cannot react during this either and defaults into a vacant expression unless he’s directed otherwise (told to smile, cry, beg, etc) then he’ll react the way he’s told to/is expected to.

Hands on hips/waist, firm voice, “Strip.” – will remove his clothing.

Hand on head, pushing downward, “open.” – will drop to his knees and open his mouth.

Hands on knees, firm voice, “Let us/me see you” – will spread his legs open and hold that position until cued/directed otherwise

While lying down, preferably on a bed, “Touch yourself” – He’ll begin masturbating.

Handed sharp object during sex, “Bleed for me/us” – will begin cutting himself, usually on his thighs unless directed otherwise

Cameras, women’s lingerie, group sex/being penetrated by multiple men, most of the cues above – Triggers out Touya or brings him closer to front.

I don't expand on it much but the commission is shady and fucked up here, definitely did this to other kids and programmed people in similiar ways (though for different reasons/within different branches. Like Touya was programmed for csem, but other kids may have been programmed for hero work, spy work, interrogation purposes, etc) and Touya landed in the csem/trafficking branch of the programming because he was "pretty", pre-groomed, and already conditioned to be compliant to sexual abuse.

Dabi definitely did survival sex work and petty thief while he was homeless, and that alter mainly came around as a means of survival / emotional protector since Touya was so vulnerable, he wouldn't do well on the street. He's also managing most of the villain work too because Touya, though involved in the revenge and exposing endeavor plan, doesn't want to be a villain or go against hero society because of his programming.

Speaking of exposing endeavor, Dabi has a super hard time making the broadcast video bc of his trauma with cameras and Touya repeatedly getting triggered out.