#orignal writing

[r-f-m-writes]

A Lark In a Hollow Chapter One

Really, she doesn't have a choice.

Lark barely remembers the huge shadow of a man sitting beside her in the dead heat of Mrs. Poppy's office at the children's home. He is silent, stoic, and completely terrifying.

Christopher Hollow.

Muscled.

Six foot five.

Storm blue eyes.

Dog tags outlined under the straining stretch of his black tee-shirt.

"Lark," Mrs. Poppy says, gently, "you're happy with this arrangement? You want to go with your Godfather?"

There's no money left for her to live off until she finds a job - if she finds a job.

Her Dad is dead.

Lark doesn't have a choice.

Lark Douglas didn’t know who Christopher Hollow was when Mrs. Poppy brought his name up to her on a hot Saturday afternoon in her office. The additional details that he had served with her Dad in Afghanistan and was her appointed legal guardian and Godfather did nothing to help jog Lark’s memory.

      In fact, it was a full week after Mrs. Poppy informed Lark of Christopher Hollow’s existence that the girl finally managed to scrounge up a single, short, fuzzy memory of the man.

         She was home.

         The door to their flat was open, the old ceiling fan had been turning in slow circles over her head. It did nothing to fight against the mid July heat that was so stifling and muggy it made her skin stick to the linoleum floors. She had sat on the couch playing with Labrador, her stuffed toy dog, when Mom walked in with someone.

        Lark was five, she thinks, and she hadn’t paid attention to anything that was being said, or looked at who had stepped the room after her mother. She only glanced up from where she was making her stuffed dog do backflips off the worn-down couch cushions when big, black boots stepped into her vision off the edge of the sofa.

       The man who stood in front of her was tall, wearing camo pants and a fitted grey tee-shirt. His face was hard to remember, but Lark thought he had sandy brown hair and the start of a thick brown beard. He had crouched down, setting aside a battered black duffle bag, looking at her like he expected something.

     Lark had only stared at him.

      Mom’s voice had a strain in it when she spoke.

     “Say hi to Chris, baby. He’s come all the way from the airport just to see you.”

     The man spoke before Lark had the chance. He had a deep, rough rumbly voice.

     “Don’t worry her about it, Lori. Been two years. I’d be surprised if Pet remembered me at all.”

      Pet.

      That was the only memory Lark had of Christopher.

      She wasn’t even sure it was real and not just something she had made up in the recesses of her mind as an unconscious effort to help herself fill in the gaps and feel less uncertain.

     She had lots of memories like that.

      Memories no one else could verify. Memories she wasn’t sure happened, but couldn’t shake as being real.

      This was what led Lark to where she stood at the top of the worn flight of wooden stairs.  Seventeen years old, dressed in clothes that didn’t belong to her, feeling entirely unsure of what the future would hold.

      Seventeen, and only three weeks and four days shy of her eighteenth birthday.

     It was ridiculous.

     Stupid, even.

     Why couldn’t she just wait it out at the girl’s home?

     Why was Mrs. Poppy was obligated, by law, to reach out to relatives Lark had never even heard of and negotiate with them down the phone, asking and then, after the eighth rejection, pleading with each of them to come and pick her up?

      “Just a month - no, no, you wouldn’t have to commit to adoption, Mrs. Tanner - not at all. I am only reaching out because Lark is your niece, and I am sure you want the best for her -”

     The list thinned, name by name. Lark saw them each time Mrs. Poppy opened the manilla envelope with her initials on it, glancing over the struck off phone numbers and feeling nothing.

    The rejections didn’t surprise her.

    She knew from lived experience how reluctant people were to help a stranger.

     It took less than half a week for them to reach the last one.

     His name.

     Christopher Hollow.

     He was who Lark was waiting for as she hung onto the banister, her dark eyes fixed on the panes of frosted glass in the door, anticipating seeing a shadow blot across the panels when he stepped onto the porch and rang the buzzer.

     Floorboards creaked.

     Lark moved too late when Mrs. Poppy stepped out of her office that stood at the side of the stairs. The stacked blonde beehive of her hair bobbing into the girl’s view as Lark tried to scurry back out of her sight.

    Too little, too late.

    The kind wrinkles around Mrs. Poppy’s eyes doubled and deepened as the sound made her look upward and spot Lark.

     “Lark, there you are! I was just about to come and find you, dear. Nip down into my office for a moment, I’ve got some things I want to discuss with you before Mr. Hollow arrives.”

    The old stairs squeaked loudly as the girl walked sheepishly down the grossly worn-out blue carpet runner, rounding the curved banister at the bottom to follow Mrs. Poppy into her office.

    It was sun warm inside, light spilling over the faded hardwood floor and shiny varnish of the big, brown desk, highlighting the dozens of ring-marks stained into its top by mugs of coffee past. Mrs. Poppy rounded the desk, having to skirt sideways between the edge of it and the rows of heavy metal file drawers that flanked the room on all sides.

   Taking her perch in a black wheely chair, the woman gestured for Lark to sit in one of the two big, green, retro velvet sofas that faced her desk.

      Sinking down into her seat, Lark folded her hands in her lap and looked at the woman, waiting to be spoken to. She had been thoroughly taught from a young age that she was to be seen and not heard. There had also been plenty of occasions when Lark wasn’t to be seen or heard. Those were moments when her half empty pink, princess wardrobe came in handy.

        Mrs. Poppy placed a pair of up-swept cat eye spectacles on the tip of her tall, gently crooked nose, and took out a notepad. It was one of dozens she had, this particular piece of stationary sported Lark’s name on its front, written in black pen and then broadly underlined in purple marker.

       “Miss Douglas today is a big one for you. How are you feeling, hon? Excited? Nervous?”

        The soft slip of her southern accent calmed Lark some as she fought against the urge to fidget, keeping her fingers still in her lap.

        “Excited, Ma’am. Dad didn’t like to travel much, so seeing the Appalachians sounds like a real adventure.”

        Lark stuck a quick smile onto the end of her lie. She had rehearsed it in her head a hundred times since she was told the good news a week before.

        Christopher Hollow wanted her.

        He was driving the whole way down the coast from his home in the Appalachian Mountains to come and collect her. Lark couldn’t even comprehend where the Appalachian Mountains stood, just that they were stupendously far away.

        Mrs. Poppy grinned at Lark, genuine and radiant, as she wrote something in fast scratching cursive over and empty line of the notepad.

       “Always such an optimist, Lark. I’m sure Mr. Hollow will be delighted by you.”

        Lark’s left thumb twitched. When she smiled, it felt tight in the corners, “I certainly hope so, Ma’am.”

        And she truly did. Lark knew the way men behaved when they weren’t delighted by her.

~R.F.M~

         A fist gripped long, brown hair tightly enough to tear dozens of strands out of Lark’s scalp as she was dragged down the hallway by her head, the girl’s frame stooped almost to the floor as she clawed at the hands restraining her.

       “Fucking little bitch coming to steal from me? Think you’re slick, huh?”

         In honesty, Lark did.

        She had stolen from the man before on countless occasions, rummaging through the contents of his worn leather wallet, fishing out loose coins and dollar notes that wouldn’t be missed. Before, he was always too out of his mind to realize, so Lark had gotten greedy.

        Twenty dollars was a lot of money to people like them. She was foolish for thinking she could snatch it away without his notice.

       Lark didn’t know his name, or his age, or anything about him other than the fact he bought pot on Thursday afternoons and left the door to his apartment wide open with 90’s music playing full volume while he sat out on his balcony in a beat-up pink recliner, back to the living room, smoking.

         By all accounts, the man wasn’t very smart. But he was still a man, a man much stronger than Lark.

[akindplace]

Sometimes you have to surround yourself with absolutely positive things: cute plushies, motivational quotes, relaxing music, comfortable blankets, a funny show, talk to people to have a laugh, nice food, see some memes, so we can remember to feel grateful, so we can remember that there are still good things out there and that life is indeed worth living and fighting for, so you can have all these precious little moments and things even when they seem fleeting. Remember to enjoy something today just for the sake of being a little happier for a moment. It might restore your faith in the world a little and nurture your strength. Allow yourself to recharge.

[thegreysworld]

“Without me you are everything, without you I am nothing.”

[haikkun]

Share My Gum

I cry

Like you cum

Spilling down our knuckles

Licked from both our thumbs

And the rivulets’ reflexive

Desire to meld together

Has me wondering less

How you could smell

The spearmint

Across the phone

And more

Why we cannot

Share the suffering

Like we shared

The joy

________________________

Maureen Armstrong @haikkun

[circusmania]

SIN CHAPTER 1

꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦

Notes: This story is first-person narration, since I couldn't decide on an x reader or x oc. This gives free imagination on who will be in the main character's shoes. The main character will be a nameless character, meaning no one will address the main as anything specific. The only detail will be that the main is perceived as a male.

STORY INTEL: A new boy, Marcus, has just transferred to Cheshire High. Everyone is warned to stay away from him, as he looks as if he just crawled out of a grave. However, our main character seems to be somewhat drawn to him. Judy displays her negative feelings towards Marcus, wanting the main character to stay away from him. Although she seems unreasonable, there has to be more to the story, right? Just what are they hiding? What secrets lie in wait for him to uncover?

CHARACTERS ARE NOT MINORS

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

♡

꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦

I wish that

Across your back

Was a zipper

And that I

Could just crawl in

Forever a part of you.

I'm suddenly shaken awake. I look to my side to find my girlfriend, Judy Presley, giggling to herself.

“Sleeping already? Class barely started!”

I quietly laughed, raising my head to look at her.

“I've been busy with football practice, I'm worried about the upcoming tournament. I've only just found out that Oliver broke his-”

“Hey, no worries!” Judy rubbed my back. “You can come over to my house today, so you can catch up on some sleep.” She winked.

I laid my head back onto my crossed arms on the table. I wasn't in the mood for that today… Anyway, I ready myself to fall back into slumber, fully expecting to be hugged by sleep.

However, that idea was cut short when the teacher clapped his hands.

“Quiet down everyone, today we have a new student.” This piqued my interest. “Marcus, come on in.”

A tall, slender boy with long (and I mean hip-long) black hair came in. His hair covered half his face, with only the septum piercing and mouth left out in the open. I could tell he was a gothic-alt based on his clothes.

Judy cringed next to me. “What's with this guy? He's so ... depressed, looking. She chuckled, causing” the teacher to look our way.

“Alright, Marcus, go sit at the desk table next to Judy. Judy, raise your hand, please.”

Marcus sat at the nearby desk; there was something about him, I couldn't pinpoint. I realized I was staring too long when Judy elbowed me.

“Ow!” I whisper-yelled.

“SH! You two!” The teacher side-eyed us both before going back to teaching.

“What's with the staring?” She asked, suspiciously.

“Nothing just found him-”

“Weird, satanic, faggy-”

“JUDY! You can't say that!-”

“I've had it with you both! Since you both cannot stop being lovey-dovey with each other…” The teacher scanned around the room, “Judy switch with Marcus.”

“But sir, I-” Judy argued, still blushing from the lovey-dovey accusation.

“No buts Judy, if you're going to be disrespectful in my class you're going to be punished. This isn't kindergarten anymore.” He said, turning back to the blackboard.

I whispered a silent apology to her, but I'm not sure if she heard it.

She sighed before grabbing her stuff and standing up. She passed Marcus, silently glaring at him before sitting down. I'm sure she won't let me hear the end of it at lunch…

I looked back at Marcus, who was now organizing his binder and pencil case, occasionally looking up at the lesson. Now I could get a better look at him. His clothes consisted of only black and grey shades with ripped baggy jeans, platform boots, and a t-shirt with some rock band, I presume. He wore all kinds of chains, necklaces, earrings, and rings.

He was the complete polar opposite of Judy. She always put her light brown hair in a ponytail with a white bow, wore perfect matching season clothes, and had well-made makeup. I would be lying if I said she wasn't something but, Marcus, he was also something… Wait, why am I comparing them??

I rubbed my temples and groaned.

I looked back at Marcus, only to be met with him facing me!

“You have very pretty eyes.” He said, giving me an affiliative smile.

Gasp His voice?? Holy shit, it's … almost unrealistic…

“T-thank you…”

I internally slapped myself, was I seriously stuttering?? God, I'm so embarrassed.

I heard him lightly chuckle beside me.

What's going on with me? I must be coming down with something!

ﾟ+: *✧･ﾟ:﹤ 🔔🔔🔔﹥: ･ﾟ✧*:+ﾟ

“Judy this, Judy that, shut your goddamn mouth!” I shut my locker, half listening to Judy's rant. “I hate that fucking teacher! Who does he think he is, separating us like that!?” I nod, just letting her get it all out of her system.

“Hey guys, wait up!” A small voice behind us made Judy shut up.

We both turned towards a familiar girl. Vanessa Kareem, Judy's BFF (as she calls it). Vanessa and her have always been friends. She was pretty much the spitting image of Judy except for her black silky hair that was in a grunge haircut, her blue eyes, and her much paler skin.

“Hey V, how's it going?” Judy smiled, forgetting all about her rant.

“Nothing much, however, you'll never guess what happened! I've just received another A! In science too!” She waved her test around, looking at me for words of praise.

“Oh, uh, congrats Vanessa, although I'm not all that surprised… you're pretty smart. I can't remember the last time you've gotten a B.” I rub the back of my neck.

“Me neither…” Judy said, a bit sourly.

Vanessa laughed, “Oh, stop it! Both of you! He-he. Anyway, how are you guys?”

“I'm glad you asked, we're doing pretty miserable,” And there she goes again… “I got switched seats with the new vampire wannabe.”

Vanessa blinked. “You two aren't sitting together anymore?”

“No! Can you believe it!? We always sit together! Ugh! I'm so pissed off! Fuck that new kid.” Judy screamed.

“Hey, don't say that! He's not all bad.” I intervened.

“And what makes you say that?” Judy cocked an eyebrow.

“He… He said my eyes looked nice.” I pinched the palm of my hand.

“Your eyes indeed do look nice,” Vanessa said, causing Judy to side-eye her.

“Yeah, well, I say that all the time! As a matter of fact, I think your hair looks immaculate today!”

“Thank you, Judy, and erm, Vanessa.” I give them both a wary smile before continue walking to the cafeteria.

There, MY best friend, Omar Thomerson, sat devouring his lunch. Omar, he's been with me since the universe was created. We're convinced we were best friends in our past lives. I've always thought of him as the geek in our friendship. He's always been obsessed with any fantasy fiction he can grab on. Greek mythology, science-fiction, astrology, you name it. He has dark brown hair with a shag haircut, freckles, and brown eyes. His typical wear is a worn-out hoodie and cargo pants.

“Hey, Hey, there's my best friend!” Omar patted the seat next to him.

I sat down with Judy and Vanessa trailing after me. I gave him a high five before opening my lunch box.

We all chatted and ate, Omar occasionally bringing up the big party he is planning on having at his house this weekend.

“Our whole grade is going to be invited! You guys better all be coming, especially you” Omar said, smirking at me.

“The whole grade? Don't you think that's too much? I mean, I know you own a big house but…” She sighed, “Not only that, but I might have plans this weekend.” Judy said, taking another bite of her salad.

“I'm for sure coming, I would never miss your parties!” I slap his back jokingly.

“I'll be going too!” Vanessa beamed.

“Well… maybe I'll have time to swing by,” Judy said.

“Great! I'll be holding you all to that then.” Omar smiled.

We continued our conversation until something caught my eye, a familiar half-face going out the back cafeteria door. The only thing behind there are dumpsters and roaches…

“Hang on, guys, I'll be back.” I squeezed out of my seat.

“Want me to come with you?” Judy sat up.

“No, no, I won't be long anyway,” I said before running out after Marcus.

I opened the back door and closed it behind me. I looked around and as expected there were only dumpsters.

I advanced towards one of them and looked behind it, but nothing-

“What are you doing?”

꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦︶︶₊꒷꒦

Want to read ahead? Click here!

[tetheredfeathers]

Midnight?

Your hands clenched mine like a vise,  

as I fed you, oh, so many lies.  

A shell-shocked lunatic, your only reprieve.

As they pried apart our tethered veins,  

my conscience recalled countless trains.  

Mingled breaths, over-looming threats,  

your skin, my sanctuary,  

mistook you for an accessory.

The day the parachutes rained,  

And her blonde curls burst into flames.  

You finally came, a spray of yellow petals,  

for her, you proclaimed.

Still, I must ask.  

Why must your windows be drawn at night?  

Is it to keep the harshest gales from consuming your might?  

Or is it to keep my ghastly skin out of sight?

Why must you add sugar to your tea,  

when you would drink it plain by the oak tree?

Why must your laces flap with your feet,  

as your double knots ensnare my throat,  

in utter conceit.

Why must your eyes beseech me with Sirocco winds,  

when they used to flow like Orinoco’s wings.

I had the sun, and still, I reached for the stars.

A foolish girl, with foolish spars.

When you didn’t come running back,  

I knew I’d fumbled with your life.  

I’d let you go at midnight,  

for that’s when the angels attacked.

So I must know,

To never see my pearl again.  

I watch as fragments of your heart return,  

you must know I was never a good bargain.

I yearn for the boy who pressed his hands against my thighs,

I let the silence of those nights suppress my desires.

I yearn, I yearn,  

For a mere reprieve.  

A way to turn back time,  

to find the boy who was once mine.

-H.K

So this poem was inspired by the line in MJ:

“You're a painter. You're a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”

The poem is in Katniss’ pov. It mainly talks about her regrets of letting Peeta go in CF.

I was trying to explore Katniss’ emotion post war when she returned to district 12, i realized that Peeta was probably never the same again. I know he and Katniss grow back together as best they can however, she can never really get back same exact boy before the hijacking.

So she finds little changes he does in his routine like taking sugar in his tea or sleeping with the windows closed. This is obviously not to be taken literally, Peeta doesn’t necessarily do all these things. It’s just to explain the little changes Peeta goes through metaphorically. The poem might be a little exaggerated at some points but I couldn’t help it ig.

I haven’t picked a title yet so if anyone has any ideas pls feel free to tell me. Also feedback and constructive criticism always appreciated.

[bandgie]

Lost & Found

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

a/n: hey guys! so this is the second part of Predator & Prey. you don't have to read that first, but it defo will help with references and what not lmao. to be clear, this is not a chapter of the predator and prey series, this what happens after the series.

synopsis: You hated the little town you lived in, you hated your job, hated how everyone knew everyone, you hated how your mother didn't care about how much you hated it. You needed to do something, to get out of this repetitive life. You've decided to apply to be a maid in the castle for the Viscount and his family. With this new life, you hope to change your pace. Yet, one of the sons can't help but give you an eerie sense of familiarity.

cw: reader is mischievous/a little mean, mentions of insecurity, toxic family/people, running away, I dunno that's it

3.1k words

She grabbed you roughly by the arm, literally throwing you out of the little shop. You landed on your knees, the cold snow burning your skin. You heard her take steps towards you and before you could turn, she kicked you right on the ass. You yelped.

"You're fired! I don't want to see your pathetic face again. Ya hear me?!" Your boss screamed as you struggled to your feet. She was a big lady, tall and thick with curves. A well-sign that she was fed well, paid well enough to afford food. Despite that, she still paid you so little. Measly coins of copper when you knew you deserved more.

When you confronted her about it, she shot you down. She got so defensive that you knew she was lying to you. So you did the only reasonable thing you could think of, steal her food and throw it to the cattle. She did not take it well, of course, and when she asked you about it you confessed rather easily. 'It was me. I did you a favor really, you were starting to get bigger than the cows.'

You had managed to stand on your feet, ignoring the pain in your legs. "I don't need this shit job anyway," you try not to shout. "I could have been making 3 times as much scooping up the dung from the animals." You could tell she wanted to slap you, but there were too many eyes on you both. It wasn't easy living in a small village, everyone was too nosy for their own good.

"Take your things, and go." She had her arms folded onto other chest. You roll your eyes, not bothering to go inside the shop and see if you did have any belongings. Even if you did, you kept it on you at all times. You had a feather necklace, one you kept in your pocket when it wasn't around your neck. For good measure, you flipped off your ex-boss and made your way to your house.

The walk home should have been shameful. All eyes were on you, whispers as you walked by, looks of pity and disgust from the people. You wanted to scream, you wanted to beat all of them to the ground for not minding their business. It's going to be very hard to find another job now, you couldn't help but think.

Once you got to you little cottage, you were bombarded with children running around. Your mother ran a small daycare inside the home, an easy way to make money. You stopped yourself from swearing at the kids as they stepped on your feet. With a groan, you pushed through them, ignoring how some cried and yelled at you. Your mom was not far, coming out of the cooking area to greet you.

"How was it today?" She asks. You debate on lying or telling her the truth, but you're too frustrated to have it in you to lie. "I was terminated. Good riddance." Your mom gasps at the news, hands covering her mouth. "You lie! Please tell me that you lie," her voice was desperate. "No," you speak firmly. "She was hogging all of the money, I was getting mere scraps."

Your mom huffs, hands on her hips. "That is no matter. You still needed a job that paid. How else do you think we put food on the table." She gestured to the 10 children that loudly scream and play. "You cannot expect me to be able to afford food when I can't even afford bones of an animal," irritated laced with your words. With an eye roll, your mom makes her way to the children, calling them for lunch.

You watch as the children slowly quiet down, walking to the dinner table. They're so young, so free, so careless. You envy them. Oh, how you would give up your adulthood for your youth, unknowing of the ruthless world. Your mother calls for you to help, but you're so lost in thought. Is it the world that's cruel? Or is is this village? This place with so many people up your ass that you can't breathe?

"Mom," you start. "Let's move." Your demand has your mom giving you a questioning look. "Don't be silly. Come help me serve the children." She disregards you quickly. Still, you keep remained in your place. "I can't stay here. We can't stay here. Let's go elsewhere. To a city so big no one knows our names, we start start fresh. We can be happy," you can hear your voice breaking.

You think that because some of your emotion is breaking thorough, she'll give in. Or at least consider it. Instead, she eyes you weirdly again. "We are happy, my child. You just had a bad day. Come and help me with-"

"No!" You shout before you can think. Your voice has the children quiet their conversations, eyes on you. On you, on you, on you. No one will just stop looking at you, no one will just see you as a person, no one will respect you here. "I hate it here!" Your eyes sting with tears. "I can't stand another second in this place. Everyone knows my name, they know my face, they act like they know me when they don't! I hate how they stare at me. How they look at me with such venom." You gasp for air, tears now fully dripping down your face.\

Pity. It's pity that your mom looks at you with. Not understanding, not love. Pity.

"I understand, my rose. But whose fault is that?" Your breath gets caught in your throat from her words. She really has the audacity to blame you? "You make a ruckus everywhere you go," she presses on. "You think I don't know what they say about you? About me? This village thinks I raised you wrong, when in fact, it's you that's just wrong. Can't you be grateful? You're lucky your mother puts up with these rumors. I should've kicked you out the moment you began causing chaos."

Her face is slightly pink from anger, hands clasping the wooden spoon a little harder than she should. Then, like she didn't just berate you, she serves the children. You stand there stunned. You're not sure how you're feeling; Angry? Sad? Neglected? Ignored? Shocked? Unimportant? You then wipe your tears, infuriated at yourself for wasting them to begin with.

"You don't have to worry about kicking me out. I'll leave," and with that, you take long strides to your bedroom. You grab your wool sack that will barely fit the things you need. It's not as though you had many things to begin with, but it really dawned on you then how little you had. For good measure, you grab your candle and matches, sure they would come in handy for the night. Once done, you reach under your yarn bed for a small pouch full of coins you've managed to save up.

You make your way out of your room, sack over your shoulder with the feathers necklace around your neck. You don't know even know how long you've had it for, but you still could never seem to part with it. It was huge, bigger than your hand. It seemed to blend perfectly with the night. Your mother always begged you to get rid of it, that it was riddled with disease. You wouldn't, maybe you couldn't.

Your mom sighs, seemingly irritated with you, "You're being dramatic." It takes restraint to ignore her words, continuing towards the door. She follows you though, fast feet behind you. "Foolish girl. You think you can survive out there in the winter?" You open the door, biting back the freezing air as you step out.

To your surprise, she's still following you. "My god! Get your bottom back in the house and-" You finally spin around, facing your mother. "No. I will not go back into that god forsaken house, to this god forsaken village. I will leave, and you will not see me again." You don't bother to wait for her reply, instead quickly walking to the path that leads out of the village.

Her footsteps stop, a clear indication that she is no longer behind you. Still, her voice carries in the wind, "Don't expect me to accept you when you come crawling back again!" You shake your head in an attempt to get her voice out of your mind.

Despite having a tear-stained face, you still have your determination. The will to save yourself from this life, the will feel alive.

The cold air around you is enough to have you feeling alive, adrenaline still running high. It's probably how you manage to push forward for hours without so much as a break. The sun in well down, and you were glad you could fit a lantern inside your bag. It may provided little light, but you could feel the heat radiating from it.

It's not as though you didn't know where you going, you already had a place in mind. There a big city not too far from where you lived, a place called Capua. It's where many of the noble men lived, even people who worked directly under the king. You may not be able to live there like them, but you could start fresh there. Maybe you'll find yourself a nice old lady to work with, clean her house for easy money.

Gosh, you could practically taste the metallic coins on your tastebuds. Your dream would was only another 2 days away, and you were more than eager to have it. For tonight, however, you find yourself resting in an old shack. You found this place many years ago when you ran away as a young maiden. It was dusty, abandoned, and smelly. Not that it mattered now, for tonight, it was your new home.

Your dreams consisted of your daily lives, though much exaggerated. You could hear them laughing, whispering about you even if there was no one nearby. You tossed in your sleep. It was all too much, you couldn't even escape your pathetic life in sleep. Then, your dream shifted to your future new life. What if they laughed at you there as well? What if your behavior was so bad back at home, that the people of Capua heard of the rumors. No one would hire you. You would still be alone.

The nightmare shifts, and you're suddenly standing in the woods. A man, if you can call it that, stand in front of you. He has horns on his head, eyes black, wings surrounding his frame. He is no human, but he gives you a strange sense of safety. He's saying something, but you can't understand him. Then you notice his bloody hands, his bloody teeth.

You open your mouth the scream, but instead you say, "So, see you later alligator?" Your voice sounds different, almost like you had an unfamiliar accent. The 'man' gives you a puzzled look, "Yes, but I am not an alligator." Pain, your chest heaved with heartbreak as you walk away from him, into a glowing tree.

Wait! You want to scream. Where am I? Who are you? Instead, your dream self watches as the 'man' disappears until he's nothing but a memory. A locked echo you have forgotten in all these lives but this one. You can feel yourself waking up, how his face so easily turns hazy.

The sun peeks through one of the broken windows of the shack, effectively waking you up. Tiredly, you sit up. You look around for a moment, as if forgotten where you were. That dream, you couldn't help but think about it. It was like a distant memory, a place with a person you once knew. It's all garbled know, and you can't really recall the exact details in your wake.

Not that it matters, you have a journey ahead of yourself and you shouldn't waste daylight. A yawn leaves your lips as you stand, bones lightly cracking at the movement. You slip on your shoes, which are slightly damp from the snow. Without your mother noticing before you left, you had managed to sneak away some food. You take a moment to stretch before your walk while you eat.

You groan as you reach for they sky. Your body slightly aches from sleeping oh the floor, but you hope that your long stroll with that the pain away. Once you've finished warming up, you make your way outside. The morning cold nips at you immediately, but it's much more compared to the night.

The sun is over the horizon, still faints of pink from sunrise. There's no time to admire Earth's natural beauty. You have a voyage ahead of yourself.

-

It's the next day when you make it to the city of Capua. It's already almost sundown, and you need to find an inn quickly. The air is totally different. You can't help but feel like it's actually warmer here. There's so many people on the streets that they bump into each other, not bothering to apologize.

You actually feel a little honored when you yourself get knocked into. "Watch where you're going!" They practically scream at you. Still, there's not an ounce of anger in you when they do. Instead, you beam at them. You ignore how puzzled they look when you do.

You really want to explore the city, but your feet are unbelievably sore from the walking. Your lower back aches from the places you've been sleeping which consisted of the floors of abandoned homes. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make for this moment now.

The inn you find is small, low lit with candles, and cheap. It pretty much costs the entirety of your money pouch, but you need a good nights rest. Your room is small, merely a bed of hay with an even smaller desk.

Smiling, you set your belongings down and rest on the make shift bed. A new start, a life you've been dreaming of awaits you. When morning comes, you will look for a good job with good income. Screw your mom and the people that mocked you, they're the ones still stuck in that shit village.

Your dreams are still weird even here. You though you were having strange dreams because of the cold. In this instance, you're placed in a house so big you think it's a castle. People busy around you at the their tasks. You look down at yourself to see yourself wearing clothes of that of a maid.

The people, who you assume are other servants, talk in hush whispers. 'I hear he is cruel, unwilling to submit to anyone and anything.' 'That's not what I heard,' says another, 'I hear he has an illness, so he can't do normal tasks.' The room grows quiet when the person they were speaking of comes in.

His eyes don't bother looking at them, instead making his way past them. For a second, he meets yours. You stiffen under his gaze, his piercing eyes. A look of recognition passes him. Just as quick as he looked your way, he averts his eyes. 'You both are wrong.' One speaks once he's out of the room. 'He just prefers to be alone. Just likes it when someone keep his bed warm.' The voices snicker around you.

Morning comes quickly, ridding you of the details of your dreams. You have a mission today, and that's to find a job. The clothes you brought are not appealing to the eye, but they will have to do for now. You wear a nude color long sleeve over your white linen. Your skirt is long, almost brushing the ground. You wear stockings underneath and two pairs of sock.

The necklace feather matches your outfit well, and you wear it proudly. You clutch it in your hands, softly praying. Truthfully, you're nervous, scared even. You're in a new place with people and places you don't know. No one is here to help you, but then again, no one was there to help you back home.

Your quickly shown how difficult it is to find a job in a big city. Some people reject you rather harshly, and others don't even give you the time of day. That's fine, you try to convince yourself. It's only the first day, can't expect to have it all.

Now you sit in a tavern next to the fire to keep warm. The sun is still high, so not many people find themselves here. Only a few older men drink away, casually flirting with hostess who's just doing their job. The woman quickly spots you and makes her way to you. Once she's at your table, you wave your hand to dismiss her.

"I don't plan on getting a drink, sorry," you apologize. Instead she shakes her head, "No worries, I was truly trying to get away from those men. Just pretend to order something please." You immediately nod, "Of course. I'm sure working here can be stressful." She laughs, her cheeks turning a light pink. "Wouldn't you like to know? Pry, why come to this place if you don't plan on drinking?"

Her question leaves you a little embarrassed, but you find no harm in telling her the truth. "I came to this city looking for a job. I'm having no luck so far." She makes an open mouth expression in understanding. "Ah many young ladies like yourself do that same. Tell me, can you read?" Once again, you're embarrassed to tell the truth, but you do anyway.

"No. I come from a small village where schooling is scarce." You watch as her lips pinch into a thin line. "Reading is an important skill to have here in Capua, but I think your illiteracy might work in your favor." You eyes spark with hope as she continues speaking. "The Viscount is looking for a maid, only requiring that she doesn't have the ability to read. Does that interest you?"

You jump up from your seat, nodding frantically. "Yes! Oh Lord yes that's perfect!" You look around to notice the nearby older men staring at you. Quietly, you continue, "So where do I apply for the Viscount?" The hostess seems pleased at your reaction with the smile on her face.

"He lives up on the hill in the mansion, you cannot miss it. Though I should warn you, I hear he and his family can be quite unforgiving." She finishes. You shrug, "That is no matter to me. I thank you for your help." With that, you reach for your pocket and hand her there remaining money. It's honestly not even enough to order a round of pints, but she looks at it almost affectionately.

You can hear her telling you that she doesn't want the money, but you're already waving goodbye from the entrance. Your prayers have been answered.

a/n: hey yyaaalll I hoped you enjoyed. I hope it wasn't too boring, im just setting up the story yk. no clue how long this will be, no idea. I was actually planning on making nyryx a prince but I think that would've been too of a position for him. so yeah in case you haven't caught on, reader and nyryx are reborn in older times. I just love historical settings idk. also, if you saw another post of mine called 'lost & found'...no you didn't

taglist: @whatamidoing89, @panda-wolf, @fatgumsbby, @nekohollowsychogoth

[onlyloversleftstanding]

Sweet Aphrodite teach me to love my loneliness and the long hours between smiles.

[cosmicmote]

commercialization of life

I roll out of bed

and head to the kitchen

heat water for Lipton

black tea and caffienated

mmm mmm good

later what's for breakfast

Cheerios, or Quaker oatmeal

since I can no longer pancake with Aunt Jemima

and snap crackle pop is a 3 piece meal for dinner now

at least water isn't Nestle, yet

there's Elkay and China Lux for in-between times

with Frigidaire and

I saw someone yesterday on another somewhat life platform

she had changed her last name to match the brand name of her head

and if one looks just right, it's too easy to do,

the brand names all line right up there too, in her head and everywhere else

much like this platform we refer to as life, it's real

a whole Trompe community full of Pokemons in the streets

while I Kindle at home for my collections, it makes for more fruitful loops

and a silent Ring for my door

all of which is delivered by Casper and Amazon

and there are Candles and Cauldrons for protestations too

and we can recall that there used to Burning Life

and from My Space to Tik Tok now you yourself can easily be a brand

or even logo too, call it Fame

while my cat impatiently waits for Fancy Feast

everyone can learn how to fly or be a shero

maybe live forever like Kiss

but oh please not like Nickelodeon

they've been in the news and are still going strong

(unlike Boeing)

brought to you by

words ©spacetree 2024

we'll be back in 2 minutes

[skyetheprophet22]

Haibun

Haibun ~ Haibun is a prosimetric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku. The range of haibun is broad and frequently includes autobiography, diary, essay, prose poem, short story and travel journal. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You’re probably wondering how I died. It’s a reasonable question. Afterall, if I were still alive and saw a ghost hovering five feet in front of me, I would be a bit curious. Well, I would be frightened at first, of course - just as any sane person would be, but then again I’m not sure if I’m completely sane. It’s a question I’ve had a while to ponder in this state, but I should probably end this tangent. You’re not interested in my mental health, are you? The question you really want to ask is: “How did you die, oh strange, sorrowful spectre?” And to that question I say: “No.” You don’t get that. This is still my life, and I don’t need it flaunted for your or others’ amusement. That’s not how it should be...because...because my life is - was? - worth more than that. I don’t care what you think. I care what my family thinks; my friends, at least the few that I think I have...or had. And even that I question on the best of days.

One bird on a branch

At what point does love pollute?

Fragile be thy roots

[kogetaikid]

Yahaira’s story.

(TW! Suicide/Overall Just disturbing)

A preview for a small, bittersweet story called "I Love my sister". I might make some small animations/drawings of it. Here's a WIP.

Reblogs are appreciated, but do not tag as a vent.

Me and my sister are inseparable.

I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵��͙̓̃̏͘͘̚

We were both troublemakers and love making pranks, but I’d always take the blame for her. She was really slim and athletic. I envy her for that. I’m a little fat and find it hard to catch up with her. She says i have a big imagination to make up for it, but it’s not really that impressive to me anymore. However, I’d be on top of the world if anyone besides my sister complemented me. I have quite a few friends, and a cousin named Darla, but when I can’t play with them, I have my sister! She loves foreign language and I love outer space and psychology.

I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚

Lately, my parents got divorced, and she grew distant from me. I don’t know why.

I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚

She isn’t the same though, I still miss my sister. Something just feels so broken. My friend is an only child and he said he’s grateful he is. I don’t think I would be though…

I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚

My sister started to stop ignoring me when i confronted her about it. I can’t believe i had the guts to do that!

I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚

We start hanging out again, but something’s off. She keeps talking to me about suicide and it’s making me really sad and scared. I don’t know what to do. I love my sister.

I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚

She’s giving me nightmares. I don’t want my sister to be gone.

...

My dad sent my sister to a psych ward. I haven’t seen her in months, but my parents say she’ll be back on time for my tenth birthday!

...

April, 22 20**

...

It’s finally my tenth birthday!

…

But my sister isn’t back…and none of my friends could make it…It was the worst birthday ever…I don’t think I’ve ever cried so much…I MISS YOU, MELODY!!!!

I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅS̴̺̼̾I̵̜̿̇͒͘͝S̴͔͎̼̭̔̍̓̌͌̿̊̊̕T̶̠̝͇̿͆̓̋́͝͝͠E̶̢̝̯̲̳̗̞̋̐͂̆͜R̵͙̓̓̃̏͘͘̚I̷͖̝͓̓͒̎̈̊͊̒ ̴̛̜͚̘̱͗͂̽̉̈́Ĺ̶̖̝͉͚͚̞̱̠̍̌̓̒̏̆͆̌̚Ö̴̧̡̮̠̫̭̬́̔͌̐͘͜͝V̴̭͕͍͈̳͓̤͓͛͂̊̀͑̋ͅE̸̞̱̠̐͊͑̓̀̽́̑̔̕ ̷̯̳̪̜̬̜́́̎͂̉̈́͒́̕M̵̡̯̬͉͐̎̉̊̕͘̕͘͠Ÿ̴̩̘̖́̍̄͑̍ ̶̡͇͈̫̱̈́ͅ

9:00 pm

...

I feel so distraught……………..i wish this day…………………..didn’t exist…….

...

I go to bed and cry myself to sleep.

...

10:37 pm

...

*It’s been a good half hour since I’ve fell asleep. I start to dream…*

...

April 22, 20**. 10:38 pm

...

I’m a newborn. My new name: *****

???

I don’t remember anything. I’m almost ** now, and I’m still trying to pick up the pieces of this puzzle. So many things have happened these years!!! I want to wake up so badly, but I can’t help but think, there’s something I need to do here first before I wake up Yahaira.

...

I’ve created my own universe: Epic Club. I’ve made a promise WAY before I became aware that I was dreaming. My promise was that I can’t die until I finish Epic Club. Epic Club is both a DREAM and LIFE project for me. Only after it has been thoroughly finish shall I be able to wake up.

…

That will honestly take years, but I somehow don’t mind. Something I will make sure no one forgets though is this:

I LOVE MY SISTER.

[r-f-m-writes]

Bittersweet BabyGirl Chapter One

“Please sign here, miss Bennet.” Pedro’s penthouse was luxurious and sun warm around her, everything inside it smelling of him - just the way she liked. Sarah scrawled her name on the certificate of adoption. “This mean I have to call you Daddy now, Pedge?” Looking over a shoulder at her co star turned father, she passed the pen back to his lawyer. Pedro grinned, hands in pockets. The way he stared at her was about as subtle as a slap across the face. “Only when you want to, babygirl.” The lawyer supervising the signing looked uncomfortable. Sarah was impressed he seemed able to sense something that usually went over people's heads. That tension, running an undercurrent through every moment she and Pedro shared. She knew none of this was innocent. And it thrilled her. He thrilled her.

The knife against Ray’s throat was even colder than the night air that pressed around her, thin material of her worn out waffled thermal doing nothing to fight the cold as she was pinned against the front of Aiden’s chest, jaw grasped tight, forcing her to stare ahead, right at him .

     “One more step and I’ll open up your girl, Mills, I swear to God.”

    He was erratic. Voice shaking, breath puffing hot against the side of Ray’s face while her hands trembled, her own lungs barely able to gasp a clean swallow of air with how deeply the blade of his knife was pressed into her skin. When his voice came from the darkness, it was a balm to all her fears. Salvation, safety, love .

        “Alrigh’. Easy , Aiden. Let’s talk about this.”

    Ray’s feet stumbled under her when she was jerked backwards, open hands flinching in the air as the man behind her yanked her painfully to move with him.

        “No, no more talking. I am done with the fucking talking . Either you give me what I want, right now, or I take away the only thing you love. I’ll kill her, Mills. I swear .”

    Ray was panting now, hyperventilating around the choking blade. She couldn’t move if she wanted to. She was paralyzed in her fear. 

    “ Dad -”

    He stepped out of the shadowed tree line, rifle slung over his back, heavy winter coat expanding his already impossibly large frame. Slowly, he raised his hands, stance mirroring hers as his eyes shone in the dim light. When he spoke next, he was talking to Aiden, but staring at her. 

    “Alright. No talkin’. We do whatever you want, Aiden, however you want ta do it. Just say the word.”

   The press of the knife lessend. Ray felt her heart thundering, pulse spiking as she took deep pulls of air into her lungs, eyes welling up in relife and fear and hope as she watched her father step closer. She couldn't stop herself when she spoke again, desperate for him.

    “Daddy, I’m scared .” 

   Pain furled across his face at the terror in her tone and the use of an innocent name she hadn’t called him since she was a young child.

      “I know, babygirl. I know.”

    The bell rang out. George’s voice came, calm but precise, from the director's chair. “Cut!”

     Hot flood lights thawed the freezing air on set in a second as they doused the forest clearing in a golden glare. Samson drew the chilly prop knife away from Sarah’s throat. Pedro dropped his hands down to his sides and grinned at her. 

     The clapperboard snapped to mark the take.

     She was bolting toward her co-star before the camera had a chance to stop rolling, coiling  her arms tight around herself as she ran, “Fuck, I’m freezing .”

      Pedro threw his arms open, lifting the flaps of his warm winter jacket, ready to swaddle her the second her chest met his.

      “C’mere, you.”

     Somewhere behind them, Samson laughed. Sarah plastered herself against Pedro, pinning her icy hands between their bodies as the man grabbed the flaps of his jacket and wrapped them around her tight, squeezing narrow shoulders and rocking them back and forth on the spot. 

      “Still can’t believe Laura put you in this for a night shoot. Shirts paper thin, not gonna do a fuckin’ thing against the wind. Hey, George! This the last take? We’re all tired as hell, an babygirl ‘s about to lose her damn fingers.” 

    Relishing in the warmth pouring over her body and the ragged, woodsy smell of his cologne - which Sarah can tell Pedro applied a bit too liberally that morning - she didn’t say a peep, instead closing her eyes and burrowing her head as deep as she could in the collar of his shirt. 

    George’s voice came steady and tired in reply. “Yep, last take for tonight. I’ll put it through to get approved tomorrow - hopefully we won’t have to torture y’all with a reshoot.”

  Stepping down from his chair, the older man picked up his empty coffee cup off the grass, slotting the huge jumble of scripts against his hip as he began to walk away. 

   “Sarah, I liked what you did with it, good job. Samson, if we gotta shoot again, not so much shaking the knife, just hold it steady against her steady. Remember, you’re full of adrenaline, ready to go in for the kill. Otherwise, nicely done.”

   Pedro’s voice rumbled through Sarah as he called after their director with false offense. “Hey! What about me? I don’t get any notes?”

   Glancing over his shoulder with a good humored smile, George shook his head.

   “What about you, Pedro? You get it perfect - every single time. Now, stop fishing for compliments, and get her inside. I don’t want the best half of my father - daughter duo freezing to death in a shit hole like Toronto.”

     Smiling to herself, Sarah mumbled into her friend’s jacket. “You gonna let him get away with that diss, Mr. Emmy winner?”

    Rubbing his hands in quick passes of friction up and down her spine, the man hummed. 

    “Not a diss from where I’m standin’. You are the best part of our duo, babygirl .”

     He slipped briefly into Mills' deep, Texan accent for the last word. Sarah pulled a face and batted him on the chest. 

    “As if you fucking belive it. Carry me inside, I’m freezing, and exhausted.”

    Scoffing at her attitude, Pedro drew his head back the tiniest bit, peering down the handsome crook of his nose at her.

    “ Carry you? Nah. Don’t think I can do that on account ‘a my - what did you call them? Geriatric knee caps?”

     Groaning, Sarah hugged her arms around his waist tightly and searched for the humility to repent. 

    “Look, I’m sorry, OK? I was just teasing. Your knee caps aren’t geriatric, and you aren't geriatric so please, please carry me inside.” 

    Clicking his tongue like he would if he were still playing Mills, Pedro slid his hands down to grip the backs of her thighs, squeezing once in warning before hoisting her up around his waist.

    “All the things you’ve done to me, and I still carry you to bed. How do you manage it, Sarah? With those big brown eyes, fuckin’ can’t say no to anything.”

    Smiling, the girl let her head roll against the strong jut of his shoulder, watching the forest set shrink away behind them as he took her the short distance back to the trailers, every step bumping the flat of her stomach against his slightly softer one.

    The door to her caravan was unlocked, and Pedro deftly knocked the handle down with his boot, showing Sarah, without words and beyond a doubt, that he most certainly was not geriatric.

    Lights flicked on automatically as he walked up the short length of steps and trod into the sleek temporary living space. Last week’s scripts were scattered thoughtlessly over the built in couch, and two pairs of dirty bowls crowded the small table along with half drunk mugs of tea. Her kitchen wasn’t much better, with an open box of cereal and a quarter drunk gallon of whole milk left out on the counter. 

       Sarah made a fuzzy minded note to herself that she should throw both away the next day as Pedro muttered something disapproving in Italian so she couldn’t understand it. She hated when he did that.

      Her bedroom was the least shameful, with fresh floral sheets thrown over the queen sized mattress and none of her four sets of pillows scattered on the floor. Baby Bear lay lopsided against the headboard, looking up at her with mournful glass eyes as Pedro lowered her to the soft hug of the mattress. 

        The clock on her bedside said it was quarter past one in the morning. Sarah rolled her head, closing her eyes as she felt the laces of her - or, more accurately, Ray’s - boots being undone. 

        He undressed her slowly, careful and exact, mindful of the wardrobe pieces but always more conscious of her, his big, warm hands skimming her skin as he tugged off Ray’s jeans and pinched off her woolen socks. 

      The last thing to go was the thermal, beige colored and totally inadequate. He said something to himself as he drew it up over her head to unveil her sports bra benithe, muttering in quick, breathy sweeps of his first language while he balled it up and chucked it at the back wall.

     Stripped down to her underpants and bra, Sarah slowly opened her eyes again, peeking up at him through her lashes as he gestured for her to sit up. 

     She did. He took hold of the bottom of the tightly fitted bra, jutting his chin toward her nightstand as he began to peel the compressing fabric up.

    “You enjoyin’ the book I got you?”  

     Blinking hazily in the direction of what he was referring to, Sarah saw the pastel yellow cover and smiled.  

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy.

       Lifting her arms to help with the challenging process of getting the activewear off, she laughed a little.

      “My mother wasn’t that bad, Pedro. Yes, she forced me into a career I didn’t want, but it was nothing like what Jennette went through.”

      Tossing the bra aside where he had thrown the shirt, the man looked down at Sarah with a disapproving pinch in his brows.

      “But you do relate to it. I didn’t give it to you to say what she did to you was that bad, I gave it to you as a reminder that you made the right choice last year. I don’t want you to start spiraling. You needed to cut her off, if you hadn’t she would have kept on taking from you. Money. Love. All the other shit she didn’t deserve.” 

    Sighing, Sarah sank back, nipples pebbling in the cool air of the trailer as she took hold of one corner of her duvet to pull it over herself, closing her eyes and blindly feeling around the bed for her teddy.

     “I know, Ped. I’m not spiraling, I’m just tired. Its been a long week.”

     Footsteps padded by her bedside. The feather-soft- fur of Baby Bear brushed the skin of her naked chest, pressed against her by a warm hand. Pedro’s mustache tickled her cheek as he leaned down to kiss her there. 

     “Get some rest, bambino . Remember, I’m just across the lot if you need me.”

      The rumbled pet name made Sarah smile as she moved her hand blindly to find the top of his head, gently scraping her fingernails through the soft, fluffy hair that grew there. 

     “I’m not seventeen anymore.”

     A soft chuckle came from the man at her sleepy, disgruntled tone. She didn’t have those nightmares anymore. She wasn’t a child anymore.

     “Maybe, but you’ll always be my babygirl, Sarah.”

      She didn’t remember him leaving, or herself falling asleep, but in a blink, it was morning again, light filtering through the small cracks around the blinds and waking her. 

      When she walked out of her bedroom, Sarah saw her dirty bowls washed and dried on the side board of the stainless steel sink. Her scripts sat in a perfect stack on the small dining table.     

Opening the mini fridge, there was a fresh bottle of milk and, when she looked toward the breakfast nook, two new boxes of her favorite cereal, a pink sticky note tacked to the front of one.

        Remember to look after yourself, bambi. If you’re struggling, tell me. I am here for you, always.

~P

[thegreysworld]

“the urge to feel the warmth that burns, the cold that stings.”

[is-that-sappho-youre-reading]

Little creature,treading the lonely path

Do you,too,look at the rising stars

With eyes of wonder?

When they melt into

the rose of daybreak

Do you,too,feel drowned

in the crimson flush?

And when they shine in the darkness,

do you,too,see yourself swaying along

to their universal song?

~Shriya K.

[growingstoriesandgardens]

Under The Arbor

A short story, First Part coming January 2024.

All fox cubs leaves their mothers den eventually. They set out out, and become their own hunter, den builder and protecter. Providing for themselves and if blessed, eventually kits of their own before sending them out on the same journey. The forest can be scary to new residents but full of potenal for young yearling foxes making a place of their own. Fall Leaf is so sure of being ready. But how much her certeintly will be tested is yet to be discovered as winters frost creeps in around her.

[bandgie]

Lost & Found

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

a/n: sorry for that wait :(

warnings: MDNI 18+, brief smut, fem!reader, reader walks in on it, cum mentions, jealousy, yeah

2.2k words

The walk was more intense than you had anticipation. Gravity began to weigh you down rather quickly. Your legs ached, feet cramped, chest squeezing with the inhale of each breath. It was near dark, and you knew damn well that arriving at a mansion so late would raise uncertainty, but you were too desperate to really care.

Trees surrounded the area almost eerily. There a dirt road that lead to the entrance not too far from where you were. Some bushes and flowers were growing on the side of the path. Perhaps they planted those there to lighten the mood, you think. With the shadows of the trees and the beginning of sunset, the house looked somewhat ethereal.

It was then that you saw a woman in working clothes, logs bundled up in her hands most likely for the fireplace. She noticed immediately. It was hard not to when you scurried to her with labored breathing. "Excuse me!" You called out. She took a few tentative steps forward, keeping a distance between you and her. She didn't answer, but made eye contact. You took this as an opportunity to speak.

"I'm so sorry to trouble you, but I heard you were looking for a house maiden that could not read. I'm illiterate and-"

"Oh!" She cuts you off. Her demeanor changes completely. She drops the logs on the ground and reaches for your hand. "Yes yes! We are! Come inside. I'll have to let the head lady know and she'll handle the rest. You must be hungry." Without waiting for your response, she leads you to the front door and allows you to enter.

The mansion was massive on the outside, and it was extravagant on the inside. Ceilings were high, little chandeliers hung everywhere with a big one in the center of the room. The main floor was polished and it shined under the candle lights that were placed everywhere in the house. There was a spiral staircase that lead to the second floor towards the back of the room.

Your eyes trailed around the entire area. There was an east and west part of the first floor; One you assumed for the kitchen and the other for the parlour room. Never had you thought to see such a sight up close, let alone be inside it.

"Go ahead and rest in the drawing room," the woman breaks your thoughts. "I'll draw some tea and get the head lady." She points you the the west side and begins to make her to the East side before she turns around. "I nearly forgot," she starts, "My name is Abigail, it's a pleasure to meet you." You quickly introduce yourself, "The pleasure is mine."

She gives you a friendly smile and bustles away.

-

You're given your black tea quickly, watching as Abagail disappears from the room to get the head lady. Excitement and worry run through your veins. From what you gathered, you seemed like the perfect candidate for this job. The ability to read was important, but it was something you just never really had the opportunity to come across.

Who would've thought it worked in my favor? You wonder. Your tea was barely sipped on before you heard footsteps. You turn your head towards the entrance to see Abagail and a much older lady standing there, eyes already on you. You stood up and briefly curtsied, "Good evening, I'm-"

"Yes Abigail here has already told me," she interrupts. "You're here for the house maiden position I see?" Unlike the first maid you met, this one was rather stern. You could tell for the way her eyes sliced into you, the aged wrinkles on her face. "That is right," you confirm. She hums in understanding. "Though I can see you're eager, you came near sundown. The Viscount is in his room, as is his family. I suppose since we are rather in dire need on an illiterate maid, I can make an exception for your unpunctuality."

You bite your tongue, instead plastering a smile on your face and nodding, "Of course, thank you." This was something you had anticipated, though not so soon. There's always people you have to work with that you might have issues with, it's a guaranteed fact no matter where you go. Still, you hope her attitude is just a strategy to weed out the possible weak links in this mansion.

The head maid, whose name you learned is Meredith, has you go through a series of tests. She hands you writings on paper, some with big and small words. You can recognize some letters, when sentences start and when they end, but actually reading them coherently is near impossible. Meredith is rather surprised by the lack of ability to read. She most likely though you were lying, but she can tell by your expression how hard you were trying to understand what was in front of you.

Then you moved on to numbers, something you could actually recognize. Working at shops, you had no choice but to handle money and perfect your ability to count. Even when you were young, counting was a priority your mom made to teach you. You weren't sure if knowing numbers was a deal-breaker, but Meredith's pleased look told you the opposite. Once you finished your series of trials, she gave you a wide smile.

"I believe you are fit for this position. Cleaning is the main aspect, however you will need to clean the personal library and the Viscount's sons office specifically. Cooking is also necessary, however I don't think we needs more cooks..." Meredith goes on the describe the duties of being a maid here. Though you're trying to listen, you can't help but celebrate on the inside.

You did it. You're here in a new city with people you don't know. You have a job and a place to stay, there's absolutely no reason for you to go back to that shit hole of a village ever again. You find yourself nodding to her requests as she speaks, unable to stop the smile on your face.

"You do understand that you will have to live here as well," she carefully eyes you. "If you have a family or husband back at home, there's some vacation though it's not much." You shake your immediately, "No. None. I came here from a village days away, I can stay here indefinitely." Your answer has her slightly shocked. Though you're still somewhat young, many women your age would have been courted or in the middle of seeking a potential husband.

"Ah, I see," she nods. "Well, I see no issue in you starting immediately. Abagail," she turns to the other maid who has been quiet since the interaction. "Yes Miss?" Meredith stands and nods her head to you, "Prepare a room for our new recruit. There should be some clean sleepwear in the laundry room, have her bathed and dressed for the night."

Abigail nods and ushers to you, a small smile on her lips. She whisks you away to lead you a little further into the parlour room. Besides the piano is a door that she opens with her many keys to reveal the staircase leading downwards. The steps creak as you and her walk, giving you some sense of fear as you walk further into the dark.

Abagail quickly turns talkative once out of ear shot of Meredith, "How exciting! Miss usually has the tests go on for a few days, but your inability must've been so obvious that it wasn't necessary!" Though she meant it as a good thing, you still feel slightly offended by her words. You raise an eyebrow at her, "I'll try to take that as a compliment."

You can see her mortified expression when she recognizers her words. Her apologies come out rapidly, and it looks like she might cry. You quickly raise your hands in defense and shake your head, "No no! I wasn't upset, I'm sorry I didn't mean to-"

The sudden sound of creaking and low whining interrupts you. Bits of fear starts to rise in your chest, unsure of what awaits you and Abagail. Rather than looking scared, Abagail shines her lantern in front of her to illuminate two people.

They're completely covered in darkness, but you could see the blurred movements of thrusting.

She's perched up on a table used for sewing. Her hands are collapsed around the man's neck with her legs open, letting him wildly hump into her. You can tell she's trying to be quiet, but with how relentlessly he's fucking her there's little no way she could silence herself.

The man takes notice of his now onlookers, his hazy eyes look up to lock with yours. His pupils are full blown wide, a near inhume look with how dark they are. Pitch black hair falls over his face that would've been unrecognizable if without the lantern.

You can feel your stomach flip, the gasp that gets caught in your throat. The eye contact never breaks even as his hands travel down her naked torso. He grips her waist and brings her closer. The sudden proximity makes her mewl, her head thrown back as moans leave her lips.

You shiver.

"Sir Nyryx!" Abagail shouts in a hushed tone. As if this instance is a common occurrence, she tosses you the lantern and makes her way down the remaining stairs and approaches the woman.

"Absolutely unacceptable!" She harshly rips the two apart, uncaring for the woman's complaints and the man's, whose name you learned is Nyryx, eye roll. Abigail bends down to pick up the maid's clothes, throwing it at her.

"Should I tell the head lady about this and she wouldn't hesitate to kick you out!" The mention of Meredith has the maid pleading, begging for mercy. "No! Abagail you wouldn't! I have children and no other house would hire me-"

Abagail waves her hand, quickly dismissing the woman's pleads. "And it's no wonder why. I don't have time to report you, we just acquired a new maid. You are dismissed."

The half-dressed maid curtseys to both of you and quickly departs. You have to avert your eyes to ignore how cum drips down her bare legs.

"And you!" Abigail speaks up again. Her finger is pointed to Sir Nyryx's chest. A smirk plays on his lips and he adjusts his lower sleepwear.

"And what about me?" He teases.

"I hate when you play smart with me!" She huffs and angrily stabs her finger in his chest. "I understand you have manly urges and whatnot, but that is no excuse for this behavior! You have a chamber for purposes like these. In God's name use it!"

Once Nyryx finishes adjusting his clothes he shrugs. "I did not think someone would be here this late. Let alone a new someone." He gaze looks to you then back to the person scolding him. "But I do wonder, did my behavior entice you? I was being a good lover, no?"

Abigail lets out a frustrated yell and smacks his chest. You gasp at the outburst, worried of what would happen. You fully expect Sir Nyryx to raise his hand, to slap her across the face as any other man might. Instead he laughs, eyes closed genuine satisfaction as he clutches his abdomen.

"You are so fun to tease Abagail," he smiles to her.

There's absolutely no reason for you to feel as jealous as you do. You have barely met this man tonight in a rather absurd way. Abagail doesn't play into his flirting, stomping angrily and on the verge of cursing at him. Still, there's a strange ache in your chest. You wish he would stop talking to her, stop talking all the women here in general.

You can't let go of the image of him fucking her. How impossibly deep how must've been inside for her not to notice you and Abigail walking in on them. His hips thrusting against her erratically, like he was close to finishing. She had already finished multiple times on his cock. You can see the stains on his trousers and the essence on the floor.

How lucky she was to have him all to herself.

Your thoughts are cut off abruptly when Abigail's shoves him out of the basement. He stumbles onto the stairs next to you, his eyes not shying away from your flustered expression.

Sir Nyryx takes in time passing you, his shoulders brushing against yours. A part of you wishes that he grazed his fingers against you instead. There's such an unbearable need to feel his skin on yours that it makes you want to reach out for him.

As if noticing you desire, he smirks at you. "Welcome home, new maid."

Abigail continues to berate him even as he ascends the stairs. You can't find it in you to turn your head away from him. Even his backside is beautiful to look.

"Pay him no mind. He thinks with the head in his trousers rather than the one on his shoulders," Abagail rolls her eyes as she speaks to you.

You should tell her it's not fine, that Sir Nyryx didn't bother you in the slightest bit. However, your mouth is utterly dry and you find it difficult to lie.

You nod.

Pleased with your answer, Abagail returns the nod and wipes her hands on her long skirt. She quickly puts on her friendly smile and ushers you to her side.

"Come, let's get you settled in."

a/n: I would like to formally apologize for the huge delay. I lost motivation and I hit a HUGE writers block. like I wrote this chapter halfway thru a while ago and I thought "how the fuck am I supposed to finish this?" so I stopped and waited for my creative juices to show...took longer than I thought. on a good note we met Nyryx again! no memories of the past ofc, and imma make him a flirt (as always) with some fuckboy tendencies, sorry. Meredith and Abagail are gonna have a lot of character change, but they'll play similar roles to the previous story if you're still reading this, im sorry :(