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a-little-unsteddie · 4 months

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stuck in your throat || 1.2

1.1 | [here] | 1.3 | 1.4 | 1.5

if this seems familiar, it is because this contains part of the initial preview, if not all of it. next part will have all new content and be nearly as long as this one! woo! i’m pretty sure there’s 5 parts to chapter one, but i may be wrong, so i’ll correct it if necessary later.

The next few days passed in a blur of submitting applications and answering calls from random numbers, hoping that it was one of the places he applied to and not some scam call trying to get money out of him. It happened more than Steve thought it would, but unfortunately it did not surprise him, given he usually had unknown callers blocked.

“Hello?” Steve answered, having learned to not open the call with who was answering without knowing who was calling from one too many scam calls

“Is this Steve Harrington?” A soft feminine voice asked, taking Steve by surprise.

“May I ask who’s calling?” Steve asked, not willing to concede his identity until he knew it wasn’t someone looking to sell him ‘Alpha Pills’ or something just as ridiculous.

“Of course! My name is Chrissy Cunningham, you sent in an application for being a full time nanny and tutor?” She responded with a cheerful voice. “I can’t really go much more in depth without an NDA being signed.”

Recognition zapped through Steve’s body and he sat up in his seat. “Oh! Yes, I’m Steve. Um. I’d be happy to sign an NDA, just may I ask why?”

“Yes, you may! My client is a big fan of privacy and only agreed to hire someone if they were under an NDA for the protection of their pup.” aaand all of Steve’s anxiety surrounding the NDA pretty much melted away. Sure, maybe it was a bit much to do, and sure, now he was dying with curiosity to know just who he had ended up applying to, but the knowledge that the NDA was for the protection of the pup soothed any anxiety Steve had originally felt about signing an NDA. In fact, it kind of made his omega perk up. He shook off the feeling, focusing on Chrissy.

“That’s actually really relieving to hear,” Steve said with a laugh. “When or where can I sign the NDA?” he questioned, wondering when Robin would be home so he could tell her.

“Well, first, you and I will do a preliminary interview, just like any other job interview. Then, if all goes well, I’ll send you an email containing the NDA for you to review and sign,” Chrissy explained clearly and cheerfully. “After you sign the NDA, my client will perform an in-person interview and then we’ll go from there.”

“That all seems pretty straight forward so far,” Steve replied, standing from where he had been lounging on the couch. He walked to the kitchen, where he and Robin had put up a magnetic whiteboard calendar to fill with each of their schedules and plans. He grabbed the blue marker, his color, and prepared to jot down when they’d have the interview.

“Perfect! Happy to hear it,” Chrissy said with an audible smile.

“When will the interview with you be?” Steve asked, biting his lip as he stared at the calendar, which had sparsely been marked with his blue marker, even since starting this job hunt. Robin’s plans were in red, and was much more abundant due to having three part time jobs.

“Well, as soon as possible, really. If you’re available now, we could take care of it right away.” the woman responded, sounding like she was walking into another room.

“Oh!” Steve exclaimed, recapping the marker and returning it to the pen holder. “Yes, of course. I’m available now.”

“Perfect!” Chrissy’s voice sounded from Steve’s phone as the omega walked back to the living room and sat on the couch. “So, starting off pretty easy here, what made you apply for this position?”

Steve thought back and grimaced at the reminder that it was Robin who had submitted his application to this particular job. He wasn’t about to admit that, though, and quickly found a more appropriate response.

“Well, I love taking care of pups, and I just got my teacher’s license a month ago,” Steve explained, which wasn’t a lie, so he figured it was probably as good of an answer as any. “I also saw that this job traveled, and my best friend thought that it’d be good for me.”

“Yes, that was going to be part of this conversation, too. So, you’re obviously alright with the traveling, then?” Chrissy asked and Steve heard what he thought could be pen scratching as she wrote notes. He swallowed thickly, suddenly anxious about what she was writing. He decided to ignore his anxiety, even as his scent soured around him with it.

“Oh, yes, traveling is more than okay,” Steve agreed immediately, “but it’s more important to me that I’ll be taking care of a pup, if I’m honest.”

This statement seemed to pique Chrissy’s attention, as the writing stopped for a moment. “Why is that?” she eventually asked.

Steve winced, wondering if he should be up front about it or not. If Robin were here, she would insist that he was honest. He decided on a half-truth.

“I’ve always wanted pups, and a lot of them,” Steve admitted, fidgeting with a loose piece of thread on the couch. He switched which arm was holding the phone, as he had started to get a little sore from holding it up for so long. “But I don’t have a partner, so I can’t really have my own right now. I discovered through babysitting for one of my neighbors that I have a knack for taking care of pups.”

The scratching noise was back as Chrissy listened to his responses. Steve was nervous he wasn’t doing well, but figured that it wasn’t going bad if she wasn’t suddenly calling the interview short.

“Your resume says that you’re good in high stress situations,” Chrissy said after a couple seconds of silence as she wrote down whatever notes she was taking. Steve briefly wondered if he should be doing the same thing. “I’m going to give you an example scenario, and you’re going to tell me how you’d respond.”

“Sounds simple enough,” Steve agreed, trying not to let his voice betray how anxious he was.

“For the sake of simplicity, we’ll say the pup’s name is Rosie,” she informed him before she continued to describe the scenario. “You’re taking Rosie to the park, when suddenly there is a crowd of people surrounding you and you lose sight of her. What do you do?”

Steve thought the scenario was odd, but not ‘out there’ enough to alarm him. He thought about his answer for a moment before replying.

“I would try to follow her scent, first, because that will usually lead me to any pup I’ve babysat. If that doesn’t work, I will call out for her. If the situation is bad enough, I would contact the authorities, and either you or Rosie’s father.” he paused for a second before continuing, trying to make sure he covered all of his bases. “But honestly? If Rosie is small enough, I would have rather carried her once I saw the crowd, or hold her hand, for the reason of lowering my chances of separation.”

Silence that’s only broken up by the scratching of pen against paper followed, and Steve was suddenly anxious that he answered incorrectly. He answered what he would do if it were his own pup, but what if that wasn’t right? What if he wasn’t cut out for this job?

“Alright, next scenario,” Chrissy said, moving swiftly onto the next one without commenting on his answer; Steve didn’t know if he preferred her not acknowledging it or if he would prefer to be told his answer was shitty up front. The next few scenarios were just as oddly specific, but Steve answered them exactly as he did the first one. He tried to not overthink his answers too much because between each one there would be a stretch of time that Chrissy used to presumably write his answers down.

“One last question and then we should be good to move forward.” Chrissy said a good twenty minutes of questions later. “When would you be available to start working?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, surprised that he was seemingly, maybe being offered the job. “Um—immediately. I would need time to pack, but other than that, I’m free.”

“Wonderful,” Chrissy said cheerfully. “Alright, now it’s your turn. Do you have any questions for me?”

Steve hummed, trying to go through his usual list of questions he asked during interviews that hadn't already been answered and came up empty. “Not at the moment, but I’ll make sure to write any I think of down, if I do.”

“Perfect! So, I will consult with my client, and I have a few other applicants that are interested, but so far, you are my top pick, but I don’t make the decisions,” Chrissy laughed, as if Steve was in on the joke. He laughed with her, not knowing what else he should have done. So, maybe not a job offer, but it sounded promising anyway. “I will be in contact in a few days, three at most.”

“Sounds good, thank you so much for considering me, Chrissy,” he responded with a smile, hoping to leave one last good impression.

The line went dead, and Steve was left sitting on his couch, staring blankly at the tv, which was frozen on some dumb reality show that he had put on to fill the silence before he’d gotten the call. He wanted to jump up and dance around, but ultimately decided he would wait until he could do it with Robin.

tag list: @marklee-blackmore @paintsplatteredandimperfect @steddie-as-they-go @disrespectedgoatman @lingeringmirth @hyperfixated-on-stuff @swimmingbirdrunningrock @littlewildflowerkitten @sani-86 @thegingerrapunzel @adventures-in-mangaland @missingmalfoy1 @yellowdevilkitten @extra-transitional @queen-stevie @stevesbipanic @crypticcorvidinacottage

#steve harrington #chrissy cunningham #eddie munson #eventual steddie #steddie #steve x eddie #stuck in your throat #siyt 🎤#unsteddie writing #tw omegaverse #rockstar eddie munson #nanny steve harrington #teacher steve harrington

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stars-in-a-jam-jar · 1 year

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So like. Privacy and consent. Are things very close to my heart. If I'm not being charged with a literal actual crime, and I don't need you to know a piece of information that I am a source of, and I don't want to give that information to you, the very act of demanding access to the information from me is a breach in (at minimum) basic etiquette.

I say this because I saw a person say 'I don't believe in private information' and while in context, the gist of it was that if a piece of information exists, it then cannot be owned and arbitrated by any individual therefore attempting to cordon off 'private' and 'public' information to control the flow of said information is not a valuable task and in fact easily connects/could lead to abusive censorship; while I realized as I kept baffledly reading this was their true thesis when they said 'I don't believe in private information', I knew in my heart that they were looking at and using the words 'privacy' and 'information' all wrong.

I am always hesitant to make a new online account for something, to give an email, a phone number, answers to questions like 'What was your mother's maiden name?' And 'What was the name of your elementary school?' to a little machine someone has placed in front of whatever it is I need the account for. A machine that now has that information as long as the servers it operates from exist. I've given information that represents pieces of me to something that can't understand the concept of privacy and consent, it just runs its routines and does what it's built to do. Keep everybody's login organized and keep track of the when's and the where's and how many times you got your password wrong or changed it in a huff. I like the little machine, it's doing its job the best it can, and there are things worth sharing the information on how I can be reached and little pieces of trivia about me for when I can't remember the original thing I agreed to use to pass through.

But that doesn't mean I am not the information's arbiter. It all belongs to me, even if I share it for a utility or a small luxury. And in that same way, if I share a piece of information with one person- a piece of information understood to be personal and private like a truth about my personal situation or the location of something of personal importance -and they turn around without consulting me and tell it to someone they know: that is no longer a breach in etiquette. That is a breach in privacy and consent. The hypothetical information was not some tidbit I or they came across, not something I publically shared, not a fiction I shared with them for entertainment. To spread it as though it isn't my information to dole out now that I've told one person in confidence is a kind of disrespect and disregard for privacy and consent that makes my blood boil.

I didn't mention this at the top, but that phrase I saw was the result of a philosophically leaning back and forth about the whole situation going down with the AIs scraping Ao3 among other sites for raw materials to develop and train its neural networks all without so much as notifying the original writers, and I still think my convictions on privacy and consent hold there, just in a different form than person to person exchanges or little machines filing away information that could be easily misused if cracked by a malicious actor.

When a person publishes a piece of their writing, that piece as they wrote it is now public. If it's fiction, it's a public story. If it's an article, it's public information regardless of the information's factual, farcical, or opinionated nature. Even when the piece is made to pull in a profit for its existence, the information contained within is irrevocably public now and you cannot then say 'No, I want full control over who sees this, how they see it, and how much of it they see. I reserve the right to dictate the Correct Way to process and interact with my work!' It's not a breach in privacy or consent if someone or a group of people you don't like see and know information you publish publically. (It's a breach in Basic Decency for someone or a group of people to harass an author for daring to make something they disliked, but that's neither here nor there.)

It is a breach in consent to quietly and with the goal of profiting personally, take the time and thought and work of another person and use it without credit or warning for something they did not volunteer their time and thought and work towards. It doesn't matter that the information they published stopped being private when they published it, the context under which they consented to make their works public did not include the presence of roaming little machines taking their work, blending it up with countless works of people they don't know to turn it into a sludge of patterns and data points and subroutines, and repackaging and regurgitating the form of a real person's time and thought and work to make a fun new toy for people who can't be bothered to go to a real human person for their writing or to develop the skill within themself.

The thing is, the little machines can conceivably do lovely things. It's wonderful that people want so much to expand what their coding and programs and 1's and 0's can accomplish. But at the end of the day, the little machines can't understand the concept of privacy and consent. They just run their routines and do what they're built to do.

And I don't trust the people who built them. Because those people clearly have a malformed understanding of privacy and consent.

#ao3 #online privacy #ai art discourse #long post #I'm not vibing in this Chili's tonight boys

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macaron-tea-party · 8 months

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Do you know if it's possible to get a fanfic removed from AO3 for being a personal attack on a RL black woman? Someone made a fanfic about p3dophilia and r@pe and they're very clearly using Harriyanna Hook's likeness and AO3 has a new commitment to being anti-racist, so...

It's here if you want to report it: htt ps:/ /ar chi veof ouro wn.or g/works/49 9110 19

I’m presuming you’re sending this in good faith, I’m not that familiar with the legalese of TOS but here’s my best advice.

So AO3 claims on their TOS that harassment is not allowed, however, AO3 claims they take into account whether the victim asked to stop and is personally a little wishy washy with a “case by case” approach. With RPF rules that may be a stronger case.

From AO3’s note on RPF

Writing RPF (real-person fiction) never constitutes harassment in and of itself. However, Content that advocates specific, real harmful actions towards real people is not allowed. This includes, but is not limited to, death threats and requests for readers to harass specific people. If you find Content that you believe contains harassing or threatening material, please contact the Policy & Abuse team. As Real-Person Fiction is fictional, generally Archive policy will be that Content in RPF that would be deemed Personal Data and/or Special Categories of Personal Data (e.g. full names, usernames on social media services, city of residence, birth date) will not be considered as such. However, if information that is accurate, non-public and not that of the User is included (i.e. non-public phone numbers, residential addresses, email addresses or hotel room numbers) the work can be removed from public view by the Archive's Policy & Abuse team in its sole discretion.

If you believe that this fic is talking about a youtuber (whom I quite like their pop culture work myself) then absolutely go report and be as clear as you can in your explanation on why you’re reporting.

Going into my personal opinion though…AO3 are almost pathetic at doing anything about race (why else is the #EndOTWRacism campaign occurring? Because they barely addressed their promises from a few years ago). Them telling folks to knock it off being islamophobes during the last ddos attack was actually decent of them though, so some progress

#fandom #also why send me the ask?

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cash-app-btc-verify-process · 1 year

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Everything You Need to Know to About Cash App Bitcoin Verification Process

If you want to buy or sell Bitcoin, you must use a cryptocurrency wallet. Cash App offers a variety of compatible crypto wallets, but it's important to remember that not all wallets are secure. To avoid losing your funds, using a non-custodial wallet or hardware wallet is essential. When you add a method of payment to purchase Bitcoin, Cash App asks you to verify your identity.

This Cash App bitcoin verification process typically takes 24 hours, but it can take longer, depending on the verification volume. To verify your account, you must scan both sides of a government-issued ID or driver's license and take a photo of yourself. You'll also need to provide a valid email address and answer questions about your income, employment, and other details.

To get your Bitcoin verified on Cash App, follow these steps:

Open the Cash App and tap the Banking tab at the bottom of the screen.

Tap on Bitcoin.

If you have not already added a Bitcoin wallet to your Cash App account, you will be prompted to do so. Follow the prompts to add a Bitcoin wallet.

Once you have added a Bitcoin wallet, tap the "Deposit Bitcoin" button.

Follow the prompts to enter the amount of Bitcoin you wish to deposit and the address to which you wish to send the Bitcoin.

Verify your identity by providing your full name, date of birth, and social security number. This information will be used to verify your identity and help prevent fraud.

Once your identity is verified, you can deposit Bitcoin into your Cash App account. Depending on the network congestion and transaction fees, this may take several minutes or more.

After your Bitcoin deposit is confirmed, it will be added to your Cash App balance, and you can use it to send and receive payments.

How to Verify Your Identity on Cash App?

The first step in the Cash App Bitcoin verification process is to confirm your identity by submitting a photo ID and an answer to a few questions about your reasons for buying and selling coins. You can also upload a screenshot of your social security card to prove that you have access to the funds you're trying to transfer.

How Long Does Cash App Bitcoin Verification Take?

You must first verify your identity to send and receive Bitcoin on the Cash App. This involves providing a photo ID and answering questions about your reasons for buying or sending many coins. The verification process typically takes up to 48 hours, but you can speed things up by verifying your account information and email address.

Why Is My Cash App Bitcoin Verification Pending?

There are a few reasons why your Cash App bitcoin verification is pending. You might have provided incomplete information, or your ID photo may not be clear enough. Other things that could cause this issue are an outdated app version, a missing email address or an old phone number.

FAQs

How do I get Bitcoin verified on Cash App?

You must complete a verification process to buy and sell Bitcoin on Cash App. The process can take up to 48 hours to complete, and you must upload a photo ID to verify your identity.

How to Enable BTC on Cash App?

To use Cash App to buy Bitcoin, you must enable the BTC option under Deposits & Transfers. Once you've done this, Cash App will ask for additional information, like your email address and why you're purchasing BTC. In addition, you will need to scan both sides of a state ID or driver's license.

How to Verify Your Identity on Cash App?

To verify your identity on Cash App, you must provide a government-issued ID containing your name, date of birth, and last four digits of your Social Security number. You will also need to provide a recent photograph of yourself.

Why is my Cash App Bitcoin transaction stuck on 'Pending'?

If your Cash App Bitcoin transaction is stuck on 'Pending', it could be because of a system problem. This can happen if your device is not connected to an internet connection or the system has a weak signal.

How to Check Your Cash App Bitcoin Wallet Address?

To check your Cash App Bitcoin Wallet address, open the app and click the Deposits & Transfers tab. Then, select Bitcoin and tap the wallet address you want to view. This address is displayed next to your name. It's best to copy and paste the address, but you can also scan it with a QR code scanner if you want a quick way to check it.

Why is my Cash App Bitcoin verification taking too long?

If the Cash App bitcoin verification taking too long, it might be because of incomplete information or a poor-quality photo of your ID. You can fix this by submitting more information or a better-quality photo.

Why did Your Cash App Bitcoin Verification fail?

A few reasons your Cash App Bitcoin verification failed include missing or incorrect information, an old account, or a poor-quality ID photo. Correcting the information as soon as possible is important in these cases.

How to Contact Cash App Support?

If you're experiencing issues with how to verify Bitcoin on Cash App, contact support via Twitter or email. They can help you through the process and find the best way to complete the verification. They can also answer any other questions you have about the service. You can also find answers to your problems on the FAQ page or Cash App's user manual.

#Cash App Bitcoin Verification #Cash App Bitcoin Verification pending #Cash App Bitcoin Verification failed #Cash App Bitcoin Verification denied #how to verify bitcoin on cash app #how to get bitcoin verified on cash app

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matrimonial440 · 2 years

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Best tips for developing a unique matrimonial website

Matrimonial websites are gaining people’s appreciation rapidly because of certain obvious reasons. Matchmaking is done online nowadays saving time, money and effort. Men and women are finding their life partner via matrimonial sites. They can communicate with as many members as they wish.

Hence, it leaves no doubt that the business resulting from matrimonial script is quite profitable. So, if you are thinking about opening a similar site and develop it, we have got excellent ideas for you.

Please continue reading the blogpost.

User Interface:

Matrimonial industry is an ever growing one, faster than many industries. India and other countries have experienced huge benefits for the last few years. You can find thousands of matrimonial sites on the internet. Almost all countries have special matchmaking sites. Many of them are multinational, while some are national. Besides, you can find sites that are profession-specific like doctor-oriented, IT, lawyers, etc.

UI plays a big role in any website. It must be user-friendly and attractive. UI helps in grabbing the attention of users. A matrimonial website must have a catchy logo. But, it should be simple so that all the viewers can understand.

Follow these tips:

Home page:-

Include the logo on the left corner of the home page header section. Also, add an e-mail id and contact number. Also, give signup and login tab on the home page. A navigation bar is crucial that includes Search, About Us, Contact Us, Membership, and Success Story tabs.

Many sites give a demo search option to the users to give them an idea about the entire content. You may view sections like ‘Today’s Performer’ where introduction of some brides and grooms are given. Then, in the footer section, add a Google map showing the address of your company to guide the users about the location. Additionally, provide the links of your company’s business accounts on social media sites like Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, etc.

About Us page:

This page should contain your company related information. For instance, the name of the founder, date and year of the company’s establishment, etc. Also, add work experience. The About Us page may include fields such as company policy, FAQ, and terms and conditions.

Search page:

The users must get a search facility. The users who have completed their registration process successfully should receive an advance search option where they can get complete information of grooms and brides.

Membership plan page:

Add membership plans and their full information. Also, let the users know about the payments.

Success Story page:

As the name suggests, this page should contain the success stories of brides and grooms who have met through your website. Your customers must be given an option to share their successful marriage stories.

This page should contain the office address, phone number, and email id. Also, add a message box where users can write about their problems or queries.

Editing option:

Enable your users to edit their profiles. Once they successfully complete the registration process, they must be able to login without any hassle. Check their preferences and add matches accordingly. You can give options like premium matches, daily matches, and so on.

My Activity tab:

You may have seen this tab on famous social media platforms like Facebook, etc. Similarly, add My Activity tab that can show the activities of the users. Users must be able to see their self-activities such as their viewed profiles, contact lists, connected members, block list, and much more. Furthermore, add a tab naming it as ‘Other Activity’ that includes other users’ information concerning who viewed the primary user’s profile, who wants to connect the primary user, shortlist him or her, etc.

Chat box application:

Adding a chat box application option can help the brides and grooms to communicate with each other in privacy.

Payment tab:

This tab must include an invoice, offers, discounts, etc. related to the membership plans. Also, add the facility of online payment.

Helpline tab:

This is to solve issues that may occur in the matrimonial site. Hence, add an email address and customer care number.

After developing the matrimonial website, you have to do marketing planning.

1) Define goals

2) Choose a fixed niche and filter your needs depending on location and demographics.

3) Do marketing, testing and repeat them.

Steps that come under Online Marketing:

• Search Engine Optimization or SEO

• Bookmarking Marketing

• Pay Per Click

• Pay Per View

• Link

• Blog and Article

• Press Release

• Document Marketing

• Video Release

• Classified Ads

• Market to a list or send emails

Steps that come under Offline Marketing:

• Community Marketing

• Cable Media Advertising like Classified Ads and Display Ads

• TV Ads

• Radio Ads

• Billboards

• Newsletters Ads

• Newspaper ads

• Magazine Ads

• Niche Geography Marketing

Mind your budget:

While choosing the marketing tools, keep your budget in mind along with the demographics. A PHP matrimonial script is considered the best to start a fine matrimonial software. Customize the script according to the requirements of your business.

#matrimonial script buy matrimonial script matrimonial software php matrimonial script readymade matrimonial script matrimony wibsite script

0 notes

ultimate1110 · 2 years

Text

Best tips for developing a unique matrimonial website

Hence, it leaves no doubt that the business resulting from are quite profitable. So, if you are thinking about opening a similar site and develop it, we have got excellent ideas for you.

Please continue reading the blogpost.

User Interface:

UI plays a big role in any website. It must be user-friendly and attractive. UI helps in grabbing the attention of users. A matrimonial Script website must have a catchy logo. But, it should be simple so that all the viewers can understand.

Follow these tips:

Home page:-

About Us page:

Search page:

Membership plan page:

Add membership plans and their full information. Also, let the users know about the payments.

Success Story page:

This page should contain the office address, phone number, and email id. Also, add a message box where users can write about their problems or queries.

Editing option:

My Activity tab:

Chat box application:

Adding a chat box application option can help the brides and grooms to communicate with each other in privacy.

Payment tab:

This tab must include an invoice, offers, discounts, etc. related to the membership plans. Also, add the facility of online payment.

Helpline tab:

This is to solve issues that may occur in the matrimonial site. Hence, add an email address and customer care number.

After developing the matrimonial website, you have to do marketing planning.

1) Define goals

2) Choose a fixed niche and filter your needs depending on location and demographics.

3) Do marketing, testing and repeat them.

Steps that come under Online Marketing:

• Search Engine Optimization or SEO

• Bookmarking Marketing

• Pay Per Click

• Pay Per View

• Link

• Blog and Article

• Press Release

• Document Marketing

• Video Release

• Classified Ads

• Market to a list or send emails

Steps that come under Offline Marketing:

• Community Marketing

• Cable Media Advertising like Classified Ads and Display Ads

• TV Ads

• Radio Ads

• Billboards

• Newsletters Ads

• Newspaper ads

• Magazine Ads

• Niche Geography Marketing

Mind your budget:

While choosing the marketing tools, keep your budget in mind along with the demographics. A PHP matrimonial script is considered the best to start a fine php matrimonial script. Customize the script according to the requirements of your business.

#matrimonial script #php matrimonial script #matrimonial php script #matrimonial script php #matrimony script #matrimonial software

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leoharryus · 2 years

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How to Close Your Cash App Account on Cash App Website?

If you’re one of those few people who feel fed up with Cash App, you’re probably looking for ways to close your Cash App account. Well, there’s nothing wrong if you’ve made up your mind and decided that you’ll no longer need to use Cash App. This because the platform allows users to manage their accounts in the way they deem fit. So how do you close the Cash App account?

There are two ways to close your Cash App account. You can either close a Cash App over your phone or through Cash App official website (contact page). While the deleting process will vary depending on the method you choose, you’ll still attain the end product, which is to Cash App closed my account.

Things to Take Into Account before Deleting Your Cash App Account

There are a number of things to consider before deleting your Cash App account. They include:

· Keep in mind that you won’t be able to access your payment history once you close or deactivate your Cash App account.

· So you can download your payment history if you need it for future reference.

· You can’t close your account if there are any pending payments or deposits. That being said, you should send any pending funds and clear your account of any funds.

· You have to cancel your Cash App subscription and stop any upcoming month billing before you deactivate your Cash App account.

How to Close Your Cash App Account on Cash App Website?

Step 1 – Visit the Cash App official website and login to your Cash App account using your email address or your phone number (use the one you used to open your Cash App account).

Step 2 – This web page should take you to your account dashboard. A Request Sign in Code will appear on your page. Tap on it, and a code will be sent to you either via email or SMS, depending on the information you provided when you were signing up. This process should, however, not be a problem if you do not have a Debit Card or a Cash Card.

Step 3 – Enter this code and tap on Sign In and confirm your identity.

Step 4 – Open Account & Settings and go to the Personal Information tab. You should then scroll to the bottom of the page and select Deactivate Account.

Step 5 – You’ll be directed to a page where you’ll be asked to give a reason for deleting your account. Just choose your suitable reason and click Continue. It’s important to ensure that the message contains your full name, phone number, and email address.

How to Close Your Cash App Account over the Phone?

It’s also possible to close the Cash App account over your phone on the platform’s app. This is probably the easiest method, so let’s see how to go about it.

Step 1 – Open the Cash App on your phone.

Step 2 – If you’ve cleared the funds in your account, you can then tap on the circular icon resembling a person in the upper left corner to display the Account Menu.

Step 3 – You should then scroll down on the account menu and tap on ‘Cash Support.’ Scroll down and tap on the ‘Something Else’ menu.

Step 4 – On the ‘Something Else,’ scroll down and tap on ‘Account Settings.’

Step 5 – You should then tap on Close my Cash App Account. This is to basically confirm that you want to deactivate your Cash App account. You’ll be signed out of the Cash App, and a close confirmation will be sent to you via your email address or through SMS.

Conclusion

As you can see, deleting your Cash App account is a very simple process. Whether you decide to close it through the Cash App website or over your phone, any method should work seamlessly. Just follow the above-mentioned processes, and you’ll be good to go.

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stanzoeywade · 2 years

Text

snap battles (poppy x mc)

A/N: i remember seeing something about a what if scenario in which poppy and mc are secretly dating and they hide it in a stereotypical rom-com style. however, it would be boring if it doesn't have the enemies to lovers trope so i decided why not fuck around and write something that evolves into a rom-com? day 2 prompt 'present'. i'll fix the formatting later this isn't the full thing yet because i haven't finished it yet. happy #poppyweekend simps. sorry for all the typos this has been sitting in my drafts since last year 🤡

Summary: in which poppy is a bored rich kid and accidentally adds her archnemesis on snapchat, all because of a few bottles of champagne, leading her to sync her contacts and automatically add everyone.

Taglist: @somewillwin @uhh-the-green-thing @jmojellybae @simp-pony @made-me-deep-blue @belvoiresqueenbee @samanthadalton @crazzyplays @baexpoppy @somin-yin @narierei2709 @thatwhorefromnextdoor @ashleyfenner @cloud9in @calraquin @wolfietheduckyou @promisedneverwrite @penda-bear

Poppy regrets using the sync button on Snapchat. Someone needs to remind her that she needs to sue the person who invented said button, after all it caused her to accidentally add Rosie Hughes. AKA her archnemesis, the one person she despises more than the imbecilic gossip monger known as 'The T'.

The sync button has got to be the most inefficient and useless one. It's the stupidest thing in the entire universe, the developers need to make sure that their drunk consumers don't do anything stupid during the times they go out partying, as it leads to stupid decisions such as looking through Snapchat while bored, drunk or simply because one needs an ego boost. Adding random people you see at the party so that they can feed your vanity and be envious of the glamorous life you lead.

She's refreshed her Instagram and Twitter feed three times, checked all her messages and emails, but there was nothing to distract her from her current boredom. It didn't help that she had been drinking glass after glass of champagne, taking into account how one of the servers gave her a healthy supply of the drink. Needless to say, Poppy was feeling a bit tipsy and she had no choice but to open Snapchat hoping to rid herself of boredom, not taking into account how easy it is to misclick and add Rosie Hughes.

She hoped that the warning was not part of the terms and conditions, it'd make it hard for her to file a complaint.

Groaning as she finally awoke, Poppy stretches, her hair disheveled, mascara running down her cheeks staining the pillow. Hungover, irritated and grumpy, she scrambles around her bed trying to find her phone, only to regret what she found. Brand new numbers appearing, half of whom she doesn't know. Rolling her eyes, Poppy deletes all the new contacts and feels her heart falter when the name R Hughes appears on her list of Snapchat names.

Her sleepiness fades away as she continues to stare at the name, not believing herself to be stupid enough to add her mortal enemy. Adding insult to injury, the conniving little brat had the gall to add her back, leaving Poppy to draw the simple conclusion that Rosie was fucking with her. What other reason would said girl have for adding her back, if not to torment her? 'Once I see her, I'm going to wipe her face off the earth, who does she think she is?' thought Poppy as she prepared for the day ahead.

-Zeta House Kitchen-

"I'm telling you Chlo, that irritating tramp is devising a plan against me, I'm sure of it." she says whilst browsing through Rosie's uneventful story on Snapchat. The snaps consisted of her brunch with Zoey, which stirred something within Poppy, but she couldn't quite describe the feeling. There was also another snap which shows her walking her puppy, which Poppy couldn't help but replay, considering Bear, the pug looked dashing in the tuxedo he was wearing. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards, unable to contain her joy, as animals have always been her one and only weakness.

She was shaken out of her reverie once she realises that she's been staring too long at Rosie's snaps. "I'm telling you, she's up to no good. The impudent little witch probably has something up her sleeve to try and piss me off and once she does, I'm gonna shove my foot up her ass."

Chloe barely resists the urge to roll her eyes at her friend's antics. "You're so dramatic Pops, maybe she doesn't care about who she adds on social media." she says barely paying attention as she opts to continue studying her anthropology book, going over her notes before class. "Also, it's way too early to be threatening our peers, don't you think? It's not even half past 10 and you're already about to pick a fight."

Poppy inhales sharply as she turns to face Chloe. "You underestimate how aggravating Hughes can be." remarked Poppy, tone venomous. "Did you forget how she humiliated us last year? She's probably waiting until later to post something that vaguely insults me on Instagram or Twitter, because she knows that it'll piss me off."

Chloe exhales as she tries to fight off her amusement, she knows that if she laughs Poppy will no doubt send her the nastiest glare, so she calms herself. "Look Pops, it could be as simple as the fact that Hughes doesn't take social media as seriously as you. I mean have you seen her feed? It's not as curated and micromanaged as yours. Besides she probably adds everyone, she added Veronica and I too."

"Whatever, I know she's planning something with her lackeys." says Poppy as she continues to check all of her social media trying to find anything insinuating being posted on Rosie's page.

"Why is this such a big deal for you? I thought you two had that public truce where you swore not to fuck with each other. What was the point of doing that if she's just going to insult you on her socials. She knows it will incite a riot because of drama."

Poppy frowns as she mulls over Chloe's words. 'To be fair when we truced, she genuinely seemed to mean it. Also, Hughes hasn't done anything remotely antagonistic to her in months.'

Crossing her legs, she says "Well that's what makes this whole situation suspicious. Why did she add me? Why now? There's definitely something going on. She's probably still pissed off at me because she's that petty and wants revenge. After all, we did spend all of last year clawing at each other's throat with backhanded insults and actions. I mean it makes sense, being in a truce is the best time to let out all your anger just because you've missed the arguments."

Chloe blinks, looking at Poppy like she's out of her mind, as she watches the girl continue.

"I mean nowhere in that truce did we say that we had to act nice or befriend one another. It was set so that neither of us actively tried to murder each other."

Chloe needs to take a moment to gather herself before she can respond. She shakes her head, trying to process this whole situation, which was bizzare to say the least. "Look Poppy, you and Rosie have been trying all of last year to ruin each other's lives, no matter what. You're so used to bickering and arguing that it's ingrained in your brain to be agitated when it comes to each other. You're just looking for something petty so that you can start a fight. Just because it's something you're so used to doing. Speaking of which by the way, you should use all of that pent up energy and channel it into something constructive."

Poppy raises a brow. "Which means what, exactly?"

"You can always try to befriend Hughes, try and make amends, amongst other things." said Chloe with a smirk.

"Like what?" Poppy asks, as Chloe continues to smile. "Well, I mean you've been complaining about the lack of cute students in Belvoire when you're drunk. I'd say that Rosie Hughes is more than acceptable, she's quite easy on the eyes. Also because I'm tired of you calling me when you're drunk telling me about the fact that you're too pretty to be single."

Poppy's skin flushes, embarrassed. "Stop reminding me of that. Oh my God! I was wasted."

"Besides Pops, Rosie seems interested in you. Who knows, maybe if you shoot your shot you might actually succeed."

"What?" asked a baffled Poppy.

"You do realise that Rosie is gay and single right?"

"Your point being?" said Poppy.

"You've asked me to send cute people your way and I'm suggesting Rosie Hughes."

"Rosie is a big pass, I'd rather die."

"I don't know Pops, you're both on Snapchat and you're both single, it sounds like a rom-com in the making." remarked Chloe, as she teases her blonde friend.

'I mean, Chloe has a point. Farmsville isn't bad, and it's not like it's their first time hooking up. However, she knows how insufferable Hughes can be.' Poppy catches onto the fact that she actually considered dating Rosie and it makes her cringe. 'It's official, I've gone insane. There's nothing remotely attractive about Rosie Hughes.'

"Earth to Poppy! Are you okay? I was kidding. You don't need to spazz out, I'm just suggesting that you keep your prospects open." said Chloe as she sends Poppy a mischievous winks which only earns her a frustrated grunt.

"There's a higher chance of hell freezing over before I touch that skank. Have you forgotten that she literally slept with half of our so-called friends? I'd rather not touch Veronica and Carter's sloppy seconds."

Chloe doesn't resist rolling her eyes. "You say that as if you didn't sleep with her too." She deadpans causing Poppy to blush as she stutters. "T-that meant nothing. I was just using her as a distraction."

"Yeah, a distraction. Did you forget that my room is literally adjacent to yours? Thanks for not letting me sleep."

Poppy wishes that the ground would swallow her whole. Her whole face is flushed and she can feel the heat spreading all throughout her body. Clearly embarrassed, she squeaks out a response. "Shut up Chlo, that was one time." (That's a lie, she's hooked up with Hughes more than once, but she's not telling Chloe that.)

"Yeah, well maybe you should do it again, because the next day you looked so relaxed and unbothered. You were literally glowing. That's like the first time I've ever seen you genuinely happy. Anyways, text me later, I've got to get to class." Chloe blows Poppy a kiss as she leaves to go to class.

Poppy stares as her friend leaves, and she just sighs because she can feel a migraine coming on.

-LATER THAT EVENING-

A whole day has passed and Poppy has yet to see any call-out or vague posts on Rosie's social media, and she has to concede. Maybe Chloe was right, maybe Rosie didn't take social media as seriously as she does. Rosie definitely did not seem to care about the layout of her socials.

Hell, even when she passed by Poppy earlier on campus, Rosie didn't even say anything. Only acknowledging her presence with a small nod. Rosie didn't even instigate a glaring match, opting to go about her day without even as much speaking to Poppy, which was suspicious but she doesn't dwell on it.

She refuses to agree with Chloe, she definitely does not enjoy arguing with Rosie, but she's not going to lie, she was looking forward to Rosie using this slight mishap to start something, but then she realises that Chloe would be right about purposefully picking fights just because it's something she is familiar with. She refuses to admit that she enjoys anything related to Rosie.

Okay, fine, sometimes Poppy would replay her stories whenever it had Bear in it and occasionally she would say something funny. Provided that Poppy is sleep deprived, uncaffeinated and squinting, she has to admit that there are times where Hughes looked passable. She definitely does not replay those endearing snaps of Rosie acting sweet to Bear and talking to him in an exaggerated baby voice. Definitely not. She only replays those because Bear looks absolutely darling, not because she finds Rosie attractive. Not at all.

Speaking of which, if Rosie doesn't care about adding her on Snapchat then it's not a big deal. She sure as hell isn't going to give Rosie the satisfaction of making a fuss. Besides, Poppy looks at everyone's story so it's not like Rosie is anything special.

The evening proved to be uneventful until late. Poppy was in her pyjamas getting ready for her normal nightly routine.

Life really has a way of fucking with people. Surprised would be an understatement as Poppy stares at the notification on her phone. She was just doing her daily skincare ritual when the familiar ping of her phone caught her attention. She's set on ignoring it, but when she reads the notification, a scowl graces her perfect features.

SNAPCHAT from R HUGHES

"Of course the little slag waits until the evening to mess with me. I swear to God I am going to destroy this whore." muttered Poppy as she grabbed her phone, livid.

She opens Snapchat to see what Hughes sent. She already knows it's probably something petty and annoying. After all, it is Rosie's specialty.

Imagine her shock when she opened the snap. Instead of anything offensive, she received a selfie of Rosie. The selfie had nothing in common with what she usually posts in her stories, it looks too intimate for the public. The raven-haired girl was staring at the camera with a sultry expression whilst she pouted seductively. Her bright red lipstick emphasised the pout, as her disheveled hair fell on her shoulders. Rosie was wearing a low-cut dress that drew Poppy's eyes to her chest, cleavage pushed up and accentuated by the downward angle.

Poppy can feel her face getting warm, blood rushing to places that it shouldn't. This was her enemy for God's sake. She shouldn't be feeling like some horny teenager, just because of a stupid selfie. It definitely didn't help that the bane of her existence looked gorgeous.

She stares at the photo for a few seconds before she finally manages to read the caption.

'please, we know you'd want a bite of this if you could 😘'.

It takes every ounce of self control for Poppy not to scream. She was definitely too fucking gay and sexually frustrated for this shit.

The snap disappears before she can fully grasp the situation. Her mind goes back to the scandalous image that was sent to her by Hughes. She remembers the way Rosie's dress hugged her assets, showing off every curve, and the lascivious way she stared at the camera. It was absolutely sinful, and Poppy is still shell-shocked. Everything in that picture took her breath away. Who knew her enemy could look that good?

What sleep paralysis demon possessed Rosie to send her that image?

Poppy isn't going to lie, she definitely enjoyed seeing the image and it'd be pretty shitty of her to leave such a pretty girl on read. So against her better judgement, Poppy puts on light makeup as she changes into her pastel pink negligee that she knows drives people insane, after all she's gotten pretty good reviews and you'd be hard-pressed to find any complaints when it comes to her selfie capabilities. She makes sure to put on her favourite Chanel lipstick that she knows makes her lips look biteable, fluffing her hair making sure that she looks impeccable as she poses for the camera.

It takes her a few trials to get the angle right, she knows she looks delectable. She bites her bottom lip for the picture. Her negligee is transparent, showing off her pale porcelain skin. It also wraps around her frame, capturing every curve perfectly. The flimsy fabric leaves little to the imagination. The garment and the angle showing off her best assets.

'Not bad for a walking Target ad. Who knew you could look good, Farmsville? Certainly not me. 😜'

She can't help the smirk that graces her lips. 'There, let's see you match that Hughes.' That should be enough to leave her tongue-tied.

R Hughes is typing…

Poppy's phone pings once again, and she stares at the notification, which has been there for more than a minute. What was Hughes trying to achieve? Was she typing out a whole book as a response to the picture?

R Hughes

>fuck

>tHat's not supposed to be for you

>I MEant to send that to Zo

>I fuckijg hate SNAOCHAT

Poppy would be lying if she didn't find that hilarious, but it also stirred something in her. Why was Rosie Hughes sending such intimate pictures with Zoey Wade? Besides, it wasn't surprising that Hughes would send her something by accident, said girl is prone to accidents after all. Although, it makes her think about Rosie's conversation with Zoey. What were they talking about for her to send something like that? She rolls her eyes, as she types out a response. She was too tired to spare any energy thinking about the inner goings of Rosie's mind.

Poppy Min-Sinclair

>what kinda shit are you and zoey talking about to warrant such a picture

>a little fuck and go before graduation?

>didn't think you had it in you skank

>oh wait nevermind, you've slept with half my friends to reach the top 💩

Poppy knows she's practically asking for an argument at this point, but she couldn't help it. The whole thing between Rosie and Zoey made her head spin, she didn't know why it was such a big deal. She's not going to lie, she missed the banter with Rosie. It was exhilarating, no one was brave enough to stand up to her, that is until hog-calling Rosie Hughes showed up. It made her feel a rush she's never felt before, not even when she was dating Carter.

Her phone buzzes for what felt like the millionth time.

R Hughes is typing…

R Hughes

>fuck you

>you're still a massive bitch, at least that hasn't changed

>zoey and I just joke around from time to time, like friends do

>oh wait you wouldn't know, you don't have any 😈

Poppy couldn't help the chuckle that escapes her. Who knew Belvoire's resident good girl had claws? This was definitely going to be fun.

Poppy Min-Sinclair

>first of all I know I'm a bitch but at least I acknowledge it

>anyways, thanks for the entertainment Hughes, I was having a dull evening

R Hughes

>don't tell me you actually enjoyed the photo I sent?

Poppy Min-Sinclair

>😘

>in your dreams

>i was feeling charitable today which is why i even bothered to respond

>toodles

Poppy knows that she’s lying but she’d rather die than admit that she actually found her mortal enemy attractive, even if they’ve had brief flings before. Those flings were enjoyable enough but she’d be hard-pressed to feed Rosie’s ego.

She knows that her mortal enemy is probably fuming right about now, and little does she know, she’s absolutely right. Her phone screen lights up notifying her that Rosie was typing, but after a few beats of continued silence, Poppy chortles, amused that she’s managed to silence the bane of her existence. The kissy face emoji was a bit much, but if it gets her results then she definitely wasn’t above using it again.

When she doesn’t get a response back, Poppy knows that she has won this round by claiming the last word.

She leaves her phone on her nightstand, leaving it to charge as she wipes away her carefully applied make-up, after all breaking out isn’t exactly on her agenda this week.

Poppy goes to sleep at peace, knowing she’s rendered Rosie speechless.

-ROSIE POV-

“What the hell is her deal? She compliments me and then backtracks to insulting me again. She’ so fucking infuriating.” mutters Rosie as she barely holds back a snarl.

In contrast to Poppy’s peaceful sleep, Rosie spends the whole night tossing and turning as she overthinks about this whole ordeal.

‘Why did she compliment me and then send such a nice picture only for her to completely blow it out of the water by insulting me again? This is weird even for Poppy. Sure she’s a bitch but she never compliments anyone, not even her best friends.’ thought Rosie as she holds her phone, trying to formulate a response, until she decides not to take the bait. Poppy did say she was bored, and she didn’t really feel up to arguing with Poppy at god awful hours.

Next time for sure, she’s going to wipe the smirk that Poppy's probably sporting, by leaving her an inarticulate and stuttering mess.

#poppy min sinclair #playchoices #queen b #poppy x mc #choices #choices stories you play #queen b poppy #pixelberry #veronica lombardi #bea hughes #poppyweekend

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cannibclheart · 3 years

Note

I was wondering if I could please get some headcanons for Kaoru Hitachiin, with a penpal darling he grew slowly grew attached too as time went on and now there meeting in person for the first time.

thank you for being my first ask! I adore this prompt and I hope you enjoy it! I might have gotten a little carried away, whoops. again, if you see grammar mistakes . . . no you didn’t.

words: ~950 cw: doxxing, stalking behavior, love bombing, implied kidnapping

— He hadn’t actually meant to send the letter to you. No, the letter full of cynicism and despair was meant for him and his eyes only. No one but himself needed to know just how truly shitty he was as a person, because he knew that no one but himself would understand him.

— But you did. You replied to his cry for help. You read in-between his lines and told him that it’s okay to be angry. That it’s okay to resent his brother, while at the same time feeling as though he needed him to survive. There was no judgement in your words and for a brief second Kaoru felt as though he could finally breathe.

— He didn’t respond for two weeks and you had thought that was the end of your correspondence. After all, the letter appeared randomly one day. You assumed it was your penpal, but even if it wasn’t it seemed like the author really needed someone to talk to. You were just too kind.

— Curious, you had looked up the neighborhood the letter was sent from, and your eyes bulged at the price listings for their residential area. You wondered what it was like to be that wealthy, but then again you knew that riches had their price. Your penpal was evidence of that.

— His second correspondence was much shorter than his first and written much more playfully. He poked fun at you for writing to a complete stranger and asked questions about who you were. What you liked, what you did, what you wanted to do. There was no hint of the sadness in this letter and it eased your mind knowing that maybe you helped him in some small but important way.

— You two continued your correspondence for seven months, and while it would be been much faster to exchange your phone numbers or even email each other neither of you mentioned it. To Kaoru, there was something intimate about holding the same paper the you touched, tracing the words you had spent hours working on. And he didn’t know if you did it on purpose, but he could smell your scent on the paper after a while. Perfume, cologne, air freshener, it didn’t matter — he related the smell back to you and became intoxicated with it.

— Soon, your letters became the most important thing to Kaoru. He would wait anxiously for your next letter to arrive and if it were late by even one day his heart would sink to his stomach afraid that you were done with him. It was then that he would pull up the most recent photo of your house on his laptop and wonder what had happened to you.

— You two didn’t exchange names, but that was okay. He had all the information he needed. After all, the letters were addressed to a specific house and it wasn’t hard to look you up when such personal information was already at his finger tips.

— He hadn’t looked at a photo of you yet, no no no he wanted to be surprised when he first saw you. It wouldn’t matter what you looked like anyway. If it was you he sure that would be just as beautiful as you soul. Kaoru only let himself be tempted by the photos his private investigator would take every few days.

— He suggested meeting you six months into exchanging letters. You were hesitant for sure, but the man in the letters was so pleasant to talk with. You would write on average two to three pages per reply, and would often tape some mundane piece of your life into the envelope.

— A used ticket from Tokyo Disneyland, a polaroid picture of the omurice you perfected, you slowly but surely showed him different aspects of your life.

— And of course he would return in kind. A small package containing a selection of fabrics to get your opinion on, a used gift card to Mitsukoshi ( that when you look up how much is left on it, the number startled you. He left a little note with a winky face that said “couldn’t find anything I liked here, hopefully you can put it to better use than I did” ).

— So, although you hesitated for a day you reminded yourself of how kind, caring, and generous your penpal was and decided it wouldn’t hurt to meet your new friend.

— How adorable you looked standing on the side of the street, looking down at your phone in faux concentration. He could tell you were nervous. Kaoru was as well, and he couldn’t help but wonder if your heart was racing in time with his. He would find out soon enough.

— When Kaoru approached — tall, handsome, and with kind eyes — you were stunned into silence. And when he presented you with a black box that held a phone charm in the shape of fox you couldn’t help but hug him right then and there. You had made a dear friend over the past few months. Arms wrapped around his neck you couldn’t see the way his eyes glazed over in ecstasy, a slow smile creeping onto his face.

—Yes, you would be seeing him much more now that he finally had you in his grasp. The phone charm would be instrumental in keeping track of you, of finding the right time to make you his forever. Only a few more details needed to be settled before you could be with him.

— You noticed how deeply he hugged you, how he brought his nose to the crook of your neck. You smelled just like your letters.

+ continue? (your phone breaks)

#yandere kaoru #yandere ohshc #ohshc #yandere x reader #yandere #doxxing tw #stalking tw #love bombing tw #kidnapping tw

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wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela

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

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

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

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

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

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

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places.

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

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

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

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

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything.

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

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

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

“Window. It’s a window.”

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

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

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

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

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

Yes that was it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

And now she was all his.

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

*****

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

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked.

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

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew then, you were in for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

**** Part 2

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

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tohellandbackanthology · 3 years

Text

WE FINISHED SHIPPING OUT ALL PHYSICAL ORDERS (and other important info about your package)!

Hi guys! That’s right! On June 19th, we officially wrapped up packing more than 800 orders of To Hell + Back: A Destiel Anthology and immediately got drunk and partied actually we just talked about the impossible housing market in Vancouver. Barring three orders which were still missing phone numbers, by now everybody else should’ve received a tracking number with their book on the way!

While we’re relieved that one of the hardest parts of the job is now done and over with, we know that our project is still far from over. With that in mind, we’d like to outline some important info via this handy FAQ about what to look out for as you wait for your package to arrive.

**When are digital books shipping out?**

Right now! As promised, now that we’ve finished shipping all physical books, we’re now switching our focus to digital copies. Please do note that we’ll be shipping digital books in batches, so not everybody is going to get their book at the same time. Why are we doing this? Because sometimes emails bounce and we want to make sure we catch those when they happen. By sending the books out in batches, we can better keep track of these issues.

We will be sending out digital books in the following order: Indiegogo/Big Cartel digital-only backers first, and then everybody else. We feel this order is fair because those of you who didn’t order a physical book have now been waiting a long time and we want to be sure you receive your books at the same time as people begin receiving their physical copies in the mail.

We aim to complete shipping all digital books no later than July 11, but we are working fast in the hopes of finishing by July 5th.

**I didn’t receive my tracking number!**

We had multiple checks in place to ensure that we covered every order*** so if you didn’t get an email from Canada Post, please check your junk/spam folder and see if your email might have landed there. If it’s not there either, please message us at [email protected] and we’ll resend you your tracking number. It’s always possible that there might’ve been a typo in the email address that we had on file for you, and if that was the case, then the email containing your tracking number wouldn’t have reached you. That said, even if Canada Post’s email didn’t reach you, you should have received an email from Indiegogo or Big Cartel also indicating your tracking number as we inputted tracking info into these sites too!

*** A select few packages don’t have tracking numbers. If you purchased a tier that was a merch + E-book combo on Indiegogo (“I’d Rather Have You”; “Cursed or Not”; “I Always Come When You Call”) and live outside Canada and the United States, it was unfortunately not possible for us to generate a mailing label with a tracking number because your parcel was too small. Instead, please keep an eye on your mailbox. Your envelope parcel should reach you within 4-6 weeks.

**The only thing my tracking number says is ELECTRONIC INFORMATION SUBMITTED BY SHIPPER :( When will Canada Post pick up my package?**

All orders were picked up by Canada Post on June 21, 2021. If your tracking still doesn’t show ITEM PICKED UP BY CANADA POST, contact us immediately so we can figure out what’s going on.

**My package didn’t arrive! It says ITEM BEING RETURNED TO SENDER! Help!**

Please contact us IMMEDIATELY if this happens so that we can reroute your package before it’s too late. If the package is returned to us, we get charged for its shipping. Then subsequently shipping has to be paid again to resend it to you! That’s 3x shipping and it’s not good, for either us or you! Please don’t delay a second if this happens. Tell us right away because we are determined to get it back to you! In the words of @justholdingstill, “Over my dead body are they sending it back to us.”

**When will I receive my package?**

From the point that your tracking displays the message Item picked up by Canada Post, you can expect that:

Canadians will generally receive their packages within 2-4 days, but it can be up to 7 days for remote regions.

Americans will generally receive their packages within 10-14 days. This includes Guam and Puerto Rico.

All other countries will receive their packages within 4-12 weeks, but we have noticed that these packages are coming WAY faster than that, usually within 2 weeks. Down below is a breakdown of how quickly certain countries have received their fastest package:

Argentina: 15 days

Finland: 8 days

Germany: 10 days

Italy: 16 days

Mexico: 10 days

Norway: 18 days

Russia: 15 days

United Kingdom: 21 days but so far, this seems to be an exception—only one package has arrived as of today.

All other countries: No package has reached its destination yet that we know of

**I have my tracking number but it’s not showing any movement! Is my package lost?**

Canadians and Americans should have regular updates to their tracking information every couple of days, but please be patient—things happen, packages get rerouted, or sometimes have to sit for a little bit in customs or a sorting facility before moving on to their final destination.

Likewise for our international backers, you will most likely get regular updates to your tracking information until your package leaves Canada. At this point, you will receive the following notification: International item being forwarded to destination country. From this point onward, you won’t receive any updates to your tracking information for a long time. This is completely normal and it just means that your book is on a boat making its way to your country. After it arrives on shore, you may or may not get more tracking notifications—it will depend on how the next carrier processes your order. In general, for all the international countries that have received packages so far, they have had full tracking upon reaching shore.

**When is my package considered lost? What should I do then? How much time do I have to contact you?**

Canadians should wait 14 days from the day that their package is picked up by Canada Post before contacting us (unless your tracking says that it’s returning to sender, in which case contact us IMMEDIATELY so that we can reroute your package!).

Americans (including Guam and Puerto Rico) should wait 21 days from the day that their package is picked up by Canada Post before contacting us (unless your tracking says that it’s returning to sender, in which case contact us IMMEDIATELY so that we can reroute your package!).

All other nationalities should wait 12 weeks from the day that their package is picked up by Canada Post before contacting us (unless your tracking says that it’s returning to sender, in which case contact us IMMEDIATELY so that we can reroute your package!).

Please don’t contact us before that. We won’t be able to help you earlier than this. We have to talk to Canada Post about your parcel and they won’t take further steps until the waiting period is over.

When you contact us, please give us the following information via email at [email protected]:

Your full name

Your shipping address

Your shipping phone number

Your shipping email

Let us know where you’re an Indiegogo or Big Cartel backer

You have four weeks to contact us after the ‘package-is-officially-lost’ date. For example, if your book was picked up by Canada Post on June 1 and your home address is in a country other than the United States or Canada, you will wait 12 weeks to see if your package arrives. In this example, your package is officially considered lost on September 1. You have four weeks to let us know. In this example, you have until October 1 to tell us that your package is lost. If you tell us after October 1, unfortunately we can’t help you! We have a timeline in place for the official end date of our project and this deadline helps keep us on track to donate our remaining funds to our charity of choice, Wish Vancouver, in a timely manner. Not to mention we’ll be selling off our extra books and if you take too long to contact us, there might not be any remaining books for you to have a replacement!

**My tracking says that my package was delivered but I can’t find it!**

We encourage you first and foremost to ask your neighbours and anybody else who lives with you or around you to see if they might have received it for you. Please also contact your postal service to see if they might have held it for you at the post office. Finally, please keep an eye on your tracking and please try your absolute best to be there to receive it so that there is no chance of your package being stolen. If your tracking information declares that it was delivered, we consider it delivered on our end too and as much as we would like to help you, we’re not a business and as such, our funds are limited and we can’t be responsible for stolen packages. If your package does get stolen though, please let us know and we’ll talk to Canada Post regardless. All our books are insured and if Canada Post agrees to pay the insurance amount, we’ll put aside a book for you from our extras sale. You will still be responsible for paying the full amount of shipping. If Canada Post denies the insurance amount, we can still put a book aside for you but you will have to pay the full amount of the book and shipping.

**Have any other questions that come to mind?**

As always, please don’t hesitate to shoot us a message! We always strive to get back to you within 48 hours or less, but please note that justholdingstill, casthewise, and pray4jensen/60r3d0m are heading out on a mini vacation to Vancouver Island from June 30 to July 4 so you might not hear from us as promptly at that time! Unfortunately we won’t have cell service or WiFi.

Aside from this, thank you again for your patience and support. We can’t wait to see photos of your books (and shelves and pets and plants!). Be sure to tag us when you do post!

With love,

Your TH+B mods

#admin: 60r3d0m #admin: pray4jensen #announcement #tohellandbackanthology

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byrachel · 3 years

Text

JACOB BLACK CURSED FATE

Word count: 2512

Summary: In an attempt to fix their relationship, everything falls apart

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, emotional cheating, jealousy, unhealthy relationship

note: Thank you @tyb1 for giving me an amazing idea to experiment with. This was also loosely inspired by this imagine by @imaginingmanyfandoms (with their permission!) Please check both of them out!

You swatted away the lingering fly, which had been testing your patience the whole day, from the freshly set table. You didn’t want anything ruining your mood that day and if you had the same accuracy your boyfriend had when it came to killing flies, it would’ve been smashed against one of your counters the second you had seen it flying around. Losing the buzzing creature from your sight, you stepped away from your kitchen table to take in the view. Perfect, you thought with a satisfied smile, quietly praising yourself.

After months of barely seeing your boyfriend and living with each other like you were roommates, you found it was time to find that spark you once felt by having his favorite meal and desert. You wanted to create a comfortable scenery to discuss your concerns with Jacob and was more than positive about the outcome. He was always willing to listen and work on himself together with you when it came to problems you were having.

With a lighthearted sigh you grabbed your phone from the edge of the table. Your notification centre showed a few unimportant emails waiting to be deleted from your inbox, instead of the text you were waiting for. You looked at the time above the notifications. 7:23 pm. He wasn’t supposed to be home for a while and him not responding to your texts probably meant patrolling just took longer. You pushed down that icky feeling at the pit of your stomach and decided to dress up with the time you still had. You didn’t want to wear anything over the top in your own kitchen, but something cute enough for Jacob to see you were trying to look nice for him.

Taking your time to take a shower, do your hair and put together an outfit you were pleased with, you were expecting Jacob to walk into your home at any given moment then, but even when you returned to the kitchen there was still no sign of him. This time you looked up at the analog clock hanging from one of your kitchen walls. 8:41 pm.

With a forced smile you tried to contain the excitement you had been feeling the whole day as you got a pack of lucifers to light the candle in the middle of the table. Once the candle held onto the flame, you looked over your shoulder at the food on the stove while you waved with the lucifer in your hand, before it had the chance to burn all the way down to your fingers. You wanted Jacob to come home to a prepared plate but the moment you heard the fly buzzing around your living room you stopped yourself. You weren’t in the mood to keep that thing away from the food so you were just going to wait until he got home.

You sat down at the kitchen table, grabbing your phone once again. Maybe he responded. Lightly tapping your screen, your notification centre popped up, but there still was no text. Out of curiosity you checked your messages, going into your conversation with Jacob.

‘You still going to be home by 8:30?’

You sighed looking at the delivered stamp underneath your text, but decided to give him more time. He was barely ten minutes late and it wasn’t unusual with the recent supernatural activity in the area so you just had to keep your excitement at bay a little longer.

Time ticked by slowly, ten minutes turning into thirty, half an hour turning into an hour as you impatiently bounced on your legs, soft thumbs filling the silent kitchen. You were leaning against the kitchen counter, looking down at the game on your phone to kill time, but with each passing second your worries were starting to grow excessively.

When the clock hit 10:30 pm you decided to call him, the phone icon next to his caller id waiting to be pressed by your hovering thumb. But before you could put your phone up to your ear, your call went straight to his voicemail. Your heart jumped, your sudden rising heartbeat ringing in your ears from worry.

His phone has never been turned off before. Why is his phone turned off?

You exhaled audibly, automatically going to your contacts to find Quil’s number while you nibbled on your thumbnail. If your memory didn’t do you wrong, you were almost certain they were patrolling together. He would know where Jacob was. Again, you tapped on the phone icon as your hand rested against your neck, feeling your rapid heartbeat.

You looked up at the ceiling, briefly closing your eyes as you forced yourself to stay calm. In and out, you told yourself, inhaling and exhaling deeply to keep yourself from having gruesome intrusive thoughts of things that could’ve gone wrong while you impatiently waited for your boyfriend’s best friend to pick up his phone.

“Hey, (Y/N). What’s up?” Quil’s neutral voice sent you into relaxation, your eyes shooting open and bending your head back down to its original state. His calm tone was enough to let you know nothing happened on their patrol.

“Hey, Quil.” Your voice was slightly shaken up from the brief panic, but hoping he wouldn’t notice you tried to make it less obvious. “I’m looking for Jake, is he with you?”

“Not anymore.” He answered. “Lin called him earlier. I’m guessing something happened, because Jake left right after, but he didn’t say what though.”

Lin. Of course he was with Lin.

The itch you were trying to keep down suddenly became uncontrollable. The anger, resentment and hurt you thought you had pushed down months ago bubbled up without a warning, making you bite your tongue to keep your composure towards Quil. As far as you knew he didn’t know about the arguments and fights she had caused in your relationship, how many times you threatened to leave Jacob because of her presence and how many nights you had banned Jacob from your bedroom so you could silently cry into your pillow, knowing he was listening to the pathetic muffled sobs from the couch in the living room.

“(Y/N)?” A different voice called out from the living room as you heard the click of the closing front door. “I’m home.”

“Thanks, Quil.” You said, snapping out of your silent rage, remembering your boyfriend’s best friend was at the other side of the line. “He actually just came home.”

“Anytime.” Quil responded unknowing of what he had just caused, before you exchanged goodbyes with him and hung up the phone. You slowly placed it back down on the table and shook your head in disbelief, pushing yourself away from the kitchen counter to meet Jacob in the living room.

“Hey, what did you make?” Your clueless boyfriend commented, briefly turning his head over his shoulder to watch you stand in the kitchen’s doorway, his back turned to you as he put his jacket away. “It smells good.”

“Where were you, Jacob?” Your voice was icingly calm as you ignored his question, his name feeling foreign in your mouth. It was always Jake, not Jacob so using his full name for the first time in months made sure he knew how badly he had fucked up. You knew where he had been and that simple question was enough to let him know there was no use in lying.

It was like he freezed up for a split second before he turned to face you, looking like a deer caught in headlights. You didn’t know why you were even giving him the room to answer, there was no way he could talk himself out of this. His mouth was agape, his lips moving slightly but there were no words coming out.

“Spit it out. Where were you?” You repeated, your voice slightly raising this time.

“Babe, I can explain--”

“Explain?” You interrupted him as a humourless chuckle fell from your lips. You softly pinched the skin between your eyebrows, your eyes fluttering closed. Your patience was thin, your head full of different voices telling you what to do in your rage, but you weren’t sure what voice to give in to. “Explain what? That you basically ditched me to be with Lin when I explicitly told you I wanted to have one night, just one night, to have your undivided attention.”

“I know I messed up, but you know I wouldn’t do it without a well enough reason.” Jake sounded distraught and without looking up you could tell he was panicking. “Just hear me out, okay?”

You pulled your hand away from your face, opening your eyes to look at the man who was suddenly standing much closer than he was before in an attempt to close the space between you. If he came any closer you were sure you would’ve backed away, but he knew better than to try to touch you when you were livid. It was a mistake he made before, but surely wouldn’t do again.

“She needed someone to talk to.” He started off, making you scoff. It was something you heard a dozen times before. “This is the first time she has been without her daughter for this long and it’s just hard on her.”

“It still surprises me you don’t see what she’s doing. She has enough friends to call. She’s using you, Jacob. Using you.” You narrowed your eyes in disbelief and used your hands to emphasize your point. “She only has to breathe differently and you’re there, she just likes the attention you’re giving her, because no one else will.”

“I don’t think she’s using me.” Jacob disagreed with a sigh. “But I also know you wouldn’t get me giving into it. As much I know you hate it, I have to be there for her, (Y/N). We’ve talked about the imprinting, it’s not a choice.”

Was he seriously defending what she was doing?

“And we’ve also talked about boundaries.” You snarled back at him. “You can be there for her without ignoring our relationship. You promised me we would come first no matter who your imprint was going to be.”

He nodded in agreement. “And we still come first, but like I said I also have to be there for her when she needs me. She might not be my top priority, but I can’t ignore Lin’s needs either, that’s just the bond.”

“Just the bond.” You repeated with a chuckle, your eyes prickling with tears as the sudden realization seeped in.

Nothing was more important to him than that damned forced bond and the longer you listened to him the clearer it became. You hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but looking back you couldn’t believe how stupid you were for believing the words of a man who hadn’t experienced something so intense before. ‘I don’t care who she is, you’re the one for me’ was what he said when you finally communicated your worries weeks after he had imprinted on her. You wished you had listened to the insecurity lingering at the back of your head when you had seen the relationships between Sam and Emily, Jared and Kim and every other pack member who had ended up with their imprint.

Why would I be naïve enough to think it would be any different for Jacob when he finally imprinted on someone?

“Baby, don’t cry.” He finally tried to narrow the space between your bodies to comfort you, but as you snapped out of your thoughts you flinched away from him. His comfort was the last thing you wanted.

Just then his words registered and you noticed the tears staining your cheeks. You quickly wiped them away with the back of your hand. “You don’t even see you’re in love with her, do you?” You looked up at his pained expression. You might don’t like being touched when you were mad, but you had never backed away from him when you were crying before.

“I’m not, I swear.” He answered hurriedly.

“You’re lying to yourself.” You shook your head, wiping your nose with your hand. “You dropped everything to be there for her when I needed you here. Again.”

Without waiting for a response, you were headed to your shared bedroom, Jacob’s footsteps closely behind you. You wanted to get away from him as far as possible, there was no way you were staying in the same house together. You didn’t feel like suffocating on your own again.

“Baby, (Y/N).” Jacob called out to you, hopelessly following you as you marched into your shared bedroom, diving straight into your closet to grab a suitcase. “What are you doing?”

You placed it on the bed, zipping it open as the tears falling from your eyes blurred your sight. When you turned back to your closet to grab a bunch of clothes, not even thinking of all the things you actually needed if you were going to stay away for a while, Jacob finally managed to get his hands on you. He held your wrists, not tight enough to hurt you, but with just enough force to keep you from moving. “Hey, don’t go, okay? Please. I want to fix this.”

“How? It’s not a choice, remember?” You avoided his gaze, looking down at the floor. Your body was trembling from the anxiety and all the mixed emotions coming out were making you sick to your stomach. You truly felt like throwing up. “How did you even want to start a family with me if I can’t even be your first choice, hm? I’m not putting my child through that.”

“(Y/N), don’t tell me. . .” Jacob’s eyes widened. When you told him you wanted to talk this morning he could tell you were excited, but he brushed it off like the idiot he was. All the signs were there and when it fell silent for a moment, he finally understood why tonight was so important to you.

“I’m pregnant.” You felt your arms slipping from his grip as you looked up at his blank expression. You pulled your hands away to dry the tears dripping from your face. “And I wanted to do things differently for our baby than our parents did, I wanted them to grow up with both of us there.”

“And they will.” His glinstering eyes and watery smile stared at you as he brought his hands up to your cheeks, softly caressing the sides of your face with his thumbs and placing his forehead against yours. You let him. “Just let me fix this. I’ll do anything for you-- both of you.”

As much as you wanted to believe what he said, you knew it was only a matter of time before he went running to Lin when she needed him again. He could treat you badly all he wanted, but you refused to let your child grow up feeling unwanted the way you did.

“No.” You whispered back to him, pulling your face away from his grip. “I’m done.”

masterlist | not edited

note: If you can’t tell I’m bad at endings and writing angst, but I hope you enjoyed it either way. Please let me know what you think so I know how I could improve or if you liked it!

#thaliawritesx #twilight #twilight imagine #twilight wolf pack #twilight wolf pack imagine #wolf pack imagines #twilight wolves #jacob black #jacob black imagine #jacob black fluff #jacob black x reader

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samwisethewitch · 3 years

Text

Coping with religious trauma

CONTENT WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS DISCUSSIONS OF MENTAL ILLNESS, TRAUMA RECOVERY, AND HOMOPHOBIA. The advice in this post is intended for an adult audience, not for those who are legal minors.

A lot of people find their way to paganism after having traumatic experiences with organized religion, especially in countries like the United States, where 65% of the population identifies as Christian. (This number is actually at an all-time low — historically, the percentage has been much higher.) Paganism, which is necessarily less dogmatic and hierarchical than the Abrahamic religions, offers a chance to experience religion without having to fit a certain mold. This can be extremely liberating for people who have felt hurt, abused, or ignored by mainstream religion.

To avoid making generalizations that might offend people, I’ll share my own story as an example.

My family joined the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, better known as the Mormons, when I was nine years old. The Mormons are an extremely conservative sect of evangelical Christianity that places a heavy emphasis on maintaining a strong community that upholds their religious values. The problem with that is that Mormon values are inherently racist, sexist, homophobic, and transphobic. As a teenager in the Mormon Church, I was told that as a woman, my only purpose in life was to marry a (Mormon) man and raise (Mormon) children. I was discouraged from pursuing a college education if it meant delaying marriage. I was not allowed to participate in the full extent of religious ritual because I was not a man. I was not allowed to express myself in ways that went against Mormon culture, and I kept my bisexuality secret for fear I would be ostracized. I didn’t have any sort of support system outside the Church, which inevitably made the mental health issues that come with being a queer woman in a conservative Christian setting much, much worse.

I left the Mormons when I was seventeen, and by that time I had some major issues stemming from my time in the Church. I had been extremely depressed and anxious for most of my teen years. I struggled with internalized misogyny and homophobia. I had very low self-esteem. I had anxiety around sex and sexuality that would take years of therapy and self-work to overcome. I wanted to form a connection with the divine, but I wasn’t sure if I was worthy of such a connection.

I was attracted to paganism, specifically Wicca, because it seemed like everything Mormonism wasn’t. Wicca teaches equality between men and women, with a heavy focus on the Goddess in worship. It places an emphasis on doing what is right for you, as long as it doesn’t harm anyone else. It encourages sexuality and healthy sexual expression. Learning about Wicca, and later other types of paganism, helped me develop the kind of healthy spirituality I’d never experienced as a Mormon. Although Wicca is no longer the backbone of my religious practice, it was a necessary and deeply healing step on my spiritual journey.

I’m not sharing my story to gain sympathy or to make anyone feel bad — I’m sharing it because my situation is not an uncommon one in pagan circles. The vast majority of pagans are converts, meaning they didn’t grow up pagan. Some had healthy upbringings in other faiths, or no faith at all, and simply found that paganism was a better fit for them. Others, like myself, had deeply traumatic experiences with organized religion and are attracted to paganism because of the freedom, autonomy, and empowerment it offers.

If you fall into this latter category, this post is for you. Untangling the threads of religious trauma can be an extremely difficult and overwhelming task. In this post, I lay out six steps to recovery based on my own experiences and those of other people, both pagan and non-pagan, who have lived through religious trauma.

While following these steps will help jumpstart your spiritual healing, it’s important to remember that healing is not a linear process — especially healing from emotional, mental, and spiritual trauma. You may have relapses, you may feel like you’re moving in circles, and you may still have bad days in five or ten years. That’s okay. That’s part of the healing process. Go easy on yourself, and let your journey unfold naturally.

Step One: Cut all ties with the group that caused your trauma

Or, at least, cut as many ties as reasonably possible.

Obviously, if you’re still participating in a religious organization that has caused you pain, the first step is to leave! But before you do, make sure you have an exit plan to help you disengage safely and gracefully.

To make your exit plan, start by asking yourself what the best, worst, and most likely case scenarios are, and be honest in your answers. Obviously, the best case scenario is that you leave, everyone accepts it, and all is well. The worst case scenario is that someone tries to prevent you from leaving — you may be harassed by missionaries or concerned churchgoers, for example. But what is the most likely case scenario? That depends on the religious community, their beliefs, and how involved you were in the first place. When making your exit plan, prepare for the most likely scenario, but have a backup plan in case the worst case scenario happens.

Once you’ve prepared yourself for the best, worst, and most likely outcomes, choose a friend, significant other, or family member who can help you make your exit. Ideally, this person is not a member of the group you are trying to leave. Their role is mainly to provide emotional support, although they may also need to be willing to run off any well-meaning missionaries who come calling. This person can also help you transition after you leave. For example, you might make a plan to get coffee with them every week during the time your old religious community holds worship services.

Finally, make your strategy for leaving. Choose a date and don’t put it off! If you have any responsibilities within the group, send in a letter of resignation. Figure out who you’ll need to have conversations with about your leaving — this will likely include any family members or close friends who are still part of the group. Schedule those conversations. Make sure to have them in public places, where people will be less likely to make a scene.

If you feel it is necessary, you may want to request that your name be removed from the group’s membership records so you don’t get emails, phone calls, or friendly visits from them in the future. You may not feel the need to do this, but if contact with the group triggers a mental health crisis, this extra step will help keep you safe.

Of course, it’s not always possible to completely cut ties with a group after leaving. You may have family members, a significant other, or close friends who are still members. If this is the case, you’ll need to establish some clear boundaries. Politely but firmly tell them that, although you’re glad their faith adds value to their lives, you are not willing to be involved in their religious activities. Let them know that this is what is best for your mental and emotional health and that you still value your relationship with them.

Try to make compromises that allow you to preserve the relationship without exposing you to a traumatic religious environment. For example, if your family is Christian and always spends all day on Christmas at church, offer to celebrate with them the day after, once their religious commitments are over.

Hopefully, your loved ones can respect these boundaries. If not, you may need to distance yourself or walk away altogether. If they are knowingly undermining your attempts to take care of yourself, they don’t deserve to be in your life.

During this time, you may find it helpful to read other people’s exit stories online or in books. One of my personal favorites is the book Girl at the End of the World by Elizabeth Esther. Hearing other people’s stories can help you remember that other people have been through similar situations and made it out on the other side. You will too.

Step Two: Seek professional help

I cannot overstate the importance of professional counseling when dealing with trauma of any kind, including religious trauma. Therapists and counselors have the benefit of professional training. They are able to be objective, since they’re approaching the situation from the outside. They can keep you from getting bogged down in your own thoughts and feelings.

I understand that not everyone has access to therapy. I am very lucky to have insurance that covers mental health counseling, but I know not everyone has that privilege. However, there are some options that make therapy more affordable.

There may be an organization in your area that offers free or low-cost therapy — if you live in the U.S., you can find information about these services by checking the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) HelpLine or visiting mentalhealth.gov. You can also look for therapists who use a sliding scale for payment, which means they determine an hourly rate based on the client’s income. And finally, if you have a little bit of extra cash you may want to look into therapy apps like BetterHelp or Talkspace, which are typically cheaper than in-person therapy.

If none of those options work for you, the next best option is to join a support group. Support groups allow you to connect with other people whose experiences are similar to yours and, unlike therapy, they allow you to get advice and feedback from multiple people. These groups are often free, although some charge a small fee.

Finding the right group for you is important. You’re unlikely to find a group for people recovering from religious trauma but, depending on the nature of your trauma, you may fit right in with a grief and loss group, an addiction recovery group, or a group for adult survivors of child abuse. If you’re a member of the LGBTQ+ community, you may be able to find a queer support group. (The LGBTQ+ club at my college was an invaluable resource in my recovery!) Depending on your area, you may also be able to find groups for specific mental and emotional issues like depression or anxiety.

Make sure to do your research before attending a meeting. Find out what, if anything, the group charges, who can join, and whether they use a curriculum or have unstructured sessions. See if you can find a statement about their values and philosophy. Make a note of where meetings are held and of who is running the group. Some support groups meet in churches and may or may not have a religious element to their curriculum. It’s best to avoid religious groups — the last thing you need right now is to be preached to.

Getting other people involved in your recovery will make you feel less alone and prevent you from getting stuck in your own head. A good therapist, counselor, or support group can help you realize what you need to work on and give you ideas for how to approach it.

Step Three: Deprogramming

“Deprogramming” refers to the practice of undoing brainwashing and reintroducing healthy thought patterns. This term is normally used in the context of cult survivors and their recovery, but deprogramming techniques can also be helpful for people recovering from a lifetime of toxic religious rhetoric.

To begin the process of deprogramming, familiarize yourself with the way organizations use thought control to shape the behavior of their members. I recommend starting with the work of Steven Hassan — his BITE model is a handy way to classify types of thought control.

The BITE model lays out four types of control. There’s Behavior Control, which controls what members do and how they spend their free time. (For example, requiring members to attend multiple hours-long meetings each week.) There’s Information Control, which restricts members’ access to information. (For example, denying certain aspects of the group’s history.) There’s Thought Control, which shapes the way members think. (For example, classifying certain thoughts as sinful or dirty.) And finally there’s Emotional Control, which manipulates members’ emotions. (For example, instilling fear of damnation or punishment.)

Here’s a simple exercise to get you started with your deprogramming. Divide a blank sheet of paper into four equal sections. Label one section “Behavior,” one “Information,” one “Thought,” and one “Emotions.” Now, in each section, make a list of the ways your old religious group controlled — and maybe still controls — that area of your life. Once you’ve completed your lists, choose a single item from one of your lists to work on undoing.

For example, let’s say that in your “Information” column, you’ve written that you were discouraged from reading certain books because they contained “evil” ideas. (For a lot of people, this was Harry Potter. For me, it was The Golden Compass.) Pick up one of those books, and read it or listen to it as an audiobook. Once you’ve read it, write down your thoughts. Did you enjoy it? Why or why not? Why do you think your group banned it? What was in this book that they didn��t want you to know about? Write it down.

Once you’ve worked on the first thing, choose something else. Keep going until you’ve undone all the items on your lists.

If you want to go further with deprogramming, I recommend the book Recovering Agency by Luna Lindsey. Although this book is specifically written for former Mormons, I genuinely believe it would be helpful to former members of other controlling religious groups as well. Lindsey does an excellent job of explaining how thought control works and of connecting it to real world examples, as well as deconstructing those ideas. Her book has been a huge help in my recovery process, and I highly recommend it.

Step Four: Replace toxic beliefs and practices with healthy ones

This goes hand-in-hand with step three, and if you’re already working on deprogramming then you’ll already have started replacing your unhealthy beliefs. This is the turning point in the recovery process. You’re no longer just undoing what others have done to you — now you get an opportunity to decide what you want to believe and do going forward. This is the time to let go of things like denial of your desires, fear of divine punishment, and holding yourself to unattainable standards. Get used to living in a way that makes you happy, without guilt.

Notice how each step builds on the previous steps. Therapy and deprogramming can help you identify what beliefs and behaviors need to be adjusted or replaced. Your therapist, support group, and/or emotional support person can help you make these changes and follow through on them.

These new beliefs and practices don’t have to be religious — in fact, it’s better if they aren’t. If you can live a healthy, happy, balanced life without religion, you’ll be in a better position to choose a religion that is the right fit for you, if that is something you want.

Your new healthy, non-religious practices may include: mindfulness meditation, nature walks, journaling, reading, exercise, energy work, learning a hobby or craft, or spending time with loves ones — or it might include none of these things, and that’s okay too. Now is the time to find what brings you joy and start doing it every day.

Step Five: Ritual healing

This is an optional step, but it’s one that has been deeply healing for me. You may find it helpful to design and perform a ritual to mark your recovery.

Note that when I say “ritual,” I don’t necessarily mean magic. Rituals serve a psychological purpose as well as a spiritual one. They can act as powerful symbolic events that mark a turning point in our lives or reinforce what we already know and believe. Even if you don’t believe in magic, even if you’re the least spiritual person you know, you can still benefit from ritual.

You might choose to perform a ritual to finalize your healing, or to symbolically throw off the chains of your old religion. It can be elaborate or simple, long or short, joyful or solemn. It might include lighting a candle and saying a few words. It might include ecstatic dance. It might include drawing or painting a representation of all the negative emotions associated with your old religion, then ritually destroying it. The possibilities are literally endless. (If you’re looking for ritual ideas, I recommend the book Light Magic for Dark Times by Lisa Marie Basile.)

One type of ritual that some people find very empowering is unbaptism. An unbaptism is exactly what it sounds like — the opposite of a baptism. The idea is that, if a baptism makes a Christian, an unbaptism makes someone un-Christian, no longer part of that lineage. It is a ritual rejection of Christianity. (Obviously, this only applies if you’re a former Christian, though some of the following suggestions could be adjusted to fit a rejection of other religions.)

If you’re interested in unbaptism, here are some ideas for how it could be done:

A classic method of unbaptism is to recite the Lord’s Prayer backwards under a full moon. (For a non-Christians version, use a significant prayer from whatever religion you have left.)

Run a bath. Add a tiny pinch of sulfur (a.k.a. brimstone) to the water. Get into the bath and say, “By water I was baptized, and by water my baptism is rejected.” Submerge your entire body under the water for several seconds. When you come back up, your unbaptism is complete. (You may want to shower after this one. Sulfur does not smell good.)

The Detroit Satanic Temple has a delightfully dramatic unbaptism ritual. For a DIY version, you will need holy water or some other relic from the faith you were baptized in, a fireproof dish, a black candle, and an apple or other sweet fruit. Light the candle and place it in your fireproof dish. Toss some holy water onto the flame (not enough to extinguish it) and say, “I cast my chains into the dust of hell.” Take a bite of the apple and say, “I savor the fruit of knowledge and disobedience.” Finally, declare proudly, “I am unbaptized.” You can add “in the name of Satan” at the end or leave it out, depending on your comfort level.

Personally, I’ve never felt the need to unbaptize myself. I’ve ritually rejected my Mormon upbringing in other ways. Maybe someday I’ll decide to go for the unbaptism, but I’ve never really felt like I needed it. Likewise, you’ll need to decide for yourself what ritual(s) will work for you.

Step Six: Honor your recovery

Our first reaction to trauma is to hide it away and never speak of it again. When we do this, we do ourselves a disservice. Your recovery is a part of your life story. You had the strength to walk away from a situation that was hurting you, and that deserves to be celebrated! Be proud of yourself for how far you’ve come!

You may choose to honor your recovery by celebrating an important date every year, like the day you decided to leave the group, the date of the last meeting you attended, or the date you were removed from the membership records. Keep this celebration fun and light — get drinks with friends, bake a cake for yourself, or just take a few moments to silently acknowledge your journey.

If you feel like having a party is a bit much, you can also honor your recovery by talking to other people about your experiences. Share your story with others. If you’re feeling shy, try sharing your story anonymously online. (Reddit has several forums specifically for anonymous stories.) You’ll be amazed by how validating it can be to tell people what you’ve been through. `

Another way to honor your recovery is to work for personal and religious freedom for all people. Protest laws with religious motivations. Donate to organizations that campaign for the separation of church and state. Educate people about how to recognize an unhealthy religious organization. Let your own story motivate you to help others who are in similar situations.

And most of all, take joy in your journey. Be proud of yourself for how far you’ve come, but know that your recovery is a lifelong journey. Be gentle and understanding with yourself. You are doing what is right for you, and no god or spirit worthy of worship could ever be upset by that.

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aph-english-rose · 3 years

Text

Office Talk

So I originally wrote this fic for usuk week but was completely swamped with work and missed it. I’ve decided that instead of leaving it completed but abandoned that I’ll post even though the event it was intended for has been and gone.

This was inspired by the 2021 usuk week prompt for day 1: Rumours!

Paring: USUK

Words: 2711

Summary: Arthur has been the centre of many rumours since taking on the role of personal assistant. However, the most recent rumour floating around the office appears to be based upon more than just gossip.

You can also read it on AO3 or on FF.Net

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Arthur knew that something was off the moment he walked into the break room. Francis was lingering suspiciously beside the kettle in the corner, his lower back resting against the countertop. His fingertips were wrapped around an obnoxiously coloured reusable coffee cup, eyes staring off into the distance until he heard Arthur enter.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t the man himself,” He remarked as Arthur approached him.

Naturally, Francis - being the irritating twit that he was – had positioned himself awkwardly in front of the kettle, the only thing Arthur needed to use in the entire breakroom. Francis never attempted to move out his way, watching in amusement as Arthur struggled around him. He barely even flinched when Arthur ‘accidentally’ elbowed him on the back of the head as he pulled out two reusable cups in monotone colours and set them on the counter.

“Are you planning to move at all?” Arthur huffed, a scowl forming on his face as he flicked the kettle to boil. Francis merely smirked at him from behind his coffee cup and took a loud slurp of his drink. Arthur felt his left eye twitch. Although he knew Francis was simply playing and meant no harm, the Frenchman knew full well what tiny little things made Arthur’s teeth grind. Knowing that Francis had no intentions of moving, Arthur worked around him, reaching across the counter for a tea bag and placing it in one of the cups along with two spoonsful of sugar. In the other, Arthur poured the perfect amount of coffee granules.

“You’re the talk of the office this morning you know.”

“Why? What have I done this time?” Arthur asked, squeezing himself into the tiny gap Francis had left for him where the corners of the countertops met. He mirrored Francis’ stance, his back leaning against the counter and his arms folded against his chest as the kettle whistled away behind him. They were unnecessarily close, their arms pressed against each other, but neither made the motion to shuffle up and make more space. If Francis wanted to play this game, then Arthur was happy to oblige. Besides, in a battle such as this both knew Arthur was the most stubborn and wouldn’t back down. Arthur knew that eventually Francis would lose interest. Luckily, being this close didn’t bring much discomfort. Arthur had known Francis since they were teenagers. They had grown up together and as a much as they enjoyed winding each other up, Arthur knew it was merely playful banter and that Francis genuinely cared about him.

“There is a rather juicy rumour floating around.”

“How lovely.”

“Even I am starting to wonder if it’s true and you know I’m not one for rumours.”

Arthur snorted a laugh, turning to make his drinks as soon as the kettle had come to boil. Arthur didn’t believe Francis for a single second. Francis was the biggest gossiper in the entire office. The only reason Arthur knew half the employees in the building was because of Francis and his inability to stay quiet. He thrived off the tales, bouncing from one person to another until he had heard all sides of story. Only then, when he had figured out the facts, did he pester Arthur with the information. Sometimes Arthur wondered if he was in the wrong career. Surely someone with such skills would make an impressive investigator.

“Of course not. Are you going to tell me this rumour or am I going to find out from Linda when she comes to clean up this evening?”

“Oh, I’ll tell you. I’m just not sure you’re going to like what you hear with this one.”

That made Arthur’s curiosity tingle. A rumour about him that he wouldn’t like? How interesting. Arthur had been the subject of many rumours during his time in the office, all of which were utterly ridiculous and contained no ounce of truth to them. The previous rumour that had involved Arthur claimed he were a vampire enslaved by his boss to carry out his orders. It was so absurd that he and Francis had cried laughing for hours to a point where Arthur was concerned that he would have to ring an ambulance.

However, this time, Francis appeared cautious. Had he already figured out the facts and concluded that Arthur would react negatively to such rumours floating around? It made Arthur’s thoughts race, sifting through his previous schedule for something out of the ordinary for such rumours to spark. Had he acted differently whilst on shift? Had someone caught him talking to himself? Surely not. Arthur’s one-way conversations were always contained to the privacy of his office or an empty elevator. The most that Arthur ever did whilst at work was go up and down in elevators for coffee breaks, answer the constantly ringing phone, book appointments and sift through thousands upon thousands of emails.

“I’m listening,” Arthur said as he finished making the drinks. Once again, he worked around Francis, returning everything to their rightful positions and throwing the spoon he had used into the sink to wash later. Once the coffee cup lids had been clicked into place, Arthur carefully gathered them into his hands. They were pleasantly warm, the reusable cups doing their job at holding in the heat so Arthur could carry them without fear of burning himself.

“Well,” Francis started as they left the break room together. “Gilbert told me, that Erzsébet told him, that she heard from Emma, that Michelle saw you down at that Italian place with the big boss last night.”

Arthur almost spat out the sip of tea he had taken. He spluttered as he struggled to swallow the hot liquid, glaring at Francis as he harshly pounded his back. When Arthur finally felt like he could breathe again, he jabbed an elbow into Francis’ side to stop him from hitting him again. He was cautiously aware of the way the boiling drinks his hands were sloshing around in their cups, waiting for the opportune moment to spill all over him.

Arthur out on a date? With their boss of all people? How ludicrous. Arthur desperately tried to prevent the heat rising to his cheeks, taking a steadying breath in an attempt to slow his quickening heart rate.

“How utterly ridiculous.”

“Were you?”

“Are you honestly asking me that?”

“You know as well as I that Michelle isn’t usually the type to start rumours.”

“Perhaps she’s turned over a new leaf.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

Francis gave him a stern look that told Arthur he wouldn’t rest until his questions were answered. Looking down the hall ahead, Arthur saw the elevator and immediately his strides grew faster.

“Francis, I’m Alfred’s personal assistant. I am paid to follow him around, schedule his day and generally do as he asks. The only way I would voluntarily spend time with him outside of business hours were if the bloke were to pay me a hefty sum of money,” He explained, watching as Francis kindly pressed the elevator button for him.

“I had to ask!” Francis grinned, holding up the single hand that wasn’t holding his cup in innocence. The gentle ping of the elevator arriving on their floor sounded like music to Arthur’s ears, the doors opening slowly and revealing it to be empty. Arthur felt like he had been blessed. Drinks in hand, Arthur backed into the elevator and quirked a suspicious eyebrow at Francis who remained where he was.

“Of course you did. Oh, tell Gilbert, Erzsébet, Emma and Michelle to stop gossiping and get on with their work. Alfred doesn’t pay them to sit around and spread rumours about his assistant.”

“But gossiping is so fun!” Francis pouted, blue eyes watching as Arthur jabbed a finger into the elevator panel, signalling his exit. “It makes my day go faster. Plus, I’m not sure I believe you anyway. Your cheeks are red and you have your liar face on.”

“Goodbye Francis,” Arthur smirked, holding up one of the cups in a gesture of farewell as the doors began to close. He could see the way Francis narrowed his eyes at him, uncertain of the truth within the rumour.

As soon as the doors clinked closed and the elevator began to rise, Arthur let out a long sigh. What a morning it had been so far. The elevator took him up several floors uninterrupted. Arthur was thankful for the peace and quiet. When it arrived on the correct floor, the familiar ping sounded, and the doors opened slowly this time onto an extremely quiet floor of the building.

Arthur stepped out and made his way down the hallway ahead. Looking down at the carpet, he was surprised he hadn’t worn it out by the number of times he passed this way. He felt as if this route around the office was programmed into his brain.

Ever aware of the increasing warmth in his hands, Arthur passed by the door with his name etched into the silver plague and continued down the hall. At the very end stood a smart looking door, a golden plague shimmering on its front with the words ‘Alfred F Jones, CEO’ engraved into it.

Polite as ever, he stopped outside and tapped on the door with his elbow. When a quiet ‘come in’ came from inside, Arthur once again relied on his elbow to press down on the handle and open the door. It swung inwards into a large spacious room. The first thing that Arthur noticed was the view, one of the walls on the right made completely of floor to ceiling glass overlooking the bustling city below. On a clear day like today, it was easy to see off into the distance and spot the towering mountains littering the skyline.

“You took your time,” said a voice. Arthur rolled his eyes and closed the door with his foot, heading in the direction of the desk on the left of the room, situated opposite the breath-taking view.

The desk was long and neatly organised with all the essentials one would need to run a business smoothly. A fancy computer screen was angled on the desk as to not block the view and a neatly stapled booklet of paper that had once lay prominent on the desk was being shuffled into a brown file out of sight from wondering eyes. In front of the desk were two comfortable looking chairs, angled perfectly to face its centre and readily awaiting use when the next private meeting came around.

“I was harassed by a certain Frenchman,” Arthur replied, weaving around the chair, and handing one of the cups across the desk to its eagerly awaiting owner.

Alfred was slouched in the comforts of his desk chair. The collar of his dress shirt had been unbuttoned, his tied slackened to lay lazily against his chest and the jacket of his suit hung smartly across the back of his chair. He smiled as he leant forward and took the cup from Arthur, beautiful blue eyes seeming to sparkle at him from behind the silver frame of his glasses.

“Thanks,” he said before taking a long, clearly needed, gulp of his coffee. He hummed at the taste; eyeing Arthur as he set the cup onto a designated coaster. Arthur copied his movements, taking a quick drink of his still boiling hot tea before placing the cup on the other unoccupied coast beside Alfred’s. “What did he want?”

“To inform me of another delightful rumour.”

“Let me guess, you’re secretly a spy trying to infiltrate my company?” Alfred grinned, relaxing back into his chair with his hands resting behind his head. Arthur’s green eyes followed the way his shirt pulled taught, begging to be untucked from his waistband.

“Oh, I’m most definitely a spy,” Arthur smirked playfully, walking around the desk.

“I knew it!” Alfred laughed, pushing his chair back away from the desk and opening his arms in Arthur’s direction. The Brit took the invitation with no hesitation, walking straight to Alfred and perching comfortably in his lap. The CEO hoisted Arthur up, throwing his legs over the arms of the chair on one side. With one arm comfortably secured around Arthur’s back and the other settled across his waist, Alfred’s hands clasped together to engulf Arthur in his warm embrace.

“Apparently I was spotted down at Vargas’ place on a date with the big boss last night.”

“Oh, really?”

“Uh-hm.”

“And what did you say?” Alfred mumbled as he pressed his nose into the crook of Arthur’s neck. Arthur’s eyes instinctually fluttered closed as he felt Alfred’s lips caress his skin, trailing sweet kisses from the crook of his neck to the base of his ear.

“I said that the boss would have to pay me quite the sum of money if he wanted me to spend time with him outside of work.”

“How much we talking?”

Arthur turned his head to face Alfred when he pulled away. Their faces were mere inches apart, Alfred’s breath dancing across his skin. Alfred had his eyebrow quirked as if genuinely curious.

“Thousands, perhaps even millions.”

“Ah, well, I’ll gladly pay you millions in kisses,” Alfred whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Arthur’s lips. Arthur found his arms reaching up to entangle themselves around Alfred’s neck, pulling him closer when the other tried to pull away. Arthur grumbled an incoherent grunt that sounded somewhere along the lines of ‘not yet’ before dragging Alfred back in for another, much longer kiss. Alfred’s arms held him tight, his hand coming to rest on Arthur’s hip and rub tingling circles through the fabric of his clothes.

“This is why you’re the centre of all these rumours,” Alfred whispered between kisses until Arthur was satisfied and pulled back.

“Shut up,” He huffed, turning his head so Alfred was left once again kissing the side of his head. “It’s not my fault. You’re just as clinging – if not more so when we are at work!”

“Hey, I’m the boss I can do what I like.”

“I know, that’s why you’re never the one covering off these bloody rumours.”

“Who started it?”

“Michelle apparently, although I’m not sure I believe that,” Arthur explained, looking over to the windows and admiring the view. Would Michelle really waste her time ensuring a rumour about him made its way around the office?

“Why not? She looks like the gossiping type.”

“I’m pretty sure Francis is onto us. In fact, I don’t believe there is a rumour at all. I think Francis just needed an excuse to ask me himself without doing so directly.”

Alfred laughed at that, nuzzling his nose affectionately against Arthur’s hair until he turned back around.

“Sounds like a Francis thing to do. To be honest, I did think I saw him last night.”

“What?!” Arthur’s eyebrows immediately fell into a default scowl, searching Alfred’s eyes for signs that he was lying. If Francis really had been there at the Vargas restaurant, then he knew for certain that everything Arthur had told him downstairs was a lie. Was he waiting for Arthur to come clean and tell him the truth personally?

“Hey, it was for a brief second! I just saw a flash of blond hair from behind a plant – it could have been anyone! Wait - where are you going?”

Before Alfred could even finish his sentence, Arthur was out the door. It took him a record amount of time to bypass the elevator, race down the stairs and hunt down Francis. Arthur had known him for long enough. He knew his games – he knew their games. On many occasions in their youth Arthur had been the one undercover, hiding behind the plant and spying on Francis to ensure his date was going well.

Sure enough, Francis was in his office. He was sat casually at his desk, a light glow cast across his features from the computer screen in front of him. Sat prominently on his desk was the same obnoxious cup from earlier. He seemed startled by Arthur’s sudden intrusion, locking his computer quickly.

Arthur said nothing, watching Francis squirm under his gaze as the office door clicked locked behind him.

“YOU SNEAKY, RUMOUR STARTING, NOSY TWAT!”

#Hetalia #APH #usuk #Fanfiction #APH Fanfiction #My Writing #APH America #APH England #APH France #Alfred F Jones #Arthur Kirkland #I hope yall enjoy reading it #am i nervous about this yes yes i am

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

put her together again (epilogue)

word count; 3238

summary; mitch finally gets the girl, and she takes her last step into becoming a real member of society again.

notes; I hope y’all loved this series as much as I did, I got the idea randomly one day, and was in love with it straight away, so I hope you all feel the same way.

warnings; none!

“You really think I can do this?”

You were staring up at him, wide eyes and a nervous expression as you clutched a piece of paper between your hands, the same resume that he had spent the entirety of last night curating for you as a surprise after seeing the advert displayed in the window of the library when the two of you had been walking past on your nightly routes. “I have full faith in you.”

“Good, because I have no faith.” You whispered the words, more like they were only meant for yourself, and he didn’t bother to comment on them, but let it slide, rubbing his hands up and down your arms reassuringly. You snorted a laugh, mischief twinkling in your eyes as you looked up at him, a single brow raised, and you waved the paper sheet back at him. “Volunteered at a group home?”

“Not technically a lie.” He was smirking now, pride growing within him as you laughed at his joke.

“I wouldn’t exactly call it a voluntary experience, but I like your cunning.” He only offered you a wink, watching as you read over the rest of his half-lies as he filled your application form with only partially twisted versions of your truths.

“Besides, you can wow them with all your languages and intense book knowledge. They won’t even need to look at the form, and the library will have a pretty new assistant.”

“Yeah. yeah, okay.” You rolled your eyes, but gave him no resistance when he pulled you close enough to press a delicate kiss to your forehead, hands cupping your cheeks, and he lingered there for a second, long enough to get a smell of your shampoo, and feel the warmth from your body washing over him, before he was pulling back.

“Now, go. I’ll wait right over there in the coffee shop, okay?”

You only nodded, a determined look on your face that he thought was absolutely adorable, but Mitch suppressed that thought, a tight smile in response to your own, before you were spinning on your heel and walking into the library that you knew so well, familiar to you from months of visiting to get books, no applying for a job.

It was time, for sure. Time to get out into the world, and to find your place within society. You had been locked up with him for so long, to keep you safe from anybody who would be looking for you, to take you out and make sure the information in your head remained hidden, but now, you wee free. There was no more looming threats, no more enemies lurking around each corner, you could go out when and where you pleased, and you could get a real job, You could have an email account, and a phone number, and a house registered in your own name. You could have membership cards that he didn’t have to set up, and you could make a place in the world that you carved and crafted yourself, without fear of having it all ripped away from you.

You deserved it, after everything you had been through, you deserved to know that you had something happy that was all yours, something you earned without anyone else and without having to do something wrong to get it, something that was all yours to keep, to hang onto.

The shop was busy as Mitch stepped into the establishment, slightly crowded in a way that made his skin prickle, and he joined the queue, hands shoved into his pockets and eyes fixed upon the menus in hopes that nobody except the barista would talk to him, and nobody would bump into him.

He had already spotted a table free, one outside, slightly less populated in the colder temperatures, but you both had coats, and so it was perfect, and he was staring at that spot, mentally warning off anybody who might wish to sit there. He knew your order by heart now, your drink of choice slipping from his tongue easily alongside his own, wallet out to hand over some notes, and then he was taking two hot drinks, and beelining to the back of the little building.

Using his foot to push open the door, he placed the steaming mugs down on the counter, sitting with his back to the windows and wrapping his foot around the leg of the other chair to stop anybody coming along and asking to take it before you got here. He was fiercely protective, and actively tried to convince himself that it was only because he thought you deserved more, that he was looking after you in a protective way, but he was biased, and he knew it, too.

Mitch couldn’t deny it, he knew he was falling in love with you, but you were still trying to discover where you fit into the world, and he didn’t want you to feel obligated to be with him just because he saved you. He knew you loved him, as a friend, it was in every action and every smile, and every time you hung out with him. You had other friends, you had a comparison to work with, and so that was a fact he could trust, but romance and love was an entirely new concept to you, and he’d be damned if he let you fall into a relationship with him if he didn’t know that it was certainly what you wanted too.

The bitter chill of the wind swept over, and Mitch huffed, bringing his coffee closer to himself and tearing open a packet of the complimentary sugar, a wooden stirrer between his teeth as he added ample amounts of creamer and sweetener, until he was satisfied, the dark colour of the coffee raising to a warm golden colour, and yours was still sitting opposite as he took a sip. The whipped cream on top of the hazelnut latte was melting, dripping down the side of the mug, and he knew you liked it that way, so he wasn’t especially worried about it, but he still hoped that you would arrive soon, because he didn’t want you to drink it cold.

He could see the library from here, and could see each time the doors opened and closed, watching as people came and went. Patrons, workers, deliveries, he counted them all off, but then, came you.

Good news. He could already tell, even while you were too far away from him to see your expression, because there was a pep in your step, speedy movements as you got closer and closer, waiting for the cars to pause so that you could cross the road. He could see you clearly now, a wide smile on your face as you made your way over to him. Bright eyes, big smile, excitement flittering over your features.

He straightened up as you finally made it over to him, pressing a brown envelope down onto the table before him and pushing it across with two fingers, hands clasping behind your back as you rolled on the balls of your feet. He took the packet, running his finger under the seal and opening it up, before tipping it upside down and dropping out the contents onto the wired meal tabletop.

A somewhat thick set of forms, a handbook, a keycard and a holder to go around your neck. It was containing a balanced identity card now, waiting for your photograph and name to be printed on, but it said ‘Library Assistant’, and a folded up copy of your new contract, the ink having printed a little from where it had been folded while still wet.

“You got it?”

He stared up, watching as your straightened face cracked open with a blinding beam, a squeal following as your composure fell away. “I got it! As of Monday morning, eight sharp, I work at the local library!”

“Holy shit, I’m so proud of you!” He was on his feet seconds later, arms held out widely for you and your body crashed into his, wrapping yourself up in his embrace as tightly as you could, squeezing him like he was you, and he could feel your laugh from where your face was pressed into his shoulder.

He felt you pulling back, your fingers detangling from where they’d wrapped into the material of his jumper, and he felt his breathing pause as your hand smoothed up his chest to cup his face. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“It was all you, I just filled out an application for you.” He shrugged it off, dropping his smirk down into an earnest smile as his hands found your waist, the heat of your body seeping out from underneath the material. You were staring up at him, thumbs stroking delicately over his cheekbones as your expression went from playful to serious, and he couldn’t help the way he tipped his head into your hand a little more, treasuring your touch. “What are you thinking about?”

“I don’t just mean the library, Mitch, I meant everything.” His brows furrowed, frown taking over, and he knew exactly what you meant, but he still found it hard to watch the way the pain flickered in your eyes as you thought about your past. “I couldn’t do any of this without you. You saved me, you helped me find who I was. I don’t think I can ever repay you for that.”

“Just stay in my life, don’t leave me, and you can consider it a debt repaid.”

He knew how desperate he sounded, but he needed you, and he wasn’t going to let you go without a fight, because he wasn't sure he liked the idea of going back to the world he lived in before meeting you. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

He only nodded, his soft smile falling away as the two of you continued to look at one another, and his eyes widened as you moved again, not anticipating your movements until it was happening. Your lips pressed to his gently, and Mitch let out a whine as everything within him went blank, his mind clearing, before he was holding onto you a little tighter. He was pulling you closer, hands on your hips moving around to rest on your back as he pulled you up close to him, and your own fingers dug a little firmer into his jaw.

Soft lips, the taste of the mint lingering in your mouth spreading to his, and he let out a breathy moan as he felt your heart thud steadily against his chest. He had thought about it for so long, dreamt about how it would feel to hold you like this, and he felt like pure ecstasy was bursting through his veins as he finally experienced it. His head tipped to the side, nose bumping your own as he pushed back into you, sucking slightly on your lower lip and feeling his head spin as you whimpered at the feeling.

It was inexperienced, but you weren’t to blame for that, you’d never really had a chance to have this kind of intimacy with someone, and just like that, reality came crashing back down onto him. The timid and nervous movements you’d been growing into that only a second ago he found endearing, now made him feel wrong, like he’d taken something from you that he shouldn’t have, like he was a criminal, and he pulled back with a jolt, taking a sudden breath.

His eyes snapped open, finding you staring up at him, a little shocked, with kiss bitten lips and flushed cheeks as you panted for breath, and he hated the effect that such a look on your face was having on him, making him want to ravish you, without a care for who might see.

“W-We can't. We can’t do that, we shouldn’t.” He took a step back, a tight smile on his face as he covered up the stabbing in his heart as he watched your face crumple for just a second, before it was going blank once again, and you were dipping your head. When you looked back up, he let out a relieved breath, the usual friendly smile on your face, and you shrugged your shoulders.

“You got me a hazelnut latte?”

“Of course, it’s your favourite.” He grinned, taking his seat once again, and he watched as you gathered the items back up into the brown envelope once again, pressing it shut, before reaching for your mug. You didn’t sit beside him, though, like he’d anticipated, but opposite him, and he frowned. He knew it was stupid, to think such a small action meant anything, but you always sat next to him in public, your leg pressed to his as you sought out physical affection with which to ground yourself and calm down.

“Are you mad at me?”

You let out a little laugh, glancing up at him for a split second, before taking a long gulp of your coffee, the liquid now cool enough to drink like that, before lowering it again. “Of course not! I don’t have anything to be mad about.”

He simply hummed, not believing you, but having no proof. You looked around yourself again, and he didn’t take his eyes off of you, watching as you observed your environment, smile changing in minuscule movements with every expression, before finally, you brought your attention back to the table.

He waited for you to speak, waited for anything, but you were content in the silence. Stretching his leg out under the table, he searched for you, but your body language changed as you folded your legs underneath your chair, subtly, but not enough for him to miss.

“You’re lying, you’re totally mad at me.”

He hated the way his voice cracked as he spoke, but he didn’t like the idea of you being angry with him, of not wanting to be around him, of ignoring him or going home and letting him fade away from your life now that you actually had one to experience. “I already told you, I’m not mad at you!” There was a teasing tilt to your tone, a little laugh to follow it, but he wasn’t accepting that.

“Then why are you acting differently, huh?”

“I haven’t done anything different! I sat down, like, two minutes ago!”

He scoffed, pouting a little now as he looked at you. “You’re not sitting next to me, and you won’t touch me - or even look at me, and you’re not speaking. You always have things to tell me.” You met his gaze now, defiantly, as if to prove a point, and he scowled at the action, before your shoulders seemed to sag. You slumped in your seats scratching your nail over a dried stain of lost whipped cream that had melted along the outside of the mug.

“It’s easier that way.”

“What is?”

You nibbled on your lower lip, frowning to yourself, your eyes flicking up to meet his but barely, before you were staring off into space once again, and speaking in a scarcely audible whisper with your answer; “To not get hurt because you don’t want me back.”

He left his drink, moving into the chair beside you and forcing you to look up at him with two fingers under your chin. “Sweetheart, what are you talking about?”

“I think kissing you made that pretty clear, Mitch.” Your tone was a little bitter, and he almost flinched, but he couldn’t blame anyone but himself for that, swallowing thickly and opening his mouth to reply, but you cut him off; “I thought maybe you felt the same way, but you don’t, and that’s okay. It’s hard, though, to just go back to the things that made me feel that way in the first place, so I don’t.”

“But, you don’t know how you feel. Not really.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You were mad now, and he cursed at his own lack of competency with his words, but even when you were frustrated at him, you seemed to sense that he was struggling, and you waited patiently for him to work out what to say.

“I just meant that you don’t know anyone else, you don’t know if it’s me that you want! You’ve never experienced these things, you know, deciding you’re into someone more than platonically, deciding you want to be with them, going on dates, getting your heart broken. There’s a whole lot of stuff out there that you don’t even know about, yet!”

There was a softer look in your eyes now, and you shook your head, but it was fondly and not dismissively, and you rested a hand on his cheek once again. He held your hand to his face, shaking his head and twisting enough to press a kiss to your palm, but he was holding onto you now, not wanting you to retract the simple touch. “You think just because I haven't had my heart broken yet, that I don’t know what it’s like when I start to love someone?”

“You’re falling in love with me?” He barely heard himself say the words, and he felt like his eyes were going to fall from his head because they were so wide, but he didn’t miss the bashful smile, or the way you tried to bite back your amusement as he stared at you.

“Yeah, apparently, I feel that way even when you’re saying stupid shit to try and push me away.”

He was grinning himself now, leaning in and until your foreheads were pressing together, and you were sharing a breath in the cold, a weak laugh on his lips. “You’re sure?”

“Pretty sure, have been for a few weeks now, actually..”

“Good, because I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with you, too.” He didn’t hesitate this time, closing the gap between your lips, and this kiss was so much better than the first. There was no doubt, no inkling of guilt that made him feel like a villain, there was just passion and love and whispered confessions before your mouths were dragging together as his heart raced and his head span, every inch of his body lighting up like the Fourth of July just at getting to know you in this way.

You were leaning into him too, kissing him back just as eagerly as you began to learn the motions, messy kisses becoming smooth and fluid between partings for gasped breaths before you were diving in again. Your coffees started to go cold on the table as you instead memorised the taste of one another’s mouths, but neither of you cared, because right now, all that mattered was truly conveying how you felt about each other in affections that were long overdue and months in the making.

“Let’s go home. I don’t want to be here anymore.” He nipped your lower lip a little, grinning at the whine you gave him, but he pulled back, brushing a finger under your swollen lip to wipe away the shine he’d left behind. “I’ll cook you dinner, and we’ll watch a movie, and this time when I get to hold you, I can cuddle you like I’ve been wanting to do for so long.”

“Sounds perfect.”

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