#Training Housekeeping Items

[thebluester2020]

[ZZZ] Kinktober Day 1: "Praise Kink"

Summary: For recently completing a job to near perfection, Lycaon decides that praise and a good reward are in order.

Warning(s): Heavy focus on praise kinks here lol, Lycaon being typical wolf daddy here, Knotting (towards the end ofc).

Side Note(s): Not my ass forgetting to put warnings— sorry y’all 😭. That’s what I get for thinking it was a good idea to post this early while I was half-awake 🫠

Your heart was in your throat as you stood a short distance from your boss, his eyes scanning over the report you had just written after completing a job a few days ago.

One that wasn't easy in the slightest you might add.

Your client had contacted the Victorian Housekeeping Co. in order to seek help finding a lost relic that had apparently been passed down through his family for generations upon generations! Why the family would forget such an important relic? You wouldn't dare ask the question for fear of seeming rude.

But you took the job nonetheless.

After battling through hordes of Ethereals throughout the Hollows, having to contact Wise and Belle to make sure that you got through the areas safe and soundly. You had found the relic, the item accurately matching the description!

Although you appreciated how your client thanked you a million times over for finding his family's relic, you admittedly weren't interested in his praise.

The person you really wanted praise from...was Lycaon, your boss.

It was hard enough to get the wolf thiren to crack a smile, much less get him to praise someone verbally. With the completion of this job, you hoped that you would obtain both in one sitting—

"Hmf." The gruff sound snapped you from your rambling thoughts swiftly, quickly making you straighten yourself up as if you were a soldier. "You did good."

Your thighs clenched at the praise, your cheeks quickly flushing red at his praise. "T-Thank you!" You squeaked out.

"The client was happy, he praised how professional and timely you were with his request. Not a single scratch was on his relic, even after fighting off so many Ethereals." Your eyes were trained on him as he pushed himself away from his desk, walking around the wooden object to come closer to you. Each metallic step was piercing to the ears in comparison to the overall silent room, beads of sweat beginning to drip down the back of your neck out of nervousness whilst your needy cunt told a different story.

You didn't lie to yourself and say that you weren't attracted to your boss.

In fact, you were very attracted to him. So much so that a single line of praise had you nearly falling to your knees while the sheer fact that he was so close to you almost creamed your panties on the spot from how aroused you were! An arousal that your boss could definitely smell.

Not that he'd let you know that just yet, of course.

"For such good work, you deserve a reward. Don't you think?" A quiet gasp left you when he placed a hand on your shoulder. A smirk steadily crept onto Lycaon's face at your nervousness, one that didn't befit you with how potent the scent of your arousal was.

Finally, however, you nodded your head. "Y-Yes...?" You mentally cursed yourself at how your response sounded like a question.

But... thankfully, Lycaon didn't comment on it as he led you to a room that was more...secluded.

. . .

"F-Fuck—! L-Lycaon...!" You moaned wantonly as you were bounced up and down on your boss' lap in a full nelson, your hand wrapped around the back of Lycaon's neck as you grabbed at his fur in an attempt to ground yourself.

However, that proved to be an impossible task with the way his cock was drilling your insides, his cock filling you in such an addictive way as he pressed every pleasure spot inside your soaked cunt. For such a serious-looking guy, one who looked so kept together as if nothing disturbed him...he fucked you as if he were releasing pent-up tensions. "Gods..." He panted in your ear as one of his clawed hands reached for your aching clit.

"L-Lycaon!" You cried out as his fingers carefully but expertly began to flick your clit, a hiss leaving the wolf thiren's mouth as the rapid swiping of your nub elicited in you further clenching around his cock. "G-Gods..." You continued to squirm and moan much to your boss' amusement.

"Be still little maid," He whispered in your ear. "Let your boss reward you." He continued with a deep chuckle, the noise going straight to your cunt as his breath fanned over you. You let out a shaky breath as you felt your orgasm approach you, your eyes began to flutter as your thighs started to shake in Lycaon's clawed grip.

"C-Close..." You hakily whispered out.

Silently, he increased his pace, squelching and the rapid slapping of your two bodies meeting filling your ears and nearly drowning out your moans. As Lycaon fucked you, his fingers beginning to gently pinch at your clit in addition to starting to increase his rapid circling of your clit, a groan escaped him as he stuck his nose in the juncture between your neck and shoulder. He'd been wanting you since the day you waltzed into his office all those months ago.

Pleading and begging him for a job even if it was something so menial such as being a janitor.

Usually, he wouldn't let personal feelings interfere with work but...you, you were a special exception. Especially with how obvious your body was when you were around him, every night, he'd have to go into his private quarters to fist his cock whenever he'd catch a whiff of your arousal, panting and moaning out your name into his hand while the lewdest scenes imaginable would play out in his mind.

A growl rumbled from his chest as he felt his climax quickly approaching. "So good for my cock...just want to keep you here forever—" You tightened at his words, a toothy smirk crossing his face immediately. "You like that?" He began to thrust up into you harder. "Being my cute little toy for me to sheath my cock in? That could be your new job..." He suggested, his tongue lolling out to lick the side of your face messily as his smirk only grew at the idea.

And as your cunt wept out more of your slick, white dots began to appear in your vision as your moans increased in volume.

The idea of being your boss' own personal pleasure toy... didn't sound too bad. "You'd look so good being filled every day, wouldn't you Miss Y/N?" Lycaon continued to tease and talk in your ear. "Then again, it'd be so hard to get anything done knowing I have a tight sheath waiting for me so patiently back home..."

Being fucked on his thick dick day in and day-out, hearing his praises about how good he felt as he used your body, and receiving kisses from him on the daily. Oh, it was a dream come true for you! And that very dream plus the slight pain of Lycaon's claws beginning to dig into your thighs as he neared his orgasm, is what gave you that final push over the edge as you screamed out his name.

Your back arched against Lycaon just as his thrusts began to lose rhythm, his jaw falling slack, and his moans and growls of pleasure being replaced with panting as he fucked you through your orgasm, all before he suddenly stilled as quiet whines left his jaw as you suddenly felt his hot cum shoot deep inside of you, filling you to the brim as he did his best to keep from digging his claws too harshly into your thighs.

"S-So much..." You said, breaking the comfortable silence as you came down from your high.

Behind you, Lycaon gently removed his hand from your sex before he reached into his breast pocket to pull out a handkerchief. Not even to wipe away his cum oozing from your sex but, enough to tide you over until his knot died down, rubbing his fingers along your thighs as he tried to soothe and massage your sore muscles. "Are you uncomfortable—" His words choked up with a groan when he felt you move.

"No," You responded tiredly as you leaned back onto his chest.

Good, he thought. Because even when his knot died down...he planned to reward you soooo much more for your efforts.

[ambr0siascupoftea]

.✦ LET ME CARE .✦

Isaac x Pickle

(Inspired by part 8 in his series)

“Why are you still here? Is it the lifestyle? Is it the safety of knowing you’re well off?” His tone was sharp and condescending, like he couldn’t believe I was here because I wanted to be.

In annoyance, I dropped my papers on his desk and slammed both hands down. The movement caused items on the table to rattle, yet Isaac stayed still. He trained his eyes on the scattered pile I’d created on his mahogany table and then back at me.

Isaac was a mystery to me. He never reacted to anything. Yet, I knew something must change that, and it was his turn to be uncomfortable.

I paused, shifting my gaze to his bemused eyes.

“No, it’s never been about that for me. It's always been for you, Isaac.”

His brows knit together as I continued, “When have I asked for anything more than what I’ve been given? You’re an investigator for heaven's sake—why can’t you see that everything I do is because of how much I care about you?”

Everything tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop it. I’d been careful, using words that might scare him and cause him to draw back, but now my irritation made my feelings finally come to light.

He wasn’t just my boss anymore. He couldn’t deny the tension between us since the garden kiss. He wanted to ignore it, but I didn’t.

Knowing this, there was less conversation, less eye contact, and less of everything personal. We had started back at square one because of an “emotional reaction to grief,” in his words.

I was tired of pretending we didn’t have a connection and that I would silently go back to being a professional employee for him. I was shocked he thought it was possible because, after a few months of working for Isaac, we’d never been professional since the beginning. There was always a thread that tied us together somehow, and we didn’t let go of it. Instead, we tugged it closer until there was nothing but a tangle of confused feelings left between us.

My thoughts could’ve gone on forever until his sharp voice brought me back to reality.

“You’re being selfish. Don’t say things you don’t mean, especially to me.” Isaac fiddled with the pen in his fingers as he spoke.

My mind reeled at his reply.

“You think, after everything, I’d lie about my feelings? That I’m being selfish for wanting to care?” I replied sternly, trying not to be hurt by his words.

Isaac rubbed his temple, shaking his head.

“No, I just think you’re being irrational about this. I know we’ve been closer than I anticipated, and that’s my fault for not keeping this strictly professional.”

Every sentence out of his mouth was another wrench in my heart. How could he brush things off so easily? It was as if emotions were something to keep tucked away like another book in his library.

Sighing, I stepped back from his desk and forced a smile.

“If you wanted professionalism, then you shouldn’t have brought a stray into your house.”

Isaac grimaced at the term he used before.

“That isn’t—” His chair scraped the floor as he rose, gaze set on me. “Your past doesn’t affect the work you do here.”

“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean how I’ve grown to feel about you ruins that. At least I had the guts to say the truth.” I fired back, the self-preservation I had coming into this slowly fading. The frustration was evident between the two of us, and I suddenly felt regret.

Who was I to demand anything of him? To think he’d let down his walls for me, his housekeeper, was idiotic.

Recollecting myself, I stood up straighter. “I apologize for my outburst. It’s late, and I’m exhausted. Please excuse me.”

Before I could reach the doorknob, a larger hand softly covered it, and Isaac’s frame appeared beside me. I stared down at his hand over my own.

Even after pushing me away, I never had the thought of leaving. Not once. However, I wasn’t delusional enough to keep fighting for someone unprepared.

“Please, Isaac—”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he interrupted, closing his eyes as if it pained him to tell me upfront.

“I’m glad you’re selfish about me. I haven’t had anyone care for a long time.”

I lifted my head. “And it seems like I’ll have to get used to it.” He admitted, the corners of his lips slightly turning up.

I suppressed the sudden smile forming on my lips, nodding in acknowledgment. Isaac’s eyes lingered on my face before letting go of the doorknob, his footsteps retreating.

At that moment, I realized this was him trying. It may not be a grand gesture by any means, but for him, it was a step forward.

“Weren’t you going to bed?”

“Yes, of course, I was—” I said, swiftly collecting the papers I had thrown onto his desk moments ago.

Isaac’s professionalism had seeped back in, reading another case file from his laptop. Still a complete workaholic, I thought, turning to leave.

He wished me goodnight, and I closed the door to his office.

Making my way up the stairs to my room, I turned my head and softly muttered a resolution, a silent confession to the man behind the mahogany door below.

“I promise, Isaac, you’ll never have to forget how it feels to be loved again.”

┈ ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦┈

[suzdin]

Belly of the Beast: Part I

Dark!Dave York x F!reader

Warnings: it’s Dave, so…buckle up! No use of y/n. Homicide with a gun, reader is shot and grievously wounded and dying, graphic descriptions of murder and gore, use of medical equipment/terminology, amateur triage and medical care, Dave is a voyeuristic creep, Stockholm syndrome?, physical restraints, partial nudity, divergence from EQ2 plot and major character deaths mentioned. No mention of wife or kids. No smut this time! (Shocking, I know.) Dark themes obviously, I mean, Dave DOES kill for money, after all.

Summary: You’ve been Dave’s housekeeper for two years. When you arrive for your morning shift, the last thing you expect to see is Dave standing over a body.

This was going to be a one shot but I decided it worked better as a two parter. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4,700

Taglist: tagging the people I know for sure want to be tagged. If you want to be tagged for part II, lmk!

@ohheypedrito @kateispunk @survivingandenduring @kellybelly1978 @awilderi @oberynslady @natdeandar @daddy-dins-girl @heavennumber2 @guelyury

—

The sky is still dark, a faint slice of jagged light cast across a slate colored horizon, when you arrive for the day at Dave York’s home.

You notice his car parked in the driveway as you pull in, checking your messages to make sure you hadn’t missed anything from him, finding nothing. You frown.

Normally, he would tell you when he would be home if he knew you were also going to be there that day. He simply must have forgotten to mention it this time. It wasn’t a big deal; you could just work around him like you always did.

He was gone for work more often than not. What that entails, you aren’t entirely sure of; all you knew was that he worked in D.C. Something bureaucratic, most likely.

What was even more curious than his unannounced presence, however, was a second vehicle parked behind his.

You pull up next to aforementioned vehicle and get out, gathering your bucket of cleaning supplies from the backseat. Dave provided most of what was used, but there were a few items you preferred for various reasons, with his approval, of course. You had been his housekeeper for the last two years, servicing his home bi-weekly, and he paid you well, plus tips. You had few complaints.

Although the home was large and stately, he lived alone as far as you knew. You couldn’t recall seeing anyone there before now.

As you walk along the edge of the driveway to the side door, you note the pale illumination filtering out through the kitchen window onto the concrete, which makes sense considering the time of day. He’s most likely just sitting down to have his coffee and breakfast. You hope you don’t startle him too much.

The sun is ascending rapidly, already burning brighter in the short walk from your car to the door, providing you with enough light to get your key out.

You unlock the side door, which steps directly into a small utility and mud room. The interior door to the kitchen is drawn shut, which wasn’t unusual, but an unfamiliar noise registers as you enter, immediately followed by what sounds like chair legs scraping along the tiled floor, and Dave’s voice saying what sounds like a name. Mac? Is that what you heard?

Your mind fumbles over the original sound, knowing it’s familiar, but that you can’t quite place it, trying to trace its source. You can best describe it as a muted pop, loud enough to notice but not so loud as to sound any alarm bells. Or so you think.

You smell the strong waft of coffee and eggs cooking as you enter. And something else.

The scene that is laid out before you as you push open the kitchen door is the last thing you would ever expect or want to find, and the realization of what the unidentified sound was hits you like a freight train.

What you discover is Dave standing above a body, pistol clutched tightly in his right hand, knuckles turning alabaster, with what you’re certain is a silencer screwed to the end of the barrel.

The body sprawled across the floor belongs to a man you don’t recognize, a pool of fresh blood spreading rapidly from a single gunshot wound to the front of the skull, bone and brain matter studding the kitchen island and wall, the stink of crimson iron filling the air.

Dave’s head snaps up when he hears you enter, his face gone pale, but otherwise completely blank and devoid of emotion.

Your eyes lock.

You think you say his name. You aren’t sure, and the only reason you know you’ve said anything at all is because you feel the muscles in your esophagus stretching and vibrating, your heart thundering inside your rib cage.

You’re smart enough to deduce that this isn’t some home invasion gone awry. The unknown car in the driveway and the trained, emotionless nature at which Dave currently presents himself is testament to that.

The only option left is that Dave killed a man. And now he has his sights trained on none other than you.

You drop the bucket of supplies, the hollow sound of plastic hitting ceramic reverberating in your skull as you turn, your brain screaming at you to run, run.

In hindsight, running was a bad idea. But panic doesn’t always create rationale.

You feel your legs pumping, your lungs sucking in air. You want to scream for help but when you attempt it, the only sound that comes out is a small, strangled croak of terror. You feel like a damsel in distress in every horror movie you’ve ever seen, almost as if you aren’t actually moving at all, like you’re just running in place while the villain slowly catches up to you.

If you could just reach the neighbor’s house. If you could just… reach…

You manage to make it to the driveway, but you’re barely a few steps onto the concrete when that same muted pop registers again, and you instantly feel a sharp, burning, agonizing sting that rips right through you like a hot knife through butter, knocking you ass over teakettle just paces from Dave’s car, your face slamming hard against the ground.

You look down to see the spreading circle of blood on your shirt against your lower abdomen, a geyser of red bubbling up from the wound. And Dave is on you in an instant, hovering above you, gun trained right at your head.

You know you’re a goner. Abdominal gunshots are frequently fatal, at least according to the kind of shows you like to watch. And at the rate you’re seeing your blood spill out, you know it’s anything but good.

Before you fully comprehend what is happening, your vision already waning, you’re pleading for Dave to end your life as quickly as possible, ‘please, please Mr. York, I’ve been good to you. Please do it fast’, you choke out.

But Dave doesn’t kill you. His dark eyes bore into you, through you, and he hesitates. He’s watching you die and beg for him to put you down and yet he can’t bring himself to actually do it, regardless of how many names he’s scratched out of his ledger without remorse. Maybe because you’re just an innocent, wrong place wrong time, but he can’t seem to do it.

“Please, don’t let me suffer,” you sob as you lift a single, quaking hand that is slicked deep burgundy, and still he doesn’t put you down, only lowering the gun to his side, and you can’t help but wonder what you did to deserve to suffer slowly like this.

Finally, some sense of self preservation washes over you, and even as you’re dying, in your final throes of desperation, you start ripping and clawing at your shirt, managing to somehow tear a sizable chunk out of it, in order to make some kind of makeshift tourniquet that could potentially save your life.

Your hands shake and slip, blood pressure dropping rapidly, and your vision wanes more, the edges of the lightening sky fading and blotting away. You suddenly feel very cold and you can feel your heartbeat gradually ebbing to a slow, dull throb.

The last thing you see before your vision goes completely dark is Dave crouching over you, his face screwed up in regret.

——

God damn it.

When Dave had found out only days before that McCall was still alive, and that his old compatriot had sniffed out the details shrouding Susan’s death, Dave had lost all sight of anything else, completely forgetting you were scheduled to clean his house that day.

Had he realized, he would have canceled. It would have made things far less complicated.

But God fucking damn it. He didn’t want to kill you, his militaristic training and instincts piloting his actions when you fled instead of surrendering, intending to put a round in your skull but changing his mind at the last possible fraction of a second so that he totally FUBAR’d the shot and hit your abdomen instead. A gut shot wasn’t much better. In fact, it was worse. Way worse.

You’re still breathing when he finishes applying the crude tourniquet that you had started, which didn’t completely stop the bleeding but slowed it enough to make a difference. That way, he could get you down into the basement where he could apply proper triage.

His medical training was rudimentary and archaic at best, but it was better than nothing. And it was his best chance at keeping you alive.

Your blood soaks through the light blue dress shirt Dave is wearing as he carries you through the house draped in his arms, the one you once told him looked nice on him. He takes you into the basement and places you on his work table — which isn’t sterile — noting no exit wound as he sets you down, which can be good or bad, all things depending.

Thankfully, he locates the bullet readily enough, fishing it out with a narrow pair of forceps, discarding it into a medical pan as he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the bullet didn’t strike anything crucial, an incredibly lucky feat.

He grabs a skin stapler to close up the wound; a messy and rushed method of closure that would leave behind a pretty significant scar, but he didn’t have the luxury of time to close the wound properly with a needle, especially considering the rate at which his hands were already shaking.

He takes in a deep breath when he finishes stapling you back together and leans over you, examining your face and body visually, his mind racing as to what he should do now. You still had a pulse. You were breathing. But you had lost a lot of blood, and your prognosis wasn’t good.

Frowning, the crease deepening between his brows, he cleans and sterilizes the wound, wrapping you up in proper dressing, which he hopes is enough to stave off any infection. He can’t risk taking you to a hospital. Especially when there’s still a dead man to deal with only a floor above.

The good news is that he knew no one would come looking for McCall, the majority believing him to already be dead, so disposal would thankfully be swift and painless. You, on the other hand, he was unsure of. He knew your parents had passed and you didn’t have siblings, but he didn’t know if there was a boyfriend or girlfriend in your life, or friends who would notice your absence.

His mind reels with every possibility. Dave isn’t a man who enjoys loose ends. Loose ends make his ass itch.

Your shirt is shredded and bloody, so he removes the remainder of it, leaving you in a soft black cotton bra. He doesn’t let his eyes wander, although, at the back of his mind, he realizes he has always found you attractive. Just as quickly as it dawns on him, he shakes the thought from his mind; it is neither the time nor place for such endeavors.

He removes your shoes but not your socks, knowing you would be cold from having lost so much blood. He might actually put one of his pairs over your own, for good measure.

After a long beat of silent contemplation, Dave scoops you up into his arms once more.

——

You wake up from a fitful sleep some hours later, in a bed you’ve never slept in before. The room around you is dark, shades drawn, a faint light flooding in from beneath a closed door.

When you attempt to sit up, pain lances through your torso and you cry out, your back hitting the mattress. You immediately realize, much to your horror, that you’re also handcuffed to a bedpost. Even if you could move without effort, you aren’t exactly going anywhere.

Your memory suddenly comes flooding back in a tidal wave of images, recalling all of the events that lead up to this point; the body on the kitchen floor, the gunshot, Dave staring down at you with a pistol in his hand.

But you aren’t in a hospital and this isn’t a hospital bed. You’re in Dave’s bedroom. In Dave’s bed.

The door clicks open and a familiar silhouette steps into the room, regarding you in steely silence. You recognize the broad shoulders right away, the thick arms, the short cropped hair.

Your pulse quickens, your body and mind telling you to flee again, even though you know you can’t, causing you to flinch with a choked whimper when he takes a step toward you.

“I wouldn’t move, sweetheart. You lost a lot of blood,” Dave explains, his voice low and soft to your ears as he approaches the bed.

Your body is trembling hard. So hard that it makes the entire bed vibrate.

He’s no longer wearing the blue shirt or black slacks from before, now dressed in a slate gray t-shirt and Adidas sweats. His dark eyes study you as he sits next to you on the edge of the bed. If you weren’t so weak, you think you would strike him.

He lifts the back of his hand to your cheek and you flinch again.

“Shh,” he tuts, “I’m not going to harm you.”

His hand presses to the soft round of your cheek, your forehead, checking for fever.

“Y-you— you s-shot me—?“ you croak.

“I reacted poorly,” Dave agrees with a small nod, his lips parted softly, “but you also shouldn’t have run.”

“You k-killed… that man…”

“I did, indeed.” His eyes grow a shade darker, his brow knitting together, lending him a sinister appearance. “But that man was threatening me. That man was going to kill me…” Dave explains, an edge of malice and contempt to his voice. “I was left with few options.”

You stare back, unblinkingly, trying to decide what to say next, if anything.

“My family will come looking for me,” is what you settle on, a wash of bravery suddenly welling up within you.

To that, Dave smirks, eyes remaining dark, hand lowering to the bed by your hip.

“What family?” Dave asks, smirk slanting even more, his tone semi-mocking. “Do you really think I would hire someone to come into my home without doing a full investigation on them?”

Your jaw drops open, hanging slack in the air, as it dawns on you that a trained killer has been right under your nose this entire time. You would scream if you had the lung capacity to do so.

You should have seen the patterns. Noticed the signs. The constant travel, the lack of personal touches to his home, the pinpricks of blood you occasionally found on his clothes that you excused for other things. That one room in the basement he forbade you from entering.

But you hadn’t, causing you to nearly pay with your life.

Truth is, Dave had picked you for good reason, and it wasn’t just because of the exemplary reviews. You were naive and trusting, you had no family, no criminal record, you didn’t work for an agency; you worked solo. Your work ethic and reliability were just cherries on top.

You look down to notice the IV needle in your hand, and you lift it in examination, your hand shaking and sputtering weakly. No… no, you really had no clue who this guy was at all.

Dave watches you for a beat before he gently grasps your hand and places it back down on the bed, regarding you with uncharacteristic softness and empathy.

You feel your consciousness starting to drift then as Dave pulls the covers back to check the dressings, finding they’re still intact and that the wound hasn’t reopened from what he can tell. He’ll clean and redress everything in the morning. For now, you need rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you, stepping out of the room for what feels like only a meager blip of time to you, but when you open your eyes again, he’s hovering above you once more with a thermometer and an ice pack.

“Open up,” he instructs, and you do so obediently.

“Good girl,” Dave praises as he checks your temperature, and you close your eyes.

When the thermometer beeps, which feels like an eternity later, he frowns, exhaling a long sigh. “101.5. Here,” he says, leaning to the side where he opens a drawer on the night stand, a bottle of aspirin rattling somewhere next to your head. The sound is grating, making your head throb, and suddenly the lamp seems too bright.

He feeds you some pills and gives you a drink of water from a nearby tumbler, which you guess was also on the nightstand, but aren’t too sure.

He pulls the blanket back up all the way to your chin and places the ice pack on your forehead, staring down at you. Although Dave was the reason you were even here at all, he is treating you with a surprising amount of tenderness.

“You need to eat,” he says after a moment. “Dinner is almost ready.”

——

You must pass out again, because when your eyes reopen, Dave stands next to you with a small tray table filled with food.

“Chicken and dumplings,” he explains. “It will keep the cold away.”

You nod your head weakly as he places the tray over you. When you reach for the spoon, he stops you, blocking your hand with his own.

“Let me,” he says, picking up the spoon. “I don’t want you moving anymore than necessary.”

You have to keep reminding yourself that he’s the one who shot you. He’s why you’re in this mess in the first place. Why you’re here, injured, with a hole in your abdomen, chained to his bed.

The way he’s acting shouldn’t be trusted.

You try to resist, but he grabs your jaw with the other hand and forces it to pop open, pressing the spoon past your lips as he ladles the soup into your mouth, much to your displeasure.

“Eat,” he says softly, but sternly, his features darkening in regard.

The food is warm, as promised, and delicious. You aren’t sure of the last time you ate, not knowing what time or even what day it is, but you soon realize you’re starving. Because of this, the second spoonful is not met with as much resistance as the first, your mouth hinging open in resignation and acquiescence.

Dave’s eyes zero in on your soft lips. The way they twitch ever so slightly as they divide. The way your tongue looks so velvet and inviting…

He feeds you slowly, thoughtfully, watching your every move, his own lips parted in concentration as you take in the much needed sustenance.

By the end of it, you’ve managed to polish off about half the bowl. Seemingly satisfied with that, he makes you drink some Gatorade.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask weakly as soon as you swallow down a couple gulps of the blue liquid, your consciousness ebbing and flowing by the second. Dave looks at your face, but he doesn’t give you an answer. He doesn’t have one to give.

Part of him wishes he did.

“I have to pee,” you tell him suddenly when you notice the familiar stab of discomfort in your lower region. A realization that sends a jolt of anxiety rushing through you, your pulse racing when you watch his face fall. He hadn’t even thought of that…

His skills and equipment were limited to wound care, so of course he hadn’t put a catheter in. He wouldn’t know how even if he did happen to have one.

He deliberates on what to do. He didn’t have a bed pan. But, he was sure he could find something comparable to use.

Or he could help you to the bathroom. He has an en suite, it was literally only steps around the bed. But the space was tight. It would take some maneuvering. And he would have to be close to you the entire time. Not to mention uncuffing you from the bed.

In the end, that’s what he settles on.

“Let me help you to the bathroom, sweetheart,” he says to you, pulling the blankets back, and you are cold. So cold. Your flesh pebbling with the lick of cool air against your skin.

He unlocks the handcuffs and you massage your sore wrist and shoulder the moment you have full motion of your arm again.

“Slowly,” he instructs, his voice low and even. “Grab the IV stand.”

You do as you’re told, gripping the cool steel in your hand as you grasp his forearm with the other while he gingerly manipulates you into a sitting position. You cry out at the sudden dagger of pain that slices through your lower gut, and he does his best to steady you against him.

He did this to you, you keep reminding yourself. He did this to you.

He lifts you carefully, slowly, and you groan at the swell of pain when he places you on your feet.

“Easy, easy…” he murmurs, one arm circling your waist to keep you upright. You flinch at the contact.

You make it to the bathroom easily enough, light flooding the small room as Dave flips the switch. A bathroom you’ve cleaned countless times. There was rarely much to clean in here, save for the occasional whisker in the sink, or some light trash in the bin.

Dave was neat and fastidious, and not frequently home. You often wondered why he needed someone to clean his house in the first place.

The space looks no different than usual, but right now it feels… different. You shouldn’t be here.

He guides you to the toilet, and when you get there, you stare down at it, pondering to yourself how this is going to work.

He seems hesitant to leave your side.

“Go ahead,” he tells you softly, “I won’t look.”

You freeze. The last thing you want is to expose your body to him when he already has several advantages on you. But your bladder is screaming at you to go, especially now given your proximity to the porcelain bowl, and you can barely stand on your own, your arms and legs wobbling.

You watch as he turns his back, placing himself between you and the exit. You bend just slightly to tug your bottoms down, but it’s too much, more pain coursing through your body. You yelp, unable to even budge the fabric.

“Hey,” Dave says, turning back to face you, “Let me help you.”

“No, I—I got it,” you protest, your arms shaking, attempting it again, only to end up with the same result. “Fuck—“

“Hey,” Dave says a second time, more sternly than before, as he moves in to your space. “Let me help. I promise I won’t touch you.”

You tremble. You’re cold, you’re frightened, you’re weak. So weak. You’re in your bra, partially exposed to him already. Yet, you concede with a nod anyway. You’ll piss yourself if you don’t.

He mirrors your nod in silent confirmation and moves closer, crowding into your intimate space, his fingers finding the waistband of your leggings and underwear. He slides them down your hips and legs in unison, all the way to your knees. As promised, he doesn’t touch you more than he needs to.

But he has to look. He needs to see where his hands are in relation to your body in order to keep himself from accidentally breaking his promise of touching you in a way you didn’t consent to, and another part of him just can’t help it, either. He is a man, after all, and he wasn’t currently seeing anyone. Romance wasn’t exactly optimal for someone in his position, his attention honed in on his work above all else.

When the nights were long and lonely enough, he would, on occasion, share his bed with a sex worker, but aforementioned nights were few and far between. He enjoyed his job. He got off on it. Romance was often placed on the back burner.

But there’s just something about you. Especially now, with how vulnerable you are, that he finds irresistible.

His gaze only lingers on your bared skin for a moment, big brown puppy dog eyes roving over your soft curves, holding on to you as he lowers you down to the commode. And, god, you’re just as beautiful as he imagined, his skin heating at the sight of your soft folds.

“Call for me when you’re done,” he grates quietly as he takes a step out of the bathroom, blood rushing to certain parts of his body, shutting the door to give you a modicum of privacy, which you’re more than grateful for.

His eyes on you had not gone unnoticed. You weren’t stupid and you weren’t seeing anyone either, currently; his attention, regardless of how brief, had made your skin heat and your core pulse with need. You clear your throat and try to discard the thought.

Dave is why you are here. Dave is dangerous. So dangerous he can’t even take you to a hospital to get proper medical attention. Stop it.

It feels like you pee for ages. You aren’t totally convinced you’re awake for most of it. Eventually, you finish, even managing to wipe yourself, in spite of things, which you’re relieved for. You wouldn’t want him to do it for you; that would be humiliating and degrading.

You call for Dave when you’re done and he returns in an instant, hoisting you to your feet as he pulls your pants and underwear back up and over your hips, trying not to think about your soft cunt. You can see how hard he’s trying not to look at you.

“Good?” he asks. You nod.

Bracing yourself against him, he helps you back to the comfort of the bed. It smells like him, despite how little he’s actually in it. You hiss through your teeth as he manipulates you into position, adjusting the pillows and covers until you’re as comfortable as possible.

You’re cold. Freezing, in fact, despite it being the swell of summer.

“I’m c-cold,” you lament to Dave, crossing your arms over your chest beneath the blanket.

Dave’s lips pinch to the side in thought. “Hold on.”

He returns a moment later with an extra blanket, tossing it over you, tucking the edges neatly around your form, taking extra care to be gentle, noteably around your abdomen.

As you watch him, his face and eyes soft, his hair mussed and unkempt, you ask yourself once again why he’s doing all of this for you.

Guilt? Shame? Something else?

You don’t have much time to ruminate on it for too long before your consciousness peters away once more.

——

Dave sighs as he watches you slip back into listlessness. You’re doing better than he anticipated, but you aren’t out of the woods yet. He knows how much blood you had lost; he’d spent hours cleaning it. Not to mention McCall, the remains of which he had delivered to an acquaintance who works at the industrial incinerator on the outskirts of town, after tending to you.

He loops your hand back through the cuff on the bedpost and peers down at you. You’re so beautiful; he hopes you make it. He wishes you hadn’t run from him. God, why did you run? He doesn’t want you to meet the same fate as McCall. He doesn’t want to know what your incinerated body smells like.

Every body has a different smell, in his experience.

He gives you another dose of morphine to reduce any pain you may be feeling and to keep you knocked out for a few more hours, checking for fever again, which is currently holding steady. It was good that it wasn’t going up. Any higher and you could potentially be in trouble. He’ll keep checking throughout the night to be on the safe side.

He sighs, knowing he’ll have to stay in town for weeks, which he detested doing. He hated staying in one place for longer than required. But he didn’t have much of a choice at this point.

He turns off the light and shuts the door behind him as he leaves you to rest.

Part II coming soon!

[rekaning]

The Housekeeper | Part 1 | Elijah Mikaelson x Reader

Additional tags: Human!Mikaelsons, Modern!AU, Housekeeper!Reader, no use of Y/N Pairings: Elijah Mikaelson x Reader, The Originals x Reader (Platonic) Summary: You've been hired as the new housekeeper for the Mikaelson estate, owned by the elusive Elijah Mikaelson.

His sister had hired you. She had explained during the interview that her brother's previous housekeeper had been getting on in age and was looking to retire soon. There would be two weeks of training to make the transition between housekeeper feel seamless. The master of the home had a certain expectation of the cleanliness of his home, and he would expect the same amount of care to be shown by the new housekeeper.

You weren't worried at all.

You grew up around the janitorial occupation. Your mother had taken you along with her to the home's she'd been hired at on days you didn't have school. She always sat you down and made sure you were occupied while she went about tidying up the million dollar residences. You watched her most of the time. Saw how hard she worked to keep the domicile organized and clean. Whether it be cleaning the toilets, mopping the floors, scrubbing the bathtub. Your mother did it all. And you had been so impressed with her.

While many other children looked up to and aspired to be firefighters or astronauts, you had wanted to do what your mother did.

"One of the greatest things in life you can do, is to serve others." Your mother had once said. After a long and tough day at work, you asked her why she seemed to enjoy this job so much when it took so much out of her, physically. That had been her response. And when her employer arrived, looking at his home impressed and awestruck, his wide smile and generous words had made your mother's face light up like a Christmas tree.

"That feeling you get," she explained, "when a person thanks you from the bottom of their heart, when you can see the gratitude in their eyes; you can feel your chest swell with warmth at their words. It's one of the best feelings in the world."

You hadn't felt that before. You wanted to know what it felt like. So, one day in school, you made an effort to offer your services to clean up the classroom for your 2nd grade teacher, Miss Dobson.

After the class had been dismissed for recess, you walked over to the supply cabinet and grabbed a cleaning spray you had seen your teacher use for cleaning smudges, and a small hand towel, and got to work on wiping down all the desks of your classmates. Miss Dobson, having occupied herself with wiping the chalkboard clean looked over at you, diligently cleaning the desks.

Her look of surprise soon morphed into one of unabashed thankfulness. "That is very thoughtful of you! Thank you so much, my little helper!"

Safe to say, your mother had been right. The feeling you got was unlike anything you had ever experienced.

Since that moment, you'd vowed to follow in your mother's footsteps. Having observed her all your life, you went into the housecleaning business once you turned 18.

And it's how you had ended up working for one of the heirs of the Mikaelson conglomerate. Namely, the 2nd eldest son, Elijah Mikaelson.

The Mikaelsons were a world-renowned name, made famous by the various industries each sibling was tied to. The oldest of the siblings and 1st daughter, Freya, worked closely with the 2nd youngest brother, Kol; the two had co-founded an archeological enterprise that specialized in finding and preserving ancient texts and artifacts, usually donating items to museums the world over.

The oldest son, Finn, was a deeply loved humanitarian and patron for education. He traveled the world, working with out-reach programs to feed famine-stricken countries and bring medicine to villages that faced medical crisis. He also worked closely with his siblings Freya and Kol to facilitate extracurricular programs for children to learn more about history, giving out funds to schools to create more opportunities to take their classes to museums and other learning facilities.

Nikalus Mikaelson; or as his more well-known alias, Klaus, was a huge advocate for the arts. He owned and ran several galleries in different countries, curated a vast collection of paintings from famous artists of the past, and was quite the accomplished artist himself. He also funded many theaters, most of them opera houses and even owned a very exclusive art supply chain.

Rebekah, the youngest daughter, and the one who had hired you in the first place, was one of the highest paid models of this generation. She also had her own clothing line and marketed a lot of her items online, using her influence to sell her product. Out of all the siblings, Rebekah was the most "accessible", so to speak, her online presence marking her as the most social of the family.

There was also the youngest brother, Henrik, but he was still pursuing his education overseas, although rumor had it that he was very close to his brother Klaus and it was expected that he would most likely venture into the art business with him.

Finally, there was Elijah. The more elusive of the siblings. The 2nd eldest son was well established in the wine industry. He owned several wineries and even some breweries. He even worked together with his sister, Rebekah, and started a clothing brand for tailored suits. It was widely rumored that Elijah was the one running the entire conglomeration of Mikaelson subsidiaries. He was rarely seen out and about in public, keeping himself far from the spotlight, seeming rather content to let his siblings be front and center.

You were no stranger to the more reclusive type, there were plenty of millionaires you had worked for in the past that stayed indoor as often as possible, many of them incredibly uptight about punctuality and routine. You had expected the same of Elijah when you first came to work for him.

Surprisingly enough, he was anything but. You had met him on your first day. He had been the one to open the door, held out his hand, and greeted you cordially. He then escorted you to his retiring housekeeper, Philomena, and left the two of you for some meeting or other.

Over the transition period of learning the in's and out's of the Mikaelson home, you had come to learn a bit more about the family. Most all the children had homes of their own, besides Henrik, who still lived with their mother and father, but many of them would stay over at each other's houses quite often. The siblings whose homes were occupied a majority of the time were Elijah's and Klaus'.

After a few weeks of taking over as housekeeper, you met the siblings one after the other.

The first was Rebekah, though you had already tehnically met, seeing as she was the one to hire you. She had entered the home one morning and asked for Elijah. You had told her that he had stepped out for an early brunch with several investors regarding the opening of another winery. The beautiful blonde model sighed at the news and muttered that it 'couldn't be helped'. She then had you sit on one of the plush couches in the living area as she brought in a rack of gowns and asked you to pick which suited her better.

It had been a bizarre morning for you but you had enjoyed the time you spent with the young woman. You learned that she used these mini-runway sessions as an excuse to visit her siblings. She mostly dropped in on Elijah or Klaus, the two brothers she was closest with, but she did occasionally visit the others.

That day you had seen a sight you would not soon forget. Once Elijah came home and caught sight of his sister, a bright, wide smile spread across his lips, his face lit up instantly, and he looked years younger. You were awestruck.

He was never completely devoid of emotion, but many of the smiles he had shot your way had been cordial and polite. To see his face smooth over and relax the way it had with his little sister, you felt your heart skip a beat at the sight.

You prepared a special meal that day, to celebrate Rebekah's visit. Rebekah's words of praise at the delicious meal had that wonderful feeling spread through you. Your beaming smile at the blonde distracted you from noticing Elijah's own eyes from staring at you with curious wonder.

Klaus had visited a week later after Rebekah's departure. You had helped him lug in his 12 foot canvases to the studio room you cleaned out every other week. Thankfully, you cleaned it a day before the brother's arrival, earning an appreciative nod from the man as he went about setting up his work space. Over the next few days, you catered to the artist, bringing him his meals and any other items he required. When Elijah was present, Klaus would step away from his paintings, and the two would mainly spend their time in the library, either playing chess, reading, or discussing various topics regarding their respective businesses.

The two had such differing personalities that it was amazing to see how they balanced each other. Klaus seemed to act out of impulse. You had heard him yelling every now and again to someone on the phone but Elijah's calm demeanor seemed to counteract his little brother's short fuse.

On the last night of Klaus's visit, the blonde man had retired to his room earlier that day. Seeing it as your opportunity to tidy the studio room a bit, you carefully entered. You went about sweeping and mopping the floors, organizing the brushes and towels he had left scattered around. Once you had finished, you finally took a moment to actually look at the paintings that surrounded the room. It was safe to say that Klaus was far more talented than you originally believed. You stared in wonder at the majestic landscapes depicted on the canvas.

It was in this enraptured trance that Elijah had caught you. The door to the studio hadn't been shut completely, allowing the fumes from the paint to escape. He had just been on his way to his office when he had noticed the light on in the room. He had merely gone to glance inside to make sure his little brother hadn't just forgotten to turn off the light. Then he saw you.

You were staring at the painting Niklaus had finished. Your eyes were shining in amazement, and your mouth agape with awe. And Elijah couldn't help but smile. As his housekeeper, you and he communicated quite often, but there was a distance that couldn't be breached due to your position and because of that, he only ever saw you focused on your duties, polite and respectful responses to his questions and requests. Your professionalism only seemed to drop when you interacted with his siblings. And there was a part of him that was envious of them.

He had left the scene very shortly after watching you for a moment, slightly embarrassed at his blatant ogling. You were none the wiser to his presence that night.

Freya, Kol, and Finn arrived in one fell swoop. You had been surprised, only having expected to meet each Mikaelson one by one. Finn and Freya were warm in their greetings. Kol, while still polite, was the more aloof one of the trio. You had the sense that he was very wary of outsiders. From your observations while they resided in the estate, Kol seemed to thrive on the attention and praise of his siblings. He was an incredibly smart person, intuitive and thinking outside the box for solutions to problems. You noticed that he stuck very closely to his older sister and brother and how he would retaliate verbally more harshly toward Elijah or against Klaus and Rebekah if they were mentioned in some form or another. You soon realized that his aloof persona was really a shield to hide away his own insecurities. He craved validation from his siblings and wanted to feel just as loved as he so fiercely loved them. His combative nature toward Elijah, Rebekah, and Klaus seemed to be more out of jealousy at their bond with one another than actual contempt.

Having realized that, you treated him with more care than the rest. He didn't trust you but kept a close eye on you during his stay with his siblings. He would flirt with you, not because he was interested, it was a tactic for him to get you flustered, wanting you to slip up whatever facade he believed you had going on. But you were not that easily shakeable. You knew he was worried for his family. You'd heard plenty of stories of previous hired help around the home and how some had the audacity to try and steal from the Mikaelsons. Kol was just looking out for Elijah—and by extension the rest of his siblings—in his own way.

It was only when you had shown interest in a particular project that he and Freya had undertaken, did he start to warm up to you. The two had discovered ruins in the outskirts of a small village in El Salvador. Freya had sent an advance team ahead to secure the perimeter and begin initial survey's of the terrain for the main archeological team. Kol and she had been seated in their office, piles of books surrounding them with maps and charts pinned to the myriad of cork boards they had covering the walls of the office.

You had been bringing them a pot of tea, Finn trailing behind you holding a tray of cookies to go along with the prepared drink. As you laid the two trays on the emptiest looking portion of the desk, you caught sight of a map of El Salvador, a red circle encompassing their purported dig site.

"Oh, are you going to be digging near El Boquerón?"

Freya and Kol abruptly paused their discussion and turned their heads to you. Freya saw you eyeing the map and nodded, "Yes, that's correct. You know the place?"

You looked up from the map and sheepishly stepped away, "Uh, I was really interested in ancient civilizations during high school. I read a lot of books talking about various indigenous cultures in Central and South America. I really ended up focusing on Mayan nations and sub cultures that formed in remote locations. I know that there was a section of indigenous people in El Salvador known as the Pipil."

You pointed to the red circle on the page, "This area was devastated by a volcanic eruption in the late 1910's. The lake that was once there completely disappeared and many of the homes of the people there was completely burned or melted away by the lava."

Freya and Finn practically beamed at the information you were providing them. Kol tried hard not to look impressed with your knowledge. The three were quick to bring you into their discussion from that point. Asking if you knew anything about the climate there and the terrain they may face.

Elijah came in later that day to find the four of you huddled around Freya's laptop, an image of an item resembling a ceramic jar, half buried in the dirt. Again, a pang of envy coursed through him at the sight of you chatting away so freely with his brothers and sister.

But a bigger part of him was overjoyed to see how well his family had taken to you. Philomena, while a phenomenal housekeeper, had kept to herself and never connected with him, nor his siblings, on a personal level.

You were something special.

He looked on silently as you continued to point out different portions of the computer image. The moments of jealousy that coursed through him were unexpected but not wholly unwelcome. It told him that there was something he wanted to explore with you—only if you wanted to as well, of course—and that the time for distance was to come to an end.

He wanted to know you more, the same way his siblings had gotten the privilege to over these last few months.

Elijah was eager to learn more about his dear housekeeper.

***

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Author's note: This just kept getting longer and longer until I had to make it into a separate part.

Can you tell I love Original sibling interactions with OC's/reader's?

[fortisfilia]

Promised Part 11 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, an unholy amount of fluff

Word count: 2.3k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 10 | Part 12

Part 11 - The Earth's Centre

Starting to brew the antidote for Mors Grano proved easier than anticipated. The potion’s base was quite similar to any other healing draught, and so was its production. You had decided to begin the tedious process, even though the Banshee tears were missing. According to the recipe, they were the last ingredient to be added, so you had plenty of time to find them, even if you didn’t know exactly how.

For the first few weeks, there was nothing to do but the Moondew cook, stirring it frequently. The cauldron stood in Tom’s room, its content simmering steadily, ready to be examined at any moment by one of you. 

Professor Beery had denied you the bonus points for the N.E.W.T.s after you had told him that the Moly had unfortunately died. Those points were the least of your problems, however.

The plant had, in fact, bloomed beautifully, ready to be added to the potion.

And that was when the difficulties began. As soon as you dropped the blossoms into the cauldron, the potion started to smell. Very strongly. The mixture reacted in a way that wasn’t described in the book and started to produce yellow steam, as well as a sour, headache-inducing odour, which reached beyond the walls of Tom’s room. The fume filled up every last inch of his dorm and even seemed to creep out into the Slytherin common room. Other students had begun to mention the weird smell and even Dippet, who had paid Tom a number of unfortunate surprise visits, was beginning to grow suspicious.

You had sent your parents an owl to inform them you wouldn’t come home during your semester break. They weren’t exactly happy about it; you had never stayed at Hogwarts during the holidays after all. But you had insisted, telling them there was so much studying to do until they finally let go. That wasn’t even a lie. There was a bunch of work to do. Granted, not all of it was related to school, but you still had a lot on your plate. 

Tom stayed in Hogwarts for the week as well. You weren’t sure but highly doubted that he had notified his own family about it. And to be fair, they wouldn’t really care about that, would they?

Although the school was practically empty, with only a fraction of the students staying with you, those who remained complained of the pungent smell in all the Slytherin dormitories. On Sunday evening you heard that the housekeeper had been sent to find the source, and Tom was informed that Mr Carpe would begin his search the following morning.

So there you were, worrying about what to do, stirring the cauldron for the twentieth time within the last minutes, hoping it would steam less, the more you whisked through it. No matter how hard you concentrated, how many options you took into account, there was nowhere to take the cauldron where its smell would go unnoticed. 

The Potions classroom was off-limits, even though it was much better equipped for the fumes. Slughorn would spend a lot of his time there, to prepare tasks for the upcoming semester. You had even considered taking it home and telling your parents about it. But using the Floo-Network with an item this heavy wasn’t possible, and taking the train with a simmering cauldron seemed ridiculous. Besides, the antidote still took months to finish, so you would have to take it back to Hogwarts a week later anyway.

Hell, you had even thought of taking that damned kettle out onto the Quidditch pitch or into the forest, so no one would smell it anymore. But you couldn’t leave it out in the open, of course.

Just when you had given up hope and realised that you couldn’t go on brewing the potion in Tom’s room, or anywhere else, he had told you about another possibility. There was this room on the seventh floor that he had discovered in fifth year. He called it the Come and Go Room and was positive that no one but himself, not even the teachers, knew of its existence. The room must have been enchanted, according to Tom, and only appeared when one was in dire need.

So the two of you went there that same night, in a cloak and dagger operation, levitating the cauldron behind you. You had covered it with a white sheet so that if someone saw you, they at least wouldn’t know initially what you were doing. The disguise was weak and you knew if Dippet or any other teacher would spot you, you would be screwed.

Luckily none of them were around when you rushed through the halls, aside from Warren O’Connor, a Ravenclaw fifth year, who patrolled a corridor next to their tower. He was too far away to detect the poorly hidden cauldron and didn’t even seem to look at you once he recognised Tom. 

When you had finally arrived, chest heaving, thoughts rushing from relief and tension, Tom instructed you how to summon the Come and Go Room. You walked past the stone wall three times and imagined, very carefully, what you needed. An airtight room that allowed you to keep on brewing your potion in peace, that no one would be able to find unless you wanted them to. Suddenly, a door appeared. You looked at Tom and he nodded before you took the handle and opened it.

The small room behind the door was, simply put, perfect. Your very own Potions laboratory. Dark and nifty, it offered enough little cabinets to store all the ingredients for the antidote, as well as a worktop to put the cauldron on. Everything looked as if it had been custom made, just for this purpose. Which it was, you had just created it all yourself. 

Now that the cauldron was in a safe place Tom felt more at ease and even thought that the semester break could turn out to be enjoyable. Why did that relax him, though? A question he had asked himself more than once. He didn’t have to care, nor did he have to help his fiancée to save her sister. Then why had he done it? 

He didn’t have a logical answer to that question, even though the illogical one seemed to grow stronger, slowly putting down roots and beginning to blossom. He shrugged it off. But there were so many questions of the same kind running through his mind. Why did he care? He had never cared before. For anyone. That girl wouldn’t bring him where he wanted to be just by marrying him. Sure, her family was respected. Of course, they were purebloods, which was why his Grandfather had taken notice of them. But it had never been Tom’s wish to marry her. So why didn’t he mind the thought anymore? The idea of watching her walk down the aisle had repelled him immensely when he had found out what Marvolo’s plan had been. And now it didn’t. He must have gotten used to the idea. It even bugged him to think about the fact that the marriage wouldn’t happen by chance if the antidote was finished soon enough. Then why did he help her?

There was something inside of him, something he couldn’t just pinpoint yet. Something that made him do the things he had done, even when it had gone against his own benefit. Something that made him care less and less about himself. It must have turned all of his morals upside down, because somehow, and he couldn’t explain why, the most important thing was to see her happy. He didn’t even know when his priorities had changed. When he had stopped putting himself first. But it had happened. And that irritated him beyond belief.

She had been so easy to dislike. Back then, when they were sitting in her dining room alone. When she had stared at him, eagerly waiting for him to pity her. So conceited. Desperate for his attention. But then again, she had been so easy to like. When had he started giving in? At first, he had felt nothing more than disgust, appalled by the turmoil inside his head. That nasty feeling in his chest and his weak knees. But once he had surrendered, it had begun to feel good.

All he wanted - no - all he needed now, was to make sure she was safe. Protect her. Help her. That wasn’t just an act of kindness though. He had figured out that apparently, he mirrored her emotions. When she was pleased, he was too. When she was angry, he couldn’t help but feel furious as well. When she was sad, his chest stung with her. It felt like a purpose. Like she was the earth’s centre and everyone else, even himself, merely spun around her. She had his full attention now and he didn’t plan on taking it from her anytime soon. 

If someone were to ask him why, he wouldn’t even know where to begin. How does one even begin to describe such an embarrassing accumulation of emotion and weakness alike? If he had to, he’d start with her glow. That devotion she seemed to radiate anywhere she was. Her relentless spirit and how ready she was to combat anyone with it. How tender she was with people that deserved it. And how ruthless she could be with those who didn’t. The way she moved in her sleep, slowly and gently, turning over and unknowingly stealing his blanket at least twice a night. The way her chest moved up and down when she lay next to him. How her eyes seemed to light up when she awoke and looked at him. The hours he had watched her. Held her. Felt her skin brushing against his own, just like in this moment. How could anyone experience that and not have the urge to keep it? To freeze those moments in time and lock them up, safely, for nobody to see. 

Tom wasn’t sure if she was aware of how nervous she made him. He knew how to hide it, but was ever so annoyed at how much he depended on being close to her. And he usually wasn’t the one to become jittery. That was the response he normally got. Freda Morris, for example, couldn’t seem to think straight when he had taken her out once, during their sixth year. Merlin’s beard, that lass was nerve-wrenching. 

Quite contrary to her. No one had ever done that to him. She had crawled under his skin and into his head, drugging his mind until almost every single thought he produced revolved around her. But he knew his place. She hadn’t befuddled him just to make him her pawn. He knew, because that was what his family had done ever since he could remember. She had never done him wrong. Maybe that was why he had helped her. And why he was willing to do anything for her, even if it meant for him to suffer. He was the antagonist in their story, he knew. And if he was poison, she was the remedy. If he was the villain, she was the treasure worth saving. 

Tom’s pitiful monologue was interrupted when she woke up, opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Morning,” she said quietly and smiled.

He looked at her for a moment. If only she knew. 

“Morning,” he replied.

She stretched her arms in the air and yawned, then turned towards him and ran her fingers along his jawline. Bliss.

“How long have you been awake?” she asked, staring at the stubble on his chin that her thumb had just touched.

“Not long,” he lied. “Just a few minutes.”

She grinned and placed a kiss onto the left end of his lips. “I have to get up and stir the potion. Care to join me?”

“Sure.”

“Good. Oh, and I think I’m going to go to Diagon Alley in the afternoon. To buy the Foxgloves. I have to add them next week.”

“I’ll come.”

She exhaled and pulled him in, nuzzling into his neck. 

“Do you think we should go to Knockturn Alley as well?” she asked, her voice muffled. “While we’re there. I want to see if any store offers Banshee tears.”

“I don’t think they do,” Tom said and she lifted her head to look at him.

“But where else then?”

“I think I know where we could get some.”

She nodded, urging him to tell her.

“Well, I’m sure Morfin owns a flask. He had to get it if he wanted to brew the antidote, didn’t he?”

“But if they never planned on curing Elsie entirely, I don’t think he would have gotten them.”

“Marvolo never planned on curing her,” Tom said. “Morfin did. He’s a Potions master. One that doesn’t care about legality. He knows every last person that deals with ingredients like that. Even if he never intended to free her, I’m sure he got them just in case he ever needed them for himself.”

Her eyes roamed his face as she pondered. “So what do we do now? Go to your house, search his chamber and steal the flask?”

Tom shook his head. “That won’t be as easy. They’re always home, Marvolo has his eyes everywhere. Even the house-elves would alarm him.”

She frowned, brows furrowed while she lightly tugged on his hair.

“They’ll be gone,” Tom went on. “In late March. The Order of Merlin gets honoured and they are both invited. We could go then and try to find it.”

There it was again. That spark in her eyes. 

“Okay,” she answered. “Let’s do it then. But for now, let’s stay here for five more minutes.”

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 12

Tags: @ariachaos @daardyrnitta

[the-empress-7]

“Anyone remember that story about how anal she was about how her clothes were packed for royal tours? Something about making sure every piece was separated by tissue paper. Poor Melissa Toubati, no wonder she quit just a few months in.”

I must have missed this story! But I think I know why Meghan did that. There’s a documentary series from the 2000s about a year in the life of Windsor Castle. There’s a whole section on the housekeeping department and how they take care of guests who stay overnight. One thing they do is unpack and repack for the guests, and when they repack, they pack each item individually in tissue paper. There’s a whole bit where the head housekeeper is timing two staff members who are practicing with random clothes to make sure they can do it in a specific window of time (there’s a whole scenario they’re rehearsing). I bet Meghan saw that documentary while researching Harry, and/or experienced it herself as a guest of The Queen. She then decided it was her due, ignoring that it takes two specially trained staff members and is intended to honor guests, make them feel their possessions were well taken care of

Stop it. She didn't steal this story too did she? I could have sworn my memory of it is specifically about M. I think Scobie wrote about it in Finding Freedom.

Does anyone else remember?

[rock-n-macabre]

I love how Near Dark is streaming on so many platforms now! To those that are new to the fandom : howdy!

Here's a little bit of ✨ housekeeping✨ :

Caleb is just.......no. We all collectively want to knock his tonsils out his asshole .

We share the chaotic rabid possum man that is the stud muffin Severen. Welcome fellow mates. We share this possum.

It's always "Lil Boner" . Never Homer.

You listen to when momma bear talks. She will cut you.

You do NOT want to be scratched by Jesse. Those nails. He means business.

If you ask for a bite from a cone from a manic pixie looking girl and she cutely says 'bite?' back......run. That cone aint being bit.....you are.

If a yallternative cowboy comes up to the bar you're working at.....just give him his double shot of whatever good shit you got.

The night has its price. It's like one of those items you can't see the price of but when you check the price checker scanner and it's a honkin huge amount? Yeah . It's like that.

You have to kill..feed...bob's your uncle..whatever you wanna call it. Those of us who like our steaks rare....we've been training for this moment.

Just, like......avoid the sun if you burn easily. Or come up with cool methods to stay un-smored. Some get a thrill outta it though it seems ( cough ✨ Severen ✨ cough).

But yeah....welcome! 🖤🌹

[experthiese]

checked one of these two boxes? never fear, this post is for you!

below the cut is an extensive recap of not only lupin himself, but the context he's set against and the other major characters introduced throughout the franchise. I don't imagine this will answer every single question, and I'm always more than happy to expand on this over on discord or something, but this is an easy peasy starting point to link to

so, let's get started!

Who are the Lupin family?

The first notable Lupin was Arsène Lupin, phantom thief of France. He operated mostly within the Paris area until his reputation spread, at which point he began to become more of a worldwide thief. During his active years he kept a journal, in which he documented his heists and what treasure was stolen. This is passed down from generation to generation, and is currently in the possession of Lupin III. During this time he also wrote a Thieves' Rulebook, which has since been stolen by Lupin III⁶.

As he aged, Arsène's health began to decline, and he turned his attention from stealing treasures to stealing organs, most often hearts to replace his own failing one. He retired to his Paris mansion and spent his days laying in his bedside, surrounded by beautiful women who he often abused and his personal surgical team. He collected his victims through a variety of ways, most commonly dubiously-legal trick contracts he'd have them sign under false pretenses, usually pertaining to money or the inheritance of his grand estate. Arsène even tried this trick on his own grandson¹, but he saw through it and used a similar trick ink to void his signature.

Arsène was also personally responsible for training both his son and grandson in the ways of master thievery, and started passing down his skillset as soon as the children were able to comprehend instructions. Lupin III, Arsène's grandson, claimed that he'd been getting trained as a thief for longer than he could remember, and had started his training long before he'd learned to write his own name². Arsène generally considered his son, Lupin II, to be a failure and disappointment to the family, and the two did not like each other. This is potentially why they lived on separate sides of the globe, with Lupin II choosing to build his home in Tokyo instead of Paris.

Arsène is dead.

After Arsène came Lupin II, who was successful in his own right but is often overshadowed by the grander feats of his father and son. He removed his son, Lupin III, from Arséne's mentorship and encouraged him to walk the straight and narrow, away from a life of thievery². He left young Lupin III to attend school within Japan and live in his Tokyo mansion with his housekeeper and lover, Shinobu, while he continued his worldwide thefts and building of the Lupin Empire. A more headcanon-heavy take on that particular endeavour can be found here. This left little opportunity for family bonding, and while Lupin III did love his father, it's hard to feel especially close to him when he missed out on just about every dramatic life event a child can have.

Like all Lupins, he was a notorious womaniser and loved the ladies' attention, but he was considerably kinder than Arsène was. He was the first gentleman thief of the family, and he taught his son the importance of gentlemanly behaviour and never ignoring a woman in trouble. It's a lesson his son took to heart.

Lupin II is dead.

And finally, Lupin III. He left home and struck out on his own as an early teenager, accompanied by his Walther and his best friend Jigen³ (more on him later). Since then, Lupin III has made a name for himself as the world's best and most wanted thief, and it's his personal goal to not only live up to his grandfather's legacy, but surpass it. To this end, he likes to target items that Arsène documented himself as being unable to steal, such as the Bresson Diary⁴ or the Louvre's Mona Lisa painting⁵. He despised who his grandfather became, so tends to lean into the mythologised idea of 'the phantom thief of France', rather than connect those legends with the unpleasant old man he remembers.

Like the two generations before him, Lupin travels all over the world to steal whatever he's set his sights on, and will infiltrate cults, gangs, government buildings and billionare's homes alike. Nowhere is safe from him.

So that's his backstory. But who is Lupin III?

" I've heard about him. With a Walther in one hand, he's a diabolical thief who never misses his mark. ... We can't run from Lupin III. "¹¹

As said above, Lupin III is recognised as both the best and the most wanted thief in the world. He's so notorious that he's collected his own fair share of copycats and imitators, though Inspector Zenigata is adept at separating these crimes from those of the real Lupin.

Though Lupin acts silly and lighthearted most of the time, this is a performance he uses to hide his incredible intelligence and vast array of skills. He has shown himself to excel in many areas, including the piloting of any and all possible vehicles, chemistry and gas creation, and general gadget invention. He hides miniature explosives²⁶, smoke bombs, and various tools³³ all over his body, including in a fake tooth and in a hairpiece he wears over his real hair. He can also slip things into or out of the pockets of those he passes, even when given only a split second to do so without detection.

Perhaps most confusing about Lupin's mind is his inability to dream, instead seeing nothing but a void. This was once described as the conscious of an idiot or a god³².

More than anything, Lupin hates the feeling of boredom. His skill is so exceptional that simply stealing things isn't thrilling enough: he needs to find ways to make it more difficult for himself. This is why he cherishes his rivalries with Fujiko and Zenigata - both push him to do his best and create plans to circumvent the both of them, and they add the much-needed thrill to his game. That's how he's come to see his thieving career: as a game.

And much like every good game, he needs players. That's where the Lupin gang come in.

What is 'the Lupin gang', and who's in it?

The Lupin gang is the colloquial name given to Lupin and his friends, the "approved players" he's collected and allowed to become a permanent part of his life. The exact number of people involved in each heist varies, but it can be assumed that all of them have ways of contacting each other should things ever go seriously wrong. Lupin is protective (some might say possessive) over them, and will kill anyone who threatens or attempts to take their lives.

The known friends are as follows:

Daisuke Jigen. Lupin's best friend and closest partner. Though the two of them do do occasional solo work, it's more often safe to assume that if you can find one, the other won't be far behind. He's been shown to have been taught several of the Lupin family skills, including flawless disguise and voice mimicry⁸, and is so close to Lupin that he's been mistaken for his lover⁹. He knows just about everything there is to know about Lupin.

Outside of this, Jigen is considered to be the single best marksman in the world, and is capable of hitting a penny from a hundred meters away¹⁶. In fact, it was his gun skills that caught Lupin's attention in the first place, back when they were attending the same school².

Goemon Ishikawa XIII. A samurai wielding the legendary sword Zantetsuken, capable of cutting through anything. They met when Goemon attempted to kill him²⁰ and later ended up slicing his car cleanly in half²¹, and Lupin has considered him part of the gang ever since.

However, Goemon has the least patience for Lupin's tricks or deception, and is always the first to reject a job and leave if he doesn't like its end goal (usually something to do with impressing a woman). He also devotes a lot of his time to his solo training, travelling to a remote area and honing his skills there until he feels ready to return.

Fujiko Mine. An exceptionally beautiful seductress, spy, and thief. Lupin is head over heels for her and will do anything she asks of him, usually in return for something like a kiss. Fujiko often betrays him once he's finished being useful to her current plan, leaving with the treasure and letting Lupin find his own way out of whatever situation he's gotten himself in. Her betrayals are forgiven by Lupin every time - he's even said they're something he looks forward to²⁷ - but the others (most notably Jigen) don't trust her and will become frustrated by Lupin's infatuation. This has no effect on Lupin, however, who was the one to initiate this rivalry between them²⁸ and has, on occasion, been able to preempt her double crossing²⁹ and outsmart her in the process³⁰.

Fujiko once said that the two were once lovers, though she left him¹⁹, and the same thing happened during their later relationship³¹. I interpret this second relationship as a marriage given the imagery surrounding it throughout Part 5, but canon is once again unclear on this and I'm keeping it deliberately flexible.

Koichi Zenigata. Though he's not an official part of Lupin's affiliates, being on the opposing side of the law to them, he's someone Lupin has come to care about deeply and still considers part of his group regardless. The two of them have such a close relationship that Zenigata has been mistaken as Lupin's boyfriend by both Rebecca²² and Ami²³, and he once declared his intention to arrest Lupin's heart²⁴.

He is devoted to arresting Lupin, and becomes very depressed whenever he's removed from the Lupin case or believes Lupin to be dead²⁵.

Any other important people we should know about?

Rebecca Rossellini. An Italian heiress most known for her acting career. They first met when he saved her life from an overzealous fan threatening to bomb the train she was trapped on⁷, and Lupin proposed marriage not long afterwards. Though their marriage was later revealed not to have any legal binding¹⁷, he allowed her to keep his last name and use it if she wished. She remained in Italy when he left.

Despite being the one to propose the initial wedding, he has no romantic / sexual feelings towards her.

Laetitia Bresson. The granddaughter of famous archeologist, Professor Bresson, and co-protagonist of Lupin III: The First. Her grandfather worked alongside the original Arsène Lupin to design the Bresson Diary's complex lock, something that required both Lupin III and Laetitia to eventually open. Though he initially found himself distrusting and clashing against her, Lupin soon warmed to her and worked alongside her to find and stop the ancient weaponknown as the Eclipse.

Despite wanting to go with Lupin and asking if he would take her along, he promised to reunite them in five years and encouraged her to attend Boston University⁴.

Clarisse de Cagliostro. The young ruler of the Grand Duchy of Cagliostro, and someone he met early on in his thieving career. They reunited ten years later during The Castle of Cagliostro, where Lupin aimed to rescue her from her forced wedding and reveal the truth behind the estate's lost treasure. Though she fell in love with him and wanted to come along on future travels, Lupin rejected her and insisted she stay behind in the light, rather than become "dirty" like him¹⁹.

However, he knows that she is willing to shelter him in Cagliostro should he ever need to fly under the radar, and he is similarly willing to aid her with any issue she may face in the future.

Ami Enan. An incredibly talented hacker, and someone Lupin enlisted the help of in order to rob Dark Web giant Marco Polo of their money¹⁰. After helping her to explore and trust the outside world, he encouraged her to apply to boarding school and live a more normal life. He has since cut ties to ensure her safety and to discourage any further criminal involvement.

Albert d'Andrésy. Someone who was once a potential rival to Lupin and received thief training from Arsène after Lupin III's move to Japan¹. Despite this, Lupin considers himself far above Albert's level and holds nothing but distaste for him.

Goro Yatagarasu / Yata. Zenigata's assistant, who dutifully follows him everywhere the Lupin chase leads. He doesn't always understand the complexities of Lupin's game and Zenigata's responses to it.

For OCs and specific canon portrayals of the above muses, please check my connections page! This section only details the canon connections for the benefit of those unfamiliar with the source material, and thus won't provide a holistic view of my Lupin and his extensive web of relationships.

How did they all meet?

Canon is mixed on this one, and each writer has their own preferred takes. While I, for example, tend to default to Lupin Zero canon for Lupin and Jigen (because it's cute), this is deliberately kept flexible and open to change depending on whose Jigen I'm writing with. Same goes for the others, too.

Basically: don't worry about it unless you intend to (or already do) write one of the above muses. All that matters is that they met.

What's the public's perception of Lupin? What does the layman know?

Again, canon is a little confused on this.

Sometimes Lupin is able to use the Clark Kent disguise of a pair of glasses and get away with it¹¹, implying that he is really living up to the "phantom thief" title and can't be casually recognised by face alone. Sometimes he doesn't even need to hide his appearance, people just don't know who he is until he's introduced¹². Other times, he's shown to have legions of fans¹³ and scrapbooks of his every newspaper appearance¹⁴ and claw machine plushie merchandise¹⁵, displaying his face all over the place. Whether or not your muse can recognise his appearance, I leave up to you.

However, what does remain consistent is that Lupin is more loved than he is feared, a successful charmer with the ladies and somewhat of a celebrity (though Lupin himself hates being referred to as such).

What's law enforcement's perception of Lupin? Is there any difference in what the regional police know, versus interpol?

The Lupin case is highly classified, with Zenigata being its lead and the one with control over which details are shared. Regional police have a bigger tendency to disregard Lupin as a threat and insist that their surveillance alone will be enough to stop him, while interpol take him more seriously and have a better understanding of what he's capable of. Both sides lack an understanding of the nuances of Lupin's game, as well as the unspoken rules both he and Zenigata follow during their chase.

What's Inspector Zenigata's perception of Lupin? What does he know?

Zenigata's knowledge rivals even Jigen's. He knows the scent of Lupin's preferred cologne, his cars and their license plates (not that that's too difficult to remember: it's 03LPN33¹⁷), his common escape patterns, his handwriting and the type of cardstock used for all genuine calling cards, and is most adept at recognising his disguises. He is the only member of law enforcement who stands a real chance at arresting Lupin, and has made it his life purpose.

A lot of this knowledge is thanks to his many tireless years on Lupin's tail, slowly learning all of the thief's tricks and self-imposed rules, but Zenigata is also a genius inspector. He can catch any criminal who's not Lupin, and has even caught and imprisoned Lupin many times, stating over one hundred captures¹⁸. Unfortunately for Zenigata, Lupin has proven himself just too good at breaking out, and has never managed to contain him in a prison he couldn't eventually find his way out of.

What Zenigata wants most is for Lupin to serve his time in prison and pay back his debt to society. Lupin, of course, knows this, and has exploited that desire to manipulate Zenigata's emotions, such as getting him to cry so he'll walk away from Lupin's prison cell and give him an opportunity to escape²⁶.

What's the underworld's perception of Lupin?

The underworld's perception of Lupin isn't the most positive thing, given that he's often turned his skills against his fellow criminals and menaced gangs, organised syndicates, and people he generally considers to be "worse" than him. His skills are undoubtedly impressive and a source of reluctant admiration, and thus many within this circle seek to deceive or exploit Lupin's talent for their own gains. This plan rarely works in their favour, however.

Some people instead want Lupin dead, and have attempted this in a variety of ways. Sending hitmen simply won't work, not as long as he has Jigen and Goemon by his side, and so the craftier among them have learned that it's much more effective to turn his own people against him. As was once said: They are the best players in the world. It's nearly impossible to kill them. The only one who can kill Lupin is Jigen.¹⁶

When is Lupin III set?

Lupin and co. are frozen in time, and been shown in various eras throughout the franchise (with the most modern being Part 5, with its cryptocurrencies and BitMoney). For this reason, I generally find it easier to set him in the default era of whoever I'm writing with, or just assume it's "modern day". The time period doesn't really impact how I'd portray Lupin, so it's not massively important.

However, Lupin as a character was born somewhere around the late thirties / early forties, and this is reflected in certain possessions his character owns. For example, his favoured gun is a Walther P38, something that was only produced from 1939-45 and is definitely considered outdated by today's standards. Lupin Zero shows that this gun originally belonged to his father, Lupin II, and was given away as a parting gift once he set off on his own³.

Citations.

¹ Lupin Zero, Ep. 3: The Grandson of the First Vies for Succession

² Lupin Zero, Ep. 1: Young Lupin Meets a Wolf

³ Lupin Zero, Ep. 6: Young Lupin Claims the Title of The Third

⁴ Lupin III: The First (2019)

⁵ Lupin III Part 2, Ep. 115: Mona Lisa Smiles Twice

⁶ Lupin III Part 1, Ep. 20: Catch the Fake Lupin!

⁷ Lupin III Part 4, Ep. 26: Non-Stop Rendevous

⁸ Lupin III Part 5, Ep. 7: His Name is Albert

⁹ Lupin III Part 5, Ep. 2: The Lupin Game

¹⁰ Lupin III Part 5, Ep. 1: The Girl in the Twin Towers

¹¹ Lupin III Part 4, Ep. 15: High School Undercover!

¹² Lupin III Part 4, Ep. 2: The False Fantasista

¹³ Lupin III: Princess of the Breeze (2013)

¹⁴ Lupin III Part 5, Ep. 17: Introducing Detective Jim Barnett III

¹⁵ Lupin III: Dragon of Doom (1994)

¹⁶ Lupin III: Seven Days Rhapsody (2006)

¹⁷ Lupin III Part 4, Ep. 12: The Italian Dream (Part Two)

¹⁸ Lupin III Part 2, Ep. 72: The Skateboard Murder Mystery

¹⁹ Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro (1979)

²⁰ Lupin III Part 1, Ep. 5: The Coming of Goemon the Thirteenth

²¹ Lupin III Part 1, Ep. 7: A Wolf Calls a Wolf

²² Lupin III Part 4, Ep. 1: The Marriage of Lupin III

²³ Lupin III Part 5, Ep. 4: Zenigata's Pride and the Desert Dust

²⁴ Lupin III Part 5, Ep. 24: Just Then, An Old Buddy Said Something

²⁵ Lupin III: The Fuma Conspiracy (1987)

²⁶ Lupin III: Operation Return the Treasure (2003)

²⁷ Lupin III: Farewell to Nostradamus (1995)

²⁸ The Woman Called Fujiko Mine, Ep. 1: Great Thief Vs. Female Phantom Thief

²⁹ Lupin III: Jigen's Gravestone (2014)

³⁰ Lupin III: Blood Seal - Eternal Mermaid (2011)

³¹ Lupin III Part 5 closing: Seine No Kaze Ni (Adieu)

³² Lupin III: The Mystery of Mamo (1978)

³³ Lupin III: Sweet Lost Night (2008)

[materialsscienceandengineering]

General Laboratory Fire Safety

If you learn nothing else about fire safety, the most important things to remember are evacuate and alert. Leave the area/building, pull the fire alarm, and call the authorities. You should only attempt to fight a fire if you have the proper training and you have first notified authorities and evacuated the building. (This is another reason why the buddy system is important, as tasks can be split among individuals. Even if you think the fire is small enough to be put out with an extinguisher, evacuation and alerting others must come first.) Isolation can also be useful when a fire occurs; closing fume hoods (if the fire is inside the hood) and laboratory doors when evacuating can slow the spread of a fire. Because of this, many organizations have regulations on when doors can be propped open and many corridors and buildings have fire safety doors that will close automatically when a fire alarm is pulled.

For a fire to occur, there are four general requirements: oxygen, fuel, a heat source, and a chemical reaction. (Note: the fire tetrahedron has begun to replace the fire triangle in fire training, which did not include the chemical reaction.) If any one of these items is removed, a fire should not occur. Proper housekeeping - a tidy environment and separation of hazards - is key to prevent fires from occurring in the first place.

Sources/Further Reading: (Image source - Kolb Website) (University of Wisconsin-Madison) (Lab Manager) (First Aid Product)

[beautifullache]

🦄The Sims 4🦄

👠Shoe Career👢

💕EARLY RELEASE 7.12.2024💕

Journeys

PTO 3 days off

Journeys is a teen retail leader with an emphasis on footwear and unique specialty items including apparel, backpacks, hats and accessories. With more than 800 stores in all 50 US states, Puerto Rico and Canada, Journeys offers the most popular brands that cater to the teen lifestyle such as Converse, Vans, Dr Martens, UGG, Adidas, Timberland, Birkenstock, Crocs and Hey Dude. Through strategic artistic partnerships, event sponsorships, exclusive content, creative collaborations with musicians, and a focus on giving back to the community through charitable events and volunteer programs— Journeys has become more than just a retailer, but a universal part of teen and youth culture. The in-store Journeys experience features an energetic environment, friendly, passionate staff, and an inclusive atmosphere where self-expression is not just accepted – but encouraged and embraced. Journeys is an attitude you can wear.

Sales Associate

Sales Lead

Assistant Store Manager

Store Manager

District Manager in Training

Allow Teen

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Allow Elder

Hibbett Sports

PTO 3 days off

Hibbett, headquartered in Birmingham, Alabama, is a leading athletic-inspired fashion retailer with nearly 1,100 Hibbett and City Gear specialty stores, located in 35 states nationwide. Hibbett has a rich history of serving customers for more than 75 years with convenient locations, superior personalized customer service and access to coveted footwear, apparel and accessories from top brands like Nike, Jordan, and adidas. Consumers can browse styles, find new releases, shop looks and make purchases through our best-in-class omni-channel platform. Follow us on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter @hibbettsports and @citygear. At Hibbett I City Gear, we make it easy for you to have an edge up on the competition when it comes to your style. Whether it’s the brands we keep on our shelves or the people who work in our stores, we are here to help you reach your next level of play. You’ll get the latest products first and exclusive items that are harder to find. If you want to put your game in the right hands, you’ve come to the right place at Hibbett I City Gear. With names like Nike, Jordan, Adidas, The North Face, and Costa, we bring fashion and footwear together for you and your game. Whether you’re shopping for yourself or the whole team, at Hibbett I City Gear we have you covered from toe to head.

Sales Associate

Store Ops Projects Specialist

District Sales Manager

Manager in Training

Senior Internal Audit Analyst

Allow Teen

Allow Young Adult

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Foot Locker

PTO 3 days off

Foot Locker, Inc. leads the celebration of sneaker and youth culture around the globe through a portfolio of brands including Foot Locker, Kids Foot Locker, Champs Sports, atmos, and WSS. With approximately 2,700 retail stores in 29 countries across North America, Europe, Asia, Australia and New Zealand, as well as websites and mobile apps, the Company's purpose is to inspire and empower youth culture around the world, by fueling a shared passion for self-expression and creating unrivaled experiences at the heart of the global sneaker community. Foot Locker, Inc. has its corporate headquarters in New York. At Foot Locker, Inc., our purpose is to inspire and empower youth culture through our family of brands by fueling a shared passion for self-expression and creating unrivaled experiences at the heart of the sport and sneaker communities.

Cashier

Sales Associate

Stock Associate

Warehouse Housekeeper

Sales Lead

Equipment Operator

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Finish Line

PTO 3 days off

Finish Line is an American retail chain that sells athletic shoes and related apparel and accessories. The company operates 660 stores in 47 states, mostly in enclosed shopping malls, as well as Finish Line-branded athletic shoe departments in more than 450 Macy's stores.

Associate

Stock Associate

Store Management

In-Store Merchandiser

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Champs Sports

PTO 3 days off

Champs Sports is one of the largest, athletic sports-specialty retailers in North America. We bring to the table an arsenal of the finest, freshest athletic apparel, footwear and accessories you’ll find anywhere. We believe that through our brands and our knowledgeable sales associates, we can claim the high ground as the authority on Game, and we’re here to help you up your own personal Game.

Cashier

Sales Associate

Sales Lead/Key Holder

Assistant Manager

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[darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght]

Pokémon Reborn Screenshot Let's Play: Chapter 39

As I said in the last chapter- I am VERY glad for this split between Chapters 38 and 39, as unplanned as it was. That's because it’s taken me a bit more time to adjust to this new schedule of weekday working than I expected, hence the slight delay with this update. Still, coulda been worse, at least the play session and notes were already done.

And hey, the timing works out even better, because yesterday was the one-year anniversary of me starting this Let’s Play! I was hoping I could do something special for the occasion, like maybe draw something or…something else, but I just didn’t have the time to do anything like that, especially this past week. But, maybe challenging the sixth Gym will be enough to celebrate such a milestone? Given there are 18 Gyms in total, I guess you could say I’m going to be about a third of the way through the game, technically. At this rate, I should be able to fully beat this game in another two years!

It’s pretty surreal that this has gone on for a whole year now- I wasn’t sure if I’d get this far, honestly. I mean, I hoped I would, but I can count on one hand the amount of personal media-related projects I’ve been able to finish over the years, so I had no idea how something like this would go. But we’re still chugging along, and I hope you readers have been enjoying the ride as much as I have!

But now, let’s focus more on the here and the now. Before getting into the other half of the last play session, it’s best to recap what went on in the previous half. It wasn’t like there was any story stuff, no worries there, but given those events lead directly to this chapter, it’d probably be good housekeeping to summarize.

Xera travels to Byxbysion Wasteland during a storm to track down a wayward Squirtle she had been told about by a Wasteland resident. She finds and catches the Pokémon, naming it Blast.

Xera returns to Pyrous Mountain and encounters a particularly timid Tepig, who she eventually finds on the volcano’s summit. She battles and successfully catches it, naming it Vulcan.

At Tanzan Cove, Xera fishes up and catches a Luvdisc who she names Amore. She trades this Luvdisc to a student of Apophyll Academy for Wish the Darumaka.

Xera evolves her Shiny Chingling, Ring, into a Chimecho and takes her to Azurine Island. There, Ring soothes a disturbed man who has taken up residence in the Observation Facility and trapped a Chikorita in the basement. He allows Xera to take the Chikorita, who she names Magnolia.

Xera travels through Chrysolia Forest and finds an abandoned train. In addition to the logs written by the train’s unfortunate captain, she finds a Pokémon Egg, which later hatches into a Cacnea she names Thorn.

Xera evolves a Burmy she caught earlier, named Hawk, into a Mothim and trades him to a man whose house was teleported into Chrysolia Forest. She receives a Bruxish named Mimix in exchange.

At the Spinel Town Museum, Xera encounters a pair of Team Meteor Grunts skulking around one of the exhibits. They challenge her to come find them at Tanzan Mountain- a challenge that she accepts. Xera is successful in defeating them and driving them away, and a museum worker gifts her a Cover Fossil as thanks.

Following the clues left behind by the missing train conductor, Xera makes her way back through Chrysolia Forest to the Lost Railcave. In a chamber deep in the cave, Xera finds the possible last words of the captain, who disappeared into “a world of glittering, static blue and stars” he found out of desperation. 

Among the items he left behind is a Poké Ball containing a Pokémon he intended to give to his daughter as a gift, but he now asks whoever finds his journal to watch over the Pokémon. The Ball is found to contain an Eevee, who Xera names Elio.

At the Sweet Kiss Candy Shop in Obsidia Ward, Xera is able to access an ice cream machine and, when attempting to buy Vanilla Ice Cream, finds a Vanillite drops down instead. She catches the Vanillite and names it Frost.

And then I went to sleep, because it was approaching midnight by the time I caught Frost! So now, there are plenty of teambuilding options for this upcoming Gym, a lot of ways this could go…but I’ll get more into that in the chapter proper. Let’s do this!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

Part 13

Part 14

Part 15

[pyropsychiccollector]

Founders: Profile Data

(๑╹ω╹๑ ) Time to try something a wee bit different... I've done bios on characters, of course. This information is purely for sport and fun. And all of the measurement info is canonical, so I will receive no backlash from this. *stares at certain people* (๑╹ω╹๑ )(๑╹ω╹๑ )(๑╹ω╹๑ ) The rest, of course, I left to imagination~ \(๑╹ω╹๑ )/

And because this is a test to see how it's received... I'll do the data on my "Founders", the girls I most strongly ship with Makoto. They started Danganronpa ships for me... And in Maiko's case, she earned her way up there. (๑╹ω╹๑ ) Chisa did as well, but... She has seniority on Maiko-chan. (๑╹ω╹๑ )

#6: Maiko Kagura, Ultimate Dancer

Height: 160 cm (5'2")

Weight: 45 kg (99 lbs)

Chest: 75 cm (30")

Blood Type: A

Date of Birth: November 29

Likes: Big ramen servings (canon), Pop music, Danceable music, Comfy clothes, Her foster "family" in the red light district, Positive Attitudes, Good deals on home appliances and utilities, Kindhearted senpai that take the time to hang out and listen to her

Dislikes: Natto (canon), Abandonment, Scammers, Perverts, Bullies

#5: Chisa Yukizome, Ultimate Housekeeper

Height: 161 cm

Weight: 45 kg (99 lbs)

Chest: 89 cm

Blood Type: AB

Date of Birth: May 3

Likes: Cleaning, Laundry, Cooking (canon), Ultimate Students (eventually all students), Passion and Confidence, Time with loved ones, Frilly aprons and dresses, Sweetheart students that help keep everyone in line and get flustered when one-on-one

Dislikes: Cockroaches (canon), Sleaziness, Laziness, Lack of motivation/drive, Corruption, Bullies, Dirt and grime

#4: Junko Enoshima, Ultimate Fashionista

Height: 169 cm (5'7")

Weight: 45 kg (99 lbs)

Chest: 90 cm

Blood Type: AB

Date of Birth: December 24

Likes: None (canon) - Expanded: Trendy Clothes, Malleable people, Being on top, Her sisters, Opulence, Compassionate lucky boys that never gave up on her despite how bad off she was originally

Dislikes: None (canon) - Expanded: Old-fashioned clothes and stuff not trending, Smartasses, Rivals that get in her way, The slums, Plans going awry, Reminders of her past

#3: Mukuro Ikusaba, Ultimate Soldier

Height: 169 cm (5'7")

Weight: 44 kg (97 lbs)

Chest: 80 cm (31")

Blood Type: A

Date of Birth: December 24

Likes: Her sisters, Army knives (canon), Straightforward procedures and rules, Quiet, Night racing (motorcycles), Training, Reconnaissance (keeping tabs on loved ones), Compassionate and tender lucky civilian boys that wasn't put off by her talent and continued trying to be her friend...who also gets along with her sisters

Dislikes: Makeup (canon), Shallow and aggravating people, Threats to her sisters, Threats to Naegi-kun, People that look down on soldiers (namely their ability to return to society), Flashy clothes/items, Unnecessary procedures and rules that make things harder rather than actually make a difference

#2: Celestia Ludenberg, Ultimate Gambler

Height: 164 cm (5'5")

Weight: 46 kg (101 lbs)

Chest: 80 cm (31")

Blood Type: AB

Date of Birth: November 23

Likes: None (canon) - Expanded: Marie Antoinette, Gothic lolita fashion, Gothic architecture, Extravagance and opulence, Winning, People that do as she says, European castles, Tenderhearted lucky boys that try and see the real her beyond all the lies and backstories...who don't mock her dreams, but urge her to become a better person

Dislikes: None (canon) - Expanded: Loud and annoying things and people, Smartass peasants, People that waste her time, Losing, Certain ruffians BORN into money and opulence that know nothing of winning your way there personally...ESPECIALLY the duplicitous "nice princess" stereotypes

#1: Sayaka Maizono, Ultimate Idol

Height: 165 cm (5'5")

Weight: 49 kg (108 lbs)

Chest: 83 cm (33")

Blood Type: A

Date of Birth: July 7

Likes: None (canon) - Expanded: Pop music, Her band, Her fans, Singing and Dancing, Genuineness, Compassion and Kindness, Friends that see past her public image, The idea of teaching music and dancing to future students, Comfy and Cozy families (blood doesn't matter; just the idea people are there for each other...), One-of-a-kind selfless lucky boys that help others without asking anything in return...who she's wanted to know for a few years now, finally got the chance to, and easily fell in love with him without regrets

Dislikes: None (canon) - Expanded: Threats to her friends' livelihoods, Managers with unrealistic expectations, Duplicity and backstabbing, People who are just FAKE and inflict harm and enjoy it, Loneliness, Despair, Bullies, People imbued with "talent" and coast by without effort or purpose

(๑╹ω╹๑ ) *sips tea* I regret nothing~

[somethingusefulfromflorida]

In December I got a job as a "park ambassador," which the description made sound like a desk job, an event coordinator, but actually turned out to be a manual laborer/groundskeeper. I got overwhelmed by the workload on my first day and quit the morning that would have been my second.

This month I got a job as a front desk clerk at a hotel. Those of you who follow me probably know that I had this exact job at a motel down in the Keys for years, so it was a lateral move, something familiar to fall back on, much easier than the suprise manual labor the park sprung on me. Well, turns out this place lied too because they're cross training me to be a housekeeper, which is ABSOLUTELY NOT worth my time and effort. That wasn't in the job description, and that was never brought up in the interview. Today was my first full shift, and it was horrendous from start to finish because there was simultaneously too much to do and not enough. What I mean is that every single task they gave me had ten or fifteen steps and substeps to follow in sequence, so even the simplest one was needlessly overcomplicated. There's a ton of shit to do, followed by long stretches of absolutely nothing. At my old job, my boss did not give one half of two shits what I did to fill the time; I could go on my phone or my laptop, I could read a book, I could draw, I could space out or take a nap, she didn't care as long as I immediately dropped what I was doing whenever the phone rang or a customer came to the door. No such luck here. I'm not allowed to read, I'm supposed to either sit there in silence or find something to do to look busy for the cameras. That's all it is, just pointless busywork. There are not 8 hours worth of tasks, but they expect you to do 8 hours worth of work!

Oh, and if the woman who's training me was really passive agressive all day about the fact that I asked her to go over the steps slowly so I could take notes and create a checklist. She made a really fucking annoying comment about how I'm the only trainee who has trouble retaining information, like I'm some drooling moron when it's literally my first day. She's younger than I am but she's already been married, had a kid, gotten a divorce, bought and sold two houses, and landed a career as a middle manager, so to her I'm lower than dirt, an abject failure, an example of how not to live your life. She made me feel about three feet tall, and the only thing that prevented me from calling it quits again was that I desperately need the money. This is the way it is: every day I'm scheduled is $100 dropped into my bank account. $15 per hour, 8 hour shifts, that's $120 per day before tax, something like $102 to $105 take home pay. I was hired to be part time, only two or tree days a week, but it pays weekly instead of biweekly so every Friday I'll get $200 or $300. This week they gave me a full 40 hours for training, so that's $500 if I can make it to the end of it without having another panic attack. If I imagine my boss handing me a $100 bill every day at clock out, I think I can get through this.

If they lied about the content of the job, I'm going to give it a solid 75% effort. I'm not gonna stress about meeting quotas or finding ways to look busy. I'm gonna keep using my checklists. I'm gonna keep them with me and go down them one item at a time in front of the customers because that's what I need to do, and if corporate doesn't like it they can fire me. This is just a job, not a career. I'm not an essential worker. I don't give a shit if a customer has a substandard experience. I don't give a shit if the elevator has scuff marks that need to be mopped. I don't care if someone leaves their laundry hamper next to the coin-op machines while they run. I am going to half-ass it all!

I have a disability and it has only gotten worse in the last five years. When I was in college I had good insurance and good medication, but now my plans have next to no coverage; the only meds I can afford are the msot common ones that doctors give away like candy. They don't work for me, but the good shit is too expensive, so i'm wallowing. I was barely able to function in the Keys, but I was driven by my goals of buying a car and moving out of my parents place; now that I've achieved both of those things, I have nothing to look forward too and have lost all motivation to even try. I am not alone, I know plenty of people who are in the exact same boat as me, but apparently none of them live within 500 miles. All my would-be peers up here are successful and functional. it comes easy to them. I'm the only one who seems to struggle. Surely I can't be the only one, but I never see anyone else like me in real life, only ever online. Are they just good at hiding it? Why can't I do that too?

[eunoiacarehub]

Comprehensive Personal Care and Domestic Assistance with Eunoia Care Hub

Keywords: personal care and domestic assistance, domestic assistance For individuals living with disabilities, maintaining independence in daily life is often a challenge. Personal care and domestic assistance are crucial services that help individuals manage their daily routines with dignity and ease. At Eunoia Care Hub, we offer a range of personalized services to support those in need, ensuring that they can live comfortably and independently in their own homes.

The Role of Personal Care and Domestic Assistance are integral parts of a comprehensive support plan for individuals with disabilities. These services are designed to help with daily activities that may be difficult or impossible to perform without assistance. From personal hygiene to household chores, this support enables individuals to maintain their health, well-being, and quality of life.

Understanding Personal Care Services Personal care involves providing assistance with daily activities related to personal hygiene and grooming. These services are tailored to meet the specific needs of each individual, ensuring that they receive the support necessary to maintain their independence and dignity. Common personal care services include:

Assistance with Bathing: Helping individuals bathe safely, whether in a shower, bath, or by sponge bath.

Dressing and Grooming: Assisting with dressing, combing hair, shaving, and other grooming tasks.

Toileting and Continence Care: Providing support with using the toilet and managing continence needs.

Medication Management: Assisting with medication reminders and ensuring that medications are taken as prescribed.

Mobility Assistance: Helping individuals move safely around their home, including transferring from bed to wheelchair or chair.

Personal care services are delivered with sensitivity and respect, ensuring that each individual feels comfortable and supported in their daily routines.

Understanding Domestic Assistance Services Domestic assistance focuses on helping individuals manage household chores and maintain a clean, safe, and comfortable living environment. These services are essential for those who may have difficulty performing household tasks due to physical limitations or other challenges. Common domestic assistance services include:

Cleaning and Housekeeping: Assistance with tasks such as vacuuming, dusting, mopping, and general tidying.

Laundry: Support with washing, drying, folding, and ironing clothes and linens.

Meal Preparation: Help with planning, shopping for, and preparing nutritious meals.

Home Organization: Assistance with organizing spaces, decluttering, and ensuring that household items are easily accessible.

Grocery Shopping and Errands: Support with grocery shopping and running other essential errands.

Domestic assistance is designed to relieve the burden of household chores, allowing individuals to focus on other aspects of their lives and maintain their independence.

The Benefits of Personal Care and Domestic Assistance Enhanced Independence: Personal care and domestic assistance services enable individuals to live independently in their own homes. By providing support with daily activities, these services help individuals maintain control over their lives and continue living in their preferred environment.

Improved Quality of Life: A clean, well-maintained home and proper personal care are essential for physical and mental well-being. These services contribute to a higher quality of life by ensuring that individuals’ needs are met consistently and compassionately.

Safety and Comfort: Personal care and domestic assistance services help create a safe and comfortable living environment. Professional caregivers are trained to handle tasks safely, reducing the risk of accidents or injuries.

Tailored Support: At Eunoia Care Hub, we understand that each individual’s needs are unique. Our personal care and domestic assistance services are customized to meet the specific requirements of each client, ensuring that they receive the right level of support.

Why Choose Eunoia Care Hub for Personal Care and Domestic Assistance?

Eunoia Care Hub is dedicated to providing high-quality, personalized care that enhances the lives of our clients. Our team of experienced caregivers is trained to deliver compassionate and professional personal care and domestic assistance, ensuring that each individual receives the support they need to live comfortably and independently.

We take the time to understand your specific needs and preferences, working closely with you to develop a care plan that aligns with your goals. Our commitment to respect, dignity, and empowerment sets us apart as a trusted provider of personal care and domestic assistance services.

Conclusion Personal care and domestic assistance are essential services that enable individuals with disabilities to live independently and comfortably. At Eunoia Care Hub, we are committed to providing personalized, compassionate care that meets the unique needs of each client. Whether you need help with personal hygiene, household chores, or both, our team is here to support you every step of the way. Contact us today to learn more about how our personal care and domestic assistance services can enhance your quality of life.

[dollsonmain]

New "houseperson" job posting from the Casino. I'd prefer that to cleaning the individual rooms, really. The part where it says you have to clean out the ash trays puts me off applying more than anything else. I don't want to work around smokers.

"Reports problems and safety issues to supervisor" could have been ONE bullet point, not added to almost every bullet point AND it's own bullet point.

Uses daily checklist to direct and record activities

Inspects entries including: door mats, trash cans and cigarette urns to ensure cleanliness standards have been met. Cleans and reports any problems to supervisor.

Maintains cleanliness of Lobby, sweeping, vacuuming, mopping, dusting, picking up debris and trash, emptying trash cans.

Cleans assigned public hallways, policing for trash and/or debris; vacuums and dusts hallway furniture and fixtures and washes corridor windows on schedule. Reports problems and safety issues to supervisor.

Greets guests in hotel public areas as they are encountered, always smiling and conveying positive hospitality standards.

Assists with setting and arranging conference rooms in preparation for events and meetings, according to Sales department specifications. Cleans room(s) after each day’s use.

Cleans Public restrooms and maintains room supplies.

Maintains cleanliness of Pool area, reports problems to supervisor or Maintenance as appropriate to property standard. Is there a pool on property?

Uses floor machine to scrub tile floors and uses floor wax to polish floor after application.

Uses carpet machine to clean carpeting and remove stains

Cleans, vacuums, dusts and empties trash cans in staff offices. Also maintains cleanliness and supplies for Employee Break Area as may be assigned to include wipe down, sweeping, mopping, emptying trash and re-stocking.

Delivers clean linens and collects/removes soiled linen.

Re-stocks Housekeeping storage closets as needed

Makes up cribs and rollaway beds (along with room attendants) after use and prior to storage

Delivers Housekeeping supplies as instructed.

Assists Housekeeping staff with movement of heavy items such as mattresses.

Responds quickly and courteously to guest requests. Follows up to ensure guest satisfaction.

May be required to clean rooms as may be necessary.

Provides a professional image in appearance and behavior at all times.

Follows all company policies and procedures and actively participates in all hotel meetings, task forces, training and programs.

Thoroughly familiar with Emergency Procedures.

Familiar with HAZCOM as related to position. Follows all chemical and equipment safety handling procedures.

Always alert for Security and Safety issues and hazards and reports same immediately to supervisor.

.... jfc that's a lot to expect one person to do.

The only thing I really can't do is using the floor buffer. My back can't take the side-to-side motion which is why I had "no mopping" on my permanent profile in the army.

[moodymeangirl]

the biggest factor in me being able to eventually clean my house (as in do dishwashing and clothes washing and bins - mopping and vacuuming can die) is treating myself to an item or activity which makes me feel like a Proper Adult Normal Human. if i just enforce the habit of watching The News so that I can be Informed and see The Weather. if i just go to a small Sushi Train Chain Restaurant and eat the Nicey Nicey Foods. if my friend and i act All Grown Up in the bottleshop and then if there's Some Random Ciders (i don't like cider) in my Big Fridge. THEN and only THEN can i do a lil girlchore here n there. bc irl im not a PANH, im a: disabled, plural, traumatised, neurodivergent, always-horny-except-when-she's-ace capital FW Fail Wife and my most normal housekeeping instincts r to have a service sub do it and/or rubb rubb rubb thinking abt that rather than doing anything. this phenomenon is called the girlchore/choregirl paradox and is an Expected Ailment for the Uncommon Small Mountain Moody Mean Girl, which is my apparent species of girl.