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cornerstoreclown · 2 months ago

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Workshop Fun

Summary: This is a short one-shot (7021 words) where the Reader (female) has an established relationship with Art the Clown, and has been kiiiind of collaborating with him passively. Reader is wearing a dress for the sole purpose of easy access. Reader has a vulva and breasts.

Contents: Biting, light spanking, ...phone... sex? Having an unknowing participant on the other line is the only way I can word it, light spanking, lots of making out, clothed sex, BDSM, Art being cruel, p in v penetration, finger sucking and light body worship

Author’s notes: Sorry what took me so long to do this, I’ve been sitting on this for years! Male version will be out in a few days. This is LIGHTLY proofread, so keep your expectations at a level where you won’t be surprised if there’s any mistakes. Also once again I am an Art the Clown front zipper truther for my clothed sex kink.

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You loved him.

Did he kill people? Yes. Did he sometimes allude to killing you as well? Absolutely. Has he acted on it yet? Not fully, but you could tell that sometimes he had that compulsion to go through with it, when he’d get that twinkle in his eye.

Especially when you were up close and personal with him, your bodies merely inches apart, sometimes with him even holding a weapon in hand. He’s a wild animal. A force of evil locked away in the confines of a corporeal body made of flesh and bone.

And yet, all the same, you loved him. The way that his hands would travel across your flesh and explore the parts of you that you never let anyone else. Sometimes he’d leave bruises, other times scratches. Then there were the bite marks. Each intimate encounter would leave you in a different state of mess. He was the lover who was like a cat. One day he’d be here, gone the next. You couldn’t put a thumb on the patterns.

The waits were long, but you’re loyal, and you’re patient. You didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. You’d wait until the ends of the earth for him. Sometimes during the months that he wasn’t here, you’d dream of him. All of these little fantasies you’d have in your head would sometimes come to visit you behind your closed lids, where reality had no limitations. It would make the ache feel less. Every time that he’d come back, you made sure to find him as quickly as possible the second you heard whisperings pertaining to sightings of him, or any kind of crime scene that felt like it had his signature on it. Sometimes he’d find you first.

Art wasn’t someone who was very materialistic. And money meant next to nothing to Art—the personification of evil had very little need for the vast kinds of desires that plagued man.

But he wasn’t necessarily immune to the pleasures of the flesh, you learned. Despite how for the most part, he remained heavily uninterested in intimacy, he had a few moments here and there, and you capitalized on them when you could. You had a feeling tonight would be one of those nights.

Or, well, you hoped.

Worst case scenario he’d turn you away or ignore any advances, and he has a few times. And that was okay.

You came into his hideout tonight with confidence instilled in you, but yet the excitement still makes your stomach do flips. It’s been too long, and the fire within your chest is reignited. You feel passion, you feel love so strong that it’s enough to keep you up at night, and it has happened plenty of times before. You wonder if he’s got some sort of spell over you, and you’d believe it if that were the case. You’ve never fallen so madly, deeply, for anyone before like you have him. It could be enough to make you physically ill if you thought about how much you loved him. Such a passion came with such a detriment to you.

Past the damaged doors of a since abandoned fairly abandoned warehouse, you have a smooth descent down the stairs, leading you to a type of basement setting. There’s plenty of water dripping. Rats squeaking as they chitter and skitter along. You catch glimpses of them in the dim lighting, but they don’t bother you. As long as you didn’t see a bunch of them with their tails tied together, you wager you’ll be pretty okay.

You dressed up nicely for him tonight.

You weren’t really a dress kind of person, but tonight you made it an exception. It wasn’t fancy or over the top, and by the love of god, it had pockets. You refused to wear heels however, whatever shoes you had that worked and didn’t give you the possibility of breaking your ankle down these flights of stairs was the option you went with. Art might have found it funny if you hurt yourself, but you aren’t too keen on getting yourself dinged up before he gets the chance to do it himself.

The dress was about one thing–accessibility. Easy to lift up, easy for him to slide in right where he belonged.

You loved when he was inside of you, when you’d feel the heat of his heavy breath against the back of your neck. You run your hands over the spot where you last remember feeling the warmth of his breath. You remember being beneath him and feeling as if the very heat that he quietly exhaled felt as if it were smoldering your skin, burning you like the way the flames of hell were supposed to. If being with this clown meant that you’d be burning in the afterlife, you’d gladly bathe yourself in the inferno.

Your stomach flutters.

You shouldn’t be this excited. He’s a murderer. A killer. A man with no morals, and you’re not even sure if he was a man sometimes at all. Yet, his darkness is what drew you in. He was your safe space, and no one would dare come into that space to try and harm you so long as you were in his arms.

When you reach the bottom of the steps, you see it–a single dangling light, and illuminating this dark space is a double door that is plainly rusted. You see a bloody handprint on it. It’s since dried.

You recognize the size of that hand, and feel slightly lighter, just in the moment.

Placing your own hand in the exact space over Art’s bloodied print, you push the door open. The door is a little on the heavy side, but with enough force, the door opens.

“Art?” You call out, making sure that your presence is acknowledged as friendly and not hostile. The room is a little darkly lit, very heavy on the minimum lighting that’s needed to navigate in the space. It most certainly added to the creepy ambiance. Straight ahead, there sat none other than Art. His back was given to you. He was sitting on a stool, hammering away at something on his workbench. He turns his head upon hearing his name, and you see that he gives you a smile, baring his rotted discolored teeth as his eyes are closed. You can see the wrinkles form a little in the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

You liked that. You liked the details etched into his face. It added character among those otherwise gaunt features of his.

“Hey, buddy.” You call out to him, and he gives you a little wave, before gesturing for you to come closer.

You approach him, and once you’re near the bench with him, you can see when you’re close enough that he gives you a once over, assessing you… Judging you, for what it is you’re wearing tonight.

“Like it?” You ask him, twirling from side to side so that your dress splays out a little. It’s simple. Gets the job done. And if it got ruined? No love loss.

Art’s gaze seems fixed on you, first on your dress, then up at you. For a man who doesn’t speak, his eyes seem to say all that needs to be said, as he reaches for the end of your dress and starts to lift it, until you gently smack the top of his hand. Art draws his hand back to his side immediately, glancing up at you, looking a little like a kid that was chided.

Naughty of him, trying to get a sneak peek beforehand.

“Not yet,” You tell him.

Art looks a little irritated, folding his arms across his chest and pouting. At least he seems interested tonight.

You clear your throat, and Art’s attention is still locked on you. He’s watching you expectantly.

“You’ve settled in quite nicely.” It was just yesterday you surveyed the area on his behalf, and helped him move in properly. Already on his workbench, he has got quite a few improvised weapons he’d been working on. Your eyes go to one weapon in particular, and you point at it.

“What’s that?”

Art turns to look at the weapon you’ve pointed out, and when he lifts it to proudly show it, it’s exactly what it looked like–an improvised flail. Attached to a long metal rod, is a long wire, and when your eyes follow to the end of the wire, you see wrapped around in such an intricate and meticulous way are a variety of knives, serving as what would be the ‘spikes’. You’re impressed. He even hands it to you, to which you take it. It’s got a decent weight to it, too. Not too heavy, but not too light.

“Woah.” You say, as Art watches you, quite proud of how dazzled you are. He’s an artist at heart, you knew this. The knives have some rust on them. One of them looks stained from a previous bloody encounter. He’s clearly working with whatever he’s got on him.

“If anyone survives this, they better pray they don’t get tetanus.” You muse, and Art’s face twists in amusement in a silent laugh. You hand the weapon back to him, and he takes it once he’s done getting in a few silent chuckles at your joke, gently placing it back down on the table.

No one escapes Art with their soul still in their body. Literal or figurative. You were either dead, or you were burdened with his encounter your entire life, both physically and mentally.

You weren’t any different. Your bruises and bites and scars have been out of love. One could argue that you got off easy, but you’d argue otherwise.

Being in love with the Miles County Clown is torture in and of itself. There were nonstop dreams that came with it. It seemed as if every other week he’d plague you in your sleep. Not to mention that you had to be extremely clever to not be caught under affiliation with him–which was even more stress. So far, though, so good.

He’s worth it, you tell yourself. Even if he wasn’t anymore, there’s no way you could leave. He’d kill you. And you have zero doubts that your death wouldn't be painless.

After a few seconds of silence, you sigh.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave all the time.” You begin to tell him. Art’s expression is neutral, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. His teeth are bared, as they often are. Your tone isn’t one of whining, but of yearning. You know that this came with the territory, and you readily accepted his lack of presence at any given time.

But it didn’t hurt to dream. Art tilts his head, watching you from where he sits curiously.

“Maybe one day we can find some place that… Is ours. Separate from… This.” You gesture towards the weapons he’s making. Every so often he hides somewhere different to prepare for the trouble he intends to cause. “A place that maybe once you’re done for the day, we both can be in to unwind. And a permanent place for you that isn’t just my apartment. But like. A place for you. For us.”

Taking him to your apartment kept getting riskier and riskier each time. Also, he made it quite clear he didn’t really care for your decor. Giving him his own place to make his own that he could express himself would be ideal, and it wouldn’t be like a place he’d have to abandon every year. He could actually have and keep stuff… If he wanted to even do that.

The more you think about it, the more you’re starting to think it sounds silly. You see the way that he’s looking at you, and he appears very stern. Sharp.

Your confidence begins to drop, and as you’re about to speak again, you stammer, before laughing nervously.

“Yeah. You’re right. Sorry, that was a silly idea–any long term space we made for you would probably get found out eventually, too. I–”

The stool screams as it’s slid across the ground, back towards the bench when he stands up. It sounded like one of his many victims. You go quiet as he’s hovering over you, and you swallow any words that you might have wanted to tell him.

The silence is heavy. His shoulders are rising and falling, and you feel your heartbeat in your ears.

Seconds tick by and they feel more like minutes, and you can’t stand it any longer. You open your mouth to speak, but you’re swiftly cut off.

Art yanks you by the collar of your dress, and forces his lips against yours.

Your eyes are wide briefly in surprise, but they close as soon as you register what’s happening, and you moan in the kiss. Art’s a bit of a sloppy kisser, but you’ve come to love it. His taste was acrid as well, but you craved the bitterness at this point, no longer gagging like you used to. As he leans forward to kiss you harder, you put more of yourself in it as well, mixing his intensity with your passion and desire that’s been left simmering for months.

Now it’s boiling over.

Art places both of his hands on either side of your face, and it’s like he’s trying to suffocate you with his kisses, barely giving you much time to breathe in between them. You’re getting a little lightheaded.

He pulls away from your lips to kiss you a few times on the cheek, then nuzzling his face against yours. Almost like a cat.

It gives you the chance to catch your breath. His hands reach for yours, and you let him, feeling the way that his fingers interlace with your own. You look down at the way that your fingers intertwined with his dirtied and calloused ones. He was a man who worked with his hands–in more ways than one. Those same fingers belonged to the same hands that would worship you, tear and pull at you without ever breaking you completely in half. Sometimes it’d be close, but never fully. They would sometimes draw blood when the nails would sink into your flesh and leave behind crescent marks. Other times, those hands would strangle you, smack you–slap you, and bring a sting across your body that reminded you just how alive you were. Then those same hands would caress you. Cradle you.

He’d cut you on a few occasions, but they were never lethal. And with every cut, his tongue followed.

You feel reverence. Especially as you press a kiss to the tip of his fingers–you kiss each one, tenderly, making eye contact with him as you do so.

Art watches knowingly. He raises his head a little so that when he watches you, he’s looking down at you, all too aware of how you worship him. And he accepts it. But only from you. Just you. No one else.

After kissing each finger, from pinkie to thumb, you stop back at his index, soft lips pressed against the pad of it. His fingers were stained. Caked in whatever gore and dirt and grime he’d touched earlier.

Not that you cared, nor would you let it stop you. You’re a freak. Not well in the head. You’d lick any and all of his love off of the world's sharpest blade if that’s the only way he gave it. If he wanted you to cut your tongue on it, you would.

Bringing his index finger to your mouth, you wrap your lips around it, and watch him. He tastes exactly how you’d expect—foul and wretched. You catch the faintest hint of iron. A taste that you’ve come to associate pleasantly with him. That part feels right.

Art’s gaze is fixed on you. You can’t read his thoughts, and though he doesn’t speak, you recognize what that look means. Even as he observes you, teeth bared subtly, head still held high, which he inclines just slightly as you take another finger in your mouth–his middle one.

You suck his fingers lewdly, and close your eyes. You imagine it’s his cock, even though you know that his fingers can’t compare to the real deal. You push your tongue through his index and middle as you take more of him in your mouth. Art watches your tongue work around him, until he decides to press down on the muscle, effectively stopping you.

You stare at him.

Seconds linger in silence, and he relinquishes pressure off of your tongue, letting you move it freely again.

And you do. You hold his hand and go back to kissing his fingers before fellating them. Index first. Then the middle. And finally the ring finger–all three at once. The taste of iron is stronger. You sigh a gentle moan as you pull your head back and give him back his hand. You kiss at the tips of his fingers again. As you’re about to take his fingers a third time, he leans forward instead, his lips taking yours. You feel the way that he seizes both of your wrists as he floods your senses all over again, and you let him.

You try to say his name in between the kisses, but each time you get a breath between the barrage of affection that seems to practically swallow you whole, Art steals your voice with another passionate kiss. Again, his taste is bitter, his teeth are damn near rotten, but you’ve gotten so accustomed to the flavor that it doesn’t make you gag. It makes you feel only slightly sickly. But the arousal overrides any lingering discomfort.

It’s disorienting. It’s all so much at once. You feel your body temperature rise. Art gives you back one of your wrists, but in doing so, he places his hand at the small of your back and pulls you in against him, until there’s no space left between you.

That’s when you feel it. You feel the heat of his erection pressed against your thighs. You’ve excited him enough, it being quite clear the effect your mouth had on him.

You smile, but his lips are back at yours again, and the taste of bitterness hits at the back of your tongue—the most sensitive taste receptors lighting up and ripping any smugness you had straight out of you as you close your eyes and sigh softly. His tongue mingles with yours.

He begins to move, forcibly taking you with him as you change where you’re standing, so that he’s no longer the one whose back is facing the workbench–it’s you. You feel the edge of the table bump against your ass. With your positions effectively switched, you don’t mind at all, far too enraptured by the kisses of your clown lover.

This was pure bliss.

He pulls away from your lips, now kissing the corners of your mouth, then going to your jawline, until he’s at your neck, sucking and licking and nibbling, giving you goosebumps. You feel your nipples go hard. You close your eyes and moan softly.

This is the few times of the year that you get this. It was the time that you’d be peppered in kisses, ravaged, and torn asunder in such a way that it would take you almost the remaining however many days, months, or years until you’d see him again to put yourself back together.

“Art…” You laugh a little when his lips tickle a part of your neck. He silences you again with his lips to yours. You feel the way that he nips at your tongue this time and draws a little blood. The endorphins from the pain gives you a pleasant buzz. He bites your bottom lower lip next, taking note of how he’s beginning to use his teeth more and more during this exchange, and you think about how he’s eaten the faces of his victims before.

You could be next.

He pulls away and kisses at the corners of your lips a second time. He’s obsessed with using his mouth. Your eyes finally open, and you gently move your head back a bit, until Art finally stops, the both of you staring into each other's eyes. His teeth are bared all the same as they were before, but there’s a sultry gaze you’re familiar with. Up this close, you can see the more subtle details of him.

Like his lashes, which otherwise, from a distance is obscured by the paint over his face.

How could someone–or… Something, be so monstrous… Yet so… pretty? You could get lost in his gaze. You could drown in it. And he knows that. And he likes that power over you.

Your lips turn upwards into a soft smile, and you feel a desire pool at your groin. It’s an undeniable throbbing in tune with your heartbeat. Nevermind that you can feel his own arousal against you. He’s warmer than you–he feels like he’s practically burning up, compared to you, and the body heat radiating from him only serves to make you hotter in turn. Right to the point where you’re developing a thin sheen of sweat across your brow.

“I love you.”

He watches you, and through his body language and eyes, you understand him through his reaction. You see a slow, smug smile appear on his face.

Very much an, I know. No sign of reciprocation. That would be too heavy of an ask from someone like him. But him being receptive to your love was a testament to how much he liked you.

Not that you expected anything less from a cold killer such as the Miles County Clown. The fact that he hasn’t yet killed you throughout all these years speaks in a kind of love on its own, you’d think.

Maybe not the one that people would refer to as being actually in love, but for him, for Art, it was. Love was tolerance. Love was allowing you to live.

You feel a hand slip up your dress again, and this time, you don’t stop him. You part your legs for him this time, willingly letting him indulge in what you denied him earlier. Through your panties you feel his thick fingers, his index and middle pressing against your clit, sliding down between your cunt and back up again. He threatens to penetrate you with the tips of his fingers through your panties with a gentle prod, but doesn’t follow through on it.

You ache, feeling more empty than ever.

He’s doing this on purpose. All because you told him to wait earlier.

“Art,” You say his name with a weak laugh, and he stops to look at you, knowingly, at that, well aware of what it is he’s doing. His little way of being petty with you, and he continues once more, trailing his fingers up and down between your thighs, waiting for you to continue.

“It’s been months,” You plead for him. His face is still inches from yours, and you lean more of yourself against him, as your voice gets low. He observes you through half lidded eyes, analyzing you, assessing you and sizing you up. He’s no longer smiling, and his lips are downturned ever so slightly. The expression looks more neutral now.

“I wanna have some fun.” You purse your lips. “Put your weapon crafting down for a bit?”

Your tone is pleading. It’s a mix of a command and a request–you’re voicing your thoughts. You try to get a reading on his response through his eyes, but he’s put up a wall that you can’t breach. He’s unreadable. It’s been months upon months since you’ve both done anything together.

“…Please?”

Art’s gaze is still indecipherable. It makes you a little nervous. The hairs on the back of your neck begin to stand up. Did he change his mind suddenly?

Had it been anyone else, you know they’d be dead instantly. There was no wondering about that. Not a speculation or doubt in your mind. You hated when he did this, when he was fucking with you like this, leaving you in silence. It’s in times like these that you’re reminded that you’re with a wild animal, and he could snap at any second if he decided he was hungry. It was part of the risk you took and the bargain you struck.

Maybe he’d just stab you here and now. Slit your throat and call it a fucking day because he decided that, nope, don’t wanna keep doing this anymore! He could. Again, he’s pushed you away before. Other days he’s yanked you in against him. His mood was unpredictable, hard to guess, and as volatile as a storm across an ocean.

Without another word, you’re turned around, and the flat of Art’s palm travels down your spine as he presses the front of your body forward and down onto the workbench. He gives you time to adjust, so that you’re at least able to rest your forearms on the table top. As of right now, your tits are squished against the surface of the table. It’s a little uncomfortable.

This is surprisingly tender, all things considered. You remember one time when he’d been fucking you on his workbench, how he tied your hands together with some zipties and then choked you out by wrapping some rusty metal chains around your neck. And that was only after he’d finished whipping your breasts, thighs and ass until you were a bloody bruised mess barely hanging on. You still have some scars from those times. He loved to twirl you over the line of death like it was all one dance, pulling you back at the last second.

You go from feeling his palm to the fingertips travel down your back. If it weren’t for the fabric of your dress in the way, you know those blood and dirt stained fingertips would have tickled you by now. And he’s done that in the past while fucking you–tickling you mercilessly. He even makes a point to wiggles his fingers a little against your back on the way down playfully. You can’t help but laugh a little as you exhale, letting some of the excitement stirring within you leave your body through your lungs. Your breaths are getting deeper, and in times like this, when he thrills you in such a way, you’re reminded just how much he makes you feel…

Alive.

Because when you’re with him, death is always hot on your heels. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Don’t be gentle,” You tell him. He knows. You know he knows.

You hear the metallic zipper from the front of his suit go down as the teeth on the track separate and reveal the body of a man beneath that clown visage. You steal a glance over your shoulder to admire his pale skin that covered over such a thin frame. Amazing how a build such as his carries such supernatural strength.

Unceremoniously, he gets right to work, giving your ass a firm slap after lifting the back of your dress, letting it crumple up over your hips. You yelp gently as you know that there’s likely already a red spot on your rump. Art rubs the spot on your ass he’d slapped, then gives it a gentle squeeze.

You make the decision to look over your shoulder, right on time to experience watching when the killer clown makes the decision that you no longer are in need of your panties. His dirtied fingers slip within the space between the elastic waistband of your undergarment and your skin. He lets it snap against your flesh once–that’s about the extent of use it gets before he grabs whatever meager fistful he can of that excuse of ‘modesty’ you brought to him and rips it clean off your form.

“Ow!”

You told him to be rough. And he’s planning on taking that quite literally, as he’s taking it for not just the sex, but all of what precedes it apparently. He’s quietly laughing to himself, teeth showing, eyes crinkled.

“Glad you got some entertainment out of it.”

A few more noiseless giggles then he sobers up. Back to the task at hand—fucking your brains out.

He aligns himself right up against your warm dripping cunt, hands gripping your hips so tightly that his filthy fingertips leave stains on your dress. His nails are so sharp you swear that if he tried to sink them in any further, he’d pierce the cloth and right into your flesh. You inhale sharply again, bracing for the moment he sinks in. You feel the tip of his cock press against you and begin to push in, the head barely getting the chance even to get inside you before it slips and glides between the crack of your ass as he misses. Your excitement stutters for a second, but then ramps back up higher than before, impatience and desire washing over you wholly like a wave.

You’ve been grabbing at the edge of the workbench, hands holding tight and then releasing them of their grip every so often to relax your muscles. You don’t say anything.

He’s annoyed at missing you the first push in.

With a look of disgruntlement he instead opts for one hand reaching to push your head down against the table with such a cruel force that makes you worry for a split second that he was trying to crush your skull. It was his way of trying to steady you as he then uses his other hand to line the head of his cock right against your cunt for the second time.

You shiver as you feel him, hands turning to fists that you clench tightly as inch by agonizing inch, he spreads you and fills you out easily. Your body did the heavy work, and has been prepping for him for the last ten minutes. It’s slick, and he can feel the wetness of your cunt hit against his balls when he bottoms out within you. That’s when you sigh in relief.

He almost pulls all the way out, then rams into you roughly, making you exhale sharply as the table shakes upon impact. The few tools laid out shuddered until they stilled. Give or take a few more times of this, and he finally releases his hand on your head, but you still opt to keep your head down.

The rhythm he has is a little awkward at first, but he is quick to course correct, both hands firmly planted on your hips, keeping you steady. You can’t see his face right now, but you’ve seen it plenty of times when you’ve fucked before. How his mouth would go into that ‘o’ shape, and the way his eyes would go half mast, holding nothing but a glimpse of paradise behind him as you could see that he was as close to heaven as his wicked self could get. You were beautiful to him, as far as sacks of flesh and blood went. And you could tell the times that he looked at you in such a predatory manner that there was restraint behind it.

You feel the pressure build up within you at a steady rate as he leans over you, chest pressed against your back, sucking on your neck, marking you. Then he nips. Then kisses, then sucks so goddamn hard on the same spot that you swear that he’s trying to suction your flesh right off your body.

It doesn’t take long for you to be so close. He’s so warm. The sound of his body slapping against yours, mixed with the creak of the workbench that’s forced to undergo the assault of you being rammed into it, a few quiet moans slip past your lips to join along.

You’re unbearably close, feeling yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, just a little more and—

Your phone goes off.

You forgot to silence it.

You feel it vibrating in the pocket of your dress. The ringtone scares the shit out of you and Art, who abruptly jumps a little while still on top of you.

“Of course.” You say sarcastically. “Of course! Who the fuck is calling me?!” You’re irritated now, mood under threat of being ruined. The excitement you felt shrivels up.

Reaching inside your hiked up dress pocket, you pull out your phone and check to see who had the audacity to try and get a hold of you in your time of undoing.

Your friend. Sort of. He was like a close acquaintance? If you could call him that. You met him when you were out and about one night. He’s an okay dude, hasn’t done anything wrong.

If only he didn’t harbor a romantic interest in you when you were already spoken for. But how could you begin to tell someone that you’re involved with a psychopathic killer clown? Specifically the Miles County Clown?

You’re ready to send him right to voicemail, until the phone is seized right out of your hand from over your shoulder.

“Hey!”

Your protest is in vain, as Art too, looks at who is calling you right now. You had HOPED he’d take a look at it, have his curiosity sated, maybe turn the phone off or better yet, you’d even forgive him if he tossed it over his shoulder, just this once!

But the look he’s giving you, then the phone, makes your heart sink as you realize.

“Art, don’t do it—“

His expression turns wicked, mouth upturned into the most shiteating grin you’ve ever seen.

“Art, I swear to god—“

But god’s not here, nowhere to be found in this workshop. God’s forsaken you. Doing the devils tango with a demon can do that.

Giggling silently to himself, in an act of deliberate defiance against you as well as likely for his very own amusement, he accepts the phone call for you and places it right to your ear.

What a gentleman. Truly.

You’re going to fucking kill him. You try to take the phone away from him, but he merely pulls it back out of your reach.

“Hello?”

You can hear the voice on the other end of the line. Art brings it down to your ear again and you try to make a reach for it a second time, only for him to do the exact same thing as before, silently cackling all the while. It’s become apparent that he’s not going to let you have it.

“Hellooooo?”

With a resigned sigh, you don’t fight him any further. Art puts the phone to your ear for the third time.

“Hey.” You answer wearily.

“Hey!” His voice on the other end of the line is suddenly lighter, filled with levity. You can hear the way that his breath is hitched in the back of his throat. Static tinges at the edges of his words. Must be a shoddy connection down here.

“How are you?”

“I’m–” You start to answer, but are interrupted by Art going back to rocking his hips into you while still over you. Once again, you look over your shoulder to give him the stink eye.

“I’m good, just uh, you know. Hanging out.” You respond, exhaling deeply as Art stirs the fire within you again after it had just begun to cool down.

“Nice, me too.” He says, and lets the silence between you both sink in for a few seconds. “You doing anything tomorrow?”

This would all be so much easier if you weren’t getting dicked down.

“I… I’m uh–”

He’s pounding into you from behind now, still leaning over you, holding the phone for you in one hand and keeping the other on the workbench for stability. Each fluid roll of his hips is equally tantalizing as the previous, his body connecting with yours in such a familiar way you craved. The table shakes, and you’re gripping the edges of it for dear life. You can hear his heavy breath from behind you, excitement building in each time he fills and empties his lungs.

“Art–” You say his name through grit teeth like a warning, with annoyance in your tone, but the excitement you feel, the rush and the thrill of it all has you coming close to release. Why does this feel so good? This man, this sweet man, who has done nothing wrong to you, interested in you, blissfully unaware that your heart belongs to someone else, being fooled like this. It’s wrong. This is wrong. Art knew about this man. He knew about him for some time. Art made it clear that he hated him. The only reason he’s still breathing is because you asked Art not to put this man’s head on a pike, but you fear it’s only a matter of time until your clown lover eviscerates this trespasser for encroaching on what he perceives as his territory–you.

“Art?" He repeats.

This is all an act of revenge done on the Art’s part. His pettiness knew no bounds.

“Yeah, art. You know–Mhn–” Your nails dig into the edge of the workbench as if that’ll somehow make a difference in the fact that he’s pounding into your cunt with such an aggressive force that begins to make you ache.

“You know, p-painting? Drawing. That sort of thing.”

You can only pray the ungodly sinful noises of his skin slapping against yours can’t be heard over the line.

“Ohhh… Well, hey, you wanna hangout sometime soon? It’s been a bit. Wanted to catch up with you if that’s fine.”

You’re not paying attention to a damn thing this dude is saying. It’s just words, in one ear, straight out the other.

“Uhuh.” You say without thinking. You’re close. You’re unbearably close as Art angles himself in such a way that hits just right. He knows how you work all too well. He knows how to unwind you and how to pull you apart piece by piece like it’s second nature to him.

Art’s pushing you towards the cliff, and there’s no stopping it. Your vision starts to blur a little. Your breathing deepens, and Art knows what’s about to come next, which only seems to spur him on as well, exciting him to the point where now he’s going fast not just for you, but for himself, chasing his own orgasm hot on its heels.

“How’s about next Thursday, at 7pm? There’s a new restaurant across the street from where we both met—“

The phone becomes nothing short of white noise. This shouldn’t feel so right, it shouldn’t. But it does. Gods above, it does.

You feel yourself lose sense of the world around you. There’s nothing but ringing in your ears, and you realize how little time you have to prepare before it’s too late.

Your orgasm crashes into you and is ripped out of you all within seconds. You try to keep quiet, your voice strangled and choked out in the process. Your release is violent as it tears you between what feels like the state of life and death. Your cunt tightens around his cock, squeezing him in contractions that trigger him in turn. Art hisses like a serpent, feeling his muscles lock up and knowing that he only has a few seconds to bury himself to the hilt within you, and he does. His face twists into an ugly and horrid expression as he comes inside you, dropping the phone on the workbench in the process while filling you with all the pent up energy he had been keeping away from you for months.

All of what he’d been denying you was now yours.

“Hello?”

You’re finally coming back into your own body a few meager seconds later when you register the voice, and hurriedly grab the phone before Art gets the chance.

“Can I call you back?” You ask, holding the phone to your mouth, but you weren’t really asking. Your friend had no real say in it, and before he even gets the chance to respond, you hang up. And then you lower your head and sigh. All the while, Art has since recovered, but his legs are shaky. You shove him off of you, and he stumbles back with an uneven balance, post orgasm weakened. Goofily he fumbles past the stool from earlier, which he tries to grab but fails in doing so. Instead, he lands right on his ass.

You’re sure to follow that up by throwing your phone at his head, which it does, but it lands with a clack right beside him. The only reason you felt remotely confident in doing that is because you’re both that close. Well, that and irritation made you a bold motherfucker sometimes. Yet despite all of that, he sits there, a wickedly amused smile on his face.

You pull your dress back down. Your legs tingle and you swear you feel some of his come dripping down your thigh, but you’re not sure.

“Proud of yourself, huh?” You ask, leaning against the bench for balance until you get your footing.

Yes. Yes he was proud of himself!

The rest of the night was spent at Art’s temporary hideaway space, lamenting the loss of your panties and calling back your guy friend who had unknowingly been part of something much more than he knew. And you’d never tell him. Not that you would ever have the chance to tell him really anything at all anymore in the future.

You had no idea at the time that Art would meet your friend the day you were both set to reconvene. But you should have known better, and a part of you already did. The reason you know he was dead was because he ended up on the local news the next day missing.

That, and Art had saved the man’s heart specifically for you when you came to visit him again.

#art the clown #terrifier #art the clown x you #art the clown x reader #slasher x you #slasher x reader #x reader

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simmerianne93 · 1 month ago

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[Simmerianne93]Portrait_poses_17

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Heeeello everyone!!! How are you today??!

OMG... I'm finally bringing this big pack that i have been working on for two and a half weeks.... I thought I would never finish it haha

I usually don't make packs this big.. my limit is usually 12 poses per pack, and if they are group poses, 6 at most. But this time I had this idea, after a request i receive when asking for inspo for the Family collab... very similar to my triplet posepack I posted back in May but not just with the parents but with the grand parents on the picture, and instead of triplets, with twins... and yeah... it ended up being this big.

I don't think I'll be making a pack this size again for a long time haha But I looooove the result and how they all turned out, so I think it was worth it.

Making the pics for the cover was anooother big time spent... I didn't have a fam this big (and with twins) in my game so I had to make one... First I was going to use my simself's family from the simself save that I'm currently playing with the special events that EA is bringing to the game but then for those who follow me on Bsky, where I'm sharing it, was going to be a biiiig spoiler sharing the twins growing up, 'cause they are currently toddlers xD so, instead of using my simself AND Pizzaman's family, I decided to create an unreal fam with my simself, my real boyfriend and our parents haha... And then, while testing and making the pics, I needed to age the twins up and edit them, testing, making pics, age them up again and again xD... and yeah... it was a hard work to make the pics as well haha

But as I said, I'm veeery pleased with the poses on this pack and I really, REALLY hope you enjoy them as well.

This posepack was supposed to be published last week... but I couldn't... then, I was going to publish it last friday... but I couldn't... SO... TODAY IS THE DAY!!... Here you have this cute pack that I set up at Christmas, to welcome Christmas season... and as part of the FAMILY MEMBER collab hosted by theserenadeofshadows.

I hope they are useful for you all!!

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What is on it?

4 Duo poses (for each stage from infant to teen/adult sims)

4 Grupal poses for 4 sims ( With 2 adult sims and 2 infant/toddlers/children or Teen/Adults)

4 Grupal poses for 6 sims ( With 4 adult sims and 2 infant/toddlers/children or Teen/Adults)

4 Grupal poses for 8 sims ( With 6 adult sims and 2 infant/toddlers/children or Teen/Adults)

--- What do you need?

Andrew poses player.

Teleport any sim by Scumbumbo or Mccc by deaderpool.

Invisible infant mat replacement by mcrudd (OPTIONAL FOR INFANTS WHO HAVEN'T LEARN HOW TO SIT YET)

"The hipster hugger" sofa from Basegame (or any 3sits-sofa, tho it can glitch a little bit depending on wich sofa you choose and depending on the pose)

a double bed (I used a bed from Seasons EP)

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Instructions in the original post.

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TOU

Do not claim my creations as your own.

Do not re-upload or modify my creations.

Do not make money of my creations.

Do not include my creations in Mods folders to download.

Please follow my Term Of Use.

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⬇⬇⬇

Download it now here — ALL MY POSES ON THIS COLLAB ARE FREE TO DOWNLOAD WITH NO EARLY ACCESS.

⬆⬆⬆

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If you want to support me: Patreon | Ko-fi

All my poses overview: Pinterest | Wix | Tumblr

More in-game preview pics of all my poses: Instagram

My socials: Twitter | BlueSky | Instagram | Tumblr

Lives and videos: Youtube

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I really hope you like them and I will say in advance: Thank you so much for using them.

@ts4-poses

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mayullla · 11 months ago

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Title: Obsessive Passion

Character(s): Witch's Apprentice (Unnamed character/original work)

Summary: You didn't know how much jealousy and hatred he had in his heart and you didn't know how desperate his love was too. He was greedy and was even willing to break you so that you would love him back. Tags/Warnings: male!yandere, fem!reader, apprentice!yandere x witch!reader, both are adults, general yandere themes, brainwash/hypno, drugging, manipulation, dubious consent, 3.4k words

You were a famous witch in the kingdom. Many sought you out for your spells and potions, and the things created by your hand were highly coveted. You were a woman who had reached fame for her talents in magic, knowledge, and powers at a young age. Many sought you out, including the royal family. However, instead of seeking more fame and money, you chose to leave the public eye and live a quiet life away from the capital. Only a few trusted friends and acquaintances knew where you were. You still made many potions and helped whenever the situation required it, but for the most part, you wanted to make time for yourself. You wanted to research and create spells and potions of your interest instead of what was requested and demanded.

With you, you took your apprentice, a man who had talents similar to yours, yet not as fully developed. Many said that he would not be able to achieve what you have due to his lack of mana, but you believed that he would be able to do more, even with that weakness. You knew he was smart, smart enough to figure out how to overcome that hurdle.

But maybe you should have been more careful with him.

You didn't know of the crazed love he had for you, a lust mixed in with unchecked jealousy and hunger. He loved you, he was so madly in love with you that sometimes he felt that it was driving him insane.

You were, in a sense, his savior, someone who took him out of a dark hole and showered him with positive love and attention. You were the one who saw his potential even with his lack of magic when others tossed him aside due to his limits.

It was an innocent crush at first, his heart beating faster when you got close to him as you helped him figure out a new spell that he was trying to create. He was deeply touched when he found out that you created a spell to move your mana to him when he started to run out, effectively stopping him from making progress in a lot of his work and studies.

To him, whenever you poured your energy onto him, he could not help but feel a shiver down his spine. His face flushed into a dark shade of red, perverted thoughts in his mind. All you needed was skin-to-skin contact, holding each other's hand, or you should hold his shoulder. But to him, it was more than that, more than a hug, more than a kiss. It was far more intimate than that when he felt your magic coiling with his, mixing together in his body. It was addicting.

It was difficult for him to hold himself, some days when you saw him panting so heavily after it, he had to make an excuse of some sort.

However, he also had too much anger and too much pride. He resented those who looked down on him, their judgmental eyes ranking his worth in their minds. You were the only one who looked at him in a different light.

You always told him to think of the good for the kingdom, that even when they looked down on him, he could show them what he could do and then their thoughts would change. You were always too kind and so positive.

You weren't naive. If you were, you would have long become a mere pawn of someone malicious, working endless hours for something empty, rather than being free to do whatever you want. But he had always been the more sly one.

That was what he loved about you but also hated. He hated how talented you were compared to him. He hated that you were more powerful than him, that he was in a sense below you. Because you were gifted, you had access to all kinds of magic spell books, even those that belonged to the royal library, while he was not even allowed into the room. He hated your magic because you had so much, unlike him.

He hated your pity.

You did know of his anger, anger towards the world and around him, but you never knew the extent of it. While you also believed that he could do more, you didn't realize what he could already do.

It was just headaches at first when you woke up. Headaches that would never go away no matter what you did. No potion or spell would cast away the pain in your head. Some days it was a numb pain that you could still function throughout the day, but with a few momentary breaks here and there. Sometimes you could go through your day like normal with a very light headache. Sometimes you could do nothing but sit in one place the whole day, unable to think because of the painful throbbing that almost felt like your skull was cracking.

Moments like those always made you mentally note to create another seal for your mind so that you could avoid these sorts of headaches in the future. But by then, it would be too late.

Your apprentice had taken care of most things while you had those serious headaches, giving him work that he could do when you weren't able to do them.

But while doing those tasks, he always took time to take care of you too, handing you tea that was supposed to soothe headaches. While it didn't work for the most part, you appreciated his gesture. Maybe if you were a little more aware and less in pain, you would notice something about the tea that he gave you.

Deep in your sleep, you would never notice how your apprentice would loom over you, having a smile on his lips, cheeks flushed as he played with your mind.

Being famous, you had always been careful of hidden threats and placed many seals in your body to protect yourself. One was on your mind, a seal that you had placed to protect you from any mind magic and dark magic. Much to your apprentice's amusement, he found it very cute that you were that cautious when dark or mind magic had become so rare.

It was taboo and illegal to dabble in such magic after all. Many who were found to be able to do so were mostly killed and burned on torture stakes. It had been years since someone could use such magic. Most magic of that sort was inherited after all, yet when they continued to kill most who could, there was no heir for such magic.

But it wasn't like all dark magic was gone.

He could not help but laugh when he thought of it, how you were so overly cautious of such magic yet took in an apprentice who could use dark magic. This was something you did not know, nor did you know much of. This was what he had over you.

Your seal, while effective if magic was used suddenly to get in your mind, was weak if it was something gradual, slowly chipped away. You would never notice it, not when your headaches started to worsen and worsen the more he chipped your little seal.

It felt like your mind was ripping apart, yet you could not wake up, a sleep potion that paralyzed you, keeping you in deep slumber no matter what he did to you. The torturous pain would be nothing but a nightmare the moment you wake up. He could not help but pity you a little, yet also find a certain thrill to it. A certain satisfaction that he could make you like this.

That he held power over you.

Your body reacted greatly to the broken seal, stiffening as sounds left your mouth, no matter how much he tried to minimize the pain. When it was forcibly broken, there was bound to be some backlash. Yet just as quickly, the sleep potions dragged you back to sleep, unable to react to the shattered seal, unable to see him right above you.

He could not help but laugh, holding it back as he covered his mouth with his hands. His lovely teacher, the teacher who trusted him so much, now at his mercy. He would finally watch you fall from your little stage right under his arms, weak and nothing like the powerful witch you were.

It was a complicated seal that he created just for you, drawn with magic above your head. It was made just for you, like the spell that you had created for him. It would replace the seal that he had broken, and you would be none the wiser. Even if you checked the seal, you would see and feel that same seal that he had broken still there.

One by one, he would change your thoughts, amusing himself in your confusion as he continued to slowly change your mind to his liking, doing things for his pleasure, yet none the wiser.

It took a while, but when you woke up, the headache you had for weeks was suddenly gone.

It was surprising when you realized that you didn't feel like someone was hitting you constantly with a hard, dull hammer every time you even blinked. You were suspicious of the change, but you also felt nothing more than relief. Even when you checked the seals that you placed in your body, nothing was strange.

Yet you just could not help but feel that something was off. That something was not right, but you just could not place a finger on it. You checked the potions and cabinets in the house to see if you misplaced something or if something was stolen, but it wasn't the case. Your apprentice took care of most of the cleaning and potion making while you were resting in bed. Anyone who visited your apprentice had given them the requested items and potions without any problem, but something just felt off.

"Is something the matter?"

You were startled by his voice, jumping a little as if you were caught doing something you shouldn't do. Turning to him, you could not help but frown. "It is nothing, I am just a little confused right now. I can't help but feel like I am missing something."

You honestly replied to your apprentice, wondering and maybe hoping that he had the answer why you were like this. "I am not sure," he answered, having a worried look on his face, wondering if he had made a mistake while you were resting. "Did I make a mistake of some sort?"

Looking at his thinking face, probably trying to calculate expenses or thinking where stuff in where, you shook your head, raising your hand to stop him. "No, it is fine. Thank you for taking care of everything." Seeing that soft smile on his lips, you decided to give your worries a rest.

Yet it always lingered in the back of your mind. As days passed, you started to pay more attention to your apprentice. When you were in the middle of your own research, your mind sometimes thought of him unconsciously, wondering what he was doing and where he was. If he was in the room, you became overly conscious of him. Your eyes could not help but look at him some days, falling into a daze until you snapped out of it with him calling you with a worried look on his face.

It wasn't like you ignored him in the past; you tried to teach him when you were not caught up with your own research. In fact, you were able to give more time to him after you moved to the village, having more time to do whatever you wished. You invested more time into helping him train and learn.

However, this was different.

Your mind just could not think straight sometimes, finding it hard to concentrate when your mind kept thinking of him. He was your apprentice, and while not really far in age, sometimes you thought of him more as an assistant. He was mature and helped you a lot too back then when you had so much work to do. Even now, when he followed you to the countryside, he continued to help you when you needed it. He was reliable.

It wasn't on purpose when you unconsciously started to look over him more often, seeing and checking what he was doing. You took even more time away from your own research to help him learn more about magic and his own research. A quick learner, you always thought, when he picked up a lot of the things you taught him. He was faster… way faster than you when you studied magic around his level.

As more days passed, you started to think that he was better than you, clearly way more talented than you. More often than before, you would compliment him. You complimented him a lot before too, yet you started to do it more and more often. And every compliment seemed to remind you that he was far better than you, that he was better than you.

But it never changed the fact that, unlike you, his magic reserves were smaller than yours. You frowned at the predicament. You were still researching how to help your apprentice's problem, yet you still didn't find a way to fix it. One's own limits were decided the day they were born, and not much could change to make it larger or smaller. The only way you could help your apprentice was to give him your own.

A light touch on his hand or arms, you concentrated on moving your own magic to him. Yet even that took a long time.

Pushing all your other research away, you started trying to find a way to make the transfer quicker and more clean, as there were moments when magic would just leak out and largely go to waste. You were fine with it, to be fair, born with large reserves that it was difficult to use them all in one day anyway, yet you just could not forget your apprentice's face, the jealousy in his eyes when he looked at you.

"Good job. You are doing so well." Compliments continued to leave your lips. Yet as soon as it did, darkness coiled in your stomach as you patted his head. He… he was better than you… Far, far better than you.

You looked down at his sitting form, a smile on his lips, your hand still on his hair as you zoned out deep in thought. "You should really stop patting my head," he told you in a cheery voice, "I am not like some elementary kid who should be rewarded with head pats." You thought for a moment. Looking at him, you could not help but think that it was true, he was far too old for such a thing, but just that you had a habit of doing so.

As soon as you thought that, you tried to take your hand away from his hair, unconsciously wondering if you offended your apprentice or not, yet your hand was stopped by a larger hand. "Ah, I didn't mean it like that!" he said, looking almost surprised when his teacher suddenly started to avoid him. "It is fine to touch my hair, you know… I don't mind," he told you a flush on his face, looking else ever as he tried to hide his cheeks with one hand, "I always know that you like touching my hair, don't you? What I mean to say is that you can touch it whenever... but I am not a kid."

Yes… nothing was wrong… Nothing was wrong at all.

From there, it spiraled again. You were able to function in your daily life, but there were just moments when your memories blanked, and you barely remembered anything. At one point, you thought it was the tea that you were drinking, the one that your apprentice would always make for you.

You were suspicious of the liquid inside your cup, pausing as you stared at it with narrowed eyes. "Is something the matter, teacher?" You looked up at your apprentice, who was looking at you in wonder, an eyebrow raised as he tilted his head. "Do you not like the tea? I made it as you have always liked."

"It is nothing," you said, moving the tea closer to your lips. The smell hit your nose, the same fragrance that you were always familiar with. For a moment, you hesitated, but when you were watched by your student, you chose to take a drink of the tea…

"It is adorable how cautious my teacher is." Your eyes were glazed over as you blankly stared at the floor. Your fingers that were holding the teacup lost their strength, letting the glass fall to the floor and shatter. "Clumsy. Clumsy~" Your apprentice had a mocking tone as he looked at your sitting form. There was no recognition in your eyes, whatever sliver of it was quickly dragged back into the haze. "What would you do without me?"

Moving in front of you, he spelled the glass teacup to rise from the floor and mend itself. When it was placed onto the table, it looked as if it was never broken from the start.

Looking at you, he moved his hands to gently grab your face, forcing you to look at him. "But then again, I always loved my teacher. So much so that it drives me insane sometimes." Your unfocused eyes stared back at him, making him feel chills that he was the one who caused this. That he was the one who made you like this.

He could not help but burst out laughing.

My precious teacher… my precious, precious teacher!" He kept on chanting, in the middle of a quiet forest where there was nothing to hide. His eyes were red with lust and lovesickness.

"My cautious little teacher, slowly you will fall into my arms, and when I finally have you all to myself, I will chain you to me so that you will never be able to leave me. I will make you think of me just as much as I think of you." One by one, he told you all the things he would do to you when you finally could not think for yourself. When your mind breaks and shatters, he will never mend it; instead, he will accept it into his heart.

Then he will create a piece with it that is submissive to him, that yearns for him, that begs for him. One that places him in a high stage that demands others' attention, yet he will give none to them when his eyes are on you, just as he had forced yours to his. You will tell others that he is your heir and that you will be fully retiring.

He will be the one to take care of you, he will take all your magic from your body, greedily taking everything, leaving you unable to even sit up from the bed. He will take care of your body, telling you how well you have done, letting you rest as he fulfills orders for potions and creates spells without limit, looking for you again and again when he runs out.

He will make you sign a contract to become forever his, he will make you sign your name into something that will relinquish everything that belongs to you and give it to him. He will make you give up your talents, your knowledge, your wisdom. He will take everything and gobble it up, as you scream in pain and anguish he will comfort you in his arms and hushed loving words.

You will be his and nobody will be the wiser. Nobody will notice how broken you become as you can do nothing but follow his orders, when you will tell others that he has now inherited your shop and that you will instead become something of a sort of helper. Nobody will know that it is hard for you to make simple potions as he teaches you how to make an easy potion, when you barely even have enough magic to use for yourself as he continues to steal from you.

He will make you clingy, he will make you feel useless and desperate just as he had felt as he looked at you in the past.

You made him insane, and he will show you what it was like as you drowned in his love.

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tarot-by-e11e · 7 months ago

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PAC: What do you need to learn to love about yourself?

Never forget to only take what resonates and leave what doesn't. This is a general PAC reading, so if the first pile you chose doesn't resonate with you, then maybe you're meant to read another pile.

(this is for entertainment purposes only)

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 1: Ace of Swords, 4 of Coins, 9 of Cups

You may feel like an outcast, Pile 1. You don’t think like other people. You might have also been scrutinized for being able to “work smart”, being told, “Why do we have to do it a new way when the old way still works?”. My dear Pile 1, you must learn to love your inner visionary. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to improve the current system of things. You sought to evolve and you hope by sharing your ideas, others can grow and move forward with you. You’re also able to see through the mess and create clarity for yourself. Embrace the parts of you that can naturally find ways of life more efficiently and cost-effectively.

Another great thing about you that deserves a whole lot of love is your practical approach towards financial literacy. Others might have called you stingy but they didn’t know you might have grown up in a place of lack. So you had promised yourself to work smart so that you won’t have to worry about how you’re going to afford to put food on the table, a roof over your head, and clothes on your back.

There’s nothing to be ashamed about knowing how to make money work for you. You have this natural ability to be wise and practical about your resources. Be proud that you know how to also be secure internally as well. Establishing healthy boundaries is a skill we all need yet not everyone learns. People call you guarded, I say you know that not everyone deserves to have access to you.

Finally, never shame yourself for being able to achieve your goals and dreams in life, pile 1. You should allow yourself to enjoy the fruits of your labor unapologetically. This is a rather hard pill to swallow for those with survivor’s guilt. Being able to become the person you’ve always wanted to be means those people you loved who didn’t evolve with you might get left behind. This makes it difficult for you to allow yourself to savor your success when you have loved ones who haven’t achieved their dreams yet.

As much as you want to be happy for them, you can’t make them achieve their success for them. They chose their way of life as you did yours. If your success bothers them, it’s not your responsibility to coddle and make yourself small for their comfort. So, if you feel you deserve to go on a solo vacation for your hard work, then go for it. If you want to move into your own apartment, go right ahead.

You have every right to use your money to whoever you see fit. You’ve worked hard to earn that, so treat yourself right with the fruits of your labor. Don’t apologize for that promotion. Never apologize for your happiness. You just need to remember one thing: you can’t control how others react to your success.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 2: Moon, 9 of Swords, 4 of Swords

First of all pile 2, one thing you should learn to love about yourself is your intuition and your ability to easily see through the BS. Yup, I said it loud and clear. You see through the BS in people. They can’t lie to you, even to save their lives. Your intuition is a gift that helps you in any way that can help lead you into your highest good. Though it seems that pile 2 feels bad that you see through the superficial two-faced niceties among your peers. You might have experienced moments where you muttered under your breath, “I hope I’m wrong” only to be proven right yet again. Don’t you think it’s high time you should stop lying to yourself and embrace this amazing gift?

Another thing you should learn to love about yourself is knowing your limits and being able to give yourself the space to honor and validate your fears and anxiety. Don’t beat yourself up for being aware of what you can or cannot do because knowing your limitations means you can utilize whatever skills you have at hand that are to your advantage.

Also, not everyone is resilient enough to be able to hold space for their fears, anxiety, and insecurities without letting the aforementioned swallow them whole. You know yourself well enough that you need to be able to safely allow your feelings to be seen and validated for your and everyone’s good. You know what it’s like to be at the bottom, so you know that with your acquired knowledge backed by personal experience, you can help someone else ease through their own fears and anxiety.

Finally Pile 2, you need to stop feeling guilty about prioritizing your self-care and rest. You know what your body requires to be able to do your tasks every day. There’s nothing wrong with being able to listen to what your body needs intuitively. When you know you’re about to rest, you know yourself well enough that you need to pause, reassess, and re-strategize your approach moving forward.

You should also be proud of knowing how to protect your peace. Some people who call you selfish for putting yourself, down don’t like the fact that they can’t manipulate and abuse you to their advantage. The issue is with them, never with you. Knowing how to protect and defend yourself is something you should be proud of. You know your worth and you also know what you won’t tolerate. So, you shouldn’t fault and cave into to toxic societal norm of conforming to unrealistic and unethical double standards. Embrace your self-worth. Never feel bad about putting yourself first.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 3: 5 of Swords, 10 of Coins, Justice

Hi Pile 3, what you need to learn to love about yourself is your conflict resolution skills. This pile feels like my eloquent speakers pile. Could also be my bookworm pile. With an extensive vocabulary and unfortunately growing up in a hostile environment, for the sake of your survival, you grew up having no choice but to be good at conflict resolution. I know it’s an odd thing to love about yourself but another great thing that you should learn to love about yourself is you know when to stand firm and fight, if necessary.

Like, if diplomacy is useless, you’re ready to take the offensive approach. But this has always been your last resort. Knowing what it’s like to grow up in a chaotic environment if you had a choice, you would avoid recreating that childhood chaos in your current adult life. You’d exhaust all diplomatic approaches before you’re forced to take the offensive stance. That’s one of the many things about you that deserves to be loved and appreciated.

What you need to learn to love about yourself is your legacy/roots/ancestry, pile 3. This could also be my POC / mixed race / immigrant pile. It sort of makes sense why you’re a bit iffy about your lineage, especially if you’re mixed race because you might have been bullied when you were younger. So, it’s a bit tricky to love a part of you that your immediate environment teased/bullied/ostracized you for.

You must have dealt with a whole plethora of traumatic stories because you don’t look like most people around you. There’s nothing wrong with being different. There’s nothing wrong with being an immigrant. There’s nothing wrong about being of mixed race. You are beautiful/handsome/lovable just the way you are. The issues is never with you so never shame yourself for your lineage. You deserve love, respect, and happiness for simply existing.

Finally, don’t feel bad about being honest and holding others accountable. There’s nothing to be ashamed of when you are upholding your integrity. You should learn to love the parts of yourself that cannot stand injustice. You have this natural instinct to defend the powerless and speak for the silenced. Not everyone is brave enough to fight for their beliefs and the rights of others. Your need for truth is quite remarkable. So never feel bad about not being a good liar. It just means you don’t see the point of lying to someone.

In this age where manipulation and mental games are being praised as “owning your power”, people, like you pile 3, are rarer than black opals in a Pacific ocean full of diamonds. So never let anyone bully you into conforming to this mental gymnastics just to be accepted/in a relationship. People who are meant to be in your life don’t have to be lied to in order for them to want to be with you. You can only keep someone that wants to be kept.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Pile 4: 10 of Cups, Page of Wands, King of Cups

From what I can pick up for you pile 4 is that you should be proud that you came from a loving home. I know, it kind of sounds like too much of a flex. To have been able to grow up in a loving environment while your peers grew up in chaotic and traumatic environments tends to leave a heavy guilt in your heart. A part of you feels bad that you can’t relate to having a crappy childhood because your parents actually did the work and healed together so that you can have a happy childhood.

So… whenever your friends or peers open up about how they feel unloved and unappreciated at home then they ask you about your childhood, you must have lied to avoid putting salt in their wounds. I understand the need for camaraderie but you shouldn’t feel bad about having come from a loving family. If your friends are okay with this suggestion, why not invite them over? Ask your family if they can be more understanding and considerate towards your friends. To be an example that not all adults are bad.

Another interpretation of this card is to be proud of your happiness. Don’t feel bad that you actually have a loving partner while your friends are still single. Don’t be ashamed of being seen with your significant other. It’s not like you’re intentionally making your single friends jealous whenever you answer their questions about your love life.

You should be unapologetically proud of your happiness, especially when you know you did nothing wrong. Why apologize for your happiness when everyone wants to be happy, in some shape or form? Also, consider this as a word of caution, if someone around you isn’t happy for your happiness, best to cut ties with them. It’s not wise to be around someone who doesn’t know how to be happy for the happiness of others. This doesn’t just involve relationships, this can also be applied to promotions, achievements, and awards.

Something about yourself that deserves more love pile 3 is your cheerful disposition and adventurous spirit. It’s not shameful to be able to see the silver lining. It’s not bad to be able to see the good in people. With how our world is in constant chaos and peril, we need people like you who haven’t lost hope for a better and brighter future.

So never feel bad about being perceived as naïve when you’re simply not projecting your bad experiences to the new people you meet in your life. What’s so bad about still being able to be excited about the glimmers in life? There’s nothing to feel bad about being able to cater and nurture your inner child. So never let the world shame you for never giving up hope.

Finally Pile 4, you should learn to love your natural inclination for diplomacy. Knowing when to listen to your heart or when to lead with your head is such a life-changing and valuable ability that majority of us are constantly learning to master day by day. You might have been told that you’re so mature and wiser than your age, which might have been internalized as this insatiable need to always be reliable and dependable. At times, it might feel like such a burden at times; to always be the person everyone relies on.

So… since you are aware of the weight of the responsibility of being the reliable person for everyone, you should use your ability of discernment to decide a schedule on when will you entertain request for counsel for those who need you. You know what your needs are, and you also know that you need to be able to live a balanced life to be of service to others. So, learn to be okay with putting yourself first so that you can help others better in a later date.

.·:*¨ ¨*:·. •,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.•,¸,.·’ ‘·.,¸,•.·:*¨ ¨*:·.

Please do let me know how you resonate with your pile in the comment section below.

Thank you so much for looking through my PAC.

Tagging my personal account: @e11e27 as a reminder.

#divination #tarot #tarot reading #tarotcommunity #pick a card #tarot cards #tarotblr #pick a picture #pick a pile #pick a photo #pac tarot #pac reading

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nochukoo97 · 1 year ago

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new beginnings

pairing: ceo!jungkook x figureskater!oc

warnings/summary: oc takes up a new job as a cashier, and she gets a CAT, jk is a little grumpy but he gets better, he’s also annoying by calling oc’s cat a cottonbud LOL, he calls her sweetheart, and oc has a little crushy crush on this hot neighbour, they bump into each other three times, basically they’re destined to meet each other even when they barely know each other

word count: 2.4k+ / TAGLIST OPEN

series masterlist!

“Goddamn, how many pieces of clothing do you own?” Yeji grunts as she helps to pull along two of your suitcases into her apartment’s lift.

“It’s all costumes for my competitions, my coach keeps insisting to keep them in case we need it in the future,” You internally sigh at the thought of your coach, she wasn’t bad by all means, but she constantly pushed you to your limits with countless competitions she enrolled you in. But after all, you didn’t come to Seoul and join the national team expecting a smooth and comfortable journey.

“Anyways, you’ve gotta tap the card right here,” She explains the whole crazy security system here, then passes you the access card to the apartment. One week ago you would’ve probably not expected to be in this situation, now moving in with your best friend, as well as her boyfriend who has begun to sleepover at her place more often than necessary. But right now if it meant that less money would fall out of your bank account, putting up with whatever third-wheeling you were about to go through would make it all worth it.

You pull your other two suitcases into the lift, noticing a man shuffling into the corner to make space for the two of you and your four huge suitcases. The lift door closes and there’s this deafening silence that fills the lift, with the way Yeji widens her eyes at you but says nothing, you assume it might be about the latter standing in the corner of the lift.

“What kind of signals were you trying to send me in there?” You whine when the lift door finally closes, as Yeji abandons the now-rolling-away suitcases to grab onto your hands.

“It’s rolling!” You exclaim, as she jumps slightly, your voice raising a little louder than usual in panic.

“Sorry-sorry, anyways, he’s the guy I told you about! Maybe I can set you up with him,” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, giving you the same taunting look she did when she had proposed moving into her apartment.

“No! I don’t even know that man, anyways with those looks he might already be taken,” You brush your best friend off, anyways, you didn’t want a relationship right? When Yeji had told you about the hot guy in her apartment, you had immediately brushed the idea of being set up off, since that’s exactly how you met your ex, and it definitely did not end on a good note.

“Oh, so you’re attracted to him?” She jogs in front of you to look you in the eye, seemingly much more excited at her sudden discovery than you.

“What? No I didn’t say that? I just- whatever! Open the door!”

She only smirks at your stuttering, but complies as she opens the front door to her unit, and you’re greeted with a familiar sight that you now need to get used to calling home.

People had always praised you for being dainty and sweet, always dressed up in elegant costumes during your competitions, your moves on ice had always charmed the audience with how smooth you twirled and jumped.

You would like to say that they might change their minds when they spot you in this current situation: no makeup on, eyebags peeking through, in a neon green vest as you stare at the rows of cigarettes behind the cashier.

The younger you would have never expected to end up working part time in this convenience store, but here you are.

But somehow it didn’t seem too bad, you were the only worker here, besides a sweet lady who comes and sweeps the floor every evening, and the best part: you got to control the music.

To be honest, you may have been enjoying yourself a little too much with the way you hum to the music as you drink the complimentary-one-a-day coffee your manager had given you.

“One pack of menthol,” Your sudden peace is abruptly disrupted as you whip your head around, jumping slightly as you hear the voice sound from behind you.

Oh. It’s the same man from the lift, this time he’s wearing another suit in a different colour, but this time he seems much more drained than before.

“I said-” He repeats himself again, noticing your spaced out look as you stare straight at him.

“Oh, yeah! Sorry sorry, it’s been a long day,” You quickly gather yourself, mentally cursing yourself for checking out the man in front of you so shamelessly, but he only scoffs at your little mistake.

He’s either a total dickhead or is just having a bad day. Hopefully its the latter since as much as you hate to admit it, maybe he perhaps has caught your attention.

But the same man quickly walks out of the store the moment you return his black credit card, as you’re now once alone in the store, gathering your things to finally end your shift.

It’s only a few days later where you meet your next crisis, or rather a blessing in disguise.

An innocent trip to the local fair turned into you signing adoption papers for this fluffy little furball that you absolutely could not leave. To be fair, you were mainly there to find some cute accessories to buy, but the newly put up adoption booth had caught your eye.

The moment your eyes had met the beady little eyes of the small white cat, you couldn’t say no. Even if it meant paying thrice your income from working at the convenience store, anything would be worth this cat.

But then again, your heart sank further once the lady at the counter had told you the animals put up were free to adopt, or else they would be euthanised the following day. It almost made you attempt to calculate just how much it would cost to take care of all the animals here, but in the end you had settled to just bring the cat home.

“Yeji, hypothetically how mad would you be on a scale of 1 to 10 if I brought a cat home?” You press your phone in between your shoulder and cheek as you wrap the little cat in its blanket, snuggling the animal close to your chest in hopes to provide it more warmth.

“You’re kidding me right now,” You hear her sigh at the other end, “What makes you think we can raise a cat? Let alone you working night shifts and being out at training in the day?”

She wasn’t wrong, but you’re pretty sure it’ll all be okay.

“Trust me, the lady managing the adoption booth told me cats are way more independent, we can get her an automatic feeder and I’ll need to get a litter box too, and maybe some toys and treats on the side too…”

She sighs again, “And that’ll cost a gajillion dollars, where are you going to get that from?”

“I’ll find a way, trust me,”

Truth to be told, the package deal you had got for litter and food was a little more pricey than you had anticipated, but you were confident that it would save you money in the future anyways.

Cloud, the newly named cat, of which you spent many hours deciding on a name for her, was easier to handle than expected, she often played with the little gadget toy Yeji had got her, and learnt how to use her litterbox in a day, which made you come to a conclusion that you had raised a genius.

But yet your oh-so-smart furkid may also be a little too intelligent, the absence of a certain cat in the apartment has now caused your anxiety and hysteria.

“How did she manage to escape with us not noticing again! The last time I saw her crawl through your legs but this time I swear she disappeared into thin air!” You’re on the verge of tears as you tell Yeji, who only rubs her palm up and down your back as a offering of comfort.

“But you’ve got her tagged up, your number and her name is attached to her collar, I’m sure anyone who finds her will definitely call you immediately,” She tells you, watching as you now begin to hiccup, tears forming and rolling down your cheeks.

“What if she got run down by a car? Or some psychopath who hates cats found her? Oh my poor baby, she must be missing me already,” There’s a million different scenarios that play through your head, all leading to Cloud ending up in nowhere else but cat heaven.

“She’ll be fine, calm down, my friend’s cat often runs out of the house but the cat always returns every few days, some of them prefer to go out and explore, perhaps Cloud is the same,”

You can only sigh and hope for the best.

unknown number: hey

unknown number: did you lose a cat?

You gasp to yourself when your eyes scan the new text that had appeared on your screen, someone had found her.

you: YES

you: DON’T DO ANYTHING TO HER PLEASE

you: i promise ill pay anything for you not to do anything

Your heart beats frantically in your chest watching the three dots appear and disappear over and over again. There was no way a psychopath had truly found Cloud and already decided to perform whatever possible traumatic procedure on her right?

unknown number: why would i do anything to it??

unknown number: in fact your cat is the one who had run into my apartment and marked her territory all over.

Oh. That was the last thing you had expected.

you: do you have a litter box in your house?

The three dots taunt you as they appear once and pause for a good minute, as if whoever is on the other side is pondering hard to answer your simple question.

unknown number: what kind of question is that??

unknown number: i dont own a cat, why tf would i own a litter box??

You frown at the reply, you were grateful he didn’t do anything to Cloud, but a simple no would be great.

you: just send me your address!!

you: i need to see if she’s alright, she probably is crying for me right now

unknown number: it’s sleeping peacefully under my bed right now, i dont think its upset at all.

unknown number: here’s the address: xxx

You sigh in relief when you realise it’s the unit above your apartment, which meant she couldn’t have gone too far.

you: first of all, you never know if she’s crying in her heart

you: second of all, stop calling Cloud an it!!! she has a name and she is a girl

you: third of all, im coming upstairs im in the same apartment complex

You roll your eyes when a reply comes in faster than it did before, mostly because it’s an insult to your cat:

unknown number: who names a cat cloud?? she looks more like a cotton bud, hurry and get her.

When you reach the floor above you, you’re met with a black door, no doorbell in sight. So you simply knock, sure that it had been the person that found Cloud since it was the only unit on the floor.

What you didn’t expect is to be met with the same man you saw whilst working at the convenience store. Instead he’s in a loose shirt and some shorts, hair not styled as a few pieces of bangs fall over his eyes. His presence daunts you a little, considering how darkly lit his place was, and how he towered over you.

“Oh? So we meet again,” He seems to recognise you as he steps aside, watching as you take off your bedroom slippers, which you now curse at yourself for wearing since it was pink and fluffy.

You think you hear a little laugh when he spots your slippers but you choose to believe he didn’t anyways.

“Where is my baby?” You step in now, taking in the view of his place. It’s a little larger than Yeji’s apartment, and the interior seems… lacking some colour. It’s mostly black and grey furniture, with hints of marble and some white chairs here and there, but it’s a total opposite of your apartment.

“Don’t think she cares enough to be your baby, but your baby pissed all over my balenciaga shoes and my dumbbells,” He deadpans, nodding his head to show you the dark pair of shoes that now hang at the window, you assume to dry them out.

“Your what shoes?!” You almost turn pale at the mention of the designer brand, there’s no way he might ask you to get him a new pair right?

“Forget about that, go and get Cottonbud out of my room,” He walks into the hallway, looking back once to check if you follow him.

“What did you just call her?!” You yell at him from behind as he enters a room, a bed coming into sight and a much too familiar tail that sticks out from under the bed.

“Cloud!” You’re far too busy attempting to reunite with your cat to bother hearing another reply from the man, but the moment you come closer to the swaying tail, Cloud dashes away from your grasp and hides at the very deep end from under the bed.

“Looks like someone isn’t too keen on seeing you,”

You whip around, a frown on your face as you are met with the man who smirks, almost taunting you.

“Shut up,”

“What’re you gonna do now then? The cat’s gone further under the bed, I can’t reach there either,” He has his hands on his hips, standing and waiting for your reply.

His gaze and posture makes you feel small, and not having a single clue what to do fuels this feeling in you. And perhaps add some butterflies in too and it’ll perfectly describe how you are feeling.

“I- I don’t know! I’ve never had to deal with this situation before!” You’re pacing up and down, glancing at the bed, hoping Cloud would magically pop out and leap into your arms so you can run home away from this man.

“Well I’ve got all day sweetheart, you can slowly find a way to get Cottonbud out of my house,”

“Her name is not Cottonbud!”

“Whatever,”

TAGLIST: @skzthinker @cherrysainttt @vminkookgf @lilaissa @jjeonjjk7 @armystay89 @canyon-lwt @junecat18

#jungkook fluff #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #jungkook ff #jungkook smut #jungkook x oc #bts #boyfriend jungkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook x you

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booksinmythorax · 6 months ago

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So, in the midst of... you know, everything, life at the library goes on and I wanted to talk about the difference between Libby and Hoopla.

For those not in the know, Libby and Hoopla are both apps/software that libraries can use to offer digital items to our patrons. Libby does ebooks (including graphic novels) and audiobooks.

Hoopla does ebooks, audiobooks, digital comics (weekly issues, not just trades or graphic novels), movies, TV shows, and music.

A little while back, my library system had to cut down on the number of Hoopla items patrons can check out per month. This caused a little bit of a stir - people like Hoopla! And they should! It's really cool! But the reason we had to cut back there and not with Libby was because the ways we pay for Libby and Hoopla are different.

Libby uses a pay-per-license model. This means that when we buy an ebook or audiobook on Libby, it's like we're buying one copy of a physical item. Except, because publishers are vultures, it's often much more expensive than buying one copy of the physical book - unless it's an audiobook, in which case buying the CDs might very well be more expensive than buying the digital license on Libby. That's why you might have to wait on a list for a Libby title that's really popular: we only have licenses for so many "copies". These licenses can be in perpetuity (i.e. you pay once and you can use that copy forever) or, more commonly, for a limited length of time like a year. Once that time is up, we decide whether to pay for the license for each copy again.

Hoopla uses a pay-per-circulation model. There's no waiting: once you, the patron, decide you'd like to check something out, you can do so immediately and we pay Hoopla a smaller amount of money to essentially "rent" the license from them. Cool, right?

Except that the pay-per-circ model adds up. If we have access to a brand new or popular title on Libby and Hoopla, and the Libby copy has a long waiting list, patrons might hop over to Hoopla to check it out immediately. If enough people do this, we might end up paying more overall for the Hoopla item on a per-circulation basis than we did for the license on the Libby item. That's why libraries typically limit the number of Hoopla checkouts patrons can use per month: because otherwise, we can't predict the amount we'll be paying Hoopla in the same way we can predict the amount we'll pay Libby.

Let me be clear: If a library offers a digital service and it would be helpful to you, please use it. Don't deny yourself a service you need or would enjoy in some misguided attempt to save your library some cash. We want to offer digital services, not least because ebooks and audiobooks have accessibility features that print books often don't. If your library has Libby and Hoopla and you get utility out of both, use both!

That said, if you're upset with the lower number of checkouts on Hoopla or the limited number of titles or copies available to you on Libby, you know who you should talk to? Your elected officials. Local, state, and federal. Because those folks are the ones who decide how much money we get, and what we can spend it on.

Don't go to them angry, either, because then we'll get scolded for not using the funds they "gave" us appropriately. (If you're a frequent library user, you might be shocked at how anti-library many local government officials already are.) Write your officials an email, call them, or show up at a board meeting and say you like the services the library offers, but you'd love it if we had enough money to buy more books on Libby or offer more checkouts on Hoopla. Tell them directly that this is how you would like your tax dollars to be spent.

If anybody has questions about how Hoopla or Libby work, I'm happy to answer them! Just wanted to make sure we had a baseline understanding.

#books & libraries #librarians of tumblr #bookblr #booklr #reading #public libraries #librarians #hoopla #libby

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taradactyls · 7 months ago

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The full Bennet Family Finances endnote from Ch33

I’ve been doing some more maths (ch26 has the initial discussion) on the savings that our characters might do/should’ve done since it’s fascinating to me and some of the comments I’ve been getting have been making me think more about it. One of the common themes is surprise at just how negligent the Bennets were at saving, instead of merely being stretched thin by expenses. I understand this completely, as it isn’t something that’s explicit in an easily recognisable way for modern audiences.

So, where could they have been more economical? They don’t go to London, no one has a gambling addiction, all travelling (which was EXPENSIVE) is done cost effectively, and they certainly didn’t spend all the money on tutors and the like for their daughters. I’m sure there’s actual academic papers by historians on this (I miss my uni access to those so much) but I can take some educated guesses.

We know Mrs Bennet is just bad with household management. Part of which might mean ordering too much food (it’s mentioned she keeps a good table, so this is as close to canon as we can get) and perhaps not being efficient with what she does order, ie wanting different meats from night to night, instead of having the leftovers served as stews or whatnot, not keeping an eye on the prices of sugar, salt, etc to buy when they’re cheap, making special orders instead of purchasing what’s readily available, etc. We know none of the Bennet women assist in the kitchen (as the Lucases do) so that’s more work for servants and thus likely to contribute to the need of an extra servant or higher wages. Household management could also be more innocuous things like always buying the expensive bees-wax candles, instead of using tallow when guests aren’t around or in out-of-the-way rooms. And being inefficient with candle usage (this is likely a Mr Bennet flaw too, if he enjoys reading in his library at night) in order to have a room better lit than strictly necessary. There was a reason families all tended to gather in one room after dark, and the Bennets notably don’t. Also having fires in all the principal rooms instead of just the ones likely to be used that day. If there’s ways to be inefficient with funds when it comes to cleaning, I’m sure they found a way there, too. Basically, anything that requires forward planning to help with economy would be lacking.

But that’s all ‘essentials’ just done inefficiently, what luxuries might they have had? They have the income to warrant their carriage, horses, and it seems Mr Bennet does hunt, but that’s also a standard expense for his wealth, so let’s focus on what might be pushing them to their limits. Other than the over-provisioned dining table, which we’ve mentioned, nothing about their socialising habits seems excessive. Mrs Bennet’s love of fashion could be pushing her wardrobe bill up, Mr Bennet’s love of books could be a VERY expensive hobby, and of course – five daughters out at once. Having five daughters out (especially unnecessarily as Lydia and even Kitty were quite young to be out) cost a LOT of money. Lady Catherine was rude as anything, but her surprise at the fact was warranted. Other than money, it also meant the daughters were in direct ‘competition’ for the same limited amount of suitors, which theoretically might hurt the elder girls’ chances. Five distinct wardrobes for young women which needed gowns for all occasions, going through dance shoes and gloves very quickly, bonnets, etc, all added up. At the start of the book multiple hundreds of pounds a year would be going to keeping their daughters looking the part while mixing in society.

But Jane’s only twenty-one or twenty-two at the start of the novel, and came out at fifteen at the earliest. Yet the Bennets still never saved money, and never overspent their income, so there were other expenses they were able to drop which had been preventing them from saving money for the first sixteen or so years of their marriage. I think it’s fair to assume there’s random, one-time bigger expenses that were undertaken with any substantial spare money: perhaps the hermitage Mrs Bennet mentions is a newer addition, was the coach (which are normally ordered around the start of a marriage) refitted more recently, how often is the décor of Longbourn updated (and on that note, are things like the sofa reupholstered or completely replaced), do they impulse buy vases and sculptures, make sure whatever alcohol they do buy (which appears to be a reasonable amount for their class) is the expensive stuff, etc. Whatever it is, it’s a both parent problem. Mrs Bennet is bad at money management and instead of changing her habits or preparing her daughters for financial hardship puts pressure on them to marry (preferably rich, but she doesn’t seem to have a complaint about Wickham in that regard). Mr Bennet is smart enough to see that there is a problem and how to fix it, but after his first idea fails (have a son to break the entail and thus provide for his widow and other children – which doesn’t even necessarily mean the girls would get a dowry, just that they would never live in poverty) does nothing to reassess the issue or find a solution. He essentially shrugs his shoulders and lets his daughters shift for themselves. One parent is too stressed about money and only addresses it negatively, and the other isn’t stressed enough and doesn’t address it seriously at all. Neither do anything productive, even though changing their habits would be enough to fix it. I love them, but MASSIVE parenting failure on their end; and hinted to occur because the parents were too used to comforts and different themselves to be able to work together and act on a solution.

Now for some actual MATHS! Which, yes, I realise I am strangely excited about.

The idea that most of the Bennets’ money is spent by having so many daughters out at once seems to keep popping up in my time on the internet. So, I thought it would be interesting to see what their dowries could be if that five-daughters-out-at-once money wasn’t spent on other things before any daughters were out. Costs of this could vary a bit between families, and though we know Lydia’s expenses were almost £100 per annum that includes board and food as well as little gifts from Mrs Bennet, so we can’t simply multiply that by five and be done with it. But, given Mrs Bennet’s desire for fashion and the poor financial management we see from her and some of her daughters, it’s quite possible clothes were being bought new rather than pulled apart and remade more than they ought to be, so spending £50 to £60 a year on each daughter being ‘out’ seems reasonable. For the purposes of this, let’s look at a total of £250 and £300 a year for all five, and in the 4%s because that’s where the money settled on Mrs Bennet apparently is. After sixteen years of marriage (when we will assume Jane comes out) that’s £5,456 or £6,547. Meaning that just doubled their dowry, even if they save nothing else after that. If the interest is left alone, that’s more than £1,000 that’s added to it before the novel even begins. Suddenly Mr Bennet dying at the start of the novel would leave his widow and daughters with between £11,500-£13,000 instead of the meagre £5,000 they actually have.

And the girls didn’t all come out at once, so just to put some numbers to it for math purposes, let’s say Elizabeth came out one year after Jane, Mary two years after her, Kitty another two years later, and Lydia the following year. For simplicity, each girl coming out is going to remove the same amount of money (when realistically it’s likely Jane, who needs everything new, and Lydia, who’s spoilt, would have cost the most). With the lower estimates of expenses, that’s £8,062 saved at the time of the novel, taking the total for Mrs Bennet and the girls to £13,602 or £2,612 each, assuming nothing else is saved. At the higher cost for the girls being out, that’s £9,676 saved and £14,676 that they’ll eventually inherit a share of. Still below what they should have as dowries, but a vast improvement, and proof of why having five daughters out at once was an additional strain but not THE strain. It was just another element in a mountain of problems.

“But what if it was in the 5%s?” asks no one but me. I think they would stick to the more stable bonds Mrs Bennet’s dowry is in, but if they didn’t, the same situation as above would save £9,243 (or £14,243 total) or £11,090 (£16,090 to share or £3,218 each).

For pure funsies, the numbers if Mr and Mrs Bennet had also saved the interest of the £5,000 settled upon her (which by itself would grow to £12,324 in the 4%s) in addition to these savings are:

£20,387 (£4,077 each at the start of the novel) with the £250 expenses estimate. At £300 for all five daughters out, we get to £21,998. Both of these numbers suddenly mean the Miss Bennets would never have to fear poverty when Mr Bennet died and they would individually each be as rich as their mother was, and though they wouldn’t be counted as rich themselves, would at least have something respectable. They might not cost their husbands money to marry.

AND THEN if everything is in the 5%s but that original £5,000, and the interest it gains is also moved to the higher interest account, the grand total would be either £22,528, again assuming the £250 expenses, and £24,376 at the £300 estimate.

I’ve been doing some equations for Darcy, too. So, let’s talk about that next chapter, to give me time to really figure it out.

#fic:t3w #pride and prejudice #jane austen

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