#repetitive tags incoming:

[finn0la]

remember the panel in dressrosa when doflamingo confronts law + luffy and luffy goes out of his way to hold law out of the water? because i do <3

[poisonf0rest]

Overc*mming Writer's Block

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈𝐈

♱⋅── zayne x reader

♱⋅── tags: smut, teasing, guided masturbation, fingering, first time (kinda), pwp

♱⋅── about: Between being in the midst of your medical residency and being an up-and-coming author, it’s safe to say your personal life has been placed on stand-still. That is, until your editor decided that your next novel needed explicit smut scenes. That is, until your mentor and boss ends up striking a deal for you to help with “inspiration” for said novel. That is, until you fuck Zayne four times and your life changes forever. Partially inspired by manga of the same name by Nae Awaji

♱⋅── word count: 9.3K

art credit to @/kaito_aii on X

You’re screwed. Fucked. Utterly damned.

Groaning into your desk, you slam your head down upon piles of patient records and old case files. 

You’re only halfway done with your medical residency and somewhere along the way turned your lifelong passion for writing into a successful side gig. So successful in fact, that it was single-handedly providing you with enough money to get by and complete residency.

After anonymously posting online for a decade, you signed with a publisher three years ago, on the exact same day you matched with your first choice cardiothoracic residency program here at Akso Hospital.

Needless to say, you haven't felt that magnitude of happiness in years.

You doubt you ever will again.

In the midst of your wallowing, your phone lights up: Michaela. It’s a follow-up to her previous messages, all with the same damn request. 

Michaela - Boss Man

checking in on my star, how’s that manuscript going?

talked to the director again to try and plead your case but she didn’t budge :( 

she said w current book trends the fans will go crazy for a few explicit spicy scenes

pluuuus she believes in your writing enough to know you’ll make it big! come on, star, you know I’m here if you need any extra help

You - Little Star

Hey Micheala

You cringe for a moment at how formal you sound, but honestly, you’re too burnt out from writer’s block to match your editor’s energy and too tired from today’s shift to push back any further. 

You - Little Star

No I get it, thanks for trying though

I’m almost done with the novel, it's just those scenes that are taking a little more time

And by a “little more time,” you mean you’ve tried writing and rewriting them over a dozen times just to cringe, delete, and scream into your keyboard. Over. And over again. 

It’s not that you’re clueless, you’ve read your fair share of erotica for inspiration and pleasure equally. But actually writing them yourself? That was a whole different story. Pacing, banter, and even making the right word choices without sounding like a repetitive pervert or absolute lunatic were all so much harder to do than you previously gave authors credit for. 

Not to mention, you haven’t actually experienced a lot first-hand.

Beyond a few situationships in high school and undergraduate flings between pre-med classes and internships absolutely kicking your ass, you’re probably half as sexually experienced as most adults your age. And you had absolutely no intention of re-entering the dating scene with residency, until now. 

With Michaela breathing down your neck about how these explicit smut scenes were a marketing goldmine and the combined stress from your jobs, it seems like you’ve been fighting a losing battle. This time, however, your main income was on the line. 

You groan  as another ping lights up your phone, going to silence it when you realize it’s from the hospital Slack and not your editor. 

residency-CS-alerts

Dr. Zayne: Second look needed for a CMR scan. Nonurgent. 

Jumping to your feet, you sprint from the office wing to get to the MRI’s before another resident can take your spot. It’s not that your program lacked opportunities- far from it as you attend the top program– but rather that this particular opportunity was rare indeed.

Doctor Zayne. Akso Hospital's respected chief cardiac surgeon, who has made groundbreaking advances to the treatment of congenital heart abnormalities in neonates. At only twenty-seven he is the youngest recipient of the Starcatcher Award. His dedication to his craft is unparalleled, as he tirelessly devotes more time to surgeries than any other doctor you know, cementing his reputation as an unwavering force in the field.

He’s also impossibly tall, extremely well built for a man who seems to spend most of his time in the hospital, and has a face sculpted like a Roman deity in marble. And gods, his voice.

Safe to say, you admire him just a little.

You’ve bumped into him a handful of times during your first two years here, but the doctor was so engrossed in his work that the occurrence was rare enough. But a chance to perform with him? To consult alongside him on a cardiovascular case? 

You began to fear for your own heart’s safety as you felt it skip in your throat. 

Finally reaching the MRIs, you knock once before sliding the door to the control room open with a bow. And when you stand straight again, Dr. Zayne’s steel-set eyes only glance at you before he points to the readings displayed on the computer. 

“Tell me what you see.”

Your mouth is still hanging open from what was going to be a very enthusiastic self-introduction, but you cut yourself off with a cough and stumble over to the monitor. Dr. Zayne’s eyes follow you with a precision that makes your hands tremble, and you bend over slightly to scan the patient’s readings. 

You’re about ready to make a diagnosis when you realize you haven’t gotten much background on the patient.

 “What’s the patient’s briefing?” You look down, flinching as you see Dr. Zayne already staring at you. “If I can hear it, sir?”

He nods once. “An adolescent female with complaints of shortness of breath and coughing. She had no specific medical history, but grew up in the countryside unable to visit a proper clinic for several years while this issue persisted.”

Countryside… that could mean this was an undiagnosed issue that festered. 

Clearing your throat, you begin to point to the different scans. “Firstly, there’s clearly an enlarged cardiac silhouette.” Squinting, you point at two denser mounds in CMR scans. “Here and here. There are two large cysts along the lateral and inferior walls of the LV pushing and invading the myocardial walls.”

Gods, the cysts were huge. Even if surgery was performed on her now, would she survive?

Dr. Zayne’s low voice pulls you back into the control room. “Then what is your final diagnosis?”

“I–” you stutter, shaking your head. “I would recommend surgery immediately.”

“More detail than that, please.”

A sharp inhale and you scan the readings again. “Maybe a cannulation? The cysts might be causing an SVC compression, which would explain her shortness of breath.” You dare ask. “Will she survive?”

Dr. Zayne stands up this time. “You did well. She was my patient, and underwent surgery over a week ago.” He gently pats you on the shoulder, touch warm. “Our job as surgeons is to act decisively, to learn, and to try. Not to be heroes.”

You can’t manage to say anything back as Dr. Zayne leaves the room, the door sliding shut behind him.

Surprisingly, you’ve been seeing more and more of Dr. Zayne since that day. 

And if that wasn’t enough, the doctor has also been actively acknowledging you, exchanging greetings and simple conversation when you pass in the halls, cafeteria, or shared cardiovascular wing of the hospital.

Not that you haven’t been putting in the effort either. 

Dr. Zayne’s current apprentice is graduating from residency this year, and you have every intention of becoming their successor. Between picking up extra shifts, answering every pager call, and of course paying special attention in case Dr. Zayne specifically requests a second pair of hands, you’ve been climbing up the ranks amongst your peers. 

Luckily, it seems those efforts have not been in vain. 

You’ve been doing so well apparently, that Dr. Zayne wants to meet with you in the hospital’s cafe today. Interviews before officially announcing mentor-mentee pairs was not unusual, but the thought of being one-on-one with Dr. Zayne after your last case together still has your mind reeling. 

Will he pull out old case files? Will he bring you to a patient and test you in real time? You have half a mind that he might pull out a custom-made test and timer. It seems on-brand enough to be a possibility.

Yet when you arrive, the cafe is completely empty, save for the staff and a familiar man in a white lab coat.

Dr. Zayne stands as soon as he sees you and beckons for you to sit, pulling the chair across from him out in the same movement. He clears his throat, a barely-there smile gracing his lips as he watches you settle down. “How have you been, doctor?”

“Good! Good.” The words rush out from you and you flinch, forcing yourself to slow down. Was the cafe always this small? “Discharged a patient today, so all good news.” Holy striped cows, if you say the word good one more time you might lose your mind.

“Well,” Dr. Zayne nods, taking a sip of something that looks like a far-too-sweet cup of coffee practically drenched in whipped cream. “That’s certainly good to hear.”

You die a little inside. 

“I’ll keep things rather brief since I’ve already made my mind up.”

Was this it? Did you ruin your chance at having Linkon’s top doctor as your mentor because of your damn mouth?

Dr. Zayne reaches inside his jacket, and you swear your heart is going to beat itself out of your throat. He pulls out a simple white envelope with your name scrawled across the front, the paper crisp as he slides it across the table. 

His fingers linger on the edges before he speaks. "I wanted to formally offer you the position to shadow me as my apprentice."

"I accept!"

The words fly out before you can stop them and Dr. Zayne looks stunned for a moment before laughing, a smooth and deep sound you didn't expect from him. He looked good when he smiled. Softer, content. 

The ghost of the smile stays, even when Zayne speaks again. "It's not a timed offer, you don't have to agree so quickly."

You flush down to your neck, looking down at the envelope. "Right. Only, it would be an honor to learn from you, sir. I really don’t know anyone in our field who wouldn’t accept it."

Zayne hums, but his brows furrow. “You don’t have to call me sir either. Doctor Zayne is fine while we are at the hospital. Zayne is more than acceptable elsewhere, we’re not that far apart in age and I don’t wish for this to be an overly formal relationship.”

You curse your heart for fluttering, reminding yourself that he only means this in a conductive, professional way. 

After a beat of silence, Zayne looks at the clock and stands, taking his sugar-filled drink with him. You never pegged him to have such a massive sweet tooth. 

"I have a consultation now, but I would like to talk to you more about your residency. We should set up weekly meetings outside of work, check your calendar, and organize it later.”

You nod and thank him as he walks away, leaving you alone to open the envelope. Inside is a simple handwritten note, signed and stamped with Dr. Zayne's official signature alongside Akso Hospital’s. 

A reminder that this was, in fact, not a dream. 

It’s barely been a month since you’ve begun officially shadowing Zayne, yet you swear it feels as though a part of you has known him forever. 

Aside from his virtually frozen demeanor and tendency to make snarky quips at your habit of running your mouth, he’s been nothing but a patient mentor. Brief, direct, unrelenting, but attentive to your work and growth. 

If that were all, then everything would be perfect. 

If that were all, then you would be sticking perfectly to your ten-year plan: graduating early, completing residency under the top doctor in the top program, and then overtaking him as the top cardiovascular surgeon with a breakthrough of your own. 

But of course, the plot has to thicken. 

Sure, the first few weeks have been strictly business, but since then, your conversations with Zayne—Dr. Zayne—have morphed into more casual, more playful meetings. Your weekly check-ins have moved from the hospital cafeteria to a cozy family-run cafe in town that Zayne introduced to you. And the way you’ve begun to think of him was the most damning part of it all. 

But you don’t have the time nor capacity to deal with whatever this was becoming. 

Not when your novel’s deadline was in three weeks, and you still had absolutely nothing to show for it. Without this new novel’s money, you wouldn’t be able to pay for rent or food or transport, and residency sure as hell wasn’t giving you enough to survive off of alone. 

This past week, you’ve gone from stressed to a thundering cloud of misery. Snapping at interns, drinking dangerously over the FDA-recommended caffeine intake, and ignoring the maelstrom your face has become.

And of course, today happens to be your weekly check-in with Zayne.

Dragging yourself to your usual booth, you watch him order at the counter and bring his drink to the table alongside a signature pair of macaroons, a slice of chocolate cake, and an eclair. He sets it all down with a huff and sits, looking over at you with an iron-cold gaze. You can smell the incoming lecture. 

"You're late."

You dip your head, but your patience is running on reserve, and your reply has more bite than you’d dare use otherwise. "I'm sorry, it looks like I’ve lost track of time."

"You're never late." Zayne doesn't sound any angrier at your attitude, but it still doesn't settle the guilt bubbling in your stomach.

"I've just been really stressed. You know," you wave your hand, "wrapping up residency."

"Is that so." Zayne's gaze is sharp as he fights to maintain eye contact. It's not a question. "I've noticed. You've been distracted and irritated recently, and I can't help but wonder why. Is it really the hospital? Am I demanding too much aside from your typical resident duties?” 

You shake your head, and the guilt is back. "No, of course not."

"Then I have to assume it's something else, is it not?"

"It's..." How on earth are you supposed to explain that the reason why you're a mess is because your editor is pressuring you to write a smut scene that you have no interest in, let alone sufficient experience with? And to someone you admire, your mentor, Linkon’s top surgeon, and apparently now someone your heart is deciding to blackmail you with. "I'm sorry, Dr. Zayne. It's nothing work-related, it's not your problem to fix."

Zayne raises his eyebrow, leaning back in the booth and crossing his arms. “That’s the first time you addressed me as doctor outside of hospital property in over a month. ”

You really, really, can’t do this right now, or else you might start spewing some things you’ll regret. “Really? That’s fascinating, sir.” You watch him scowl at the title you know he hates. “Still does not entitle you to my personal issues.”

“As your mentor, it becomes entitled to me when your personal issues begin affecting your performance.” He says.

You bite the inside of your cheek, forcing your anger down. "It's really not something I can talk about here, nor to you. Can we just have a regular check-in?"

"We are."

“You know what?" You stand, chair falling back with a screech. “I think I need a rain check today, sir. You know. Stress.”

"You’re not leaving until you tell me what is bothering you."

You're about to grab your bag and walk away when you're suddenly reminded of how tall Zayne is when he stands. Practically towering over you, he leans across the table, grabbing you firm enough to prevent you from slipping away, yet never harsh enough to harm you. “Please, we’re making a scene.”

You sit. Zayne follows. 

Seeing just how reactive you’re being, he softens, genuine concern in his tone as he reaches an arm out. “Is it a family issue? Are you alright?”

“No. Yes.” You inhale deeply through your nose, but your mind is still reeling at a mile a minute. “No, it’s not a family issue.”

“So if it’s not about the hospital and not family, then what could possibly be causing you this much stress.” Zayne’s eyes narrow and you see his jaw tick. “Don’t tell me this foolishness is over a boy.”

“No! God,” you want to push yourself off a building. Or him. “No, it’s this fucking–” You’re rambling. You’re rambling, losing control, and you’re going to blurt it out and regret it. “It’s this smut scene!”

You’ve really outdone yourself this time.

Zayne chokes on his drink and slams the cup down, coughing as liquid comes out his nose. You flounder in panic, trying to help but he holds a hand up and turns, still coughing into his arm. You can only manage to pull out a few napkins, handing them over in a pathetic bundle.

“A…” Zayne almost seems to buffer, clearing his throat before looking back at you. “An erotica scene?”

Your face is burning. You can practically feel the heat radiating off of it in waves, and you have to remind yourself that writing is your job. A respectable, decent-paying, well-appreciated job that you do for the sake of womankind everywhere.

“I write for extra income alongside residency, and recently my editor got it into her head that we’ll sell even more with some extra spice.” You scoff, “But it’s been months of looking at a blank doc. Now the deadline is approaching and I still have nothing to show for it.”

Zayne doesn't say anything for a moment, and you have to check if he's breathing, or if the shock has killed him. Finally, he shifts back in his seat, adjusting his tie.

"That sounds like a difficult position to be in, doctor."

You look up, and Zayne has his arms crossed. It's an expression you're familiar with, one that means he's actually thinking about what you've said, but the way he says "doctor" now feels strange, almost as if the term has no place here.

"It's fine, I'll figure it out." This is also why you didn't want to tell him, as if Zayne has any place worrying about this on your behalf. “Besides, I’m as much a writer as a doctor, this is my job after all. I have to figure it out.”

“Of course. I’d expect no less." Zayne nods a little to himself, slightly dazed, and you scramble to find a way to change the subject back into something even remotely work-appropriate.

"Anyway, I've been keeping up with my rounds, and I think I've been able to handle more cases on my own recently, too."

"You have."

Zayne is quiet for a beat too long and you frown, tapping the table.

"Are you alright? I know this is a lot, I shouldn't have burdened you with it."

When Zayne faces you again, you watch as his brows furrow. "But if this is such a pressing issue…” He clears his throat, looking at a spot directly above your head. “Then, what if I helped you?”

You swear your head is spinning, his words ringing over and over and over in your mind. The only thing remotely in focus was Zayne’s face, far too close for comfort now, even across the table. Oh gods, you’re having this conversation in public, too.

"What do you mean by help, exactly?"

"If you’re in need of experience," Zayne's voice is low, but he still manages to keep eye contact, the intensity of it making you smile nervously. "Then I could offer my assistance. Better coming from someone you know and trust, yes?"

There’s no way you heard that right. Your mind blanks, but apparently your smartass mouth hasn’t. 

"Are you offering to be my fuck buddy? Sex consultant? My smut guide, if you will?"

A deadpan, “I would prefer the term sexual partner.”

Even the way Zayne says it makes it sound more like a business proposal than an actual proposition, and it throws you off guard. He leans back, trying to act nonchalant. "You did mention lack of inspiration was your main issue, correct?”

“Well, yes.” That, and your lack of any novel-worthy sexual experiences.

“And you have had—“ There it is again. Not quite embarrassment, and if you weren’t so tuned in to Zayne’s resting expression, you may not have noticed it, but there is a deeper furrow between his brows as his eyes evade yours, and the slightest tint of pink on the tips of his ears. “You have been with partners before, yes?”

The stoic, pragmatic, level-headed Doctor Zayne is embarrassed asking you whether or not you’ve had sex before.

You nearly laugh.

“Yes,” an amused giggle escapes you at the absurdity of this entire conversation. “I’ve been with partners,” you mimic, slightly mocking his word choice, “but it has been a while, and I haven’t really…”

Zayne moves to take another sip of coffee. “You haven’t?”

“I’ve never come. Orgasmed.”

And he chokes. Again.

“Oh, shit, I’m so sorry!” You jump from your seat to hand him yet another pile of napkins, but this time Zayne stops you halfway there, grabbing your wrist as his coughs subside.

Neither of you speaks as he drinks water and coughs once more, his grip still iron and far colder than you imagined it would feel against your bare skin.

“My apologies,” Zayne releases you immediately, going back to staring at his coffee as his hand flexes once. Twice. “Continue.”

You can only watch him in fascination, sitting back down in your chair. The entire time he avoided eye contact, and he was definitely blushing. You almost wanted to push further, to poke and tease and test his reactions, but you knew that would end with you losing your head. Or worse, you muse, heart fluttering against your chest.

“Ah, I mean, I’ve felt pleasure before. It’s not that my previous partners were unwilling to do stuff for me, I’ve just never gotten over that little plateau.” It’s not resentment that washes over you, and not quite embarrassment either. Just a little bit of dull apathy towards the subject. And yourself. “Biologically speaking of course I know it’s possible, but there are also plenty of women who simply don’t climax during sex. I’m probably just one of them.”

Zayne, who seems to have returned to his usual stoicism, frowns at that, mouth drawn taut as though he wanted to say something.

"And if we were to engage in sexual acts," He's so clinical, even as he says something that could send anyone else running. “Perhaps that is what you need to start writing again. It would make sense. To write a compelling,” he stumbles over the word, “erotica, you’d have to experience pleasure."

The gears in your mind turn, and slowly, it begins to make a twisted sort of sense. You'd have to feel it for yourself, to be able to describe the sensation, the passion, the tension with conviction. Perhaps it really would get you closer to finishing this damn book.

But then you remember who you're talking to. Doctor Zayne. Your coworker. Worse than that, your mentor and direct superior in your field, and someone you happen to admire very much. So then why would he…?

"What do you gain from this, Zayne?"

Zayne stiffens. “I’m a doctor, it’s my duty to help my patients.”

A sly smile cracks against your lips, and you prop your chin against your palm. “I didn’t realize I was your patient now, doctor?”

His eyes snap back to yours and he straightens, his demeanor slipping back to his typical formality. "You have a bright future in front of you. This is an investment in you, and I believe this will help us both. I will draw up a contract tomorrow for us to discuss, you can meet me in my office after your shift.”

“Rather formal,” you say, but Zayne doesn’t take the bait this time.

He simply takes another sip from his coffee, and you swear you catch him smiling behind the porcelain rim. “Then perhaps I could also get a signed copy of your next book?"

You scoff, waving him off as you slouch back in your chair. "Of course, I'll throw one in the mail the day it's out."

"It's a deal then.”

He’s about to push in his chair when you lunge from yours, grabbing his sleeve as his eyes widen slightly, looking down at where your hands meet. "Thank you,” a smile. ”Zayne."

His gaze softens and he smiles a bit, nodding. "Of course, doctor."

And with a wave, he's gone.

You don’t know what you expected. 

Zayne seemed like the type to take his girl out to dinner first, probably somewhere obscenely expensive. He’d show up with a single rose or another simple but romantic gift so seemingly contradictory to his outward appearance. Afterward, maybe he’d take her to a show or somewhere with fancy sweets, knowing his taste. Then, after all that, he’d invite her back to his apartment or allow her to whisk him away to her place.

You’d imagine it would go something like that. But then again, the terms of your relationship are quite different then the one he’d have with this imaginary woman. So when he texts you after your shift that Tuesday asking if you’re free tonight, you’re only moderately panicked. 

To make matters worse, he’s at your house five minutes early.

Two knocks, and you scramble to open the door, Zayne nearly dwarfing the door frame as he lingers outside the hallway. His trenchcoat only adds to his natural tendency to command attention, and you feel more vulnerable than usual in your sleep clothes. 

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.” 

Zayne adjusts his collar. “Do you mind if I come in?”

You tap your chin, pretending to mull it over in your mind, relishing in the slight nervousness your silence instills in Zayne. “It would be rather bothersome to fuck in the hallway, I suppose…”

Zayne shakes his head at the remark, but you can see amusement dancing in his eyes. With that, you step aside, and he ducks under the doorframe to slip inside. It’s as though something irreversible- something inevitable- shifts as you watch him cross the threshold, and it doesn't get better when you close the door and lock it behind him. 

You'd say he makes himself at home, but his stance is still too stiff, too awkward, even as he’s hanging his coat and slipping out of his shoes. It almost feels domestic.

"Would you like something to drink?"

Zayne shakes his head, "Not this time."

He says it so casually, and yet the notion of a next time has you dizzy. Of course there’s a next time, you’ll need more than one night to get inspiration. It was only a natural assumption, you reason with yourself. 

"You seem tense," he says, and then your back is against the wall.

Zayne leans down, hovering above you as his hand comes up to your waist. A tentative touch, and you give a small nod, feeling his arm relax, palm sliding further into the plush of your hips. He looks so good like this, in a work button-down with a thin sheen of sweat on his brow and his lips parted. Gods, and he’s not even trying- there’s genuine concern written in the way he scans your body with a deep crease between his brows. You hope he doesn’t notice how you squeeze your thighs tighter.

"It's the deadline, is all," you say, trying to brush off the question.

"Ah, of course. How inconsiderate of me. I’m supposed to be helping you and here I am making it worse.”

Zayne's voice is low and smooth. The cadence in his words, the slight drawl, is a sound that makes your heart skip a beat. It's a shame it's so easy to hide your arousal when you're this nervous.

“Well,” You smile, and his gaze flickers down to your mouth. “I suppose I can forgive you if you uphold your end of the deal.”

His stare is heavy, and it feels like the room is closing in. But you understand the man well enough to know that he wouldn’t dare move first, not until you asked for it, not when you have yet to set a precedent. So you loop your arms around his neck, forcing Zayne closer as his forearm slams against the wall to hold himself up against you. 

You nip at the lobe of his ear, smiling to yourself as he shivers with each warm exhale. Zayne’s hand has yet to leave your side while he lets you grind against him, guiding your movements as you groan against his neck. 

But Zayne feels you rush through the movements, a messy sort of impatience less from desire and more from routine. As though you wanted this done. As though you wanted him gone. 

You feel a familiar flutter against your core as Zayne’s knee comes up against your core, but when you move to grind against his thigh, the hand at your waist stops you. 

“I want to do this properly. You deserve—” he cuts himself off. Starts over. “Where would you like to do this?”

You’re about to tell him that right here is fine, not wanting Zayne to feel as though you needed any more special attention, when you realize just how serious he is. “Bedroom," you say.

Zayne hums, and the rumble reverberates throughout his chest. He offers a hand, and you take it.

And with that, you lead him to your room.

Somewhere between the span of your hallway and bed, Zayne seems to have decided how tonight will go. Despite your desperate touches, teasing up his body and luring him closer, Zayne slows his own pace, leaving burning trails traced with agonizing slowness over the curves of your body. Despite your fumbling to strip off your shirt, Zayne grabs your wrist, forcing it behind your back as his other hand teases the exposed skin of your ribs in a way that has you shivering. Despite your hushed complaints for him to just hurry up Zayne merely smiles in amusement, refusing to give you anything more as he scolds you with a click of his tongue. 

Zayne refuses to rush this. He wants to savor every moment, to etch the sight of you into his mind and commit it to memory, to relive it in this life and the next. 

He continues walking forward, each one forcing you to take a step back until your knees hit your bed, buckling as his form looms over you.

“The largest mistake in any relationship- sexual or not- is lack of communication.” He loosens his tie, “So if we are to do this, you have to talk to me. Tell me what you like, what you don’t.”

As he speaks, Zayne continues undressing, unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt before rolling up the cuffs so every glorious inch of his forearms is exposed. Your breath catches with each trailing vein, shadowed in the dim lighting up until they disappear under his sleeves.

Maybe you should write a Victorian-era piece next. Clearly, you had a thing for small swaths of exposed skin.

As if hearing your thoughts, Zayne undoes another button before his hands venture south. With a slow, deliberate motion, he unbuckles his expensive leather belt and allows it to slide through the loops of his pants. It drops to the floor, joining all the other articles of clothing as he takes a seat on the mattress, resting his hand on your bare thigh, inching closer and closer to where your sleep shorts have ridden up.

"Tell me what you like and don't like." Zayne repeats, eyes focused on yours, "And remember, you say no, and this stops."

Zayne moves painfully slow, his hands fluttering down your shoulders, breasts, hips, until he plants them behind you, caging you between his broad chest and the mattress. His hand slips under your shirt’s fabric once more, and you feel yourself tense.

You aren’t wearing anything fancy. After all, you were simply writing in bed, nearly falling off when you suddenly got Zayne’s text. Only a pair of shorts and a cami, but gods, when Zayne’s hands begin trailing up your stomach, dragging the thin fabric up with him, you really wished you put something sexier on.

He doesn't stop until his fingertips brush against the underwire of your bra, thick fingers slipping under the band as he practically tugs you toward him. "Can you take this off for me?"

"Don't know how to do it yourself?" You tease.

Before you even finish taunting him, Zayne's hand has already snuck around your back, undoing the clasp and forcing you onto your back. You can feel the heat radiating off of him.

"Now, now, we'll be here all night if we start fighting." He chastises you, tone far too smug. Zayne tugs the undone bra up, his fingers tracing the red marks it left against your skin. You tremble under his touch. "Didn't realize how sensitive you are." 

His tone is even, but you can see the slight curl at the corner of his lips.

"Your hands are cold," you say, voice wavering as Zayne begins taking your shirt off as well. You try not to fidget, knowing that the way your arms are held up only emphasizes the size difference, Zayne being able to completely lift your chest against him as the other binds your wrists. You're not tiny. But next to him? It barely mattered.

"I apologize." But it feels half hearted at best, especially with the way he’s staring at your bare chest, not even bothering to take your shirt all the way off. It almost feels more embarrassing like this, cotton bunched against your collarbones under his palms.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

The way he says it causes a rush of blood to your face. “I’m not some virgin that might break.” You grumble under your breath, but Zayne is as stupidly attentive as always and frowns.

“Do not mistake my care for pity.” 

Something ugly aches in your chest when he looks at you like that.

Zayne’s hand comes up, large enough to encircle the entirety of your cheek as you’re enveloped in the chill of his touch. His body is nearly atop yours, each word breathed into your mouth. “Then, if you have no more snarky remarks, allow me to begin."

Zayne’s gaze drops to where he thumbs at your lips, leaning in as you watch his pupils dilate, flickering with something before he flinches away, kissing the corner of your mouth instead.

His other hand cups the curve of your breast, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You gasp, the sensation heightened by the feeling of his teeth against your collarbone, nipping marks into your skin. 

It takes a moment for all his featherlight touches to register, your eyes fluttering closed as his thumb rubs your chin. You try to ignore the way he avoids your lips, refusing to get too close.

All for the better, you remind yourself.

He kisses lower, down between the valley between your breasts, hot breath the only warning you get before his tongue meets your nipple while his fingers deliver a sharp flick to the other. The contrast of the heat from his mouth to the cold of his fingertips sends you reeling as you muffle your cries into your palm. 

Zayne doesn’t like that. He forces your hand from your mouth, biting your nipple as if in vengeance as you moan, the sound broken and desperate as you claw at his forearm.

Satisfied, his tongue smooths over the bright pink bite mark and swollen bud, the unpredictable pressure fogging up your every thought before he retreats with a wet pop. 

Finally, Zayne moves to fully remove your shirt, but pauses when you flinch.

“Would it make you more comfortable if I undressed as well?” Zayne begins to take off his own shirt, but you lunge for him, stopping his hands as your voice escapes in a whoosh.

“No.”

His collared shirt was utterly ruined, unbuttoned just enough so you could see his flushed chest when he bent over. And now when he sat up straight the bottom rose up just a bit, exposing a stretch of his lean torso, a peak of his abs, and a dark happy trail that dipped into his tailored pants. Every once in a while, you could see his muscles flex and it sent a shameful throbbing down your core.

“You can keep it like that, it’s hot.”

Zayne doesn’t respond, but when he averts his eyes you swear you watch his lips curl into a smirk. It’s gone by the time he looks at you. Not that you have any time to dwell on it, not when Zayne closes the remaining space between you, guiding you against the pillows.

You try not to focus on how out of place he seems in your apartment, mere presence dwarfing everything else as he makes his way between you, forcing your knees apart.

Zayne leans back, his fingers trailing up your leg, edging up the fabric of your shorts up with his touch, but never daring to slip past the self-imposed barrier of the cotton. He coaxes your hips up, and you kick the shorts off in a clumsy movement, Zayne's eyes now focused between your thighs before you snap them shut as best you can around his waist.

“Let me see.”

You gape at him. “I– Doctor–”

“Relax. I can’t guide you if you don’t let me, now open.”

It’s not an order. Not quite. Zayne’s voice is effortlessly assertive, but it falls just short of being a command. You could call this off, he’s told you that much directly, and knowing Zayne if you did so everything would go right back to how it was before. A mentor and student. Coworkers. Strangers.

You force the tremors in your thighs to relax, knees dropping from Zayne’s hips to the sheets below as you move your left leg just enough to feel the inner band of your underwear stretch.

It’s a bearable amount of embarrassment and vulnerability, until you look up at Zayne again, and akin to a deer in headlights, you freeze. He watches with enough intensity for it to be clinical, a vicious sort of attentiveness that sees every twitch, every strain your body responds with, as if committing it all to memory. As if he were to devour you alive. 

You think you’d let him.

Zayne reaches over, and his thick finger trails a line up your inner thigh, immediately followed by goosebumps, knuckles ghosting the inner seam of your panties.

Your body reacts before you do. Before you can even breathe, the air catches in your throat, and your legs squeeze together in a pathetic attempt to hide yourself.

Zayne pins them down immediately, gaze snapping up to you. You expect a reprimand. Maybe a warning or a punishment, and the anticipation makes your stomach twist.

Instead, his brows draw in, as if lost in thought. “You said you never came from touching yourself either?”

You can barely manage a nod.

“Hm. Then you weren’t doing it right.” He says, so bluntly that you can only blink at him. “Show me how you do it.”

Zayne sits back between your thighs, one hand still absent-mindedly caressing your knee, waiting expectantly.

And you feel the flush burn all the way up your ears and down your chest.

Oh, that was not what you expected him to say. You were prepared for him to touch you, or to guide you, but instead he asks for the complete opposite.

And, well, you could only ever try your best for him— ever the people pleaser. 

It's humiliating how easily your fingers slip under the elastic band. Even more so when the pads of your fingers run down your folds, and you feel yourself clench at the mere contact, already slick and wanting. You move to tug your underwear off, but Zayne stops you, grabbing at your wrist.

"Wait," He's panting, eyes blown as he continues to stare at you, at the wet patch accumulating in the center of those damned panties. "Keep them on."

His tone is so serious a part of you wants to laugh. You're about to make a quip when he pulls your hand up, bringing your fingers to his lips and wrapping his tongue around them. The way he teases from the pad of your finger to your knuckle, sucking as he goes, has you lightheaded. Your hips stutter upwards, a pitiful sound escaping from your throat as you try to keep yourself together.

He doesn't stop. Not until your fingers are clean and your thighs have grown unbearably sticky, neglected and throbbing.

When he finally lets go, you're a gasping mess, and Zayne looks downright smug. "Now, you can continue."

The bastard.

You don't know how you manage to move, let alone bring your fingers to your entrance.

Pushing aside the cotton, your first touch is tentative, and you flush at how much easier it is with Zayne’s spit covering them. Your breath catches both from the initial stretch and the way Zayne leans in closer to see, even though the thin elastic prevents him from watching the way your cunt flutters around the new intrusion. 

You shift, but your need has grown nearly uncomfortable, hips beginning to buck up as one finger quickly becomes too little, and you whine as you attempt to push in another, to push in a little deeper.

"Slower. You're going too fast."

You can't help the scowl, your tone sharper than intended. “How would you know?" 

Zayne’s face is a cool mask, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. "You did ask me for advice, did you not?" Then his voice takes on a sharper edge, demanding again. "Slow down, then you may continue."

As if you needed his permission to continue. But you do as he says, rocking your fingers in and out, pace painfully slow, mere friction sending jolts of heat throughout you. 

Usually, this was the best part, the delicious and tortuous build-up that would ultimately lead to nothing. Not nearly long enough, your fingers hit just below your sweet spot, and you could feel tears of frustration prick against your eyes. Writhing, you tried to plunge further, choking out a moan again and again at the barest brushing against your sweet spot, mindlessly grinding your hips up to meet each cruel thrust of your fingers. 

You cry when you finally hit that spot inside you, head falling against the pillows as you tense, about to move again when something stops your hand, ripping it away from your desperate chase. 

“You–“ Zayne shakes his head, breath ragged as some combination of a frustrated exhale and moan rumbles through his chest, the sound going straight to your cunt. “You’re too impatient. Too rough.”

You try to swallow, try to hide how the sound of his moan and the rough cadence of his voice makes the muscles of your belly and thighs spasm, but Zayne doesn't miss a thing. He doesn't release your hand, not fully, but rather guides both of your digits to trace around your clit instead.

"Again," he says, “This time slower. How does it feel?”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you feel his hand continue to guide yours, entire body jolting when he catches against the hood of your oversensitive clit, tapping as he lets you circle it on your own. 

“Good. It feels really good.”

Zayne hums, but he already knows that. He feels it through the drenched bottoms of your panties, rubbing your poor swollen clit through them, watching as you gush again, the slick coating his palm and dripping down his wrist in sticky strands.

It takes everything within him not to withdraw his hand and lick it all. Or even better, take his mouth to you directly. Not yet. Not yet, he reminds himself. Next time.

You have to bite your lip as you feel Zayne’s hand take over your own, almost greedily pushing and pinching your clothed cunt, the fabric both a delicious friction and a damn barrier you wish was gone so you could finally feel his bare fingers on you, in you. It’s torture, every nerve on fire as Zayne continues to focus on your clit while your fingers return against your folds, teasing your entrance with a light touch before pressing in.

But it's still not enough. It's not what you need.

You look to Zayne for direction, but his expression is unreadable in the darkness. "Deeper. Keep going."

The angle isn't quite right, but you do as he says, trying and failing to muffle your sounds as you fuck yourself on your fingers, desperately chasing the feeling building up once more.

“Again. Deeper.”

It hurts. Your wrist is beginning to ache, and you’re really not sure how much longer you can keep going, crying out again when Zayne forces his hand flat against your clothed core, shoving your own fingers deeper and causing the wet fabric to rub deliciously against your clit. 

You don't even have time to react before he's pulling away, his own hand rubbing the wetness on his fingers together as he watches the strands break and drip down his hand.

His tone is so nonchalant despite the way he keeps his gaze trained between your legs. As if the sight of you, flushed and gasping, with your cunt pathetically leaking and yet still demanding more, wasn't the hottest thing he'd ever seen. 

“Ask,” Zayne demands, his voice deep enough that you swear you can feel it rumbling through your bones. “Ask for it.”

“Need your help, please, Zayne” you manage, voice airy and heart still racing from unintentionally edging yourself over and over again. “I want your fingers.”

It’s probably impossible to miss the way your eyes have been drawn to his hands all evening, big and corded with veins and muscle and scar tissue. Hands gentle enough to care for patients, steady enough to perform surgeries, cruel enough to tease you this mercilessly, and yet you can’t help but imagine what they’re going to feel like when he starts touching you properly. 

You’ve probably thought about his hands more times than you’d like to admit.

At the hospital, at the cafe, at night in your apartment. Every inch of his body seems to haunt you like a forgotten memory your body had already grown addicted to.

The moan that rumbles out of Zayne’s chest is low and addicting. He sits back for only a moment before your hips are dragged down the bed, a yelp leaving your lips from the sheer force. 

Zayne practically knocks your leg over his shoulder, and when you arch off balance, you press against something that has you inhaling sharply through your nose. Fuck, Zayne’s hard.

He shudders violently at the contact, falling onto his forearms as you roll against him once more, watching his face twist from the painful pleasure you know all too well. You feel his control slipping, both in the way his fingers tighten at your hips and the throbbing heat you feel twitch against your thigh.

And just realizing how much you’ve affected him is enough to send your eyes rolling back into your skull with a violent tremor. 

You attempt to grind up against him again when Zayne roughly pins you back down. You writhe helplessly, hips pinned to the mattress as Zayne curses, adjusting himself in his slacks with a rough squeeze. “No.” A command to both himself and you, “You asked for my fingers, so that’s what you will get.” 

You’re about to open your mouth to make another demand, but Zayne is one step ahead of you yet again. “That’s all you’re getting.” As if to quell your anger, he begins to thumb at your clit again, moving to take off your last remaining piece of clothing. “Next time.”

A promise he has every intention to keep.

Ironically, Zayne is handling you far more gently than you usually touch yourself, and you find yourself flexing your hips in an attempt to get him to touch you with more pressure. He ignores your endeavors, keeping his pace implacably steady and slow. But you’ve been worked up far too long, and as soon as Zayne begins fucking you with two of his much thicker fingers, you already feel the familiar tension building.

“Do you want to tell me what you’re feeling?”

“Not really,” you manage through clenched teeth. 

You feel Zayne pull away and thrust your hips up into nothingness, only making yourself more sensitive when he roughly thumbs at your clit. He slams your hips back down, a cruel pinch to the oversensitive nub forcing you to arch into him as your jaw falls slack.

 “That was not a question.” Zayne is still hovering above you, watching as his fingers slip against your cunt, slick with your arousal. “Use your words.”

His voice takes a dark edge every time he commands you now, and you bite your lip to not whimper at the tremor his voice sends down your skin. It’s not fair, the effect something so simple has on you. But while his demand is still ringing in your ears, Zayne curls his fingers further upwards, rubbing directly against that sweet spot inside you with frustrating ease, and you sob. 

"Please,” you can’t even remember to beg. Zayne nearly abuses the spot, curling into it over and over again until you’re certain you’re drooling all over the silk of your pillow, writhing. "Please, I'm– I need more, and, ah—“

Zayne hums. "More? You're going to have to be more specific if you actually want to orgasm."

You whine, shaking your head as his eyes narrow. He’s only halfway through scolding you when his finger smacks against your clit, the sharp twinge of pain enough to make you cry. "Don't be a child. Words. Tell me what's giving you pleasure so I can help you."

"It's," a huff of air leaves you and you can barely manage to form a coherent sentence, your mind fogging over completely as Zayne continues to talk. "Hah, your voice helps.”

“My voice?”

Your eyes nearly roll back at the sound of Zayne’s chuckle. A deep, cruel thing that you now think may be all you need to come as your eyes screwed shut. “Well, if that’s the case, then I suppose I should just keep talking. Keep your eyes open.”

You obey, and Zayne simultaneously pulls your jaw towards him, forcing you face-to-face with him. “Look at me.”

You do. You do and really wish you hadn’t because the smug smile pulling at the corner of his lips and the freckles of light green you now see in his softened gray eyes might really be all you need to send yourself over the edge.

And, as if listening, Zayne forces his fingers deeper inside, the tips of his digits hitting the same spot that has your mind fogging over, vision blurring with a disorienting mix of hazy and dizzy. You can barely hold on, fingers twitching against the sheets as suddenly it becomes too much, your hands shooting up as you press desperately against Zayne’s chest. 

“Wait–” You’re dizzy. The pressure is consuming you, and you’re losing control. “Please, Zayne.”

He stops immediately, pliant under your touch as he lets you push him away. Even so, his free hand comes up to meet yours, coaxing your fingers against his as he holds it up to his chest, letting you ground yourself with his heartbeat.

The rhythm is comforting.

Zayne isn’t speaking anymore, just looking, waiting for you to give him a sign. He doesn’t dare move, letting his fingers sit still, buried inside of you. You don't know if it's the dizziness lingering in your head or the fact that his fingers are insistently rubbing against a spot inside of you that sends sparks up your spine, but either way, you might be going insane.

“Keep your breathing steady, even when you’re close. Deep breaths.” In, out. In, out. Your chest rises as Zayne’s does, bare skin brushing his. “Good.”

Even as your vision clears, Zayne refuses to let go of your hand, this time pinning it beside your head as he begins to move his other hand too, thumb circling your clit as the others curl against your walls. 

When you begin to shake again, his lips ghost by your neck, dangerously soft and hesitant as he kisses down from your jaw, following each whimper and moan you give to him with loyal intent, sucking gently at a spot near your jugular and collarbone.

"Ah, Zayne. I think–" your breathing hitches as Zayne presses another soft kiss against your skin.

"Are you okay?" The softness of his tone nearly breaks you, and you force yourself to ignore it. Focus on the sensations; focus on what you can use for the novel. Nothing more.

You nod.

"What else, darling? Are you close?"

Your breath hitches. The sudden pet name has you reeling, and you feel Zayne keep his steady rhythm, even through your trembling and whining, his thumb mercilessly circling against your clit in ways you swear never feel the same when you’ve done it. 

"Call me that again," you cry, nearly begging.

"Come. Come for me, darling."

And you do.

Your vision blurs as you come around Zayne’s fingers, a silent scream catching in your throat. All you can manage is a broken moan as you arch into him, gripping his forearm and holding it in place. Your thighs quiver around his arm, and Zayne holds you still, coaxing you through it as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you.

The sensation is overwhelming. You're not even sure how long it lasts, the only thing grounding you is the weight of Zayne's hand laced against your own.

Slowly, he begins to withdraw his fingers, kissing your knuckles softly.

"How are you feeling?"

The room is quiet, and it feels like all the sound has been sucked out of it. Your head is fuzzy and your whole body is tingling, and all you can focus on is Zayne's soft breathing.

Good, you want to tell him. More than that, your body is still shaking from pleasure and desire, and you can’t stop looking at Zayne’s lips or remembering how hot and needy he felt grinding against your thigh. You can’t stop thinking about him, so instead you say, “Fine.”

Zayne stiffens. “Good.” 

He sits up, still scanning your face for something as you watch the fabric of his shirt pull taut across his chest and stomach, and once again you are overwhelmed by the desire to run your hands down his body, to feel his skin against yours. To see more of him.

“I’m going to get you water and a towel.” He says, not moving just yet. “Do you need anything else?”

You shake your head no. Zayne nods, leaning in as his hand goes to your jaw before he pauses halfway and steps out of bed, making his way to your bathroom.

You don’t really remember how much of the night goes by after that, a blur of Zayne attentively guiding you through proper aftercare and you throwing in a few quips here and there at his ceaseless worrying. Before long, he’s saying farewell, and you’re back at your computer screen, empty doc staring right back at you. 

But the words never form. Not when your head is still spinning, replaying everything that happened tonight in vivid flashbacks as an overwhelming rush of mortification and desire runs down your spine. 

You can’t help but feel that perhaps you just made an irreversible mistake.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

i know you said request are closed but when they are open again (if they are again) could you possibly do alex keller just coming home from deployment with smut? your price writing are so amazing btw i’ve been reading them for 2 days now

Again, this is a super old ask, lmfao, sorry about that. I offer you pure filth for forgiveness.

Warnings: smut, NSFW, F!Reader, etc. (18+)

Wet slapping echoed off the walls, held back whines trapped in your throat as your thighs burn with exertion. Alex lays under you, head tilted back and neck bared; his fingers bruise your hips as he groans and gasps through gritted teeth.

When he came home from his assignment overseas, he'd known he'd been gone longer than anticipated, but if he'd known you'd been this desperate for him he would have gotten on the first plane home.

"Fuck," your boyfriend whimpers, rapid, messy, slurping in his ears as you jump up and down on his cock, back arched and tits bouncing as your cunt swallows him. Dripping sweat slides off your bodies, a testament to the feral way you'd been riding him for what seems like hours.

Alex can't even remember the number of times he'd felt his stomach bunch; eyes clamping shut as his throat groaned deeply. Multiple releases bleed over his thighs and pelvis, sloppy fluids connecting flesh in strings of slick cum.

"Fuck, Sweetheart, b-been needin' this since I got off that damn p-," his voice cuts out as you clamp around him, his sensitive dick twitching as you grind with a mewl playing on your lips. The man's hips jump as his back arches harshly, forcing out," P...plane! Ah!"

Your mouth is open with ecstasy, and above him, you're quite the vulgar picture of instinctual desperation. He can't help the way he watches you with hickeys down his neck and chest; pulsing purple bruises adding to the tightening of his thighs. Alex's fingers kneed your flesh in desperation, pleasure so sharp it borders on pain stuck in the lines on his forehead.

"P-please," he whimpers, and you drag your nails down his pecs in long lines of red. "God."

Alex gets more shaky and desperate, hands moving up to grip your hips despite the loose and lax hold in his weak rapture. At the incoming clench of his balls and the panicked widening of his eyes, his hips start to cant into yours in broken thrusts. Whined moans and dog tags stuck around his neck like a collar.

You grab at them as he thrusts up into you, gasping and faltering for a moment at the dig. Shared eyes, blown with lust and orgasmic torment. Alex feels your pussy tighten and watches your lashes flutter when your clit bumps into his lower abdomen, stimulating you perfectly on his happy trail.

"A-Alex, missed you s'much, Baby," you slur out with heaving lungs. The man's cock jumps harder, pace somehow increasing as you both roll your thighs. "Feel so full with you inside me. S-so good."

Neither of you would be getting out of this bed tomorrow.

Alex starts to breathe heavily again, his body trembling. He grits his teeth and starts to match your movements, groaning loudly into the air with broken need. He almost seems to be growling as he presses himself into you, his wound coil growing second by second. By the look on your face and the way your expression breaks with breathy moans, you're not far behind him in this senseless fucking session.

The man's surprised the both of you can even still speak over the sensation of his grating cock entering and exiting your tight hole. Echoing off the walls, cut-off cries grow in volume and breathiness, each accented by a violent thrust consisting of oxycontin and bare impulse. The bed frame has put a dent in the wall with its repetitive knocking, a telltale slam-slam-slam that makes the both of you thankful you don't have neighbors.

Fuck, you were acting like horny teenagers; drunk off each other's scent and the sheen of bliss—there just wasn't any stopping.

With the coil growing and growing, abs clenching and dog tags in your grip, Alex lets you manhandle his chin so you can shove your tongue down his throat; hands grasping around your waist to thrust up into you at a better angle.

Your eyes roll back, saliva dripping from your chins to splatter Alex's chest. His mustache burns over your lower face, but it doesn't stop you from bringing him back in, sucking and biting on his lips.

"I—" Alex shakes, groaning in between passes of your mouth and the heat on his cheeks. "Christ, S...Sweetheart, I'm gonna," his entire body is tight, dick moving even more wildly with its prodding tip grazing your cervix. Your body spasms and you cry out, cunt hugging him like it doesn't want him to leave. Slick and the score of previous rounds slap wetly as skin connects over and over, making flesh shine. A tipping point is reached with high voices and rapid lungs. "I-I'm gonna—!"

You both snap at the same time.

Alex's head goes back into the pillow, back completely leaving the bed in an arch and cock throbbing as he spills his load inside of your wet heat with broken ruts that make him whimper. On top of his form, your entire form goes limp, legs shaking as you collapse onto your boyfriend's gasping chest with ragged breaths and feel the flood of his orgasm spreading inside of your womb.

The spend seeps out like the others, pussy completely full and pulsing; raw with the feeling of cum bubbling through the plug of Alex's cock.

Both of you try not to move, catching your respective breaths with legs spread wide and vibrating. After a long, long while where you nearly pass out from pure exhaustion, you feel Alex's chest rise fast for a moment. You peek a slow eye and groan as your boyfriend starts laughing.

Your mouth releases a low whine as his dick jumps inside of your clutch and Alex also winces moments later.

"...Fuck, Doll." Lips quirking, a sweaty hand finds your spine, and fingers tap against the vertebrae in broken intervals of shakes. You practically purr like a cat as the hoarse voice rasps out, "You, uh, you sure know how to welcome a guy home, huh?"

[o-wyrmlight]

Chapter 13 of A Toast to the Pigs, an AU that attempts to thoroughly explore the concept of Harry Du Bois not waking up in Martinaise with amnesia. Today, we talk to Evrart and Harry gets triggered.

Warning: Self-harm is depicted in the latter part of the chapter. Always remember to check the tags for upcoming chapters, as I tend to add tags as I go.

The first time he touches you, it's to pull you out of incoming traffic. You're drunk and supposed to be following a lead. Traffic today is high to gather for a festival around Central Jamrock's lake. You haven't been to a festival in years and don't give a shit about them anymore. You don't have anyone to go to a festival with anyway. Jean saves your life (more or less), but your first instinct is to punch him in the fucking face. His hand around your arm pulls away from you, leaving the flesh beneath simmering with coals. Your flesh is burning but there's nothing to cause it. The phantom sensation of his handprint lingers, blaring alarms through every inch of your body. Jean yelps and holds his face, cradling his palm against his jaw. He doesn't understand why you attacked him. He just saved your life. Good. He will never know. You jab a finger at him and scream. "Touch me again," you snap, pushing him. "Fucking touch me again and see what happens. I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!" You never apologize. The last person who touched you kindly was Dora Ingerlund. Everything since then has just been pain and betrayal. It's dangerous. You need to protect yourself before you catch fire.

In the meantime, Kim put a file filled with pedantic, repetitive numericals away, slotting it neatly back into place. He braced his arm against the door, his brain half-mush. It was as he was closing it that he noticed it—the off-color strip stuck to the inside of the door.

“…Detective,” he said, slipping out his pocket knife and beginning to pry the tape off. “I found something that might interest you.”

His knife left tiny scrapes in the paint of the metal. Bits of tape remained stuck. It didn’t need to be a delicate job.

“…What?”

Kim glanced toward the watery voice. The water was still running, hissing into the bottom of the basin. Harry’s splotchy face, red with alcohol and sick with stress, squinted blearily back at him. His right arm was still bleeding and just beginning to scab over, ugly lines cradled by red welts.

Kim… didn’t ignore this, but he chose not to comment. Instead, he peeled the rest of the paper off of the door, folding the tape neatly over the edges. “’Remember, Leo,’” he read, “’Evrart’s shoes; Special Whirling borscht; Water Evrart’s plants; sweep office floors; more banners.’”

He took out his notebook, slipping the note inside and making a notation. “The Whirling borscht sounds interesting, no? I don’t know. It seemed like something that might interest you.”

“…Sure.” Harry’s lungs rattled as he breathed in deeply. He turned back toward the sink and braced himself against the edge, arms cradled close to his chest. His shoulders rose and fell in a staggered attempt to keep tempo—in, out. In. Out. Slow and steadying.

“One hundred. Ninety-five. Ninety. Eighty-five. The furies are at home in the mirror. It is their address. Even the clearest water, if deep enough, can drown. Never think to surprise them. Your face approaching ever so friendly is the white flag they ignore. There is no truce with the furies. A mirror’s…”

His Volta do Mar stalled on his tongue, and for a while, he just stood there. He breathed. Finally, he cupped his hands beneath the still-running water and splashed his face with it, coughing. Harry ran his arm beneath the faucet one final time before shutting it off.

[fishyfishyfish0258]

[LONG RANT ABOUT FANDOM INCOMING I AM SO SORRY]

idk how to open this but ykw fuck it, i'll cut to the chase: imo some ppl in this fandom (mostly with the ppl on r/glassanimals, but its in other sites aswell) dont rlly know how to give criticism that isn't just plain insults

[more below (so it wont clog up the ga tag)]

theres nothing wrong with ACTUAL, CONSTRUCTIVE, HEALTHY CRITICISM dont get me wrong! whenever you like ilysfm or not, imo its important to like, have a healthy conversation, be respectful and be like "I like/dislike this album and imo I think it could've been better if x, y, z " and thats valid! even if its just "this album is/isn't my thing" thats ok! thats alright! I've seen people be respectful and give constructive criticism and have a convo!

I get the frustration aswell! I get that ppl wish for music that they like, and that ga dipping their toes (haha get it) into the pop genre for the second time in a row makes them feel estranged!

but the way some people try and "criticise" album 4 is just.. not it.

do some of yall think that "its not zaba therefore its a cashgrab and its mid and ga fell of and theyre sellouts" is constructive criticism? that's just plain insults with no taste! thats not healthy and doesnt start a good convo either!

like at some point you don't seem like a ga fan anymore and just a zaba stannie!

some ppl acting like zaba is superior and ga owes them more zaba is kinda weird to me cause like, they dont owe you anything! they dont know us! and we only know the parts they want us to see online!

and it's also not the first rodeo! this happened before! (definetly happened with dreamland but not sure on htbahb)

the take of "why are they making repetitive music" while you want ga to make another zaba AKA MAKE REPETITIVE MUSIC is a hypocritical take! It's not a good look I'm sorry!

and the take of "lp4 is full of generic love songs for depressed 13 year olds" that I've seen from a few people ain't good cause like, this album is full of depressing-at-best, toxic-at-worst relationships! just cause it's about love doesn't mean it's instantly generic! the lyrics aren't like "we would be together in the stars we would be so lovey dovey" "i wish you loved me back" "youre the air that i breathe", they're more like "ive been kidnaped and developed stockholm syndrome" "hey i fucking hate your guts but i still lowkey love yo- oh shit the songs ending" "we fell out of love and i cant change that no matter how hard I try". like IDK WHAT TO TELL YOU BRO! like misinterpreting these lyrics so badly my god-

also the fact that some went like "ga should be ashamed and embarressed for releasing this" is rlly sad to me, like I remember Dave saying that this is his most personal work and he had to get vulnerable first before making it, and saying that he should be embarressed for pouring his heart out is kinda :[ to me (maybe because vulnerabillity is a very important trait to me, but moving on)

or the take that "theyre making radio-friendly tiktok music" like what radio would play a song with lyrics mentioning ball gags and being tied up??????

like this is unproductive, lowkey unhealthy, very repetitive and very tiring imo. people are getting tired of the same ol recycled, poorly disguised as "criticism", bare insults. most of the time in the reddit, some here, on twitter, insta and discord. this has been repeated ad nauseam, and it's getting nowhere imo.

so uh yea. that's my thoughts on this whole thing

thanks for reading :] -A

[flannel-and-rainbows]

15 questions, 15 mutuals :)

Tagged by @lepetitfruit , sorry I'm a couple days late on responding to thiss

There's no way I'm gonna tag 15 people, but I suppose I'll tag a few of you

Anyways;

Were you named after anyone?

My first name was chosen by my parents after some biblical person, it was related to trouble having me etc etc, I've heard the story plenty. My middle name is the same as both my great-grandmother's and my aunt's I believe.

When was the last time you cried?

Actually cried? Not sure, I'm the suppress-emotions-when-possible type. Getting a bit teary and doing my best to avoid crying? When a character died on a show I was watching a few days ago

Do you have kids?

Dear god no, nor do I plan to. I mean, maybe if my future partner really wants a kid I'll consider it, but there is no way in hell I will be the one giving birth. Not a chance

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

If you haven't heard me use sarcasm, either I am dead or you've never spoken to me for more than 30 seconds.

What's the first thing you notice about people?

For some reason I seem to have accidentally trained my brain to look for queer signals right off the bat, so ngl it'll probably be that. Sounds bad, I know, but it's the truth

What's your eye color?

Hazel

Scary movies or happy endings?

"Happy endings" is so non-specific, it could be practically any genre! Including scary stuff! But anyways, I haven't watched a ton of horror but if whatever I'm watching doesn't have a satisfying ending I will revolt (aka read fanfics) so I choose happy endings

Any special talents?

I do competitive archery on a national level, I think that one counts. I also can and will improvise practically anything small-ish into earrings

Where were you born?

Same general area I live now, Illinois, good ole American midwest. Yes, I am dying inside.

What are your hobbies?

Can I just repeat the "special skills" stuff? Archery, making earrings, and anything else I may hyperfixate on at any given time. Those things include half a million fandoms, way too many craft projects, and the occasional writing sprees.

Have any pets?

The only one who's tecnically mine is my cat, Pippin (named after the hobbit). The other animals in my house include Daisy, our beagle, and my sibling's two ferrets, Merlin and Myrtle.

What sports do/ have you played?

Feeling a bit repetitive here, but once again my answer is archery

How tall are you?

At least 5'7 last I checked, could be a little bit more

Favorite subject in school?

Well, back when I went to public school I'd always say science, but given the fact that I was 8 and only went through 3rd grade there's some room to change there. However, in my homeschooling ventures my work was much less rigidly defined by subject so I'm honestly not sure which to say here, I just teach myself anything I'm interested in

Dream job?

If I could get this writing demon in my brain under control that'd be fantastic, I need it to start spitting words onto pages please. Other than that, is it too much to ask to find a hands-off job that generates it's own income so I can travel and socialize and just live?

I'll tag... @superwho-ace @lonely-little-astronaut @renee561 @mon-sher-liam @siriuslythatbitch @seventiessunglasses @homoromoacecase

No pressure obviously, and if anyone else sees this you can say you were tagged by me, go for it!

[onlineearningselite]

10 Compelling Reasons Why YouTube Automation Is Essential for Content Creators and Businesses

Introduction:

In today's digital era, YouTube has become a powerful platform for content creators and businesses to reach a vast audience and build a strong online presence. However, managing a successful YouTube channel involves more than just creating captivating videos. That's where YouTube automation comes in. By utilizing automation tools and strategies, creators and businesses can streamline their workflow, save time, and optimize their channel for growth. In this blog, we will explore ten compelling reasons why YouTube automation is essential for content creators, YouTube Automation step by step and businesses looking to thrive in the competitive world of online video.

Time Efficiency:

Time is a valuable resource, especially for content creators juggling multiple responsibilities. YouTube automation can help save time by automating repetitive tasks such as video uploading, keyword research, and analytics tracking. By delegating these tasks to automation tools, creators can focus more on producing high-quality content and engaging with their audience.

Increased Productivity:

Automation tools enhance productivity by automating time-consuming processes like video editing, thumbnail creation, and captioning. This allows creators to produce more videos in less time, resulting in a consistent posting schedule and improved audience engagement.

Want a Blueprint For Youtube Automation Step by Step

👉Make Money on YouTube without Making Videos.

Improved Content Consistency:

Consistency is key to building a strong brand for YouTube Automation Cash Cow. YouTube automation ensures that your content follows a consistent posting schedule, maintaining viewer interest and loyalty. Automated video editing, intros, and outros contribute to a professional and cohesive brand image.

Enhanced SEO Optimization:

Search Engine Optimization (SEO) is crucial for YouTube video discoverability. Automation tools assist creators in optimizing their videos by suggesting relevant keywords, optimizing metadata, and providing tag suggestions. By leveraging YouTube Automation Channel for SEO, creators can increase their chances of ranking higher in search results and attracting more viewers.

Better Audience Engagement:

Engaging with your audience is vital for building a loyal subscriber base. YouTube automation tools offer features like automated comments and responses, allowing creators to interact with their viewers more effectively. Automated YouTube channel can also be used for notifications, subscription reminders, and community updates, ensuring that your audience stays engaged and connected.

Monetization Opportunities:

Automated YouTube channel can significantly impact your channel's monetization potential. Automated video monetization settings, ad placements, and analytics tracking help creators optimize their revenue generation. By utilizing automation tools, creators can maximize their monetization opportunities and turn their passion into a sustainable income stream to make money on YouTube without filming.

Streamlined Analytics and Reporting:

Analyzing video performance and audience metrics is crucial for optimizing content strategy. YouTube automation simplifies data collection, analysis, and reporting processes, providing creators with valuable insights. Automated analytics tools help creators track their video performance, audience demographics, and engagement metrics, allowing them to make informed decisions for channel growth and Successfully Make money on YouTube without filming.

Effective Channel Growth Strategies:

YouTube automation plays a vital role in implementing successful channel growth strategies. Automated video promotions, cross-promotion, and collaborations help creators expand their reach and attract new viewers.YouTube Automation Cash Cow also assists in audience targeting, audience retention, and subscriber acquisition, facilitating long-term channel growth.

Social Media Integration:

Integrating YouTube with social media platforms is essential for expanding your YouTube Automation channel's reach. YouTube automation tools allow for seamless integration by automating video sharing, cross-platform promotion, and social media scheduling. This integration increases visibility and enables creators to tap into a wider audience base.

Scalability and Long-Term Success:

YouTube automation enables scalable growth and long-term success. By automating repetitive tasks and optimizing processes, creators can focus on channel expansion, diversifying content, and building a sustainable brand. Automation empowers creators to take their channels to new heights while maintaining efficiency and quality.

Conclusion:

In today's competitive landscape of YouTube, mastering the art of content creation and monetization is essential for anyone looking to make their mark on the platform. That's why I highly recommend investing in the course "Tube Mastery and Monetization." This comprehensive course, created by renowned YouTube expert and entrepreneur, Matt Par, provides you with the tools, strategies, and insider knowledge needed to succeed in the world of YouTube.

By enrolling in Tube Mastery and Monetization, you gain access to a wealth of invaluable information that will propel your YouTube Automation step by step journey forward. Let's take a moment to delve into the compelling sales strategies that make this course a game-changer:

Proven Success Blueprint:Matt Par has cracked the code to YouTube success and shares his proven blueprint in this course. You'll learn step-by-step methods for identifying profitable niches, creating high-quality content, and optimizing your videos for maximum reach and engagement. This blueprint is the foundation for achieving sustainable growth and monetization on YouTube.

Monetization Strategies:Earning revenue from your YouTube Automation channel is a significant goal for many creators, and Tube Mastery and Monetization equips you with the knowledge to make it happen. You'll discover effective monetization strategies, including ad revenue, sponsorships, merchandise, and product promotions. Matt's insights will help you navigate the complexities of monetization and maximize your earnings.

In-Depth Market Research:Understanding your target audience and identifying profitable niches is crucial for success on YouTube. With this course, you'll gain access to comprehensive market research techniques that enable you to uncover untapped opportunities. Matt guides you through the process of finding high-demand niches, ensuring your content resonates with your audience and sets you up for success.

Growth Hacking Techniques:Building a loyal subscriber base and expanding your reach is essential for long-term success. Tube Mastery and Monetization provides you with growth hacking techniques that go beyond basic subscriber acquisition. Matt reveals advanced strategies for increasing engagement, boosting watch time, and leveraging YouTube's algorithms to propel your channel's growth.

Expert Insights and Case Studies:Learning from someone who has already achieved remarkable success on YouTube is incredibly valuable. Matt Par shares his personal experiences, insights, and case studies throughout the course, giving you a real-world understanding of what it takes to succeed. By following in his footsteps, you can avoid common pitfalls and fast-track your progress.

Ongoing Support and Updates:When you invest in Tube Mastery and Monetization, you become part of a supportive community of like-minded creators. You'll gain access to exclusive forums and groups where you can connect, collaborate, and seek advice from fellow students. Additionally, the course is regularly updated to reflect the latest trends and algorithm changes, ensuring you stay ahead of the curve.

If you're serious about achieving success on YouTube and monetizing your YouTube Automation channel effectively, Tube Mastery and Monetization is the course for you. With its comprehensive content, sales strategies, and expert guidance from Matt Par, this course provides you with the roadmap to turn your passion for YouTube into a thriving online business. Don't miss out on this opportunity to take your YouTube journey to new heights. Enroll in Tube Mastery and Monetization today and unlock the secrets to YouTube success.

[mediajungleblog]

How Media Jungle Delivers Complete Control Over Your Streaming Platform

In the competitive world of OTT streaming, having complete control over your platform is the ultimate advantage. Media Jungle empowers businesses with tools and features that ensure total ownership and operational independence. From design to deployment, you remain in charge of every aspect of your streaming service. Here’s how Media Jungle delivers unparalleled control:

1. Ownership of Content and Data

One of the cornerstones of complete control is owning your content and user data. Media Jungle ensures:

Content Ownership: Retain full rights to your videos, ensuring they’re protected and monetized according to your preferences.

User Data Access: Gain insights into audience behavior, preferences, and engagement without third-party interference.

Custom Analytics: Track the metrics that matter most to your business with tailored dashboards.

2. End-to-End Customization

Control extends to the look, feel, and functionality of your platform. Media Jungle offers:

Design Freedom: Customize layouts, themes, and branding to reflect your unique identity.

Feature Selection: Add or remove features based on your audience’s needs, such as live streaming, offline downloads, or personalized recommendations.

Localized Experiences: Offer multilingual support and region-specific content to cater to global audiences.

3. Flexible Monetization Models

Monetization is at the heart of every streaming business. Media Jungle lets you choose the revenue strategies that work best for you:

Subscription-Based (SVOD): Generate recurring income through tiered subscription plans.

Pay-Per-View (TVOD): Charge users for one-time access to premium content.

Ad-Supported (AVOD): Monetize free content with targeted advertisements.

4. Comprehensive Content Management

Managing a growing library of videos and assets requires powerful tools. Media Jungle’s centralized OTT CMS allows you to:

Organize Efficiently: Use tags, metadata, and categories for seamless content discovery.

Control Access: Set permissions for exclusive or premium content.

Automate Workflows: Simplify repetitive tasks like uploading, encoding, and publishing.

5. Full Technical Control

Technical autonomy is essential for scaling and adapting to market changes. Media Jungle provides:

API Integrations: Connect with third-party tools and services to expand functionality.

Scalable Hosting: Utilize cloud-based infrastructure to handle traffic surges and growing audiences.

DRM and Security: Implement robust digital rights management and encryption to protect your content.

6. Seamless User Management

Maintain control over your user base with advanced management tools:

Custom Profiles: Allow users to create personalized profiles and watchlists.

Access Restrictions: Offer parental controls and content filters for different audiences.

Notifications and Engagement: Send targeted messages, updates, and promotions directly to users.

7. Ongoing Support and Maintenance

Complete control doesn’t mean going it alone. Media Jungle ensures:

Dedicated Support Teams: Get 24/7 assistance for technical or operational issues.

Regular Updates: Stay ahead with the latest features and platform enhancements.

Training Resources: Access tutorials, guides, and best practices for optimal platform management.

Conclusion

With Media Jungle, complete control isn’t just a feature—it’s a philosophy. By putting you in charge of every aspect of your streaming platform, we help you build a service that reflects your vision, serves your audience, and drives your business goals. Take charge of your streaming success with Media Jungle’s powerful tools and solutions.

[quickbooksonlinetraining]

Mastering Gmail: A Comprehensive Guide to Email Management

Gmail, Google's free email service, is an essential tool for millions of users worldwide. Whether you're using it for personal communication or professional correspondence, mastering Gmail’s features can dramatically enhance your productivity and streamline your email management. Custom Guide offers extensive Gmail training designed to help users unlock the full potential of this powerful email platform. This article will delve into the various aspects of Gmail training, exploring how these features can benefit users in both personal and professional settings.

Understanding Gmail’s Interface

The first step in mastering Gmail is becoming familiar with its interface. Gmail's clean and intuitive design allows users to navigate easily between their inbox, sent mail, drafts, and other folders. The main interface consists of a navigation pane on the left, where users can access their primary email folders, and a central area displaying email conversations. The right sidebar includes Google’s suite of productivity tools, such as Google Calendar and Google Keep.

Organizing Your Inbox

One of the most valuable features of Gmail is its ability to help users organize their inbox efficiently. Gmail training covers how to use labels and folders to categorize emails. Labels act like tags that can be applied to emails, making it easier to search and sort messages. For instance, you can create labels for different projects, clients, or topics. Gmail also allows users to color-code these labels, further enhancing organization.

Filters are another powerful tool covered in training. Filters automatically sort incoming emails based on criteria such as sender, subject, or keywords. For example, you can set up a filter to automatically move emails from a specific client to a designated folder, ensuring that important messages are never overlooked.

Advanced Email Management

Gmail’s training also covers advanced email management features, such as using Google's search functionality to quickly find specific messages. Gmail’s search bar supports advanced search operators, allowing users to filter results by date, sender, or attachment type. For instance, searching “has

” will display all emails with attachments, making it easy to locate important files.

Another critical feature is Gmail’s integration with Google Drive, which allows users to share large files directly from their Drive. Instead of attaching files to an email, you can insert a link to the file stored in Drive, ensuring that recipients have access to the most recent version.

Managing Multiple Accounts

Many users juggle multiple email accounts, and Gmail makes it easy to manage them all from one place. Gmail training includes instructions on how to add and switch between multiple accounts, as well as how to set up email forwarding and send mail as options. This feature is particularly useful for professionals who need to manage both personal and work emails efficiently.

Enhancing Productivity with Gmail Add-Ons

Gmail offers a variety of add-ons and extensions that can further enhance productivity. Training covers how to integrate tools such as Boomerang for scheduling emails, Grammarly for improving writing, and Trello for managing tasks. These tools can help streamline email workflows, automate repetitive tasks, and ensure effective communication.

Security and Privacy

In today’s digital world, email security is paramount. Gmail training emphasizes best practices for securing your email account, including enabling two-factor authentication (2FA), setting up recovery options, and recognizing phishing attempts. Gmail also provides built-in encryption for emails sent between Gmail users, adding an extra layer of security to your communications.

Optimizing Gmail for Mobile

With the increasing use of mobile devices, it’s essential to optimize Gmail for on-the-go access. Training includes tips for using the Gmail app on smartphones and tablets, such as managing notifications, using gestures for quick actions, and offline access to emails. By mastering these mobile features, users can stay connected and productive no matter where they are.

Customizing Gmail Settings

Personalizing Gmail’s settings can significantly enhance your user experience. Gmail training covers how to customize your email signature, adjust display density, and configure keyboard shortcuts for more efficient navigation. Users can also tailor their inbox layout to suit their preferences, whether they prefer a minimalist design or a more detailed view of their emails.

Leveraging Gmail’s Integration with Other Google Services

Finally, Gmail integrates seamlessly with other Google services, such as Google Calendar and Google Meet. Gmail training includes how to schedule meetings directly from Gmail, add calendar events, and start video calls. This integration ensures that all aspects of your digital communication and scheduling are streamlined and accessible from one central location.

Mastering Gmail through comprehensive Gmail training can greatly enhance your email management skills, improve productivity, and ensure effective communication. By understanding and utilizing Gmail’s full range of features, users can manage their emails more efficiently, stay organized, and make the most of this essential tool.

Other Courses

Custom Guide offers a diverse range of professional courses to boost productivity with essential tools. Their Microsoft Office Training provides comprehensive instruction on core Office applications, including Word, Excel, and PowerPoint. This training ensures users are proficient in document creation, data analysis, and presentation design.

In addition, Excel Training focuses on advanced data management and analysis techniques. This course covers formulas, pivot tables, and data visualization, equipping users with the skills needed to handle complex datasets and generate insightful reports.

Google Sheets Training complements Excel Training by offering expertise in Google’s cloud-based spreadsheet tool. Users learn how to leverage real-time collaboration features and perform data analysis in a cloud environment.

These courses collectively enhance your proficiency in both Microsoft and Google productivity tools, streamlining your workflow and improving overall efficiency.

[zamanahmed]

Zerowork Lifetime Deal: Automate repetitive browser activity

Zerowork Lifetime Deal: Automate repetitive browser activity

Do you want to save time and energy by automating boring, repetitive tasks on your computer? If yes, then you're in luck! With the Zerowork Lifetime Deal: Automate Repetitive Browser Activity, you can automate many tasks without knowing how to code.

What Can You Do With Zerowork?

ZeroWork is a powerful tool that helps you automate a lot of different things on the internet. Here are some of the cool things you can do:

Scrape Data

Google Maps

Instagram Followers

Facebook Group Members

Amazon Products

YouTube Video Content

LinkedIn Profiles

With ZeroWork, you can even scrape files and images. It also helps you remove duplicates automatically and add tags to every collected item. You can monitor your data daily, hourly, or even every 5 minutes. Plus, you can save your data to a CSV file, Google Sheets, or native tables. It even bypasses anti-scraping systems!

More Review Check Link

Enrich Data

Enrich lists of LinkedIn, Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, or Twitter profile links with details like location, job title, email, profile description, company title, and latest post

Extract pieces of data, like getting the city or state from an address

Limit the number of links visited per run, hour, or day to avoid getting banned

Auto-skip visiting the same links on subsequent runs

Add a snooze feature to auto-pause or do a random action after visiting a certain number of links

Transform Data

Auto-filter data to qualify leads based on location, job title, and keywords

Auto-delete old data after a certain period or based on conditions

Auto-transfer data between sheets, for example, move leads from the "All leads" sheet to the "Qualified leads" based on conditions

Split text, remove words, and shorten content

Easily add conditions and comparisons

Beginner-friendly with advanced Regex capabilities for pro users

Automate Web Interactions

Auto-post AI-generated comments

Auto-send DMs

Auto-like social media posts

Auto-fill out forms

Auto-post on WordPress

Add AI to craft unique or personalized content

Limit the number of DMs, likes, and actions per run, hour, or day to avoid getting banned

Add auto-generated random variations to your content to avoid being marked as spam

Auto-delay after every action to appear more human-like

In-built anti-bot detection prevention

Effortlessly Use Ai

Schedule AI-generated social media posts

Auto-download and upload AI-generated images

Auto-reply with AI to incoming messages

Add AI at any step of your automation

Native ChatGPT integration

Works with other AI services like image creation apps

ZeroWork Appsumo Lifetime Deal Only $79

Why Choose ZeroWork?

ZeroWork offers many benefits that make it stand out from other automation tools. Here are some reasons why you should consider using it:

Automate ANY website: ZeroWork allows you to automate tasks on any website, making it very versatile.

Add AI at any step: You can enhance your automation processes with AI at any step, making your tasks smarter and more efficient.

Never get banned: With in-built anti-bot detection prevention, you can be sure that your accounts remain safe.

Easy to use: ZeroWork features a visual drag-and-drop interface, so you don't need to know how to code.

Generous features: Unlimited runtime, API calls, and webhooks. You can schedule tasks as frequently as every 5 minutes.

Multiple accounts: Automate tasks for multiple accounts with fingerprint obfuscation and proxy support.

Custom scripting: When needed, you can write custom JavaScript or make API calls to other services.

Caring support: ZeroWork has a helpful support team, an active community, and frequent releases.

Who Benefits the Most from ZeroWork?

ZeroWork is perfect for:

Freelancers

Marketing agencies

Web design agencies

It is also a great alternative to tools like UiPath.

Integrations and Features

ZeroWork integrates with:

API

Google Sheets

Webhooks

It is also GDPR-compliant, ensuring your data remains secure and private.

Frequently Asked Questions

What Is Zerowork?

ZeroWork is a tool to automate repetitive browser tasks without coding.

How Does Zerowork Automate Tasks?

ZeroWork uses visual drag-and-drop to automate tasks like data scraping and social media management.

Can Zerowork Scrape Data?

Yes, ZeroWork can scrape data from Google Maps, Instagram, LinkedIn, and more.

Does Zerowork Support Ai Integration?

Yes, ZeroWork integrates with ChatGPT and other AI services for enhanced automation.

Conclusion

In summary, the Zerowork Lifetime Deal: Automate Repetitive Browser Activity is a fantastic tool for anyone looking to save time and make their work more efficient. Whether you're a freelancer, a marketing agency, or a web design agency, ZeroWork offers a wide range of features that can help you automate and streamline your tasks. With its user-friendly interface and powerful capabilities, ZeroWork is a must-have tool for anyone looking to improve their productivity.

Ready to start automating? Get your Zerowork Lifetime Deal: Automate Repetitive Browser Activity today!

[sonartechnology]

From manual to automated- Transforming warehouse operations with WMS solutions 

Introduction: 

In the ever-evolving landscape of logistics and supply chain management, warehouses play a pivotal role in ensuring the smooth flow of goods from manufacturers to consumers. Traditionally, stockroom operations relied heavily on manual processes, leading to inefficiencies, errors, and delays. However, with the advent of Warehouse Management System (WMS) solutions, there has been a paradigm shift towards automation, revolutionizing the way repository operates. This article explores how WMS solutions are transforming inventory operations from manual to automated processes, leading to improved efficiency, accuracy, and productivity. 

The Era of Manual Warehouse Operations: 

Historically, warehouse operations were characterized by manual processes such as paper-based inventory management, manual order picking, and handwritten documentation. These manual methods were labor-intensive, time-consuming, and prone to errors, resulting in inefficiencies and operational bottlenecks. inventory managers struggled to maintain accurate inventory records, track shipments, and fulfill orders in a timely manner, leading to customer dissatisfaction and increased costs. 

The Rise of Warehouse Management System Solutions: 

Recognizing the limitations of manual warehouse operations, businesses began adopting WMS solutions to streamline their processes and enhance efficiency. WMS solutions are software applications designed to automate and optimize stockroom management tasks, including inventory tracking, order fulfillment, picking and packing, and shipping management. By leveraging advanced technologies such as barcode scanning, RFID tagging, and automation algorithms, WMS solutions revolutionize warehouse operations, enabling businesses to achieve higher levels of accuracy, speed, and scalability. 

Automation in Inventory Management: 

One of the key benefits of WMS solutions is their ability to automate inventory management processes. Instead of relying on manual counting and data entry, WMS solutions utilize barcode scanning and RFID technology to track inventory movements in real-time. This automated approach not only eliminates errors and discrepancies but also provides warehouse managers with accurate visibility into inventory levels, locations, and status. As a result, businesses can optimize their inventory levels, reduce stockouts, and improve order accuracy, leading to higher customer satisfaction and lower carrying costs. 

Streamlining Order Fulfillment: 

WMS solutions play a crucial role in streamlining order fulfillment processes, from receiving incoming orders to shipping products to customers. With WMS solutions, warehouse managers can optimize order picking routes, automate order allocation based on predefined rules, and prioritize orders based on urgency. Additionally, WMS solutions enable batch picking and wave picking strategies, allowing inventory workers to fulfill multiple orders simultaneously, thereby improving productivity and reducing labor costs. By automating order fulfillment processes, businesses can fulfill orders faster, minimize order errors, and meet customer expectations more effectively. 

Enhancing Labor Efficiency: 

Automation is a key driver of labor efficiency in warehouse operations. WMS solutions automate repetitive tasks such as inventory counting, order picking, and shipping label generation, freeing up storage staff to focus on more value-added activities. Moreover, WMS solutions optimize labor allocation by assigning tasks based on worker availability, skills, and workload capacity. This ensures that warehouse resources are utilized efficiently, reducing idle time and maximizing productivity. By leveraging WMS solutions to enhance labor efficiency, businesses can lower labor costs, improve workforce morale, and achieve higher throughput rates. 

Improving Accuracy and Compliance: 

Accuracy and compliance are critical aspects of warehouse operations, especially in industries with stringent regulatory requirements such as healthcare and pharmaceuticals. WMS solutions improve accuracy by eliminating manual data entry errors, reducing picking and shipping mistakes, and ensuring compliance with industry standards and regulations. Additionally, WMS solutions provide audit trials and electronic documentation, enabling businesses to track and trace products throughout the supply chain, thereby enhancing transparency and accountability. 

Conclusion: Warehouse Management System solutions are revolutionizing logistic center operations by transforming manual processes into automated workflows. By automating inventory management, streamlining order fulfillment, enhancing labor efficiency, and improving accuracy and compliance, WMS solutions empower businesses to optimize their repository operations, reduce costs, and deliver exceptional customer experiences. As the demand for efficient and scalable warehouse solutions continues to grow, WMS solutions will play an increasingly important role in driving operational excellence and competitive advantage in the logistics industry. 

[hotasfahrenheit]

i don't think i have 15 people to tag but i'll still answer these 15 questions and with answers that are probably way too long to make up for it 🌟

1. are you named after anyone?

not that i've ever been aware of, tho all three of my siblings -both younger and older- are named after family members or family friends. i've never heard a story about where my name comes from, so my assumption has always just been that it was chosen because mum's family was Polish Catholics (Mia is short for Maria but i'm very far from being anything other than a white girl)

2. when was the last time you cried?

it's Sunday today yeah? so probably like Thursday or Friday while having too many emotions about *something*. i am a giant crybaby and get emotional and cry about things all the time honestly so it's not that big of a deal when i do and not worth taking note of 🤣 Saturday i spent at work for 9 hours then immediately on a 7 hour road trip where i slept a bunch so no crying yesterday but before that it could have been any time really.

3. do you have kids?

only friends that i've adopted. going from the nickname Mia to lots of friends calling me Mama Mia was entirely too easy and i'll mom at them all 💖

4. what sports do you play/have you played?

the only time i've ever willingly been on a sports team was when i played youth soccer in elementary school, it was just teams of kids from mixed grades all from my school and we got free tshirts and there was an ice cream social at the end of the whole program and honestly those were my motivating factors for playing (and i was bad at it)

5. do you use sarcasm?

who me no never

6. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

their general attitude and vibe

7. what’s your eye color?

hazel, in the blue/grey/green variety, and they look like they change depending on what colours i'm wearing

8. scary movies or happy endings?

happy endings for sure, i will like... read plot synopsis of scary movies sometimes but i don't like watching them, my brain is too visual and repetitive and scenes get stuck in my head and it's not fun

9. any talents?

lots of general art things, like i can draw some and sew things and do leatherwork etc etc.

10. where were you born?

in the northeast United States but i moved away long ago

11. what are your hobbies

playing video games, listening to kpop, watching Asian media, LARPing, making things primarily for LARP stuff

12. do you have any pets?

an elderly gentleman bastard cat, Xanatos, and a trash gremlin cattle dog known commonly as Poops

13. how tall are you?

taller than my sisters and my mother but shorter than my father

14. favorite subject in school?

well i have a bachelor's degree in literature with a minor in history so those

15. dream job

theoretically i was doing that for a while where i was working for myself making things (sewing, doing applique, dyeing fabric, doing some leatherwork, etc) on commission, but i struggle with self and time management, plus my income was incredibly inconsistent and variable so my bills just weren't getting paid. so really i guess a dream version of that would be one where i was getting paid better and had the ability to stay on task 🤣🤣

thanks for tagging me, @callipigio 💖 i think most people i would tag already have been so if you see this and wanna do it and you haven't been, pretend i tagged you and do it anyway 🌟

[trendingnewsworldsblog]

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[notquiteaghost]

a revelation ive had at least twice this year alone & will presumably continue to have regularly cuz i have object impermanence (objects in question: basic facts about my own brain), is, when you are autistic, not only is stimming a whole activity, it's a load-bearing activity

like i have excised most of my internalised bullshit abt needing to be Productive and Useful, but spending a couple hours playing a simple puzzle game while listening to music still sometimes trips the evil little capitalist demon living in my head into saying "waste! waste of time! no point! wasted!" & wow it sure isn't. wow it sure is actually fundamental to my functioning to spend a solid chunk of my time doing my little repetitive tasks while having my little repetitive sensory experiences. whenever i don't do this i feel terrible! huh!

[skrunklybf-archived]

armin arlert x f!reader

good girls get good grades; one of the many expectations your parents pressed into you from an early age. a fierce people pleaser, you wanted nothing more than the thick haze of burnout to lift from your shoulders, before you have to run home with your tail between your legs in defeat. good thing your sociology class holds a fellow overachiever.

tags: college au, academic rivals, depression, angst, toxic family dynamics, slow burn romance, multi chapter fic, unclear feelings, reader is an unreliable narrator, eventual fluff

wc: 2.5k

notes: wheeeewwww y'all. WHEEEWWWW. i couldn't decide how to approach this chapter so it's gone through several transformations.....hhhh..... anyways, hope you enjoy eren briefly checking out your ass ♡ love you all

chapters: 01 | 02 | 03

Chapter Three: Flattery

"You looked great up there."

Armin's habit of suddenly appearing behind you was already getting old. Stilling the erratic rhythm in your chest, you slowed your stride a bit to let him catch up.

"Will you stop sneaking up on me?" A small smile betrayed your stern tone. "And... thanks, my grade almost ate shit. I owe you one." The weekend came with a sense of fleeting relief, like holding ice in a burned hand. Time to rinse and repeat, right?

Armin fell into step at your side. He thought about how rarely you actually stop to talk. Always moving, as if your schedule was tightly packed, or poorly planned. He reckoned it could be either at this point.

"Any time. Y'know, it wouldn't be a bad idea to study together more often." The blonde held a sunny aura, something that you wished was more contagious. "I like the way that you think." You knew it was a compliment, but pride didn't swell at his words like it should've. Instead, you peeked at the boy suspiciously from your peripheral.

Shoving your hands in your jacket pockets, you looked thoughtful for a moment. Would that be... weird? What does he mean by that? A chime from your phone called your attention away before you could reply. "Uh, hold on, Armin." Dread squeezed the air from your lungs upon reading the contact name.

Incoming Call

Dad

You stopped walking. Unaware, Armin stopped a few steps ahead of you. It was almost impressive how fast your thumb automatically moved to answer the call despite the blood draining from your face.

"Hi, Dad."

Armin sealed his lips together.

He couldn't pretend to understand the nature of your relationship with your family. Over the few days and several hours you spent next to each other, the blonde watched you ease so slowly back into the familiar rhythm you used to move in, almost as if invisible weights were being dropped from your ankles. It was refreshing. It was interesting. He held a sneaking suspicion whatever icy visage you threw over yourself publicly was just that -- a show, an act. Smiles on your lips weren't as rare as he once thought. Whenever your family was mentioned, though, you were a deer caught in headlights.

"Yeah, I'm finished for the day. I did well on my presentation for soc," eavesdropping is rude, he reminded himself, so Armin angled his body away and pretended to busy himself with his phone as you spoke, "marks should be posted by the end of the night."

How deeply did they monitor you? The blonde chewed his cheek. Something in your voice sounded so artificial and plastic. It seemed glue stuck your feet in place but ignored your hands, thumb flicking over fingertips in a repetitive motion he could only pin as a nervous habit.

Armin caught shade falling down your face. "I know, I was... studying, with my tutor. The library closed and the diner was still a public place, so..."

Ah, right. He still felt awful about the late hour he kept you out the night before. Still, even if you were with him out of pure necessity, Armin found himself enjoying the company. Was it selfish of him? Maybe. It still felt nice to imagine that you didn't hate him as much as he thought.

A separate, familiar voice called to him from across the lawn, dragging him from his thoughts. Eren jogged himself over, messy brunette bun bobbing with each long step. Armin watched you turn and meander a short distance away with your phone pressed firmly against your ear. The two boys exchanged loose greetings ending with Eren shoving a thumb in your general direction, "who's this? Are you waiting for her?" Armin pocketed the phone he only used as a distraction, watching warily as Eren let his eyes wander over you. Why did he say it like that? The blonde looked to you too, facing away and combing a hand through your hair as you talked.

Armin remembered being taken aback by the shift in your appearance that day. Lately your body all but swam in hoodies and sweaters far too big for you, coupled with plain dark jeans and sleepless bags under your eyes. You looked tired, and rightfully so. But that day, Armin could guess what Eren was so non discretely gazing at; his eyes fell down your back, to the curve of your ass, beautifully shaped in a pencil skirt.

He shoved the brunette, the tips of his ears flushing as he tore his eyes away from you. Eren barely budged, chuckling playfully at his friend and muttering "relax, relax" in the air between them.

"I'm walking her home," Armin started, "then we can head to Jean's." A certain brass clung to his words without permission. He wasn't entirely sure where it came from, but he felt a tad grateful for it regardless.

Eren snorted in reply, "why don't you just bring her with?"

"[Y/N] has more important things to do than get drunk with a bunch of random guys."

"Not random," the taller friend interjected, "she'll know both of us, right?"

Both of us?

A rubber band pulled taught in Armin's chest at the implication. Eren Jaeger, his best friend for the majority of his life, the man who never stuttered or faltered when talking -- especially to women. He was a cocktail of confidence and charisma jam packed into a six foot frame, topped with a scrunchie to hold back his mane of dark hair. Armin felt so utterly flat and nondescript in comparison. He felt a flicker of annoyance clench his throat as you turned, eyes landing on the friend in question.

You had pocketed your phone, the jacket wrapped around you doing little for warmth but pulling the look together nicely. Clean, simple, almost professional. "Hey, sorry about that," sighing, your hands found themselves under your bag's strap as you approached them, "anyways, what were you saying, Armin?"

Eren prodded the blonde's side, a shit eating grin spread wide on his face. "I think he was just going to introduce us, right, Armin?"

How interesting. In a logical sense, Armin knew you were the day-and-night opposite of the type of girl Eren usually chased. You were brilliant, determined, ambitious -- wrapped in a very pretty bow and tight lipped smile that he couldn't help but think of when you weren't around. Despite this, that rubber band grew ever tighter as he begrudgingly gave in to his best friend, as per tradition.

The familiar swirl of brain fog and restlessness continued to plague your days and nights. Time in the classroom felt like a physical battle to hold your brain above swampy water. Cerulean eyes watched the slow flicks of your fingers, the steam slowly rising from your ears. The sound of your voice became a rare song during school hours.

Armin found himself missing your roundabout squabbles.

He still sent texts. Sometimes he would be lucky enough to receive a reply. More often than not, they'd be opened hours or even days later, left to sit along the wall of other abandoned 'hello's and 'how are you feeling?'s. Part of him wondered if he was being a nuisance.

Every once in a while, though, you'd send him a message. Always out of the blue, almost never with any sort of context -- just a random question.

[Y/N]: the mountains or the beach?

Sometimes he'd wait to even open it, wondering meekly if you meant to send it to someone else, but Armin would always reply.

Armin: the beach, easy (:

These questions usually came late at night, when you were supposed to be sleeping. When he was supposed to be sleeping. The pattern was slight, but traceable, and sometimes he'd stay up a little longer than he should, hoping to hear the familiar chime.

[Y/N]: when's the last time you went?

Armin: probably last year, with Eren and his ex

And sometimes, sometimes, he'd be rewarded with a pearl of wisdom for his tiresome efforts.

[Y/N]: i've never seen the ocean in person before

[Y/N]: just in documentaries /:

[Y/N]: maybe we could go some time

Maybe he wasn't a nuisance. Maybe the lawyer's daughter was just a bit of a puzzle, one he hadn't quite figured out yet.

Armin: just say the word and i'm there

He wouldn't push. Whatever was pulling you under water wasn't his battle to fight, he thought, and the last thing he wanted was to paint himself as another obstacle. Armin, for reasons he couldn't quite wrap his head around, wanted to be useful to you. He wanted to see the weight lift from your shoulders again.

Though traces of you could be found around campus or online, the realization hit him like a bus one day -- where were your friends? Nobody to chatter at between classes, nobody to discretely text during a lecture. He wondered what you did when you tucked yourself away in your room for the night.

He wondered if you felt lonely, like him.

"Would you say you're satisfied with your accomplishments?"

"I mean... I feel like I should be, but I rarely feel it."

The hum that followed felt hollow. A bit of iron tipped your tongue as nervous energy worked along your jaw, nibbling away at your soft lip skin. Therapy was supposed to be good for you. Why did it feel like a prison sentence?

"Do you think you'd find them more note worthy if they were from a friend or loved one instead?" Julia, the young woman encompassing your laptop screen, tapped a pen to her chin.

Your cuticles were a mess. Picking aimlessly, a sigh dropped your shoulders. "I don't know, I guess so. There's a guy in a few of my classes that... I was jealous of, for a long time. I still kind of am. I wanted to be like him-- want to, be like him," the words quietly swelled over your lips, "I am proud of his work. His... intelligence, his drive. He doesn't have to work so hard to be perfect. Maybe if I can just imitate him a little, things won't be so hard."

The half hour sessions dragged painfully every Sunday afternoon. Somehow the insight was supposed to be comforting, enlightening, and sometimes they were; mostly, though, you'd close your laptop along with your jabbering mouth and take a deep breath. A ring of silence hung over your head like a halo.

Ding!

... for a moment, anyway.

Armin: feel like some pie, on me this time?

Armin: 1 image attachment

A familiar restaurant, coupled with a familiar reflection in the window. Armin and two others -- Eren, (right?) with a taller brunette at his side, smoking a cigarette.

Armin: p.s. there's no cinnamon apple today ): but blueberry's better anyway

A smile tugged at your lips.

[Y/N]: dessert at 2 in the afternoon? how daring and crazy of you

Armin: [Y/N], you of all people should know innovation begins with a crazy idea and the drive to see it through

Running a hand through tangled hair, you found yourself standing and slipping into a less lived-in outfit.

[Y/N]: asinine

[Y/N]: i'll be there soon

A friend, you thought about Julia's question on your way out the door; a friend, and your first thought was the blonde who used to make you want to grit your teeth to dust. The one offering to buy you (supposedly superior) blueberry pie.

Should it be so strange, seeing Armin without a mountain of books sitting between you? Without the laptop screens hiding half of your faces, bathing them in an ominous glow? And his friends -- Eren and... whoever the taller one was -- were they like Armin? Somewhat reserved, witty, and... interesting?

Mulling over the decision you already set in stone, anxiety began to gnaw at the empty pit of your stomach. The diner was in view. Next, it was down the street. And finally, right in front of you.

Warm rays of light pooled across the sidewalk from large windows, dancing and shifting as patrons moved. You felt like a ghost; watching, peering into friendly company from the safety of an invisible barrier. After an eternity and a half, your feet dragged you inside the last place you laughed and felt excitement swim under your skin.

The trio wasn't hard to find in such a small room. Animated chatter and chuckles flowed so easily from their table, tinted with colorful language and the occasional mocking tone. Unwilling to blatantly interrupt, you found yourself quickly squeezing into the empty seat beside Armin, who nearly jumped out of his skin when your elbow bumped his.

Eren met your widened gaze first, flashing a bright smile. The man on his side promptly wiped the crumbs from his mouth and nudged his head in your direction.

"Oh hey, she's real!"

"I told you! You owe me twenty bucks." Eren smacked the table in excitement, making you jolt just the slightest bit.

"Nah nah nah, listen. Blink twice if you're a paid actor."

Thoroughly entertained, you watched the brunettes squint at you from across the table, waiting eagerly for an answer. Armin huffed instead, tossing a straw wrapper that bounced off of the taller boy's forehead. "That's Jean. Don't listen to him, he's on a bit of a sugar rush."

You snorted, "well, I'm not an actor, but I was bribed with free pie."

Jean clicked his tongue a few times and leaned back in the booth. "Very sneaky Arlert. Are you gonna pay for me too, since you just lost me twenty bucks?"

"Why don't you ask Eren? I hear he just won twenty bucks." Armin replied with a grin, turning to you once the brunettes began bickering amongst themselves. "You hungry, [Y/N]? The bribe extends past a slice of pie, y'know."

Something about the air circling around your four heads felt familiar. Warm. You found yourself smiling on your own, eyebrow popping upward.

"So, like, the whole pie?"

Armin chuckled.

"How daring and crazy of you," he mimicked quietly.

"What can I say? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter One: The Season Begins

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Despondency, depressive undertones, death of a parent, grief, unsolicited advances, age old sexism, strained parent relationship, nosy neighbors, food, lmk if I missed any pls!

W/C: 3.2k

A/N: And here we go! The first chapter! Welcome & thank you for tuning in, it means the world, truly! As I mentioned before, this story may not be the best for some, so please heed the warnings & proceed with caution. The sadness will not consistently be in each chapter, that much I promise, but we have to get through it right away so we can understand our dear Reader’s mindset as of right now. NO EZRA YET, SORRY! And like I said before, this is probably not totally historically accurate, so take everything with a grain of salt pleeease. Other than that, enjoy!

Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @barbossa2319 @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @ezrasbirdie @danniburgh @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @meesterblack @amandalovess @hunterofartem1s @pedro4ever @mishasminion360

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Chapter Two

~APRIL FIFTEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

Your eyes flutter open on instinct as the sun rises against the pale blue of the sky, its ochre rays peering from behind the grassy hills and across the wheat fields while waking the birds. They start their day with a song, shaking their feathers and stretching their wings as they merrily fly through the air in search of their morning meal. The hens that found solace in their coops from the stark chill of night chatter amongst themselves as they roam around their pen and the lone rooster releases its shrill call, a signal for the day to begin. Beat you again, you think.

The sun rises a little higher now, the bright of day in full effect as it fills your room with its intense luminosity. You lie in bed a moment longer, watching the dust mites float through the air and dance in front of your nose with each exhale of breath you release. Signs of life all around you, from the dew drops that formed on your window in the early morning to the muscles within your very skin twitching as you climb out of bed. Every little thing teasing and taunting you of significance, of meaning just on the horizon, yet so far out of your reach.

This is your life. Each and every morning, day, and night is as repetitive as the last. Wake up before the rooster crows and stare into the minute cracks rippling through the ceiling, envious of the pollen that manages to escape through and longing for you to shrink microscopic enough to hide away as well. Fill your basin with cold water you had gathered the night before to wash yourself quickly before your father wakes. Clothe yourself in your underdress, long sleeved, blue work dress layered on top with the sleeves rolled up, an apron cinched at your waist, and dirty and worn, black boots laced up tight enough to prevent you from minding the ache they feel as the day progresses.

You look at your reflection in the hazy mirror as you braid your hair; the drabness of the glass only accentuates exactly how you perceive yourself. The girl staring back at you was but a shell of the one you knew before. Before, when you still had ambitions that would have led you far from this town. To a place you could live anew. Now, just an empty being as one day fades into the next. Eyes that no longer gleam, hair that no longer shines, skin that no longer glows.

You had given up long ago of any hope and dream of something more, surrendering to the bleakness and repetitiveness of this life when your mother passed. A promise on her death bed to help care for your father any way he needs. And this is what he needs. You, here on the farm, helping tend to the chickens and the cows and the small shop he owned in town. The one your mother ran that was unceremoniously thrust onto your lap. The organ within your chest beats solely to pump the blood through your veins and keep you breathing, if only for the promise you made to your mother.

You fasten the gold chain around your neck, a locket with a faded photograph of your mother hidden within hanging to your breast. You tuck it into your blouse to keep her close to your heart and head down the ladder, stepping lightly as to not awaken Pa any earlier than necessary. Your Pa, an old man now with hair white as snow, only having turned the shade since Ma left.

Wrinkles crease deeper into his skin and the bags under his eyes droop slightly to his cheeks now on his once chiseled face. His strength has dwindled within the last year, and with no other siblings to share the burden of the farm, you knew you could not leave your Pa to deal with it by himself. So your own dreams and goals were swiftly thrown into the dirt to be rained on and turned to mush, impossible to be picked up again.

As you finish grounding the coffee beans and throw them into the pot of already boiling water resting on the range, Pa begins to stir and soon after wakes up, the aroma of caffeine acting as his own signal to wake. Leaving the house to give your father privacy to dress, you head to the hen coop to gather a few eggs for breakfast.

You take a deep breath of the crisp morning air, the smell of apple trees at the front of the house, then the smell of grass with fresh dew, to the smell of hay and chicken feed as you get closer to the pen they are corralled in. As you head back into the house, Pa is already seated at the small, round table with his tin of coffee.

“Good morning, Pa,” you greet softly.

“Good morning daughter. Thank you for the coffee.”

“Grace to our health, Pa,” you say, as you always do when he gives you his thanks.

Financially, you and Pa were well off enough; you still couldn’t afford luxuries like sugar, but you were able to live comfortably with only the necessities and the occasional new pair of boots. You were grateful to have the farm and the shop, both reliable sources of income for your small family, and you were blessed that Pa was still able to work the fields, but you know as time passes and his joints weaken, you would then need to take over the labor. There was truly no path for you to leave this life.

The older women around town had begun to whisper about you, not necessarily trying to keep their gossip from reaching your ears. They were just as bad as the hens that cluck around their pen all day. A never ending chatter of you being stuck in the house or the farm or the shop, working as an old maid for the rest of your life.

You’re still fairly young, just over two decades of life in you; sure, the girls you once played in the streams with as children were all married women now and on their third, fourth, fifth child, but you didn’t feel the desire to find a husband just to bend to the simple mold of life this society has cast. If you were to still have any control of your life, it would, at the least, be that.

You crack the eggs into the beaten and tired pan over the range, letting them cook to completion before removing and plating them, along with a roll of bread and the butter you had just churned the day prior. You walk over to Pa and place his portion down before working on your own. Pa sends up a quick prayer and starts to eat. His prayers turned to letters to Ma, but he never failed to speak them before every meal or before bed, sometimes even when a sudden abundance of eggs were laid or vegetables had sprouted during the night.

“The season is nigh for corn and potatoes,” Pa mumbles and you feel your heart sink to your feet.

You had forgotten about the season, when Ma and Pa would work the fields together endlessly, sweating through their work attire to be washed every evening. You still feel the creak in your elbows to this day. It is the busiest season, bringing in the most coinage for the year, but now that it was only you two, you worry about juggling between the shop and the farm.

“Pa, how will we manage?” You voice your concern. Pa takes a deep breath.

“You will hang a notice in the shop when you go today,” he says matter of factly. “Ask Mr. Williams if you are able to hang one on his window at the post as well.”

“And what shall it say?”

“‘Seasonal laborer wanted – will provide lodging with pay’.”

“Where will he stay?” You inquire.

“The barn; we will provide him blankets and he will be free to use our wash basins when needed and we will offer him meals.”

“It will be a lot of money expended, Pa; will we be all right?” You ask as you sit at the table with your plate and coffee tin.

“We will make do, daughter,” he says, the finality in his voice signaling for this conversation to cease. “We will not be able to pay handsomely or feed him much, but we require the extra hand if we are to pass the season.”

“Yes, Pa.”

You lower your head and eat your eggs in silence. You don’t pray anymore, not necessarily feeling the need since your Ma was taken, as well as your aspirations. Pa finishes his coffee, leaving the dishes in the wash basin and grabbing his hat, walking outside into the fields to begin preparations for the season. You sigh; the tears that have long hidden in your ducts refuse to spill out to bless you with relief.

The last time you properly cried was for Ma; every day you feel them there, the pressure building in the corners of your eyes, but nothing ever falls. A mind trick, you suppose, to force you to focus on the more important things. You don’t have the time to spare to release them; your mind and body are now slaves to the farm and the shop.

After your breakfast, you walk to the wash basin with your dishes, hand pumping the water from the pipe just off the side and using the homemade lye soap you learned to make from your mother. Once the dishes are washed, dried, and put away, you walk over to the black safe in the corner of the room, turning the dial to its correct numbers and pulling out the metal lockbox from the inside.

It carried within it the sales ledger for the shop and the velvet bag for the coins. Pa empties the bag every day as he looks over the ledger, placing the coins into another metal box that only he has the key to. He gives you coin anytime you ask, as long as it is needed for the shop or food for the house and, occasionally, on special days.

You pick it up and take it with you to the front door, pulling your bonnet and fabric bag from the hook they hung on. You stick the lockbox inside your bag, as well as the key assigned to it, and head outside. Pa is already far into the fields, hacking away at the dirt and smoothing it out for the new growth. You don’t bother saying goodbye; he knows where you’ll be. Where you’ll always be.

Living alone with Pa became quite challenging, you were disheartened to learn. You’ve always had a loving bond with him since you were a child; maybe he expected the same from you as he did from Ma, but he still managed to make his lessons on the farm enjoyable, doting upon you as any loving father would. Now? The anguish you both have felt since losing the feathery soft and caring love of your mother strained the relationship between you two.

What was once a thick belt of leather that connected you now pulled further and further apart until it became as frail as rubber, threatening to snap at a moment’s notice. You love your Pa; of course you do, and you know he loves you too. If only you could grieve together.

Upon entering the town, the people are going about their normal routines. The baker stacking the fresh loaves of bread in his window, the shoe shiners along the streets working tediously on men’s boots, the hens clucking – the older women gossiping away passionately about whomever they desire. As long as it isn’t you today.

You reach the shop, key in hand as you unlock the brass keyhole and turn the knob, the small bell dinging above you as you enter. You flip the sign in the window from the side that reads ‘Closed’ to the side that reads ‘Open’ and you pull back the shut curtains, allowing the light of day to flow into the small room.

Heading back to behind the counter, you remove the lockbox from your bag and set it on the shelf underneath in its usual resting place. You barely have a moment to remove your bonnet when the bell dings and you look up to greet the person who has walked in. Wonderful.

“Hello, my sweet,” the man husks and you find it difficult to choke back the bile rising in your throat.

“Hello Silas,” you say flatly. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Darlin’, you know exactly how you may be of service to me.”

Silas Taylor, a boorish man of thirty-eight years, has desperately been attempting to attract your affection for the past two years. He had the decency to respect you and Pa after your mother passed, halting his advances for all of one week. Considering his age, he did not show any signs of maturing, both in his looks and his brain. One might even label him handsome, were he not such a crude and overbearing personality.

Ma and Pa had bid you to consider his proposal, but in time came to understand he was not the best man you could have as a husband. Pa despises Silas, has even told him so to his face, yet it did not cause Silas to stray from pursuing you. Disrespectful, despicable, a generally awful person, Silas is.

Why he had you locked on to his sights, you weren’t sure. You never gave him the opportunity to court; staying cordial as to not make an outright enemy of him, yes, but never once have you made it apparent you enjoyed his attention. Nevertheless, he continued.

“Silas, please. I must ask you to leave my shop if you are not interested in a purchase,” you implore, hoping he will understand your position and take his leave.

“But, little one, I am very interested in a purchase. What must I do to make you my wife?” He grins, as charming as the manure out in the fields. In a flash, your vision goes red as you replay his statement in your mind.

“I am not for sale, Silas. That is the most offensive remark you have said to me yet,” you declare harshly, the acidic bile in your stomach turning into a burning rage.

“There must be something that can be done, my sweet. You name it; the most lavish jewels and dresses your pretty, little mind can dream of,” he presses on with a smile only found on masks to scare the children with.

‘Pretty’ and ‘little’, amongst his unwelcome endearments, are the words to send your mind into a downward spiral to declarations that you’d rather not say unless you were alone, lest he take offense and decide to wreak havoc on you and Pa. You put your foot down and grab his arm roughly, pulling him with you to the front door. He only laughs at the scene unfolding, rather pleased with himself that he’s ruffled your feathers so.

“Silas, I am no longer asking. Please leave,” you say as plainly as you can, doing your best to keep the tremble of anger out of your voice.

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles satirically. “Until our next meeting, my love.”

He pulls your hand to his lips, his strength surpassing yours and his thick, wiry mustache rubs harshly against the tender skin of your hand. You furl your lip and flare your nostrils, unable to contain the look of disgust on your face as he glares at you perversely with his black eyes. You tug your hand away and the bristly hair under his villainous nose scrapes you with the motion.

You stand with your jaw clenched and hands balled up in tight fists at your sides, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palm as you watch him walk away, leaving puffs of dirt trailing behind with each cocksure step he takes. If you were to only be allowed one person to despise in your lifetime, it would be Silas Taylor.

“Dear, are you well?”

A gentle, aged voice calls out to you from behind. You whip around quickly, your skirts twirling as you face the elderly woman that has hailed you.

“Mrs. Williams,” you greet, willing your fury from the unpleasant interaction to rest for the time being.

“Was that Silas Taylor you were speaking with?” She asks.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Yes, it was.”

“He’s a quite handsome lad, dear. It is known all over town how you have bewitched him. Why do you not accept his proposal?”

Adelaide Williams; the sweetest among the hens, but still a hen nonetheless. You sigh deeply to yourself, deciding not to engage in the conversation with the one woman who treats you with any shred of respect and kindness, even if her ideals still match those with the others in town.

“Mrs. Williams, while I have you in my presence, may I ask a favor?” You appeal.

“Why, of course, my dear!” She smiles, all thoughts of your personal affairs exiting her imagination.

“Do you suppose it would be alright to leave a notice at the post office? We are asking for help on the farm for the season.”

“Yes, dear, it’s quite alright,” she smiles, her wrinkly skin creasing along her cheeks and eyes.

“Thank you; will you wait a moment while I draft it?”

She nods and follows you inside the shop, slow in her old age. You quickly grab a sheet of paper and a fountain pen, inscribing the words your Pa informed you to write in large enough letters.

“I imagine this season will be most difficult without your mother. I am so very sorry, dear,” Mrs. Williams says as you write and your hand quakes slightly at her comment. “How have you and your father been managing?” Cluck, cluck, cluck.

“Not without difficulty, Mrs. Williams, but we manage nonetheless,” you say courteously, not wanting to relay any information that could be the next piece of news to travel through the grapevine. You finish the notice and hand it to her.

“Shall I direct him here or to the farm?” She inquires as she reads the note, perhaps looking for anything contradicting what you already stated would be written.

“The farm, more suitably, so he can speak directly to my father,” you reply. “Many thanks to you and Mr. Williams,” you end with a sweet smile.

“No thanks are required, my dear. Anything to help you and your father. Your mother was a wonderful being. I was proud to have known her.”

Another quake. You nod politely, letting her hold your forearm as you walk to the front door. The bell dings as it opens and you watch her while she walks down the wooden pathway to the post office. Once you’re sure she’s well on her way, you turn back inside and draft another notice for the shop window before you begin arranging the merchandise for the day, taking inventory of goods that are depleting, and checking order forms belonging to families around town for produce off your farm.

A most provincial and forlorn life, indeed, that you will have to bear until the end of your time here on Earth.

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Chapter Two