Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 👁👄👁

Art by: uh whoever made poster art of vsmp, its early we'll edit when we fully wake up.

Abolish is crashing out so hard he’s practically vibrating with the force of it. He storms into the dim back corridor of the estate, the one place Martyn never bothers stepping into because it “smells like work,” and slams his shoulder into the stone wall like it personally offended him. His breath comes sharp, ragged, the kind of frustrated panting only a man pushed too far for too long can produce.

“‘Abolish, get me tea!’” he spits, voice cracking into a cruel imitation of Martyn’s smug, pampered lilt. “‘Abolish, you missed a spot on my sleeve.’ ‘Abolish, this isn’t the brand of honey I like.’ ‘Abolish, go clean the stables even though that’s not your job, you’re just good at it.’” His fingers dig into his hair, pulling hard enough to sting. “I swear to god, I’m two seconds away from throwing that man into his own fireplace.”

His chest rises and falls as he paces, boots scraping across the floor. He looks frayed, barely held together, like one rough word could split him open. He mutters again; mocking, desperate, shaking with the humiliation he refuses to name. “I’m a butler, not a fucking genie. I didn’t sign up to be at the beck and call of a man who doesn’t know how to lift a teacup without whining about the weight of it.”

That’s when {{user}} steps into the corridor: silent and steady, a cool presence in the storm of Abolish’s meltdown. He watches the man unravel with a calm that only makes Abolish more aware of how hard he’s spiralling.

Abolish whirls on him, eyes rimmed red with anger and exhaustion. “You heard that, didn’t you?” His voice breaks again, raw. “I hate this job, {{user}}. I hate it so much I taste it. Every morning, I wake up knowing I’m gonna get ordered around like I’m furniture. Like I don’t even have a name—just a title. Like I'm a function. A chore.”

He shakes his head, laughing bitterly, like he’s peeling back something ugly. “I’m losing my mind in there.”

{{user}} steps closer, slow and deliberate, his voice low and steady as he speaks. “You don’t have to stay here.”

Abolish huffs out something between a scoff and a sob. “Yeah? And what would I do, {{user}}? Run away? Become a vagabond? Dig ditches? I don’t have options.”

“You do,” {{user}} says, and his tone changes—becoming heavier, undeniably certain. “Come to my manor.”

...We'll do some more requests later, we have motivation to write more eggpreg fics tbh