#horse meat scandal

[unbfacts]

In 2013, the FSAI found horse DNA in over one-third of tested beef burger samples and pig DNA in 85% of them.

[notsoftysof]

Third post about the ep with Brennan's bachelorette party: how does this episode have it all???

Hodgins and the annoying one eat bacon flavored lube, Booth is Brennan's "sexual puppy dog", daisy wears cowboy boots to work, the party and its aftermath......

I love this show

[newstuck-liveblog]

tesco horse meat scandal finally getting the representation it deserves in homestuck.

[thoughtlessarse]

The Dutch food and product safety board NVWA says it has no evidence that illegally slaughtered horse meat is currently for sale on the Dutch market but that an investigation into fraud involving horse passports has been recently passed to the public prosecution department. Horse passports include records of all medicines given to the animals during their racing careers, making their meat unfit for human consumption. “The meat was removed from the market,” the spokesman told broadcaster NOS. Other countries have also been warned, the spokesman said. The response follows claims by Dutch animal welfare campaign group House of Animals and Irish broadcaster RTE that several Dutch horse traders are involved in the illegal slaughter of old or ill race horses. They claim thousands of old British and Irish horses disappear from the registration system, only to end up in an illegal circuit in Europe where they are given a new identity, making it possible for their meat to end up in the food chain. -In the Netherlands, their meat has ended up in snacks such as bitterballen, House of Animals says.

continue reading

[northern-punk-lad]

The cost of living is so bad Tesco can’t even afford a horse meat scandal and had to resort to moths

[idkyetxoxo]

Jacaerys Velaryon - Jealousy

Summary - In the icy halls of Winterfell, they harbour a secret love. When a moment of jealousy surfaces, it pushes them together, igniting a passionate encounter that deepens their bond and reveals the intensity of their feelings for one another.

Pairing - Jacaerys Velaryon x Stark reader

Warnings - Sexual content (smut!)

Word count - 2451

Masterlist for Jacaerys • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

The prince of the realm had taken residence within the cold, ancient walls of Winterfell.

My brother, Cregan Stark, had spared no effort in making sure the prince felt not just welcomed, but bonded as a brother. 

They had drank together under the vast northern skies, hunted through the wild woods side by side, sparred with blades that gleamed in the pale northern sun, and ultimately swore an oath of brotherhood, sealing it with blood—an oath that spoke of loyalty beyond titles and crowns.

By day, Cregan, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, saw to all the prince's needs, guiding him through the customs of our lands and offering the famed hospitality of our house. 

But at night, those needs were met by another. The Lady of Winterfell, sister to the Warden of the North, saw to them. 

And met them, too, with a fiery passion that words could scarcely convey.

I took a slow sip from my chalice, my fingers absently curling a lock of my hair as I half-listened to the idle conversation around the hearth. 

My thoughts drifted like the northern winds, in and out of the present moment, while the fire crackled and the scent of pinewood filled the hall.

"And then we came upon a boar the size of a bloody horse," Cregan's voice boomed, drawing attention. "Prince Jacaerys managed to put an arrow between its eyes before it could charge!" 

His words were met with cheers and raised cups from the men gathered around.

I lifted my eyes to Jace—Prince Jacaerys Velaryon—who was already watching me. 

His gaze was steady, and a subtle, almost shy smirk curled his lips. I arched my brows ever so slightly, a silent gesture of congratulations, one that passed between us unnoticed by the others.

"You're awfully quiet tonight," a voice whispered in my ear, warm and teasing. I turned to find Robb, one of Cregan's closest friends, leaning in with a curious smile.

"Hunting doesn't exactly stir my passions," I replied, lowering my voice as though we shared some scandalous secret.

"One might think you've nothing of value to add, then," he quipped, taking a swig of his drink. I gasped and pinched his arm, drawing a groan from him.

"Hunting beasts isn't for me," I whispered back with a mischievous smile. "But hunting men... now that, perhaps, would catch my interest."

Robb chuckled, his finger playfully poking my cheek as I giggled along with him, the sound light and fleeting like a winter breeze.

"Sister. Robb," Cregan's voice cut through the laughter. I glanced over to see him watching us with a raised brow, his gaze expectant and slightly teasing.

"Care to share whatever riveting conversation you're keeping to yourselves?" he asked, leaning back in his chair, amusement clear on his face.

Before I could answer, Robb chimed in with a mischievous grin, "The Lady of Winterfell was just confessing her longing for my company."

I gasped in outrage, turning to slap him on the chest as laughter erupted around us. 

"I was not!" I protested, watching Cregan's smile fade into something more serious—disapproval flickering in his eyes.

"There's no need to deny it, my lady," Robb continued with a grin. "We're all friends here. Your... improper desires are perfectly safe with me." His voice was filled with teasing.

"You're dead meat," I muttered, shoving him off his seat as he fell to the floor, laughing uncontrollably.

The hall filled with laughter—some of the men joining in to further tease Cregan about his sister's supposed affection. But as my gaze flitted to Jace, I noticed his expression had shifted. 

His earlier amusement was gone, replaced by something hard, cold even.

His eyes bore into mine, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver through me. His knuckles were white, fingers clenched tightly around the stem of his goblet. 

The lighthearted atmosphere seemed to vanish in an instant as I met his stare.

"What?" I mouthed silently, my brows knitting in confusion. But Jace looked away, his eyes now fixed on the fire as if it held all the answers to his thoughts, ignoring me entirely.

Without a word, Jace abruptly stood, the legs of his chair scraping against the stone floor. 

The lively atmosphere faltered for a moment as the men glanced at him, but the prince merely excused himself with a stiff nod, his face a mask of cold composure. He moved towards the exit, his movements quick and deliberate, his cloak trailing behind him like a shadow.

I felt the shift immediately—something unspoken but potent hanging in the air between us. 

My chest tightened as I watched him disappear through the archway, my mind racing.

I didn't miss the concerned look Cregan gave me, nor the raised eyebrows from a few others, but I forced a smile, trying to keep my features neutral.

"I think I shall retire as well," I announced softly, pushing back my chair as I stood. "It's been a long day, and I find myself in need of rest."

Cregan gave me a curious glance but said nothing, only nodding his approval. Robb smirked, clearly about to say something cheeky, but a look from me stopped him short.

As I made my way out of the hall, my heart pounded with every step. I knew where Jace was headed—his chambers. I could still feel the burn of his jealousy from across the room, and now I needed to find him, to calm whatever storm was brewing within him. 

The halls of Winterfell felt unusually long tonight, the echo of my footsteps unnervingly loud as I hurried after him.

By the time I reached his chambers, the heavy wooden door was already closed. 

I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the iron handle, before taking a deep breath and pushing it open.

Inside, the fire was low, casting a dim, flickering glow over the room. Jace stood with his back to me, facing the window that overlooked the snow-covered courtyard below. His posture was tense, his hands braced on the window ledge as he stared out into the night.

I closed the door softly behind me and stepped forward, my voice gentle. "Jace..."

He didn't turn, but I could see his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath. His silence was louder than any words could have been.

"Jace," I repeated, more softly this time, moving closer until I stood just behind him. "Why did you leave like that?"

For a moment, he didn't answer, his jaw working as if he was wrestling with something unsaid. 

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I couldn't sit there any longer... listening to them laugh, watching him touch you. That—Robb—he..." His voice trailed off, but I could hear the frustration, the hurt, in every syllable.

I sighed softly, stepping forward to gently rest my hand on his arm. "It was simply a jest. Robb is like a brother to me, nothing more. You know that."

His muscles tensed under my touch, but he still didn't turn to face me. "I don't like seeing you with him. The way he looked at you, the way everyone laughed... It felt like they were mocking me."

"They weren't mocking you," I reassured him, moving to stand in front of him now, placing a hand on his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart. 

His eyes met mine then, dark and stormy, filled with doubt.

"Jace," I said softly, my thumb brushing against the fabric of his tunic. "You have nothing to worry about. I don't want Robb. I don't want anyone else. I only have eyes for you."

His expression softened, but the tension in his jaw remained. "But you laughed with him. And the way he... spoke to you, as if he had some claim—"

I cut him off, my voice firm but tender. "He has no claim over me. No one does. You are the only one I care for. The only one I think of." 

I cupped Jace's face in my hands, pulling him closer, forcing him to meet my eyes. His gaze was turbulent, clouded with doubt and jealousy. 

My voice was firm yet soft, as I willed him to see the truth I held in my heart. 

"You have my heart, Jacaerys Velaryon," I whispered, my words carrying the weight of a vow. "Nothing anyone says or does will ever change that."

For a long moment, he just stared at me, his eyes searching mine. 

Slowly, the rigid tension in his body began to unravel, the hard lines of his face softening. His shoulders, once taut with anger and insecurity, eased as if my words had melted the fear that gripped him.

He exhaled a slow, heavy breath, and leaned down to press his lips to mine. 

The kiss was gentle, hesitant at first, as though he needed to be sure this wasn't some fleeting comfort. But I immediately reciprocated, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. 

His kiss deepened, more certain now, his hands slipping around my waist. 

Without effort, he lifted me, my legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as though this was where I belonged, where I had always belonged.

His steps were steady as he carried me toward his bed, laying me down gently as if I were something fragile, precious. 

His hands, warm and eager, moved with purpose, unfastening the layers of heavy Northern clothing that separated us. His eyes never left mine, his gaze darkened with both love and desire.

"Lift your hips for me, love," he murmured his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver through me. 

I obeyed, and he slid the last layers of fabric away, leaving me bare beneath him. The cold air of the room kissed my skin, but I felt only heat—his heat, his gaze, as he admired me.

He paused for a moment, his knuckles brushing softly against my cheek as if to reassure me, to remind me of the tenderness between us. 

With his other hand, he began to pull off his own clothes, discarding them with far less care. 

His body was soon exposed, every inch of him familiar yet breathtaking, and my breath caught in my throat as I watched him.

"Spread your legs for me," he whispered, his lips brushing the side of my neck, leaving a trail of burning kisses along my skin. 

My pulse quickened, and though a blush warmed my cheeks, I obeyed, parting my thighs shyly under his gaze.

His hands slid down my body, parting my legs further as he positioned himself between them. 

The anticipation was electric, every part of me yearning for him, but he took his time, teasing me with his touch, drawing out the moment. His fingers traced my slick folds before his body aligned with mine.

"I'm certain Robb could only wish he was in this position," Jace murmured, his lips curving into a playful, possessive smile as he dragged the head of his cock slowly along my entrance, teasing me.

A breathless laugh escaped my lips, mingled with soft gasps of pleasure as he pressed himself against me. 

"He can only dream," I whispered back, my words breaking as he pushed into me, filling me with a slow, deliberate thrust. 

My back arched, and I gripped the sheets beneath me, fisting the silken fabric as waves of pleasure rippled through me.

Jace paused for a moment, buried deep inside me, his breath heavy against my neck. His hand slid down to my thigh, gripping it possessively as he pulled me even closer. 

The warmth of his body, the weight of him above me—it was everything I wanted, everything I craved.

And then he began to move.

His first thrust was slow, measured, as though he wanted to savor every second, but the heat between us grew too quickly to maintain restraint. 

Each thrust after was deeper, more intense, and I could feel the growing hunger in every movement of his hips. He wasn't just making love to me—he was claiming me, showing me with every motion that I belonged to him and no one else.

Our bodies moved together in a rhythm that felt as natural as breathing, each stroke sending waves of pleasure through me. 

My hands slid up his back, my nails digging into his skin as he found that perfect pace, his cock hitting deep inside me with every thrust. 

Soft moans escaped my lips, mingling with the sound of our bodies moving together, the firelight casting flickering shadows on the walls around us.

"Jace..." I whispered his name, breathless, needing him to know just how much I wanted him, how much I needed this. 

His hand slid from my thigh to the back of my neck, pulling me into a hungry kiss, his lips claiming mine with the same intensity he claimed my body. 

The kiss was rough, desperate, as if he couldn't get enough of me.

His pace quickened, the measured thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. 

My body responded to his every move, my legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. 

Every inch of him inside me felt like fire, like I was burning with desire, every nerve alive with the sensation of him.

I broke the kiss, my head falling back against the pillows as my breath came in quick gasps, pleasure building inside me like a wave ready to crash. 

Jace groaned against my skin, his lips pressing fevered kisses along my neck, his thrusts becoming harder, faster. 

The tension in my body coiled tighter, my moans growing louder, my hands clutching at him as though I might fall apart if I let go.

His name left my lips again, a soft plea, and his hand slid between us, his fingers finding that sensitive spot that sent a jolt of pleasure straight through me. 

My body arched beneath him, my nails dragging down his back as I came undone, the pleasure washing over me in waves, my release so powerful it left me trembling beneath him.

Jace followed soon after, his movements growing erratic as he lost himself in the pleasure, his grip on me tightening as he thrust into me one last time, spilling himself inside me with a low groan.

For a moment, we just lay there, our bodies tangled together, the only sound in the room our ragged breathing. 

His forehead rested against mine, his eyes closed, and I felt the last remnants of jealousy and doubt melt away, leaving only the deep connection we shared.

"I told you," I whispered, my lips brushing against his as I smiled softly. "You have nothing to worry about."

Jace finally opened his eyes, his expression softened, his earlier jealousy replaced with something far deeper—love, trust, and the quiet promise that whatever happened, we would always have each other.

A/n - LYHFML page 317, chapter 55 (if ykyk x) we need to thank Aaron Warner for inspiring this one-shot 💋

[todayontumblr]

Thursday the 20th.

You better believe.

We hope you've ironed your black t-shirt, found your favorite beanie, polished your golden chain. Every day for the last god knows how long, your alarm has blared you awake, you've prised your sticky eyes open, rolled out of bed, sat there staring into space for around 15 minutes, drawn back the curtains, and checked your Antonio Banderas calendar. And it was always a crushing disappointment, to compound the ordeal of waking up—sometimes, it was the 20th. Sometimes it was Thursday. From time to time it was Wednesday the 19th, or Friday the 21st, but it was never quite the money shot. Only today things are a little different—you will have completed the aforementioned morning routine and checked your calender—only today, It's Business Time. It's #thursday the 20th. Praise be! 

What makes today all the more remarkable is that its coming was foretold in an episode of The Simpsons, no less, that show with the uncanny ability to predict world events long before they actually happen. Smartwatches? The horse meat scandal? The three-eyed fish? The censoring of Michelangelo's David? Lady Gaga's Superbowl Performance? Facetime? Trump's election? The pandemic itself??

Admittedly, some of these are a little easier to vouch for than others, but it is indisputable that today's materialization of Thursday the 20th is more than a little spooky. Don't believe us? See for yourself. Sometimes, all that can be said is that the universe works in mysterious ways.

However you're spending your big day, make it count. It's only #thursday the 20th once in a blue moon, after all, but it always goes down smooth. And for some reason, unbeknownst to us, like a whisper in the breeze, today has got us thinking of another Simpsons coincidence. But perhaps some mysteries are best left unsolved.

[springsylph]

Touch and Agree | Charles x Reader

charles smith x f! reader | no warnings | 2.1k | ao3 |

was trying to get back into writing but i was struck with an indescribable sadness once i thought about how useless charles must’ve felt after burning his hand in blackwater. so. i raise you unknowingly touchstarved reader versus Charles™

The horses have slowed to a trot by the time you press your cheek to the frosted window.

You hear Arthur shout some muffled declaration of success as he and Charles’ shadows curl around the front of the stable. The gang is likely aware of their return, senses now heightened by hunger and the frigid winds of Colter. But you feel the need to relay the message to the few still silently huddled in the corners:

“If you’ve been praying, today’s your lucky day.”

Tilly, arms crossed tight over her torso, is the first to pipe up from her spot near the fireplace. “Micah finally saw his sorry behind off the nearest cliffside?”

“Miss Tilly!” Grimshaw hisses, scandalized. The only thing stronger than Grimshaw's personal gripes are the exigencies of the gang. “No more of that. You know we need all the hands we can get.”

Karen, squished next to Mary-beth and a now slumbering Sadie on a wooden bench, scoffs. “Didn’t think we counted meat hooks as hands.”

That gets a snort out of John, who realizes too late that his body isn’t quite healed enough to handle said snort. A flick to the forehead from Abigail quiets him down in his cot before she turns to find you still gazing out the window.

“I’m assimin’ Arthur and Charles are back?”

You nod. “With one…two deer, by the looks of it.”

Your inhale is sharp when Charles pulls his catch over his shoulder with a jerk, beckoning Arthur to follow after him to mask his discomfort. The tension leaves your spine only after the last dregs of his shadow disappear into the stable.

Half-turned to Abigail, you mumble, “Does Charles look a little...off to you, these days?"

"Off," she repeats. The darkness under her eyes colors her words. "Off how?"

"You know," and you make as though to say something of substance before your eyebrows pinch together, "off.”

Abigail looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “If you’re waitin’ on Charles to scream bloody murder, it’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a burn to do him in.”

Another brick is slotted into a broken wall. 

“I’m just worried.”

“About?”

“Charles. I think his hand is botherin’ him again.”

Abigail’s sigh dusts the cold air with its warmth. “I…suspect most things might look a little off since we've been cooped up like this. But we’ve got O’Driscolls and Pinkertons on the prod." She looks at Jack, now sitting cross legged at her feet and fiddling with the corner of John's blanket. Abigail had given up on herding him toward the fireplace some time ago. She strokes a featherlight hand over his head. "No sense in stressing yourself out over somethin’ Charles would’ve told us ages ago. It's good that he’s up and movin' though, ain't it?"

Your momentum stalls.

It should be. It should be.

Blackwater has left none unchanged. If you weren’t dead, you were shot, and if you weren’t shot, you were waiting for it. Hands bound. Body trammeled by fear and constant surveillance. From anyone else, this haste would be a blessing. A miracle, even, in light of all that'd been lost.

From Charles, it reads more like a warning.

But you don't think your feet have been planted here long enough to question their habits.

You say nothing and return your still numb cheek to the window. Will it always be like this, you wonder? The second guessing. The wary eyes. There’s a certain degree of trust that you aren’t privy to yet. Somehow, it feels worse knowing that everyone is making an effort to be so kind to you despite it. You know plenty who wouldn’t do the same.

Better dead than dead weight. 

The creed still lingers. Subsisting on what little you've gleaned in the short time you've been running with Dutch's group. Perhaps that's the root of this peculiar sense of worry. Of pity. You and Charles don’t speak often—there's a general lack of overlap in duties, for one, and he mostly keeps to himself. But you've always been one for actions over words. Charles was frighteningly capable, and more than willing to prove it time and time again.

To him, the burn he’d suffered may as well have been a bullet to the leg.

Your only issue is that no one else seems to see it.

You’re tracing shapes into the windowpane when movement just outside startles you. Charles, bow in hand, stalks toward one of the smaller cabins before veering off toward the small stream that lies just behind the stables.

You're springing up and stumbling out the front door before your brain has time to temper your heart. Someone shouts after you—likely Grimshaw, from the way it rakes over your ears. But you ignore it in favor of grabbing handfuls of your skirts and pushing through the powdery snow.

When you round the corner of the stables, breath short and chest tight, you find that Charles hasn’t gone very far at all. He's leaning against a crooked tree, face all taut lines as his fingers fumble with the grip on his bow. A frown plays at your lips when you notice the path of his footprints, stretching a few paces farther before it loops back to where he stands.

“Charles?”

You think you hear him exhale through his nose before he meets your gaze with the same smile he usually does. Bright. Unwavering. A little squinty, since the sun is in his eyes. “You good?”

Right. The usual pleasantries. You've conversed with him in your head for much longer than you have in person.

“I’m uh, fine." You blink stupidly. "Are you?"

“Mhm. Right as rain.”

Your eyes can't help but slide to the bow he clutches just out of sight. He doesn’t look ashamed in the slightest.

“…I’m just holding it, for now. Till my hand heals up, at the very least.” Charles holds up the offending appendage. “Not like I have anything better to do."

It's hard to tell if he's intentionally skirting around the point, or if he really does think there aren't any better uses for his time. The frown you'd been fighting off finally gets the better of you once Charles returns to adjusting his injured hand on the bow's grip.

"I don't think you should be doing that," you insist. Because he really shouldn't be. At all.

"Afraid I can't do that," he replies. "I'm one of the few here who can hunt worth a damn in this weather. I get sloppy, we starve.”

“Is that what you think?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“It’s what I know.” He says it with enough certainty to make you almost believe him. “Go back inside and warm yourself up. 'Preciate you checking on me, but if you freeze to death, they’re gonna laugh knowing you came out here without any gloves on.”

You clench your fists. Feel the ice that's settled there begin to splinter under the pressure and breach the thick skin of your palms. Fine, then. You’ll speak to him in a language he can understand.

Though your march over is less than graceful, he parts with the bow with surprising ease. Charles’ warmth, much like the rest of him, is tailored to perfection. Your fingertips graze remnants of the finery on the parts of the parts of the bow that his hands have warmed.

His eyes flick over you. Placid. Confused, too, on account of the ever-tightening grip you have on what you hope isn't a prized possession. His vexation becomes clearer once you step away, full hands now hidden behind your back. You have to take an extra step back for your own peace of mind.

“Charles Smith,” you begin, “I’d like to strike up a deal.”

“A deal.”

“I won’t repeat myself. We’re losin' daylight here.”

Chin tipped upward, you don your favorite facade.

Confidence.

"You focus on takin’ care of that hand, and I won't tell Arthur and Hosea you've been messin' with your bow."

His face belies a slew of unvoiced expletives. But you know Charles to be the—somewhat—gentle sort, so there’s no need to brace yourself. Even if he isn’t entirely convinced, you can at least hope that he’s found a little amusement in all this.

“You said ‘strike a deal,’” he says slowly. “This smells like a threat.”

“Deal, threat, whatever strikes your fancy.” It didn’t matter so long as he stopped stretching himself so thin.

He seems to mull over your words for a bit, no longer leaning up against the tree. There is, however, a small chance that he’s trying to find the right assortment of words to get you off of his back.

“We’ve got two deer.” You continue. “If Pearson is as frugal as I remember, that’ll keep us all for about a week. Should be more than enough time to get your hand back in order, right?”

“Hm.”

There’s a moment where Charles’ uninjured hand begins to stretch towards you. You just barely remember to lean out of the way before he drops his arm with a defeated sigh.

“So no bows—”

“No knives or guns, either. Unless absolutely necessary.”

“—Then how’m I supposed to keep up my strength? Can’t just sit idle, you know. We’ve got people here who need taking care of.” He takes three steps forward, and you take three steps back. “We’ve all got weight to pull out here. I’m of no use to anybody if I’m sitting out over a little burn like this.”

There goes that nasty word again.

Use.

You can joke all you want, but that’s what this boils down to.

“Well, you…just need something to pull on, right? Keep your hands busy?”

You hold out your hand.

The corner of Charles’ lips twitch downward. "I’m keeping my knives on me—"

"Take it."

"…What?"

You laugh. Loud and exaggerated enough to shake the snow off the trees. "Some gentleman you are, lettin’ a lady’s hands grow cold.” You flex your fingers. “My hand. Take it."

You use the awkward silence that follows to explain yourself.

"I figure it's got a little more give than a bow. And it’s got enough resistance to scratch that itch. You ever feel like shooting, ask for me. Hopefully it’ll have you feeling stupid long enough for your hand to heal up."

He brings a hand up to block the sun from his eyes, and you find yourself strangely missing the gold it cast on him. "That's not something I should be asking of you."

"Works out great, don't it? You're not asking, I'm offering, so there's no problem." Or, at least there wouldn't be if things go the way you know they will. It's no well-kept secret that Charles isn't too keen on extra company during his downtime. No one faults him for it, either.

Any chance of him taking you up on your suggestion is slim.

The wind is thunderous where Charles is quiet, snaking through the empty trees.

"Whether you take it or not, I'm walking off with this bow. But I'm not about to let you run yourself into the ground."

You flex your fingers again, and they tremble.

Charles shakes his head, and you're sure you've won—

"Alright. I'll do it."

Well, that's not good.

Violently off track and suddenly very unsure of how to proceed, you drop your hand. Charles, evidently resolute in his decision, says nothing more as he approaches.

You stumble back a bit as his body nears, wishing that the head you house on your shoulders was screwed on a little tighter. You think it's begun to spin when he takes your hand into his own; gently, as if scooping up a wounded bird from the forest floor.

He opens his mouth, then promptly closes it, brows furrowing as he inspects your palm.

Something is loud.

It's your heart, you realize. Stuttering with each squeeze of his bandaged fingers. Consequences are not beneath you, it seems.

You allow him a few more experimental squeezes than you would've liked, but you can't quite shake the strange tremor that races up your throat the longer he holds you.

Nothing is said until he pulls his hand away.

“And I can do this, whenever?”

Your tongue is miles away. “I, uh. No.” Wait. Voice crack. “I mean—yeah. Yes. Whenever.”

Charles makes no note of your vocal blunder, instead taking one last look at the bow you hold before beginning to make his way back to camp.

He taps the hand at your side as he passes. Leans to talk right into your ear. “Keep these wrapped up for me, will you?”

He’s gone before you have a chance to tell him that you would’ve done it without his say-so.

(Damn it, you think. Palm tingling. I’m in some deep shit.)

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 15: The Drawing Room

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content, language Word count: 5.7k

Masterpost Previous Chapter Next chapter

Author's notes: Thank you all for your patience waiting for this chapter. I'll have to request some more because the next three chapters aren't completed yet. Lately life has been full of busyness and change, in a good way, but it's leaving me with little time or energy to write. Know that I'm always endeavoring to do so. 💙 Now that our lovebirds have had a taste of each other, they are all aboard the horny train. Enjoy 😉

For the rest of the day Benedict never had a moment to himself. The house was bustling as every nook and cranny was cleaned, every guest room opened, and every surface beautified. A parade of tradesmen rolled down the drive throughout the day hauling carts of meat, wine, candles and firewood. While Daphne began taking scrupulous inventory, she sent him and Simon off to meet with the groundskeeper to make sure there were plenty of pheasants and fish on the grounds and plenty of fresh horses in the stables to accommodate any outdoor activities the visiting men would want to partake in.

He saw Sophie only twice that day. Once amidst a group of maids who were clearing away tea trays midday, and once when she came to tend the fire in the smoking room where he and Simon were enjoying an after-dinner brandy. His breath caught each time he saw her, noting how she stood out as the brightest spot in the room. She did her best to avert her eyes but stole a quick glance at him each time. How he longed to shove her into a corner, tear off her silly apron and make her moan. But he kept himself in check and pretended to ignore her.

After he had bid the Hastings goodnight he was so bone tired he collapsed into bed without even thinking to seek Sophie out. He had no doubt she was overwhelmed too.

The next morning he woke from a particularly salacious dream about her to find himself stiff under his sheets. God, he needed to see her. He managed to calm his racing blood by splashing cold water onto his face, then went to join everyone for breakfast. 

He didn’t see her as he took an unnecessarily winding path to the dining room, and he didn’t see her while they ate. He distracted himself by teaching little Barnaby how to crack open a soft boiled egg. Daphne sighed as yolk was predictably spilled across the table, but Simon just laughed and slid his own egg over for the boy to try again, successfully. 

When the meal was over Benedict attempted to leave, but Daphne and Simon pulled him into serious debate over the seating arrangements for their guests. The Viscountess had provided a preliminary plan but Daphne had concerns about certain pairings based on recent gossip Kate may not have heard. Benedict closed his eyes to hide that they were rolling. The last thing he wanted to do was chatter about the scandals of the ton, but he had no excuse to leave without seeming rude. He did his best to grin and bear it, passing quiet commentary on people he couldn’t care less about, and all the time thinking of the color of Sophie’s bare skin in candlelight.

When a seating plan was apparently agreed upon, Simon suggested an outing to the lake which made Benedict perk up. He supported the idea, perhaps over-enthusiastically, and insisted on staying behind at the house to keep an eye on everything. Then, as politely as he could, he bowed out of the room and began to hunt. 

Sophie wasn’t in the morning room or the music room or the conservatory. She wasn’t on any of the staircases he passed. He even walked to the far end of the house and looked out to the kitchen garden only to find that she was not there. He debated going down to the servants’ level and asking for her, but wondered how odd that would be. He was doubling back through the halls when he turned and stopped short.

Sophie stood at a small credenza outside the drawing room, setting down a vase filled with a huge spray of flowers. Blues, purples and pinks all evidently picked from the grounds outside. Her fingers ran over them delicately, fanning out the blooms.

Benedict moved to her side. “There you are,” he breathed, his eyes locking onto hers. She was so lovely, her features alight with excitement at seeing him.

“Benedict…”

The flowers were fragrant between them, the pink blossoms calling out the soft hue of her lips. He couldn’t help but bring his fingers to rest over hers on the vase, standing close enough to whisper in her ear.

“The family are going to the lake for the afternoon. Meet me…”

“Ah! Brother.” Daphne’s voice cut in from behind them, causing them both to jump and retract their hands. Without a word or a glance back, Sophie bowed her head and scurried through the drawing room door.

Benedict whirled around with a well-practiced smile on his face. “Sister!”

The Duchess paused, hands clasped in front of her with a curious and discerning look on her face. But it passed so quickly, Benedict wasn’t sure if he just imagined it. She continued. “I just wanted to tell you we were about to leave. You’re sure you won’t join us?”

His mind was racing. Overcome with thoughts of Sophie, he had forgotten why he had said he would stay behind. He stumbled over his words. “Sadly, no. I have…correspondence that needs my attention.”

His sister arched a brow at him. He knew she was keen at sniffing out the truth, so he reasoned it was better to feign deception than feign truth. He gave her a devilish grin. “Or maybe a mallet that needs hiding…”

That seemed to do the trick because she returned a competitive smirk and nodded her head curtly. “Very well. We shall return in a few hours.” Then she turned and walked out of sight.

Benedict released an exhale. He didn’t know how much she had seen or intuited, but it surely couldn’t have been much. He was standing next to a maid. He could have been helping her with the heavy vase for all she knew. But thoughts of his sister detecting them would have to wait. He now had hours alone with Sophie. He moved into the drawing room and locked the door.

Sophie was standing at the far end of the sunlit room, pacing in front of a bookshelf. He rushed toward her.

“Sophie! They’ve gone.” 

Taking her face in his hands, he pulled her into a kiss and she melted against him, her lips opening to the soft caresses of his tongue. It was sweet, breathless.

He pulled back, whispering against her lips. “We haven’t been able to talk. The other night…”

She gave him a small smile, her fingers wrapping around his wrists. “It was perfect.”

Benedict sighed, pressing his forehead against hers and matching her smile. He was so relieved to be with her again. So happy that she was happy. 

She continued, “I hadn’t expected everything would feel so good. Thank you for teaching me. For being so gentle with me.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth and his hands dropped to her waist. “So you enjoyed it?”

She rolled her eyes. “I thought that was rather obvious.” Then she lowered her gaze and started to blush. “In truth, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

Benedict’s heart beat faster at discovering she had been feeling the same way he had. His voice became a purr as he bent to her ear. “Is that so? What precisely is running through your mind?”

“Ben…” Sophie shuddered. She knew she was being coy by revealing her thoughts. Perhaps it was not ladylike to be so honest about one’s desires. But she had never stopped thinking about him since she had left his bed the prior morning. While she carried linens to guest rooms, she remembered the feeling of him pressing her down onto his sheets. While she drank her tea, she remembered the warmth of his tongue in her mouth. While she looked down to see her hand dusting furniture, she remembered the grip of his long fingers around her ribs and in her hair. The previous night she had felt such an ache for him that she throbbed between her legs. All this morning she had been overheated, fanning herself between chores. Now she was in his arms again and all she wanted was to share that heat, to be lost to it and satisfy the overwhelming yearning.

Benedict began planting small kisses down the curve of her jaw. “Come now, you can’t say something like that and not elaborate.” One arm pulled her by the waist to press fully against him while his other hand rose to cup her face, a thumb toying at the corner of her lips. 

He whispered in her ear. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either, how glorious it was feeling you come apart.” Sophie’s eyes fluttered closed, her breath grew heavy. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” he coaxed.

Her mind was growing foggy, only able to focus on sensations. “Your hands,” she sighed. “The way they held me.”

In one swift motion he tore her apron off and flung it across the room. Then with a rip he whisked away the sheer collar at the top of her dress, the ruffle that made a maid’s uniform more modest than that of a lady’s. He traced his fingers across her collarbone and wrapped them behind her neck, holding her tightly against him. He continued his kisses, feathering across the new, lowered neckline of her dress.

Sophie could not bring herself to care about a torn servant’s uniform. It wasn’t hers anyway. It belonged to the house and she was just wearing it while she stayed at Aubrey Hall as a…whatever she was now. She was drowning in his touch, her voice far away and heady. “Your lips…everywhere.”

His tongue flicked across the top of her breast before he pressed his mouth just below her ear, sucking with an undeniable possessiveness. 

Sophie’s whole body was tingling, the sound of her racing blood filling her ears. She could feel the ache building between her thighs.

“The feeling of you inside me,” she rasped, scarcely able to breathe anymore. “Things I could never imagine. Everything was so warm…so beautiful.”

Benedict’s breath was heavy. He moved his hands to grasp her breast and her bottom, squeezing and kneading, his weight pressing into her.

She couldn’t stand the seduction any longer. She needed him. Now. Desperately. “Take me there again,” she whispered, gripping into his hair. “I don’t want you to be gentle.” 

Benedict paused, expletives echoing in his mind. He certainly hadn’t been expecting this. This lusty and adventurous side of Sophie. Though he supposed he should have known better. She was a strong willed woman. Why wouldn’t that extend to her romantic desires now that she knew how many possibilities there were? 

“Sophie,” he groaned, nuzzling his cheek against the soft waves of her hair. 

“Ben, please.” But it was more of a command than a plea. His stomach fluttered at the sound of his nickname on her lips. He wanted to take her in the fullest way with his whole body, but he didn’t know if that was her request. It would be a hell of a thing to take her maidenhood in a drawing room. But as scandalously exciting as that seemed, Sophie deserved better. When she was ready he would take her in a bed, in privacy and comfort.

Happy to do whatever else she ordered, he grasped her at the nape and began to devour her with ravenous kisses. Their lips never parting, he pushed her across the room until her back hit the wall. 

Sophie was giddy with the whirlwind of their passion and couldn’t help herself from grinning between their frenzied kisses. She frantically stripped him of his jacket while he dug beneath her skirt, lifting and pulling layers of fabric until they bunched around her waist. She watched, mouth open with shock, as he laved one hand with a long swipe of his tongue then brought it between her legs to ready her. Gasping at the sensation, she barely had time to think before he lifted her off the floor, pressed her against the wall and buried his fingers inside of her, exhaling with a wide grin at the rapturous look it brought to her face. 

Sophie actually cursed under her breath, thrilled at the familiar feeling, the rhythmic stretch ready to drive her into a delirium of pleasure. Her arms clung around his shoulders while he began drilling his hand into her wildly, teasing her nub with his thumb. He pinned her against the wall with one shoulder and held her thigh with his free hand. Sophie locked her ankles around his waist to hold on. This was desire, this was passion, this desperate need to be as close to each other as possible, to give and seek pleasure. She couldn’t believe she had found it with Benedict Bridgerton of all people. She ached with the suffocating joy of it, all other thoughts about her secrets or their doomed future banished for the moment from her mind. She didn’t even worry that they were in a public room of the house or that anyone might hear them. He was everything she could feel, everything she could smell and see and think about, and it was rapturous. 

Benedict grunted against her neck. Every part of Sophie felt so damn good. Her gasps were so exquisite, her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips locked him against her, feeding his own arousal. And all of it was heightened by the unexpected discovery of her deviancy. She was no wilting wallflower, no meek and submissive young miss. She was a woman, intent and purposeful in her actions and words. A woman who could excite and entice and challenge him. Of course he had been with an array of sexually promiscuous women before, but this was something else. He was not passing in and out of a repertoire of men that Sophie sought pleasure with. He knew that she felt this way only toward him, now being the one man she had indulged with. He could sense the trust between them and it’s what made him ignore his better judgment and cavort with her all over his family home. He certainly would never have done so with any of the other women he had been with. 

This too made his blood race, the scandalousness of it all. How he had tasted and pleasured and lost himself to this woman wherever he found her - in the nursery, the orangery, in his sister-in-law’s damn drawing room. It was licentious and he loved it. He slowed the pace of his hand as his arms began to shake with the effort. He wanted this to last and he wanted to ensure her the release that she was so clearly longing for. Perhaps it was time for another lesson.

Sophie’s eyes opened as Benedict slowed his movements. He cupped her backside and pivoted to set her atop the nearby writing desk. He pulled one of her arms from his neck and brought it down between their bodies, keeping his eyes locked on hers. He kissed her as he pressed her own fingers against her bud and guided them, swirling in small circles as he had done before. The electricity that shot through Sophie’s muscles hitched her breath and she mewled against his lips. She could feel him smiling through his kiss as he guided her hand for a few more moments and then left her to her own devices.

Sophie was sure she would have felt self-conscious touching herself in front of Benedict if he didn’t clearly enjoy it so much. He watched her with the hint of a smirk on his face, his hooded eyes urging her to continue what he started. For a moment she felt like an absolute fool. She hadn’t attempted to pleasure herself after he had shown her what was possible. Whether she was ignorant or because it just felt so frighteningly good when he did it that she wanted to reserve the act for him, she wasn’t sure. But now he had put her in control and she knew she needed to try. She should be able to bring herself to her pinnacle, and there was the practical matter of being able to address her own needs when they arose. She certainly couldn’t go leaping upon Benedict in drawing rooms every time she felt desire, despite how tempting that was. 

Following the motions he had shown her, she circled and tickled her fingers, chasing that tightening, maddening feeling. 

“There you are,” his voice was husky. He pressed himself between her spread thighs and looked down at her ravenously. “You look so magnificent, Sophie. You know you can touch yourself whenever you feel that ache.”

She whined in the back of her throat, fingers pressing harder. He bent forward and whispered, breath hot against the shell of her ear.

“Will you do that? Promise to think of me and touch yourself when you are alone.” He had the very voice of the devil but damn it if it didn’t make sparks fly behind her eyelids and make her grow even wetter.

“I promise,” she choked, twirling her bud faster, thighs squeezing to hold him against her.

“Because I have thought of you,” he confessed, slipping his fingers into her once again and sliding rhythmically. “I have thought of your lovely voice and beautiful body…the emeralds in your eyes…and taken myself in hand.”

His every confession pushed her higher. The thought of him pleasuring himself out of desire for her made her clench and she knew he felt it. She knew he was goading her on, pushing her into such a fuzzy, naughty place with just his words. How was it possible? She swore under her breath again and bore down upon his hand, chasing sensation, unable to control herself.

He chuckled darkly. “That’s it. Fuck yourself on my fingers. Take what you want.”

“I’m sorry,” she gasped, suddenly aware of how blatantly wanton she was being.

His nose brushed her cheek. “No, I like it. I want to hear more curses from your lips.”

It was getting harder to breathe, harder to think. Sophie wasn’t sure she could come up with anything enticing or clever to say. But true to form, Benedict seemed to anticipate her and took the lead.

He wrapped an arm around her back, cradling her head in his palm. He sucked a small trail of kisses from her earlobe to her lips, nibbling at the corner of her mouth. Then he drove his fingers into her harder, building a steady pace, making the contents of the writing desk clink and jitter.

“Press yourself down and say you love fucking my fingers.” His voice was low.

The sin of his words cut through her and she paused.

“Don’t stop touching yourself,” he ordered.

This man was ruinous, but Sophie could not hide that she loved it. She swirled her fingers around her bud and began to push back against his thrusting fist, bouncing lightly up and down in his arms. 

“I love fucking your fingers,” she whispered. There was no exaggeration in it. The rhythm they built together, working her sex inside and out, was a rapture she could barely stand. Benedict’s hand plunging into her and his body pressing against hers as they rocked fed the fire building within. Sophie discovered new sensations, new exclamations that her body made when she touched herself in certain places, in certain ways. Tinglings that Benedict had not yet elicited. It was engrossing and she wondered if she was in danger of not being able to stop exploring herself when left alone. 

“I love fucking your fingers, Ben.” She said with more gravity, forcing his eyes to meet hers, both of their pupils blown wide. The pressure of his hand and her body driving together, the scent of his cologne, the intuitive dance of her fingers, and the rhythmic jangling of the writing desk propelled her to the brink quickly. Gasping, her thighs began to quake. She gripped his shoulder tightly and let her head loll his hand. 

“Yes, come on, Sophie.” He hissed. “Make yourself come on me.” The absolute wickedness of his tongue caused her to snap. Waves of gratification pulsed through her, making her shudder and against all attempts to stop it, moan. Benedict surged forward and kissed her open-mouthed, trying to swallow her sounds. Her whole body bucked against him as she rode out the wave, every part of her fluttering and squeezing, her channel, her fingers, her toes. Once she managed to quiet herself he broke the kiss and grinned, peppering her face and neck with little nips as she caught her breath.

Sophie felt numb with ecstasy and decidedly proud of herself. Now she knew how to bring herself pleasure when alone, but she knew it could never be as intense as what Benedict helped her achieve. She would have to imagine his voice and his fingers and it would no doubt pale in comparison to the real thing. 

As she was tingling and floating down from her high, Benedict nuzzled her ear, rumbling. “Was that everything you needed?”

She shuddered. Her hunger for him persisted. She wanted to make him moan and tremble too. She had an image of him in her mind that she wanted to act out, a way in which she was desperate to feel him against her body. She knew how she wanted him to finish. Once she could form words again, she whispered, “I want to be on top of you.”

Benedict paused and she could feel his heart pounding against her. Then he let out what she could only describe as a growl as he lifted her off the desk and carried her over to the nearest sofa. Easing down, he sat so that she was astride him and looked up at her expectantly, hungrily, the midday light dancing in his stormy eyes. The tent in his trousers protruded just in front of her body and she was desperate to touch it.

“Lie down,” she said gently. 

The excited spark in his eyes was undeniable as he twisted to recline against the cushions, holding her by the hips. His legs hung over the sofa arm. It wasn’t a long piece of furniture and couldn’t contain all of him, but she estimated it was wide enough for what she wanted to attempt.

He watched her, brows raised in curiosity as she rested her weight on his thighs. Breathing unevenly, she leaned forward and pressed her palm against his bulge. She moved her hand slowly but firmly across his length, gripping him with the pressure he had shown her before.

He arched back into the cushions with a groan, causing a playful smirk to dance across her lips. Then she shifted forward and sank her hips down onto his. She could feel the rigidity of his cock against her most sensitive spot even through their clothing and it made her muscles seize. She spread both hands across his abdomen to steady herself.

Benedict looked up at her with hazy eyes.

“Sophie…what are you…?”

“I want to ride you.” She said huskily.

A stab of bashfulness was quickly overridden by the heat building again between her thighs. She felt driven by instinct; something primal telling her precisely what to do. She had found release against Benedict’s thigh before and now she wanted to find it against his cock in the hopes that she could bring them both pleasure simultaneously.

Slowly she rolled her hips forward and back, testing, dragging her bud along the length of him with steady pressure. A tightening sensation shot up her spine and her breath hitched.

“Like this,” she rasped, repeating the motion. “Just like this.” She began to move faster, rocking against him, her hands pressing down onto his stomach. “Is this alright?”

Benedict’s eyes rolled back into his head and he felt as if he would choke on his tongue. 

“God, Sophie…” He could feel the delicious heat of her wet center through his clothes and the press of her pubic bone stroking him rhythmically. He gripped her hips and pulled her down even tighter.

Encouraged, Sophie grinned and rocked faster, pressing harder.

“Will you come this way?” Her voice was breathy and bouncing with her movements.

Benedict squeezed his eyes shut, tossing his head back against the cushions. 

“Yes…fuck!” He ground out, teeth clenching. “Please don’t stop,” he pleaded. “Just please, don’t stop.”

Spurred on by his array of needy noises and the desperate dance of his brows over his clamped eyes, Sophie rode him steadily, grinding their bodies together as her knees propelled her up and down. Benedict’s grip on her hips was almost painful but she relished being held so tightly, being needed so badly. The rising wave of climax that was now growing familiar to her was starting to build where their bodies met, pulsing and warming with each drag across his stiffness.

They were both doing their best to stay quiet, the only sounds in the room were the cadenced rustle of fabric and their tight, short breaths as they both climbed toward release.

Benedict’s mind was fuzzy, overwhelmed with the beauty and surprise of Sophie’s intuitiveness. She knew how to listen to her body, even though each experience was new to her, and she was fearless in taking charge. God, how he admired those traits in a woman, and to find them in a housemaid was the most exciting revelation. Through the blinding pleasure he managed to look up and watch her, marveling at her steady pace, her hair mussed from passion, her lips parting to release her nearly silent whimpers.

“So you like this?” He rasped, causing her eyes to fall to his. “Being on top of me?”

Sophie nodded. “Yes.” She panted. “I just need to press against something hard. And your cock is so hard, Ben.”

The filth of her narration rattled him and he felt his cock begin to leak. His head fell back again as he spouted a stream of curses and unintelligible nonsense. Madness. That’s what this was. Romping with this woman wantonly on a sofa he had clambered over since childhood, with household staff listening on the other side of the door no doubt. But he didn’t care, couldn’t care. The freedom, the excitement, and the intensity he felt with Sophie was unlike anything he had experienced. This beautiful housemaid that he had randomly encountered on the side of the road was leading him to absolute ruin and he wanted her to. That she was willing and eager to be with him and that they could continue their secret rendezvouses flooded him with joy. The thought of future afternoons spent like this with Sophie made him impossibly stiffer.

They were bucking against each other frantically now, any concern for subtlety or gentleness gone. Benedict pushed his hips up while his hands pulled her down hard, pinning her tight against his cock. Her fingers curled into his clothes. They both grew breathless, rubbing themselves through the heat they had built together.

Suddenly, Benedict hissed. “Sophie…unbutton me.” His hand left her hip and dragged her fingers to his waistcoat. She moved deftly, working bottom to top to loosen the luxurious plum colored fabric. She pulled it away to either side of his chest, as he pushed up the hem of his shirt to expose his rippled abdomen. Sophie brought her hands back to rest on his bare skin, groaning at the firmness of his muscles and how they were contracting with each thrust against her.

“Sophie,” His voice was deep and urgent. She met his eyes, dilated black. “I need you to come for me. I can’t hold out much longer.” 

She grew a look of desperation as she bounced above him, face flushed. “Ben…I don’t know…I’m almost…”

“Quickly…lift your skirts,” he ground out, easing his thrusts as she obeyed. “Come here,” he huffed, his large hands grabbing her rear and pulling her suddenly forward. Her knees shuffled and she fell to grip the far sofa arm before she collapsed on top of him. Then the molten heat of his mouth enveloped her under her skirts and sucked hard. The shock of it made her instinctively lurch away, but he held her firmly in place, grunting against her sodden flesh as his strong tongue nudged her toward the end. 

One hand locking Sophie to his face, Benedict slid the other to maneuver his cock out of his trousers and pump himself ferociously. He felt wild, animalistic with need, with the mindless race to grant them both release. He hadn’t felt heat like this in years, maybe ever in his life. She had ridden him to steely stiffness and he gave way, groaning against her folds as he spattered hot across his bare stomach.

His sounds must have helped to finish Sophie off because her thighs went rigid on either side of his head and she bore down, writhing on his tongue as he felt the faint pulse of her muscles seizing within. To her credit she did not cry out, or at least he didn’t hear her, deafened as he was under her skirts and lost in his own fog.

Sophie squirmed a moment more, then shuffled off of him. He was still descending back to himself, his eyes still focusing, when he saw that she had retrieved her apron and was laying it across his stomach to clean him. As he regained his senses he felt a sudden pang of shame. Some of his devil-may-care enthusiasm evaporated with the cooling of his sweat, making him question the recklessness of his cavorting all over the grounds with Sophie, especially when his sister and her family were visiting. Any of the servants could have heard them just now, or gotten the spare key and opened the door. He wondered if he had stained the sofa…

And poor Sophie was always left to clean up and scurry back to work when he wanted to leave her lounging in luxury, basking in the gratitude she deserved for bringing him such untold pleasure. He gently pushed her hand away and cleaned himself with the apron, tossing it to the floor and buttoning himself back into his many layers of clothes. Sophie found her collar and discovered that it had only lost one clasp. She was able to tuck it back under her neckline and fasten it to look pristine again. 

Once she had straightened everything she sat beside Benedict on the sofa. He was breathing deeply, lost in thought.

She opened gently. “I suppose we still haven’t talked properly.” 

“No.” His eyes turned to her, indecipherable. “I just…I’m not sure what this is. I feel like a cad. Keeping you hidden and watching you work for my family.”

“I want to work.” She offered a small, reassuring smile.

Benedict shook his head. “You say that but…are you sure I can’t take care of you?”

She knew what he was thinking. As much as she wanted this conversation settled and not repeated, she couldn’t deny that their current arrangement was confusing. That they were dancing in an undefined limbo. It would be simpler if she would simply end her life of servitude, take his money and let him house and clothe her somewhere, keeping her in comfort for his secret, exclusive visits. But she just couldn’t do it. The day would come when she would fall pregnant or he would tell her he was engaged and then everything in her life would shatter.

She could feel her jaw locking into place. “Benedict, you said you wouldn’t ask me to be your mistress.”

His eyes turned back to the floor, his tone exasperated. “I know, but I just…”

“What do you want?” She rested a hand on his knee, leaning toward him. She couldn’t understand his resistance to her proposal. Clearly it wasn’t just the risk that they may be caught, given how he had advanced on her in so many common areas. Wouldn’t he be happier to keep her as a dalliance rather than a full blown mistress? Wouldn’t he be glad of the money and effort he would be saving?

Benedict inhaled deeply and met her eyes, piercing through her with his pale blue stare. “To be with you.” He said softly. “To have moments like this.”

Sophie’s heart fluttered. His tenderness seemed to have no limits. She gripped his knee and his hand came to rest over hers. “Then be with me,” she insisted, “and the rest of our lives can stay the same.”

He nodded, swallowing. After a beat, he asked, “So you will stay?”

She nodded back. “If you’ll let me. I’ll work during the country visit as you suggested.”

Benedict squeezed her hand then stood, raking his fingers to smooth his hair and shrugging his jacket back on. “My family will be here in two days, then the guests will arrive.”

Sophie stood too but kept her place by the sofa. “We should keep our distance once they are in residence.”

Paces apart, they stared at one another, the midday sun reaching across the rug to where they stood, betraying the small expressions of sadness on both of their brows. “Of course.” Benedict mumbled. Sophie bent and collected her soiled apron, feeling equally like she wanted to dart out of the room and throw herself back into his arms. This was complicated, painful. But not as painful as being without him had been. And not as painful as devoting herself to be his mistress then returning to a life of nothing before she had to share him with another woman. This was odd, but it was still the most joy she had experienced in her life. It was in between. Just as she was in between. An aristocrat’s daughter but not accepted among the ton. Raised as a lady but living as a maid. Hers was a life of contradictions, of complications, of halves. But in these moments with Benedict she could forget that and she could feel whole. Even if just for an hour, it was worth it.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove

[psychics4unet]

20 Simpsons Psychic Predictions That Came True 🚀

Hey there, fellow Simpsons fans! 🎉 If you’ve been following The Simpsons, you know that this iconic show isn’t just about laughs and donuts (though we love those too). It’s also about some eerily accurate predictions that have left us all scratching our heads. 🤔 How did this cartoon get so many things right about the future? Grab a seat, grab a donut 🍩, and let’s dive into some of the wildest psychic predictions from The Simpsons that actually came true! 🚀

🌟🔮✨ Curious about what the future holds for you? Just like The Simpsons predicted some mind-blowing events, you too can uncover what’s in store for your life. Click the link below for your own personal psychic reading and get insights that might just amaze you:

1. Donald Trump’s Presidency 🇺🇸

Season 11, Episode 17 (“Bart to the Future”)

In this episode from the year 2000, Lisa becomes the president and mentions that they inherited quite a budget crunch from President Trump. Fast forward to 2016, and Donald Trump becomes the 45th president of the United States. What the what?! 😲

2. Smartwatches ⌚

Season 6, Episode 19 (“Lisa’s Wedding”)

During a future vision of Lisa’s wedding, her fiancé uses a watch to make a phone call. This was in 1995, way before smartwatches became a thing in the 2010s. Talk about being ahead of the curve! 📱

3. Disney Buys 20th Century Fox 🏰🦊

Season 10, Episode 5 (“When You Dish Upon a Star”)

In 1998, there’s a scene showing the 20th Century Fox sign with a subtitle “A Division of Walt Disney Co.” In 2019, Disney actually bought 21st Century Fox. Coincidence? I think not! 🎬

4. Video Chatting 💻

Season 6, Episode 19 (“Lisa’s Wedding”)

Again in Lisa’s Wedding, we see video calls being made. This was years before Skype, FaceTime, or Zoom became part of our daily lives. The Simpsons were definitely on to something here! 🖥️

5. The Shard in London 🏙️

Season 6, Episode 19 (“Lisa’s Wedding”)

In the same episode (wow, it’s like a crystal ball!), we see a skyline that includes a skyscraper eerily similar to The Shard, which wasn’t built until 2012. 👀

6. Lady Gaga’s Super Bowl Performance 🎤

Season 23, Episode 22 (“Lisa Goes Gaga”)

In 2012, The Simpsons showed Lady Gaga performing at a concert, suspended in the air. Fast forward to 2017, and Gaga did exactly that at the Super Bowl halftime show. Fly, Gaga, fly! 🎇

7. Nobel Prize Winner 🏅

Season 22, Episode 1 (“Elementary School Musical”)

Milhouse predicted that Bengt Holmstr��m would win the Nobel Prize in Economics. And guess what? Holmström did win it in 2016. Way to go, Milhouse! 📊

8. Ebola Outbreak 🌍

Season 9, Episode 3 (“Lisa’s Sax”)

In this 1997 episode, Marge suggests that Bart read a book titled “Curious George and the Ebola Virus.” Years later, in 2014, there was a significant Ebola outbreak. Chills! 😬

9. Siegfried and Roy Tiger Attack 🐅

Season 5, Episode 10 (“$pringfield (Or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Legalized Gambling)”)

The show depicted a white tiger attacking entertainers similar to Siegfried and Roy. Tragically, in 2003, Roy was indeed attacked by one of their white tigers during a performance. 😥

10. U.S. Wins Olympic Gold in Curling 🥌

Season 21, Episode 12 (“Boy Meets Curl”)

Homer and Marge compete in curling and win a gold medal. In real life, the U.S. men’s team won the gold medal in curling at the 2018 Winter Olympics. Sweep that, skeptics! 🥇

But wait, there’s more! Let’s keep this prediction train rolling with some honorable mentions that didn’t make the top 10 but are still pretty mind-blowing. 🚂💨

11. Horse Meat Scandal 🐴

Season 5, Episode 19 (“Sweet Seymour Skinner’s Baadasssss Song”)

Lunchlady Doris used “assorted horse parts” in the cafeteria food. In 2013, a scandal erupted in Europe when horse meat was found in various beef products.

12. FIFA Corruption Scandal ⚽

Season 25, Episode 16 (“You Don’t Have to Live Like a Referee”)

The episode features a storyline involving corruption in the World Football Federation. In 2015, several FIFA officials were arrested amid a corruption investigation.

13. Farmville 🚜

Season 9, Episode 12 (“Bart Carny”)

In this 1998 episode, kids are seen excitedly playing a yard work simulator game. Fast forward to the 2000s, and Farmville became a massive hit on Facebook.

14. Faulty Voting Machines 🗳️

Season 20, Episode 4 (“Treehouse of Horror XIX”)

Homer tries to vote for Obama in the 2008 election, but the machine keeps changing his vote to McCain. In 2012, there were real reports of voting machines changing votes.

15. Beats by Dre 🎧

Season 8, Episode 14 (“The Itchy & Scratchy & Poochie Show”)

In a scene from 1997, we see a character wearing what looks like modern-day Beats by Dre headphones, years before they existed.

16. Mutant Tomatoes 🍅

Season 11, Episode 5 (“E-I-E-I-(Annoyed Grunt)”)

Homer grows mutant tomatoes after using nuclear power on his crops. In real life, scientists created genetically modified tomatoes that glow in the dark.

17. NSA Surveillance 🕵️

The Simpsons Movie (2007)

The movie depicted the NSA spying on citizens. In 2013, Edward Snowden revealed that the NSA was indeed conducting mass surveillance on American citizens.

18. Shard Building in London 🏙️

Season 6, Episode 19 (“Lisa’s Wedding”)

We see a tall building in the London skyline that resembles The Shard, which was completed in 2012.

19. Michelangelo’s David Censorship 🗿

Season 2, Episode 9 (“Itchy & Scratchy & Marge”)

The episode shows Springfieldians protesting against Michelangelo’s David being exhibited. In 2016, Russian campaigners did try to cover the statue.

20. Autocorrect Fail 📱

Season 6, Episode 8 (“Lisa on Ice”)

Dolph writes a memo that says “Beat up Martin” which gets autocorrected to “Eat up Martha.” Apple’s iPhone autocorrect has had many such hilarious fails.

It’s wild, right? How does a cartoon get so many things right? Well, it’s probably a mix of clever writing, sharp observation, and maybe a bit of that Springfield magic. ✨

And it's not just us hardcore fans who are intrigued. Thanks to the internet, more and more people are discovering the spooky accuracy of The Simpsons' predictions. Social media platforms are buzzing with theories and speculations. Reddit threads are filled with fans dissecting episodes, and YouTube is packed with videos analyzing every prediction. It's like a virtual treasure hunt where every frame might hold a secret clue to our future! 🔮

Some folks even believe that the writers have a time machine or some sort of psychic ability. While that’s probably a stretch, it’s fun to think about! One thing’s for sure – The Simpsons will keep surprising us with their uncanny knack for predicting the future.

Whether you’re a longtime fan or just curious about the show’s “psychic” tendencies, it’s clear that The Simpsons is more than just a TV show. It’s a pop culture phenomenon that continues to influence and amuse us, while also making us think twice about what might come next. So, next time you’re watching, pay close attention – you might just be getting a sneak peek into the future! 🕵️‍♂️✨

Stay curious, my friends! And remember, the truth is out there… or maybe just in the next episode of The Simpsons. 🌟🚀

[piratecrew]

im vegetarian but its still really bizarre to me when meat-eaters will have an extreme reaction to what animals people eat in other cultures. like someone being scandalized that they were served horse while on vacation in another country, because “how could you eat a horse 🥺” even though they’ll eat cow, pig, or poultry and think nothing of it. or being horrified that people eat guinea pigs (who were originally raised for meat), rabbits, or even dogs/cats because they see those animals as basically people. and then in the same breath mock cultures that venerate certain animals (like cows). just seems really hypocritical to me. you can’t use the “animals have thoughts and feelings” argument selectively. just admit its a personal preference

[contentment-of-cats]

F*ck anons

Hate, Harassment, and Threats: Coping and Handling

It happens and it's happened since the rise of LJ. I remember getting my first hatepost and how much it upset me, but I was never a target in the way that many were. LJ was truly the wild and wooly west - Dodge City or Deadwood, when people thought it would be a utopia. We had greyfaces, anons, sock puppets, and meat puppets. For people transitioning from controlled environments like e-Groups, Listserv, and forums it was not the mod-free utopia that they might have wished for. Real fandom scandals and legitimate harm to fans have been built on anons, sockpuppets, and greyfaces.

Terminology

Anon: Anonymous account either from outside the service or from an established account that has been anonymized.

Greyface: LJ term for an account with no identifiers, created explicitly to harass.

Sock Puppet: Account created by one person with the intent of being perceived as a separate individual.

Meat Puppet: Also used to be called a fanpoodle. A person whose actions are directed by another. Also called a muppet for having the controller's hand shoved so far up their ass that it can work their mouth.

Defining Hateposting/Cyberstalking/Harassment/Threats

First, there is a federal law -18 U.S. Code § 2261A Stalking - that defines stalking and harassment. Full text is here, with excerpt below:

(2) (Whoever) with the intent to kill, injure, harass, intimidate, or place under surveillance with intent to kill, injure, harass, or intimidate another person, uses the mail, any interactive computer service or electronic communication service or electronic communication system of interstate commerce, or any other facility of interstate or foreign commerce to engage in a course of conduct that— (A)places that person in reasonable fear of the death of or serious bodily injury to a person, a pet, a service animal, an emotional support animal, or a horse described in clause (i), (ii), (iii), or (iv) of paragraph (1)(A); or (B)causes, attempts to cause, or would be reasonably expected to cause substantial emotional distress to a person described in clause (i), (ii), or (iii) of paragraph (1)(A),

Laws can vary from state to state. 48 states have some laws on the books, with 44 having criminal penalties. You'll need to contact local law enforcement or look them up on your state legislature's website.

All forms of online harassment can be grouped under the label of cyberbullying. How do you know what is or isn't cyberbullying? There is a comprehensive list. Even some things that you didn't think might be bullying are, in fact, bullying. Unfortunately, the FBI seems to focus on financial crimes and scams, and have changed their reporting pages to reflect that. In all cases using the internet to convey threats as defined under 18 U.S. Code § 2261A need to be documented and reported to the FBI.

Documenting: Keep the Reciepts

Documenting online abuse is key to stopping online abuse. To be Tumblr specific, screenshots of DMs, replies to your posts, posts harassing you, reblogs of your posts with abuse in the comments and tagjacking or abusive hashtags, screenshots of anons/sockpuppets and harassing asks need to be kept. You need your receipts.

Fuck Anons

Anons are not worth your mental health or the pleasure and community you derive from fandom.

"But some of my followers are shy!"

They can create an account that they can use just for doing asks. Exposing you to abuse and bullying should not be the price of someone being shy. I have also turned on anons when someone has asked me to via DM, in a post comment, or via an anon comment on my Ao3 so that they could send me an ask without unmasking themselves. This protects me and protects them.

Tumblr recently started requiring a valid email address to send an anon without being signed in. This could be seen a couple of different ways - Tumblr wants some sort tabs on people using their site anonymously, or that they want people sending anons to create an account. There is nothing to stop an anon from creating a burner email account in order to harass, so that only goes so far.

Block anons. I am serious. Just go into your account settings and do it. You can even turn off asks entirely.

Per Tumblr: "Anonymous asks are not associated with a specific account, and blocking those will block the IP address of the sender."

So, if you block an anon and someone suddenly disappears from your followers, or you get a follower asking why they can't see or interact with your blog, then you have your answer as to where your anon bullying might well be coming from.

However, isn't it easier to just turn off anons?

Yes. It is. My anons are kept off 99.9 percent of the time and I sleep just fine.

Other Tips and Tricks

You can control who reblogs your posts. The default is that anyone on Tumblr can reblog. You can also block anyone from reblogging. The new feature offers middle ground by allowing you to add users allowed to reblog by mentioning them. I don't know if this extends to other parties reblogging from the people you allowed to reblog, however. Click on the little gear to access the dropdown.

From the Settings Menu

In addition to the default, you have two other options under the dropdown.

Tumblrs you follow and that have been mutuals with you for a week can reply

Only Tumblrs you follow can reply.

Keep the people you follow private by toggling this off.

Toggle off to stop DMs from people you don't follow.

Hide your Tumblr from people without a Tumblr, or from people who are signed out. Remove your blog from Tumblr search results or from search engine crawlers.

Finally, you can block DMs on a case by case basis, too.

Finally, it can be hard to start over, but when the bullying is too much and too persistent, you can back up your blog or take it private and start a new Tumblr with people you trust.

Other Resources

Online Harassment Field Guide - a really comprehensive source

[paperclvps]

They all call my cock 2013 Tesco horse meat the way it's undeclared. illegal. and scandalous

[moonrver]

Oh my god I forgot the horsemeat scandal. Do you remember those to guys in a horse costume screaming 'my mum where's my mum's in front of the frozen burgers

I remember the horse meat scandal but I do not remember....that😭

[brimstone-cowboy]

we don't mind eating horse and we do but the meat in question was cheaper to buy than the beef advertised 🤧 it was definitely huge in france and therefore here, i can imagine it being even more of a scandal somehwere you don't eat horse

The eurozone perspective on the horse scandal… I never knew

[saoirseronanswife]

man. do you remember the horse meat lasagne scandal