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muiitoloko · 7 months ago

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Can we have a part two of "My, Yours"?

Title: Advantage.

Summary: Arthur finally gets what he always dreamed of and Guinevere gains some advantages.

Pairing: Harry Hart (Kingsman) × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Obscenity.

Author's Notes: I missed writing about Harry Hart.

First, Second and Third here.

As Harry drove you back to his car, the anticipation in the air was palpable, your heart racing with excitement at the thought of what was to come. The date had been magical, filled with laughter, good food, and meaningful conversation, and you couldn't wait to continue the evening with Harry by your side.

As you settled into the plush leather seats of the BMW, Harry glanced over at you with a smile, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, Guinevere," he began, his voice low and husky with desire. "I have a proposition for you."

You raised an eyebrow in curiosity, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you waited for him to continue. "Oh? And what might that be, Arthur?" you asked teasingly, your heart pounding in your chest at the possibilities.

Harry's smile widened at your playful tone, his gaze lingering on your lips for just a moment before he spoke. "Well, my dear Guinevere," he said smoothly, his voice laced with charm. "I could take you back to your house and end our evening here, or... I could take you to a fancy fucking hotel with a huge hot tub that I've already prepared for us and continue our date there. What do you say?"

Your heart leaped with excitement at the thought of continuing the evening with Harry in a luxurious hotel, the promise of passion and romance beckoning you like a siren's call. "Oh, Harry," you breathed, your voice filled with anticipation. "I would love nothing more than to continue our date at the hotel."

Harry's smile widened into a grin, his eyes twinkling with excitement as he shifted gears and started driving towards the hotel. "Excellent choice, my Guinevere," he replied warmly, his voice filled with satisfaction. "I promise you won't regret it."

As the car sped through the streets of London, your excitement grew with each passing moment, the anticipation building to a fever pitch as you neared the hotel. When you finally arrived, Harry helped you out of the car with a gallant flourish, his hand warm and reassuring in yours as he led you inside.

The hotel lobby was opulent and grand, with marble floors and crystal chandeliers casting a warm, golden glow over everything. Harry guided you to the reception desk with a confident stride, his charm and charisma evident as he checked you both in with a smile.

Once you had your keys in hand, Harry led you to the elevator, his hand resting possessively on the small of your back as he guided you inside. As the doors closed behind you, he pressed the button for the top floor, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned in close to whisper in your ear.

"Get ready, Guinevere," he murmured softly, his breath warm against your skin. "Tonight is going to be a night you'll never forget."

Your heart raced at his words, the promise of what was to come sending a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. With a smile, you leaned into Harry's touch, your body buzzing with anticipation as the elevator ascended towards the top floor of the hotel.

As the elevator came to a stop, Harry reluctantly pulled away from you, his hand sliding down to interlace with yours as he led you out into the hallway. With a confident stride, he made his way to the hotel room he had rented for the evening, his heart pounding in his chest with every step.

Opening the door to the room, Harry ushered you inside with a gentle hand, his eyes shining with desire as he drank in the sight of you standing before him. "Welcome to our sanctuary, Guinevere," he murmured softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Where all our dreams come true."

You smiled up at Harry, your heart swelling with love and desire as you took in the luxurious surroundings of the hotel room. "It's perfect, Harry," you whispered softly, your voice tinged with excitement. "Thank you for making this night so special."

Harry's smile widened at your words, his heart overflowing with love and adoration for you. "Anything for you, my dear Guinevere," he replied tenderly, his voice filled with sincerity. "Now, shall we make ourselves comfortable?"

With that, Harry took your hand in his and led you over to the plush king-sized bed, his eyes burning with desire as he looked down at you. "I want you, Guinevere," he murmured huskily, his voice thick with need. "More than anything in this world."

You nodded in agreement, your own desire burning bright as you reached up to cup Harry's face in your hands. "I want you too, Harry," you whispered softly, your voice filled with longing. "Take me, make me yours."

Harry's heart soared at your words, his desire reaching a fever pitch as he leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss. Lost in the heat of the moment, he pressed his body against yours, his hands roaming over your curves with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

With practiced skill, Harry began to undress you, his movements confident and assured as he stripped away your clothes one by one. As each piece of fabric fell away, he reveled in the sight of your naked body before him, his desire burning bright as he took in every curve and contour.

Finally, when you stood before him completely bare, Harry couldn't contain his desire any longer. With a hungry gaze, he pulled you close, his lips finding yours in a fierce embrace as he lowered you down onto the bed.

Harry hovered over you, his eyes dark with desire as he took in the sight of your naked body before him, absolutely divine. He watched as a butterfly landed delicately on your breast, its wings fluttering against your skin, but Harry was having none of it. With a hungry gaze, he leaned down and took the butterfly's place, his lips finding your nipple with a gentle suck.

You gasped at the sensation, a shiver of pleasure coursing through your body as Harry played with your other breast, his hand working wonders as he teased and tantalized you. The feeling of his warm mouth against your skin was almost too much to bear, but you craved more, needing him closer, deeper.

But Harry moved away, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to your breast as he looked into your eyes with a fierce intensity. Slowly, he began to open his pants, his gaze never leaving yours as he silently communicated his desires to you. You understood his unspoken message, the silent agreement passing between you as you nodded in response.

Harry then stopped as he took the belt off his pants, his gaze locking with yours as he hesitated for just a moment. "Guinevere," he began softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I... I don't like using condoms. But I brought some just in case... I mean, I'm clean, and I believe you are too, but..."

You nodded understandingly, cutting off his rambling with a reassuring smile. "Harry, it's okay," you assured him gently, your voice filled with warmth and affection. "I trust you. And I don't want you to use a condom either. I want to feel you completely, to be one with you in every way possible."

Harry's heart swelled with love and gratitude at your words, his eyes shining with emotion as he reached out to cup your face in his hands. "You're perfect, Guinevere," he whispered softly, his voice filled with awe. "My perfect girl."

Impatiently, you helped him take off his suit and underwear, your breath catching in your throat at the sight of him fully exposed. He was big and thick, much larger than you had anticipated, and you couldn't help but wonder if you would be able to take him completely.

But as Harry's eyes met yours, all doubts melted away, replaced by a fierce determination to please him in every way possible. With a confident smile, you reached out to touch him, your fingers trailing down his length with a gentle touch.

Harry let out a low growl of desire at your touch, his arousal evident in the way he hardened beneath your fingertips. "Guinevere," he murmured huskily, his voice thick with need. "I want you. Now."

With a nod, you shifted on the bed, positioning yourself so that you were ready to receive him. As Harry positioned himself between your legs, a surge of anticipation washed over you, your heart pounding in your chest as you eagerly awaited his touch. But instead of moving to enter you like you expected, Harry surprised you by grabbing your legs and holding them wider for him, his intent clear.

You gasped in surprise, a whimper escaping your lips as you realized what Harry intended to do. "No, Arthur," you whimpered softly, your voice tinged with desperation. "I want you inside me... please..."

But Harry's expression remained firm, his eyes locking with yours as he confidently explained his intentions. "Guinevere," he murmured softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Not all women are able to take me completely. It's rare, in fact, to find someone who can take me without feeling pain."

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your skin as he continued. "I don't want you to feel any pain, my dear," he whispered softly, his voice tinged with concern. "So I have to make sure that you're perfectly prepared for me, wet enough to receive me without discomfort."

With that, Harry lowered his head between your legs, his tongue flicking out to tease your sensitive flesh with gentle strokes. You gasped at the sensation, a shiver of pleasure coursing through your body as he worked wonders with his skilled tongue.

You squirmed beneath Harry's ministrations, unable to contain the moans of pleasure that escaped your lips as he worked wonders with his skilled tongue. Gripping the sheets tightly in your hands, you arched your back, offering yourself completely to his touch.

"Fuck, Harry," you gasped breathlessly, your voice filled with need and desire. "You're so good at this... a real pussy eater..."

Harry's only response was a low growl of desire, his mouth working tirelessly to bring you to the brink of ecstasy. He seemed completely focused on pleasuring you, his own desires taking a backseat as he lavished attention on your sensitive flesh.

In that moment, a fleeting thought crossed your mind, wondering if Harry had trained extensively for this, honing his skills as a lover just as he had as a field agent in Kingsman. You remembered hearing rumors of his prowess in the bedroom, of how he had seduced countless targets with his charm and charisma.

But even as you pondered his past exploits, you couldn't deny the desperation in Harry's actions, the way he seemed to be fucking you like a starving man, desperate to ensure your pleasure above all else. It was as if he needed to make sure you were enjoying every moment of it, as if his own satisfaction depended on yours.

And he was good at giving pleasure, so good...

Lost in the heat of the moment, you let out a guttural moan of pleasure, your body trembling with ecstasy as you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure of Harry's touch. With each flick of his tongue, each caress of his lips, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of release, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure coursing through you.

And then, just as you felt yourself reaching the brink, Harry shifted his focus, his mouth closing around your clit with a tantalizing suction. You cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing with pleasure as waves of sensation crashed over you in a dizzying torrent.

With a final flick of his tongue, Harry brought you to the peak of ecstasy, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave as you cried out his name in a voice thick with desire. As you came undone in his arms, Harry held you close, his touch gentle and reassuring as he guided you through the throes of pleasure.

As you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking, Harry pressed a tender kiss to your inner thigh, his touch filled with warmth and affection. "You were incredible, Guinevere," he murmured softly, his voice tinged with awe. "Absolutely incredible."

You smiled up at him, your heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the man who had brought you so much pleasure. "You're the one who did all the hard work, sir," you chimed with a mischievous smile, eliciting a chuckle from him as he let out a laugh through his nose.

Harry then stood up, positioning himself between your legs, you watched with anticipation as he teased you with the tip of his cock, collecting some of your nectar to wet himself. The sight of him preparing to enter you sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins, your heart pounding with anticipation.

He waited for your consent, his gaze locked with yours as he silently communicated his intentions. When you nodded in response, giving him the permission he sought, Harry smiled warmly, his eyes filled with tenderness and affection.

With slow, deliberate movements, Harry began to enter you, his cock sliding into your wetness with a tantalizing ease. You hissed slightly at the burning sensation, feeling the stretch as Harry slowly but surely separated your walls.

It was too much, he was big, and it didn't even feel like he had reached halfway, yet you already felt full to the brim with him. But despite the initial discomfort, you trusted Harry completely, knowing that he would never hurt you intentionally.

As Harry continued to push himself deeper inside you, he paused, allowing you a moment to adjust to his size. He looked into your eyes, searching for any signs of discomfort or pain, his touch gentle and reassuring as he waited for you to give him the signal to continue.

With a shaky breath, you nodded again, a silent affirmation that you were ready for him to proceed. Encouraged by your consent, Harry began to move again, his movements slow and deliberate as he gradually filled you completely with his length.

You gasped at the sensation, feeling every inch of him stretching you to your limits as he buried himself deep inside you. It was a combination of pleasure and pain, the burning sensation of his entry giving way to a wave of ecstasy as you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure of the moment.

Harry groaned softly at the sensation, his own desire reaching dizzying heights as he felt your tightness enveloping him completely. With each thrust, he delved deeper and deeper into your wetness, his movements growing faster and more intense with each passing moment.

Lost in the heat of the moment, you clung to Harry with a fierce desperation, your nails digging into his skin as you urged him on. "More, Harry," you gasped breathlessly, your voice thick with desire. "I want all of you... fill me completely..."

With a primal growl of desire, Harry gave himself over to the pleasure, his movements becoming more frenzied and intense as he pounded into you with reckless abandon. With each thrust, he drove himself deeper and deeper into your eager flesh, his cock hitting all the right spots with expert precision.

You cried out in ecstasy, your body writhing beneath him as waves of pleasure crashed over you in delicious waves. It was a whirlwind of sensation, the burning heat of his cock driving you to new heights of pleasure as you surrendered yourself completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And then, just as you felt yourself reaching the brink of release, Harry shifted his focus, his hand finding its way between your bodies to tease your clit with expert strokes. You cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing with pleasure as waves of sensation washed over you in a dizzying torrent.

With a final thrust, Harry brought you to the peak of ecstasy, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave as you cried out his name in a voice thick with desire. As you came undone in his arms, Harry held you close, his touch gentle and reassuring as he guided you through the throes of pleasure.

He then chased his own orgasm, his eyes rolled back in pleasure, his mind consumed by the overwhelming sensation coursing through his body. With each thrust, he felt himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, the promise of release beckoning him like a siren's call.

"Guinevere," he gasped breathlessly, his voice thick with desire. "My Guinevere..."

He was lost in a haze of pleasure, his mind filled with thoughts of you and the intense connection you shared. With each thrust, he felt himself drawing closer and closer to the edge, his body trembling with anticipation as he neared his climax. He had imagined this moment countless times, replaying it over and over again in his mind as he pleasured himself in the shower, your name on his lips as he imagined you in his arms.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned softly, his voice tinged with desperation. "I've wanted this for so long... dreamed about it... fantasized about you, Guinevere..."

He regretted not taking you to his house, not having you in his bed where he could worship you completely. He longed to feel your warmth against his skin, to leave your scent lingering on his sheets as a reminder of the passion you had shared.

But even as he lamented his missed opportunity, he knew that this moment, here with you in this luxurious hotel room, was more perfect than anything he could have imagined. He was lost in a whirlwind of sensation, his body consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of being one with you in every way possible.

As Harry gazed down at you, his heart swelled with love and desire, overwhelmed by the intensity of the connection you shared. He could feel the primal urge building inside him, the need to claim you completely, to mark you as his own in the most intimate way possible.

"Guinevere," he murmured huskily, his voice thick with desire. "Where do you want me to come, my love?"

His eyes searched yours, silently pleading for your consent, your permission to release himself inside you. He longed to feel the tightness of your warmth surrounding him, to fill you with his essence and mark you as his forever...

But he would never do anything without your permission.

You arched against him, receiving his thrusts, clinging to his back. "Inside me, Harry," you breathed softly, your voice filled with longing. "I want you to fill me completely, to mark me as yours in every way possible."

Harry's heart soared at your words, his desire reaching a fever pitch as he felt the weight of your consent wash over him like a tidal wave.

His perfect girl.

With a primal growl of desire, he surrendered himself completely to the pleasure, driving himself deep inside you as he unleashed his passion.

As he reached the peak of ecstasy, Harry closed his eyes and threw his head back, lost in the overwhelming sensation of release. With a guttural groan, he gave himself over to the pleasure, his body trembling with the intensity of his climax as he released himself inside you, filling you with his seed.

You cried out in ecstasy, your body convulsing with pleasure as waves of sensation washed over you in a dizzying torrent. It was a moment of pure bliss, the culmination of your desire for each other as you surrendered yourselves completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And as Harry collapsed beside you, his breath coming in ragged gasps, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him close as you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking. In that moment, you knew that you were truly his, and he was yours, bound together in a love that would last a lifetime.

As Harry traced patterns down your spine, you couldn't help but smile at the sensation, reveling in the warmth of his touch. "Did you have fun, Guinevere?" he asked softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection.

You nodded in response, a contented sigh escaping your lips as you snuggled closer to him. "I did, Harry," you replied warmly, your voice tinged with satisfaction. "It was amazing." The two of you were silent then, just clinging to each other for a few moments.

But then, to your surprise, you felt Harry's arousal stirring once again, his body pressing against yours with renewed vigor. "Arthur, where's your refractory period?" you teased playfully, unable to hide your astonishment.

Harry followed your gaze, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he realized his body's quick response. "I... I'm sorry, Guinevere," he stammered shyly, his voice tinged with embarrassment. "This has never happened to me before."

You couldn't help but chuckle at his adorable response, finding his innocence endearing. "It's okay, Harry," you reassured him gently, your voice filled with warmth and affection. "I'm not complaining, just surprised."

Harry laughed lightly at your response, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leaned in closer to you. "Well, be careful," he warned playfully. "I might not let you leave this room anytime soon."

You grinned up at him, the prospect of spending more time with Harry filling you with excitement. "I wouldn't mind that at all," you replied teasingly, your voice filled with anticipation. "In fact, I think we could make good use of that hot tub you mentioned earlier."

Harry's eyes lit up at the suggestion, his grin widening into a mischievous smirk. "Oh, I like the way you think, Guinevere," he murmured huskily, his voice thick with desire. "I can't wait to baptize every inch of this hotel room with our love."

As Harry got up, a rush of excitement coursed through him at the thought of sharing the hot tub with you. He moved with purpose, his anticipation growing with each step as he made his way to the bathroom to prepare the tub.

Meanwhile, you nestled comfortably under the covers, watching Harry with a smile as he went about his task. His eagerness was infectious, and you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement at the prospect of joining him in the hot tub.

But as Harry filled the tub with warm water and added a generous amount of bubbles, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling of possessiveness that gnawed at him. He doesn't know why he suddenly thought of it, but the idea of you with someone else crept into his mind and now he couldn't dismiss it.

Thankfully, you hadn't acted as a field agent, which meant you hadn't been with other men in that capacity. But still, the idea of you being with someone else, even in the past, unsettled him deeply. He knew it was selfish of him to feel this way, but he couldn't help it.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry didn't notice you slipping out of bed and making your way to the bathroom until you wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder. "Are you ready for our hot tub adventure, Harry?" you asked playfully, your voice filled with excitement.

Harry turned to face you, his heart swelling with love at the sight of you standing before him, wrapped in nothing but the covers. "More than ready, my dear Guinevere," he replied warmly, his voice tinged with affection. "But first, there's something I need to tell you."

You looked at him curiously, a furrow forming on your brow as you waited for him to continue. "What is it, Harry?" you asked gently, your concern evident in your voice.

Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "I... I know this might sound selfish, but..." he began hesitantly, his voice trailing off as he struggled to find the right words.

You reached out to touch his cheek, your touch gentle and reassuring as you encouraged him to speak his mind. "It's okay, Harry," you reassured him softly. "You can tell me anything."

Harry met your gaze, his eyes shining with vulnerability as he spoke. "I... I don't like the thought of you being with other men," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with honesty. "It makes me feel... possessive, I guess. I know it's not fair to you, and I'm sorry for feeling this way."

You listened to his words with understanding, your heart swelling with love and affection for the man standing before you. "It's okay, Harry," you replied gently, your voice filled with warmth. "I understand how you feel, and I appreciate you being honest with me. But you have nothing to worry about. You're the only one I want, now and forever."

Harry's eyes softened at your words, his heart overflowing with love and gratitude for the woman who had captured his heart so completely. "Thank you, Guinevere," he whispered softly, his voice tinged with emotion. "You truly are my everything."

With that, Harry pulled you into his arms, holding you close as he pressed a tender kiss to your lips.

As you slipped into the warm, bubbling water of the hot tub, a sigh of contentment escaped your lips, your body relaxing instantly at the soothing sensation. Harry watched you with a smile, his eyes filled with adoration as he joined you in the tub, settling in beside you with a contented sigh.

The atmosphere was light and playful as you splashed around in the water, teasing each other with playful touches and flirtatious glances. Harry couldn't help but admire your enthusiasm, your laughter echoing through the room as you enjoyed each other's company.

But as the moments passed, the playful atmosphere began to shift, the air thick with anticipation as desire simmered just beneath the surface. Harry's gaze grew more intense, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you move through the water with a sensual grace that made his heart race with longing.

Sensing the change in Harry's demeanor, you met his gaze with a knowing smile, your own desire mirroring his as you leaned in closer to him. With a sultry glint in your eye, you trailed your fingers lightly over his chest, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your touch as you stoked the flames of his desire.

Harry groaned softly at the sensation, his arousal evident in the way his body responded to your touch. Unable to resist any longer, he pulled you into his arms, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless with desire.

Lost in the heat of the moment, you straddled Harry's lap, the water lapping at your skin as you ground your hips against his with a fierce determination. Harry's hands roamed over your body with a hunger that bordered on desperation, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both.

With a primal growl of desire, Harry guided you down onto his cock, sinking deep inside you with a delicious friction that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You cried out in ecstasy, your nails digging into his shoulders as you rode him with abandon, your bodies moving together in a passionate rhythm that left you both gasping for air.

Harry's mouth found its way to your breasts, his lips attaching to your sensitive flesh with a hungry desperation as he lavished attention on you with a fervor that bordered on obsession. You arched your back, offering yourself completely to his touch as he sucked and nibbled at your skin, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your veins.

Lost in the ecstasy of the moment, you surrendered yourself completely to the pleasure, your senses overwhelmed by the intensity of the connection you shared with Harry. With each thrust, each kiss, you felt yourself drawing closer and closer to the brink of ecstasy, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony as you chased the ultimate release.

And as the night wore on, you and Harry indulged in your passion, exploring every inch of the luxurious hotel room in a frenzy of desire. You moved from the bed to the couch, the nightstand, and even the bathroom sink, each surface becoming a playground for your insatiable lust.

With each new location, the intensity of your lovemaking grew, your bodies moving together with a primal urgency that left you both breathless with desire. You lost track of time as you surrendered yourselves completely to the pleasure, your senses overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of being one with each other.

On the bed again, you tangled yourselves in the sheets, your bodies entwined in a passionate embrace as you chased the ultimate release. Harry's hands roamed over your skin with a hunger that bordered on desperation, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both.

But even as the night wore on, your desire showed no signs of waning. You found yourselves pressed against the wall, the cool surface providing a stark contrast to the heat of your passion as you surrendered yourselves completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And when the floor beckoned to you with its promise of forbidden pleasure, you didn't hesitate to indulge, sinking to your knees before Harry as you took him into your mouth with a fervor that left him gasping for air. It was a moment of pure bliss, the intensity of your desire driving you to new heights of pleasure as you surrendered yourselves completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

As the night wore on, exhaustion finally caught up with you both, and you found yourselves wrapped in each other's arms, drifting off into a blissful slumber. The next morning, you awoke to the gentle sound of birds chirping outside the window, the warm rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains as you stirred from your sleep.

Harry pulled you closer to him, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he murmured softly, "Good morning, my love."

You smiled up at him, your heart swelling with love and affection as you nestled closer to him. "Good morning, Arthur," you replied warmly, your voice filled with contentment.

But before you could fully wake up and start your day, Harry's hands began to roam over your body, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you both. With a mischievous grin, he whispered huskily in your ear, "How about one last round in the shower before we head back to work?"

You couldn't help but laugh at his suggestion, the thought of making love to him one last time before facing the day filling you with excitement. "Sounds perfect to me, Harry," you replied playfully, your voice tinged with anticipation.

With a grin, Harry led you to the bathroom, where the warm water cascaded over your bodies, washing away the remnants of sleep as you surrendered yourselves completely to the pleasure of each other's touch.

As the steam filled the room, you and Harry lost yourselves in the heat of the moment, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony as you chased the ultimate release. It was a moment of pure bliss, the intensity of your desire driving you to new heights of pleasure as you surrendered yourselves completely to the ecstasy of the moment.

And when you finally emerged from the shower, thoroughly sated and thoroughly late for work, you couldn't help but laugh at the thought of facing the day together. "I can't believe we're going to be late," you exclaimed, your voice filled with amusement.

But Harry just grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he wrapped his arms around you. "Don't worry, my dear," he reassured you teasingly. "Fucking the boss has its advantages, remember? Being late for work is just one of them."

You laughed at his comment, unable to resist the playful banter as you teased him back. "Oh, really? And what other advantages do I have for fucking the boss of Kingsman?" you questioned with a smirk.

Harry's grin widened into a smirk as he leaned in closer to you, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, "Well, let me show you..."

#harry hart #kingsman secret service #harry hart x reader #kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #colin firth

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ghostofbambifanfiction · 1 year ago

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CYOA Chapter 38 snippet

(also doubles as a one act play about two people who are so desperately hard up for one another that they're both getting excited by the same idea whilst pretending they're not excited at all because they're really ashamed of themselves)

Lily Evans: Do you mind if my friend Emily stays over for a couple of days from the 11th to the 13th of March? She has to be in London for work for a fortnight, but her company will only pay for a hotel on the weekdays.

James Potter: yeah sure honestly lily just treat it like your house you don't need to ask permission to have people stay over

Lily Evans: And I appreciate you saying that, but I'd still rather clear it with you because of the bedroom situation. I know Sirius wants his left untouched, so would you be okay with me using your room while Emily's here? I can use the spare room the rest of the time, I just figured that would be less weird and uncomfortable than a total stranger sleeping in your bed.

James Potter: yeah you can use my bed room bedroom it's got empty wardrobes and the big ensuite, you can use it the whole time if you want or use the spare room, it's whatever you want but could you make sure that the door to my room is always a bit open so that algernon can get in and out? he's used to spending his nights hanging out in there

Lily Evans: Yeah, sure. He normally sleeps near or on me so I guess now he'll have a choice. Unless I just use your room I guess. Would that be weird?

James Potter: i don't think it would be weird

Lily Evans: I don't think it would be weird, right?

James Potter: nah

Lily Evans: Right. Nah. Because we're so close.

James Potter: super close

Lily Evans: Yeah and like, it's not like I'd be a creep about it.

James Potter: and then algernon would definitely know where to hang out at night

Lily Evans: So that's a point in its favour.

James Potter: yeah exactly

Lily Evans: That and the ensuite

James Potter: it has an excellent shower

Lily Evans: Which is great because I like to be clean.

#sarah's choose your own adventure fanfic #snippet

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harker-jonathan · 7 months ago

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3 May. Bistritz. —Left Munich at 8:35 P. M, on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I got of it from the train and the little I could walk through the streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had arrived late and would start as near the correct time as possible.

The impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the East; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish rule.

We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh. Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I had for dinner, or rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was very good but thirsty. (Mem. get recipe for Mina.) I asked the waiter, and he said it was called “paprika hendl,” and that, as it was a national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the Carpathians.

I found my smattering of German very useful here, indeed, I don’t know how I should be able to get on without it.

Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the country could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a nobleman of that country.

I find that the district he named is in the extreme east of the country, just on the borders of three states, Transylvania, Moldavia, and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathian mountains; one of the wildest and least known portions of Europe.

I was not able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality of the Castle Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to compare with our own Ordance Survey Maps; but I found that Bistritz, the post town named by Count Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I shall enter here some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when I talk over my travels with Mina.

In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct nationalities: Saxons in the South, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are the descendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the West, and Szekelys in the East and North. I am going among the latter, who claim to be descended from Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for when the Magyars conquered the country in the eleventh century they found the Huns settled in it.

I read that every known superstition in the world is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort of imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting. (Mem., I must ask the Count all about them.)

I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under my window, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have been the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and was still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the continuous knocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping soundly then.

I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour which they said was “mamaliga”, and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a very excellent dish, which they call “impletata”. (Mem.,get recipe for this also.)

I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little before eight, or rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing to the station at 7:30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an hour before we began to move.

It seems to me that the further east you go the more unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China?

All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the top of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran by rivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each side of them to be subject ot great floods. It takes a lot of water, and running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear.

At every station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts of attire. Some of them were just like the peasants at home or those I saw coming through France and Germany, with short jackets, and round hats, and home-made trousers; but others were very picturesque.

The women looked pretty, except when you got near them, but they were very clumsy about the waist. They had all full white sleeves of some kind or other, and most of them had big belts with a lot of strips of something fluttering from them like the dresses in a ballet, but of course there were petticoats under them.

The strangest figures we saw were the Slovaks, who were more barbarian than the rest, with their big cow-boy hats, great baggy dirty-white trousers, white linen shirts, and enormous heavy leather belts, nearly a foot wide, all studded over with brass nails. They wore high boots, with their trousers tucked into them, and had long black hair and heavy black moustaches. They are very picturesque, but do not look prepossessing. On the stage they would be set down at once as some old Oriental band of brigands. They are, however, I am told, very harmless and rather wanting in natural self-assertion.

It was on the dark side of twilight when we got to Bistritz, which is a very interesting old place. Being practically on the frontier–for the Borgo Pass leads from it into Bukovina–it has had a very stormy existence, and it certainly shows marks of it. Fifty years ago a series of great fires took place, which made terrible havoc on five separate occasions. At the very beginning of the seventeenth century it underwent a siege of three weeks and lost 13,000 people, the casualties of war proper being assisted by famine and disease.

Count Dracula had directed me to go to the Golden Krone Hotel, which I found, to my great delight, to be thoroughly old-fashioned, for of course I wanted to see all I could of the ways of the country.

I was evidently expected, for when I got near the door I faced a cheery-looking elderly woman in the usual peasant dress—white undergarment with a long double apron, front, and back, of coloured stuff fitting almost too tight for modesty. When I came close she bowed and said, “The Herr Englishman?”

“Yes,” I said, “Jonathan Harker.”

She smiled, and gave some message to an elderly man in white shirt-sleeves, who had followed her to the door.

He went, but immediately returned with a letter:

“My friend.–Welcome to the Carpathians. I am anxiously expecting you. Sleep well tonight. At three tomorrow the diligence will start for Bukovina; a place on it is kept for you. At the Borgo Pass my carriage will await you and will bring you to me. I trust that your journey from London has been a happy one, and that you will enjoy your stay in my beautiful land.–Your friend, Dracula.”

#What an exiting journey!#Hope my Friend The Count Dracula will be happy with my work!#dracula #dracula daily

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tailsbeth-writes · 11 months ago

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Thanks for tagging me @duchessdepolignaca03! So this is my first one of these actually, thanks to timezones it wasn't Wednesday when I got tagged but nonetheless here we go.

So I don't have WIP excerpts right now, I'm a 'gonna write a fic to post straight after' kind of gal (this will change with a long project next year though) so instead I thought I'd post some bits from my fanfic idea dump plus some og fiction WIPs.

-The Prince & He (Working Title - coming 2024)

The Prince & Me AU for Red White & Royal Blue. Alex is at UT and Henry decides to study in America, he tells his family it's to find himself but really it's so he can get away from his overbearing royal responsibilities. (Looking for betas for this btw!)

Potential RWRB fic ideas:

-it's Alex & Bea who have cakegate and after damage control, the queen thinks they should start a courtship... Alex & Henry have other ideas though (want to explore gendered differences, the damage control would be so different with Bea and I think I'd like to make her asexual & explore that within a structure of tradition)

-5+1: times that Alex was clearly being hit on by a dude but was completely oblivious & Henry is obviously the one (🥹)

- Potential song fic - Wasia Project: U Deserve - Nothing But Thieves: Do You Love Me Yet? - Liz Lawrence: I'd Rather

Original Fiction: Decompose

Near future London has been segregated by means of a new medical test, each sector representing a level of productivity. After going through the kitted out MRI machine, twin Harry Thorpe is wrongly moved from his comfortable life in the highly skilled sector where technology rules and excellence is expected, to the unskilled sector which seems stuck in the past but with much more variety.

Between alien customs and new romances with classmates, he discovers his own power hungry mum is trying to bring in the One Child Policy and that is only the beginning of her plans. Harry and a group of rebel social workers and civil servants might be the only thing that can stop her.

This is my first novel, it's young adult sci-fi, focuses on equality, chronic illness & disabilities, diversity, government corruption, found family, rebellion. It's got a diverse cast led by Harry, who is a soft pansexual bookworm with a sweet tooth. I'm currently editing & looking for beta readers for the next draft.

When You Get The Chance

My next book project is still very early days but it's a very queer holiday romance.

Coral 'Corey' Henderson is on holiday in Majorca for 2 weeks, her sister missed the start of the holiday leaving her alone. Enter Alice Ortiz, a member of an Abba tribute act performing at the hotel.

All of Abba Nice Day are queer, Corey is a ginger plus size Scottish lesbian event planner, Alice is a bisexual Geordie (half Spanish) who loves singing but also wants to go to uni to study politics. This book will explore family dynamics, dementia, biphobia, body image, protesting & finding your purpose. I'll do a call out for betas when we get to it!

Congrats if you made it through all this! I'm tagging @cl4r3m0nt @heybuddy-drabbles @candyspandemonium @firenati0n @nontoxic-writes & whoever else wants to do this! Tag me, I'm always looking for writer pals 🥰

(20/12/2023)

#tailsbeth writes #rwrb #rwrb fanfic #firstprince #firstprince fanfic #red white and royal blue #the prince & me au #song fics #original fiction #lgbt writers #queer writer #the prince and he

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coffeedrgn87 · 2 years ago

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December 17th Drarry Drabble: "Christmas Sweater"

Read the first part here (it won't make much sense otherwise).

Tags: Is Malfoy up to something?, Harry is quite possibly having a meltdown over Malfoy, the annoying mistletoe is still there, but Malfoy is full of surprises, and Harry has no words, no angst, and some UST; this is also apparently the part of this December drabble journey where this whole idea of writing unrelated standalone drabbles does right out of the window...

Knightsbridge was the epitome of luxury. It didn’t surprise Harry that Malfoy lived in nearby Belgravia with its terraced stucco townhouses, private garden squares, international embassies, upmarket hotels, antique shops, chic furniture stores, trendy art galleries, and designer fashion and jewellery boutiques. It was home to fine-dining restaurants, posh delis, and sophisticated cafes — a place for the rich and famous to unload their cash. The area was predominantly Muggle, which surprised Harry but not enough to think much of it. After all, London did not have an exclusive wizarding district for the well-to-do.

Number 22 Wilton Place was a six-storey Regency townhouse within walking distance of several tube stations (not that Malfoy seemed to be the type of person who got on the tube), and Hyde Park was only a stone’s throw away. Serpentine’s Stephen Waterfall was the closest public apparition point, and it was heavily glamoured with a potent Repelling Charm that deterred Muggles from going near it.

However, the standard apparition wasn’t an option, given Harry’s current mistletoe predicament. He suspected Malfoy’s London home had private apparition coordinates, but Harry hadn’t bothered to ask. After all, there was such a thing as ‘too intimate’, and in Harry’s book, knowing Malfoy’s private apparition coordinates fell into that category.

He didn’t know whether Malfoy agreed with him on that point, but he’d quietly accepted Malfoy’s floo address which Malfoy had kindly noted for him. And, of course, Malfoy’s penmanship was impeccable because why would it not be? The git appeared to excel at everything Harry didn’t. He wrote swiftly and with an exquisite flourish that nettled Harry terribly.

So, on top of sitting on his hands during Kingsley’s two-hour reprimand (Harry was still surprised he’d managed not to fall asleep), he also ground his teeth together to avoid accidentally making a snarky remark. Everything about Malfoy screamed elegance and perfection and starkly contrasted with Kingsley’s elaborate and overly detailed rebuke.

Apparently, Harry had been well within his rights (Malfoy had boredly confirmed that with a lot of avant-garde legalese) to levitate Cormac into the Fountain of Magical Brethren and defend himself during the duel that had followed. (Naturally, Harry already knew that though he’d resisted telling Kingsley that.) Even the Auror team’s arrest had been by the book.

The only problem was that Cormac was no longer a British citizen, and his parents (with MACUSA’s help) were trying to create an international incident a week before Christmas…blah, blah, blah. By the time Kingsley finally stopped talking about MACUSA’s ridiculous complaint (as though American citizens were suddenly exempt from prosecution under British Wizarding Law when they attempted to commit crimes on British soil) and started to focus on Harry’s ‘inconvenience’ (the mistletoe), Harry’s jaw was positively aching from clenching it so much. Restraining himself had never been Harry’s strong suit, but ten years in the public eye had allowed him to get intimately acquainted with the useless political move of ‘keeping one’s gob shut’.

Still, the worst part of the entire experience was when Malfoy insisted on a home visit to help Harry fix his annoying mistletoe problem. After half an hour of unsuccessfully trying to weasel his way out of visiting Malfoy’s private residence for a curse removal consult, Harry eventually gave up. Partly because he was tired but also because Kingsley looked like he was about to suggest that Harry’s other option was a stint in Azkaban so he could come to his senses.

In Harry’s opinion, the Janus Thickey Ward at St. Mungo’s seemed a far more reasonable option, but Harry wisely refrained from making that observation. He had no desire to spend Christmas in the hospital (lest Kingsley, in his infinite wisdom as Minister for Magic, decided to teach him a lesson). Over the years, there’d been too many instances where Harry’s impulsivity in the field had led to several highly uncomfortable overnight stays at Mungo’s, and he had no interest in baiting Kingsley into adding another one to the list.

But now Harry was here, in Malfoy’s home. It differed vastly from what Harry remembered about Malfoy Manor. There was nothing gloomy about the place. It was bright, open, spacious, and exceptionally welcoming, with no lack of plants (magical and non-magical alike), hand-picked furniture, and a wealth of art.

Upon stepping out of the gigantic fireplace in the reception room, a wisecrack of a house elf (dressed in what appeared to be a tailored butler’s uniform) greeted him with a bow so deep that the elf’s nose touched the carpeted ground. It made Harry terribly uncomfortable, though he forced himself to keep his opinions to himself. The last thing he was interested in was having it out with an elf, a Malfoy elf no less, while a pertinent mistletoe bobbed above his head.

However, since his arrival, things had become exponentially worse for Harry. Malfoy’s elf had led him into what appeared to be Malfoy’s private living room, and Harry felt perfectly out of place. He didn’t think he was supposed to be here, in Malfoy’s inner sanctum (so to speak), but Malfoy’s elf had vanished, and Harry wasn’t about to explore Malfoy’s townhouse in search of a place that made him feel less unpleasant. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder whether Malfoy made a habit of welcoming his guests in his private living room.

Didn’t he have a proper drawing room? A study even, or an office? Recency townhouses had libraries; surely Malfoy’s elf could have accommodated him there? Perhaps it was yet another attempt at trying to make him uncomfortable? After all, Malfoy was a grade-A git. Sure, he’d paid his reparations, uttered his apologies, and worked hard to become an upstanding member of Britain’s Wizarding Society, and while Harry didn’t hold a grudge (he’d testified at Malfoy’s trial), there was something about Malfoy that perpetually rubbed Harry up the wrong way.

He supposed it was only natural. Malfoy and he had spent most of their time at Hogwarts despising each other. The handful of times they’d bumped into each other at functions hadn’t been enough to establish any meaningful connection. And so, they lived in each other’s orbit, Harry acutely aware of Malfoy’s presence, however fleeting (and Malfoy likely scowling at his very existence and cursing him to the centre of hell) without ever trying to create a relationship.

Piqued by his intrusive thoughts and unable to properly distract himself, Harry moved closer to the grand fireplace, where large flames crackled and danced, licking at the thick stone walling. The parquet flooring creaked a little under Harry’s heavy Auror-issues Dragonhide boots. The edge of the broad mantlepiece was beautifully decorated with a real fir garland. Its scent (damp moss, rain, wet tree trunks and needle-covered paths) reminded Harry of a green forest, serenity, peace and quiet. Small twigs of holly and snowberry adorned the many coniferous branches. Harry caught his reflection in one of the tiny silver baubles but groaned when he also noted his companion, the mistletoe.

Turning his attention to several silver photo frames on display on top of the mantlepiece, Harry looked at them curiously. He recognised Blaise Zabini, who shared a photograph with Malfoy. The two were laughing, hugging and toasting the photographer with champagne flutes. Harry was at once interested, though what intrigued him most wasn’t the intimacy of the moment captured but Malfoy’s laugh.

It looked bright and genuine, and the way his silvery-grey eyes sparkled made Harry feel a little dizzy. He glanced at the next photo. It showed Malfoy sprawled all over an armchair with Pansy Parkinson in his lap. She appeared to laugh at something while Malfoy looked at her with an expression akin to admiration. Harry’s stomach flipped unexpectedly, and he moved his gaze to the following photograph and the next.

Many of the captured moments showed Malfoy with his friends. One showed him with Astoria Greengrass, and another was a candid image of Malfoy’s mother surrounded by well-tended rose bushes. Another showed Malfoy with a man Harry didn’t know, but the formal robes indicated that the picture had been taken at a black-tie function or a wedding. A strange sort of sensation, akin to jealousy, took residence in Harry’s chest, and he felt his stomach harden.

Thankfully, Malfoy clearing his throat at precisely that moment gave Harry the perfect excuse to turn his back on the personal photographs. Except, the second he turned around, he did a double take. He blinked several times, just about stopped his jaw from dropping, and with his arms loosely hanging at his sides, Harry furrowed his brows and wondered whether he’d mixed up his dates or arrived at the wrong time. A sense of panic enveloped him, and it took every effort for Harry to stop himself from hyperventilating. His quick and shallow breathing made him feel dizzy, and he briefly squeezed his eyes shut.

Reopening them did not reset the scene. Malfoy was dressed in a pair of black Muggle jeans that hugged his legs perfectly that Harry had to rub at his throat just to remind himself how to swallow. Malfoy wasn’t wearing shoes, only socks, and while those blasted jeans made it hard for Harry to stop his gaze from exploring, the absolute icing on the cake was the sweater Malfoy wore. Dark green in colour and with exquisite silver snowflakes stitched into the wool, it was quite possibly the most elegant Christmas sweater Harry had ever seen in his lifetime. Inexplicably, his fingers itched with the nearly unquenchable desire to touch, and in a desperate attempt to dull the feeling, Harry shoved his hands deep into his chino pockets.

“Er, hi,” he croaked.

Malfoy’s grin was a wild thing that made Harry breathe faster. He felt his skin flush and heat. Opening his mouth, Harry was about to lick his lips, then decided against it and swallowed hard instead. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

“Hello, Potter. Apologies for the wait, unexpected firecall from my mother.”

Harry nodded in silent acknowledgement, and when Malfoy motioned at the sofa, offering him a seat, he shuffled forward, then stopped. Malfoy gave him a dramatic eye roll (it screamed ‘you insufferable, mannerless brat’, but Harry ignored it), shrugged, then sat down and elegantly folded one leg over the other. He clasped his hands together and placed them in his lap.

“So, Potter, before we take care of your shrubby little problem, would you like some tea?”

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thedarkoneswithin · 2 years ago

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Don’t let miss Faulkner sleep! ( Part 1 )

Word COUNT: 2.8k words

If you ain’t 13 or older this story may creep you out.

Your free to leave!

This is the first text i wrote in a long time.

I hope you enjoy!!

Also; sorry if you find spelling mistakes, i tried to edit it out.

My pencil makes led scratches against the canvas. Etching the cascading sunrays that shimmered from the calm current off the harbor here in Collingwood. The old grain elevator still stood tall after all these years, stalwart against the strains of time which had won some battles against the chipped-away surface of this local historical site. Our town has seen an injection of tourist botox that has turned a naturally beautiful landscape into a silicone shell of its former self. Natural parks no longer brimming with pine trees and plantations that grow side by side, but instead a surgeon’s knife that had cut through the natural order, ripping out the roots and keeping what Instagram and TikTok viewers deem acceptable in a world of filters and falseness.

I sat in my favorite spot on the road leading up to those historical terminals, working on my sketch when my work phone began to buzz relentlessly in my pocket. I put down my shading pencil, flipping open my phone. And yes, ‘flipping’ it open. I can hear your judgment behind these typed words.

To give you an idea of what I do. I work as an independent personal support worker, meaning I own my own PSW company. I have my clients, but things have slowed down over the past couple of years due to a recession, along with inflation making my prices increase, and in turn, my clients heading to more affordable homes, rather than one-on-one care.

“Hello. This is Kris Scott of Compassionate Care.” I said, trying to sound professional, covering up my deep desperation for more work.

“Hello. My name is Dr. Khaleed. I work as a neurologist who specializes in Alzheimer's. I was wondering if we could have you take care of one of our early symptomatic patients near London Ontario. When can I book you for an interview?”

“I-I am free. Free whenever!” My overly giddy, the stammering voice may as well have screamed ‘Please god, pay me!’

“Excellent. Today is Monday, so perhaps tomorrow at three in the afternoon?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you so much!”

As soon as my thumb grazed the red phone icon to end the call, I was in my Hyundai and speeding off on the 401. Making my three-hour drive in two and a half and booking my room at the first hotel I set my sights on, which unfortunately was a Ramada.

I scarfed down chicken wings that tasted like oven-baked fisher price plastic, then went right to bed. I wanted to feel as fresh and well-rested as I could for my newest client since my next client visit wasn’t for another week anyways.

I had expected us to meet up in an office or at a hospital in the mid-sized city, but instead, we met on an old dirt road just a little way outside the city, near a farmhouse. I will not give much description of the house, as all addresses are private.

“So, are we doing the interview out here?” I tried to make light of this peculiar situation.

“I apologize. Do you prefer Kris or…?” he asked politely, a kind smile had formed as he spoke.

“Kris is fine. And you?”

“You may call me Ameer. I have been the neurologist for this client for, well, let’s just say it has been a good portion of my professional career.” He let out a hearty laugh, his belly reverberating with each inhale.

“She must be important to you.”

Ameer nodded, motioning for me to follow him. As we moved closer to this impressive-sized, three-story farmhouse, Ameer stopped, looking up at the sun bursting through a breach in the cloud coverage. As I looked around to marinade in this area, I could see a hawk with its wide-reaching wingspan swoop down and land swiftly onto a stump nearby the house, just up the hill.

Ameer handed me a closed dossier. “These are your new clients’ paperwork. Should you choose to take on this job, of course.” His voice was emphatic with gratitude and a small pang of excitement hidden somewhere between his spoken words.

“Yes. Yes of course!” I shook his hands and took the documents from him. My heart pounding with a mix of ecstasy and a touch of dread, given the new commute I had just inherited.

He walked me to the porch of this old farmhouse, and it was the doors themselves that threw me through a loop. The doors were not your traditional wood doors with that initial screen door that never closes and always slams open and closed at the mere feel of the wind.

A metal double door with no handle whatsoever. Life itself punched me in the snout with a red flag.

“Why?” was all I could ask when looking at this completely out-of-place contraption.

“The first owner wanted his home turned into a facility for your new client. A facility to keep her safe. Out in this area, the trucks rip down the highway at stupid speeds. Doesn’t want his last living relative to go out like that. Especially with her beginning to sundown.”

To those that do not know sundowning is a state of confusion that can happen in the late afternoon or night and can have all types of behaviors associated with it, all depending on the person and their situational triggers.

I’ve had war veterans as clients who after eight at night would build a barricade or dig holes and lay in them for hours. Some would wander from one town to the next. Every person’s dementia and Alzheimer’s are different. The same is for sundowning.

When we entered, my red flag and that uncomfortable feeling in my stomach almost completely alleviated. If this was a facility. It was state-of-the-art, all while feeling comfortable.

Every shelf and cupboard had locks. This lucky lady had her dietary aide who would come in and make all her meals. Central air is every form of streaming service you could ask for. A wifi connection so powerful I could watch a live sports streaming service on internet explorer on my flip phone. Okay, maybe not explorer, but chrome most certainly.

I know many of you assume that something crazy or weird would just happen that night I took the job, maybe that week? No. Nothing happened for nearly a year.

I became so unbelievably happy with this client. I dropped all my others, and because the pay was substantial. I mean. Substantial.

The rules of this client, Mrs. Faulkner, were simple:

-Do not let Mrs. Faulkner sleep until just before sundown. Otherwise, she will wake up in hysteria and begin to wander.

-Mrs. Faulkner always has her medicine after dinner, always before sundown as it will stabilize her serotonin, along with inducing sleep.

-Should Mrs. Faulkner wake up in the night, be wary of her disposition. Treat her as if she is sleepwalking and monitor her behavior. Do not intervene unless the need arises.

Most of these rules you will find are standard amongst retirement homes. They were more than easy to follow. They had been passed down by the owner of the home now turned facility, who as I would learn later down the line, was the power of attorney for Mrs. Faulkner. He had been her uncle and caretaker till his death a week before I was hired on. A multi-millionaire who had found great success as a dairy farmer and had several stakes in businesses all over the surrounding counties, so needless to say; Mrs. Faulkner's inherited estate could afford all of this.

I scanned my key card at the door, and when it buzzed, I opened the double doors, walking into a nice refreshing blast of cool air. I saw the dietary aide, Tracy, chopping her onions, boiling the rice, and making a pot of tea for our shared client.

“Hey Trace!”

She looked back up at me with a smile, her eyes watery from the fresh onion, “Her girl!” she called out, tossing the pieces onto the frying pan. That satisfying sizzle immediately followed.

“How’s Mrs. Faulkner today?” I asked, putting my bags into the closet, and then locking it.

“She is doing better since her fall in the shower last night. Poor thing. They had her up all night last night, and she has been awake all day today.”

“Where is she now?” I asked.

Tracy pointed to the living room, where Mrs. Faulkner sat in her lazy boy recliner, sitting in the dark, scribbling away at her notepad.

Mrs. Faulkner was likely a tall woman, she had a hunch and needed a walker as she moved, so it was hard to fully gauge her height. Even as a hunched-over person, she was nearly six feet tall.

She was African American, curled dark hair, and would always tell us about her stories growing up in South Africa. Then moving here with her family when she was in her mid-twenties to attend school.

For a woman in her late seventies, she still tried to take care of herself. Vegetarian diet. Practicing yoga, even despite her physical limitations. She also deeply loved reading and drawing and writing too. She was a woman of many hobbies and talents.

I sat with her, trying to get a peek at her drawing, but as usual, she playfully hid her work from me. A new habit she had been forming these past three or four days.

“It’s not ready, Kris,” she said with that familiar and kind smile forming on her face.

“Just a glance!” I said playfully.

She held her notebook to her chest, “I think not!” she laughed, waving me off in a joking manner.

“Alright, you two. The meals are cooked. All the cabinets are locked back up. Don’t make a mess of it while I am gone.” Tracy waved goodbye and made her way out the door and into her car.

Our day was a mostly routine one. I bathed Mrs. Faulkner. Gave her dinner, she took her medications, and then she was off to bed. Her bedroom is the last room, the end of the hall on the second floor. She refused to take the guest room on the first floor. Always insisting that the stairs ‘kept her young.’

“Alright Mrs. Faulkner. Time to get some sleep.”

Right after I had said those words, I can still remember vividly the crashing of wind against the house and the way it creaked, the foundation groaning against the gale force.

“Hard to do with all that racket!” Mrs. Faulkner complained.

“Lucky enough for you, you’ve got strong meds,” I said with a wink. Making sure my favorite client was tucked in and comfy before leaving.

“Maybe if the oncoming storm wakes me up, we can play a hard loop of stuff” her smile extended on her face.

“Oh, and how do we play…that?” I asked, a little baffled by her unusual request.

“It’s a game I used to play a lot back home. I’ll teach it to you. You only need to play once.” She closed her eyes, that smile still plastered on her face.

As I left the room, I quickly glanced behind me to make sure she was still tucked in bed. She was still lying in bed, but her grin was wide-daggered teeth. Her eyes imprinted on my spine.

That was the first time that I saw her like that. Like she scared me. And she wasn’t even trying.

At least, not that time.

I closed the door and in truth, sped off downstairs to grab my cell phone which was still charging on an end table in the living room. Just as I reached for it, the ringtone blared its tune so loud it made me jump. I shook off my stupidity and answered it.

“Hello?” I asked. My voice quaking.

“Kris, it’s Ameer. Is Mrs. Faulkner in bed?”

I was a little taken aback by the question. For almost a year I had done this job without missing a beat.

“Yes?” my voice likely sounded a little defensive.

“Did she take her medication?”

“Yes,” I reassured him.

“Okay. Good, good. That’s good.” His sighs of relief only made me feel more bothered.

“What is the matter?” In truth, I wanted to ask him what his problem was. I knew how to do my job.

“When she was at the hospital there was a situation.” My wounded pride turned to concern in seconds.

“Situation? What happened Ameer?”

“From what I hear she didn’t get her medication due to the concussion she suffered. I don’t know if something happened, but they’ve requested me at the hospital A.S.A.P. Listen. I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on. Just hang tight and be careful, okay?”

The line ended immediately.

“Be careful?” I said the words out loud, then swallowed the fear that emanated from the most unlikely of statements.

I made my way to the guest room that was now fashioned into a work office of sorts, closing the door behind me. I began to step towards the computer desk in the center of the room when that all too familiar feeling of paranoia and overreaction hit me like an anxiety-tidal wave and rushed back to the door, locking it.

I perched myself on that god-awful gaming chair that we inherited from Tracy’s son for our workspace. Booting up the PC and began to type away at an overview of the night so far. Essentially working through the nightly expectation checklist.

Our computer also had a live feed of cameras throughout the house. A necessary breach of privacy to keep Mrs. Faulkner alive and in good condition.

I scanned through the live feed. All was well. Mrs. Faulkner still practically swaddled in her bed.

It was clacking away at the keyboard when I noticed a note from the previous worker, Abigail. She had been taking care of the previous owners’ estate when there was one item still unaccounted for.

An access code to the locker directly behind me.

Thunder began to bellow low warning groans that whiffed by my ignorant ears.

I left the office to do my hourly check around the house and on my client. Leaving the office, I made my way up the stairs and toward Mrs. Faulkner’s room when a blinding stream of light came crashing near the house, followed by the crackling boom of thunder.

I dashed into her room, causing poor Mrs. Faulkner to shoot up out of bed. The way she clutched her chest I thought I had put the old bat in cardiac arrest.

“Oh, my lord Kris. You should be a little more careful considering you have to clean and change me!” she yelled.

Something about that statement made me feel at ease, in truth. Something in her voice that felt docile. That lack of that smile, that natural fear. Palpable, real jitter that felt…human.

I wish she had stayed like that.

I apologized to her, checked on her vital signs, and even did a memory test to ensure that she was not in a sundown or delusional state.

After cooing her back into her bed, I began to tuck her in.

“If you sleep through the night, maybe we can play that game you wanted to play?” I suggested to her, to which she just gave me a rather odd stare, handing me the glass she had finished drinking.

I wanted to pursue it further but she had got so worked up, she was crashing hard and needed sleep. So instead, I kept it to myself.

The power flickered throughout the halls until finally the main power failed, and the backup generator did not start up. Managing to fumble my way down the stairs I made my way back to the office, collected my phone, and noticed a missed call from the good Doctor Ameer himself.

I dialed him back. He picked up the phone in less than a ring. He was breathing. Breathing hard.

“I’m on my way to you, Kris. Is Mrs. Faulkner still asleep?” his voice was rushed, panicked.

“I just put her back to bed. She woke up during the storm, but I did the tests and…”

“Screw the tests, Kris! Do not let Mr. Faulkner sleep!” My heart sank so deep in me that I could have crapped it out right then and there.

“She is sleeping. I’m…I’m sorry. Wait. What happened? What did you find out?”

“She is fixating on Kris. Fixating dangerously. Her routine is messed up. There was never any concussion. She injured herself getting into the hospital and mess up her routine intentionally. Her drawings Kris. They are violent. They depict violence against all of us. These images. The words. This is some criminal, sycophant, planned, pervasive behavior.”

I said nothing. I melted into that chair. Staring endlessly at the locked door in front of me. My cameras were dead, and with the entire facility was key card and internet and power controlled. I was locked inside this place.

Locked in with her.

“Keep your distance, Kris. Stay safe. I will be there with emergency services. Hang tight.”

The call ended. I felt the phone slip from my face, surprised that at that moment it did not drop to the floor, instead falling harmlessly into my lap.

Something in that moment. In that feeling of despair and fear, a flicker of something hit. An epiphany.

I turned to the locker behind me. When the power went out it would run on battery, so I had time enough to enter a passcode into the pin pad.

Hard-loop of the stern. Nothing. I sighed. Then decided on another hail-mary idea of sorts.

Good old google translate.

I entered Mrs. Faulkner's words into the translator. Afrikaans to English. Expecting it to say some sort of classic kids’ game or some rendition of the sort. No. It was not that. It was not that at all.

It translated to ‘Hide or Die.

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I like to write horror/Creepy/Hospital stuff on my free time to!

I could maybe do fluff and other stuff if i get more likes.

#I suck at tags #Horror #Thriller #Horror & Thriller #Creepy #Creepypasta

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whatdoesshedotothem · 2 years ago

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Thursday 5 December 1833

10 ¼

great deal of rain last night and rainy morning - tolerably fair about 9 tho’ the walking people held up their umbrellas - breakfast at 9 ½ - at my desk at 10 ½ - Lord H- who was to have come at 9 did not come till 11 and then for a few minutes to say his portmanteau was not come - had hardly gone away before he returned to introduce Mr. Henry Canning, our consul general here, a gentlemanly pleasant man - he was exceedingly civil - half tried to persuade me to go by Rotterdam - should be in time for the packet of Wednesday and then be certain of being in London on Thursday - but owned that if the weather was not very bad I might be in London on Monday or at farthest Tuesday by the Columbine from here at 6 on Saturday morning - then came Mr. Delaval, steam packet agent, sent by Mr. Canning - he said the journey to Rotterdam took 90 hours and with my heavy carriage might take now from 120 to 130 hours roads very bad from Bremen often no regular road at all - made of heather and sand till getting into Holland - had I set off yesterday morning could not have been in time for the Saturday’s packet from Rotterdam but if off tomorrow might be in time for that - but he thought me right to keep to my determination of going by the Columbine - had I arrived by 12 on Tuesday night it would have been an hour too late to embark the carriage even embarking it at 11 would have been dangerous it was such a stormy night - this satisfied me - I might pay in Danish money - would send a clerk to settle all this tomorrow - Lord H- then brought Mr. Stäcker, ‘a sort of a gentleman’ as Lord H- afterwards said secretary to our English post-office who offered to do anything he could for me - my Lord staid till after 2 - I strongly advised his never minding his things not being come, but go with Mr. Canning and dine at Mr. Jenish’s (Yanish pronounced) which he did - Dinner at 5 ½ - before and after wrote 3 pages and ends, amusing enough account of the journey, to Comtesse de Blucher, and 3 pages pretty close to Lady Harriet de H- account of the journey perhaps less amusing but with 1 or 2 more particulars e.g. Thomas being knocked up and said I felt as if I had more right to tell her of my disappointment in being too late for the packet yesterday morning etc giving a little more way to my feeling about my poor aunt - begged her to give my compliments and thanks to Mr. Browne for managing so well for me - nobody could be more gentlemanly and considerate and useful than Lord H- said I expected at least 1 more letter - begged her to inquire for it at the hotel Royal and forward it to Shibden - begged Comtesse de B- to give my compliments to Comte Vargas de Bédémar and thanks for all his kind attention and say I hoped to be in London on Monday or Tuesday - told her of the good dinner and most excellent wine Comte d’Ahrenfeldt a gave us - said we wanted not this attention more to make us charmed with Copenhagen and all the kind people we saw there - adding ‘whatever may be the faults of the English, they are not ungrateful’ - regretted leaving ‘the woody Funen unadmired because unseen’ - observed on the good roads there and going the 4 miles from Nyborg to Odense in 2 35 hour much to the credit of Prince Xtian’s government - ‘Oh! that the King in his most gracious pleasure would make the prince governor of Schleswig and Holstein also that his majesty’s high ways might be better’ - concluded very truly yours and affectionately yours to Lady Harriet - then wrote 3 pages and 1 end (not close) to Comtesse de Bourke saying I feared I could not give no good reason for not having written long since but that I had a letter ½ finished some time ago which I should have sent had not Miss Ferrall begged me to wait to know what her luggage coming by sea cost as Madame de B- wished me to pay it and add it to the account - should have been happy to do so, had I not been thus unexpectedly hurried away by a distressing account of the dangerous illness of a near relative - In the hurry of the moment had packed up my account book and could not easily to get to it therefore hoped she would excuse my giving the amount of all I could possibly think of her paying i.e. 300 fr. which I should be obliged to pay to Messrs. Laffitte on my account whenever it best suited her convenience - said Miss F- was a most agreeable sensible useful compagnon de voyage never making difficulties - the de Bluchers in great favour with the royal family and universally liked - had dined with them twice, and she would have been pleased to see how nicely all was managed - he very gentlemanly - sure she would like him if she knew him better - 3 very handsome children - she would be proud of them - Madame de Rosenkrantz inquired after very particularly seemed pleased with her remembrance and spoke of her in a manner she must have been gratified to have heard - should be very glad to hear from her - whenever I was in England any letter directed to Shibden hall near H-x Yorkshire would be sure to find me - concluded very truly yours then wrote 2 pages dated Hamburg Thursday evening 5 December to my aunt to be ready to send off from London telling her her so indifferent account of herself and talking of her leg taking bad ways had determined me to set off as soon as I could - had not written before because I came along with the post - she would see me nearly as soon as my letter - not to be nervous about me for I was quite well and had had a very good journey - she might be sure of my coming - to tell Cordingley to have my room ready and a room for Thomas ‘I shall provide for Eugenie’ - wrote out journal of Tuesday and yesterday and came to my room at 9 - very fine day and night – F57° now at 9 ¾ am - took two spoonful of Epsom salts

Mr. Delaval said 1 German mile = 24,000 Rhenish or German feet and 1 foot English = nearly 13 inches German For comparing all kinds of weights and measures recommended Crusens’ Comptorist 2vols. 8vo. – last edition several years ago

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renta-stay · 3 days ago

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Contractor Accommodation in Reading: Comfortable, Convenient, and Cost-Effective

When working on demanding projects, contractors often face challenges that extend beyond their job sites. One of the biggest hurdles is finding the right accommodation—something that balances comfort, proximity to work, and affordability. If you're seeking contractor accommodation in Reading, this guide will help you discover why Reading is a top choice for contractors and how to find the best places to stay.

Why Reading Is a Prime Location for Contractors

Located in Berkshire, Reading is a bustling town known for its thriving business ecosystem, excellent transport links, and growing construction industry. Many contractors flock to Reading due to its strategic location, close proximity to London, and access to major motorways like the M4. Whether you're working on infrastructure projects or corporate developments, Reading offers a blend of urban convenience and suburban tranquility.

The Benefits of Purpose-Built Contractor Accommodation

Unlike traditional hotels, contractor accommodation in Reading is specifically designed to meet the needs of traveling professionals. Here’s why this type of lodging is worth considering:

Cost-Effectiveness: Contractor accommodations often come with lower rates for long-term stays, helping companies and individuals stay within budget.

Fully Equipped Facilities: Most contractor lodgings in Reading feature fully equipped kitchens, laundry facilities, and ample living spaces—essential for those staying weeks or even months.

Convenient Locations: These accommodations are usually located near work sites or transport hubs, minimizing commuting time.

Flexibility: Whether you’re staying alone or with a team, you can choose from single rooms to shared apartments, making it easier to meet your group’s needs.

Top Features to Look for in Contractor Accommodation

Not all contractor accommodation in Reading are created equal. Before booking your stay, consider the following features:

High-Speed Wi-Fi: A reliable internet connection is crucial for staying connected with clients and colleagues.

Parking Facilities: Free or affordable on-site parking can save you significant time and hassle.

Proximity to Amenities: Look for accommodations near supermarkets, cafes, and transport links for added convenience.

Comfortable Living Spaces: After a hard day’s work, a comfortable bed and cozy living area are essential for unwinding.

Popular Areas for Contractor Accommodation in Reading

Reading offers various neighborhoods that cater to contractors. Here are some top picks:

Central Reading: Ideal for contractors working in commercial developments, this area offers easy access to Reading Station and local amenities.

Caversham: Located just north of the River Thames, Caversham is quieter and offers a more residential feel with quick access to the town center.

South Reading: Close to the M4 motorway, this area is perfect for contractors needing to travel frequently to surrounding areas.

Finding the Best Contractor Accommodation in Reading

Finding the right accommodation doesn’t have to be a daunting task. Here are some tips to streamline your search:

Use Online Platforms: Websites specializing in contractor stays, such as serviced apartment directories, are great for comparing options.

Book Early: Reading is a busy hub, and accommodations can fill up quickly, especially during peak seasons.

Read Reviews: Check online reviews for honest feedback from past guests about cleanliness, service, and facilities.

Experience Reading Beyond Work

While work is the primary reason contractors come to Reading, the town has plenty to offer during downtime. Explore the Oracle Shopping Centre, enjoy the vibrant dining scene, or take a relaxing walk along the River Thames. These experiences can transform your work trip into a more enjoyable and balanced stay.

#accommodation #luxury rooms #affordable housing #real estate #contractors #properties

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thedixonhotel · 16 days ago

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Breakfast at London Bridge: A Delicious Start to Your Day in the Heart of London

When you're staying in one of London’s most vibrant and historic districts, such as London Bridge, starting your day with a delicious breakfast is essential. Whether you’re enjoying the convenience of your hotel’s breakfast offerings or venturing out to explore local cafes and restaurants, there’s no shortage of options to satisfy your morning cravings. Here’s a guide to some of the best places for breakfast near London Bridge, as well as what to expect from a typical breakfast experience in the area.

1. Breakfast at Hotels Near London Bridge

If you’re staying at a hotel near London Bridge, such as Hotel London Bridge, you can start your day with a hearty and convenient breakfast without even having to leave the building. Most hotels in the area offer a range of breakfast options, including:

Continental Breakfast: Enjoy a selection of freshly baked pastries, croissants, fruit, yogurt, cereals, and an array of cold cuts and cheeses. Perfect for those who prefer a lighter meal.

Full English Breakfast: For a more substantial meal, a traditional full English breakfast is often offered. Expect a combination of scrambled or fried eggs, crispy bacon, sausages, baked beans, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms, and toast or fried bread. It’s the ultimate comfort food to fuel your day.

Buffet-Style Breakfast: Many hotels near London Bridge offer buffet-style breakfast, where you can choose from a wide variety of hot and cold dishes, allowing you to customize your morning meal according to your preferences.

Healthy Options: Many hotels are also catering to health-conscious travelers by providing fresh juices, smoothies, and a selection of whole grain cereals, oats, and fruit to keep you energized without the heaviness of a traditional breakfast.

2. Popular Breakfast Spots Near London Bridge

If you’re looking to step out of your hotel and explore the local breakfast scene, London Bridge is home to some fantastic cafes and eateries offering everything from quick bites to leisurely brunches. Here are a few top picks:

Borough Market

Just a short walk from London Bridge, Borough Market is a bustling food market that’s famous for its artisan produce, gourmet street food, and delicious breakfast offerings. Some must-visit spots include:

Monmouth Coffee: A local favorite for a morning caffeine fix, Monmouth Coffee is known for its exceptional quality beans and expertly brewed coffee. Pair it with a freshly baked pastry from one of the nearby stalls for a quick, delicious breakfast on the go.

Bread Ahead Bakery: Famous for its mouth-watering doughnuts and freshly baked bread, Bread Ahead also serves up great coffee and pastries. Their salted caramel doughnuts are particularly popular, but they also offer more traditional breakfast items like croissants, fresh breads, and savory sandwiches.

The Breakfast Club

Located just a short walk from London Bridge, The Breakfast Club is a renowned chain that serves up all-day breakfast in a cozy, retro setting. Their menu features an indulgent range of breakfast favorites, including pancakes, French toast, eggs benedict, and a variety of classic sandwiches and wraps. It’s the perfect spot if you’re craving comfort food with a twist.

Flat Iron Square

Another great area for breakfast lovers is Flat Iron Square, a lively space filled with food trucks and small eateries. Here, you can enjoy a wide selection of street food-style breakfasts, from avocado toast and eggs to specialty dishes like shakshuka or halloumi sandwiches.

3. Specialty Coffee Shops Around London Bridge

For many visitors, the perfect breakfast isn’t complete without a good cup of coffee. London Bridge boasts a number of excellent coffee shops that serve up high-quality brews to accompany your morning meal:

Kaffeine: This trendy coffee shop serves expertly brewed coffee and light breakfast fare, including pastries, sandwiches, and bagels. It’s a great stop for those who prefer a quick, high-quality coffee break before exploring the area.

Café Liberty: Situated near the Tower Bridge area, Café Liberty is an independent café that prides itself on offering delicious coffee and light breakfast bites, such as avocado toast, eggs, and freshly made cakes. The relaxed atmosphere makes it an ideal spot for a quiet morning.

White Cube Café: Located next to the White Cube gallery, this minimalist café offers a range of coffees, fresh juices, and baked goods to fuel your morning. It’s a quiet, art-filled space that’s perfect for those who want to sip their coffee while taking in some local culture.

4. Health-Conscious Breakfast Options

If you're looking for a lighter, healthier breakfast option, the London Bridge area has no shortage of cafes and eateries that cater to health-conscious individuals:

Pret a Manger: With multiple locations around London Bridge, Pret a Manger offers a range of healthy breakfast options, including fresh fruit pots, porridge, yogurt bowls, and smoothies. It's a great choice for a quick, nutritious breakfast on the go.

Grind Coffee: Known for its great coffee and healthy breakfast dishes, Grind Coffee serves up nutritious bowls like acai bowls, chia pudding, and avocado toast, along with fresh juices and specialty coffee. It’s perfect for those who want to start their day with something light but filling.

EAT.: Offering a variety of wholesome breakfast choices, EAT. provides tasty options like porridge, fruit, and vegetable-filled wraps, as well as smoothies. Everything is freshly made with locally sourced ingredients, making it a great place to fuel up for a day of sightseeing or work.

5. Enjoy a Scenic Breakfast with a View

If you’d like to enjoy a leisurely breakfast while soaking in beautiful views of the River Thames, there are several spots near London Bridge where you can do just that:

The Sky Garden: Located on the 35th floor of the "Walkie Talkie" building, the Sky Garden offers stunning panoramic views of London. You can enjoy a delicious breakfast in the landscaped garden while taking in the spectacular scenery. While it’s more of a brunch spot, it’s worth visiting for a special breakfast experience.

London Bridge Rooftop: For a more casual but equally scenic experience, the London Bridge Rooftop bar provides beautiful views of the Thames and Tower Bridge. Enjoy your breakfast with an incredible backdrop of the city’s skyline.

Conclusion: A Perfect Breakfast Awaits Near London Bridge

Whether you’re staying at a hotel near Breakfast London Bridge, enjoying a classic full English breakfast, or exploring local cafes, the area offers a wide range of breakfast options to suit all tastes and preferences. From indulgent comfort food to healthy and light choices, you're sure to find something that fuels your day as you explore one of the world’s most iconic cities. So, wake up early, enjoy a delicious breakfast, and get ready to experience everything London Bridge and the surrounding areas have to offer!

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ackonow · 28 days ago

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mumanddadgoglobal · 1 month ago

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York and London

After our three nights in Frankfurt, we jetted off to London City Airport, caught a local train to Kingscross Station then trained it up to York, which is about halfway up the British Isle.

York central is a tourist town, but unlike many European cities, the tourists are almost exclusively provincial British people. Instead of loudly twanging American voices incredulously stating obvious things (“Jeez harney, its raining and they have a church”), you had farmer and chav type British accents, discussing sensible things (“Looks like a proper old fashioned boozer” or “Whooz Munchester playing this weekend”).

The tourists were mainly day trippers coming into to town by the train, or perhaps coach as well. Rather than being equipped with walking poles, daypacks, and North Face action wear, the majority instead opted for drab darker block colours, brown scuffed lace up shoes, old parkers for the men, quilted jackets for the ladies, stained slacks for the old geezers, sensible woollen skirts circa 1956 for the old ducks.

There were of course exceptions to this dress code, with some young autistic women coming in their Minerva McGonagall costumes, middle age women in bulging slapper wear with sagging knee high boots, and then 60 year olds in their aging rocker wear, with purple died hair for the ladies, matching purple dress, purple coat, purple bag and purple dog (or at least dog lead).

The Blue Bell - York's smallest pub

After wandering the streets for 20 minutes, I was exhausted and selected a bar (pictured) so that mum and I could refuel. We were lucky to strike up a conversation with a pair sitting next to us, a mother and son who were actually locals. She was about our age, sensible, sensibly dressed, and he was too, though sporting a bit of a rebel come Gandolf hair and beard. He did however have a number of interesting things to say about matters like: the Greek root of Idiot, the causes for underestimation of global warming models, and an excellent German podcast series on science.

After taking on two pints of the local ale, I wandered off to the toilet, returned and reported two observations: the male toilets were bigger than the bar room we were sitting in and this was our first meaningful conversation with local people in five weeks. This highlighted the real downside to travelling where you can’t speak the language – and the beer halls are too vast to get near the locals.

Dean Court, not Fawlty Towers

There were also exceptions to the day trippers whom we encountered at our hotel (pictured). These tended to be geriatrics who came to stay at York, so that they could slouch in the worn lounges and order drinks from the waiters throughout the day. While the hotel looked stately from the outside and the waiters were Indian, the hotel and customers did not conjure up the glory days of the Raj. Instead of pukka calls for drinks from an aging Major who had served in the Crimea, it was “give ous a nuther lager luv”.

I saw one old walking-stick tourist, slumped in his faded Sinwar lounge, suddenly hurl his stick round-armed at an incoming tray of drinks – probably having mistaken it for a drone. He too missed his mark, enabling the waiter to complete his mission by delivering the payload to the old geezer, which was enough to finish him off.

What could this be?

This seemed like a pretty surreal scene, but it was even weirder when we first arrived. After some weeks of using efficient deutsche Aufzüge (German elevators), we were culture shocked by the fact that our hotel utilised something altogether different (pictured). We were on the third floor and had our bags, so thought a lift would be the best first approach – but were mistaken. We got in, pressed 3 then ><, and watched as the doors dribbled sullenly shut. After seven minutes wondering if the lift would take us anywhere, the doors opened and it was level three. Looking at my phone, I realised that a whole day had passed and that the lift was in fact the very lift that had inspired Albert Einstein.

Gedankenexperiment, German for “thought experiment”, was a technique Einstein used for discovering important things. Of course, this particular experiment would be difficult to conjure up mentally in an Aufzüg, so Einstein must have travelled to our hotel in York, to better immerse himself in thought. Einstein argued that inside a windowless elevator, a person cannot tell whether the elevator is at rest in a gravitational field or is instead being hauled up with constant acceleration. He then conjectured that the laws of physics themselves must be identical in both situations. Converted into mathematical equations, this idea became the basis for general relativity. I ran some subsequent tests during our stay, by using the stairs, while mum used the time machine. Mum is now four months younger, while I aged three days.

The East India Club

I conducted a Gedankenexperiment myself the day we returned to London. After training it back to Kingscross Station, we cabbed it to our new diggs, The East India Club (pictured), in time for Sunday lunch. This required togging up in one’s suit and frocking up (in mum’s case), so that we would satisfy the club dress code and not feel out of place with the dapper chaps and charming ladies and families who were tucking into claret and Sunday roast in the elegant dining room of the ground floor.

Sitting there in this finely appointed room, with the autumn sun steaming in through the large windows, while ruminating on my roast beef and metabolising my third fine Bordeaux, I wondered why working class provincial people always look pudgy and somewhat ugly, while posh inner city typers generally produce an impression of grace and beauty. Time for a thought experiment.

Looking around the room, I proceeded to redress the well dressed with York wear. The young blond-haired woman in the fine beige suit, was reclothed in a sleeveless pink top, tight black jeans, replete with thongs and extra peroxide to bring her hair to the sheen of Yorkshire platinum. The old gent in the corner lost his spiffing three piece suit with pocket square and was redressed with a crumped parker, faded cotton pants and a gravy stained shirt. His wife lost here expensive pearl necklace and twin set, and was re-costumed in tartan and tights. This process did not take long to make me realise that these beautiful people could be made to be just as unattractive as their northern country cousins. It was really just clothes (and expensive jewellery) that made the difference – and an education and good taste.

Another epiphany that flowed from this thought experiment is the fact that as a species, most of us like to fit in. We tend to dress in a manner that ensures we don’t stand out too much from our crowd – just as mum and I were more than happy to dress up for lunch, so that we would not feel out of place and feel more like we belonged.

Last night while sipping a wine in the foyer of the Prince of Wales Theatre, before seeing the Book of Mormon, I watched the standing crowd dressed in going to a play wear and watched as a little person (dwarf) weaved his lonely way through the towering crowd, and could not help that this fellow would have to cope each day with a feeling of not fitting in. The next morning I watched a homeless man doing a bad job of tidying up his overnight newspaper and cardboard insulation and wondered where he fitted in.

While travelling in strange lands for six weeks – and trying not to die from overeating, excessive alcohol consumption, or cigar induced lung disease – is perhaps not as challenging as being one metre tall or homeless, it is still six weeks of not really fitting in. Time to come home.

Lunchtime in sqrilll park

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