#my feelings about the Mr. Beast thing going around right now

[queenofthursday6599-blog]

Getting kind of sick of people saying Mr. Beast didn't break the Geneva Convention with the sleep deprivation thing.

Because "It didn't happen during war, and the guy wasn't a prisoner".

Motherfucker mlp:fim was apparently breaking the Geneva Convention because a pony nurse had a cutie mark that looked too much like the Red Cross. Even though the Red Cross doesn't have little pink hearts around it.

Like if this:

Is close enough to the Red Cross symbol that it breaks the Geneva Convention, that the show had to change it.

Then I'm going to go out on a limb and say that the sleep deprivation that caused that guy to have a mental break down during the filming of that never posted video probably also breaks the Geneva Convention.

Also sleep deprivation is a literal form of torture, and is therefore always illegal, no matter what. Even if who you're doing to isn't a literal prisoner, of war or otherwise.

Also music and light control are also violations of the Geneva Convention. And while a noisy ice cream machine might not be music, it's certainly continuous auditory stimulation the guy couldn't control or turn off. At least not without the ice cream inside not going bad and starting to reek.

[hunn1e-bunn1e]

Hello! I know that your asks are closed right now, but this idea just popped into my mind and I needed to get it to you before it disappeared. Please feel free to ignore this until your asks reopen or just ignore it in general. I don't want you to feel forced to do anything, especially when I'm breaking your blog rules!

Jack Howl × Gorou M! Reader

I just noticed that you didn't have anything for Jack where he's by himself; so I wanted to give you a bit of inspiration! Have a wonderful day, Mr. Benny.

Jack Howl - With Gorou-Like Male Reader

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Originally I was going to do all of the asks from franchises that I hadn't written for before first, but then I saw this and remembered that Jack didn't have any stand-alone content on my blog yet, so I just had to right this injustice. —Benny🐰

                                                                                                   

🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺

🍐  Jack first met you at the orientation ceremony. He sort of already felt comfortable around you because of your canine traits and the way you carried yourself with such seriousness and determination. The white-haired boy also thought you smelled kind of nice; like the ocean and water-logged wood, but there was also a bit of sweetness in there that he couldn't quite identify. As orientation ended and all the Savanaclaw students made their way to the mirror chamber, Jack's curious eyes stayed glued to your cloaked form.

🍐 Coincidentally, you and Jack ended up sharing a dorm room, how nice for him. He was a bit shocked when you told him right off the bat that if he needed help or just someone to talk to you would readily lend an ear. The fact that he was bunked with such a supportive person was incredibly relieving for the wolf-eared boy. While it would take him a little while to open up to you more, considering you just met, Jack would be sure to act on your offer in the future.

🍐  Jack loves exercising with you! After learning about your previous status as a general before your enrollment in the NRC, he requested to know your exercise routine during that time, to which you happily agreed. You both have a habit of waking up at the crack of dawn and going for a run which made you decide to ask him to accompany you instead of heading out separately. Your skills with a bow and arrow also caught Jack's attention, often watching you practice and occasionally catching glimpses of a certain weird Pomefiore third-year hiding in the bushes.

🍐 During one particularly hot day, you and Jack ended up staying in your shared dorm room after class instead of going outside or to the dorm's indoor gym to exercise; far too hot to will yourselves to move. This is when the wolf beast-man learned of your shared habit of your extra appendages giving away your emotions, your orange-brown, and white ears drooping with exhaustion from the heat. When Jack suggested going to the dorm kitchen and making smoothies, he had to hold back a chuckle at how your ears perked up and how your tail began to sway. Although, when you saw where his gaze was directed you grew embarrassed and covered your butt with a pillow.

🍐 Speaking of sweet things, Jack discovered that his dorm mate had a fondness for sweets, he remembered you mentioning that you didn't get them very often while you were a general. He actually whipped up some pear jam on toast for you once to see what you thought about the taste and was happy that he found a fellow pear enjoyer in you. You did tell him that your favorite fruit was something called lavender melon, a tree fruit that was native to the cluster of islands that you grew up on. The fruit was on his mind for a while after that, Jack may or may not have made plans to eat it with you in the future.

🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺•♡•🐺

🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.•°•.🐇.

Wanna see similar content? Check out my Masterlist!

[star-suh]

Motivation

Kim Doyoung x Male Reader

cw: college au, top doyoung, bratty-ish reader, public sex, breeding, spanking, choking, sweet guy being rough in bed trope, rimjob, fingering, restraints, exhibitionism(?), degradation, hole slapping, feminization.

“so which one of you is going to participate in the college annual event?” doyoung asked in front of the whole class, some of them raised their hands. “nice, now we're gonna take some data from you all and that's all”, seeing as how yn was just standing there and doing nothing doyoung touched him with his elbow telling yn to go write the data they needed.

“why have you been so lazy lately yn?”, doyoung asked “you're being a pain in my ass, do your job properly please”, yn smirked one of his eyebrows arched “am i mr. perfect president?”. one thing about yn is that he always likes to provoke doyoung, there's something so sexy about him being mad. “don't start now please, i know what you're thinking, i can see right through that pervy skull of you” he said tapping his index finger on yn's forehead, “you know you want it too” yn whispers grazing his hand on doyoung's bulge.

“you're like a bitch in heat yn” doyoung was riled up, the veins being visible in his forehead.

doyoung slammed himself inside yn, going in and out of that tight hole, the bottom's moans being muffled with doyoung's tie. he always knew that when yn started to act like a brat, like not doing his job properly, is because he wants something, that something being his dick. since the first time they fucked yn got hooked to the other's charms specially the way he looks like a sweet caring guy but it's a complete beast in the bed.

doyoung pulled the tie gagging yn, that was wrapped around his head, and use it to thrust even harder not caring about others hearing the loud skin slapping sound “do you like this? being treated like the dirty slut you are” he said between thrusts and spanks.

“next time have some shame and wait till we are out of college.. or maybe that's what you want, that everyone finds out who's the one pounding and creaming this used pussy”.

yn shook his head in a no motion, his red-tinted face covered in sweat, tears and some drool.

doyoung pulls out and then stares at the other's hole appreciating his work “look at this gaping pussy” he spits on it and starts fingering at a fast pace, filthy wet sounds along with yn's pleas filling the classroom.

after some minutes he stops and starts eating him out, his tongue circling around the tight ring of muscles and then going in and out. yn rolled back his eyes, as always doyoung knew how to pleasure him and send him into cloud 9.

doyoung buried himself deep on yn's ass wanting to go as deep as he can with his tongue, yn tasted so good that he wanted more, he was becoming obsessed with it.

“can't wait to fill this pussy up” doyoung stands up with the surroundings of his mouth soaked in saliva and the juices of the bottom's ass, “ready for round two?” he starts to slap the hole “...right you can't talk” he smirk lowering the tie to yn's neck. “you fucking beast.. give me some rest” the other speaks; “you knew who you were fucking with, don't start to cry now” yn looks at him with lusty eyes and a smile “you're unbelivabl-” he couldn't finish his sentence because doyoung started to pound him again.

yn was in a doggy style position in the teacher's desk with doyoung pulling the tie around his neck forcing the bottom to take all his dick.

having sex with doyoung was like a drug for him, the way his cock hits the right spots giving him a feeling of ecstasy that yn has become addicted to at this point, "fuck me harder doyoung, destroy me, make me your fucking toy" the boy exclaimed with a smile, "i’m just a hole for you”...

time passed and doyoung kept railing that hole until his balls were completely dry, all his loads were either smeared deep inside yn or dripping down his hole and the top's shaft. “you milked me dry this time” he sighed “you really behave like a bitch in heat today, that pussy was desperately asking for cock... when was the last time you had sex?", he asked.

“the last time we fucked" answered a yn, his voice a bit hoarse for all the moaning.

“you mean i’m the only one you're fucking?"

"yes, you're the only one who knows how to fuck me real good" yn tells him as he starts to get dressed, "plus it's a good motivator to do my job properly and help you with the class presidency”, he zips up his pants and put on his shoes, “i hope i can have this motivation every day" the bottom says cockily grabbing doyoung by the cheeks with one hand making him poute, giving him a kiss "see you tomorrow dear school president”.

doyoung was stunned, touching his lips while watching how yn leaves the room, "cocky slut" he mutters with a smile on his lips.

[freedomfireflies]

MR. STYLES AND PEACH DOING SOMETHING FOR THE LIVE STREAM !! maybe she can squirt again ?

OOOOF abso-fucking-lutely!!! This one is also inspired by this image!

“Tell them.”

“I…shit, I—”

A firm spank to your ass. “No. You watch your fucking tongue, Peach. And tell them. Tell them how many times you’re gonna cum for me.”

With a shaky inhale and quivering thighs, you brace yourself against the mattress and whimper, “Five. Five times—”

“Good girl. One for each day till Christmas, yeah? And how many times have you cum for me so far, hm?”

“Tw…twice, Sir.”

“That’s right.” You can hear the grin stretching across his face. “Think I should give you my cock now, Peach? Think you deserve it?”

You nod as best you can given in the position you’re in. You want to deserve it. Want to be filled, and stretched, and cared for. In a way only he can do.

“Yeah?” His fingers gently trail down the length of your spine. Dancing over the curve of your ass and the sparkling Christmas lights keeping your wrists bound to your thighs. “I think you do. Think you’ve been so good for us. Haven’t you?”

You turn your head until you can glance over your shoulder at him. “Yes, Sir…trying.”

“Mm.” He hums, and it makes your clit throb against the vibrator. “Trying. Bet you are, baby. Trying so hard to make me proud, hm?”

You only whine as another wave of pleasure rolls through you from the toy beneath your hips.

“I know,” he says, before his hand comes down in another firm smack to your right cheek. “All right, then, baby. Make me proud. Show ‘em how well you take my cock, yeah? Show ‘em how a good girl behaves.”

And you vow to do just that as you feel him move closer and sweep the tip through your arousal.

Harry is always incredible to you. Eager to please and make things fun. To toss you around like a toy and have your body bend to his will.

But Mr. Styles – Sir – is a completely different beast. Insatiable and unrelenting. Perhaps mostly for the cameras (like the one pointed at you both right now), but also for the power it brings.

He might be the one giving the orders, but you’re the one in charge.

With one quick squeeze to your hip, he begins to push in. Thick cock stretching you open while you’re simply forced to lay on your stomach and take it. 

And it’s perfect. Especially after such a long, strenuous day of his teasing. And with two orgasms already under your belt from the vibrator, you’re overstimulated and far too sensitive. You don’t imagine it’ll be long before the third.

“There you go, there’s my little cumslut,” he exhales, driving in just a bit further but not quite all the way. “Missed this, didn’t you? Missed Daddy’s cock—”

“Yes,” you gasp before stumbling over a whine. “Sir, please—”

“So fucking greedy, aren’t you, my love?” Another squeeze to your waist before he’s burying himself all the way. Sheathing himself inside your cunt as you both release a deep, satisfied breath. “That’s it. Just like that.”

And you can’t hold back. Can’t hold off. The combination of vibrations to your clit and the fullness of his cock just about kills you. And without really meaning to, you cum for the third time with little to no warning.

But he loves it. Groaning in your ear as his chest presses to your back. Indulging in every flutter of your cunt as you let go.

“Shit, Peach,” he murmurs, pressing a lazy kiss to your bare shoulder. “Feel so good around me, you know that? So fucking warm…so wet. This pussy was made for me, wasn’t it? Was made to get fucked by me—”

“Shit…shit, Sir—”

He spanks you again before he’s suddenly grabbing hold of your throat and lifting your head from the bed. “What did I fucking say, hm? You watch your fucking tongue—”

“Sorry—” you gasp. “M’sorry, Daddy…just feels so good.”

“Yeah? I know.” He rears back before thrusting himself in. Setting a sharp, unforgiving pace that barrels you toward a fourth. “Can feel exactly how good it feels for you, baby. Tell them. Tell them how fucking good I make you feel—”

“Shi…good,” you whimper. “So good. S’perfect, Sir. Always perfect—”

“Dream of my cock, don’t you? When you’re lying in my bed? Soaking my sheets? Fucking dream of me…dream of me stretching this little pussy. Having you any way I want—”

“Yes…yes—”

“Dream of them watching.” He squeezes your delicate throat in his palm. Just hard enough to make your lashes flutter but not nearly enough to scare you. Only excite you. “Love the idea of them seeing what I do to you, don’t you?”

A question that doesn’t really need an answer. He already knows.

“So maybe I’ll let them.” He’s going faster. Pounding himself into you with a fervor you’d recognize anywhere. “Maybe I’ll let them see just how much of a fucking whore you really are for me.”

You would love nothing more. Because there’s something about this scene – about the way he controls you – that makes you feel utterly safe and protected.

It had been your idea that he tie you up with Christmas lights for the livestream. And he’d smirked, seemingly unconvinced. 

But he changed his mind rather quickly after you showed up in his home office wearing nothing but the lights and a large, red bow over your pussy.

It had been outrageously silly, but the way his pupils dilated, and his chest nearly caved in made it well worth it.

“Look,” he orders you now, lifting your head from the bed and forcing your eyes on the computer in front of the mattress. “Look at what they’re saying about you.”

The comments roll in one after the other. Praising you for the wet sounds you’re making, praising him for the way his cock ruins you, and praising you both for what you’re doing to your audience.

But none of their opinions matter. Only his. As long as he’s satisfied with you…that’s all you really want.

“They think I should make you squirt,” he muses, dragging his teeth down the shell of your ear. Slowing his pace until you feel restless. “They wanna see you soak me. And I think I do, too.”

Just the thought, the salacious, greedy purr in his voice, is enough to drag you closer. To force your body into complacency until you’re squirming beneath his large frame. 

His chest presses harder into your back, using his weight to keep you still, keep you stuck to the bed below. To take every second of pleasure from both his cock and the toy still stuck to your cunt.

And he’s so deep. Reaching spots that have you seeing stars, and yet you can tell he’s holding back. He’s going easy on you. Even after readjusting his position in order to truly wreck you. 

Tears slip down your cheeks, muscles aching from the strain of the position you’re in. From the lights keeping you bound and submissive. 

And yet…it’s everything.

“Go on,” Mr. Styles instructs, squeezing your throat once more before removing his hand in order to spank you. Kneading the tender, red flesh gently before doing it again. “Come on, Peach. Cum for us.”

You’re so close…so fucking close. You just need…just need a little…just need a little more—

“Fuck,” you nearly cry, writhing almost violently as it rips through you. And you know this is what he wanted. Can feel the way this one rips you apart from the inside out, unraveling you like the seams on a sweater.

Everything is wet. The bed, your thighs, the toy, his cock. 

And through every moment, he murmurs, “There you go. Oh, good fucking girl. Giving us everything, yeah? Just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Sweet, dumb little baby. Just had to fucking cum—”

“Shit, shit, shit—”

Another spank, but he doesn’t chastise you this time. “What number was that, hm? Tell us.”

“…four. Four, Sir.”

“That’s right.” His fingers curl around your sparkling restraints, tugging on them as if to test them. “And how many left, hm?”

A trick question. Because you know the real number. But the answer he truly wants, is:

“However many you want, Sir.”

The pleased hum that melts from his chest is like ecstasy, and you can only imagine the smirk on his face.

“That’s right,” he whispers. “However fucking many I want.”

You feel him envelope your body with his, and for just a brief moment, you feel truly comfortable. Protected and safe and so incredibly infatuated with the man behind you.

“So…” he continues before dragging his lips across your cheek. Tempting you with a kiss that he doesn’t give you.

You shiver.

He grins.

“Why don’t you be a good peach…and give us another.”

God I forgot how fun these two are HAHAHA

SO SORRY FOR THE CONSTANT SPAMMING OF BLURBS!! WE ARE ALMOST DONE, JUST TWO MORE!!

Teach Me is next, and I will see you then 🥹💞💞

~ Full One for the Money Masterlist

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @kathb59 @iamjustaholeforyousir @buckyssbestgirl @harrystylesfan2686 @cherryluvhobii @caynonmoondreams @daphnesutton @uniquesexything @amateurduck @ilovec0lbybr0ck @winterrays @milfrrynation @definegirlfriendsx @allthelovehes @amiets2 @nega-omega @sucker-4-angst @hsgucci94 @gills-lounge @kennedy-brooke @avasversion @stylesfever @saturnheartz

[the-victor-brothers]

The Victors as soldiers (while both Victoria and Elsa as ballet dancers).

Here is Victor VD and Victoria (from CB) in an adapted “Steadfast Tin Soldier” segment, “Piano Concerto No. 2” from Disney’s “Fantasia 2000,” and Victor F and Elsa (from FW) in 1990 animated film, “The Nutcracker Prince.” From both “Fantasia 2000” and “The Nutcracker Prince,” both the Steadfast Tin Soldier and the Nutcracker Prince (Hans) fought against monstrous enemies (The Jack-in-the-Box and the Mouse King), have their feelings for their love-interests (The Ballet Dancer, and Clara) while protecting them, and do not worked well with rodents (mice and rats). Also, both the Ballet Dancer and Clara do ballet dancing (Clara dreamed about traveling around the world and become a ballet dancer).

1) Steadfast Tin Soldier

I loved “Fantasia 2000” (my favorites were “Pines of Rome” and “The Firebird Suites”). I thought V+V would work well as Tin Soldier+Ballet Dancer from the Disney version. After all, both Victor VD and the Tin Soldier had been separated/isolated from their love ones in different world, while both the Ballet Dancer and Victoria still remain faithful for their true love (Victor and the Tin Soldier) while didn’t work well with suitors (Jack in the Box and Lord Barkis). (And yes, folks - Barkis will be the scary Jack-in-the-Box DX).

I know, Victoria looks like Belle from animated BatB, but funny thing is that the Ballet Dancer has similar hairstyle from Belle’s (after all, both the Ballet Dancer and Belle don’t work well with suitors, while both have feelings for their true love (Tin Soldier and Beast/Adam)). Also, I know in CB that both Maggot and Black Widow said to Emily that Victoria “couldn’t” dance or sing, but - BAH what did they know? They didn’t even know Victoria. In my head canon, Victoria always use her imagination to dance with someone (like dancing with an imaginary friend or a ghost) while she’s a fairytale buff since childhood - so, there you go.

Funny thing was that the Steadfast Tin Soldier from the Russian 1976 short film, “The Steadfast Tin Soldier” by Soyuzmultfilm (known for “The Snow Queen,” “The Wild Swans,” and “The Nutcracker”) looks like Victor VD. Now that’s ironic in this art pic.

2) The Nutcracker Prince

“The Nutcracker Prince” is one of my childhood faves - underrated but great version. (I did read the Alexander Dumas version last time. Right now, I’m still reading the Hoffman version (Penguin Christmas Classics)).

Victor F+Elsa both can work well as Hans+Clara from the 1990 version. After all, both Hans and Victor F involved with Science, dealt with creatures (the mice army, and the monster pets), and help/protect/save the girls (Clara and Elsa) from harm (even saving them from falling off the cliff). As for both Clara and Elsa, they both share their sympathy and caring for the boys (Hans and Victor F), have adorable pets (Pavlova and Persephone) as companions… and dealt with monstrous creatures (The Mouse King, and the monster pets).

As for Mr. Rzyzkruski - yes, he’ll be Uncle Drosselmeier (I like that character from the 1990 version). 😄 That would have been like Vincent Price as Drosselmeier in any Nutcracker film or stage. 😆 As for Edgar, he’ll be Fritz, Clara’s brother (and yes, he’ll do something stupid for the poor Nutcracker). And the Wererat will be… the Mouse King?

Both of these drawings were referenced from the screenshots from the films from online. The backgrounds were just colored in color pencils (the second one from the bottom used Posca markers for adjustments). Done with traditional media tools (Pilot Color Eno (Soft Blue) mechanical pencil, art markers, ink pens, color pencils, and Posca markers). Enjoy.

[starlitiris]

“Where is the Justice?”

Chapter 7: Memento Mori

Summary: “Sebastian’s mutations have, for the most part, stopped. He is promoted to MR-P, and is finally able to work again. I would also like to personally and sincerely apologize to mischellaneous_bones on ao3 and eaterof_concrete on Tumblr for the contents of this chapter. Please read the notes at the end if this chapter leaves you utterly heartbroken </3

This chapter is written partially from Sebastian’s POV.”

~ ⚖️ ~

[Grief

Is a beast.

A wicked, unforgiving creature that will try with all its might to crush you under its entire weight.

It sinks it claws into you before you realize it’s even there. It breathes down your neck, breath harsh and cold. A constant reminder that it’s present.

It wears you down, the weight of it too much to bear some days. You pray that when you sleep, it too, will slumber. But it doesn’t. It never sleeps.

It permeates your life, unrelenting in its mission to do everything in its power to strip you of everything that you are.

It wants to see you wither – to eat at you from the inside out until you are nothing more than an empty shell of what you once were.

It will use every trick up its sleeve to see to it that you crumble and dissipate.

Unforgiving. Unrelenting.

It uses its methods of consumption in whichever order it deems fit, according to the person and the situation – to the prey and the environment.

Though, usually, it will start with the one tactic that seldom fails to get the ball rolling:

Denial.]

August 22nd, 2014

He’s dead.

He’s been dead for months, and I’m just now finding out about it.

I’ve been locked up like some lab rat for half a year, and I’m just now finding out that Malachi’s been dead for more than half that time?

I asked about him. I asked them about him. I asked if I could see him, or if I could at least talk to him. No one bothered to say a goddamn thing.

They knew. And they didn’t tell me.

Why? Because I was going through hell and they didn’t wanna put me in worse shape? Or did they just not care?

Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were the latter. Nobody down here gives a damn about anybody with “LR-P” on their shirt. If they did, they wouldn’t have put me through hell for the better part of a year. They wouldn’t have let Malachi die this way.

They don’t care. This is their fault, and they don’t give a rat’s ass.

God, I can’t fucking believe it.

[Denial is a defense mechanism used to protect oneself from the hardship of considering an upsetting reality. It can feel like shock, or numbness. It can look like feigned blissful ignorance. It’s an internal battle of tug-of-war – the push and pull of realization. We fight to stay in the delusion that the past is still the present, while reality keeps rearing its ugly head back into our field of vision. We try to turn away, or close our eyes. But eventually, we will have to look its way again. We will have to open our eyes.]

August 24th, 2014

They promoted me to MR-P to “compensate for my troubles.”

What a load of shit. Do they really think that a bigger room to myself and arts and crafts every wednesday is enough to make up for turning me into a freak? Sure, this room is bigger than my old cell, but I hardly fit in it. It’s cramped. And as much as I’ll appreciate the alone time, I was really hoping to see Malachi again…

…

I can’t think about it. It hurts too much.

Y’know what, maybe he’s not dead. Maybe they lied- or the guy I asked thought I was talking about another guy named Malachi. I mean… it’s not that uncommon of a name. And I won’t be hanging out with any LR-P as much anymore, so if I don’t see him around, it doesn’t mean that he’s dead. It just means he’s… not around. He’s somewhere else.

… That’s what I’ll keep telling myself. Because I can’t face the alternative. Not right now. Not after everything.

I can’t accept that he’s gone. He was the last thing that I had, I… He is the last thing I have.

He’s all I have.

He’s my best friend.

… He has to be okay.

[Anger is what will come next in some cases. When something bad happens to us, we often look for something – or someone – to blame. We become frustrated, hopeless to fight against the tides of change and tragedy. We want to have control over what happens to us, and in the face of reality, where we are harshly informed that we have no control, frustration melds into rage. We get angry. And we realize; we cannot control what has happened to us, but we can control who is at fault.]

September 7th, 2014

It’s been a few weeks, I think. Since I found out that he was dead.

It didn’t feel real. He really was the only friend I had down here, and now he’s gone.

I talked to a guy that knew him and heard about the situation back when it happened. He said Malachi was out in the water with a small group of other LR-P inmates doing routine maintenance on the canons. According to the prisoners that came out alive, there was a current that yanked away one of the team members. He got sucked out into the void, started freaking out about parasites, and Malachi went out to help him get back with the group.

A trenchbleeder crushed them both. A trenchbleeder. Do you have any idea how ridiculous that is? A trenchbleeder. Malachi and that other asshole didn’t die because they were stupid and didn’t follow instructions. They died because they’re supervisor, who wasn’t even out in the water with them because he didn’t feel like putting a wetsuit on, wasn’t paying attention. The prick was too busy chatting it up with a coworker to do his damn job. If he had been paying attention like he was supposed to then he could’ve radioed Malachi in time to tell him to watch out for the giant metal foot that was meters above him. He could’ve ordered the person operating the trenchbleeder to stop the damn thing in time.

His death was avoidable. It was completely preventable, but he was killed anyway because we’re nothing but scum to these people. It doesn’t matter if we deserve to be here or not, we’re all the same to them. Human garbage with no value, and that somehow makes it okay to put us in these dangerous situations, and not give a damn when one of us dies.

They had a couple guys scrape their remains off that thing’s foot. They had to scrape my best friend off of that thing.

They did this to him. They killed him.

He had a little sister. She probably thought he was dead way back when he was first brought here, but he had a little sister. He had a family that loved him. And he was a good man.

… He didn’t deserve this. We didn’t deserve this.

[Then, we bargain. We ask ourselves “what if”, and wonder “if only”. We ponder the events that led up to the tragedy. We try to rewrite the story in our heads, praying that if we think on it hard enough, it will become true. We scavenge our minds for a way out. For anything we could do to reverse what happened. But we are only human. We cannot go back in time.]

October 11th, 2014

I wish it were me.

He should be alive right now. His supervisor should’ve been watching. His supervisor should’ve said something. He should’ve not been a good guy for once and just left that guy out there to die. Most of these guys are dicks, anyway. Why go out of your way to help them, if they wouldn’t help you?

It should’ve been me. It’s not like I’ve been enjoying being alive since I got here, anyway. But Malachi… he had his days, but he found ways to be happy. He made the best out of the hand he was dealt. He was doing good. Better than most of us. And he made people laugh. He made people smile. He was nice to people who didn’t deserve it. And he put up with my miserable ass the entire time we knew each other. He was a great guy.

I wish we could swap places. Not that I want him to undergo experiments and surgeries and come out of it looking like the cousin that The Little Mermaid doesn’t talk about, but at least he would be alive.

I want him to be alive. I want to bring him back.

I wish I could just… go to sleep, wake up, and have him here. Alive.

I wish I could wake up and be human again. Be home. Be okay.

My partner would’ve loved Malachi. He would’ve loved them, too.

…

[At some point, the worst part of it will settle in– the depression. It's a dark, deep hole that you’re shoved into. At times, it can be so deep that you look up and can no longer see the sky. Just bleak, suffocating darkness. It drains you. It tires you. It takes the brightest parts of you, and buries them in shadow. It becomes hard to fight against that beast, when all you can feel is hopeless and numb.]

November 3rd, 2014

I’m so tired. I don’t sleep, I can hardly eat. I just feel…

I don’t know what I feel.

Without Malachi here, every day is just so… dull. And boring.

I’m alone without him.

Nobody really talks to me. Not that I want to talk to anybody. But, still. Nobody talks to me. Well… about things not relating to my new appearance, that is. Which, frankly, is just as upsetting as if I wasn’t talked to at all, if not worse. It’s all people ever care to talk about with me. I hate it.

I miss Malachi. I miss my partner. I miss my mom and my siblings. I miss the children I never got to meet. I miss my life.

I’m so tired. I don’t wanna move. I don’t wanna be here.

I don’t want this.

[It is a hard and arduous battle. Facing reality, suppressing your anger, learning that you can’t undo what was done, and climbing out of that deep pit that is depression. Surviving grief. It has never been an easy fight to win. But, it is survivable. It is something that can be done. And when it is done, you will have your moment of clarity. Acceptance.]

December 19th, 2014

He’s gone. Malachi is gone, and in a way, so is my family. I’m on my own now. I probably will be until I die.

The world has taken everything from me. My future, my friends, my family, my freedom, my body.

The so called “justice system” convicted me of murders they had no evidence on me for. They sentenced me to death, and I was backed into a corner where I had to choose to die, or spend the rest of my days working for an organization that couldn’t care less about my well being. I was experimented on against my will, spent months in pain, undergoing tests and operations all while my body was changing too fast for me to process and understand. They’re still running tests on me to this day.

I may look like a monster now, but I know I am not one. I know who the real monsters are.

It’s the people that can take more away from a man than he thought he could lose, and still sleep soundly at night. The people who won’t feel an ounce of regret for getting an innocent man sentenced to death. The people who’ll horrifically disfigure somebody “in the name of science” and feel no remorse for the pain they caused. The people who will sit on their hands instead of doing what they’re paid to do, and let a good man die for no good reason at all.

Those people are the real monsters.

I have lost everything I could possibly lose to them. Everything they could take, they took.

I at least owe it to Malachi to keep some part of him alive with me. And if the little time I had with him taught me anything, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, this:

They may have stripped me of everything else,

but I still have myself.

And that is something nobody can take away from me.

~ ⚖️ ~

Ending Notes: Because of this chapter I’m going to have to make a spinoff series to answer “what if” questions, lore questions, and to write a one-off story where Malachi doesn’t die and gets to continue his bromance with Sebastian <///3

I hope this chapter doesnt suck, i seriously cannot tell bc ive been rereading it over and over since i wrote it 😭

Ao3

Chapter 6 - Chapter 8 (wip)

[cherry-pop-elf]

Hoof Race

Fred Weasley x Reader x George Weasley

Can be read as platonic

I’m going through ALOT because of a dickwad of a piano teacher. So imma just project and vent here. I love piano, but I don’t love the piano teacher. My own personal Umbridge. Bleck. So it’s gonna be sloppily written, projective, just. I’m going through a lot right now. A lot a lot.

Summary: Your first detention with Umbridge. Needless to say, very traumatizing. At least you have a pair of red heads to comfort you. Along with formed an escape plan to get you out of there. With some help

Warnings: Umbridge, scars, blood, depression, anxiety, stress, crying, trauma, Umbridge being Umbridge. Physical Violence against Reader from Umbridge, Humanism(Racism against other species) Surprise Guest Appearance for the Book Lovers from one of our favorite Divination Teachers

“Where is our little lab rat?” Fred huffed, as he was looking around for you. With George trailing behind. Looking in all the directions that Fred wasn’t looking. You had promised to meet them at Hagrid’s to test out a new product to help with calming animals. Something that was more so a Comission’s for Hagrid than anything else. Would be a nice little treat. Tea, fang, and laughter. Just one problem. Where are you?

“Should have never given Harry that map.” George would grumble, as he was getting worried now. Where were you? You aren’t one to break a promise. Especially to miss out on hanging with Hagrid. Who wants to purposely avoid a cozy evening with him? Especially since the twins had hoards of candy to share. If you missed a treat like that, it has to be beyond your control.

“Checked the dorm, checked Myrtle, checked the Requirement’s, checked the green house-“ The twins would finish each others sentences, as they walked. Trying so hard to think of where you could be. That’s when they stopped infront of the Defense Room Doors. They were open, but the office door was closed. They slowly looked to each other, before bolting inside.

“But Miss Umbridge, it hurts-!” They heard you shout, now that they were pressing their ears to the door. “It’s not suppose to feel good, darling. I should have expected such idiocy from someone who found it wise to speak out of turn-“ Umbridge would huff, as her heels could be heard pacing. A mixture of sharp clicks, and your hiccups.

“Mr. Firenze is not a THING-!” You snapped, only for a sharp smack to echo in the room. Made the twins wince, as you hiccuped again. “That beast is indeed that. Why defend that vile creature, when it even identifies itself as a beast-? Hm? Shouldn’t expect much from an idiotic child like yourself.” She lectured on.

“What do we do?” George whispered to Fred. What could they do? She was still a professor after all. Regardless, they had to do something. Anything. SOMETHING. They had to think fast, before you got even more hurt. Or worse. Expelled.

“Twins-?” A voice called itself, making the duo look over. The familiar blonde hair, and clips of hoof steps, made it clear who it was. Their newest teacher, given Umbridge very literally fired their old one. What a god send, as the twins were able to hatch a plan.

“Please please-“ They made praying hand gestures, as they pointed at her door. Making dramatic movements to try and convey they needed a distraction. Not wanting to get detention next. Never thought detention could be worse than anything Snape could offer.

The echo of another slap was what made the ever calm teacher connect the dots. Oh how he dispised such treatment. It was inhuman. That’s saying something from a man who used to live with trantulas the size of buildings. He would quickly motion for the red heads to quickly go hide under the stairs, before he cleared his throat.

“Mistress Umbridge? I need to speak with you about a matter at hand-!” He called, with a hoof stomp for added volume. The duo was quick to run under the stairs, and narrowly miss her gaze. An ever-plastered fake smile was on her lips, as she would walk down the stairs. A twitch to her eye was given, as she was now forced to speak to the centaur.

"Yes, Firenze? Whatever could you need at this late hour?" She asked, while the twins were quick to rush into the classroom. Left quite a sight. There you were, with bloody hands. To bloody to even make out what scars she had to make your write this time. Along with a firm bruise on your cheek, from her had no less. They were enraged, to put it lightly. This was the last time she would ever do this. That was their promise.

They were quick to your side, as you wrapped your arms around them. Your savior. "She just kept insulting him, and it wasn't right. He's a good teacher-" You would sniffle, as George would use his wand to try and clean your hands. He sneered at the words on your skin. Busy with tending to your immediate wounds, as Fred tried to calm you down and explain the plan.

"WAIT WAIT-I UH-I AM JUST A CENATUR! A WITCH LIKE YOURSELF KNOWS MORE THE I!" Firenze shouted, making the twins realize their time was running out. "Just be quiet, and follow our lead-" Fred just said, and you listened. Typical behavior, after all. They were always scheming, and you were happy to get into any mess they offered.

"Well....You are just a centaur. You aren't modern, or cultured, such as myself. I suppose i can remind you how we properly function here." Umbridge would smugly say, as Firenze tried so hard to not roll his eyes. Was worth it, as he was able to watch you be escorted back under the stairs. That firey red hair hidden away. Just in time, because even his calm soul can only take so much.

"Oh dear, Mar's is infront of Saturn. You know what that means, I better return to my classroom-!” She had no idea what that meant, no one did since it was a big lie. Least it sounded good enough to make her scoff. Feeling as though she wasted her time with him. Regardless, she gave a friendly smile. Now walking back towards her office.

The second her back was turned, the blonde stallion quickly motioned for the three of you to hurry to him. Fred and George basically carried you, as they did. Needing to work fast. Was just yanked around like a doll, but there was no choice. The moment Umbridge had gasped, noticing you were gone, you three were on his back.

“Where did-“ But it was faded, as you three were not having a horse ride of your life. Escaping her, this night. Quite the adrenaline rush. Riding the back of your teacher, as he tried to not trip down the stairs. Least you had Fred and George to comfort you. Holding on to the straps on their teachers body, for his supplies, and comforting you.

“Well clean you up, and make sure that this is the last time she ever hurts anyone.” Fred said, with a firm nod. You never thought the twins could look so angry before. Was scary, but also a morbid reassurance. Given Umbridge’s gaslighting was getting to you. Thinking you were a burden, failure, worthless, just horrible. Didn’t even noticed you were starting to cry. It was all too much. The boys would hold you close, and just hold.

“Dreadful woman. Dreadful dreadful just oh so dreadful-“ Firenze would keep on muttering, as he tried to not break an ankle on those ever moving stairs. Full of much spite as anyone else. Suppose that meant the twins had someone on their side, at least.

“You are gonna crash with us tonight.” Fred said to you, as Firenze took that as advice on where to go. Now heading to the Gryffindor common room. “Think of it as a big sleep over. Chilling in the common room’s living space.” George echoed. Childish, but there is joy in childhood. Had you smile in approval.

“Here, allow me to offer some assistance.” Firenze then spoke, as he rummaged in his bag. Still trotting along, as it was just a hallway roam now.

“This should help with your healing and recovery. Sometimes spells can not solve all problems.” And a small bag was offered to you three. Most likely a herbal of some kind. The kind textures were very reassuring. A reminder you weren’t crazy. That she was in the wrong. Not you. Still, made you tremble in fear.

“Gonna be ok. She’s not gonna hurt you anymore.” Fred reassured, with a kiss to your head. Followed by George hugging you tightly. Just helping ground you, as the centaur finally stopped at the painting. She didn’t even ask for the password. As if she wanted to delay much needed rest.

“Rest, if you can. When you join me for our class, tomorrow, you are permitted to not join. You may just relax, and star gaze. That often times relaxes myself.” Firenze offered, as he laid down at the open wall. Allowing you three to get off. He understood you were a victim, and offered sanctuary where he could.

“Thanks…” You sniffled, as to not be rude. He knows, he knows. He gave you a pat on your head, and a smile, before taking his escort away. Leaving you three with your thoughts. The twins mostly thought of how to make whatever happens to Umbridge look like an accident, while you were still shaking from the ordeal. Murder plots can be for another time. You were first.

Escorted to the common room couch, you were as pampered as you could be. Hands properly wrapped, the herbal deal brewed, helping clean up the blood stains, using their latest invention to help clean up your bruise. Just doing what they could, as you sniffled and hiccuped.

Once done, you were soon lying against Fred. With George semi on top of you. As if some kind of pressure therapy. A means to make sure no one could touch you, or sneak up on you. Was nice. What was nicer was the random fellow classmates who walked around. May it to get something to drink, unable to sleep, what have you.

They took notice of you, could quickly grasp it was Umbridge, and let you have your comfort. May it be making sure you three had a blanket, staying extra quiet to not disturb you, or asking if you needed anything. Just some humanity against the darkness.

The comfort of the twins, the easing calm of the tea, and the sound of the ever lit fireplace. It helped you come back to earth again. Just what you needed. Reassurance that you were the victim. Not the other way around. Just deep breaths of fire, cinnamon, and gun powder.

You’ll be ok. You’ll be ok, and the twins promised.

As if they ever would break a promise.

[bby-bo]

When the Boss Comes Knocking pt. 2

the love on part one has been so wild ❤️ thank you guys sm for reading, I hope this drags you on an even wilder emotional rollercoaster than last time 🤠🤠

I sure as fuck have no proper explanation for my actions here, brace yourselves.

Summary: Sakusa knows he screwed up, but he’s quick to get on his knees to work for your forgiveness.

Warnings: solid combo of angst, fluff, and smut, reader is all over the place, Sakusa eating p*ssy 🫶🏼

“Always Yours, Kiyoomi”

The note had sat on your desk for 3 days, staring you down with the heat of hell tucked into the ink scratched on the paper.  It was Friday, the day the Sakusa Group was to officially purchase the small publishing house you wrote for, but the man himself had yet to show up since your last encounter.  

3 painfully slow days of no contact or sign of Sakusa had felt like 3 years, and you couldn’t help but feel angry. Angry that he thought he could come back into your life at his own convenience, with no explanation of his leaving for so long. Upset that you wanted him to come back. Pissed at yourself for letting him treat you like this. 

The back and forth in your own brain was clouded by the memories of him, one hand on your throat and one in your hair, pulling you in. The look of satisfaction on his face when you finally called him by his first name again. The sweet bliss of his deep voice directed at you. It was inescapable even on your morning commute to work. 

Opening the door to the lobby, you greeted Josie as always. 

“Morning Josie”

“Oh good morning! There was a message left for you, actually. Mr. Sakusa’s secretary called and mentioned setting up a lunch meeting today around 1 pm.” 

Surprise and irritation shot through the fog in your brain. He couldn’t even call you himself?? His behavior was getting ridiculous, and at this point you were going to completely miss the next 4 deadlines for the book you were working on if this distraction kept up.

“What?! Don’t respond please, I’ll just eat lunch here like usual” A guilty blush immediately spread across her face and you just dreaded whatever she was about to say.

“Um… I already scheduled it. Sorry! It felt like maybe you guys got along last time since you spoke for so long in your office and I thought maybe it would be a good idea to-”

“What??? Josie NO!” Complete horror washed across you like an ice bath, and you immediately realized that you were not dressed for a CEO level lunch date. 

“I’m sorry to spring it on you like this. But hey, at least he’s sending a car to bring you, right?” She finished her sentence with a bright smile, totally not understanding why this was the absolute worst thing in the world. 

You gave her a fake laugh and a smile, trying not to be too mean to her in your mind before heading straight into your office and slumping into the seat. 

“Always Yours, Kiyoomi”

The note stared back at you, and you narrowed your eyes at his name. Fuck. Off. Sakusa. If he wanted to play this game, you certainly weren’t going to make it easy on him. 

You had no time to let the regrets from your last encounter stew when time was not on your side today.  Stealing your nerves, you got to thinking of all the things you’ve been wanting to say to him, all the things you’ve been dying to ask.  But time raced against you, and when Josie knocked on your office door it felt as though no time had passed at all. You were still just as nervous as before, but an unfamiliar man in a suit followed behind Josie, ready to take you to your demise- a.k.a the Sakusa Group headquarters. 

It was 45 steps from your office to the car, 30 minutes in the car between offices, and now only 10 steps from the car into the massive lobby of the tower where the beast resided.  Someone greeted you straight away, and escorted you all the way to Sakusa’s door.

Shit. Shitshitshitshit. Your mind and heart were racing, but you took in a deep breath and reminded yourself to resist his efforts to win you over. Yea right, resist the irresistible. Great plan.

The door opened, and there he was. Goddamn this was going to be more difficult than you thought. 

Sakusa’s deep voice rang out, smooth and rich like dark chocolate. His usual black button down and slacks made him the picture of all your work romance fantasies- not that you were thinking of anything like that. Certainly not.

“Thank you George, you may go.” Your escort bowed in respect, and closed the door on his way out. Sakusa said nothing, just smirked as he stood and walked toward the door, and locked it. 

You stood frozen, feeling the heat of his chest warming your back. A large hand brushed your hair away from your face on one side, exposing your neck as Sakusa planted a soft kiss beneath the corner of your jaw, letting his breath tickle over your skin. You could just feel the smirk widening across his face. But as much as your knees were already growing weak, your anger refused to be forgotten this time. 

Your figure’s sharp turn cut his growing smile off into a small frown, those dark brows furrowing slightly.

“Stop that. You owe me an explanation and I won’t let you near me until I get it.” Your voice was shaky, but you got your words out clearly. 

Sakusa just closed the space between you again, towering over you with slight irritation on his face. This was obviously not how he expected this meeting to go. 

“What is with these horrible greetings each time we meet? I’ll teach you this lesson as many times as I need to-”

“YOU were the one who told me not to call you Kiyoomi all those years ago, so don’t gimme that bullshit!! You don’t get to break up with me, be a total dick during our last conversation, disappear with no contact then return into my life like nothing happened years later! There is absolutely no way I can accept anything you offer me when you have completely shattered the very foundation of our relationship, Sakusa!”

The pent up energy, anxiety and ire that had slowly been collecting in your heart and mind this week was at its boiling point, finally spilling over as angry tears gathered in your eyes, your finger jabbing into his chest. 

His demeanor changed entirely as he listened to your rant, and a serious look crept over his face, but he made no move to interrupt you. Even now, when you were so worked up that you couldn’t see straight, you couldn’t decide if you wanted to push him away or wanted to cry into his arms. He let you finish before speaking. 

“So this is how you’ve been feeling. Come here, sweetheart.” 

Simple acknowledgement was all it took for your tears to fall, and strong arms gave you comfort as he tucked your head beneath his chin. His fingers stroked your hair, and that damn cologne filled your senses as you tried to contain your emotions.

He brought his palms to your cheeks, thumbs brushing away the salty tears beneath your eyes as his gaze softened into something you’ve missed so desperately since high school. His tone was serious but gentle as he spoke his next words.

“I know you’re angry, yes?” You nodded aggressively, refusing to meet his eyes.

“I hear you. I want you to look at me sweetheart, tell me how I can make it up to you. What can I do to fix this?” 

“I don’t know if this can be fixed Sakusa, I thought you just walked off and forgot about me after high school and I-”

“You couldn’t be more wrong.”

“If I’m wrong then prove it! Some explanation, anything is better than the nothing you left me with!”

Sakusa let out a heavy sign before pushing his hands into the roots of your hair, and kissing your forehead. He took your hand, fingers intertwined with yours as you swiped at the last of your tears. 

“It doesn’t excuse the way that I’ve treated you, and I sure as fuck am not proud of it but I can give you an explanation. Let’s sit while we talk, yeah?”

You followed him into a connecting room, a dining room of sorts, complete with cushioned seats and a glass coffee table. Sakusa settled in a seat next to yours and turned to set his serious gaze on you, so you might understand his sincerity.

His chest expanded as he took a deep breath, and released it slow.

“My family has always been demanding, and I knew their wish for me was to take over the Sakusa Group as early as possible. But I was young and dumb, and I didn’t have the confidence that I could actually do it. I know it’s no excuse for leaving you like that, but I was scared to fail. Disappointing you was something I couldn’t handle, and I wanted to prove to myself that I could become someone worthy of taking care of you one day. So I made sure to cut ties and cut them sharp so that if I did fail, you would hopefully never find out.”

This… this was not what you expected. Had he always been so concerned with your judgment of him? Why did he not let you support him? You had every confidence in your Kiyoomi back then, and you had always tried your best to show that, so why..? Did you not tell him enough? How could you ever possibly be disappointed in him?

“I didn’t forget what I said to you back then. I’m sorry I was so selfish, sweetheart.”

Tears threatened to spill over again, and you pressed the heels of your palms into your eyes. There was a soft shuffling sound and the scraping of a chair across the hardwood, and when Sakusa tugged your wrists from your face he was kneeling before you. Still tall enough on his knees to be nearly eye level with you. 

“Don’t cry baby, look at me.” His fingers tucked beneath your chin, raising your head slightly. 

“Tell me what I wanna hear. Come on love” You knew what he wanted immediately. 

“Kiyoomi” Your voice was just above a whisper, but enough understanding was translated in that one word. Not quite forgiveness, but understanding. 

This had always been a thing between you two, even in high school. When first names were used after an argument, you could both recognize that things were back on the right path. So it wasn’t quite forgiveness, but it was a step. 

“Again.” But he was still just as greedy as ever. Gripping your chin a bit tighter, he brought his face right up to your neck and softly nipped at the skin on your jaw, tongue laving over the skin to sooth it.

“Kiyoomi”

“That’s my girl. Now, how should I make it up to you, hm?” His hands gripped your thighs just above your knees, squeezing into the flesh.

The tone of his voice switched, dripping with honey and saturating your mind with memories of twisted sheets and bated breaths. 

“I think I know just where to start” Shit, that voice. You were sure it would be the death of you one day, but right now, it was your lifeline. 

One of his thumbs hooked under the hem of your dress, baring one thigh ever so slowly, as his other hand guided your fingers into his hair. His gaze held yours as he began to kiss and bite a trail upwards following the exposed skin. 

If there was one thing your romance readers raved about, it was the smut that some of your books contained. But you could hardly claim any credit when your inspiration for those scenes came from Kiyoomi. The Kiyoomi who loved seeing you flustered and blushing beneath him, hand around your throat and embarrassment crawling up your cheeks. Loved seeing tears of overstimulation roll down so he could lick them away. That was this Kiyoomi, the one that knelt before you now.  

A hard bite on the inside of your thigh brought you back down to earth, a yelp of surprise escaping as your eyes snapped open.

“Be a good girl and keep your eyes on me.” You nodded as you tried to catch your breath, small bits of air coming out in light pants. 

Pushing your dress all the way around your waist, Kiyoomi gripped your ass roughly with both hands and tugged your body to the edge of your seat, legs thrown over his broad shoulders. His eyes closed as he turned to bury his face into the thickness of one of your thighs, fingers dipping into the waistline of your panties. He watched completely enamored as he pulled them off your body, the evident wet spot sticking to the source of your arousal. 

In one quick movement, he sat back on his heels and rid you of your panties entirely before settling back in on his knees. Two thick fingers swiped at your slit, gathering the stickiness there and bringing it to your mouth. 

“Open.” You did as he asked without hesitation, and you could taste the saltiness on the pads of his fingers as he pressed down on your tongue. But you knew better than to wrap your lips around his fingers- knew to wait for instruction. His smirk returned in full as he realized you hadn’t forgotten his rules.

“Suck.” 

His grip around your thigh tightened as you obeyed. Taking his fingers from your mouth, he pressed them back at your entrance, teasing you up and down as he finally, finally, brought his mouth to your clit. His tongue circled the nerves as he watched your eyes roll back, your mouth open just slightly. 

Now Kiyoomi was never a religious man, but he would’ve prayed to any god to never forget this sight. Legs open for him, pretty face silently begging him to touch you. He wanted it permanently imprinted in his memory, wanted it to be the only thing he saw every time he closed his eyes. His control snapped.

Fingers plunged forward into you and Kiyoomi was lost in your tight heat as he set a quick pace, teeth tugging lightly on your clit before circling it with his tongue over and over again. He still knew your body so well even after so much time had passed, and he knew exactly how to drive you over the edge. 

“O-omi” 

“Hm?” He refused to pull his face away from your sweet pussy, humming against you in response, sending light vibrations that tickled up your spine.

“G-gonna cum Omi” His fingers curled upward and hit that spongy spot, as he pulled his mouth away for just a moment to respond. He pressed a thick forearm down across your hips, not letting you escape.

“Go on baby, cum in my mouth. Wanna taste you” 

Kiyoomi shoved his tongue inside you, nose buried right up against that sensitive bundle of nerves as he reached up to fill your mouth with the fingers that had previously been fucking in and out of you. His other fingers gripped your jaw roughly as he pressed down on your tongue, sliding them further and further back into your wet mouth. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, doing your best to take what he gave you without gagging.

The release that spread over you had you crying out around his fingers, legs shuddering on his shoulders as his forearm held you in place, never pulling his tongue from you until he was satisfied he had tasted every drop. 

But he only allowed you a moment to catch your breath.

Kiyoomi tugged your whole body straight off the chair, pulling your thighs to sit over his where he knelt.  He secured his arms around you and slotted his mouth against your lips, tongue slipping against yours to let you taste yourself on him. Crushing you against his chest, he let out a low groan and let a large palm tangle into your hair, tugging it slightly. 

“Always been Omi’s favorite girl, you know that? Missed you so much sweetheart. Promise I won’t leave you again. Ever. And I’m so sorry I upset you my love” 

And as he pressed his forehead against yours, you realized the signature on his note had always been true, more so than you realized. 

“Always Yours, Kiyoomi”

[idensgarden]

you guys seemed to like my last au ranting post so. here we go

some more takes on classic gravity falls aus because i like reimagining things. Here's my 2 cents on reverse falls, which. i havent seen the visual novel if thats considered canon or anything to the au. i think uts like batman now where everything you apply to it is canon if it vaguely follows the premise

from what i've seen, it's more of a situation swap than a personality swap, so most parts of the au will follow that. but pacifica didn't come to gravity falls for the summer- she had to move here because her stupid dad got involved in a scandal or something and had to lay low. the northwests have inherited enough money to last them a good while, but apparently they can't go spending it on "trivial things", like pacifica's very important designer clothes. so she has to get... a... a... god, i can't say it without gagging, a JOB!!! at a worn down car sales shack!!! hold on. let me add a cut here.

okay im back. alright. at her job, pacifica meets gideon gleeful, who's basically gideon but less entitled, and surprisingly a bit like mabel. he's immediately the most annoying person pacifica has ever met. but he's the only company she has, besides mr. gleeful, who is way too cheerful to be pleasant and gives off major discomforting vibes, and mrs. gleeful, who makes her reflect on the lack of affection she receives from her actual mother and creates a deep pit of sorrow in her heart. just girly things.

(since gideon is much more pleasant in this au, his mother is much more stable, and takes the role of the primary caretaker since bud is too normal for me to write about)

the other employees are bad, but could be worse. the sleepy cashier with eyebags for eons and ROBERT written uncaringly on his nametag, and the overachieving pink-haired errand-girl who seemed to have a different name each time you asked her and a cartoonishly large bow on her head.

the longer pacifica works at her new summer job, the more fond she grows of it. when she's not hearing about gideon's annoying ramblings about wanting to be on broadway and the melancholy of settling for a mascot gig, she's actually feeling this gross sense of pride after actually working for something in her life, and getting sandwiches made for her by ms. gleeful (eventually nicknamed aunt agnes). pacifica hates to admit it and it keeps her up at night, but she's happier here than she's ever been. which is why she doesn't leave when she notices strange things happening around gravity falls.

ms. gleeful denies it, but gideon totally agrees with her- something weird is going on in this town. pacifica, going through an old car with an undefinable model much too damaged to repair, finds a journal in the glovebox, embedded with an X over an eye, and from here, the show plays out a bit like normal gravity falls. give it that unnerving, darker touch that the northwest manor episode had. some early episode ideas:

a full episode based on the what's-his-face comic, obviously without the mystery twins. pacifica gets a pimple, and thinks that since she's starting to get older, she's losing her adolescent beauty, and thus becoming less of a 'valuable asset' to her family. what choice does a girl have but demon magic? i hope this one doesn't backfire!!!

after the last episode, the effects of pacifica's fear of not meeting the beauty standard linger. after catching pacifica staring at multi level marketing get-pretty schemes, ms. gleeful decides to revoke her phone and take the kids camping, saying that technology is evil. it turns out she's right, as pacifica's phone has grown restless after it's abandonment and transformer'd into a beast, which is hunting them down in the forest slenderman-style.

pacifica doesn't believe in the tooth fairy- she's almost 13! it takes her a terribly long time to be appropriately afraid when it gets one tooth from her (gideon convinces her to just TRY putting one under her pillow) and becoming obsessed with harvesting her perfect teeth. inspired by ckret2's goldilocks au!! :)

and then comes episode four...

on her break (thank god!), pacifica sits down to watch some trashy tv, but can't stop seeing ads for this flashy tourist attraction called the mystery shack. at first she rolls her eyes, but the lights and the colors and all the cool effects just look to awesome to pass up. this town must be getting to her, because she'd never indulge herself with something like that before, but now she just has to go. she works overtime for money to see the shack, and gideon uses his allowance to go, too. (pacifica is surprised. why is he spending money on this? he said he doesn't even want to go!!! (gideon just wants to get closer with his first friend)).

the shack is run by a professional conman, who collects and shuffles the money dramatically at a fancy desk, called stanford pines (not actually, this is pre-ford). his employees were vigilant, and yet always exhausted- a goth girl with a sharp tongue and a bodyguard who always seemed uncomfortable in his suit.

but customers really came for the twins; mason and mabel, psychic slash drama slash comedy duo. the townspeople practically (sometimes literally) threw money at them. they were the same age as pacifica and gideon, but had this air of disconnect to them. in all their posters they had the same matching yellow earrings, contrasting their bedazzled blue outfits. their hair also seemed to be greying, even at such an early age.

pacifica was not happy to have spent her 45 dollars on watching two kids read fortunes more vaguely than a cookie and tell dumb jokes and do stupid dances, but gideon seemed jazzed.

the next day, there's a knock at the office door. the twins came to visit! pacifica is pissed. mabel asks to chat with gideon, and pacifica tells her to screw off, but gideon rushes out of the door with mabel, 0 hesitation. he probably has a crush on her for a bit like in canon, but it doesn't go anywhere.

dipper invites himself in, offers that pacifica could offer him some tea free of charge, and pacifica almost thanks him. she lashes out at him, and quickly learns that he is all bark and no bite, curling up like a scared kitten in the recliner. she picks on him a bit, barely noticing the glow of his earring, before mabel comes back out with gideon.

"alright, that'll be all! hey, can gideon take work off today?" she says. "we want to go get makeovers! you know, since we're best friends now and all."

for some reason, pacifica feels a strong pang of rage. but she doesn't act on it, just standing there dumbfounded as mabel doesn't wait for an answer, and gideon skips out of the shop with his new best friend.

it keeps pacifica up at night. she should be important to him!!! wasn't she his first friend?

wasn't he hers?

when gideon finally comes back, pacifica is still angry, but she's relieved. at least that wacko girl is gone- nevermind, she's back, and she's taking gideon out for tacos and pedicures.

it goes on and on and on. pizza night this, karaoke night that, arts and crafts here, a cool party there... pacifica knew that she should be mad. she should be frustrated- she was pacifica northwest! she should be the center of everything, she should be invited to these stupid get togethers, she deserved it!

but she wasn't angry about that. she was angry about gideon. and above all else, she was lonely.

so she did the responsible thing and communicated with gideon about how she felt and I'm lying I'm lying to you right now. she actually hunts down mason, demands that he spill the ulterior motives of mabel pines, and yanks him up by his shirt collar like a cartoon bully. at first, mason won't talk, but pacifica drops him on the ground and gets a good look at his stupid dumb constellation birthmark. she asks him about it.

"it's... not actually a birthmark. it's,, like a tattoo." mason confesses. "it's a long story. with a really gloomy sleep paralysis demon at the center of it. please don't tell anyone."

pacifica has no idea why it's that important, but utilizes her leverage, and blackmails mason into telling the truth because shes kind of a dick. he tells her that the whole mystery shack is a con made up of conmen and conwomen and conpeople, and mabel is trying to make gideon another cog in the cog-powered con machine and swindling him into giving up his family's business in order to expand the shack, showering him with attention and taking advantage of how gideon has never had any friends.

pacifica is outraged. yes he has, she decides.

she barges into mabel's backstage room in the mystery shack just in time to dramatically yell DROP. THAT. PEN!!! before gideon signs a waiver.

gideon is disgruntled, confused, and angry. "you're just upset that mabel is treating me like a real friend, something you never did for me!"

"i didn't know how to do that for you, i never... i'd never done it before!"

gideon squints and softens at pacifica's confession. oh. so she's not actually that mean, she's just repressed and lonely. she's just like me for real!

the two make up and hug, before the sentimental scene is destroyed by a loud "ENOUGH!!!" from mabel. mason dashes into the room to come to her aid, a bit sorry for leaking her plan, and the two use their cool crystal earrings to beat the shit out of pacifica and gideon.

"YOU WANNA HAND OVER YOUR PROPERTY TO ME SO BAD, IT MAKES YOU LOOK STUUUPID!!!" (cool psychic fight)

eventually, gideon manages to snatch the amulet from mabel, asking her what the diddly darn she's doing. mabel sighs.

"come on, gideon! i have braces! those mess with girls' emotions and hormones and stuff!"

"d-... do they really?"

"no, but you wouldn't know, you never had friends!" she towers over him. the whites of her eyes become a ghastly blue, her pupils shifting to a shape akin to a goat's. "come on, gideon! what's it hurt? your dignity? your family? your life's work? we both know you need approval. need to feel normal. like you're not a freak." her words are venom. "i can give you that. there's no reason for you to miss this opportunity. there's no reason for you to miss me."

pacifica is restrained by mason, reaching out for gideon. "don't believe them," she sputters. gideon looks up at mabel.

"you're right. it's just nonsensical. to miss this. miss you..." he takes her hand, as he speaks again.

"not when my aim is just getting better."

he takes his free hand and SOCKS mabel in the face and unclips her earring because i decided theyre clip ons and ripping it out is a little extreme!!! he throws it on the ground and stomps on it, and mabel is FURIOUS. she turns to mason.

"come on, bro bro!" she huffs. "do something!"

mason is still for a second. and then he shakes his head. "mabel, we need to talk."

"NOW!?"

as the twins begin to argue, gideon and pacifica take the opportunity to flee the shack and run back to the car shop. before ms. gleeful makes dinner, gideon asks if he can actually stay at pacifica's tonight.

ms. gleeful is okay with it, but pacifica quickly dismisses the topic. it's the thought that counts, but she didn't want to see her parents at the moment.

"you don't mind if i stay here tonight, though, do you, ms. gleeful?" pacifica asks.

"please, sweetheart, call me aunt agnes. i have a sleeping bag 'round here somewhere!"

she and gideon smiled at each other.

[intuitive-revelations]

Legend of Ruby Sunday live notes

Obviously spoilers below, recorded as I watched. Definitely gonna watch again though. I think I might do a seperate write up about 'what to take away' because oh my god does this episode throw a lot at you!

"Uncle"!!

We're definitiely getting a UNIT spin-off aren't we? I recognised the soldier guy straight away (tbh, when I first saw the 60th trailers he looked so odd in the shots used I thought he was cgi/deepfaked). If we do get it, I do hope they go for the military vs science conflict like I imagine - he'd be a good 'antagonist' for Kate in that regard.

Ooh... just pointing out the anagram in-universe....huh.

"TARDIS technology." Oh she's doomed this episode, I can feel it coming.

Oh! And we're doing the Susan mention?! Ok?!

AND THAT'S THE END OF THE PRE-TITLES WHAT? WHY?

Must be a redirect, though, surely? 'Susan' is not much to go off. It's silly they're jumping to this straight away in-universe, even with the TARDIS anagram.

"Well, except the obvious." "We'll get him." Is that a Musk slam?

Mel!

"Call me Sue" that's a bit of evidence against. Though if it is somehow Susan, her actually being 'really nice' would be cute.

Ruby Rose besties! Ruby Rose besties!

Hm. If this is somehow Susan, we are so going to dissect that thing about Sue Triad's parents.

Donna mention. :)

Oh my god, I've just realised. The TARDIS is a central part of this mystery, and that's exactly what Mrs Flood claimed to recognise...

Uhh.... what's up with Flood?

"HE WAITS NO MORE."

We're really settling on the Susan thing, huh.

"He never mentioned a granddaughter." Five Doctors fans keep losing.

"If you've got a granddaughter, that means you've got kids." "Well, not quite. Not yet." OMG WE'RE DOING THIS?

(Also...he definitely HAS had kids before - and not just Jenny and Miranda. But wild that we're implying Susan isn't the child of one of them.)

"I bring disaster. What if I go back and ruin her?" Hmm... so far kinda compatible with To the Death?

"Especially the Prime Minister." lol.

"N-dimenionsal time", thanks, I'll absorb that into my interpretation of time, time tracks etc. in the whoniverse.

Mel lost her family. Is that a reference? Doesn't immediately bring something to mind.

I like the way the lights are fading up and down, very TARDIS-y.

Ooh, the VHS-y environment.

"The greatest power of all: memory. Time is remembered. Memory is time." MEMORY TARDIS MEMORY TARDIS.

"What is the memory of a time machine?" No way.

Ok, getting ready for a twist. RTD said where people were is important.

...or not?

The one who waits?!

Well there goes the colonel. No surprise.

Hmm... the description "it's everything" sounds a lot like the Void ship from Doomsday.

"It's the Beast." Not that 'Beast' surely?

"It's so old. It's been waiting. It's been waiting for so long." So those "one"s are the same, confirmed?

"It's the TARDIS" AHHHH.

It's groaning again! "It's made that noise before."

"What if it exists around the TARDIS now and we just can't see it?"

I don't think this is our Susan, but if she somehow is I'm really enjoying her dorkiness.

...that's two "no more" drops so far. Hmm...

"AND I THINK WE CAN SUCCEED" Hello?!

It's woven into the TARDIS? Some sort of parasite maybe? Didn't RTD say something about the splitting in The Giggle being important?

"He has hidden in the Howling Void. He has hidden within the tempest." WAIT I WAS RIGHT?! It's Void related. The Eternals called it the Howling didn't they?!

"All this time, he whispered and delighted and seduced, and the vessel did obey. For none should be more mighty and none should be more wise than the King himself." UHHHHH.

HARRIET F*CKING ARBINGER (and she said she was born for this... of course)

WAIT THAT'S SAXON'S THEME WTF

"I dream of worlds with orange skies." HUH? I guess that could be from Boom, but you know what I'm thinking

"There is the Toymaker: the God of Games. There is Trickster: the God of traps." I f*cking knew it. The 'Pantheon' is the Pantheon of Discord!

"There is Maestro: the God of Music. There is Reprobate: of Spite. There is the Mara, the God of Beasts, and the three-fold deity of malice and mischeif and misery." Ok Mara mention... BUT also, "three-fold" that's deliberate right?! Like the Six-Fold God?

"The mother and father and other of them all."

SUTEKH!

"Did you think I was family, Doctor?" Phew...

And it's Gabriel Woolf voicing him! That's good.

Wait... he also voiced the Beast... huh. What does that mean with the reference this episode?

[blazehedgehog]

Thoughts on the whole Mr. Beast situation?

None at all and even googling it doesn't really spell it out very well. I guess someone in his network was accused of grooming? Not even he himself. Just someone he employs. And people were upset it took him so long to say or do anything about it.

Listen. If there is one person on this planet I do not care about, it's MrBeast. He is incredibly rich, getting richer, and he exists in a world entirely separated from all my interests. He is way too much of a general purpose Youtuber for me to care about. He is a content factory brand to me and I am deeply suspicious of him on every level, because he feels like a fake plastic human putting out fake plastic videos.

In my entire life, I have only seen half of one MrBeast video, ever, and it was fairly recently: I was pet sitting for a cousin last week, her son watches MrBeast, and their Samsung Smart TV auto loaded to the 24/7 MrBeast channel where he was doing some kind of isolation chamber challenge.

I was surprised how earnest and personable Jimmy himself actually was, but his entourage controlling the isolation chamber were like... they reminded me of Biff Tannen's goons from Back to the Future or something.

That vibe of being like, some combination of Yes-men, nobodies, and D-list clowns. Most people probably don't even know Biff's cronies even have names (from left to right: Skinhead, 3D and Match). They are only here to crawl around in the star's shadow and laugh at all their jokes.

The dudes in that MrBeast video felt the same way. They felt like they were grown in a vat of Youtube Prank Channel parts.

So strike one: I do not care about MrBeast. Unless he gives me two million dollars. Then I'll watch every MrBeast video ever made until the day I die.

Two, I feel like pointing fingers and accusing someone of being a groomer is like, the most boy who cried wolf witch hunt of our era. I am rapidly reaching my tolerance level for finger pointing about intent because I feel like half the time I hear about it, it's nothing. Obviously it's different when it's DrDisrespect and multiple investigations have proven he was arranging a meetup with a minor and even the man himself has come right out and said "it's true but I never went through with it so technically by the strictest letter of the law I didn't do anything illegal!"

But I also feel like there are certain communities both on discord and on tumblr where accusations of grooming get thrown around a lot more casually by the younger crowd because it's an easy way to lash out at somebody you don't like.

From the perspective of a guy like MrBeast, I'm sure if he really put his ear to the ground he'd hear a hundred accusations of grooming going in all kinds of directions.

If he was a little slow launching an investigation? He's only human. His team is only human. And treating allegations like that seriously enough to do a real thorough investigation takes a lot of work. Again, if he jumped at every time somebody pointed a finger, he'd be wasting a lot of resources. I'm willing to give him slack here. It's terrible when it's real, but a lot of the time it probably isn't.

I know sometimes I say dumb things on this blog. I can think of at least two posts right now from the last year where it sometimes hits me that I said something really dumb. And that's not even counting all the stuff I'm sure some people just straight up misunderstand me about.

But this feels like busy-body stuff. The supposed groomer was already fired on the same day the investigation was started. They haven't even found anything for or against her yet. Beyond that, who cares.

[evenhisfacewasanalias]

After Hours

Lady Jane Grey/Guildford Dudley

Rating: Teen

Modern AU - Jane is an overworked medical student at Cambridge who is in dire need of a date to her sister's engagement - all in order to keep Lady Frances from setting her up. She decides to bring the worst guy she can find and make her mother regret her meddling. Guildford is playing in a rock band at the local pub, and Jane of course picks the man she was always going to.

Really just an excuse to give Guildford a little earring.

“She’s gone completely off her rocker!”

Susannah shakes her head at her friend’s histrionics, and Jane knows she’s being ridiculous.  They were supposed to be at the pub to unwind and catch up. The loud band playing in the corner isn’t helping much, however. They’re nearly shouting to be heard over the screeching guitar and excessive drumming.

“I would have thought having one daughter getting engaged might soothe the savage beast?” 

Jane practically chugs down the second half of her pint, “Oh no, not Lady Frances Grey - if anything this has only sped up her timetable for having me married off. I need another drink.”

“You’ve had two already. Isn’t alcohol poisoning something you learned about at that fancy medical school o’ yours?” Susannah laughs, pulling her friend back to the small table.

“My fancy medical school is half the reason I drink,” Jane sighs. “The other half is Mum’s new threat to set me up with Lord Dudley's son.”

“Stanley Dudley? That's cruel, even for Frances. Besides, I'm pretty sure he has a thing for your mum.”

And that part is probably true. She thinks she caught Stan attempting the boombox move from Say Anything outside her mother’s window on winter break. Only her window was four stories up, and an mp3 speaker didn’t have quite the same impact. She’s been trying to forget the memory of it ever since. She often tries not to think too hard about her widowed mother’s love life.

“Not Stan, at least. Apparently Lord Dudley has another son we've never even heard of - some Oxford dilettante off gadding about.”

“Oooh collegiate rivalry, could make for some great shagging.” Susannah is little better than her mother at times with the way she fusses over the lack of men in Jane’s life, but at least her best friend isn’t trying to marry her off to some vagabond Lord.

“My mother’s taste in men tends toward the vapid.” So does Susannah’s, but in the name of friendship, Jane won’t mention this.

“He doesn’t need a doctorate to be good in bed,” Susannah shakes her head at her friend. “Though I feel like I should have an honorary one in the subject, at least.”

Jane laughs at her friend’s ego, though secretly she can admit she admires her confidence. “He doesn’t need a doctorate, but he should at least be able to manage his end of the conversation.”

“I forgot that a lively debate was practically foreplay for you.” 

Jane snorts out another laugh. She’s not even getting that much lately.

“So then what else is on ‘Jane’s list or a shaggable man’ - other than his oral skills?”

Jane’s face heats at her friend’s joke. It really has been too long if she’s blushing over some double entendre. Single entendre, really.

“I can’t even think about men with studying for exams this month.”

“Or last month, or the one before it. Find a hot enough bloke and you’ll make the time.”

“Well I’m certainly not going to find Mr. Right in this pub.”

She looks around at the crowd - it’s mostly secondary students and couples at the bar and tables, with a few grungier looking guys gathered around the stage. This isn’t really the sort of venue where she’d hope to find a worthy suitor.

“I’m only talking about Mr. Right Now,” Susannah teases.

“That doesn’t exactly help me with the engagement party situation.”

“It’ll help you to relax a little about the engagement party situation,” she winks.

And ok, maybe Susannah has something of a point - she’s survived her mother’s nagging for twenty four years, it usually takes a little more than a set-up to wind her up like this. But still, the threat of it remains her most pressing concern.

“It won’t help me much unless it gets my mother to back off.”

“Why not just bring some random guy as your date then?”

It’s not as though she hadn’t considered it. She’s not exactly attending a convent, she could have just invited one of her fellow med school classmates. “Because then my mother still wins.”

“And we can’t have that, can we?” Susannah is no fan of her mother either, but she can never resist mocking what she calls Jane’s ‘contrary’ nature. “Well then, make Frances regret it. Bring someone she’ll hate.”

Susannah has her own spiteful streak as well. It’s why they’ve always been friends, even when Susannah stopped working for her mother.

“So any man without a title, then?” Jane suggests. 

Her father had been a Duke and her mother refused to entertain anyone lower in rank than a Viscount. Her sister Katherine was already pushing it, marrying the Earl of Hertford.

“Worse.”

“A man without a trust fund?” 

“Worse,” and then Susannah’s eyes are shifting over towards the makeshift stage, to where the band is still wailing to the world’s smallest mosh pit.

Jane chuckles at the idea - it would certainly make her mother’s head spin. The members of the band - The Affliction, apparently, very fitting - look to be about her own age, but they’re about as far away from her social class as they could get (a characteristic Jane preferred and her mother detested). Definitely not a title or trust fund to be found among the lot of them - not with the sorry state of their clothing and instruments. They’re all decent looking enough, in a tattooed and leather jacketed bad boy kind of way. If you were into that sort of thing, which Jane most assuredly isn’t. Or at least she had never considered herself to be - she didn’t care to be so predictable. But objectively, they’re an attractive bunch. They’re what loosely might be called a rock band, but they’re playing in this shithole of a pub so clearly they’re not very successful. And most importantly, her mother would be livid at the sight of any one of them.

That, plus the two pints in her stomach, has Jane actually considering this mad gambit of Susannah’s. What if she did bring some wannabe rockstar to the engagement party? Katherine wouldn’t mind - at least not much. And she’d certainly forgive Jane when she saw her engagement gift: a minibreak stay at a B&B in Chipping Campden to escape their mother’s wedding planning. Her mother, however, would never forgive her. Jane might even get uninvited to several events she’s been dreading. She smiles at the thought.

However, Jane doesn’t want to be uninvited from the wedding entirely, so she does some quick research before she even begins to truly contemplate this madness. Susannah laughs at the sight of Jane googling, though she hadn’t laughed when Jane used her powers of research to perform recon on her friend’s sketchy tinder dates. She doesn’t want either one of them getting axe-murdered by some random guy - a fact which Susannah usually appreciates. And even though she wants to piss off her mother, she’s not about to bring some registered sex offender to her little sister’s engagement party. 

The Affliction has a facebook page, and a soundcloud, but nothing professional. That’s good news on the unsuccessful front, neutral on the ‘is one of them an axe-murderer’ question. She looks at the band members individually. It turns out the bassist is actually a woman, with a very cute pixie cut and great bone structure - Jane briefly considers the possibility of giving her mum a heart attack by bringing home a woman, but is quick to realise she’s already married to the lead singer anyway. There’s two options out, leaving the guitarist and the drummer. A drummer would maybe get an extra rotation on the head spinning front, but in both the facebook photo and up on stage now Jane can spot a cigarette in the guy’s mouth. Gross. She’s seen too many textbook images of what the tar does to your lungs to think of anything else whenever she sees someone smoking.

Which leaves the guitarist. If she’s honest with herself, he’s the one she would have been drawn to out of all of them. Floppy brown curls, mouth curved into a devilish smirk - but thankfully no more than a spare pick pressed between his lips. A good jawline, with the barest hint of stubble. Warm brown eyes and surprisingly nice hands. She gets a little distracted watching strong fingers wrapped around the guitar's neck and deftly plucking at its strings, stacked rings only drawing more attention to his hands - though none of that really matters since she’s not actually looking for a real date. What does matter is the rips on his jeans, the way the sleeves are cut from his t-shirt to show off his many tattoos, and the glint of an earring she can spot even from back here. He’ll drive her mum batty. 

His name’s not listed on their facebook page - there’s apparently another guitarist who should be here tonight - but this guy’s in a few of the older photos. Including one at some kind of children’s charity fundraiser event, so at least she knows he’s not on any registries. And he’s probably not a criminal or anything if they’re doing philanthropy shows. There’s a newer shot with the entire band, plus him, all cuddling animals at what is apparently a shelter rescue gig. Another point in the not-a-serial-killer column. Still no name but there’s a tabby curled around his neck pawing at a pair of necklaces she realises are the same ones he’s wearing tonight. She’s always thought cats to be good judges of character. They’re certainly good judges of cheekbones, she thinks as she looks back and forth between the photo and the man on stage.

Someone tosses a glass bottle his way in between songs - to give it to him or to critique the music, she can’t be certain - but he catches it easily, tossing it back up again with a little spin before flicking off the cap to take a drink. Jane’s a little caught up in the line of his throat, those ridiculous necklaces. He leans over to the micromobile, and she hears his voice for the first time. 

“‘What I like to drink most is wine that belongs to others,’” he unexpectedly quotes Diogenes, and she falls a little in lust.

“Do you think he’d agree to it?” She asks Susannah, who follows her line of sight and grins at her choice.

“Do I think he’ll say yes to a date with a hot girl?” She gives Jane a look that implies she’s an idiot.

Jane waves away the compliment, and the word ‘date’. “It wouldn’t be a real date, just to get my mother off my back for a bit.”

“Then do I think a grown man playing Clash covers in a pub would say no to pissing off someone’s parents?”

“Good point.” 

The idea is left to simmer in her brain for the rest of the band’s set. They switch their conversation over to Susannah’s troubles. Things with the new guy are going well, but her best friend is currently working as an au pair for a family that doesn’t pay her anywhere near well enough to put up with their nightmare son. But she refuses to let Jane use her connections to get her a better job, or at least better pay, though Jane is slowly wearing her down. Or at least the Bradfords’ son is. Jane wishes she had something better to offer her friend for her repeatedly kicked shins than some paracetamol, but it’s all she has on her. She jokingly offers some anaesthesia whenever she finally gets her medical licence. 

“For me or for the wain?”

“Your choice. I think it’s better if I have plausible deniability on that one.”

“Ditto,” Susannah laughs, and directs Jane’s sight back towards the front of the pub, where the band is finally starting to pack it in. Susannah is no fan of Jane’s mum, but she definitely doesn’t want to get on her bad side. It had been hard enough wheedling a good reference out of her when Susannah had left. And this plan will definitely get someone on her mother’s shit list.

Jane has sobered up a little from earlier, but the idea is still the best one they’ve got. If nothing else it’ll irritate her mother, and spare her having to talk to some Tory-supporting wanker she’ll inevitably be set up with. She knows next to nothing about music, but she’d still rather hear about that than some guy’s stock portfolio all evening, or the endless name-dropping she was so often forced to endure. And he’d certainly be easier on the eyes. It only takes a little persuasion, and one good hard shove, from her friend to have her beelining towards the stage. 

She mentally assesses her own look tonight on the way there - heeled boots and a short-ish skirt that made her legs look longer, and a sweater that was more cosy than sexy but not utterly disastrous. She tugs her hair free of its messy bun and hopes her curls were behaving for once. Even though she was only asking for a fake date, she hopes a good first impression might tip the scales a little in her favour.

The pub isn’t overly large, so it only takes a few steps to push through the small gathered crowd to where the guitarist is pounding back the bottle he caught from earlier. She waits for him to set it down before she tries to introduce herself.

And he promptly belches in her face.

“You’re perfect,” she smiles. 

Normally, the rudeness would have her ready to tear into the man, but the entire point of this was to send her mother into a conniption fit. Bad manners was just the icing on top of a very offensive cake.

“I take it you’re a fan of The Affliction, then?” His grin is both lazy and arrogant, another point in his favour - or disfavour, as it was. It’s not even remotely as charming as he seems to think it is. 

“Oh no, your music is atrocious.”

“Then what is it I'm perfect for?” He seems a little taken aback by the dig at their music, but then he’s grinning again. “Or do you just have a thing for devilishly handsome guitarists?” 

Might as well rip off the bandaid. She takes a deep breath. “If I say yes, could I borrow you for a few hours tomorrow? I’m Jane, by the way.”

He takes her outstretched hand automatically. His hands are warm but the rings he wears are cool, and she can feel the calluses along his fingers as he grips her hand firmly.

“For like a gig? I’m not really…” He looks even more confused now considering she’s professed not to be a fan.

“Something like that - my sister’s engagement party is tomorrow and my mother is threatening to set me up if I don’t bring a date.”

“So you’re asking me on a date, then?” The grin is back in full force, and he keeps holding her hand.

“I’m asking you to rescue me from my mother for a few hours,” she answers flatly.

“You know what I find works best with parents?” 

The fact that he’s still smiling at her is troubling, but her curiosity wins over her good sense and so she asks him just what he thinks will work.

“Telling them to fuck off.”

“Yes, well I would love for you to swing by Saturday and tell my mother just that.”

He actually throws his head back and laughs at that. 

“Not that I don’t love telling off busybodies, but is there some reason you can’t just bring a real date to get her off your back? Surely your talents for flattery could win some undiscerning man over.”

Jane finally pulls her hand away to cross her arms in front of her, “If you wanted flattery then you shouldn’t have named your band ‘The Affliction’. And for your information, the reason I don’t have an actual date is because I’m currently too busy with my studies at the School of Clinical Medicine.”

He looks unimpressed. “Oh, is that like a local further education school?”

“It’s at Cambridge University, you halfwit.”

That grin again. “I’m fully aware, it’s called a joke - perhaps you’ve heard of them?” 

“This whole conversation is a joke!” She nearly shouts, half in frustration with the man in front of her but mostly with herself. Why she ever thought this was a good idea is beyond her.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re cute when you’re angry?” 

His nose scrunches a little when he says the word ‘cute’ and Jane can feel the rage rushing white hot through her veins.

But he keeps talking before she has the chance to tell him off. “Alright, I’ll come with you to your little party. If your mother’s half as easy to wind up, it might even be fun.”

And she’s annoyed at both him and herself for falling into his little trap, but she’s stuck on the fact he’s agreeing to come with her. 

“You’ll actually come?”

“Sure, why not?” 

Not giving him a chance to change his mind, Jane quickly lists off the party address and the time they should meet, typing her number into his mobile and texting herself with it. She neglects to tell him the dress code, half hoping he’ll wear this exact outfit again. The t-shirt is practically in tatters, which will infuriate her mother, but the arms they reveal are quite nice to look at - tattoos and all. She’s not usually into that sort of thing, but the designs there curve around the musculature in a way that scratches the part of her brain that’s been pouring over anatomy for the past three years. She imagines herself tracing the lines, listing off each muscle group in Latin. 

Jane shakes her head to shut down this line of thinking immediately. This is not a real date because she has no time for dating. She barely had time to come out tonight with Susannah, and she’s only in town at all tonight because her mother insisted on a small family dinner before the big event next weekend. She hands back his mobile.

“And what do I get out of this?” The guy asks, tucking his mobile back into his pocket.

Jane narrows her eyes. “What do you want?”

She sees him looking her up and down. And even though it sends a pleasant little zip down her spine, this is so not what tonight is about.

“Not that.” She states clearly and firmly.

“I didn’t even ask for anything,” his nose is scrunching up again, crinkling the skin around his eyes as well which threatens her resolve to keep this clean and simple. 

“Not that,” she repeats.

“How about 100 quid then?” 

“So you’re an escort now?” 

“Student loans, you know,” he shrugs. And she’s a little surprised to hear he is - or was - a student, but considering he’s quoting Greek philosophers in random pubs it makes some sort of strange sense. “Actually, I have a better idea - you said School of Clinical Medicine, right? So you’ve got medical training?” 

This was never a good start to a conversation, in her experience. “You’re not about to ask me to commit medical malpractice are you?”

“Is it really medical malpractice if you’re not even a doctor yet?” 

“Yes. ” 

“Well this isn’t that, I promise. It’s just a run of the mill bad idea.” 

It’s not at all as assuring as he seems to think it is. “And just what exactly is this bad idea?” 

“I have a friend that needs a doctor.” 

“And does this friend know about the National Health Service?” 

“They can’t help her.” 

Jane hopes his friend is just not a full UK resident or something, rather than some shady thing they’re trying to hide from an actual doctor.

“And you think I can?” 

“I think that you are in luck that I’m nearly as desperate as you are,” his eyebrow arches.

It’s a fair point.

“Alright then, where is this friend? And I’m not making any promises.” 

“All I’m asking is that you try. Just take a look and see if there’s anything more you can tell us. I’ll drive us there.” 

This halts her. “You’re not driving me anywhere - I’m not about to step into whatever van with blacked out windows you have back there.” 

“It’s a motorbike, actually.” 

And of course he drives a motorbike too. “That's even worse. Besides, I have my kit in my car.” 

“You have a medical kit in your car?” 

“It’s also a first aid kit, everyone should have one. Especially people stupid enough to drive motorbikes. And I know this may shock you, but sometimes people find out I’m in medical school and start expecting me to treat them.”

The insult has him raising his brows. “So you do this often then? Lure men into dates in exchange for medical advice?”

“No! I don’t lure anyone into anything. I’m certified in CPR and first aid, and I help people for free.”

“So I’m getting massively overcharged then?” He chuckles.

“You’re not risking your future medical licence, so I’d say you’re getting the better end of the bargain here.”

“Touche. But I’m not risking my life when you’ve been here throwing back gods know how many pints, so we’ll fetch your kit and then I’m driving us.”

“You’re telling me you haven’t been drinking?”

He holds up the bottle he’d been drinking out of - it’s just a soda. “Sober as a nun. I don’t drink when I’m playing.”

“I want you to know I’m taking a lot on faith here, pal.”

“It’s Guildford, actually.”

Guildford, of all names. She thought she had left the posh wanker names behind with this plan.

“It suits you,” she tries.

“I can hear the derogatory tone in your voice, but it’s a family name.”

“It would have to be, who would name a child that in the twenty-first century?”

“Perhaps the same sort of people who would name a child after a eighteenth century spinster?”

“And one of England’s most famous authors.”

He glances somewhere behind her.

“Well you certainly live up to your name, my Lady Jane - your chaperone over there appears greatly worried about your virtue,” he nods back to where Susannah is watching the two of them like a hawk. She signals her friend over to make the awkward introductions and explain the exchange.

“I highly doubt she’s worried about my virtue, just my common sense,” she clarifies before Susannah reaches them. “Susannah - Guildford. Guildford has agreed to come with me tomorrow to deal with Mum, but first he needs my help with his friend -”

“Winifred,” he supplies.

“Winifred, really? Your parents never even gave you a chance, did they?” She turns back to face her friend, “I’ll just grab my med kit from the car and you can drive it to your place or I can call you a cab.”

“No need, Archer’s already on his way. I figured when you two were chatting for so long.” Jane’s not loving the insinuation in her friend’s voice right now. “I just need to real quick -” and then she’s lifting her camera to snap a photo of Guildford, “hope you don’t mind.”

But Guildford just smiles for the photo. “I know the drill, I’ll give you my info in case you need to look into me first.”

He takes Susannah’s mobile from her and pops his info into her contacts. 

“This is almost suspiciously easy,” she stage whispers to Jane, but she smiles at whatever she sees on her mobile.

“Need me to verify anything?” He offers, handing back the mobile.

“Nope!” Susannah says, a little too quickly, tucking her mobile back into her purse. “You two have fun. All my love to Winifred!”

And then she’s out the door before Jane can so much as wave goodbye.

“Well that was weird,” Jane remarks to the empty spot her friend was just standing.

“Are you going to let my friends look you up now so I can make sure you’re not a fake doctor or something?”

“I never even said I was a real doctor, and it looks like your friends have already ditched you.” He glances back over his shoulder at the stage which is now empty. “Did they steal your guitar too?”

“That one’s just borrowed, I would never let my girl out of my sight like that.”

Jane resists the urge to roll her eyes at this - she imagines he’s even given his guitar a girl’s name, like “Lucille” or “Theresa”. She won’t give him the satisfaction of asking about it now, she’ll save that for when her mother is there to hear it. 

They manage to grab her kit and lock up her car with only a minimum of teasing from Guildford about her Prius. She expects to give him back the same when finally sees his motorbike, anticipating either some souped up American monstrosity or a barely-held-together dirt bike. 

It’s neither. It’s an older model, British-made by the logo, but it looks to be in good repair. It’s surprisingly tasteful, considering its owner. She still can’t quite believe she’s agreed to ride on it, however. Like some heroine in a novel racing off at the first sign of someone in danger, or a princess jumping on the back of a dragon to rescue an ill villager. She wonders what that makes Guildford. He’s certainly no knight in shining armour. A knight in shining leather jacket?

Only he’s handing that leather jacket to her. “I have two helmets but you should take the jacket.”

She presses it back towards him, “you don’t even have sleeves.”

Guildford pushes into her space and throws the jacket over her shoulders, “and you’re not wearing trousers. I run hot, especially after a gig, I’ll be fine. The drive isn’t that long.”

And then he turns away to pull out the spare helmet for her, tucking her kit into the boot, and she’s forced to accept the jacket. She slides it over her arms and realises that even though he’s not that much taller than her, she’s practically swimming in the leather sleeves. She shoves them up over her wrists and ignores his grin at the sight. 

Jane does fight to adjust her own helmet, drawing the line at letting him put it on her like she’s his girlfriend or something. She’s only doing this because some woman out there is in need of medical attention, and is apparently unable to find it anywhere else. Jane had considered the possibility that this was all some cheap ploy to get her back to his place, but there were much easier schemes, and even easier women. Had he had better manners, she might have been one of them. 

No, between his rude behaviour and his refusal to elaborate on the situation, she assumed it was probably just something embarrassing - for Winifred or for Guildford, it didn’t matter. Either  was fine by her, she would just build up her portfolio of funny medical stories a little earlier than most. And if things got too weird she could simply call a cab. 

She wasn’t chickening out yet, though. Even when Guildford straddles the bike and gestures for her to take the spot behind him. Jane had forgotten the fact she was wearing a short skirt.

“Eyes forward, mister.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he laughs, but turns to face the other direction so she can primly lift one leg over the bike, keeping a few inches of space between their bodies.

But Guilford has other ideas. Warm, gloved hands reach back behind her knees to tug her forward, pressing her flush with his back. Her skirt rides up a little in the process, but none of it matters because there’s not so much as a centimetre between them for anyone to see anything. He draws her arms forward to wrap around his middle. 

And he really hadn’t been lying about running hot. She can feel the heat of him radiating everywhere they’re pressed together. Her face is right at the nape of his neck, the curls there damp from exertion and peeking out from underneath his helmet. He smells faintly of sweat and soap and leather, but mostly he just smells really nice. She resists the urge to lean in further, and her helmet thankfully stops her from doing something as embarrassing as pressing her face into his shoulder.

“Alright then, feet on the pegs,” he explains, and she scrambles to get her heeled boots locked on the second set of pegs, “arms tight around me, and lean with me around any curves. I’ll try and be gentle since this is your first time.”

She can hear the smirk in his voice and she wants to hit him, but he’s revving the engine and they’re rolling forward and Jane can’t do anything but hold on. 

He doesn’t peel out, however, and she’s forced to realise he actually does seem to be taking it easy on her - keeping just under the speed limit and avoiding any sharp turns. The wind whips a little at the bare skin of her legs, but otherwise it’s surprisingly…pleasant. Not that she’ll ever admit it. And with Guildford unable to open his mouth and say anything obnoxious, she’s allowed to simply enjoy the feel of her arms wrapped around a firm waist, her legs pressed against warm, solid thighs. 

He takes her further out into the country, to where the manor homes of her former life were surrounded by the less familiar farms and cottages. She starts to envision Winifred as some elderly relative or neighbour who doesn’t trust the NHS, but might allow someone of Guildford’s acquaintance to take a look at her. He turns off at one of the wide green pastures and the picture becomes even clearer. She’ll probably be offered tea and biscuits the moment she arrives.

****

“Winifred is a horse .”

“Yes, that's why you'll notice I brought you out to the stables to help her,” he says as if this is a completely normal thing to spring on a person.

“She’s a fucking horse.” 

“You catch on quick, you know that?”

“She’s a horse, and I'm not a vet.”

“Oh I'm well aware of that - her owner keeps neglecting to pay his bills on time and so no vet in the Tri-County area will come and take a look at her.”

Jane wonders at why Guildford cares so much about a horse that isn’t even his, but perhaps he’s a part time groom or something. Part-time musician, part-time student - she hated that she was actually starting to find him interesting. Most of the people in her social class did so little of anything - including not paying their vet bills. She wasn’t sure exactly who’s estate she was on right now but she wasn’t far from her own ancestral home, so she probably knew its owner. She decided against asking, however, not exactly wanting to give away her own position. Jane didn’t want to be lumped in with Winifred’s owner, even though she couldn’t pinpoint why she cared so much about Guildford’s opinion of her.

But he’s not looking at her right now, his full attention is on Winifred. His hands are stroking at her face and sides, quieting her where she’s startled a little bit at the lights and the presence of a stranger in her stall. 

“She’s been fairly agitated these last couple weeks - restless even, doesn’t want anyone near her except Rupert and me. And she’s been picky about what she eats. We thought she might have hay belly but Rupert’s been buying her the good stuff himself.” Jane has no idea what hay belly is but at least it’s already been ruled out. “There’s a broken fence post out there though and it’s possible she might have gotten a nasty splinter or scratched herself on a nail or something. Could she have tetanus?” 

“If she had untreated tetanus for a few weeks she’d be dead by now.” Jane might not know horses but she knew tetanus, and horses and sheep were even more susceptible than humans.

“Great bedside manner you have there,” Guildford finally looks back at her with a withering look. 

“They don’t teach bedside manner until year four, and besides, I’m telling you it’s probably not tetanus. One would think that would be good news.” 

He goes back to whispering sweet things to the horse, apologising for Jane’s words as if she’s the rude one here. She ignores the way her heart softens a little at his concern for the creature. 

Just in case, they work in tandem to check Winifred for any sign of splinters or scrapes. Jane shines her small torch along her limbs while Guildford carefully lifts Winifred’s hooves for her inspection. For as tough as he looks, he’s exceedingly gentle with her. It’s annoyingly attractive.

The buzzing of his mobile startles both girl and horse, and Guildford is quick to end the call and turn off the phone, looking annoyed at the caller ID. 

“Who’s calling you so late?” Jane has never been one to let her curiosity go unsatisfied.

“My father has somehow figured out I was going to be in town this weekend.”

“What happened to telling your parents to ‘fuck off ’?” Jane attempts to mimic the smugness of his earlier words.

“I think the nine declined calls sends the same message.” 

“The fact that he just called you again tells me it doesn’t.” Jane can commiserate, but she also can’t resist the urge to tease him a little after all his bullshit about not standing up to her own mother. 

“Once he gets something into his head, he’ll never let it go. He’s been nagging me to settle down for years.” And doesn’t that sound familiar.

“A commitment-phobe, how original. Well, I’d offer to show up as your fake date and return the favour, but I’m only in town this one weekend.” 

He snorts at the thought of it. “It’s probably not a good idea anyway - if I told my father I was bringing home a date he’d be booking the chapel and priest the second I hung up.” 

“He wants you to get married that badly?” 

“He wants me to live his life.” 

It’s like looking into a mirror of her own parental relationship. She can’t tease him about that one. “My mother doesn’t understand why I’m spending my youth getting ‘distracted’ by medical school, or my need for independence.” 

Frances Grey couldn’t understand why Jane needed a regular job at all, with no real power or influence, but she was still determined to do it on her own terms and with the full freedom of being unpartnered. It’s weird that this perfect stranger gets it better than her own mother does.

Guildford frowns a little at this. “Does that mean I need to convince her I can take care of you or something, because I…” 

A laugh forces itself out of Jane at the very idea. “Oh no, you just need to be yourself. Don’t change a single thing.” 

“...Alright?” 

Jane doesn’t want a knight in shining armour - especially not tomorrow. She wants the crass, barely employable tattooed guitarist to shake things up with her mother. She just hopes there’s no cute animals around tomorrow to soften his image.

She gives Winifred one last look over and pulls out her own mobile. “I can’t find any cuts or signs of swelling around her joints, maybe we should do a more general look at her vital signs?”

“Are you googling ‘normal horse temperature’?”

Jane looks up from the webpage. “I told you I’m not a vet. It’s not like I know off-hand what temperature a horse is supposed to be.”

“37.5 to 38.6 celsius,” he states, as if it’s common knowledge.

But he’s not the one with the infrared thermometer in his medkit. 

“37.8, as healthy as…”

“A horse?” He groans.

“I was trying not to say it. I can listen to her heart and then I can check her nose and ears,” she tells him as she pulls her stethoscope from her bag.

“Don’t you need to look up a normal heart rate for a horse?” She can’t tell if he’s mocking her or offering an honest suggestion. Jane already saw the rate range when she looked up the temperature question. She’s got the normal respiration rate range too, if needed. She may not be a vet, or even a full doctor yet, but she can memorise text with the best of them.

“Don’t you know it off hand?” She volleys back, half mocking herself. But also a little curious if he’ll know it.

“It doesn’t feel off.”

Guildford has his broad hand on Winifred’s chest, just behind her foreleg. Jane presses in beside him, sliding her hand and the stethoscope beneath his palm. He doesn’t move his hand immediately, but Jane tries her best to focus on counting the beats in time with her watch. 

32 bpm, another normal reading. She moves down to Winifred’s lungs, checking her respiration rate, and listening for any signs of obstruction. Normal again. Guildford is running his hands soothingly over her mane. Gods but his hands are nice. She checks her belly next, listening for the normal gurgles and peristalsis. She hears something else instead.

“Guildford?” She looks up to see the instant worry on his face. 

“How bad is it?”

Jane smiles.

“Winifred isn’t sick - she’s pregnant.”

He looks a little surprised by the news so she hands him the headset and guides the diaphragm back into place so he can listen to the second heartbeat himself - still faint but clearly distinct from its mother’s.

Guildford’s bright smile at the sound makes him look a bit like a kid at Christmas, and it melts Jane’s heart a little to see it. He still seems a little perplexed at the news, however. 

“But how? It’s all mares and geldings in here?”

“You said something about a broken fence?” She reminds him, and sees the exact moment when the thoughts connect.

And then he’s hugging her, lifting her in the air and spinning her to celebrate. Jane feels a little lighter too, oddly glad that she could deliver some good news after all. Guildford sets her back down slowly, keeping her still within the circle of his arms. Jane doesn’t try and break free immediately either. His eyes flick down to her mouth and she wonders if he’s about to try and kiss her. 

Jane realises she wants him to. His bare arms are warm around her sides and his lips look incredibly nice when they’re lifted by a real smile instead of his usual smirk. She tilts her face up towards his, and lets her eyelids go a little heavy. She watches as his tongue peeks out to run across his lips and she’s this close to just sliding her hands into those dark curls and dragging him down to kiss her. But then Winifred is butting her head against Guildford’s side, and the moment swiftly passes them by. Jane reluctantly pulls away.

“She’ll still need a real vet to come in now, if you can maybe find one that doesn’t know her owner’s a deadbeat. I could…” Jane catches herself before she starts offering to find a vet or pay for Winifred’s care herself. She knows that if Guildford actually shows up tomorrow, she’ll probably cave and offer anyway. 

“No chance you’d be willing to pop by for regular checkups?” He half teases.

“I’ll be back in Cambridge after the engagement party tomorrow,” she reminds him.

“...Right,” he accepts, clearly disappointed by the answer. He knows she isn’t a real vet though, and it’s not like she carries around equine ultrasound equipment in her kit. Unless he just wanted an excuse to see her again? But he’s already shifting away, “I guess I should get you back to town then.”

Before she even has a chance to work out if he wants her to stay - if she wants herself to stay - he’s walking out of the stables and expecting her to follow.

It’s a different kind of awkward, this time, climbing in behind him on the bike. He doesn’t make any allusions to her motorcycle virginity - or lack thereof, at this point - but he drives even more slowly than before. Jane gives into the urge to rest her chin on his shoulder, and allows her hands to splay a little across his stomach. Guildford relaxes a little at the gesture and she knows she made the right choice. The rest of the ride is pleasant, and she’s thankful she asked him to drop her off at her sister and William’s slightly more modest flat in town - all the easier to pick up her car tomorrow, and fewer questions about coming home so late - rather than her family estate, which would have been a far shorter ride and led to a great deal more questions.  

Even still, they arrive at her door far too soon, before she’s managed to figure out if there’s a way to recreate the moment from earlier. She takes off her helmet, and is pleased to see him do the same - this makes it much easier, if she can work up the nerve to get closer. She starts to unzip his leather jacket where she’s still wearing it, but he halts her.

“You can give it back to me tomorrow,” he tells her, taking the pull from her hands and zipping the coat back up.

Jane's eyes flick between the ringed hand at her chest - so dangerously near, but not taking any ungentlemanly liberties - and his grinning face above. Apparently she didn’t need to put in any work at all to revive the tension between them, it’s been simmering there the whole time. But since Guildford made his move with the zipper, she figures it's her turn to be bold. 

She reaches up to grasp at those tempting curls and finally pulls his face down to hers, kissing him with a certainty she doesn’t one hundred percent feel right now. Guildford is quick to catch on at least, and returns her kiss with equal fervour, lips sliding warm and plush against her own. 

The kiss quickly turns heated. Guildford’s clever tongue slips between her parted lips and he groans into her mouth when her fingers tug at his hair. His own hands have slid down to where her sweater and his jacket have ridden up a little, and she shivers at the rasp of callused fingers and leather half gloves at the bare skin of her back. 

Jane breaks their kiss only to run her lips over his lightly stubbled jawline, making her way towards the little silver hoop in his ear that’s been driving her crazy since she first noticed it. She delights in the choked off little gasp that tugging it with her teeth draws out, and the full body shudder when she catches the lobe between her lips. She can’t hide the squeak she lets out when he reaches down to palm at her ass, and pulls her in even closer to his overheated body. 

Jane realises this kiss is getting a little out of control for standing out in a fully public street, but his lips have made it to her throat and this is exactly how kissing boys who drive motorbikes is supposed to be. But in a strange way it’s also so very sweet. One of his hands goes to protect the back of her head when he pushes her up against the doorway, and he keeps peppering in these softer kisses under her chin even as his teeth scrape against tendons of her throat. 

He steps in closer and she can feel the solid heat of his thigh as it parts her own, and she wants so much to wrap her legs around his waist and tear off that stupid cut off t-shirt. But this is all a bit much for standing outside on Park Lane, and there’s not much privacy to be gained upstairs either. She reluctantly presses him back, smiling a little at the slightly dazed look on his face, lips flushed and kiss-bitten and his hair sticking up in wild tufts from where she’s been tugging at it. She imagines she looks equally a mess, panting into the space between them. Guildford reaches up to brush back her hair into some semblance of order, apparently also realising things have gotten a little out of hand, but grinning at whatever state she seems to be in right now. She’s already considering whether she’ll need to hide the evidence on her neck from her mother and sister’s eagle eyes tomorrow.

“My sister and her fiance are upstairs,” Jane tries to come up with a nice way to say ‘I’d love for you to come up but I’m apparently a teenager again who can’t escape my nosy family being in my business’.

Guildford seems to catch on to her meaning though, stepping back and taking her hand to press one last kiss to the back of her wrist.

“Until tomorrow, then.”

And then he’s driving off again, leaving her with her med kit in hand and lips still tingling.

****

Guildford isn’t outside when she arrives the next afternoon, as she had expected him to be from his earlier text. His jacket is still tucked into the crook of her arm. She looks down at her mobile, hoping to find some answer there. She had realised earlier she never actually learned his last name, so she had filled in his contact as first name: Guildford last name:Shit band from the pub, but thought better of it and went with the slightly kinder moniker of Guildford/Horse guy. And Guildford Horse guy has apparently just messaged her that he's already inside.

She hurries in, not wanting to miss the look on her mother’s face when she sees him there. Her hopes are dashed when she spots him already talking to her. Only she doesn’t look the least bit upset, which probably has to do with the fact that he’s traded the ripped jeans and leather jacket for a cashmere sweater and pressed trousers, stubbled cheeks and wild hair for a clean shave and cherubic curls, and he’s handing a bottle of Poggio Antico with a bow around its neck to Katherine and William. Just who the hell was this stranger? He somehow transformed into a mother’s wet dream! Only the sight of his ever present necklaces in the v of the sweater and the earring nearly hidden behind his artfully tousled curls give any indication this was the same man from last night. 

Lady Grey signals her over with a pleased look, and Jane walks over as if to the guillotine. Her mother barely pauses the conversation as Jane nears them.

“I was just telling Guildford here how you work much too hard at that school of yours and it’s so difficult to find anyone of quality there. And it seems your date for the party never showed -”

Her mother’s eyes go to the empty space at her side and Jane tries to interrupt her, “but…”

“ - though I thought, isn't it just perfect that Lord Dudley’s son also happens to be here, and also happens to be single.”

Lady Grey is smiling back over Guildford and Jane finally understands just how spectacularly her plan has backfired on her. 

“There you are, my boy!” Lord Dudley wanders over to join the farce, patting Guildford on the shoulder. “I see you’ve finally met Jane Grey - and here I thought you weren’t listening to any of your voice mails.”

​​The look on Guildford’s face when he too realises they’ve done exactly what his parents wanted almost makes up for it. 

Jane can only hope he was kidding about his father already planning their wedding. 

[imlivinginyourtrashcan]

Okay fiiiine guys; have a sneak peak of MM PII/lh

Lenore walks through the hallways, paranoia beginning to creep into her as she replays the conversation in her head. It seemed so ridiculous, but then again, much weirder has happened within the confines of the Academy. The bell rang out through the empty corridors, making her groan. Great. More demerits to lap onto the pile. She can’t help but stare at the windows, if her reflection could speak, wouldn’t it do so while they were alone? Or is hers smarter? “No no no no, you can’t possibly be willing to entertain that idea.” She mutters, waving a hand away from no one. She glimpses Duke at the end of the hall, putting more pep in her step to catch up with his casual stride. “Duke!” She called out. He paused and turned around, smiling as soon as he saw her, “Mon amie!” He pats her on the back, “Glad to see you’re still in one piece,” He raises a brow, “C'était quoi ça?”

“Hm?” Lenore hums, tilting her head to the side, ear falling on Duke’s hand, “Why did Madame Antoinette drag you off like that?” She didn’t ponder the question, an amused smile appearing on her face after his question slipped from his mouth. “Oh, nothing really.” She dismissed, walking a bit ahead of him, “Talked my ear off about something, can’t remember what it was now.” Duke snickers, rolling his eyes playfully, “Are we going to have to try and throw her off the balcony again?” He jests, making Lenore’s demeanor grow serious, “Watch. It.” She spat through clenched teeth, he raised his hands, “Alright! Alright! Désolé, ponytail!” She still had the expression of a pissed persian cat, opening the doors of the classroom.

Miss Poppet had been rambling about the lesson for some time, all eyes turning on the two of them as they entered, “Tardiness!” Miss Poppet gawks, pointing at them, “5 demerits! Both of you!” Duke nearly groaned before the two sat down next to each other, alongside their companions. Lenore looked up at Pluto, “Did we miss anything?”

“Nothing of value…” Pluto replies, shrugging his shoulders, “Just a new lesson.”

“What about?” Duke asks, leaning forward to hear Pluto better. But instead, Berenice butted her way into the conversation, setting her hands behind her head, “Summin’ ‘bout mirrors?” Lenore could feel her face go pale. Crap, Annabel was right?! She thought she was crazy or something.

Annabel looked on, trying to keep her composure for the remainder of Ms. Poppet’s babbling, there were warnings there, she was sure, but she couldn’t focus on that right now. She would occasionally glance toward the room’s window, half wishing that the one off mirror incident would happen again so she could prove to Lenore that she wasn’t some madwoman desperate for attention. But alas, nothing. “One more thing!” Mrs. Poppet announces, clasping her hands together, “Specters are unnecessary for the lesson, do not use them unless it is absolutely vital. Good luck, students!”

Not even a second went by, and Lenore was separated from her peers, and from Annabel. She was surrounded by a maze full of mirrors, the walls and floor surrounded by glass prisms, and yet she couldn’t see her own reflection. Odd. She walked straight for a while, touching a hand to the glass in front of her, stroking it downward with her fingertips. “Strange…” she muttered, “LENORE!?” Shouted a voice, Morella’s. “Morella?” Lenore called back, following the sound, “Morella, darling? Are you here?” She called again. “Lenore!” The voice cried back, downpitching into twisted distortion. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Lenore slowly creaked her head upwards towards the monster, seeing its hunched back and hulkling quadrupedal exterior. Claws for limbs, orange coat draping on top, and a circular mirror for a head. “I’ve finally found you..” The voice shifted in pitch, mirrored head peering down at Lenore, who didn’t hesitate for a second, turning and darting the other way.

She heard the beast roar, hearing the glass behind her thunk as it approaches, thunking right into the dead end wall, she stands and looks behind her, the monster growing ever closer. She felt a pit in her stomach, refusing to shut her eyes even though she knew the end was approaching. She feels the mirror ripple and she’s pulled in quickly, reaching towards nothing. The monster stops in front of the dead end, a low growl emitting from its throat, it looks up and cries in a bellowing his, turning away and thunking its claws into the porcelain ground.

“Lenore?” Asked a voice, making Lenore’s eyes shoot open, turning upward to see who it was. “Y’alright?” It was Montresor. He sets her down and grips her shoulders, staring into her dazed eyes, “Goin’ up against that kinda thang? Pfft- shoot! I admire yer bravery, firebug!” His face softened, looking at Lenore intently, watching her hold his head. “Y’okay? Yer not respondin’.... should I go get Duke?”

“Hhhhh…” She groaned, “Yyyyyeah, I’m gittin’ ‘em,” Montresor began, patting Lenore’s shoulder, “Stay right ‘ere, I’ll be back.” He darted off in a few seconds, jumping into another mirror without struggle. Lenore holds her head, feeling the whole room spin, it's almost too overwhelming, feeling her grasp on consciousness slip. Before it all goes dark she sees a blur, and hears a muffled shout, “Ponytail!” And then it goes black.

[lythea-creation]

Worst Prank Ever - Platonic Fred and George Weasley x fem reader

summary: During the summer holidays between their first and second year, Fred, George and (f/n) pull a prank they swear to never repeat again.

warnings: none, i think

word count: 729

Author's note: Feel free to check out my Masterlists and make requests. No reposting please! Reblogging, comments and requests are always appreciated <3 If you like the story/my writing, please don't be shy to say it via comments or asks! It takes you a few seconds and might make my day. It's the best appreciation you can show to a writer you like.

Requested? Yes

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Hogwarts was a place full of magic and new experiences. As a first year I was excited to leave my old muggle school behind to learn how to cast spells, fly on a broom and tame exotic beasts.

But I had not considered that despite all the magic, Hogwarts was still a school.

Therefore I was rejoiced to befriend the Weasley twins, Fred and George. With them by my side boredom was not even in my vocabulary anymore.

Honestly I had never been one for pranks, but since they introduced me to them, I had turned into an obsessive fan. I was always the first one to know what they were planning, eager to participate despite the consequences.

We were a feared trio when it came to the teachers we did not quite get along with.

My parents did not mind the complaints that were sent their way as they were too busy working to care at all. So why should I care?

In the summer break it all continued.

Since my parents were on a business trip and hence could not take care of me, the Weasley's had allowed me to stay over at their home.

In the beginning I had been a bit timid and shy, but that had quickly changed when everyone had been so kind and welcoming. Having Fred and George around may have played a crucial part in that as well.

“Hey, (f/n)! Let's go outside”, Fred suggested.

I did not hesitate to tag along.

A few minutes later we were deep inside the forest around the Burrow.

“Where are we going?”, I wondered.

I had never been inside a forest without an adult by my side. My parents did not allow me to go out on my own.

“There's a place we wanna show you”, George enlightened me.

After about thirty more minutes of walking through branches and roots, we finally arrived at … nothing. Why had they dragged me out here?

“Look up”, George instructed me.

Then I saw it. A giant tree house, hidden between the leaves of the tree.

“What are you waiting for? Let's get up there”, Fred encouraged us, climbing the tree first.

“Wow”, I uttered when I entered the tree house.

It was huge, filled with various things Fred and George must have brought over.

“It's our secret hideout”, George enlightened me.

“We found it when we got lost inside the forest. Nobody else knows about it. So don't be a snitch, okay?”, Fred remarked.

“Of course not”, I promised, outraged that they could even consider me to do it.

“What do you think? Wanna pull another prank and stay here for a few days? We brought food and water”, Fred suggested.

That was what the backpacks were for.

“You mean stay up here and even spend the night?”, I questioned.

“Exactly”, George confirmed.

“That's awesome”, I exclaimed. “I'm in!”

“It's settled then”, Fred noted with a huge grin.

We actually had a lot of fun in the tree house.

Fred and George had brought various magical games we could play. And we used our time to plan pranks for the new school year. At night we could go outside and spot some starts between the tree branches, but only if we climbed up even higher.

It was the best vacation ever.

Until we returned the next afternoon and Mrs. Weasley started yelling at us: “How could you act so irresponsible? We were worried sick! And (f/n), I promised your parents to look out for you. How could you just disappear? You all didn't even say a word. You're all grounded, forever! Now go to your room! I don't want to see you right now.”

Tears were flowing down my cheeks on the way upstairs. This was the first scolding I had gotten by someone else but a teacher and I was feeling agonizingly guilty.

Mrs. Weasley was right. I should have been more considerate.

“That definitely was a buzz”, George declared.

“The worst prank we ever pulled”, Fred agreed.

“Let's never stay away without telling mom again”, George decided.

“Agreed”, Fred and I replied simultaneously.

We stayed true to our word. Even as adults we were always telling Mrs. Weasley where we were going when we visited her.

[esther-dot]

I feel like I'm going crazy with the Jon question. He's a Byronic hero, of course he's slightly unconventionally handsome but only once you notice him glowering, and maybe conventional only in a literary/classical sense. The reason Timothee Chalamet tends to be facecast as him (other than period-appropriate films) is because other than Adam Driver, he's one of the few tangentially-looking Byronic heroes around (especially as Paul Atreides). Adam Driver is too old for a Jon though it's a relevant comparison because people either think he's very handsome or very ugly. Jon's a bastard, but he's spiritually formidable, meaning he's got to have that visual duality.

Plus it's totally a Beauty and the Beast thing. Come onnnn. He's probably very beautiful to Sansa, but only once she looks closer, which is basically the whole theme of Jonsa, right? It's that lack of closeness and Jon as a functional ward which makes it possible.

The hypocrisy about Jon's looks is absolutely astounding to me. Like, I think they project their anxieties onto Sansa. Jon can be horse-faced and homely and loved for it.

“Jon's a bastard, but he's spiritually formidable, meaning he's got to have that visual duality.”

I love that description, anon! That’s kinda what I was trying to talk about here with the Byronic Hero quotes, there’s an appeal there, although it isn’t necessarily a universally recognized one. Reading your ask reminded me that if you aren't familiar with the Byronic hero idea, the insistence that Jon isn't traditionally attractive might seem random rather than a reflection of the literary context Martin created him in. Mr Rochester is a Byronic hero who (I think?) exists in the popular consciousness due to relatively recent adaptions, and here is how he is described:

Mr. Rochester, as he sat in his damask-covered chair, looked different to what I had seen him look before; not quite so stern—much less gloomy. There was a smile on his lips, and his eyes sparkled, whether with wine or not, I am not sure; but I think it very probable. He was, in short, in his after-dinner mood; more expanded and genial, and also more self-indulgent than the frigid and rigid temper of the morning; still he looked preciously grim, cushioning his massive head against the swelling back of his chair, and receiving the light of the fire on his granite-hewn features, and in his great, dark eyes; for he had great, dark eyes, and very fine eyes, too—not without a certain change in their depths sometimes, which, if it was not softness, reminded you, at least, of that feeling.

He had been looking two minutes at the fire, and I had been looking the same length of time at him, when, turning suddenly, he caught my gaze fastened on his physiognomy.

“You examine me, Miss Eyre,” said he: “do you think me handsome?”

I should, if I had deliberated, have replied to this question by something conventionally vague and polite; but the answer somehow slipped from my tongue before I was aware—“No, sir.”

“Ah! By my word! there is something singular about you,” said he: “you have the air of a little nonnette; quaint, quiet, grave, and simple, as you sit with your hands before you, and your eyes generally bent on the carpet (except, by-the-bye, when they are directed piercingly to my face; as just now, for instance); and when one asks you a question, or makes a remark to which you are obliged to reply, you rap out a round rejoinder, which, if not blunt, is at least brusque. What do you mean by it?”

“Sir, I was too plain; I beg your pardon. I ought to have replied that it was not easy to give an impromptu answer to a question about appearances; that tastes mostly differ; and that beauty is of little consequence, or something of that sort.”

“You ought to have replied no such thing. Beauty of little consequence, indeed! And so, under pretence of softening the previous outrage, of stroking and soothing me into placidity, you stick a sly penknife under my ear! Go on: what fault do you find with me, pray? I suppose I have all my limbs and all my features like any other man?”

“Mr. Rochester, allow me to disown my first answer: I intended no pointed repartee: it was only a blunder.”

“Just so: I think so: and you shall be answerable for it. Criticise me: does my forehead not please you?”

He lifted up the sable waves of hair which lay horizontally over his brow, and showed a solid enough mass of intellectual organs, but an abrupt deficiency where the suave sign of benevolence should have risen.

“Now, ma’am, am I a fool?”

“Far from it, sir. You would, perhaps, think me rude if I inquired in return whether you are a philanthropist?”

“There again! Another stick of the penknife, when she pretended to pat my head: and that is because I said I did not like the society of children and old women (low be it spoken!). No, young lady, I am not a general philanthropist; but I bear a conscience;” and he pointed to the prominences which are said to indicate that faculty, and which, fortunately for him, were sufficiently conspicuous; giving, indeed, a marked breadth to the upper part of his head: “and, besides, I once had a kind of rude tenderness of heart. When I was as old as you, I was a feeling fellow enough; partial to the unfledged, unfostered, and unlucky; but Fortune has knocked me about since: she has even kneaded me with her knuckles, and now I flatter myself I am hard and tough as an India-rubber ball; pervious, though, through a chink or two still, and with one sentient point in the middle of the lump. Yes: does that leave hope for me?”

“Hope of what, sir?”

“Of my final re-transformation from India-rubber back to flesh?”

“Decidedly he has had too much wine,” I thought; and I did not know what answer to make to his queer question: how could I tell whether he was capable of being re-transformed?

“You looked very much puzzled, Miss Eyre; and though you are not pretty any more than I am handsome, yet a puzzled air becomes you; besides, it is convenient, for it keeps those searching eyes of yours away from my physiognomy, and busies them with the worsted flowers of the rug; so puzzle on. Young lady, I am disposed to be gregarious and communicative to-night.”

With this announcement he rose from his chair, and stood, leaning his arm on the marble mantelpiece: in that attitude his shape was seen plainly as well as his face; his unusual breadth of chest, disproportionate almost to his length of limb. I am sure most people would have thought him an ugly man; yet there was so much unconscious pride in his port; so much ease in his demeanour; such a look of complete indifference to his own external appearance; so haughty a reliance on the power of other qualities, intrinsic or adventitious, to atone for the lack of mere personal attractiveness, that, in looking at him, one inevitably shared the indifference, and, even in a blind, imperfect sense, put faith in the confidence.

Jon is a much better man than Mr Rochester, but you can see some pertinent ideas here. I'll link @cappymightwrite's Byronic Hero metas (1, 2, 3) if anyone is interested in further reading on the topic.

Regardless of where you fall on the question, Jon and Sansa's looks are plot relevant (mentioned it a little here ). Sansa’s Tully looks are obviously very important because looking like Cat has made LF fixate on her, so these aren’t incidental details, they’re very clear, deliberate descriptions by the author and matter to the story now and in the future. Obviously there’s truth to the expression “beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” and everyone can go where they want with this but considering how plot relevant their designated look is, it’s pretty clear the author purposefully chose it.

The Jonsa aspect is interesting because we’ve all scratched our heads at the Freudian implication (and then Kit mentioned Freud which shocked amused confused us!) and I’ve seen many show Jonsas admit they didn’t find show Jon particularly attractive until s6, despite Kit being recognized as very attractive. Maybe we all just have a thing for the manbun, but I think a big part of it was that suddenly, he was doing things we found attractive. Staring at Sansa with hearts in his eyes, being open and vulnerable in a way we hadn’t seen before, arguing with a peer the way we hadn’t seen before, getting angry and articulating it, making promises to protect her, trying to offer her reassurances, feeling insecure and desperate, riding out onto a field alone to save his brother, nearly beating a man to death, winning back his home, offering trust and forgiveness. There was something in Jon that season that appealed to us, it wasn’t just his face. And I think something like that will happen for Sansa too.

I mentioned Sansa’s crushes were both “knight” figures, her life experiences have evolved that original idea of what a knight is, and although she is a compassionate person, she now thinks she needs someone with a dangerous edge to protect her, so I don’t think she’ll be struck by Jon’s face beyond it meaning safety, seeing her father in it 😬 family, but then as Jon helps win her home back, if she finds out he chopped of Slynt’s head, if he gives her another head (LF!), it’s gonna tap into knight, the romanticized notion she had of them being chivalrous (because Jon will treat her well), the hero she prayed for (there are no heroes -> fetch me a block), and also that dangerous figure who would never harm her but is fully capable of killing the monsters for her.

Also, I absolutely agree about the Beauty and the Beast idea, I started writing about Jon as the Beast/Bear/Death and have lost the draft. It’s definitely where Martin is going though!

[sassy-cissa]

WIP Snip

Thanks to @maesterchill for tagging me. I love being tagged and reading people's snippets. ❤️

This was supposed to be for a few different things, but now it's just because I'm having fun with it. It's post war and (like Em's) Pansy is missing. But trust me that's where the similarities end.

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Draco huffed and walked over to the next door, prepared to barge in. He came up short when the name on the door read James Prince and under that was Private Investigations. He paused, his hand hovering over the door knob, and stared at the name. "James Prince? What the hell?" he muttered under his breath. His heart sank, feeling as if his only hope had vanished like a puff of smoke in the wind. He stood, frozen to the spot, contemplating his next move when he heard what sounded like a herd of Hippogriffs thundering up the stairs. Draco turned as the sound drew closer to the top of the stairs. His hand dropped to his side as none other than Harry Potter himself froze at the top. A large black dog, however, bounded over to Draco and began to sniff at his leg. Harry seemed to regain his composure and he walked past Draco and unlocked the office door of James Prince. "Do you work for Prince?" Draco asked. "What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Draco paused, realising he was going to have to talk to Potter if he wanted to see this detective person. "I'm in need of a detective," Draco replied. He was trying to remain calm, but the reality of never seeing Pansy again was pushing its way into his head again. He tapped down the shiver that wanted to race through him. Harry and the mangy looking dog walked through the office door, Draco right on his heels. He blinked at Draco when he went to pull the door closed and found he wasn't alone in his office. The dog trotted over to a bed under the single window and flopped down onto it. Draco looked around the sparsely furnished room. A desk sat facing the door on the opposite wall, although Draco wondered how anyone could function with all the pads and scraps of paper, folders and biros scattered across the top of it. The wall to the right of the desk had a row of filing cabinets with more papers and books scattered on the top. And on the wall to the left of the desk there was a small seating area consisting of a black leather couch and two chairs that faced it, with a small table in between. Draco looked around the room in confusion. "Small place. Where does Mr Prince sit when you're both here?" Harry tilted his head. "Where does Mr…, oh." He smirked and walked to the desk and sat. "Here. And there is no both. Just me." "But the door says James Prince," Draco replied, not understanding. Harry sighed. "Seriously, Malfoy? It's a pseudonym. You expect me to put my own name on the door? You've surely heard of the term." Draco glared. "Of course I'm familiar with the term. Although I'm surprised you are. But that aside, I get James. Obviously from your father. But Prince?" "I was counting on that one being confusing. Good to see I was right." Draco waited for Harry to continue. When he didn't, Draco walked over and sat down on the opposite side of the desk from Harry. "Fine, I don't have time for your little games. I need a detective," he said firmly.

The dog raised his head and looked at Draco with more interest than Draco felt was necessary. A moment later, the dog had moved to his side and was sniffing at Draco as if he had a bone in his pocket. Suddenly his cold nose hit the skin just above Draco's sock. "What the fuck!" Draco blurted out. "Keep your mangy beast away from me. He was about to bite into my leg." Harry laughed. "He's just checking you out. Making sure you're not going to hurt me." Harry snapped his fingers. "Over here Sherlock," he said, calling to the dog. "Sherlock?" Draco said incredulously. "You named your dog Sherlock? Looks more like a Nosy Parker to me." Sherlock sat down, resting his head on Harry's leg. "I don't care what you think my dog's name should be, Malfoy. You've overstayed your little visit. Time for you to move along." Draco threw his hands up in the air. "Have you not been listening to me? I've said I need to hire a detective. It might as well be you." "Sorry, I don't do wizards," Harry immediately replied. Blinking several times, Draco raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realise that offer was on the table, but it will have to wait. I simply want to hire you to find someone." Harry's cheeks had flushed a bright pink and Draco was surprised to find he found the look attractive. "I meant," Harry stammered, "I only take on Muggle clientele." "Right," Draco deadpanned. "As I said, I need to hire you." Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Was there a part of the sentence I only take on Muggle clientele you didn't understand? Do I need to use smaller words?"

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I never know who to tag, so if you're reading consider yourself tagged