#thorn: 001

[verticordiia]

She blinked. Once, twice. Then, blue eyes narrowed into a glare and she took off her gardening gloves to swap them for her regular gloves. Taking the moment to not address the wrong ice mage's sudden appearance in her presence, she surveilled the work she had been doing in the guild garden and deemed it satisfactory.

"Okay," she said as she levelled her stare at Gray, "why are you suddenly coming out of the shadows?" Aren't you supposed to be somewhere in the mountains right about now?

@resolvebound

[vilebodys]

back  pressed  against  the  cold  wall,  she  stood  near  the  door  :   an  exit  and  the  perfect  escape  from  a  cruel  act.   her  words  would  sting,   maybe  leave  a  cut  (  not  scars  like  their  father’s )  but  nisa  was  sure  they’d  fade,  like  their  memories  she’d  decided  to  abandon.   she  swallowed  and  despite  the  determination  she  suddenly  felt  so  small,  ashamed  like  the  first  time  nisa  broke  something  of  thorn’s.  back  then  it  was  merely  ( their  father’s  words )  a  barbie  doll  and  then  it   just  turned  out  to  be  their  relationship,  left  with  cracks  and  this  time  she’d  make  sure  to  entirely  break  it.  “  can  you  do  me  a  favor  …  well  it  isn’t  really  a  favor  since  you’d  just  need  to  continue  acting  the  same  way  .”  she  scoffed  and  then  her  lips  pressed  together  as  if  they  were  the  only  part  of  hers  that  still  kept  fighting  against  her  , yet  hurt  forced  them  open.  “ don’t  talk  to  me  .   just  pretend  you  don’t  know  me.”

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒 : closed @wtvrthorn

[gctawaygirl]

closed starter : requested a starter via ask meme @storyofwhoiam muse : harold thorne (47, heterosexual) plot : ❝ if you're feeling down, i can feel you up. ❞

harold's day at work had not gone well. they had lost quite a bit of money today and somehow clients were unhappy. when he returned home, allie had noticed, obviously. otherwise she wouldn't have said what she did. he sat down on his armchair and looked over at her, eyebrows raised, "go on then," he said, "i am, in fact, feeling down."

[woodcries]

' ugh, i asked you if you wanted one ten minutes ago and you said no! why are you stealing mine? ' she wasn't so mean as to sit and eat her dessert in front of him without offering to buy him one first, but that time had come and gone and now she was fuming watching him reach for the whipped cream and strawberries.

@electricea / starter call.

[screenviolense]

@ninjassin sent: have you been flirting this whole time? Ann

　　' i can't just reveal my secrets like that! for all you know, i just talk like this all the time. ' and it hid her true intentions pretty well, in her experience. she might not have been the greatest actress, but keeping up that bubbly persona came natural to her.

[thinkitsux]

continuation from here | @valkyriehymns

her  mouth  instinctively  opened  to  bark  back,  to  list  everything  that  was  currently  wrong—  it  was  second  nature  to  complain  but  he  was  right.  away  from  the  mindless  voices,  they  could  focus  on  what  is  important.  ❝  you  right,  ❞  she  mumbled.  she hated when she was in the wrong. the  redhead  groaned,  hating  that  her  new  pair  of  sneakers  were  all  dirty,  as  she  caught  up  to  landon’s  pace.

as  the  lake  came  into  view  her  eyes  lit  up  before  grabbing  onto  his  arm  tightly.  ❝  i  think  you  might  be  right.  ❞  the  way  the  moonlight  danced  across  the  water  brought  what  could  only  be  labeled  as  peace  to  her  being.  she  needed  this. they needed this.  ❝  we  have  to  hit  the  water  first.  ❞  anastasia  pouted  as  she  looked  at  him,  pleading  that  he  would  agree.  it  wasn’t  like  she  knew  how  to  set  a  fire  or  build  a  tent  anyway.

[gctawaygirl]

harold still held onto her chin but his grip and expression softened. he lifted his other hand up to her cheek and then he was caressing her face, "i am yours," he said quietly, "not hers. she has no hold on me, not the way you do," he added and kissed her. perhaps legally he was tied to catherine but that was it. he held no love for her anymore, if he ever had. the only reason they remained married was for the connections her family provided for him, "i am yours," he repeated. it was the closest he'd ever get to get to saying he loved her, those words hard to come from his lips.

as they left the car, harold did pick up the device and underwear he had forced her to wear for the night. not to use again but to store away in their apartment. the rest of the night was spent treating her a lot gentler than he had that day. he had promised as much when she'd agreed to have the device inside her for the charity event. harold was many bad things but a breaker of promises was not one.

SHE SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER. she knew that now. but in the heat of the moment it seemed that the whole world was coming down in ruins all around her. she saw the way the older woman's arm was so possesively wrapped around Harold's upper arm as the man guided his wife into the room. the sight of it and the vicious glint in Catherine's eye was almost too much for her to handle. it was definitely too much for her to handle. Anna knew she had no right to him, no claim, no reason to ever stand any ground in any kind of an argument. she was not his wife, not his betrothed, not even a friend - she was a mistress, the one that warmed his bed a few nights a week, the one that he took his frustrations out on and bought her pretty sparkling jewels as payment. the brunette felt a cold splash of realisation at the thought, foolishly cursing herself for letting her own thoughts run away from her. for letting her mind wander and hope for something that could not be.

"but you're not." Anna added in a soft whisper with a small, sad smile. she got up from Harold's lap without waiting for a reply and then stepped out of the car into the cool evening air, hoping it would refresh her muddled emotions. she had to get a grip on herself. the brunette walked towards the apartment building silently, hearing Harold's footsteps behind her but she did not dare turn to look at him. not now. not when it was taking everything within her to hold back her tears. she belonged to him. every last inch of her. even if he did not know it, her heart and soul belonged to Harold without a shadow of a doubt. she had fallen for him somewhere along the way even though she knew she shouldn't have. because now he held her in the palm of his hand, owned her, possesed her - while she had nothing.

the woman got into the elevator, pressing the button for the correct floor and she leaned against the wall with a small sigh and his come dripping down her leg after what they had done in the car. her eyes closed, teeth nibbling on the inside of her cheek as the necklace wrapped around her neck suddenly seemed to weight more than it should, heavy with guilt.

[theyheroes]

STARTER, UNPLOTTED ∞ E. THORNE + N. ROSS.

hands rest on her hips, lips pursed with a decidedly annoyed look -- even for her. a sigh falls from emily's lips as she begins to pace, and pace, and pace -- the sort that might just wear a hole in the floor were she to keep it up long enough. strangely enough, it lasts maybe a minute before she turns to face @theirlives, "i saw you talking to ashley earlier, didn't i?" in truth, it's more 'knowing accusation' than it is a question, though the one that follows most certainly is a question. "what's she up to now?" as if the graysons on their own aren't enough, ha, no -- god forbid she go a week without some wrench being thrown into things.

[thousandflame]

tag drop.

[verticordiia]

She was still at least two shades paler than she had been, before. She did not like that, each time she looked into the mirror, she was reminded. Reminded of how fragile she had become. That her left hand had developed a bit of a trembling issue did not help either---it seemed there was no escape. No way to reassert control over her own life without drastic measures.

Maybe, she thought, maybe if things had been smoother, maybe if her hospital stay had not been as much of a disaster, she would not be entertaining this thought. But things had been a disaster on so many levels that she did not even know where to begin. Her life was a mess and she desperately needed to find a way to stablise it.

The current situation was not sustainable.

Tapping her pen against her left cheekbone, she looked at Lyon. '' I know what I get out of this agreement, '' she said quietly, perhaps a bit guiltily. He had told her that she was not taking advantage of him, but---no. There was no point in lingering on this thought. '' But what benefit do you reap? ''

[gctawaygirl]

"More than one it is then," Harold said, glancing over at her from where they sat in the car, "My treat, for your birthday," he added. not to mention, her father would kill him if he let her pay and he would notice too. The car stopped and he got out, walking around the car to open the door for you, "Ready?" he asked, holding a hand out to help her step out.

"I mean, maybe more then one," Tara murmured, before her smile widened a little at him, eyes already sparkling.

"It's my birthday soon, and I'd love to have something pretty to wear when I get to go out."

[goldsainz]

# HIGH INFIDELITY — CHAPTER ONE !

SERIES MASTERLIST !

001. SUMMARY !

✯ no matter what you do or who you’re with, rafe is the thorn in your side that persists.

002. WARNINGS !

✯ drinking, rafe’s a bitch.

003. NOTE !

✯ the italics part is meant to be past, normal is present. not a lot of rafe in this part, but we’re building up the tension, bear with me guys. also this is short n’ sweet, but it was either this or waiting like a week sooo 🤗

word count : 3,1k

Summer is, without a doubt, your favourite season of the year—a time when everything seems a little brighter, warmer, and full of promise. But above all, it’s the chance for romance that makes it truly special. As the breeze grazes your skin, you're struck with all the endless possibilities for a breezy, passionate fling. Summer brings not just warmth, but the promise of memories waiting to be made.

Perhaps that is why this summer feels different, why you're filled with a sensation you are not used to. Because, in true you fashion, you cannot help but fall for the first guy that makes eye contact with you. It’s as if that single look, just a fleeting connection, has already set something in motion within you. It doesn't really matter who they are, you just hope they're decent enough that when the summer ends you won't wallow until the next one.

Despite everything you’ve always been told—that Kooks and Pogues live in separate worlds, that some lines are best left uncrossed—you can’t help but feel all that advice slip away in a single moment. A single glance across the bonfire, a glint of warmth and interest in his eyes, has you questioning every cautionary tale you've ever heard. 

He lifts his hand in a simple wave, and without thinking, you lift yours in return. He smiles, and you find yourself smiling back, helpless against the pull he seems to have over you. It’s such a small exchange, yet it sends a thrill through you. So simply, your heart is already in the hands of a Kook that probably doesn't even know your name.

For a single moment, just when you finally let your guard down and begin to lose yourself in the summer night, you feel a hard shove against your shoulder. The unexpected force nearly sends you toppling, and you stumble awkwardly to keep your footing. A quick flash of irritation floods your mind, and as you turn, you see the culprit—and, oh, if it isn’t the most predictable sight in the world.

It’s Rafe Cameron. Of course, it is. He moves through the crowd like he owns it, barely glancing your way, as if you’re invisible, or worse, just an obstacle on his path to whatever or whoever he’s fixated on. 

“Watch it, Kook!” You shout at him, your voice sharp, as you glare down at the mess now soaking into the sand, the drink he so casually spilled with his careless shove. Typical Rafe—he couldn’t just bump into you and keep walking; no, he had to leave a mark, a small reminder of how easy it is for him to disrupt whatever, or whoeever, is in his way.

There’s no point in trying to get Rafe to acknowledge his mistakes. He wouldn’t care, and honestly, why waste the energy? Annoyed, you make your way toward the drink stand, trying to shake off the aggravation and enjoy what’s left of the night. The makeshift bar is stocked with copious amounts of beer, a few murky-looking bottles of whiskey, and vodka that looks questionably watered down. You sigh, filling a red cup and trying to hold on to a sliver of the excitement you felt earlier. Maybe it’s time to call it a night, to forget the rude shove and, disappointingly, to forget the boy you shared glances with.

“Hey,” a voice interrupts as you lift the cup to your lips, pulling you from your thoughts. You look up, and there he is—the guy from across the bonfire, standing right in front of you, his expression soft but earnest. “I’m sorry about him,” he says, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“Huh?” The word slips out, and for a moment, you forget all about the spilled drink, the scowl on your face, even Rafe Cameron’s entitled shove. The memory of the night seems to blur, leaving just this moment, this exchange. You’re left with that same rush from earlier, only more intense now, standing close enough to see the way the firelight reflects in his eyes. 

“He shoved you, right?” he asks, raising his voice slightly so it cuts through the noise around you. There’s a hint of concern in his eyes, and he leans in just enough for you to catch the faint scent of saltwater and something earthy, maybe cedar. “Or did I mistake you for someone else?”

“No, no,” you reply, shaking your head, a small, sheepish smile creeping onto your face despite yourself. “That was me, unfortunately. Rafe Cameron’s idea of saying ‘excuse me,’ I guess.”

He laughs, a low sound that somehow makes the rest of the chaotic night fade into the background. “Sounds about right,” he says with a shrug, like he knows exactly the kind of person Rafe is—and isn’t surprised in the slightest. His gaze lingers on you, though, holding a warmth and sincerity that feels like a stark contrast to everything you just experienced. It’s as if he’s actually seeing you, not just some girl who got shoved around in the crowd.

“So… can I get you another drink?” he asks, nodding toward your mostly empty cup. “You know, as a ‘sorry for my obnoxious friend’ kind of thing.”

"I don’t even know your name,” you say, keeping your tone casual, though you can feel a flicker of heat rising in your cheeks. Of course, you do. But he doesn’t need to know that. Not yet, anyway.

He raises an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes as if he’s caught on to your feigned innocence but decides to play along. “Is that so?” he asks, a grin curving on his lips. “Well, then. I guess that makes us strangers, doesn’t it?”

You bite back a smile, shrugging, as if the flutter in your chest is no big deal. “I suppose it does.”

He extends his hand, the light from the bonfire casting a warm glow on his face. “I’m Joshua, but you can call me Josh.” he says, as though you hadn’t already heard the name whispered among your friends a hundred times. “And you are?”

“YN,” you say softly, letting your name slip past your lips like a secret, as if saying it too loudly might break the spell of this moment.

“Well, YN,” he drawls, your name slipping off his lips like honey, rich and warm. Somehow, in the noise and firelight, it sounds sweeter coming from him than you’ve ever heard it before. “Can I get you a drink?”

You hesitate, just for a second, but then you nod, feeling a lightness in your chest that hadn’t been there before. “I’d like that, yeah,” you say, and suddenly, youre not so ready for the night to end.

As you lie peacefully on the beach, your head resting on Josh’s chest and the sun’s warm rays caressing your skin, a deep contentment settles over you. The waves roll in rhythmically, their soft crashing mixing with the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear. 

Josh’s fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, a quiet gesture that says so much without a word. Somehow, these last days have passed in a perfect blur, each moment with him slipping effortlessly into the next. It’s as if the rest of the world has faded into the background, leaving just the two of you and the freedom of these warm summer days.

It hasn’t been more than three days, you’re sure. But in the rush of everything—of his touch, of the laughter, of the long talks that stretch into the night—it feels like so much more. It doesn’t matter, though. Summer is fleeting by nature, and relationships, much like the warmth of the sun, can’t last forever. You’ve always known that.

Maybe that’s why things feel so easy with Josh. There’s no pressure, no rush to figure it all out. You don’t need a lifetime to know that this connection is real, even if it’s only for now.

“I was thinking…” he whispers, his voice sending a shiver down your spine as it tickles your ear. “Why don’t you come with me to a party? It’s very casual.”

You turn your head slightly so you can look at him, feeling the heat of his breath against your skin. “Where?” you ask, curiosity piqued.

“Just… at a friend’s house,” he replies, his words vague, as though he’s trying to keep something hidden. You sense it, the hesitation, like he’s afraid the full truth will make you back out.

“Okay… whose house?” you ask, your voice a bit firmer now, wanting a little more clarity.

You roll your eyes and let out a dramatic groan, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “Fine. But the second he crosses a line, I’m out. Don’t try to stop me.”

Josh raises his hands, feigning innocence, though there’s a gleam of victory in his eyes. “Deal,” he says with a grin, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I’m serious,” you press, your voice soft but your gaze steady, locking onto his as if to underline your words. You want him to know you’re not playing around; Rafe has crossed too many lines before, and you’re not about to give him any more chances.

Josh’s grin softens into something more earnest as he takes your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I know. And I won’t let him pull anything. I’ll be right there with you.”

You nod, reassured—well, mostly. There’s still a twinge of anxiety at the thought of walking into Rafe’s space. But with Josh by your side, it feels like a risk worth taking. You take a deep breath, pushing away the doubts, letting yourself focus on the warmth of his hand in yours.

You know you’ll probably regret being so compliant later, but in this moment, under the warm sun and the gentle pull of his charm, you can’t find it within yourself to care. Not right now, anyway.

The party is at its peak when you step inside with Josh, his hand a steady presence on the small of your back. People weave around, stumbling and laughing, drinks sloshing as they chug another round. The air is thick with the smell of beer and perfume, the music pounding loud enough to shake the floor.

Tannyhill is enormous, every inch of it polished and perfect. Compared to the flimsy house you call home, this level of luxury feels surreal, almost insulting—like you’re trespassing in a world you’re not meant to be a part of.

“You good?” Josh’s voice is low against your ear, his fingers pressing lightly, reassuringly, into your back.

“Yeah,” you manage, glancing around at the high ceilings and spotless marble floors. “Big house,” you mumble, trying to play it off, but Josh catches the edge of awe in your voice and lets out a soft chuckle.

“Sometimes I forget,” he says with a smile, “that this is all just… normal to me. It’s weird, huh?”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “A little.” There’s an underlying discomfort, a feeling of not quite fitting in, but with Josh beside you, you tell yourself it doesn’t matter.

As you navigate through the crowd, you spot Rafe across the room, casually leaning against a table, a smirk on his face as he watches the crowd unfold around him. His gaze shifts, and for a brief second, his eyes lock onto yours, his smirk turning into something sharper, something that sends a prickle of irritation through you.

Josh notices and gives your hand a squeeze, as if grounding you. “Remember our deal,” he murmurs, his tone playful but his eyes serious.

“Right,” you reply, taking a deep breath and letting it go, trying to shake off the feeling of being under Rafe’s watch. Tonight, you tell yourself, is about being with Josh, about experiencing his world—even if only for a night.

There are barely any Pogues here, you realize, glancing around at the faces in the crowd. Maybe a few who hover on the edges, those who toe the line between a bad season of hard luck and those who might actually crawl and beg to be part of the Kooks’ world. They’re the ones who keep their heads down, wearing uncomfortable clothes, trying to blend in without drawing attention.

You feel the difference even more now, the gap between you and this place, this crowd. Everyone here is effortlessly at ease, basking in the privilege that’s been theirs since birth. And yet here you are, standing in the middle of it all, aware of every sideways glance, every slightly raised eyebrow as you pass by.

“You’re sure it’s okay for me to be here?” you ask again, your voice low, almost like you’re bracing yourself for Rafe or one of his friends to notice you and kick you out.

Josh squeezes your hand, his expression softening. “Of course. They don’t care, really,” he says, his tone steady, almost casual, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

You wish you could believe him. You’ve noticed, over these past few days, how little Josh seems to care about the whole Kook and Pogue divide. He doesn’t see you as an outsider, doesn’t seem to register the tension that hums just beneath the surface. To him, it’s all irrelevant, a line drawn in the sand that doesn’t matter. It’s refreshing—and it’s blinding.

Because Josh’s indifference almost fooled you into thinking the world works that way, too. Like the Kooks and Pogues can just coexist, that the labels and histories are meaningless. But tonight, standing in this mansion with strangers’ eyes glancing your way, you feel the weight of it again, the silent reminders that you don’t belong.

He notices the hesitation in your eyes, the way you’re pulling back, and his hand slides to your shoulder, a gentle reminder that he’s here with you. “Listen,” he murmurs, leaning close so only you can hear, “I don’t care about any of that, and if anyone else does… well, that’s their problem. You’re with me.”

His words are a comfort, but they’re not enough to erase the uneasy feeling that lingers. You force a smile, hoping he can’t see the doubt flickering there, and nod. “Right. I’m with you.”

For the slightest moment you feel at ease, but almost like clockwork, the grating voice of Rafe Cameron breaks your reverie, pulling you out of your thoughts. “Hey, man,” he greets, slapping a hand on Josh’s back in that familiar, boy-ish way.

“What’s up, Rafe?” Josh replies, his smile wide, clearly used to this dynamic, his tone casual and easygoing.

“Nothing much, just trying to keep everything at bay,” Rafe responds, his voice dripping with indifference as he talks like you’re not even standing there. Like you don’t exist in this moment, and it stings more than it should.

“Cool,” Josh shifts slightly, turning toward you. “I’m sure you’ve met YN, hope it’s all good that I brought her?”

At that, Rafe finally looks at you. The weight of his gaze makes your skin prickle, and for a moment, you almost squirm under it. “Yup, all good,” Rafe says, his voice laced with something colder, something discomforting. “I said you could bring anyone… and you did.”

The way he says it is so backhanded, so typical of him. You can practically hear the unspoken judgement in his words, feel it in the way he looks at you, sizing you up.

You’re not surprised, of course—this is Rafe, after all—but the little jab only adds to the discomfort that’s been creeping up on you all evening. You force a tight smile, but it feels too small, too weak for what’s really going on inside. Still, you keep your eyes on Josh, hoping he doesn’t notice how the atmosphere has shifted, how Rafe’s presence has twisted everything just enough to make you feel smaller than you are.

“Well, enjoy the party,” Rafe says, his smile almost too practised, like he’s delivering a line he’s said a hundred times before. The kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, that’s meant to keep things cordial, even if the undercurrent of judgement is thick enough to cut through.

“We will,” Josh replies easily, not missing a beat, his voice smooth and unbothered, as though none of the tension is hanging in the air.

Josh’s hand finds yours, his fingers warm against your skin as he gently pulls you away from the conversation. But as you pass by Rafe, you hear him lean in slightly, his voice just low enough for only you to hear. “Not too much, yeah?”

It’s a whisper, but it feels like a slap. You can feel your brows furrow instinctively, the words gnawing at you. You’re tempted, so tempted, to turn around and shove him and ask, What the hell is wrong with you?

But you don’t.

Instead, you let Josh lead you away, his hand tightening around yours in a subtle reassurance. The music swells, the noise of the party grows louder, but it all feels distant now, like a blur around the sharp edge of Rafe’s comment. You try to ignore it, try to shake it off, but it clings to you, sticking in your chest like a splinter.

Even as you move through the crowd, you know that this night isn’t just about the music or the people—it’s about the silent things too. The things you can’t control, the things you have to push past in order to keep moving.

And Rafe Cameron is the one thing you can’t push past, no matter how hard you try. The one who thinks he can push you down, who sees you as something beneath him, a reminder of everything he’s convinced he’s better than.

But if there’s one thing he needs to know, it’s that you don’t go out without a fight. He might have the money, the reputation, the home twice the size of anywhere you’ve ever lived, but he will not ruin your summer. 

He’s attempted to get under your skin before and failed. And you’re not about to let this be any different. The summer isn’t his to take from you, no matter how hard he tries. He’s not a force you’re willing to let derail everything good about these days. Not the warmth of the sun, not the nights you spend with Josh, not the taste of freedom you’ve felt since you stepped into his world.

You’ll be damned if you let Rafe Cameron, of all people, get in the way of that.

[woodcries]

' because nothing's going right and everything's a mess. '

@electricea / lyric starter call + i'm with you - avril lavigne

[screenviolense]

            ‘ oh, damn it... it looks like i have a photoshoot that’s supposed to go all day. ‘ just their luck, wasn’t it? that was probably the only day they could get away having to themselves without the rest of their friends barging in on them. and she had been so excited to see what kind of treats their favorite spots would have.

            ‘ m... maybe we could spend the 15th together? and get all the on sale candy? ‘

@antithcsis​ / v-day starter call.  

[gctawaygirl]

"i would tell them the same thing i told your assistant," harold said, holding up a folder that was technically full of blank pages but nobody else needed to know that, "some papers for you to sign regarding the lease of this office or repairs or something a landlord would have," he explained with a smirk. he had never had any intention of sleeping with any of the tenants of his many buildings but hillary had been the exception, "besides, it's late. very few people are still actually here," he pointed out, "i thought you'd be happier to see me," he added, unphased if not amused by her panic.

muse - hillary , owner/ceo of a public relations firm , she / her . plot - thinking your muse and hillary work at the same company (maybe hillary is their boss) and maybe are secretly seeing each other .. or they have some history :P either way if anyone knew about the two it would be a huge scandal open to - m/f/nb , 25 +

"what the hell are you doing here?" hillary asked in a hushed tone, hurrying the other in before shutting her office door, peeping out the door to make sure nobody else besides her assistant saw the other make their way in. "you know i have back-to-back meetings today... what if someone saw you coming up here?"

[verticordiia]

On Sherry's desk, there is a letter, and a limited-edition Love Day chocolate bar, wrapped in a black bow ( which has been curled elegantly ). The envelope is ivory, and there's a pretty rose-gold seal it, with a heart stamped into the wax. There also appears to be a condom inside of the envelope. Dear Sherry, My prediction is that you will have made it very hard to sneak into your office unnoticed to leave this for you at the end of the day. Happy love day! Rejoining the world has been an anxiety-inducing experience, but you've made it significantly easier for me. I appreciate you. xoxo, Mary A. PS. I tried to find a pink condom. All I could find was this cute one with hearts on the wrapper. Have fun and be safe! ♡ I realize that you could just drink contraceptive tea, but this is much funnier. And she was right. It WAS hard to sneak into Sherry's office unnoticed!

sherry blinked. once. twice. before she could blink a third time, she felt the blush that raced up her neck. she was fairly certain that right now, the colour of her cheeks could be seen from space. looking at the generous gift, she pressed her hands---they were always blissfully cold around this time of year---against her burning cheeks and tried to will it away. the success of that was . . . mixed to say the least.

mary was a menace. she had known this. one might even say that the fact that mary was a menace was why sherry had been assigned to her in the first place, but sherry would say that there were . . . different ways of being a menace. and the way mary had been a menace approximately thirty-two minutes ago, when sherry had been talking with kora and logan about upcoming events in the guild had absolutely nothing to do with the other way of being a menace.

what was she even supposed to do?

her grandmother had always said that polite people wrote thank you cards, but she somehow doubted that it would be appropriate to write a thank you card about . . . this.