#Professionals Tree Surgeons

[kristenhalleyqwer]

How Professional Tree Surgeons Maintain Healthy Landscapes

Professional tree surgeons ensure trees stay healthy, strong, and safe. From pruning to disease control, their expertise enhances landscapes and protects properties.

[chigwelltreeservices1]

A professional tree surgeon in Abridge ensures safe tree care, preventing hazards like falling branches or diseases. They have the expertise, tools, and knowledge to handle pruning, removal, and maintenance efficiently. Hiring a pro protects your property, enhances tree health, and ensures compliance with local regulations.

[paper-starz]

Finally….

I HAVE THEMMM ALLLLLLL AHHAHAHHABABAAHHAAHGA

My designs for each of the heads!!!! AAAAAAA

I did change a bit of their lore and their job positions a bit, you can read below! 👇

Stella Greyber- Stella is Playtime CO’s Head of Playcare! With the help of her team, she’s the one that gets to decide which ride, attraction, and overall park design gets to be built! As she puts it, she wants the park to give every child the most joyous experience possible while they’re here, as children don’t get to live as kids forever, so why not make it a bit more fun for them? Out of all of the Heads that run Playtime Co., she’s just the sweetest, with her employees genuinely enjoying working under her! But, now, you didn’t hear it from me personally, but many of the workers swear that she’s just a bit too eccentric.

Eddie M.N Ritterman- Not much could be said about the Head of Finance. He’s the one responsible for overseeing the company’s financial decisions, whether that would be for marketing the park or a new toy line, building more new attractions for the park, or even collaborations with other companies, he and his subordinates work to ensure that Playtime Co. remains profitable! As for Eddie himself however, he’s a bit of a recluse that only spends time in the park when it’s for a work related reason. Employees wonder if he ever leaves his own office! He most definitely does, but just to yell at his own employees for doing something that they didn’t do, or not working, or not working fast enough, or having breaks that are longer than the designated 10 minutes.

Leith Pierre- Hello, his name is Leith Pierre and he’ s the Head of Innovation! Or rather, Innovation is just a much more whimsical way of saying marketing. Yes indeed, they’re the one that pitch the toys, make them, and ESPECIALLY market them. Leith, being the self-proclaimed “face of the company”, goes on as many talk shows, news programs, commercials and magazines as he possibly could to promote the park! Who could ever say no to that face? But despite his overinflated pride, he’s apparently quite easily frightened! Plenty of employees (and even toys!) hid behind doors just to scare him. This got so bad that Leith had to place a company-wide ban saying that it was hereby “illegal” to stand behind the doors. Yeah, that’s one way to make people respect you.

Dr. Harley Sawyer: Before becoming the Head of Research, Dr. Harley Sawyer was in Playtime CO’s special “Health Care” unit. While he was there, he was there to provide Playtime Co. with some on-site medical services, anyone could get hurt at Playtime Park and while Playtime Co spends countless time on safety precautions, accidents can still happen! While the factory workers were especially grateful for an on-site medical professional, they were a bit surprised at seeing him here, as Dr. Sawyer kind just “showed up” unexpectedly. But now, as the Head of Research, Harley’s job is to test the quality of each of Playtime Co’s toys, such as their: safety, fun factor, durability, and overall quality! He’s not seen as much at Playtime Park as he was before, but perhaps that was for the better. There were some nasty rumors floating around about him.

“I heard that he used to be a surgeon who lost his medical license!!” or the “I heard that he’s conducting mad science experiments for Playtime Co! With trees! Or was it lemons… lemon trees?” Or even the “I heard that he doesn’t even take most insurance and is just trying to steal our money!!” But these are all just baseless rumors so pay no attention to them!!!

[n0cturnalflesh]

Dr.Zayne's Guide to Treating a Hunter

Synopsis: Greyson asks for advice on how to deal with his hunter crush. Zayne gives him a very thorough lesson, with you as the test subject obviously.

Tags: Smut, established relationship, threesome, F/M/M, dom!Zayne, sub!Greyson, p in v, oral, warming, worshipping, roleplay, grinding, Greyson goes into subspace? idk it just came to me as i was writing WC: 6.1k

a/n: That took wayyy longer than it shouldve, I say for the third time as i publish my third fic. Thanks to yall who helped with deciding Greyson's crush! Disclaimer, I am nowhere near being in the medical field!!

————————————————————————

The hardwood door is cold beneath your knuckles, a subtle indicator of whom this office belongs to. Holding your breath, you wait for a reply.

“Yes? Come in.” Zayne’s voice draws from within. He’s not expecting you; a week-long mission ending a few days early thanks to your efforts, and not even a single bruise to show for it. With the extra time off given by Captain Jenna as a reward, what better to do with your time than to surprise your favourite doctor? 

Creaking the door open slowly, you push it closed with your heel and spin in a circle, holding the small box of macarons out front as an offering. 

“Doctor Zayne!” you hum in a sing-song voice, “Your favourite hunter is back! Did you miss me?”

His eyes widen at your voice, hand slowing from the rigorous notes being scribbled as he looks up from his desk. “You’re back early. Are you alright? Why wasn’t I notified about your mission ending early?”. Caution laces his tone, unable to get excited at your sudden return until he knows you’re safe.

“Of course!” You chirp, pointing a finger gun out the window as you pretend to aim at a tree outside,  “When am I ever not alright? I’m a professional.” He gives you an unamused look. “Anyway, I convinced Jenna to delay my mission report status so I could surprise you. Got dropped off right outside the hospital.”

“Hmm.” Zayne hums, standing from his desk as he takes a step towards you, “Professional misconduct with not just the Hunters Association but also Akso Hospital?”

“Yup! Only cost a week’s worth of lunches for the team on me.”

Zayne stops in front of you, pulling you into a warm hug. “And a box of macarons, apparently.” He gladly takes the offering you present, eying down the flavours you chose.

“Whatever.” You huff. “My reports should be in your inbox any second now, I just got them delayed long enough to surprise you. Mission ended early due to uncovered intel. Didn’t even get a scrape!”

Zayne raises an eyebrow at your words, pausing halfway into biting a macaron. “Shocking. Are you sure about that? How do I know you haven’t been replaced by a wanderer? I’ve witnessed you get injured stepping out of a car.”

“Uncalled for!” you pout before a mischievous idea pops into your head. “But, if you’d like to do a full body inspection, I have no objections, doc-tor.”

Popping your hips, you lock your hands behind your back and tilt your head to look up at the surgeon, challenging him. His eyes linger on your body as he takes you in before settling on your face. 

“I guess a thorough inspection is in order for such a… wreckless patient.” He leans forward and pushes you back slowly. “If you’ll have a seat, we can begin.”

Unable to hold back your smirk, his hands guide you around his desk until you're sitting on the ledge in front of his chair. Taking a knee in each hand, the cold of his fingertips lingers as he drags them along your thighs before spreading them to stand between.

Fingers gripping the hem of your hunters’ skirt, he leans down to whisper in your ear. “This new uniform seems… breathable. I didn’t realize skirts were efficient for fighting in.” He presses a kiss to your neck, breath hot against your ear.

“It’s for undercover missions.” He takes a small bite at your earlobe, “Not,” you gasp, “not the standard uniform.” With shuddering breaths, Zayne’s cool hands slide up your waist, tracing each curve and arch of your body until they rest, gently cupping your face. Pulling back, he leans his forehead against yours. 

“I missed you, my love. I’m glad you’re safe.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I missed you too.”

He slowly begins to devour you, lips pulling at your own as he tries to consume every inch of you like a starved man. Grabbing at his tie, you pull it from within his grey vest and yank him closer to you. The firmness of his body begins to melt against your own, hips moulding in ebb and flow as he grinds against you in waves.

“Zayne.” He kisses you. “Should I,” Again. “Should I lock the door?”

Pushing his lips heavy against yours one last time, he pulls away with a rugged breath. “No, I’m expecting Dr. Greyson shortly. Any minute. We won’t have time.” His words come with a wince, as if it pains him to decline the offer.

 You gaze up into his eyes, a shared longing for desperation pleading silently for each other. Zayne takes a step back, eyes closing with focus as he visibly wills himself to calm down. As he sits down in his chair, you can’t help but notice the fat tent in his pants. 

Sighing under your breath, you hop off Zayne’s desk. “Well, I need to sign off on a few final mission reports. It shouldn't take long. Would I be able to finish them here with you, and then we can grab food once you’ve finished your work? Unless your matters with Greyson are confidential, then I can just…”

“No, you’re welcome to work with me, please. He was requesting some advice, although on what, I’m not sure. At most, likely something related to his current medical research.”

“Yay!” You bounce, grabbing your laptop from your standard hunter bag and propping it next to his on the desk. “Watcha working on?”

“I’m preparing presentation material for a speech I’m giving later next month to our new resident doctors. I’ve already caught up on my post-operative documentation and patient progress monitoring for the day.”  

“Mmm, I love it when you talk all medical. So sexy.” You wink. A small smile flashes across his face, ears flushing a light red. “Glad it’s nothing too pressing then. Mind if you scooch a bit so I can sit down?”

Zayne gives you a slightly puzzled look, his eyes flickering to the empty chair beside you, one that he definitely does not need to move over for you to access, but still abides by your wishes. With a comforting confidence, you lean over and sit on his lap, skirt bunching up your thighs as you do. A small gasp comes from behind you, but Zayne remains quiet other than that.

“Darling,” he whispers, “Dr. Greyson?”

“Hmm? It’ll be fine. I’m just trying to get some work done. That extra chair of yours hurts my back, this is much more comfortable.” You reply, eyes not moving from your laptop. “Besides, this is hardly compromising. Greyson knows how much we miss each other after long missions.”

Zayne wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder. The silence tells you he disagrees, but his tight grip around you says he doesn’t care enough to fight back. And so you begin your work.

Ten minutes in, your report is almost halfway done. Zayne has not touched his work. His arms loosen and tighten every few minutes around your waist as he watches your type. 

“My love,” he breathes, “can you please stop bouncing your foot.”

The movement is brought to your attention, and you slow it to a stop, unaware that you were even doing so in the first place. “Oops, sorry.” You smile, “Didn’t mean to distract, doc.” 

He stiffens at the nickname, fingers digging into your sides as he steadies you against him. It’s then that you feel the newly hardened bulge beneath you. 

“I’m sure you did, actually .” He pulls your back flush against his chest. “You know your effect on me. I can’t keep my composure with you like this.” As Zayne grinds you down onto his lap, your back arches into him. “Thinking I have the strength to withhold from your teasing.” He places a kiss on your neck. “You break down all of me.”

Hands groping at your body, you rock with him as he bucks lightly against you. “ Zayne .” you moan.

He groans into your neck, wanton and dripping with lust, “I need you. Sit on it, please darling.”

Blinded by desperation, you nod and push his hands up your skirt. His finger prods at your sopping panties, pushing them to the side to smear your slick around. 

“You’re already so wet. I barely need to stretch you out.” He gasps, fingers pushing into your clenching cunt as he scissors you open wide. “Pardon my rushing, a true medical professional should know not to rush these things.”

“ Mmph , well,” you pant, “my boyfriend should know how well he fits in me and put it in before it's too late.”

He withdraws his fingers in an instant, nodding to himself as he undoes the zipper of his pants. The warm weight of his cock springs out and hits your lower back. Pausing your movements, he lifts you with ease to hover you above him before slowly sliding you down onto his full length. The pressure is immediately dizzying, feeling his tip push deeper in as your body stretches to take him. 

“Zayne!” you cry out.

“I know, darling.” He whispers from behind, placing gentle kisses on the nape of your neck until you're fully sitting on him, ass flush against his pelvis. “Even if we don’t have time to finish, to be in you is a gift in itself.”

Zayne rubs at your hips, shifting his hands until they rest on your lower belly, holding you where you hold him within you. “You drive me to madness in the best way possible, I can’t control myself around you. I need you, always and forever.”

“And you have me.”

Like your words are his kryptonite, he leans his forehead against your shoulder, panting at the feeling of your warm, gummy insides squeezing him. 

The sudden turn of the doorknob disturbs the moment, a new voice entering the room.

“Hey, Dr.Zayne, thanks for agreeing to help! It’s nothing serious, more of a… personal matter you could say.” 

Greyson enters the office, head turned towards the door as he closes it behind him. He hasn’t seen you yet, nor does he notice the brief scramble at the desk as Zayne hurriedly pulls and smooths out the bottom of your skirt. Still nestled within you, it looks nothing more than you sitting on his lap to do work.

“Oh! Miss Hunter!” Greyson’s ears flush. “I didn’t realize you were back from your mission. I’m glad to see you made it back safe and early. And to see you lovebirds are happy together.”

“Yep,” you muster up, voice shaky from nervousness. “I’m sorry to disturb you, I was just working on some reports. I can… leave if you need.”

Zayne squeezes your thighs beneath the desk tightly, a precautionary questioning at how you would even remove yourself from the situation.

“Oh! Actually, this might be a matter you can help me with too.” Greyson replies, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. “If you can promise to keep a secret.”

You nod along shakily, too distracted by the weight of Zayne’s cock nestled deep within you. Were you not being split open, your brain would absolutely clock into whatever secrets Greyson is about to spill. 

“Of course!” Your voice comes out nervously high-pitched. Zayne’s hands begin to rub gently against your thighs at the hem of your skirt, hidden from sight beneath his desk. From within you, his cock twitches against your walls. He’s enjoying this.

“Yes,” Zayne answers from behind you, “if this is regarding what I think it is, she would absolutely be able to provide some insight on the matter.” His tone is calm, practiced, but just a little bit deeper than normal, hiding the carnal desire beneath it. He looks over your shoulder to Greyson, a smile on his lips as he nods in encouragement.

Greyson’s blush spreads from his ears to his cheeks as he begins to stutter over his words, clearly nervous to voice his thoughts. “Well, hunters are such a highly regarded profession.”

As he talks on, Zayne raises his hand higher, slowly up your thigh with such a stillness that could only be done by a surgeon's hands.

“And obviously hunters should be treated with the utmost respect.”

“ Mmhmm .” You nod, head spinning as Zayne slowly gets closer to your heat.

“Dr.Zayne would clearly know from experience.”

Maintaining eye contact with the cardiac surgeon’s assistant begins to be a struggle as Zayne uses the slick from where you two meet to rub at your clit gently.

“So I wanna make sure I do it right.”

You’re entirely gone, staring right through poor Dr.Greyson as he talks. Zayne’s fingers slide from your clit, circling around the base of his cock that kiss your lower lips.

“I just don’t know how to confess. I want to make sure I can show I’d be a good boyfriend for a hunter, that I could treat her right.”

“Wait, what?” You pause, suddenly tuned in to his mild confession. “You have a crush on a hunter?” Leaning forward to lean on Zayne’s desk, inadvertently sliding his cock a few inches out as you do. His hands retract at your movement, resting on the armrests of his chair.

Greyson looks away and out the window in embarrassment at the idea being laid out so bluntly. “Yes.” 

“Oh my-” You gasp, bouncing slightly in excitement before cutting yourself off at the feeling of Zayne’s dick pushing up into you as you move. Behind you, he lets out a desperate gasp, knuckles turning white as he grips tightly at his armrests.

Greyson, oblivious to the incident, continues to stare out the window, deep in thought. “I’m not gonna name names, yet , at least.”

Before you can reply, Zayne wraps his arms around your waist and yanks you back down fully onto his length. The cry of pleasure escapes your lips before you can stop it, face reddening in embarrassment and lust as he fills you entirely again. 

“Miss?” Greyson turns suddenly at your outcry. “Are you alright?” He takes a few steps towards the desk, Zayne tightening and tensing his hold on you as he does. The pleasure is blinding, intensified by the absolute control Zayne exerts over the situation- you’re a goner.

 The room is silent as Greyson leans toward you, examining your features. His eyes rake over your body, slowing as he reaches your once again bunched-up skirt in Zayne’s hands by his pelvis. By the way that his blush deepens, he’s figured out exactly what’s going on.

If the room was silent before, it must be lost in the deepspace tunnel now with how quiet and still it is. Zayne’s laboured breath is hot and heavy against the back of your neck, while Greyson’s chest rises rapidly in front of you. With a beet-red blush, his eyes dart between you and Zayne. Disbelief flashes across his face through his furrowed eyebrows, embarrassment visible in his quivering lip. 

But there’s something else, too. Something in his eyes, the way he maintains strong eye contact between both you and Zayne, in the way he doesn’t back away but, if anything, leans a bit closer with curiosity. 

And in the way his pants begin to tighten around his front. 

The situation has you clenching tighter around Zayne, pushing back slightly into his hips. The way he holds you, claims you , in front of his colleague like you’re his prized possession has you wanting more of this side to him. He must feel the way you clamp down on him as he returns in kind by pushing up against your hips just enough for his tip to kiss your cervix. A silent validation through this rocky situation.

“Dr. Greyson,” Zayne huffs, voice rich with dominance and authority, “why don’t you lock the door? As my assistant, we can give you a thorough explanation on how to properly treat a hunter.”

Greyson looks behind you, maintaining eye contact with Zayne for a few seconds before scrambling to lock the door. He returns to the desk, standing about 5 feet in front of you. With tense shoulders, he looks to Zayne for further instructions, his undone lab coat doing nothing to hide his clothed erection. 

“You can start with a prescreening review. What do you think a hunter should want in a partner? I will leave the expert to judge your answers.” As Zayne directs his assistant, he kisses the back of your neck and allows his hands to gently caress your hips. Riling you up but not going where you need them most.

“ Ahem , well,” The normally witty surgeon begins, “A hunter should want someone that can respect their independence.”

Zayne nods, hands sliding up your shirt. You arch your back, leaning into his touch. 

“Someone that can treat them well and take care of them after a long day.”

He slides his hands over your clothed breasts, not quite squeezing them but still gently fondling them. “Pay attention, darling,” he whispers in your ear, “you are the subject matter expert.”

As a whirl of pleasure and electricity surges through your nerves, you force your mind to focus back on the young man in front of you. Through foggy eyes, you rake your vision up to make eye contact with him. 

“Someone that, fuck , someone that can be patient and understand the risks of their job.” He whispers, shifting from foot to foot as his hands fidget in his pockets.

A gentle nudge from behind reminds you that he’s awaiting your response. “ Yes ,” you gasp through deep breaths, “mmhmm. And. Need someone to,” you sigh as Zayne gropes you lightly, “someone to keep them grounded, make them feel like a person, reassure them, please them .”

The subtle touches mixed with Greyson’s eye contact are becoming too much as you begin to grind your hips back on Zayne. Squeezing your legs down around his, if you lean just a bit, you can catch your clit on the hilt of his jeans. It’s not nearly enough, the room is spinning, head foggy with pleasure. Has Greyson always looked so submissive?

“Very good. I think you have an appropriate understanding of the matter.” Zayne groans, his hands stopping their previous ministrations. He holds you still on his lap, slowing your grinding. “Lesson two: bedside training. In line with Akso Hospital’s Office of Faculty Development, what are the three stages of effective bedside teaching?” 

Astra have mercy on your cunt because as Zayne speaks to Greyson, he begins to show the side of him you don’t often get to witness. His voice deepens and hardens- amongst other parts of him. Looking up over your shoulder, you can see the assertive stare he gives his assistant. Despite his professionalism, he still manages to slowly unbutton your shirt, spreading it slowly to reveal your bra.

Greyson coughs to himself, hand grasping at his belt before smoothing over his erection, pushing it down through his pants as he chases some relief. “Preparation, teaching, evaluation!” He all but spits out like the words will grant him some kind of prize.

“Good. Now I want you to get on your knees, Dr. Greyson.”

Greyson does exactly as he’s told, clambering onto the ground as he knees before the desk. Zayne slowly wheels his chair back until it hits the back wall. From this position, your entire body is on display for Greyson to watch, from the way your thighs rest on Zayne’s to the dampened stain on his pants where your bodies meet. 

“Come closer.” Zayne beckons. Greyson crawls on all fours towards you, under the desk until he’s sitting pathetically on his knees before you. He looks up at you with hazy eyes filled with curiosity and lust.

Before you can feel any form of shame, Zayne presses a kiss to the back of your neck. “We will begin by reviewing patient information. Greyson?”

“Uh,” He stammers, eyes lifting from you to Zayne. “Female patient, returning from deepspace hunter mission with a history of Protocore Syndrome. Presenting for a post-mission evaluation and follow-up care.”

“Diagnosis?”

Greyson shifts on his knees, confused and distracted by the sight in front of him.

“Sexual arousal.” Zayne answers for him, raking his hand beneath your skirt to gather your wetness between his fingers. “Explain what this diagnosis entails.”

With heavy eyes, Greyson speaks without taking his eyes off Zayne’s hands at your core. “Female tumescence, increased heart rate, flushing of the skin and elevated blood pressure. Heightened sensitivity in erogenous zones and increased desire are expected.” 

“Treatment plan?” 

“Orgasm.” 

As Greyson gives his answer, Zayne begins to curl your skirt up higher. The coolness of the office air hits your upper thighs, cooling down your heated body. “Do I have consent from the patient to involve medical teaching in your examination today?”

Without skipping a beat, you nod your head. “Yes! Please!” You whimper, desperate to end the teasing.

“Excellent.” Zayne pushes his fingers against your clit, reigniting the coil of pleasure within you. With a jerk, your hips begin to move on their own as he massages the bundle of nerves. Arching your back to rest your head against his shoulder, he uses his free hand to spread your legs and hook your ankles around his calves, displaying you for Greyson to see. 

“A hunter’s mission is always a serious matter. Whether it is a direct assault or recon mission, it’s important that you pay the utmost attention to their bodily needs. Especially after a long mission away from home.” Zayne turns his head to press a kiss to your cheek, voice softening from his stern, medical tone. “Where do you need me, my love?”

“Everywhere, fuck , touch me please, faster .” Your whole body twitches with desire, hips bucking forward as you hump his cock. From the ground, Greyson can see how Zayne plays with your clit, how he runs his fingers down to where his length enters you and back to your clit. Zayne’s free hand leaves your thighs and moves to unclip your bra with ease, helping to slide it off your body. 

Bouncing against him lightly, Zayne begins to match your hips with gentle thrusts, not enough to pound you but enough to shake your whole body. He presses his lips against your neck, biting down as he gathers your breasts in his hand and squeezes.

Lost to pleasure, a quiet whimper pulls you back to Zayne’s office. Greyson kneels beneath you, having crawled closer, looking like a mess. His hair is askew, strands sticking out from their normal styled positioning as a result of him desperately running his fingers through it. His shirt lays untucked from his pants, a few buttons undone, while his glasses are smudged with fog and sweat. And yet, his pants remain done up, ever the obedient assistant to Zayne.

The whimpering continues and it's not until you really focus that you realize he’s begging, over and over. “Please, please , Dr. Zayne, please may I have your permission to touch something, anything .” Greyson’s cheeks are impossibly flushed, his whole body entranced by you and Zayne, like he’s floating through a hypnotic trance, ready to do whatever Zayne asks of him. 

“ Mmmm ,” Zayne growls, releasing your body to once again wrap his arms around your waist. As he begins to focus on thrusting into you, he groans out. “I think we can,” he gasps, “begin with procedural training.”

 Zayne taps lightly on your inner thigh, enticing the other doctor to come closer. With his face between your legs, Greyson’s heavy breaths tickle your soaked panties. He looks up obediently, chest heaving up and down desperately as he awaits the next order. 

“I want you to walk me through the treatment. Outline the key steps of this diagnosis and procedure, Dr. Greyson.”

With laboured breaths, Greyson’s entire body heaves as he makes eye contact with your filled cunt. “R-resolve female tumescence and sexual arousal through, fuck , physical stimulation of the clitoris and nipples, mmmph , and internal stimulation with penile penetration.” He bucks his hips into the air, nearly losing his balance as he tries to catch himself from touching you.

“Keep going.” Zayne holds you spread for Greyson to see.

“ Mmmmm , the p-parasympathetic nervous system via the pelvic nerve, plays a key role in initiating arousal, w-while the autonomic nervous system coordinates the physiological responses involved.” He pants, brain short-circuiting between the medical knowledge engraved into his mind versus the image of you spread and filled that he’s trying to burn into his memory. 

“W-with the clitoral corpus cavernosum filling with blood due to vasodilation, leading to tumescence. Increased blood flow causes the labia minora to swell and enhances vaginal lubrication.”

“And can you point out where on the patient you can find this lubrication?”

“F-fuck. On your fingers, on her thighs, on your cock.” He manages to choke out.

“Tsk. I don’t recall ‘cock’ being a medical term.”

“On your penis .”

“Good. It’s important to maintain professionalism with your patients. Now, how do I treat her?”

“Stimulation to the pudendal, pelvic, and hypogastric nerve. Rhythmic penetration, manual stimulation of the clitoral glands, alongside sexual verbal stimulation seems to be the b-best course of action for this patient.” 

“I think we’re ready to begin hands-on training, Dr. Greyson.” 

Zayne taps your clit lightly with his finger, before sliding his hands up to caress your breasts. Greyson looks up at the both of you wantonly, crawling closer until he’s a blink away from your cunt. 

There’s a moment of pause, not necessarily hesitation but rather expectancy. Zayne’s face hovers behind your head as he stares down to watch his assistant wait. The stillness is torture as his cock resides within you, clit pulsing with every beat of your heart. He keeps your ankles hooked around his calves, holding you open for Greyson. The soft squelching of your slick echoes out as you shift impatiently in Zayne’s lap.

“Don’t keep the patient waiting, doctor.” Zayne speaks, reaching his hand out and grabbing Greyson by the hair, shoving his face into your pussy. The immediate pleasure is like the light at the end of a never-ending tunnel; your whole body igniting with heat as Greyson laps your clit. 

It’s sloppy, loud even, as his nose pushes against you, sinking into your drenched panties that’ve been impatiently shoved to the side. Zayne’s hand returns to holding your waist as he begins to grind you onto his lap. With every thrust back, his cock teases your silken heat, with every hump forward, Greyson laps on your clit with a heavy tongue. 

The assistant doctor picks up on the rhythm, his whole body rocking back and forth to chase your clit as you bounce lightly on Zayne’s lap. “ Mmmm .” He moans, voice sending ripples of pleasure to your sharp point, “ More, more, more .” He chants like a desperate man. A low laugh-turned moan escapes from behind you. Tilting your head, you see Zayne’s flushed cheeks beside you. 

His half-lidded eyes turn to look at you, chest heaving behind your back with laboured breaths. “ My love ,” he pants. Digging his fingers into your bouncing breasts, he kisses behind your ear and begins to start thrusting up into you. 

“Fuck” you hear from between your legs, looking down just in time to see Greyson pull back. His face is dripping with sweat and your wetness, hair ruffled and messy from his ministrations. With wet hands, he pulls his glasses off and tosses them on the ground beside you. He pauses for a moment, leaning back on his hands as he watches Zayne fuck into you.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, his wrinkled, half-buttoned shirt tightening as he pants. His leaned-back position only accentuates his neglected boner. Zayne grabs your chin, arm crossing in front of your bare chest as he presses your cheek to his and forces your gaze down onto his assistant. 

“I think our doctor-in-training could use some help from the expert again. Care to show him how a hunter can also care for their partner, darling?”

“ Mmhm .” You whimper out. Between bouncing thrusts, you unhook your leg from Zayne’s and place it on the inner side of his thigh. On an inviting angle, you beckon Greyson forward again. He crawls towards you on all fours until he straddles your leg, chin resting on your knee. Greyson looks up at you with clouded eyes, pouting and yearning for any kind of touch. With a nudge from a particularly harsh thrust behind you, you step down on his boner.

“ Ahh , fuck!” he crumbles forward, panting cheek resting against your thigh. “Mmm, sorry-” Before you can finish your apology, Greyson leans heavier into you, thrusting his bulge against your leg. As he humps you, his hands cradle your hips with reverence. He inches his face forward until it’s once again smushed against your crotch. With every thrust, he humps his erection onto you, chasing release as he licks at your clit. Zayne’s heavy balls squish against Greyson’s face, but neither seems to care.

Reaching out, you burrow your hands into them, grabbing each by the hair and pulling them closer. “ Oh my god! Z- ” You throw your head back, the combination of Zayne’s cock hitting your g-spot and Greyson’s tongue at your clit drawing you closer to the release you’ve been seeking since you first sat on Zayne’s lap. 

“Yes, my love!” Zayne grunts out, “Say my name!”

“Zayne!” 

“ Fuck , good girl.” He gasps, hips stuttering and losing their pace for a moment. Kissing the side of your neck, his fingers lower from your chest to your hips, brushing over Greyson’s hands for a moment.

“This,” Zayne thrusts, “is the proper way to treat a hunter. On your knees for them, having been allowed the privilege to treat them. Understand, doctor ?”

Pulling back slightly from your pussy, Greyson keels forward hard, humping your leg like a dog in heat. Pathetic whimpers of agreement and nods of his head escape him as he uses both hands to pull your leg closer against him. A wetness down your calf exposes his drooling mouth. He closes his eyes in bliss, letting out a loud whimper as he leans his entire torso against your leg one last time, holding it firm as his body twitches with pleasure.

“Eyes on me, darling.” Zayne coerces you, “you’re my hunter.” With that, Zayne fucks into you faster and harder than before. His hands rope down your body and begin rubbing at your clit as he pulls you to kiss him. 

“Mmhm, ‘m your hunter.” You moan back between sloppy kisses. His tongue licks at your lips, teasing with little bites. True to his title as a surgeon, his delicate fingers expertly tease and please your pussy, sparking tingles within you as you begin to clench tighten around him. 

“ Mmph , cum for me!” He chants in your ear, rocking into you with desperation. It finally becomes too much, surges of white shooting throughout your body as you tighten and twist and clamp down on him. A sharp coolness chases your skin as he holds you tight against him, whispers of his evol losing control. It’s the only sensation that reaches you beyond the explosion of pleasure that courses through you. Like an electrical charge, it travels through you and unwinds within him.

“ Ah , you take me so good. Perfect,” He pants, hips picking up the pace. The pressure of your orgasm mixed with his insistent thrusting is too much, making you spaz lightly in his arms, whimpering pleas for a break.

 “Was made for you. ‘m sorry, almost there. You can hold on, right good girl?” He begs, resting his forehead against your shoulder, damp hair smudging across your skin. He drills into you a few more times feverishly, and finally with a deep groan, he bursts within you- floods of his cum filling your twitching walls.

Through clouded thoughts and fuzzy vision, it feels like you’re floating above your body. The release of tension has tingles spreading throughout your limbs. You sit, sweaty and chilled on his lap, stuffed to the brim and unable to tell whether it's been minutes or hours. 

Finally, as your mind and body reconnect with themselves, sharp tinges of coolness pierce your skin. Through squinting eyes, you look down to see Zayne’s hands frosted to your hips. Weakly, you extend your fingers and interlock them over his. Evol power pushes through you weakly as you resonate with him, removing the light sheet of ice from his shivering and steaming body. 

As the ringing of pleasure in your ears dies down, it's replaced by a slow panting. Very slowly, your senses come back to you: the blinding LEDs shining from above, the smell of sweat and cologne surrounding you, the moist mop of hair resting against your shoulder, and the limp weight resting on your thigh. 

Greyson! Having nearly forgotten about Zayne’s assistant, you slowly shift your eyes down to peek at him. Warm flushes of embarrassment heat up your body as he still rests against your nearly naked body, but his eyes are still closed as he rests. 

Zayne must notice your gaze on the other man as you peer down. Subtly, he shifts his leg, nudging Greyson back into a kneeling position at your feet. From this angle, it’s not hard to miss the wet patch on his pants right over where his boner was. Head bowed down, eyes still closed, and with a vibrant rosy blush covering from his ears to his neck, he looks utterly pitiful and submissive.

“Zayne!” You whisper-yell, “You didn’t have to push him.”

“Training's over.” He pants back, “Students are no longer involved in this case; care will continue under Dr. Zayne only.”

Before you can reply, he’s pulling you in for a hug, pressing himself tightly against you’re back. “You are mine, as I am yours. One and only.”

Reaching back to rub his hair, you smile. “Always and forever. I love you.”

“And I, you.”

Getting dressed is easier than expected. Greyson remains partially aware of his surroundings but still not entirely present, allowing you to fix your attire quickly while Zayne picks him up to rest on the couch in his office. By the time he wakes up, you and Zayne are enjoying takeout at the desk. 

“Welcome back, Dr.Greyson.” Zayne addresses him without looking up from his food as his assistant rises to a seated position. The poor man is redder than an apple as he notices the wipes and damp towel left for him to clean up, along with a larger lab coat to better cover himself.

“Ahem,” he clears his throat, clearly unsure of what to make of the situation.

“You do not have to make this any more uncomfortable than it has to be. You asked for advice, and I believe we provided it, no?” Zayne asks, pausing from taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Right!” Greyson stammers out, voice cracking slightly as his face flushes even deeper.

“You are making it more uncomfortable.”

Laughing inwardly to yourself, you speak up to ease the tension. “Hey, it’s ok. We had a good time, did you?” He nods. “Good. Don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone.” With a wink, you use a finger to draw a line across your lips, twisting and locking away the key. “I’m sure you’ll impress whatever hunter you have the hots for, especially now that you know what it's like to…properly handle one.”

Your casual approach to the situation seems to have calmed him down, as he nods in agreement, seeming to have a better grasp of the situation. 

“Thank you, Doctor Zayne. And Miss Hunter! For the opportunity. I won’t forget it.” Despite the slight shakiness in his voice, his tone is much more relaxed. With that, he picks up the supplies left for him and begins to head towards the door. 

“Wait!” You call out as his hand reaches for the knob, “You never told me who you’re crush was!”

“Nope!” 

“I could help set you up!”

His ears flush impossibly red once more as he continues to reach for the door. With haste steps, he nearly rushes directly into Yvonne.

“Dr.Greyson, what’s got you so flush?” Her voice rings out from the hall, popping her head in to see you and Zayne eating together. “Oh my gosh! No way you finally told them about Tara!”

—--

“I have to say, I’m shocked at how… submissive Greyson was. He totally got into some sub-space or something, y’know?”

Zayne pauses, staring at his sandwich for a moment before lifting his gaze to you “I’m not. After all,” he deadpans, “he is my sub -ordinate.”

[icanseethefuture333]

PAC: Your most abundant career 🌳🍃💸

A fabulous collab with @intuitively-her 💳💅

“Fallin' from my money tree, and it grow throughout the months”

Pile 1:

Shufflemancy -

Looking For You by Kirk Franklin

MY POWER by Beyoncé

Counting Stars by OneRepublic

Queen of Wands, The Sun, The Fool, Death/Rebirth, Monk/Nun, & Teacher

In order to attract the most financial abundance in your career, you must use the wisdom you have gained and share it with others. I am seeing for some of you that you are religious or belong to a certain faith. You could work as a guidance counselor or doing charity for the church/mosque/temple, etc. While others are spiritual and/or believe in manifestation. You could be a someone who overall has a positive outlook on life and wish to share your joy and prosperity with others. You could believe that when you are rich in spirit, you are rich in life. If you have patience and like to interact with other people, you could work as a teacher for children or for young adults. You instill a great sense of confidence in others! People value your kindness and your optimistic demeanor. You will find the most fulfillment in help turning other people’s life around and overcoming challenges. Helping the less fortunate and those who lack equal access to economic opportunities will overall transform the path of your career.

Jobs: Teacher, professor, guidance counselor, success coach, non-profit organizer, dance instructor, music teacher, training & development specialist, officiant, pastor, mortician, funeral director, & youth group leader

Pile 2:

Shufflemancy -

Courtside by DVSN ft. Jessie Reyez

Just Do It by Swoosh God

Give Her Some Money by Maliibu Miitch

Two of Pentacles (Change), Nine of Wands (Strength), Six of Wands (Victory), Eight of Wands (Swiftness), Healer, & Athlete

Your most abundant career will have you booked and busy! I’m seeing that you guys should work in sports, if being an athlete per say isn’t your thing, then I see getting a job that’s along those lines will provide you with the most success. You could be fit and in shape, so being a personal trainer as well would help increase your income. I’m seeing you guys living a comfortable, plush life. You can take flights or even jets to fly in for work, you will do a lot of traveling for your job. If you wish to settle down and have a family, then this pile is not for you. This pile is for my single rich aunties/uncles who don’t wish to have kids. For some of you, I see you working in sports medicine or work in health care that pertains to injuries such physical therapy or rehabilitation. I also see this as working as a therapist, psychologist, or counselor. You help people regain strength and courage in the endeavor of pursing their goals. You are also someone who works fast and is always on time. You enjoy a competitive or diverse environment that can keep you on your toes. Stagnancy slows you down and practical jobs are not for you, you require something that offers something different each time and can also stimulate your mind.

Jobs: Sports Medicine, physical therapist, counselor, doctor, surgeon, nurse, professional athlete, journalist, assistant coach, personal trainer, fitness influencer, transitional manager, & team psychologist

Pile 3:

Shufflemancy -

PERSIAN RUGS by PARTYNEXTDOOR

Super Rich Kids by Frank Ocean

Diamond Days by Cruel Youth

The Hierophant, Seven of Cups (Debauch), Four of Cups (Luxury), The High Priestess, Gossip, & Artist

You have a refined taste and keen eye for details. Pursuing a career in the fine arts or design would overall benefit your career goals. You have the ability to make people engage with their senses by creating art is visually intriguing. You make people gossip or talk about your work for it is mesmerizing. Some of you are a considered a prodigy and have a lot of potential if your skills have not been developed yet. You could also be comfortable with nudity or your pieces have included nude art. You are also intuitive to others desires and can bring people’s dreams into fruition. You could often hear “*gasp* How did you know my favorite flower was ___?!” or something along those lines. Since you are so creative and multitalented, you would attract the most financial abundance as a freelancer. Acquire a workshop or establishing an office in your home can help you get into a space where you are able to have amazing results. Avoid working at jobs that lack flexible hours and be careful of people who do not wish to pay you for your service.

Jobs: Freelance artist, photographer, interior designer, home renovator, painter, magazine editor, credits creator, graphic designer, art instructor, podcaster, jeweler, fashion designer, chef, & food blogger

Pile 4:

Shufflemancy -

Get MuNNY by Erykah Badu

Ribbon by Mariah Carey

Money, power, & glory by Lana Del Rey

Ten of Wands (Satiety), The Lovers, Nine of Cups (Happiness), Hedonist, & Prostitute

This is a complex reading so I ask you to bear with me lol. Some of you could be a sex worker or previously had a former career involving those aspects, it’s giving Sophie Rain honestly. You may look young for your age and this appeals to certain demographics… This is like when girls on TikTok showed when they tried different hairstyles at work when waiting and they got tipped or paid more money when wearing pigtails or braids. You may have noticed this yourself when trying to progress in your career. In order to attract the most financial abundance, you have to give into your alluring qualities, physically and mentally. For example, Dolly Parton’s role in “9 to 5” was significant in showing the power dynamics of women within the workplace and how men take advantage of them so they can gain access to wealth or power. Dolly played as a pretty, blonde, busty secretary who was accused of having an affair with her boss, who was actually sexually harassing her. She got her revenge with two other female employees and ended up taking over the company. Instead of feeding into misogyny or pedophilic beauty standards, I would suggest playing the game wisely and asserting your power and fighting for equal rights when approaching working in a male dominated field. Seduce and control but do not sell yourself. You would become a major feminist role model and others would love to hear your story on how you became so successful.

Jobs: marrying into money, house spouse, entrepreneur, ceo, secretary, sales, marketing, sugar baby, exotic dancer, sex work, phone operator, model, bartender, waiter, hospitality service, & DJ

[mwahgo]

OMG HII I REALLY LOVE YOUR WORKS AND SAW YOUR REQS OPEN ❤️❤️

Can I request Kid x Reader, Reader is part of his crew and is dating Kid. But during the events of Sabaody reader gets a little too close to Law making Kid jealous. So he drags reader to the ship and ties her up as punishment

Feel free to ignore if you're not comfortable with it, sorry if I have bad english! Have a good day!

ONLY ME

— Eutass Kid x Fem!Reader (One Piece)

[+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+]

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Kid is dating you, but when a certain surgeon comes around, he gets incredibly jealous.

: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 2.6k words

: ̗̀➛ Content Tags: Soft Kid, teasing, porn with plot, jealousy, possessive Kid, somewhat inaccurate events in Sabaody, misuse of devil fruit, fingering, ripping clothes, nipple biting, degradation, names such as brat and slut, P in V, unprotected sex.

Mwahgo's Notes: TSYM FOR THE REQ!!💗 i hope i did kid justice, I don’t know him as a character that much other than 🙇‍♀️ Also, requests are still open (1 more slot left!)

The Victoria Punk boarded the island of Sabaody Archipelago in search of a professional ship coater to help them cross the Red Line and enter the New World. You observed from the rails as the crew shouted orders to each other as they anchored the ship and pulled down the gangway. Heavy footsteps approached you from behind as you turned to see your boyfriend, Eutass Kid, who smiled smugly as he admired the view of Sabaody.

“What are you smirking about?” You asked.

He chuckled, “I’m just proud that we’re getting close to our goals,” He said.

Your eyes widened at his confidence, watching the shine glimmer in his eyes as you chuckled, “You’re really excited to get to the New World, huh?”

He nodded as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, “That’s right and I’m glad that you’re here to support me,” He grinned down at you.

You smiled, happily as you heard a shout from below, “Kid! Everything’s all settled!” Killer’s voice echoed.

Kid pulled away from the embrace as you both went down the gangway and your boots landed on Sabaody’s soil. You eyes widened in wonder as you stepped around the grassy floor, feeling a slight mushy texture as bubbles erupted from the grass.

“Sabaody is so weird yet amazing..” You muttered, admiring the bright and the bubbly atmosphere of the archipelago.

The Kid pirates walked around the grooves, the gigantic trees gives off an enchanting ambience while the bubbles float to the top. You watched the locals of Sabaody do their daily routine as your gasped in surprise with their transportation—a man rides a bike but the bike doesn’t use wheels, but a big bubble as he pedaled around with his grocery. A woman holding hands with her child as they held a bubble attached on a string—kinda like a balloon but it can carry items. You kept a lingering stare at the small family as you felt a large hand placed on your lower back, snapping out of your curious daze.

You look up to see Kid, a stern look on his face, “Keep walking, I don’t wanna lose you,” He said. You chuckled at his protectiveness as you continue walking until you reached the main city of Sabaody. Shops selling various stuff like outfits, household items and restaurants opened their doors for their customers to enjoy their meal. Some small food stalls opened up their businesses and started selling their products, but one stall caught your eye as you turned to Kid.

“Hey, I’m just gonna go there and buy some takoyaki. Want some?” You asked.

The red haired rolled his eyes, “Do whatever you want,” He grumbled, “Just meet us at the bar,” He ordered.

You pouted at the passive-aggressive tone as you walked off to buy some takoyaki. Kid and some of the other members entered a bar, the customers inside flinched at the sudden intrusion. The bartender shakes in his spot behind the counter as Kid grinned menacingly before finding a large table and plopped on the chair. He waved his hand to the waiter as they approached with caution—scared to angering the pirate, “We’ll just get a few pints, yeah?” He ordered as the waiter walked away quickly.

You, on the other hand, is currently in line for the takoyaki—hands stuffed in your pockets as you waited for your turn in line. A child on his father’s shoulder looked at your curiously, his eyes big and bright as his mouth agape. You gave him a blank stare at first, uninterested at the child but as soon as he started babbling, you gave it a small smile as he responded with a cute coo. He walked away with his dad as you stepped forward to the takoyaki stand. The seller turned around to greet the next customer, but he suddenly flinched at your presence.

“A-A pirate?!” He exclaimed, his voice shaking.

Your eyes widened at his reaction, “Look, just because I’m a pirate doesn’t mean I’ll immediately cause trouble,” You sighed, frustratedly, “Now hurry up and take my damn order,”

The laughter of the Kid Pirate crew members echoed inside the bar as the customers stared at them, warily—the rowdy pirates are trashing the place but they’re mostly scared of Kid, who is considered one of the super rookies. A pirate who has only been sailing for a few months and has already exceeded his bounty of 300 million is one to be terrified by.

The door bursts open as the customers all flinched in fear and surprise as you walked in with your takoyaki in hand, looking around to find a familiar red haired. You spotted Kid with the others as you happily walked over while munching on your takoyaki, “Hey Kid, I’m back!” You called.

He turned to you and grinned, didn’t said anything, just your presence alone suffice him. You were about to sit on the chair next to him, but his arm reached out to your waist and pulled you down on his lap, making you yelp, “Kid?!”

He only smirked smugly, “What? Can’t have my girl sitting prettily on my lap?” He teased as you sighed in response.

Kid passed you a pint of beer and as you finished the takoyaki, you immediately grabbed the pint and chugged down the beer. The other crew members cheered you on as you wiped your face with the back of your hand, “Hey! Can I get another one?” You called to the waiter.

As Kid lets you have your fun (and his as well while you’re sitting on his lap), he spots another familiar pirate in the other corner of the bar. You looked over to see Scratchmen Apoo sitting at the far corner of the bar, staring menacingly at Kid, “That’s Scratchmen Apoo, heard he has a 198 million bounty,” You informed Kid, as you drank your second pint of beer.

The red haired grinned threateningly, and the next thing you know, an explosion erupted from inside the bar as Apoo popped out of the cloud of smoke—already in his battle stance. Kid emerged from the dark smoke as he pulled out his knife from its holster. They were about to have a brawl when your small transponder snail started ringing as you pulled it out from your pocket.

“You better be quick, Kid is about to have a fight right now,” You grumbled while looking after Kid.

“Hey (Y/N), we found the human auction house. Meet us in Groove 1,” In the other side, Heat informed.

Your eyes widened at the information as you quickly turned to Kid, “Kid, enough! Heat called and he said they found the auction house,” You called out.

Kid paused for a moment before he puts his knife back in the holster, “You better be lucky, Scratchmen. But the next time I see you, I’ll go for the kill,” He smirked menacingly before he turned his back and left with you and the crew.

As the residents of Sabaody fled in terror, the ground trembled with an explosion. Killer is joined by Urogue, another great rookie. Killer threw hits against each other while avoiding Urogue's nasty weapon attack. Killer drew his weapons and Urogue prepared another assault as they charged at each other, but they were stopped by another super rookie, X Drake, who had pulled his weapons and was blocking both Killer and Urogue's attacks.

When you and Kid arrived to pick up Killer, they had already backed down, with X Drake standing between him and Urogue while things settled down. Killer dropped his weapons as Kid approached him to alert him about the human auction house, and you looked around at the other super rookies. Urogue never really piqued your interest, but you've heard that X Drake has the Ryu Ryu no mi, which allows him to transform into a dinosaur, which you find fascinating. But another newcomer drew your eye: Trafalgar Law sat on a box, his elbows on his knees, observing the situation.

Law is the Surgeon of Death—a precise and professional doctor of the seas. You heard great miracles that he did and as doctor of the Kid Pirates, you greatly admire his work. His piercing gaze landed on you as you jumped in surprise, never realizing that you’ve been staring at him. You took your opportunity to approach him as he smirked at you, “What does the doctor of the Kid Pirates want from me?”

Your determined look towered above him as he kept his smirk, “As a doctor to another doctor, I wanna talk to you about medical stuff,” You said, “.. I’m not the greatest doctor around, but I want what’s best for my crew, so please..” You explained.

His lazy eyes widened at your confession before chuckling, “Alright then,” He stood up from the box and started talking with you.

As you and Law talked, Kid finished conversing with Killer and went around to call for you, but his eye twitched when he saw you chatting with Law. The subtle closeness, the friendly eye contact, and the way he smirked at you made his veins tighten in displeasure. How dare he just get up and talk to you as if you don't belong to him? Your laughter was the final straw for him, and he marched towards you, grabbing your hand with force before yanking you away from Law.

The sudden force caught you by surprise as you yelped at the tight grip, “K-Kid?! What’s going on?” You exclaimed.

He gritted his teeth in jealousy, “Shut up, we’re going back to the ship..” He ordered, leaving you wondering how you made him so angry. He dragged you back to the Victoria Punk, his tight grip still present as you kept pleading him to let you go or at least explain the situation, why is he acting that way. You try to jog your memory—remembering what kind of act you made him angry but none of it makes sense. He dragged you to his quarters—slamming the door open before throwing you harshly to the plush bed, making you yelp.

You turned to get mad at him but he suddenly used his devil fruit and manipulated metal wires to wrap around your arms and legs. The metal wires spread your legs open as the ones on your arms bounded you on the headboard, “Kid, what the hell is wrong with you?!” You yelled.

A vein popped on his temple as he climbed onto the bed, straddling your lap, “What the hell is wrong with me? You should ask yourself that..” His voiced drop in a menacing tone as you gave him a confused look, “… I saw how you throw yourself at that fucking pathetic doctor,” He scoffed.

You looked at him like he was insane, “’Throwing myself’? Are you fucking nuts??” You asked.

“I would go fucking nuts if my own girlfriend is being a slut to other pirates,” Kid grunted as he started to take off his clothes.

You blushed heavily as Kid stripped himself naked, his hard cock slapping against his abdomen, the veins protruding on his shaft. You felt your pussy getting wet through your panties as his large hands ripped your clothes off, making you gasp in surprise. Your breasts spilled out from your broken bra as he ripped your pants open, exposing your soaked pussy.

Kid grinned menacingly at your aroused body as he leaned down and whispered to your ear, “And I’m gonna make sure you’re gonna go nuts on my cock today,” He sneered.

You whimpered under your breath as he leaned down and started playing with your hardening nipples, his tongue swirled around the bud as his hand traveled down to your pussy. His thick fingers played with your pussy before experimentally inserting them inside, making you moan. He chuckled darkly before his teeth sinks on your nipple, making you gasp sharply. His two fingers pistons inside your pussy as you moaned loudly, legs shaking in the metal wires tied around you. Your wetness coated his fingers as Kid quickens his pace, now his thumb played with your clit, “Look at you, already going crazy on my fingers,” He laughed, watching your face contorted into pleasure.

You felt the tight coil in your stomach and as you were about to cum, he pulled out his fingers, making you whine. That ticked him off as he grabbed your cheeks and stared intently in your eyes, “You don’t get to fucking whine when you’re going around acting like a brat,” He growled.

You wanted to answer back but you didn’t want to piss him off more as he positioned himself between your legs, his cock laid on your sensitive pussy. He spits on his cock before thrusting his hips, smearing your juices on his cock, “Please, Kid… Fuck me,” You begged.

He laughed, “Oh now you’re begging me to fuck you? Damn slut, going around getting attention from other pirates,” He mocked before sliding his cock inside you, making you gasp at his size. He didn’t wait for long as he started a sharp pace—pounding deep in your pussy as you moan loudly. The metal wires around you held onto your limbs tightly, almost bruising your arms and legs as your skins slapping together echoed in the room. Kid grunted in your ear as you moaned along with him, your eyes crossing from the intense pleasure as his cock hits your g-spot.

“F-Fuck, Kid! Oh god, you’re fucking me s-so.. good!” You moaned.

He chuckled darkly, “Yeah, you think that bastard Law can fuck you like this?” He sneered, his hips bumping onto yours, “Huh?! Tell me, who fucks you this good?!” He growled.

You squealed at the intensity, “You, Kid! You fuck me so good!”

He laughed at your answer as his pace quickens, grunting loudly as he could feel his climax coming, “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby… Fuck, gonna cum in this cute pussy,” He grinned.

You felt a pressure building inside as you came on his cock, screaming loudly as Kid groaned against your neck—his cum spilling inside your pussy. You panted heavily as your body slumped down on the plush bed, your body covered in sweat as he plopped down on top of you, almost knocking the wind out your lungs on how heavy he is, “God, fuck… I told you.. I-I’m not throwing myself at Law,” You explained.

Subtly, he rolled his eyes, “Yeah well.. He was annoying to look at with you,” He argued, which made you look at him.

“Kid, were you…” You stifled a laugh, “… Were you jealous?”

He sat up on his hands, gripping the pillow by your head as he angrily looked down at you, “I’M NOT JEALOUS!” He yelled making you laugh more.

You wrapped your arms around him and pulled down for a kiss on his lips. He let out a small yelp before melting into your kiss. You pulled away as you smile up to Kid, “Don’t worry, baby, I won’t leave you for someone else,” You convinced.

“Damn right you aren’t” He huffed, making you giggle, “Now let’s get out of here, before the ship coater finds us,” He smirked as you nodded, getting up from the bed to put your clothes back on.

[valentine-cafe]

hi hi!! may I request for affogato, croissant, churros, key lime pie, and revani?

just them having to deal with a male reader who gets absolutely clingy when they’re tired. like oh hey you got work to do or have to get up? nah there’s just a starfish clinging on to you for dear life. trying to pry them off will result in whines of protest and weaponized puppy eyes. (⁎⁍̴̛ᴗ⁍̴̛⁎)

˖⁺. “ don't go ! ” : 

﹙ various monster boyfriends x male reader ﹚.𖹭

. . . various monster boyfriends x male reader !! 🍒��: 

characters dealing with a male clingy ready

﹙ cws ﹚: none ! | wc : 1.2k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: this is soooo cute 🥺

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

﹙ vespasiano 781. ﹚. . . maybe a few more minutes aren’t too bad. . . !! 🍒 :

“Non puoi aggrapparti per sempre, tesoro, devo alzarmi.” ( You can't hold on forever, honey, I have to get up. ) Your husband grunts quietly, rolling over so that his weight is all put on down on you.

A soft puff of air leaves whining lungs and arms cling tighter around the warm torso they’d been holding onto for the entire night.

“Stay with me. . .” Emerald eyes pan over to pool into the pair below them. While rough but gentle hands squeeze at the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Can’t.” Vespasiano grunts back in response. Looking away to avoid the puppy eyed stare you give him.

Oh you persist, do you not? Like the strong winds by the shorelines of his hometown.

“. . . Alright maybe just a few more minutes then.”

“The whole day!”

“Now you’re stretching it.” He laughs and pulls the covers back over the both of you, his lips against your skin like the leaves of the magnolia trees outside

﹙ jìngyí 209. ﹚. . . takes you to work !! 🍓 :

Your husband just went to put his coat on, readying himself for work. Yet before he knew any of waltzing out of the ornate mahogany door of the herrera manor, black fabric was pulled off of broad shoulders for sneaky little hands to grab onto a red silken shirt.

“Baobei.” He warns you gently and looks back with raised brows, unimpressed at your little attempt of keeping him away from patients.

Yet how can he keep the cold heart of his from beating and going warm when you look up at him with big eyes and a sigh of defeat and sorrow riddled across your handsome features.

“Oh. . . But there are so many doctors, surgeons and nurses at your clinic. . .” You murmur, blinking your eyes a few times to persuade him a little more to stay.

“Can they not wait, gege?” You leave him between a rock and a hard place, don’t you?

He knows very well how addicted you know he is to your clingyness.

Half and half, you win, you lose. He takes you with him to work and settles you with him in his office to help assist him with some of the work. At the promise you get to cuddle, cling and kiss him as much as you want to when the both of you are sitting alone and nobody is inside of the office.

For professionalism’s sake.

﹙ alessio 1311. ﹚. . . drag me onto the stage with you !! 🍒 :

“Mi corazón.” He protests lightly, though love is ever as evident in his voice. Feathery lashes tickle at your cheek when your boyfriend comes down to press kisses down against your jawline and neck, grinning at your little complaints.

“I gotta get on the stage in 30 minutes. . .” You look up at him with despair in your puppy eyed expression. His words make your heart stutter in excitement and sorrow at the same time.

You adore watching him perform his gigs, and you love watching having fun and sing his heart out but. . . It’s only 30 minutes. He could stay with you for 10 or 20 and have 10 to get on.

“But. . . amor,” you attempt, tightening your grasp on his arm, while your brows furrow in dismay. “Can’t you stay here for 10 or 15? Please?”

Oh who is he to deny your request when you need him so badly? He knows you’re not letting go until you’re ready to. So he might as well.

A little chuckle vibrates through his chest and against yours, while a large pair of hands wrap around your waist and pull you closer.

“Alright then, pretty boy. I’ll stay. Just for you.”

﹙ alessio 164. ﹚. . . making soup for the sorcerer grove !! 🍓 :

The smell of the basement full of herbs and rocks fills your senses.

Since you refuse to get off of your husband’s back, clinging onto him like you never have. What other option did the sorcerer god have to simply take you down into the cottage basement and continue his work?

Your puppy eyes tend to do the trick, and there’s no more discussing on the matter after such. You will be coming down there with him.

“What’s that book for?” You ask, tilting your head over his left shoulder.

“Medicinal remedies.”

“For?” His exhausted emerald gaze moves over to your curious eyes, almost answering the question for you before he does verbally.

“My sorcerers.”

You sigh and lean over him, hugging close once more, your face nuzzled into the corner of his neck where you can simply rest for a little as he brews his soup for the sickly in one of the groves.

Some had come into contact with a human that had been sick and were now also affected by it. Though they weren’t supposed to be.

“You’re making soup for your kids.” You tease.

“I shall gladly make some for you, if it makes you so jealous.” He chuckles, receiving a little tap on his elbow from the same clinging hands that immediately wrap around his chest again.

﹙ rasui 9948e. ﹚. . . i shall take you to work then !! 🍒 :

“Habibi!” You call out to him with a frown, your arms remain wrapped around his middle as he practically drags your body with him. Unbothered and making his way to the door step to get his coat.

“Habibi,” he counters, looking down at you with a slight eyebrow raise. “I must go work, you cannot stick to me like magma all day.”

You feel yourself get removed from his middle and lifted up to meet his eyes with your own.

“Oh don’t look at me like that.” He chuckles and tilts his head to the side. Yet your puppy eyed stare remain the same, staring into bright glowing eyes of flame.

“Stay hooome. . .” You beg, arms and legs trying to reach out to hug and cling onto your fire-elemental boyfriend once again.

“I cannot, darling. I have to go.”

“Then take me with.” You whine and press kisses all over his hands and face, giving him the extra special treatment of a few more soft noises and coos for him to let you come with and cling for the entire day if he so insists going to work.

At the end of the day you win, regardless of how many times he denies you that you won. Who takes you with him to work after enough begging, after all?

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

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[pepaldi]

As we chat, the postman rings the bell, delivering packages. Council tree surgeons are working on the road outside. My son needs water, words of comfort, possibly he just wants another good long look at Capaldi. I’ve never interviewed anyone in my own home before and the limitations of the format are becoming apparent. But Capaldi seems to respond well to the setting and its lack of frills. His adult daughter and her family have been visiting, brand new baby in tow. When I apologise for all the noise and interruptions, Capaldi says it’s nothing compared to a newborn.

He and Collins were young parents themselves when his directing career fell apart. Arriving back in London from the disastrous Manhattan trip, “The initial feeling was shock. Then a pragmatic survival instinct kicked in.” Capaldi rejoined the auditioning circuit. “I was a psychiatrist in Midsomer Murders. I was a beekeeper in Poirot – AN Other Actor. Someone else would have turned down these parts first.” Collins, until that point an actor, too, decided to pivot into development and production, a career move that has worked well for her.

*

“This business is full of people who are not the real thing,” he says, “people I perceived to be artists ’cos they had posh accents, but who didn’t have it, they just sounded like they did.” He goes on to tell a tantalising but intentionally vague story about a major star he worked with, someone who revealed themselves through the course of an acting collaboration to be a dud hiding in plain sight. He won’t provide details (“Too easy to figure out. When everyone’s dead I’ll tell you”), but he says the experience changed him professionally, leaving him more aware of his own limitations, but grateful to have a little vinegar and grit in the mix. “There’s a kind of smoothness, a kind of confidence that comes from a good [paid-for] school. That’s what you’re struck by: they seem to know how to move through the world recognising which battle to fight, where to press their attentions. But it can make the acting smooth, which to me is tedious. I like more neurosis. More fear. More trouble, you know?”

*

In the new TV show, Criminal Record, he explores a more mortal kind of ageing, life’s third act, its inevitable professional humblings. Capaldi plays a London DCI in his 60s, coming to the end of a career, already moonlighting as a private security contractor, intimidated by the thrust and purpose of a younger colleague at the Met played by Cush Jumbo. As Jumbo’s character grows in confidence, Capaldi’s shrinks. It is a paradox of experience he can relate to. “I find the older I get, the closer I am to who I was,” he says.

I ask him to explain.

“Like I’m returning to… ‘roots’ is the wrong word. I feel more and more like my mother and father, more and more keenly aware of the values they had.” He provides an interesting example, how he has become all thumbs around the act of tipping in restaurants: “I can be in a complete sweat about that.” He can imagine his parents, both dead now, in a similar muddle. “From the background we come from, you can have a bit of anxiety about coming across as grand. So you have to allay that by making sure you are communicating with everybody, all the time.”

Capaldi shakes his head, chuckling softly. He has finished his coffee. He’s about to put on his big coat, say goodbye to my son, and walk back through Whoville to his home and his family. Before he leaves we return to the subject of actors from privileged backgrounds. He says he feels mean, like he took unfair advantage of them in their absence. “It’s not their fault,” he says. “It’s just that there’s less and less of my lot in the arts.” And this concerns him, he continues, because “people of all backgrounds are sophisticated, are interesting, are equally prone to tragedy and joy. Any art that articulates that is a comfort. Art is the ultimate expression of you are not alone, wherever you are, whatever situation you are in. Art is about reaching out. So I think it’s wrong to allow one strata of society to have the most access.”

He nods, feeling he’s expressed himself better. I agree.

The whole interview over at The Guardian.

[storeecbrcod]

Whump Drabble/fic where Soap suffers realistic trauma from MWIII (though we’ll put a bandaid over his ultimate fate lol).

TW: explicit medical injuries and treatments, angst with a bittersweet ending, will likely be inaccurate in some way seeing as I’m not a medical professional nor a trauma doctor/nurse (I’m just a girl fr), Ghoap✨

Ghost had been wrangling with this worm of guilt that chewed at his heart, something that he thought he had grown accustom to over his life but was now back with a vengeance. When he wasn’t clawing his skin from his bone to try and find the fucker, he was with Johnny.

He had thought the hardest part of this would be overcoming that guilt, but he quickly realised the coma was much worse.

He’d followed soldiers after they’d suffered significant GSW trauma before, of course he had. He’d caused many himself, knew how to engineer one that would guarantee a kill, knew how impossible it seemed yet possible it was to survive a shot to the temple, nearly point blank. He knew what recovery entailed.

Yet, he didn’t know what recovery entailed when it made the soft birdsong in his life silent and still.

He was a sniper and a stealth operative, he was used to sitting in one place during recon, unmoving and hyperaware for hours on end, days or weeks or even months at a time.

Yet, he wasn’t used to searching for a heartbeat and willing it to keep going rather than aiming to stop it.

He’d never felt so restless in his life, cataloguing every detail of the man on the bed in front of him every day. He watched as bandages turned red, watched as the side of his head swelled and bruised and went so black it was like staring into space. He read the words ‘Pressure relief DO NOT TOUCH’ scribbled on the vacuum-sealed, open wound on the back of a window in his skull over and over and over until swelling bowed the dressing and the words didn’t make sense.

He watched air be pumped through tubes down his throat when his brain couldn’t do it for him, and saw urine pool in a bag next to the bed. He watched nurses exercise his body, watched the shut door as they cleaned him up with sponge baths. He’d watched the codes be called and watched from outside the room as ribs were broken in the frail, pale body that was a fifth of the size it used to be and void of the usual tan.

He watched it all. He watched everything.

Just watched.

He knew people in comas could often hear what’s going on around them, he’d learnt that when he rushed Tommy to the hospital after a particularly bad overdose. But it was like his lips were fused together, vocal cords totally lax and frozen. He couldn’t speak, wouldn’t speak, scared of what would tumble from his tongue and leave in the open when Johnny couldn’t even respond.

Spontaneity was a common tactic on the field, as much as they tried to negate it. It wasn’t very often a plan went totally right. Damage control and problem solving were heavily exercised skills that Ghost possessed.

But he couldn’t solve this. He could wish death on Makarov as much as he did before, he could research the best trauma surgeons and doctors and nurses and therapists in the UK, he could monitor Johnny’s condition obsessively all he wants, but he can’t fix it. He can’t heal the snapped neurons, he can’t dig into Johnny’s veins and fish out the blood clots that continued to threaten his life or limbs. He couldn’t crawl into John’s skin and nest there in his warmth, protect him and feel protected. He couldn’t.

Helplessness wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time, but he’d much rather be clawing out of his own grave as ravens cawed again than have to put John in one, still and unable to dig to join Simon.

So when Soap eventually does wake, it felt like an endless tunnel came to an abrupt end with blinding lights and trees, waiting for birds to call their greeting.

He made his own greeting, his imposing yet solid presence next to the bed as tubes were removed and the body was propped up and assurances were given. He was eager, after 4 months of pure silence about to be filled with music again.

But it was off key.

“Where am I?”

“Hospital, Johnny.”

A furrowed brow.

“Who th’ fuck ah you?”

Simon thought that the worst part of all this was the coma, the silence, but he was wrong. It was the recovery.

Simon had learnt that the temple was the perfect place to locate the parts of the brain responsible to speech, decision making and rationalisation, and memory. He’d learnt how irritating it could be re-explaining the same thing over and over every few minutes could be, he learnt of the shame that followed the irritation knowing that Soap couldn’t help it. He learnt how much it hurt to be escorted out of the room for routine check-ups because the once unrelenting trust between him and Johnny had relented to the shadow of unknown.

He had learnt that nothing is permanent.

His visits became less and less. Unsurprisingly, John (not Johnny; only his family calls him that) didn’t want a mountain of a man, full of angst and anger and sadness, haunting the corners of his hospital room. He only wanted his ma and pa, and as much as it hurt Ghost, he respected his wishes.

For months, Ghost isolated himself, got lost in his work. For months, John worked at recovery, regaining his smart mouth and witty remarks, slowly relearning his impulse control that wasn’t really as much control as it was pure will power to restrain himself.

For months, Ghost sought birdcall in the gurgles of his enemies’ throats, revelling in the garbled melodies that never matched the one he remembered, but breaking off just the same.

Beware the mockingbird, Johnny would say.

Yet here he was, searching for a blue jay’s song among the mouths of the unknown and wicked.

He got so used to the warped record that he often found himself forgetting what the original chords sounded like when they reverberated through his chest, right to his heart. Was it sweet, like the pull of a blade through supple skin? Was it explosive, like the crack of body armour in the gap between Kevlar plates? Was it deafening, like the rounds discharged that aimed for his heart?

Was it quiet, like an unmonitored heartbeat over nighttime?

Was it gentle, like the lingering touches left on his waist that still burned his skin months later?

Was it still there?

“Simon.”

Ghost blinked, looking up to Price. He hadn’t realised that he’d let his gaze wander, his mind even further.

“You need to go see him.”

There’s a cry of a broken-winged dove in his ears, overshadowed by the croon of a raven. Stability and chaos, broken and mended in one.

It hurt his head.

“He asked me to leave,” Ghost reasoned.

“When he first woke up, yes,” Price conceded. “Back when you honoured your callsign very proficiently, mind you.”

A scoff erupted from Ghost’s chest, under his crossed arms.

“Look, Simon,” Price sighed, leaning back against his desk, blue eyes of cobalt melting the sulphurous gleam of Ghost’s brown ones. “He remembers, now. Remembered Gaz in a matter of moments, recognised me soon after.”

There was a pause, pregnant and heavy as Ghost kept his mouth shut, luring Price to continue. Daring him to try and push past the raven’s sharp talons to help the dove.

A hand reaches towards the nest.

“It might be time for you to try again.”

The raven hesitates.

“The hospital staff spoke to us about how helping Soap’s brain reconnect the broken neural pathways from the trauma could help him recover faster.”

The dove coos.

“Please, Simon.”

Outstretched fingers.

“Fuck, I can’t watch two of my men crumble at the same time.”

A flurry of feathers, the screeching of breath through gravel, rubber on road, nails on chalkboard. It’s overwhelming, sending his heart into overdrive and rationality to the wind.

“Fuck you, Price.”

Yeah, the recovery hurt the most.

Looking in the mirror during recovery, specifically, hurt like a bitch. Scars that pulled over once unmarred skin, hollow cheeks where laughter and smiles once grew, gnarled soul and memories where purity reigned. It was all thrown back at you, as insistent as a murder of crows at your doorstep.

He could see the way John, not Johnny, sifted through his memory like a locked filing cabinet while trying to place Ghost, desperately searching through the unlocked drawers over and over for the file he needed, all while the closed drawers taunted him with kept knowledge. It was all right there, yet he couldn’t access it.

“Ghost, aye?”

It’s met with a grunt. Silence stretches out, black feathers shielding the delicate white ones.

“And ye were my… lieutenant?”

He was going off of information fed to him, his brow furrowed in concentration, still trying to place Ghost. He couldn’t tell where the darkness around him ended and Ghost started, obscured by inky blackness.

He doesn’t sound right. It’s not the same teasing, playful lilt that danced in the air. It’s not pronounced the same, not said the same, it’s not the same.

It’s some… imposter. Something that looks the same and smells the same and tastes the fucking same, but it’s different.

A cuckoo’s egg in a nest.

“Price ‘nd Kyle were telling me some stories about ye,” John noted with a small smile. “You’re quite the stunner out field, ‘pparently.”

It’s an olive branch, a bridge built half way. An offering to meet in the middle, to talk and revere and remember.

But Ghost didn’t remember, and neither did John.

Recovery never ends, you know. It goes on and on and on, haunting your nerves and your wits for the rest of your life. You’ll always have some sort of ache or pain, a reminder of what happened to you.

John never ended up recovering fully. He was medically discharged, left to nurse a broken cage and a silent heart. He did well, considering; it wasn’t hard when you didn’t remember the song that beat with the rhythm of your heart.

He still joined the team on outings sometimes, staying in a local hotel when everyone was back at base. They’d have a meal, or go to a pub, catch up. Re-establish connections once lost.

Ghost rarely joined them, to save his own torment.

But of course, he had to honour the dove occasionally. Just as he was now, sitting across the table from the lively Scot and with his two other teammates, Gaz and Price. Beers had been served, a single glass of warm whiskey for cold hands. The table was lively, fun, rambunctious in all the best ways.

The cuckoo had hatched in earnest, Ghost found.

It was easy to see the progress John had made, loud and bright and cheeky like he used to be. Demanding of attention, hungry for every scrap of past he could swallow to try and heal old wounds. Listening to stories about himself and his old crew when they were all together, as if it was another version of him. The right version of him.

And by god, were the scraps from Simon the most nourishing of all.

John’s mouth felt desert dry, cactus dust caking his tongue as he bit desperately into every glimpse of Ghost’s bare face, lips wrapped around glass and breath smelling of potent, liquid gold with every word. It hurt, it tasted awful, and it was impossible to rid himself from. It hurt so good, feeling his heart pull and swell in ways he didn’t understand anymore.

He felt like glass, he felt like the air, he felt like expensive liquor, he felt like it was meant to be him in their places, held and touched and breathed and consumed. It was overwhelming, leaving him starstruck and staring, a flutter in his chest reawakened.

Ghost’s own nest was erupting with displaced wind, white wings desperate to spread and carry it away, escape the raven’s hold. Right now, meeting Johnny’s eyes, he realised that the time spent captive in the nest had only lent to the dove’s healing. It was stronger now, bigger and fiercer and so, so hopeful.

The cuckoo cackled, loud and leering. Mockingbirds whistled and cawed, off key and haunting. The raven keened, shaken and damning.

The white dove flew.

The blue jay sang above the bramble.

And the two nested together, among the dappled branches of a birchwood tree, cool and calm and surrounded by colour year round. Above the bramble of the past.

Ghost had learnt one thing over everything else; a lesson that was recurrent in his life, stubborn and overwhelming. It swallowed him in waves, crashing him into the sand bank below.

Nothing is ever, ever permanent.

Admittedly, his retirement had gone well. The down payment was easy, the renovations smooth, moving in a sigh of relief. They’d have their harder days, where getting out of bed and walking without aid was difficult for Johnny, but they’d have their good days, too. They’d have their days where they’d go for walks across the countryside, watch as their service dog bounced around through tall grass, tongue lolling from her mouth.

They’d have quiet days, relaxing days. They’d have loud days, rough days.

But they were all days where the sun would rise and then set.

They were all days when the blue jay sang.

Simon had forgotten silence. His life was filled with sound, and love, and content.

Maybe… maybe the worst part of it all was loss.

Maybe the worst part of it all was the unmoving body, still warm.

Maybe the worst part of it all was the frantic screams that drowned out the silence.

Maybe the worst part of it all was the silence.

Silence.

A/N: bandaids don’t last forever

Idk if this is coherent or cohesive or any other co-words meaning readable and enjoyable. Maybe I’ll rewrite it, who knows. Probably not, I can’t post consistently as it is lmao

[wainswright]

Following are a few excerpts of books I have on my shelves, chosen at random. Apologies for typos, this is just a quick comparison point for a discussion I was having in regards to a certain style of description in books, instead of the simple/clean/sensible style that a lot of books also use (I think this is modern popular style? Even in lit fic). No claims towards quality of the book overall, just thinking about prose. I also got this down before I realized the post was specifically about white americans in literary fiction in the current year as an active style, (thought it was about the prevelance of the style in general, so it's various genres and nationalities, probably) but just for fun, @genderfluid-dynamics is this the kind of style you were thinking of?

x

Cloud Atlas, David Mitchell Beyond the Indian hamlet, upon a forlorn strand, I happened on a trail fo recent footprints. Through rotting kelp, sea cocao-nuts and bamboo, the tracks led me to their maker, a White man, his trowzers and Pea-jacket rolled up, sporting a kempt beard and an outsized Beaver, shoveling and sifting the cindery sand with a teaspoon so intently that he noticed me only after I had hailed him from ten yards away. Thus it was, I made the acquaintance of Dr. Henry Goose, surgeon to the London nobility. His nationality as no surprise. If there be any eyrie so desolate, or isle so remote, that one may there resort unchallenged by an Englishman, 'tis not down on any map I ever saw. Had the doctor misplaced anything on that dismal shore? Could I render assistance? Dr. Goose shook his head, knotted loose his 'kerchief and displayed its contents with clear pride. "Teeth, sir, are the enameled grails of the quest in hand. In days gone by this Arcadian strand was a cannibals' banqueting hall, yes, where the strong engorged themselves on the weak. The teeth, they spat out, as you or I would expel cherry stones. But these base molars, sir, shall be transmuted to gold and how? An artisan of Piccadilly who fashions denture sets for the nobility pays handomely for human gnashers. Do you know the price a quarter pound will earn, sir?

I confessed I did not. "Nor shall I enlighten you, sir, for 'tis a professional secret!" He tapped his nose. "Mr. Ewing, are you acquainted with Marchioness Grace of Mayfair? No? The better for you, for she is a corpse in petticoats. Five years have passed since this harridan besmirched my name, yes, with imputations that resulted in my being black-balled from Society." Dr. Goose looked out to sea. "My peregrinations began in that dark hour."

x

Winter's Tale, Mark Helprin

The horse could not do without Manhattan. It drew him like a magnet, like a vacuum, like oats, or a mare, or an open, never-ending, tree-lined road. He came off the bridge ramp and stopped short. A thousand streets lay before him, silent but for the sound of the gemlike wind. Driven with snow, white, and empty, they were a maze for his delight as the newly arisen wind whistled across still untouched drifts and rills. He passed empty theaters, counting-houses, and forested wharves where the snow-lined spars looked like long black groves of pine. He passed dark factories and deserted parks, and rows of little houses where wood just fired filled the air with sweet reassurance. He passed the frightening common cellars full of ragpickers and men without limbs. The door of a market bar was flung open momentarily for a torrent of boiling water that splashed all overthe street in a cloud of steam. He passed (and shied from) dead men lying in the round ragged coffins of their own frozen bodies. Sleds and wagons began to radiate from the markets, alive with the pul of their stocky dray horses, racing up the main streets, ringing bells. But he kept away from the markets, because there it was noontime even at dawn, and he followed the silent tributaries of the main streets, passing the exposed steelwork of buildings in the intermission of feverish construction. And he was seldom out of sight of the new bridges, which had married beautiful womanly Brooklyn to her rich uncle, Manhattan; had put the city's hand out to the country; and were the end of the past because they spanned not only distance and deep water but dreams and time.

x

Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh

When I reached C Company lines, which were at the top of the hill, I paused and looked back at the camp, just coming into full view below me through the grey mist of early morning. We were leaving that day. When we marched in, three months before, the place was under snow; now the first leaves of spring were unfolding. I had reflected then that, whatever scenes of desolation lay ahead of us, I never feared one more brutal than this, and I reflected now that it had no single happy memory for me.

Here love had died between me and the army.

Here the tram lines ended, so that men returning fuddled from Gladgow could doze in their seats until roused by the conductress at their journey's end. There was some way to go from the tram-stop to the camp gates; a quarter of a mile in which they could button their blouses and straighten their caps before passing the guard room, a quarter of a mile in which concrete gave place to grass at the road's edge. This was the extreme limit of the city, a fringe of drift-wood above the high-water mark. Here the close, homogenous territory of housing estates and cinemas ended adn teh hinterland began.

The camp stood where, until quite lately, had been pasture and ploughland; the farm-house still stood in a fold of the hill and had served us for battalion offices; ivy still supported part of what had once been the walls o fa fruit gardn; half an acre of mutilated old trees behind the wash-houses survived of an orchard. The place had been marked for destruction before the army came to it. Had there been another year of peace, there would have been no famrhouse, no wall, no apple trees. Already half a mile of concrete road lay between bare clay banks, and on either side a chequer of open ditches showed where the municipal contractors had designed a system of drainage. Another year of peace would have made the place part of the neighbouring suburb. Now the huts where we had wintered waited their turn for destruction.

Over the way, the subject of much ironical comment, half hidden even in winter by its embosoming trees, lay the municipal lunatic asylum, whose cast-iron railings and noble gates put our rough wire to shame. We could watch the madmen, on clement days, sauntering and skipping among the trim gravel walks and pleasantly planted lawns; happy collaborationists who had given up the unequal struggle, all doubts resolved, all duty done, the undisputed heirs-at-law of a century of progress, enjoying the heritage at their ease. As we marched past the men used to shout greetings to them through the railings-- "Keep a bed warm for me, chum. I shan't be long"-- but Hooper, my newest-joined platoon commander, grudged them their life of privilege: "Hitler would put them in a gas chamber," he said; "I reckon we can learn a thing or two from him."

Here, when we marched in at mid-winter, I brought a company of strong and hopeful men; word had gone round among them, as we moved from the moors to this dockland area, that we were at last in transit for the Middle East. As the days passed and we began clearing the snow and levelling a parade ground, I saw their disappointment change to resignation. They snuffed the smell of the fried-fish shops and cocked their ears to familiar, peace-time sounds of the works' siren and the dance-hall band. On off-days they slouched now at street comers and sidled away at the approach of an officer for fear that, by saluting, they would lose face with their new mistresses. In the company office there was a crop of minor charges and requests for compassionate leave; while it was still half-fight, day began with the whine of the malingerer and the glum face and fixed eye of the man with a grievance.

And I, who by every precept should have put heart into them - how could I help them, who could so little help myself.? Here the colonel under whom we had formed, was promoted out of our sight and succeeded by a younger and less lovable man, cross-posted from another regiment. There were few left in the mess now of the batch of volunteers who trained together at the outbreak of war; one way and another they were nearly all gone - some had been invalided out, some promoted to other battalions, some posted to staff jobs, some had volunteered for special service, one had got himself killed on the field firing range, one had been court-martialled - and their places were taken by conscripts; the wireless played incessantly in the ante-room nowadays and much beer was drunk before dinner; it was not as it had been.

Here at the age of thirty-nine I began to be old. I felt stiff and weary in the evenings and reluctant to go out of camp; I developed proprietary claims to certain chairs and newspapers; I regularly drank three glasses of gin before dinner, never more or less, and -went to bed immediately after the nine o'clock news. I was always awake and fretful an hour before reveille.

Here -my last love died - There was nothing remarkable in the manner of its death. One day, not long before 'this last day in camp, as I lay awake before reveille, in the Nissen hut, gazing into the complete blackness, amid the deep breathing and muttering of the four other occupants, turning over in my mind what I had to do that day - had I put in the names of two corporals for the weapon-training course? Should I again have the largest number of men overstaying their leave in the batch due back that day? Could I trust Hooper to take the candidates class out map-reading? - as I lay in that dark hour, I was aghast to realize that something within me, long sickening, had quietly died, and felt as a husband might feel, who, in the fourth year of his marriage, suddenly knew that he had no longer any desire, or tenderness, or esteem, for a once-beloved wife; no pleasure in her company, no wish to please, no curiosity about anything she might ever do or say or think; no hope of setting things right, no self-reproach for the disaster. I knew it all, the whole drab compass of marital disillusion; we had been through it together, the Army and I, from the first importunate courtship until now, when nothing remained to us except the chill bonds of law and duty and custom. I had played every scene in the domestic tragedy, had found the early tiffs become more frequent, the tears less affecting, the reconciliations less sweet, till they engendered a mood of aloofness and cool criticism, and the growing conviction that it was not myself but the loved one who was at fault. I caught the false notes in her voice and learned to listen for them apprehensively; I recognized the blank, resentful stare of incomprehension in her eyes, and the selfish, hard set of the comers of her mouth. I learned her, as one must learn a woman one has kept house with, day in, day out, for three and a half years; I learned her slatternly ways, the routine and mechanism of her charm her jealousy and self-seeking and her nervous trick with the fingers when she was lying. She was stripped of all enchantment now and I knew her for an uncongenial stranger to whom I had bound myself indissolubly in a moment of folly.

So, on this morning of our move, I was entirely indifferent to our destination. I would go on with my job, but I could bring to it nothing more than acquiescence. Our orders were to entrain at 0915 hours at a nearby siding, taking in the haversack the unexpired portion of the day's ration; that was all I needed to know. The company second-in-command had gone on with a small advance party. Company stores had been packed the day before. Hooper had been detailed to inspect the lines. The company was parading at 0730 hours with their kit-bags piled before the huts. There had been many such moves since the wildly exhilarating morning in 1940 when we had erroneously believed ourselves destined for the defence of Calais. Three or four times a year since then we had changed our location; this time our new commanding officer was making an unusual display of 'security' and had even put us to the trouble of removing all distinguishing badges from our uniforms and transport. It was 'valuable training in active service conditions', he said. 'If I find any of these female camp followers waiting for us the other end, I'll know there's been a leakage.'

x

I really like the above author's writing. There's a rare precision in this that strikes right on rhythm.

I revise my rec about a Hundred Years of Solitude, the prose falls back into the more modern back and forth dialogue style and worksmanlike description of action. It does has a similar feel in approach (description of people) as Bleak House like The Scarlet Pimpernel does, but it doesn't have that quality that Bleak House has of "every line of dialogue is a play" in the narrative tone of faintly ironic lecture.

There were some classic russian authors that seemed to do that tone, (i think there are genuinely countless imitators of this that do it in an annoying way,) though. ex: Mikhail bulgakov, The Master and Margarita. You'll probably like that, if you like the feeling of immersion and cleverness that comes from doing this style well. I wonder how modern russian lit is? I should go look.

Steinbeck has a different tone, but he has a skill with description and exposition that has a similar feel of satisfaction in reading. Cannery Row, maybe?

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins also does this very well- but it's more focused on people than an omniscient viewpoint. As follows:

x It was the last day of July. The long hot summer was drawing to a close; and we, the weary pilgrims of the London pavement, were beginning to think of the cloud-shadows on the corn-fields, and the autumn breezes on the sea-shore.

For my own poor part, the fading summer left me out of health, out of spirits, and, if the truth must be told, out of money as well. During the past year I had not managed my professional resources as carefully as usual; and my extravagance now limited me to the prospect of spending the autumn economically between my mother's cottage at Hampstead and my own chambers in town.

The evening, I remember, was still and cloudy; the London air was at its heaviest; the distant hum of the street-traffic was at its faintest; the small pulse of the life within me, and the great heart of the city around me, seemed to be sinking in unison, languidly and more languidly, with the sinking sun. I roused myself from the book which I was dreaming over rather than reading, and left my chambers to meet the cool night air in the suburbs. It was one of the two evenings in every week which I was accustomed to spend with my mother and my sister. So I turned my steps northward in the direction of Hampstead.

Events which I have yet to relate make it necessary to mention in this place that my father had been dead some years at the period of which I am now writing; and that my sister Sarah and I were the sole survivors of a family of five children. My father was a drawing-master before me. His exertions had made him highly successful in his profession; and his affectionate anxiety to provide for the future of those who were dependent on his labours had impelled him, from the time of his marriage, to devote to the insuring of his life a much larger portion of his income than most men consider it necessary to set aside for that purpose. Thanks to his admirable prudence and self-denial my mother and sister were left, after his death, as independent of the world as they had been during his lifetime. I succeeded to his connection, and had every reason to feel grateful for the prospect that awaited me at my starting in life.

The quiet twilight was still trembling on the topmost ridges of the heath; and the view of London below me had sunk into a black gulf in the shadow of the cloudy night, when I stood before the gate of my mother's cottage. I had hardly rung the bell before the house door was opened violently; my worthy Italian friend, Professor Pesca, appeared in the servant's place; and darted out joyously to receive me, with a shrill foreign parody on an English cheer.

On his own account, and, I must be allowed to add, on mine also, the Professor merits the honour of a formal introduction. Accident has made him the starting-point of the strange family story which it is the purpose of these pages to unfold.

I had first become acquainted with my Italian friend by meeting him at certain great houses where he taught his own language and I taught drawing. All I then knew of the history of his life was, that he had once held a situation in the University of Padua; that he had left Italy for political reasons (the nature of which he uniformly declined to mention to any one); and that he had been for many years respectably established in London as a teacher of languages.

x

[cuntycassandra]

A Glance Through The Hourglass

Summary: Unbeknownst to everyone, Sebastian Smythe knew how it felt to look out into a colourful world and see nothing but grey. It wasn’t something he shared with most, something he hid through his promiscuous image, something he planned to take to his close-calling grave, but when his plans to rid himself of his burdens and inner aches failed, he was tossed back to Dalton’s walls with a new image and perception, one nobody, not even he, seemed to understand.

Kurt doesn’t know if he wants to understand, but after finding out he and Sebastian have a lot more in common than he thought, he may not have much of a choice.

'Hey Bas I'm meeting up with a friend to grab a coffee in J commons. You coming?’

Jeff's simple question seemed to knock his heart into an irregular rhythm, and a familiar tremble rupture it's way through his neck and wither through his sore muscles.

His doctors had said such occurrences were to be expected after quite a traumatic event; the panic, the need for constant clarification, and the lack of trust. His mind had only just adjusted to the nauseating fact that dozens of people were now aware of the internal pain the sixteen year old had been holding secretly so close to his heart for over six years, and especially within the last six months.

The shrink had said that a natural reaction to Sebastian's situation would be to consistently worry over control, and furthermore over the jurisdiction of the action itself, it was completely estranged to Sebastian, not only as somebody who had held onto composure like a lifeline his entire existence, but the professional terminology and long winded diagnoses the doctors had been using barely made any sense, leaving the teenager to scrounge for whatever scraps of information he could yank together.

His new therapist had also explained that although his mind would feel as though it were travelling through a ‘bustling metropolis of thoughts’, most bad but few good, his brain would pick an associative notion or memory to focus on specifically, due to the fact that the human brain wasn’t capable of doing much else, no matter how much Sebastian insisted it felt as if his mind were New York City central compartmentalised, pretty much all of the time.

Unfairly, after reassessing Jeff's friendly text message, Sebastian's busied brain had eventually settled upon the fresh image of his mother, waking him gently to take his painkillers and presenting him with a scarily similar question the morning before he had returned to school, a little over a week ago.

He couldn't quite remember exactly how she had articulated the phrase, but he knew she had been meeting with his Aunt Anneliese and very predominantly offered their company to him, insisting his father’s twin sister was desperate to see her 'favourite nephew', a similar joke to that of something Jeff would say.

It was a simple tease in an attempt to get a smile out of her 'sickly' son, especially considering Sebastian was his Aunt's only nephew, but instead of filling him with brief laughter, the joke had left him feeling as if he were suddenly surrounded by confusion and disassociation- his mother had never made such a jested comment before, she was a surgeon, usually so firm and serious to match her consequential occupation, simply not wired to crack jokes with her teenager.

He couldn't help but scoff as he recounted the thought, a pathetic teary scoff that held no merit of attitude, but instead of clear confusion in disguise. He knew he shouldn't be mulling over why both of his parents had suddenly changed in his presence, it was pitifully obvious. After his father had found his only son bleeding at the bottom of the large oak tree in their lavish backyard, and his mother had been pulled out of surgery to see her own son being rushed through the double doors at the end of the hallway, still scrubbed in and with no explanation as to what had happened since she’d left for work that evening, there was no reason to wonder as to why they were suddenly showering him in attention, they had almost lost him, and must've felt like it was all their fault.

It wasn't...it wasn't their fault at all, and the simple thought that his distracted yet loving parents were blaming themselves for Sebastian's attempt to take his own life had brought him to juvenilised sobbing throughout the first few nights of recovery. They were trying so hard, trying to fix something they played little to no part in destroying, and it stung to know they were changing for him when he didn't really deserve the efforts.

Continuation

[petervintonjr]

The first woman --of any race-- to earn a Masters' degree at the University of Hawai'i, Alice Augusta Ball's unfortunately brief life and achievements might very well have been lost to history. Born in 1892 Seattle, Ball briefly moved with her family to Hawai'i (not yet a U.S. state), but then returned to Washington to earn Bachelors' degrees in pharmaceutical chemistry (1912) and in pharmacy (1914). Ball's father James Ball, Jr., was (among other things) a professional photographer, and his father James Ball Sr., was a famous photographer in his own right --one of the very first Black Americans in the United States to learn the art/science of the daguerreotype. Alice's exposure (no pun intended!) to this still-emerging art form may have played a role in her aptitude for chemistry.

Ball returned to Hawai'i, enrolled at the University of Hawai'i (then known as the College of Hawai'i) and while pursuing her degree, joined the research team of the chemistry department. Her master's thesis focused on methods of extracting the active chemical in awa roots, which in turn led into her breakthrough discovery of a method of reconfiguring a water-soluble oil extract from the chaulmoogra tree, for the treatment of Hansen's Disease (perhaps better known as leprosy). An injectable regimen was developed from this research and remained the most effective treatment until the mid-1940's --leading to the full recovery of an unprecedented 78 patients.

Keep in mind that Ball's breakthrough predates modern antibiotics by several decades. Ball's death at the young age of 24 left behind some "gaps" in the research --among them an oversight that was later corrected (in 1922) by a colleague, public health officer and Assistant Surgeon at Kalihi Hospital, Dr. Harry Hollmann. Hollman named the chaulmoogra tree extraction process the "Ball Method." Two affiliated studies appeared in 1914 and 1917, making Ball the first Black scientist to publish in the Journal of the American Chemical Society.

Ball's contributions to pharmacology and immunology are at last being recognized: in 2000 a plaque was dedicated at the base of the university's sole remaining chaulmoogra tree; that same year February 29 was declared Alice Ball Day, and in 2007 the Board of Regents posthumously conferred upon Ball its prestigious Medal of Distinction.

[captaindibbzy]

So the cunts at the building sight, according to the grapevine, have been overheard talking to the tree surgeon to cut down the two protected trees in their garden and they will "pay the fine" as part of it.

The guy in question refused on the grounds of professional reputation.

The fine person tree is £5000.

Other people on the street have already been on to the council about their violations. The council has been out, but the building work continued.

They have apparently stripped every single feature out of the house, according to the lady who has been inside, and have taken it back to pure blank white rooms in a very modern style.

Why the FUCK they decided to buy a period house, in a conservation area, when they don't seem to like anything to do with it is beyond me.

Anyway, at this point since they seem to be the kind of people who throw money at a problem till it goes away the best we can hope for is once they're finished destroying the area the country council does more than fine them.

They're not making any friends with anyone on the street. Like, my family are the social pariahs of the street (not even in the community WhatsApp! Which is a thing I recently learned exists, which is their loss cause I Know Things 👀) but these people who own the building sight are gone end up at war with half the fucking street.

My main concern is if that digger doesn't fuck off soon I'm gonna be going out there in the dead of night and cutting the hydraulics with a fucking knife.