chiseled features

A Tribute to an Joseph Lister

(Joseph Lister)

‘Time me, gentlemen! It’s just after midday on a late spring day in 1842 and the wooden viewing galleries that surround the operating room of University College Hospital, London, are packed.

Sir Robert Liston, the foremost surgeon of his age, and a man whose temper is as sharp as his chiselled features, is about to begin work.

The assembled crowd of anxious medical students dutifully check their pocket watches, as two of Liston’s surgical assistants - ‘dressers’ as they are called - take firm hold of the struggling patient’s shoulders.

The fully conscious man, already racked with pain from the badly broken leg he suffered by falling between a train and the platform at nearby King’s Cross, looks in total horror at the collection of knives, saws and needles that lie alongside him.

Liston clamps his left hand across the patient’s thigh, picks up his favourite knife and in one rapid movement makes his incision. A dresser immediately tightens a tourniquet to stem the blood.

As the patient screams with pain, Liston puts the knife away and grabs the saw. With an assistant exposing the bone, Liston begins to cut.

Suddenly, the nervous student who has been volunteered to steady the injured leg realises he is supporting its full weight. With a shudder he drops the severed limb into a waiting box of sawdust.

Liston, however, is still busy, tying off the main artery of the thigh with a reef knot and then tying off other smaller blood vessels, at one point even holding the thread in his mouth. As the tourniquet is loosened, the flesh is stitched.

The operation is over. And it has taken just 30 seconds.

For all the agonies he has just suffered, this patient is lucky. Liston is a fine surgeon and, by nature, a man of tidy habits who makes sure his staff keep his operating room reasonably clean.

As a result - although Liston is unaware the two things are related - only about one in ten of his patients dies after their operations. Nearby, at St Bartholomew’s Hospital, the death rate is one in four.

Surgery may have come a long way by the mid-19th century but, as the mortality rates showed, it still had an awful long way to go.

(Victorian Surgical Implements)

Having been appointed a battlefield surgeon to the French infantry he was appalled, not just by the terrible injuries he was asked to treat after the siege of Turin in 1537, but also by the horrific suffering of the wounded soldiers, both before and after treatment.

Many simply bled to death, while others either died of shock or were left in terrible pain after their treatment. Bleeding wounds were either cauterised with a hot iron or had boiling oil poured into them.

(Victorian Operating Theatre)

Physicians, despite still being wedded to blood-letting, leeches and baths of 'herbs and sheep heads’, were men of real status; surgeons, by comparison, many of whom still took pride in operating in their bloodstained frock coats, were seen as part-showmen, part-butchers.

However, that was about to change. The next major obstacle - the control of pain - was about to be overcome and, in 1846, Liston was to lead the way.

The patient was Frederick Churchill, a butler whose right knee had been causing problems for years. All sorts of cures had been tried; none had succeeded. Now, after brutal investigations and painful infections, amputation was the only option. This amputation, however, was to be different.

Liston enters and, as ever, the operating room falls quiet. But, for once, Liston departs from his normal script. 'We are going to try a Yankee dodge today, gentlemen, for making men insensible.’

A rubber tube is held to Churchill’s mouth and he is told to breathe through it for two to three minutes. Eventually, he becomes still and quiet. A handkerchief laced with some drops is placed over his face. Liston begins.

As ever, the students check their pocket watches. With the patient unconscious, the amputation takes just 25 seconds.

A few minutes later, Churchill, who has not uttered a single groan during the procedure, begins to come round: 'When are you going to begin?’ he asks, prompting peals of laughter from the gallery.

Ether, the discovery of an American dentist, William Morton, has become the first surgical anaesthetic. Unfortunately, Liston would not live to see the full potential of anaesthetics. He died in a sailing accident less than a year later.

It soon became clear, however, that ether was not quite the pain-relieving panacea once thought. It irritated the mouth and lungs, caused vomiting in some patients and, most alarmingly, given that operating rooms were still lit by gaslight, was highly inflammable.

James Simpson, a young professor of midwifery at Edinburgh University and a former pupil of Liston’s, was determined to find an alternative. He spent the summer of 1847 trying out every chemical he could lay his hands on, mixing them, drinking them, sniffing them.

Then, one day, he tried a new chemical that had been suggested by a Liverpool chemist - chloroform. He woke up on the floor.

Having successfully tried it out on some dinner party guests, it was just four days later that he used it on a patient, a young woman facing a potentially painful forceps delivery.

It was a resounding success - with mother and baby both surviving the birth - and Simpson had used it 50 times within a week.

Ether may have been an American discovery but the use of chloroform was better - and it was Scottish.

Simpson became a national hero and was given a state funeral when he died in 1870. And by then surgery had taken another big step forward.

In 1865, Joseph Lister was walking the wards of his Glasgow hospital. For the Essex-born professor of surgery, it was a horrible experience.

As the nurses removed the sheets so he could examine his patients’ wounds, time after time the sickly stench of putrefying flesh would pervade the room.

Thanks to the improvements in anatomy, blood loss and, anaesthesia, patients would arrive at the hospital, confident of feeling little pain and of making a full recovery.

Two weeks later, however, most of them would be dead, having succumbed to gangrene, fevers or blood poisoning.

No wonder that surgeons, like Lister, another former pupil of Liston’s, would operate only as a last resort.

The source of these infections was unknown, many blaming it on bad air, some sort of so-called 'miasma’. But the Glasgow hospital was new; with well-spaced beds and light, airy wards.

Still Lister’s patients became infected, and still they died. Until this problem was solved, surgery could go no further.

Lister, who also studied science more as a gentlemanly hobby than as an aide to his profession, was determined to find the answer and he did so when a colleague, a professor of chemistry, pointed him in the direction of the work of the French chemist Louis Pasteur.

Pasteur had sterilised a flask of broth by boiling it. He plugged the top with cotton wool to allow the passage of air but nothing else.

(Louis Pasteur in his laboratory)

After a few days, the broth remained sterile. It was only when the cotton wool was removed that the broth became putrid.

Pasteur had proved that it was something in the air, not the air itself, that caused a substance to rot.

He called them germs; today we’d call them micro-organisms.

Lister’s breakthrough was to realise that it was these germs that were also killing his patients. But how to get rid of them?

Pasteur had sterilised his experiments by heat but that clearly wouldn’t work for human beings. Lister started experimenting with chemicals but without success.
The answer came from an unlikely source: sewage.

A hundred miles south in Carlisle, the authorities were trying a new sewage treatment to rid the city’s drains and cesspools of their terrible smell.

The compound they found worked best was carbolic acid, made from coal tar.

Lister reasoned that what killed germs in sewage might also destroy germs in wounds, so, in the best traditions of surgery, he decided to try out his new 'antiseptic’ principle on a patient.

James Greenlees was an 11-year-old boy who had been run over by a cart and had a compound fracture of his left leg, with the broken bone piercing the skin to leave an open wound of significant size.

Until now, although the leg would have been set, the open wound would inevitably have become infected and amputation would be the end result. But Lister wanted to try out his new ideas.

The leg was reset and splinted, only this time the wound was covered in lint soaked in carbolic acid.

Four days later, by which time infection had normally set in, the lint was removed and the wound, to Lister’s delight and astonishment, was found to be perfectly clean.

Six weeks later, the splints are removed and James walks home. Surgery will never be the same again and nor, with cleanliness and carbolic acid gradually becoming the norm, are hospital death rates.

All the key components were now in place. By the end of the 19th century, surgeons had a better understanding of human anatomy, they could stem blood loss and, through anaesthesia, they were able to control pain.

Thanks to Lister, they could now even operate without causing infection. Modern surgery had begun.

Over the next century, surgical progress would be astonishing; with anaesthetics and sterile conditions giving surgeons access first to the abdomen, then the heart and finally the brain.

There would be many setbacks and sadly many patients would still die as new techniques were tried out and perfected. Even today, surgery remains a risky business.

But, as our understanding of the rejection process has improved, organ transplants have become almost commonplace, limited only by the supply of donor organs.

Forty years ago, we all marvelled at the first heart transplant carried out by the South African surgeon, Christiaan Barnard; now we agonise over the ethics of carrying out the first face transplant.

Surgically, it’s possible but if and when the first one is carried out, it will only be - as all modern surgery is - thanks to the extraordinary work of those Victorian pioneers.

Lister moved from Scotland to King’s College Hospital, in London. In 1881 he was elected President of the Clinical Society of London. He also developed a method of repairing kneecaps with metal wire and improved the technique of mastectomy.

Lister retired from practice after his wife, who had long helped him in research, died in 1893 in Italy, during one of the few holidays they allowed themselves. Studying and writing lost appeal for him and he sank into religious melancholy.

Despite suffering a stroke, he still came into the public light from time to time. On 24 August 1902 Edward VII came down with appendicitis two days before his scheduled coronation. Like all internal surgery at the time, the appendectomy needed by the King still posed an extremely high risk of death by post-operational infection, and surgeons did not dare operate without consulting Britain’s leading surgical authority.

(Edward VII at Balmoral)

Lister obligingly advised them in the latest antiseptic surgical methods (which they followed to the letter), and the King survived, later telling Lister, “I know that if it had not been for you and your work, I wouldn’t be sitting here today.”

consider

not erasing trans guys who
•dont have a chiseled jawline/features
•arent skinny
•arent the typical “most acceptable” skinny white androgynous kid with cut features
•arent Conventionally Attractive™
•seriously god this is so annoying and makes many others and myself feel like shit

yet another high school on TV
  • a grown ass man who is obviously at least 25 years old: i just turned sixteen i can't wait to get a car :)
  • a grown ass woman with fully formed breasts, perfect skin, and chiseled features: lucky you, chad, i still have to wait TWO MORE YEARS :( being fourteen sucks
Until Next Time (m)

[4:38 AM] Jimin: film yourself for me

[4:38 AM] You: Ur kidding

[4:38 AM] Jimin: do it

[4:38 AM] Jimin: i know the day just started but do you know what i’m craving for breakfast?

[4:38 AM] Jimin: i want to get a taste of your heaven

Synopsis: Who would have guessed that a stranger you met through an online game would quickly escalate into a cyber fuck buddy?

Originally posted by emmareader

Pairing: Jimin x Reader // Gaming!AU

Genre: Smut & a dash of humor

Word Count: 5k

Includes: sexting/phone sex, dirty talk

Trilogy: Until Next Time Maybe Next Time ↣ At Last

A/N: fuckboy-ish Jimin ahoy; re-upload since i’m trying to finish making a part two!


[10:22:05 PM] erectchim: um. who are you

[10:22:13 PM] seokjinsaga: has left the server.

It starts with a swarm of messages from unrecognizable usernames, one stranger flooding after another. You get a sudden impulse to turn back and explain to the other players that you made a typo in the server name, admitting it is all a mistake, but you freeze when your cursor hovers over the chat bar. All you have to do is exit the game but you choose not to and surprisingly, you hold no regrets.

[10:22:20 PM] erectchim: this is a private server

[10:22:29 PM] erectchim: how did you get in here?

Keep reading

Tantalizing

Originally posted by jikookfantasy

Tantalizing: 01 02 03
Ship: Jungkook | Reader
Description: Back in high school, you were nothing more than a nerd Jungkook wanted to deflower, to get a good fuck from. When he sees you at the club, though, things have changed drastically, and his dominance starts to teeter on the edge.
Warning: Cumplay, Degrading Names, Angst, Intercourse, Oral, Orgasm Denial, Thigh Riding
Word Count: 5,965

Keep reading

With All My Heart - Part 1

Word Count: 1922

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Hospitals 

A/N: There will be no separate taglist for this series. For all updates, turn on post notifications for @torn-and-frayed-writes

With All My Heart Masterlist


Five hours for one stupid mishap. Jensen couldn’t believe his own stupidity. One minute he was cutting vegetables to make himself dinner, the next the knife slipped and he’d damn near cut his own thumb off. He knew it would need at least a few stitches so instead of calling Jared and listening to the teasing forever, he wrapped it up and drove himself to the hospital where he sat for five hours before finally getting seen.

He was on his way out when he saw you waiting to check in. You didn’t look great; pale, sweaty, slightly shaky. You took a breath and he saw your eyes roll back. He knew the look and he sped into action, catching you as you collapsed, stopping you from hitting the ground. “Can I get some help?” Jensen yelled. “She just passed out!”

“What happened?” A group of nurses and a doctor rushed out with a gurney, taking you from Jensen and lying you down. “Did you bring her in?”

“No.” Jensen shook his head. “I was on my way out and I saw her about to faint. I caught her. I have no idea who she is. She’s burning up though.”

Keep reading

There’s a theory going around that Mr. Kubdel (Alix’s dad) is Hawkmoth, and Gabriel Agreste is a red herring to lead us off the path.  My husband has a theory that Hawkmoth is neither and it’s actually Gabriel’s secret twin brother that will show up to throw EVERYone off.  I’m sick on the couch, so I thought I’d binge a few episodes and see if this idea has any merit.  I’m not going to state the obvious stuff pointing to Gabriel as Hawkmoth (his safe full of Miracu-crap, his interest in LB’s and CN’s Miraculous in the Jackady episode, the ENTIRETY of the Jackady episode, etc.).  Just some new observations.  Here we go!

The first question is “how does Hawkmoth keep his Miraculous hidden?”.  We know that the butterfly Miraculous is a brooch, which could explain either of these fashion choices:

(Even though Gabriel should know that stripes are SO last season.)

Neither of them are ever seen without their neck wear (and Mr. Kubdel’s is even purple).

There is also the question of Hawky’s baby blues and chiseled features, which both candidates have.  However, look at their noses:

It’s kind of hard to see here, but both Gabriel and Hawkmoth have similar noses.  Mr. Kubdel’s, however, is slightly hooked at the end.  Unless he’s squishing the tip of his nose into that mask, it doesn’t match.

Now, let’s look at the theory that Hawkmoth’s observatory is somewhere in Gabriel’s office.  I mentioned in a previous post that my husband thought the entrance was either behind the painting of his wife or somewhere close by.  It would explain why he’s in his office in both the Jackady and Christmas episodes right before we see Hawkmoth.  Ironically, he also caused both of those akumas personally.  Hmmm….

In Jackady, he’s looking RIGHT AT THE PAINTING before Hawkmoth appears.

We’re led to believe Chat Noir had reminded him of “someone he knew” (aka, his wife) and that this is his first suspicion his son is running around Paris in a leather cat suit.  But, what if he’s about to go transform?  Then, there is the little matter of Hawkmoth telling the akuma in the very next scene NOT to go after Gabriel.  And once Gabriel’s dad-napped, Hawks doesn’t appear in the rest of the episode.  Convenient.

So, Gabriel is Hawkmoth, right?  Not so fast…

Next, let’s look at the evil lair.

Again, hard to tell, but the room isn’t a typical square room.  It’s square-ish with rounded corners.  Supposing that the room either exists in the Agreste mansion (for Gabriel) or the Louvre (for Mr. Kubdel), which building would fit a room like that?

The answer?  Both.

When we see an akuma being sent out, we get this scene, almost every single time.

Notice the Eiffel Tower in the background?  Waaaaay far away from our fav villain’s lair?  Now, look at where the Agreste Mansion is…

But then, what–

Not the exact distance, but close.  Also, check out this post by @legend-of-sora .  They do a great job of discussing the Louvre theory using Google maps.

The conclusion is that either one of these gentlemen could be Hawkmoth.  OR, it could be Gabe’s evil twin trying to bring his sister back and Gabriel just knows about the Miraculous because he has a freaking shrine to them in his safe.  Either way, it’s fun to speculate and this show does a great job of giving you an answer and then making you doubt yourself with just one or two scenes.

anonymous asked:

Hello, if you're still taking prompts could you do #33 with Marichat or Ladynoir? (BTW love your stories!)

This is horribly overdue. I’m so sorry this took so long, I was caught up with other stories, life, and just recently suffered a bad case of writer’s block :/ I picked the Ladynoir side of the love square (although it’s probably not in the way you’re thinking). Still, I hope you enjoy this :)


“Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence.”


You may not know it, but being a noblewoman could be very difficult at times.

Such were the Lady Marinette’s thoughts as she finally managed to sneak away to the snack table. A young Lord had been trying to request a dance with her for the better part of ten minutes, causing her to nearly flee every time he came in her sights. Luckily, just when she thought she was cornered, she was able to pair him with her best friend.

“I’m going to kill you,” Lady Alya had silently mouthed when she was led to the dance floor.

Marinette giggled to herself as she swiped a chocolate chip cookie from the very top of the pile on the silver tray. Not many women were eating them in order to ‘maintain their figure’ but Marinette didn’t really care about that. She’d eat what she wanted, whenever she wanted.

She looked around at the sea of guests, at all the colorful masks that adorned their faces. Her parents decided to host a masquerade ball, thinking it to be romantic and mysterious. Marinette thought that the idea was intriguing, but she didn’t really think anyone to be romantic or mysterious. It was just like any other ball she’d been to, with no one in particular standing out among the crowd.

She wanted to tell her parents that real life was vastly different from fairy tales, but she knew it would crush their hearts, especially since they wanted her to have a whirlwind romance of her own.

Marinette sighed in defeat, resigning herself to picking out a stranger to dance with just to appease her hopeless romantic parents.

“Is the princess not having a good time?” a masculine voice teasingly drawled.

Startled, her head whipped around to see a man leaning against a nearby pillar. He wore the traditional finely-made garb befitting of someone of the noble class, yet it was completely black, save the swirling designs of green beside the buttons on the otherwise coal black jacket.

Around his equally green eyes sat a black domino mask, but with cat ears on the ends. His blond hair lacked a refined style, instead the golden locks were wildly tousled. However, instead of looking like a common vagrant, the look suited him perfectly.

His lips were stretched into a wide smile, a row of pearly-white teeth exposed in the process. She noticed the man had rather nicely chiseled features. This, combined with all his other traits, made him exceptionally handsome.

However, her heart was already taken.

“I am not a princess, sir,” she replied, a corner of her mouth arching in interest. She had a feeling that whoever this man was, he was going to prove to be riveting company.

“You could’ve fooled me, with how every man’s eyes are fixated on you alone,” he purred flirtatiously, abandoning his spot by the column to saunter closer to her.

She snorted in mirth, finding that she liked this stranger. Sure, his flirting was a little over-the-top, but it wasn’t at all creepy like how some lords spoke.

“I find that hard to believe,” she disputed with a grin. “It doesn’t matter anyway, since I’m not interested in any of them.”

“Too good for them?” he asked. His tone was still teasing, yet his eyes shined with something else. For a moment she thought it seemed like he was testing her, but she quickly wrote it off as paranoia.

“No, it’s not that. The person that I really want to dance with isn’t here,” she admitted. She had a mask on, so no one except for Alya knew who she really was. So she supposed it was okay to tell a few truths for one night, provided she was careful, of course.

She sighed, recalling how her statement had been all too true. Prince Adrien was far out of reach, and honestly she shouldn’t have expected him to show up to her modest estate, even if it was for a ball. She met him a few months ago when his father had invited all the noble families to a formal dinner, hers included.

They didn’t get off on the right foot, though.

When it was time for the dinner, she ended up being one of the last few to enter the dining room. She had been caught up in a conversation with Alya in the sitting room beforehand, delaying her arrival. When she did show, she was dismayed when she found a splash of red wine decorating the bottom of her cherry wood chair, with the Crown Prince himself squatting next to it.

Since she couldn’t berate him without receiving a harsh reprimand, she chose to coldly glare at him as she picked up a napkin from her place on the table to wipe it. Prince Adrien tried to stutter something out, something probably apologetic, but she silently rebutted every attempt for speaking.

Finally, when the dinner was over, it was discovered that it had started to rain. It was sunny before, so naturally no one brought umbrellas with them, thus resigning everyone to a wet and soaking fate.

However, right as she was about to step outside into the steady rain, the Prince appeared…with a black umbrella in hand. He explained that he was about to wipe off the wine when she had suddenly appeared. He didn’t try to soil her dress at all, and was simply in the right place (to clean the chair), but at the wrong time.

Hearing his honest words and expression persuaded her to forgive him. Afterward, he gave her the umbrella to use so she wouldn’t get wet.

And that was the moment when she fell in love with the sweet, unsuspecting prince.

They saw each other a few more times after that. He was just as friendly and amicable, but she could barely respond to him without embarrassing stutters and stammers. He was perfect in her eyes, so excuse her for being a little anxious to talk to him.

“Who do you admire that so rudely didn’t show up?” the stranger asked with a quirk of his lips.

She shook her head. There was no way she could tell anyone that she was interested in the Prince, mask or not.

“Sorry, but I can’t tell you that, Chat Noir.”

She supposed it was a good nickname; it suited him considering his attire. Besides, she couldn’t keep mentally referring to him as a stranger or just simply ‘he’.

“Chat Noir, hm?” he repeated, a far-away look appearing in his eyes as he stared above her head, a finger tapping chin in thought.

He grinned, returning his attention to her.

“I like it. Although I suppose you need a nickname now, too. How about…” he trailed off, inspecting her up and down to determine the perfect moniker. Abruptly he snapped his fingers, something that Marinette didn’t understand how he accomplished, considering he wore black gloves.

“Ladybug!” he exclaimed, smiling widely. “For your red dress and black mask. And it’s also perfect since black cats are a symbol of bad luck while ladybugs are for good luck. We’re like yin and yang, my Lady.”

The last two words rolled off his tongue in such an alluring way that caused the Lady’s heartbeat to momentarily quicken. With a light dusting of pink on her cheeks, she slightly shook her head, dismissing the sudden spike of attraction for him. ‘Chat Noir’ was just a charmingly amusing character, one that she didn’t romantically admire.

“Ladybug,” she echoed aloud, pursing her lips as she considered the potential identity. It wasn’t until a few seconds later that she seemingly decided, presenting Chat a coy smirk. “I like it.”

He mirrored her expression with a gleeful gleam of his own in his eyes.

“I knew you would,” he boasted in jest, straightening his shoulders and raising his chin in the air, giving off the appearance of a conceited aristocrat. She smiled and rolled her eyes when he placed a flattered hand over his heart. “Since everyone loves my ideas.”

“Really? And who would ‘everyone’ be?” she asked sarcastically, playing his game. “The other stray tomcats in the village?”

“My Lady, whoever said I was a stray? For all you know, I could be of royal pedigree.” His lips curved into a strangely unsettling smirk, as though he knew something she didn’t. “For all you know, I could be the Crown Prince!”

Marinette laughed, making sure to quickly press her lips together as she brought a hand to her mouth, trying to politely cover up the loud chortles. After all, it was rude for a well-bred lady to have her mouth wide open in laughter. Women were supposed to be demure and polite, always looking at their best.

She hated this social construct, yet she was doomed to follow through with its requirements anyway.

Once her giggles died down, she turned to face the grinning feline again.

“I’ve met Prince Adrien before, and I can confidently say that you’re nothing like him.”

“Indeed?” he remarked, almost sly.

“Yes, indeed,” she insisted with another giggle. “Prince Adrien isn’t like you at all.”

“And if he was? Would you admire him any less?”

Marinette visibly flinched, taken aback by his conclusion. With disbelieving eyes and reddened cheeks, she ducked her head down to avoid his eyes. How did he realize she had feelings for the Prince? This was bad, very bad…if he knew who she was he could tell Adrien, and then Adrien would never love her back and word would spread and she would become the laughing stock of the entire kingdom! She would be lonely for the rest of her life and die an old maid, while Adrien would pick a beautiful and worthy princess to marry…

She forced herself to take a deep breath through her nose.

Relax, Marinette. Maybe you could convince him that he’s wrong.

With that mental pep talk, she straightened her shoulders and faced him again.

“I don’t admire him, well, not more so than anyone else. I don’t admire him in the sense that you’re thinking of.”

“Really? Because from what I hear you do admire him, more so than anyone else.” He smirked wickedly, eliciting a nervous gulp from the stiffening maiden.

“H-How-?”

“The ‘how’ isn’t important,” he quickly dismissed with a careless wave of his hand. “What matters is the ‘why’. Why do you fancy Prince Adrien?” He clasped his hands behind his back before walking in front of her line of vision. She was positive that if they were alone, he’d be circling her like a hawk about to catch its prey.

“Is it for his riches? His looks? His palace? Or is it simply a matter of competition, in which you must win the grand prize?”

Marinette narrowed her eyes. Nevermind that this cocky feline somehow knew who she was (he didn’t say her name, but he had heard of her feelings for Prince Adrien, so therefore he must know her identity), but how dare he assume her affections were based on purely artificial things?

“Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence,” she informed him, her tone hard as she crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“So it is true, then?” he guessed with a bitter grin, followed by a scoff. “I guess our dear Prince will forever be resigned to a life without true love. Pity, I heard he was interested in quite a lovely woman, too. Warm, kind, a bit clumsy, but beautiful inside and out. Tis a shame, although I suppose it’s very well that he caught himself before he fell completely.”

Marinette was now glaring daggers where Chat Noir stood, her teeth bared in an infuriated snarl. She ignored the jab to her heart from his mention of another woman that Prince Adrien was interested in, instead focusing her anger on his grave mistakes of her character.

“Now you listen here, Chat Noir,” she spat, pointing a finger to his chest. “My feelings for Prince Adrien are real, and not based on his title, or his riches, or looks. I didn’t even like him until I saw how kind, forgiving, and generous he could be. I love him for who he is as a person, not for what he could afford or what he could give me.”

She took a deep breath, her fury beginning to simmer.

“And while I know I have no chance of him ever returning my feelings,” she continued in a much less hostile tone than before, bordering on disheartened acceptance, “I just want to make it clear that I do truly care for him…even if he loves someone else.”

The man in front of her stared seemingly in awe at her words. His green eyes were blown wide as his cheeks gradually shifted into a rosy color. For a few, tense seconds all he could seem to do was peer at her with an emotion Marinette couldn’t place, his reaction garnering her confusion.

Why was he looking at her as if seeing her for the first time? It caused a shiver to run down her spine, a good thing or a bad thing, she wasn’t certain.

At last, he appeared to snap out of his self-induced trance, a corner of his mouth curling up in a fond smile.

“I apologize for making such inaccurate assumptions of your feelings, My Lady. I see now that I was in the wrong.”

He held out a gloved hand to her.

“Would you allow me to make it up to you with a dance?”

Marinette pursed her lips, not relenting on the glower she sent his way.

“How is a dance with you going to make it up to me?”

“Well, I’ve been told I’m an excellent dancer,” he boasted, shooting her a wink. “And I’ve been trained since early childhood in the art.” His smile faltered as his expression shifted from cheekiness to remorseful. “I really am sorry for making those false accusations about you. It was completely unjustified. Can you forgive me?”

Marinette sighed, her features relaxing in the process.

She supposed she could understand where he was coming from, since most girls only wanted Prince Adrien for his title or looks. How was he to know that she was different, that she didn’t care about that stuff?

Well, she did consider him to be the most handsome, gorgeous man she ever saw, but that wasn’t why she liked him.

Anyway, Chat was just making a conclusion most likely based on the Prince’s numerous, other female admirers. He was also quick to apologize once she informed him on how wrong he was.

She was set on dancing with Prince Adrien and him alone for the night, but it was obvious that he wasn’t going to show up. And, she’s been itching to dance…

“Alright, Chat Noir, I will dance with you. But you must promise me something first.”

A part of his forehead rose. She guessed he was raising an eyebrow at her request.

“And that would be?”

Her blue eyes hardened.

“You must promise not to tell Prince Adrien about my feelings for him. Swear to me you won’t!”

Chat looked baffled at her demand.

“But why-?”

“Because!” she hissed, pointing at him for emphasis. “He’ll reject me and then everyone will find out and then I’ll become the laughing stock of this kingdom for thinking I ever had a chance with him and then I’ll never be able to leave my house again! So do not tell him, understand?”

Chat, to her surprise and indignation, had the audacity to chuckle.

“I don’t know why you think he’ll reject you, you are a lovely woman.”

When she only blinked at his enunciation of the words, oblivious as to what he was getting at, he closed his eyes and sighed for a brief moment.

“Regardless,” he continued after he opened his eyes, flashing her a grin. “I won’t tell him. Cat’s honor.”

He placed his right hand over his heart as he made the vow, at the same time he raised his left in the air.

While she was skeptical of the sly expression he wore, he did promise not to tell Prince Adrien. She mentally scoffed, figuring he only had that look because he was only going to tease her throughout the night for her feelings.

“Very well, chaton. I’ll dance with you.”

His eyes shined with satisfaction, looking very much like the cat that got the cream.

The next day, after the hype from the ball had long ago worn off, Lady Marinette was pleasantly surprised to receive a letter addressed solely to her. She figured it to be from Alya, no doubt in order to berate her for leaving her to dance with a stranger.

The thought made her giggle before she accepted the note from the servant.

Only for the amusement to immediately die down once she observed just where the letter came from. With wide eyes and a new, nervous rhythm of her heart, she broke the wax seal and flipped the paper open.

Dear Lady Marinette,

I hope you are having a wonderful morning. I apologize for not being able to attend the ball your family hosted last night, for I was caught up with other duties. I hope you are able to find it in your kind heart to forgive me.

If you were not at all busy today, I was wondering if you would perhaps consider spending the afternoon with me at the palace. Besides having lunch and strolling around the grounds together, there is something I would like to ask of you.

This request is for you, and you alone, My Lady. Of course, you are free to decline, either the request or the visit, or even both if you so wish. Although, I will be honest with you, in that I very much hope you decide to come.

If you do wish to visit, please send word soon after you have made your decision. If not, please kindly disregard this note and I shall never bring up the subject again.

Sincerely Yours,

Adrien, Crown Prince of France

“Marinette?” Sabine asked whilst entering the dining room. Her head tilted in confusion upon seeing her daughter’s flustered state. “Are you alright? Who is that letter from?”

But her daughter couldn’t answer, for she promptly swooned and fell right out of her chair.


Don’t worry, she was fine and able to go to the palace xD

At Last (m)

“Baby…” you murmur against his lips, hands snaking under his pesky tee. “I need you so bad.”

Jimin chuckles, inching away from you. “Do you?” he questions, eyebrow cocking upwards.

You frantically nod your head, the heat in your thighs unbearable along with the arousal that pools in your panties.

“Then beg for me.”

Originally posted by bangtaninspired

Pairing: Jimin x Reader // gaming au, long distance lovers au

Genre: Smut, a lil’ fluff

Word Count: 7.5k

Trilogy: Until Next TimeMaybe Next Time ↣ At Last

Includes: roadhead, oral, spanking, dom jimin, multiple orgasms, nipple play

A/N: i know i said this would be out next week but the thirst became too strong; anyway, enjoy the last part! ^^


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Unknown Parts (Gaston)- Part One

Originally posted by luuuuuke-evans


Pairing: Gaston x OC

Warnings: None

A/N: I know I say this every single time I write someone new, but he was hard to pin down! I definitely went off the live action version, as I felt he had this vulnerable, sweet side to him that appeared once in a while. IDK. Part two isn’t written yet, but I’ll get there. In the meantime, enjoy

@ohmyjesusjake
@mortalflower
@tea-atfive
@panda-reads-stuff

ps- If you want to be added to my tag list add yours here!


Part Two

There was a place near the western end of the village where you could see the sunset perfectly. A place where the houses and shops petered off and there was nothing but a deep, green valley with purple, snow capped mountains in the distance. From there, I could watch as the sky turned a miraculous shade of dusty pink and the sun sank lower and lower beneath the horizon. Stars would then slowly emerge to replace its light. I never got tired of watching. Some people would scoff and say, ‘once you’ve seen one sunset, you’ve seen them all’. But that wasn’t true at all. Each one was different. Maybe only subtly so, but still. The colors were never quite the same. Which maybe explained why I was having such a hard time capturing it in paint or chalk.

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anonymous asked:

sorry your hands are hurting uncle mod! question- you draw Gladstone with a pretty sharp beak, is his beak different from the other ducks?

me too buddy, it’s really thrown out my plans for drawing stuff- as for the question, yes! It depends on the artist as to how much it differs but Gladstone generally has a straighter and sharper beak than the others in the duck family;

He even gets called ‘chisel-beak’ or ‘chisel-features’ in a couple of stories, which I assume is a pun on the literal shape of his beak along with a ‘chiseller’ being a cheat or swindler. These are pretty exaggerated but on the whole it’s usually fairly subtle-

Daisy, Donald and Scrooge all have much the same, round-ish type of beak, but there’s also some variety in other family members’ beaks, like Gus Goose here has a very different beak type, and cousin Fethry has the pointiest one of all of them!

Like An Angel ~ An Oh Sehun Series

An Oh Sehun We Got Married series

Not Requested

Genre: Romance // Angst // Smut (later on)

Summary: (of this series) Two idols, one show, one marriage. Can you and Sehun fake your marriage for the fans? Or will that fake marriage start something between the two of you?

Word Count: 3,500 words

A/N: Yay you guys correctly guessed the member! Like an Angel takes place in the same universe as Strangers, but Yixing’s version does not. Yixing’s version (which is coming soon) is in its own universe.

{Chapter one} {Chapter two} {Chapter three, coming soon}



You look down at the very first mission card.

Your husband’s favorite colors are white and black. Make sure to dress in those colors!

Your eyes move to look at your choice of wardrobe. Everything they gave to you was either black, white, or both. Not caring about what you wear, you settle on a pure white blouse with black leggings. Looking at the shoes, you randomly pick up a pair of mary jane heels.

It was time. It was finally the time you got to find out who your husband was going to be for the next few months of filming. Well, fake husband. You had wondered about this show long enough. Was the hand holding real? Were the hugs real? Was the affection itself real? People had different opinions, yet you yourself had never really had one. Some people said everything was scripted, and others said everything was real. But what if it was in the middle? What if it was both scripted and real? You wanted to find out for yourself. So, after pestering your agent and manager begging them to get you a part in this show, they finally caved.

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Imprisoned AU

AU where the bros are actually inmates in prison.

Gladio is there for assault. Despite how menacingly jacked he is, he has the smallest sentence out of all of them, he just got a little too angry one day while drunk and accidentally may have broken the limbs of some poor guy.

Ignis is there for attempted manslaughter and murder. As it turns out, he created an elaborate scheme where he indirectly forced two coworkers to try and kill each other, then finished the job himself after. Just for fun, and to see if he could do it. If you ask him for details, he just smiles.

Noctis is there for theft and sexual assault. “Which isn’t true, she came onto me first. I just took a little compensation from her.”

“Dude, you somehow managed to take her car, her father’s car, her grandma’s jewelry and… and everything including her doghouse in a single night, how is that a little?”

“Meh. If you want a night with me though, the only compensation I’ll need is you being good to me.”

Prompto can only laugh nervously because this guy has already stolen his heart even before he said anything. Stupid master thieves with their dark and mysterious looks, chiseled features and hauntingly beautiful blue eyes.

Prompto gets put into the same cell as them, and it doesn’t take much to realize this cinnamon bun doesn’t belong in prison. They get to know him. They see how he misses his family, and how he’s good animals (even the guard dogs like him?? He’s like a freaking Disney Princess, birds gather around him during lunch time) Ironically though, he’s got the longest sentence of them all; he’s imprisoned for life.

“I-I don’t think I did it?” Prompto stammers, an incessant stream of tears flowing from wide, innocent eyes. “But maybe I just don’t remember and I actually did? I don’t know, I’m just really confused and I don’t want anyone to get in trouble but…”

And that’s how he kept bawling when they tried to ask about what he did. As it turned out, Prompto was just too scared to testify against someone else and all the blame got put on him. Over time, the three of them get attached to Prompto and they decide to break him out. They use every scrap of violent muscle, psychopathic genius and sly trickery between the three of them to do it.

So they nearly make it out of prison when the head security guard catches them. (It’s Regis, and his son is about to have the grounding of his life along with his friends.) Noctis, Gladio and Ignis all resign themselves to their increased sentence, because they honestly gave it their best effort and would likely fail if they tried again.

Until Prompto comes in, guns in both hands and shoots everyone in the room.

“Prompto, what the Astrals—That was my Dad!”

“Dude, these bullets are all rubber, you don’t think they actually give real ones to the guards around here do you? They’ll wake up with like, bruises tomorrow.”

As it turned out, he was a government agent from a different country (cough Niflheim cough) and had tried to assassinate the Lucian councilmen—and succeeded in multiple occasions while stealing highly classified secrets to boot. He’s supposedly given the authorities the slip dozens of times, giving him the title of “Quicksilver”, the infamous and deceitful Agent NH-01987. In the end, Prompto ends up breaking the three of them out of prison, not the other way around.

“Iggy, I thought you were supposed to be in here for your evilly genius brain, but you couldn’t even figure out what I am?”

“The amount of times you’ve slipped on your own candy wrappers have been awfully convincing,” Ignis adjusted his glasses. “You certainly are deserving of your title, eight-seven.”

“That…” Prompto looked away, embarrassed. “That wasn’t an act, actually.”

Then, with Prompto’s mad skills, they break out of prison, steal a really cool sportscar for their getaway vehicle and live happily ever after. :D 

But they’re still a little psychopathic so they raise hell everywhere they go. :3

Secrets, Songs and Bad Habits part 2

In which the strange dynamic gets stranger.

A/N: I’ve had such a positive response to part one of this imagine and I am so extremely grateful! I seriously just want to hug you all. However I can’t so I have decided to post this instead and make this a little series with maybe some smut in the next chapter?!?! I hope you like it lovelies xoxo

Warnings: language and kissing? (is that even a warning idk)

At two o’clock you clambered out of your window, this time with a new anticipation. You had thought of nothing but Jughead since you had left his arms to return to your slumber. Sure, he had acted like a total prick but his confession and that kiss made up for it all. You lowered yourself from your roof and onto the dewy grass beneath then turned around to be met with the sight of a tall, dark-haired boy staring at the floor, cheeks flushed and hands in his pockets. You smirked and slowly approached him. his chiselled features and curls peeking out from his beanie were illuminated by the fiery glow of the streetlamps. He looked up at you and mimicked your smirk as his eyes ghosted over your attire.

“Shut up, you dig it really?” you whispered teasingly, motioning to your lack of bottoms and the raggedy hoodie hanging loosely over your curves and inching further towards him.

“I didn’t say any…” he was cut off by your lips on his. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer and he chuckled against your lips when he noticed that you were stood on your tiptoes and straining to reach him despite him leaning downwards. He pulled away and you gazed back at him doe eyed and biting your lip. You drove him crazy. “So, I’m guessing you didn’t regret last night?”

“Not at all,” you whispered in response, reconnecting your lips with his for a moment before reluctantly pulling away once more, “do you?”

“Well…” he pretended to consider it but his lopsided grin gave him away and you promptly shut him up with another kiss.

“Come on Juggie, let’s walk,” you wrapped both of your arms around his in an attempt to gather some heat amongst the chilly autumn air. You fell into step with each other, making your way towards the drive-in as you had done for the past few weeks.

 

Monday morning rolled around and you waltzed groggily through the hallway, too tired to be aware of your surroundings. You almost toppled over on your heels as you were pulled into the janitors closet under the stairwell. Still out-of-it you blinked confusedly at your ambusher only to find Jughead with his back to you peeking out of the door that was cracked open slightly.

“Jug what the fu-” you were cut off by his lips on yours. When he pulled away he just stood there smiling sheepishly as you looked back at him with furrowed brows. “Why are we in the janitors’ closet?”

“So nobody sees us!” he replied, scoffing and narrowing his eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. You snorted in annoyance.

“Why the fuck don’t you want anyone to see us?” you demanded, hands on hips.

“I thought we’d discussed this Princess, to everyone else we aren’t an us and that’s just the way it has to be…” he sighed and although you were slightly disappointed by his apparent desire for secrecy, you simply couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your lips as he referred you both as a collective.

“Hmmm…so, does that mean that this,” you motioned between you two with your index finger and then grabbed his shirt in your fist, yanking him closer so that you were backed up against the wall and his forehead rested against yours, “is an us?”

He swallowed thickly, wetting his lips in contemplation and you nervously chewed on your bottom lip whilst anticipating his response.

“Look, I don’t know what this is…” your heart dropped momentarily and disappointment invaded your thoughts until he spoke again, his voice wavering with honest nervousness, “…but I really, really don’t want it to end.”

He looked at you, light eyes filled with sincerity and want. His breathing was heavy and you could tell that it was unusual for him to be so open.

“Me neither,” you breathed and he reached up to cup your face with his hand, thumb running over your lower lip before leaning down and pressing a searing kiss your lips and then a chaste one to your nose. You giggled lightly at his affectionate gesture and intertwined your hands.

“So…” Jughead began but he was cut off by echoing ring of the bell that signalled the beginning of the school day. He sighed in exasperation and brought his hand up to scratch the back of his neck, “…to be continued?”

“To be continued” and with that you slid out from your place between him and the wall and opened the door, merging effortlessly into the crowds of people flooding through the walkways and falling into step beside Cheryl.

You left Jughead trying to stifle a grin and realising that she to him was the equivalent of her cigarettes. She was like a bad habit – he knew he shouldn’t want her but he craved her more than anything because despite the fact that he knew being with her was a bad idea, he couldn’t help himself, when he was with her it felt so good.

Taken - Part Nine

Joker x The Reader

WARNING: SMUT

Hello everyone! Yes I know, long time, no imagine. School has just been kicking my butt lately so I’ve had no time to write :( But as promised, here is a new smutty part of Taken. Enjoy ;) xoxo -S

___________________________


As predicted, you and Frost are greeted by head turns from customers of the club in line as you walk straight past them to the front door. You’re greeted by a large built bodyguard wearing all black.

“Evening, Mr. Frost,” his loud voice bellows. He holds his left hand out to the people standing in line and pulls the front door open for the two of you.

“Good evening, Mark,” Frost states back to him.

Both of you walk through the doors and are greeted by the loud, pulse pumping music blaring throughout the club. Frost puts his hand to his left ear and tilts his head downward.

“Boss, we have arrived,” Frost states into a hidden microphone you could not see anywhere. He pauses for a few seconds before chuckling and saying “Copy that. We will be up in a minute.”

You look at him, slightly curious as to what J said. Frost smiles and chuckles again.

He tilts his head downward to your left ear and states quietly, “He told me that I can look, but I can’t touch.”

You smile slightly, loving how J gets possessive over you. You love feeling wanted by him.

Frost leads you up a black spiral staircase well hidden in the corner of the club. When you reach the top of the stairs, you walk down a hallway to approach a dark mahogany door at the end of it. You notice a gold plate on the door that states “The Joker.” Frost knocks twice on the door.

“Come in.” You hear a deep, raspy muffled voice through the door way. Frost opens the door and motions his arm, showing you in.

You step in and take a moment to inspect J’s office. You were standing on hardwood floors accented by red area rugs. There are a few red chairs and sofas to the left and right of the room, and in the middle is a large dark mahogany desk with gold accents, with a red chair in front of the desk and a matching dark leather chair behind the desk faced away from you. Just then the chair spins around and reveals the clown prince himself.

He makes eye contact with you and a puckered O shape takes over his mouth.

“Oooh, company,” he growls, standing up from his chair. He is wearing a dark red button down dress shirt with black pants. His gold chain reflects slightly in the dim warm light.

“Thank you, Frost,” he says. Frost nods back to him and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

He walks around the desk and approaches you, putting his hands on your waist and then kissing you on the cheek.

“You look beautiful, baby girl,” he says, still holding you, flashing his silver smile.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you smile back, giggling. It was true. His chiseled features and bright smile can make you go weak in the knees in a split second.

“Well what do ya think?” He asks, spreading his arms out, spinning around and taking in his office.

“It’s.. really, really nice, J,” you say, walking around, also basking in awe at how classy his office was. You walk towards his desk and then sit down in his office chair playfully. He turns around and notices you and you bite your lip.

“Wow, I really don’t know how you get any work done in such a cozy office,” you flirt, putting your feet on his desk and crossing them at the ankle. You notice your dress rise up your thigh slightly, teasing The Joker.

“And I can’t get any work done with such a dime sitting in my chair,” he growls. You chuckle.

“Feet. Down.” He states playfully.

“You gonna come over here and tell me that?” You taunt, playfully biting your lip.

He walks over to the desk and you do not budge. He grabs your left ankle followed by your right ankle and places the on the floor. He traces his fingers up your legs from your ankles to your thighs, spreading your legs.

“Baby girl is being naughty tonight. You know what happens when she doesn’t follow the rules,” he growls.

“Why don’t you show me?” You whisper.

He then takes the bottom of your red dress and hikes it over your thighs to your stomach. He grabs your black lace thong and slowly brings it down your legs and you lift your feet out of it, your wet center exposed. J purrs and spreads your legs out even further.

J then goes in and starts circling your clit with his tongue and a warm rush of pleasure encompasses your body. You groan as you arch your back in his chair and grasp the arm rests.

“Holy fuck, J,” you breathe out and you take his head in your hands, your fingers toying with his bright green hair.

He flicks his tongue against your clit fast and you can feel your orgasm start to build.

“Right there, right there, J. Oh my god, I’m going to cum,” you say. Just then your orgasm dwindles when you hear a knock on the office door.

“Boss?” You hear Frost’s voice outside the door. You look down at J, not knowing what to do.

He flashes his smile up at you and then goes to hide underneath his desk where the opening is and pulls your chair into him, so it looks like you’re sitting as his desk.

“I-I-” you stutter, and J interrupts you.

“Let. Him. In.” He growls lowly.

“Uh, c-come in,” you yell. Frost opens the door and looks around the room.

“Where’s Mr. J?” He asks.

Just then, J places two fingers in you and starts thrusting in and out of you while simultaneously flicking his tongue against your clit. The insane amount of pleasure grasps your body, making it almost impossible to give Frost an answer.

“Uh, he uh, went down to the bar to get us some drinks,” you stammer out. That was the only thing that you were able to manage to say.

“Ah, okay,” Frost says, “sorry to bother you Miss (Y/N).” You smile graciously at him, grinding your teeth while J is still fingering you. Frost then leaves and shuts the door behind him.

“You fucker,” you breathe, looking down at J. He then pushes your chair away from the desk and crawls out from the opening. He picks you up from the chair and you wrap your legs around his torso. He then lays you down on top of his desk. You unwrap your legs from him.

He pulls down the top of your red dress followed by your black bra, exposing your breasts. He cups one in his hand while he simultaneously toys with the nipple on the other one with his tongue. You moan out and grip the desk with your hands. He kisses your nipple wetly and then proceeds to pull down his pants and his boxers, freeing his huge erection.

He moves closer to you and you feel his tip and your entrance. He grabs his dick and moves the head up and down your dripping center from your clit to your entrance, teasing you.

“Oh my god, please fuck me,” you say, aching for him.

“Fuck me, who?” He toys.

“Please fuck me, daddy,” you plead.

J then thrusts into you, causing you to cry out in pleasure. He rams into you while you wrap your legs around his still clothed torso. He then licks his right hand and begins rubbing your clit hard and fast while he continues to thrust into you.

“Fuck yes,” you breathe. You can feel your second orgasm building inside you.

“God J, keep going, I’m going to cum!” You scream.

You release your dripping orgasm, which was enough to send J over the edge as well. You can feel him fill inside you and both of you ride out your orgasms before J pulls out slowly. He traces his dick along your clit, which causes your legs to shake from the extreme sensitivity.

He grabs your arms that were still clutching to the desk and pulls you to sit up on the desk. He helps you fix your bra and dress before he puts his boxers and pants back on. You stand up and pull down your dress. You begin looking on the floor for your panties when J kicks them to the side. You look at him, confused.

“Those…. can stay here,” he smirks. He grabs your ass and walks you to the office door.

“Time to greet everyone,” he says. He places his arm out and you wrap your arm around his.

@i-am-damnjam

Kiss It Better

Sitting in the hospital lobby, you caught Dr. Hiddleston’s attention on his way to work. Blissfully unaware of your condition, you turned down his help in the first place. When push came to shove, the British intensivist did not leave your bedside.

Rating: R18+
Fandom: Tom Hiddleston
Prompt: Imagine Tom Hiddleston is you doctor and you are in critical condition and he has an overwhelming desire to cure you. He checks up on you every 2 hours to see if you’re doing alright. And sometimes you pretend you’re asleep and he bends down and kisses you on the forehead and lips. 
Pairing: Doctor!Tom Hiddleston x Reader
Type: Reader insert, one-shot, fluff, angst, sic fic, hurt/comfort
Date: 27th March, 2017
Words: 4673
Warnings: [TW: graphic description of medical conditions and procedures, detailed description of the reader’s critical condition, needles, panic attack] The rating and the warnings are due to the reader developing a diabetic ketoacidosis, a potentially life-threatening complication of diabetes mellitus type one. A huge part of the story plays at an Intensive Care Unit.
A/N: That imagine by @clairelouiseisawesome has been nibbling at my brain for a long time. The GIF by @satanslifecoach got the ball rolling.
Beta’d: @outside-the-government

Originally posted by satanslifecoach

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10| Pas De Deux

Pairing: Jimin x Reader
Genre: Ballet au, Romance, Angst
Warnings: None
Wordcount: 4282

Masterlist | Prev | Next

Jimin. He was back. He was here. He was back…

He strode into the room, his movement just as you remembered. His fists were tightly clenched. Your breath was taken as you remembered how safe and warm your hands had felt in those and how his hands had been gentle, but confident. He was wearing black track pants and a fitted white t-shirt. Somehow it didn’t look like a uniform on him. On his wrist you saw a black wrist band you hadn’t noticed before. There was something attatched to it, some sort of intricate design. You wondered what it was.

Then you finally looked at his face. His strong jaw and chiselled features were tense, but they were as you remembered. His lips were a straight, almost in line. And his eyes, the same brown as you had learnt so well in those few moments, deep and infinite. You wanted to look into them again, you wanted to explore more, but he wasn’t looking at you. You shut your eyes and exhaled, trying to remind yourself that you hardly knew Park Jimin.

He was standing at the front of the class, his hands now behind his back. Mrs. Shin was already sitting at the piano, a quiet smile on her face.

Yuna had been trying to get your attention and you glanced at her. ‘Thank God’ she mouthed then grinned. You gave her a weak smile back. Jimin was here, and so your abnormal curiosity might be satiated. But then, Jimin was here, and after all that had happened, after he’d walked out, could you even face him again?

He now cleared his throat, looking out at the class. “Good Afternoon, class.” He said. His voice was the same authoritative sound, though it seemed so business-like. The last time you’d heard him speak was when he had been talking to Taeyeon in the dining hall. Back then his voice had been angry, and tense. Now it was just blank.

Whilst you had been thinking, everyone else had stood up, and they were now chorusing. “Good Afternoon, Sir.”

“Sit for a minute.” He said. You exchanged another glance with Yuna as she sat down again, what was this going to be about? Jimin stepped forward, a serious look in his eyes. “As Jiwoo’s class I believe you have the right to know how she is.” He began in a heavy tone. You sat up straighter. He had more information about Jiwoo? His jaw was taut as he continued. “In falling she managed to break her collarbone. Normally it wouldn’t be so bad, but the bone has been displaced.” He swallowed. His expression was still calm and controlled, but you saw his tensed jaw. “She got out of surgery a few hours ago.” He rubbed his chin, as if deliberating something, then looked back to the class. “At present, they think it’ll take her four months to heal.”

You felt tears pricking your eyes. You felt sympathetic for what Jiwoo was going through. Ballet dancers were injured all the time, it wasn’t rare, even though at Amour there weren’t that many. But if you yourself wasn’t allowed to dance for four month, it would be terrible. Jiwoo loved ballet. You’d seen it on her face, and in the way she worked. And of course missing four months of classes would mean she would fall far behind the class.

Jimin exhaled and clapped his hands together. “Positions, please!” He frowned suddenly. You saw who he was looking at. “Who are you?” He asked, walking over.

Eungkwan, who you’d thought to be rather shy, now stood up straight, his chin raised. “Dahn Eungkwan.”

Jimin’s eyes narrowed. “You’re a second year. Why are you here?”

“I’m Miss (Surname)’s partner.” Eungkwan answered.

You waited for some kind of reaction from Jimin, some tiny show of something at your name, but he just looked Eungkwan up and down very slowly, studying him, then looked behind him, out the window and off into the distance. He seemed caught on a thought, just for a few seconds, then he snapped back to the class. “Hurry up!” He said, returning to the front of the class. “Promenades!”

You stood up. A horrible wave of pain crashed around your head. Your vision was shrouded again by black. You pressed a hand to your forehead. Oh God! Then it began to clear again, and the pain left with one final stab. You took one deep breath and then hurried over to Eungkwan. The piano had already started, and he quickly put his hands on your waist.

Nerves thrummed in your stomach, even though they had no reason to. It felt strange to have Eungkwan’s hands on you when Jimin was here. You knew why; everything that you lacked in your partnership with Eungkwan. The emotion, the connection, the passion. Like you’d had when you’d danced with Jimin. And now he was here, in the very same room, and it seemed as though the feeling you had had on that day was so close, but out of reach.

You swallowed, telling yourself to just forget it. “Promenades!” Jimin called. “And five six seven eight and step up two three.” You stepped up onto Pointe and your head swirled as Eungkwan began to turn you. “Miss Gwan, stand up straight!” Jimin circled Minjee and Jongsoo, adjusting their hands and pushing Minjee up taller. “One more promenade then down into courus for eight counts! Five six seven eight and down! Courus right!”

You felt dizzy as you made the tiny courus. “Where are the arms?” Jimin demanded. Eungkwan hands went away from your waist, and for once you felt like you needed them. You tried to breathe in as you raised your arms to fifth.

“And arabesque step and up! Keep control!” Jimin ordered, exasperation in his voice. You glanced in the mirror. He was looking at the whole class, his hands on his hips. You looked at them as well. Even with your horrible state, you had to admit Eungkwan and you were looking pretty sharp. Others wobbled or let down their legs. Hyeun was gripping her partner’s shoulder. You felt like slouching over Eungkwan’s hand which lay on your belly, head felt so heavy. Toughen up, (Name)! Your yelled at yourself. You took a deep breath and lengthened your neck. You had to keep the composure. You were doing okay, you were fine.

“And now down, four two steps forward and into pirouette!” It seemed like pirouettes were the worst thing you could possibly do right now, but you launched into the fast spin, Eungkwan’s hands ringing around you. Nausea was tugging at you now, in your belly and your throat.

Oh Fuck.

“And out into developpe!” You stopped the pirouette, and wobbled dangerously. Come on! You lifted your leg out in front of you, still bent. “And stretch out! Hold it! Keep holding!” Jimin gave an exasperated sigh. The piano stopped.

“What the hell.” He began, walking between the dancers to the front of the class. “Do you think you are all doing?” His lips were pursed, hands still on his hips.

After a few moments, Hyeun eventually stepped forward and said. “We didn’t really have to, you know, worry about it with Madame Zhang.”

Jimin folded his arms. “So you’re entirely reliant on your teacher, Miss Yah?”

Hyeun bit her cheek, looking guilty. “I guess.”

Even though he was only addressing her, everyone felt guilty, and he knew. Jimin sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He looked out at the class. You’d noticed all along, but hadn’t thought personally of it. He never looked to where Eungkwan and you were standing.

“None of you will ever succeed in ballet if you have to have someone to make sure you’re keeping the standards.” He stepped forward, looking at the class. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t have your teacher, or if you’re tired, or if you’re frustrated.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “There are no excuses. You dance to your standards and when you reach them you set higher ones. You never lower them, you never get complacent and for fuck’s sake, you never get sloppy!” Your class was silent, his words sinking into each and every one of you.

You looked at Jimin, feeling something stir in you. He was so very right.

He held his gaze on the class a few moments longer before letting his folded arms drop to his sides. “Rows of three.” He said. “We’re doing combinations, and if any pair performs sloppily then they will do it again until they get it right.” He raised his chin and clapped his hands. “Hurry up!”

“Someone’s touchy.” Minjee muttered as everyone went to the back.

“You in particular, Miss Gwan-” Jimin murmured from the front of the studio, looking nonchalantly at his black wristband. “-Should be thinking about standards. I’m sure your partner is sick of having to push you round your pirouette.”

You glanced at Jongsoo. He was looking down awkwardly. Minjee huffed and went to the back rows.

Jimin gave himself a little smile before looking back at the class. “Alright, first combination. Ladies courus up for eight, arms second to fifth. Then arabesque. Gentlemen run up and catch the arabesque. Ladies curl the working leg around a little. Promenade and finish.” You pictured it in your head quickly. “First line up! Mrs Shin.” He nodded to her, and she began a slow tune. “Five, six, seven, eight. Slowly, Miss Yah! Feel the music! Mister Rhee keep your feet in, good and plie down to finish. Next group up!”

Nerves suddenly shot through you. Only three pairs. Then he would have to look at you. That doesn’t matter, he’s only your teacher, just a teacher.

“And next group!” The dizziness suddenly returned as you échappéd to pointe. You raised your arms, going from outstretched to above your head and back down. You couldn’t wobble, not now. Your head throbbed. You could see little lights dancing around the room.

“Miss Price keep your posture! Arabesque!” You held your breath and let your leg up. Eungkwan gracefully ran and caught you in the arabesque, then turned you around. You had to keep your head straight, though it felt like your insides were spinning.

Remembering the next move, you quickly curled your leg around Eungkwan, effectively circling his waist. You could feel the heat from his body.

“Mister Dahn.” You glanced up at Eungkwan’s name. Jimin was frowning at you and Eungkwan, his eyes avoiding your face. It was the first attention he’d shown your all lesson. You were more excited than you should have been. He studied your position. You glanced in the mirror behind him, and saw yourself, arms reaching out, leg bend in a curl around another dancer. And you saw Eungkwan, his hands on your waist, standing with perfect posture, his eyes straight ahead, completely blank.

You refocused on Jimin. He took a breath through his nose and looked away from you, the muscle in his jaw twitching ever so slightly. “And plie.” He said to the windows, his face still tense as Eungkwan and you plied and then rose up again. You tried to work out his expression, but the sparkling lights had returned, glimmering around everywhere. The stabbing in your head seemed to go in time, as did the horrible swirling in your stomach. You shuffled to the side of the studio and back to the line.

“He missed the promenade.” Eungkwan muttered, already in line.

You nodded, but you didn’t really care. Your headache pulsed insistently hard at you, probably worsened by your confusion about Jimin.

You performed several more combinations, with many stops and starts for other pairs as Jimin went over details. But every time Eungkwan and you performed, he watched passively. There wasn’t much to correct. Eungkwan was, of course, flawless. And you were managing to keep composure. But your headache was getting worse.

“Right.” Jimin said eventually. Lights sparkled around him. You gripped the barre as you swayed.

“Now we’ll move on to four pairs at a time. Four ladies one side, four gentlemen the other. Tour jetes across, crossing over so you swap sides. Second time come halfway across to meet your partner. Sidestep into a line. Développé right, two steps and grand battement, then développé left, same thing. Leap right, leap left. Pirouettes, then finish passé out to développé.” He grinned at the class. “Now we will see who’s been listening.” He clapped his hands. “First group up!”

As soon as you could, you turned your back and fully leant on the bar. You had the horrible sick feeling that you used to get when you spun around too much on the tire swing at school. But you had mastered the dizziness from pirouettes ages ago. You tried taking deep breaths in, out, in, out.

“Next group!”

“(Name).” Eungkwan said. You turned around. You were going to be fine. You quickly recounted the steps in your head. Run, meet, développé left, battement, other way same thing, leaps, pirouette, développé. You did not feel like doing the combination but nonetheless hurried to the right side of the studio, lining up with Minjee, and Seohyun.

“Five six seven eight and running.” Hey, didn’t you know this tune? It was Alexandra something…oh crap! You flitted across the stage, way too many counts behind the others.

“And turn, yes and meet them! Good, gentlemen kneel.” Eungkwan kneeled, offering you his hand. You took it, your head now feeling extremely light. “And to the line.” Eungkwan and you skipped into line beside Minjee and Jongsoo. “And développé right, and step step.”

Oh God, what were you doing? Your legs were crossing awkwardly, almost throwing you off balance. You did a weak battement and then went back to Eungkwan for the next move.

“Good and now same thing on the left.” You did the two steps better this time, and let your leg stretch out and fly up.

“Hey!” Minjee shouted. Mrs Shin stopped playing.

What? You looked around. Eungkwan was far away on your left, and you were right next to Minjee. You’d gone the wrong way.

“Sorry.” You said to her. Even though you didn’t like her, you could have kicked her in the head if you’d been just a tiny bit closer. Suddenly pain shoved violently through your head. You squeezed your eyes shut and massaged against your forehead. Couldn’t it just go away?

You opened your eyes, the pain dying down to the normal throb again. You stifled a gasp. Jimin was right in front of you, looking at down at you with concern. Once more, he was frowning. “What’s wrong?” He asked you.

“I’m fine. You said quickly.

"Your head?” He glanced at your hand still up against the forehead.

You swallowed and repeated. “I’m fine.”

Jimin raised a dark, sceptical eyebrow. Another wave of dizziness rolled through you. You swayed momentarily, the sickness returning to your stomach. “Dizzy?” Jimin asked.

You felt utterly powerless, but you still told him an 'I’m okay’.

“No, you’re not.” He said back.

You raised your chin, though you could hardly make yourself look taller than him. “I think I know when I’m okay and when I’m not, Sir.” Calling him 'sir’ seemed strange…foreign.

Jimin sighed wearily. “Untie your shoe.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Untie your shoe, Miss (Surname).”

“Why?” You asked. They were perfectly fine.

“Why not?” He countered. You confusedly sat down, wondering what on earth he was doing. Picking out the knot in the ribbons your shoe fell loose.

“Now tie it up again.” He said, gesturing to your shoe. Your head throbbed as you grabbed the ribbons.

You looked up at Jimin as you tied. “What is the point of this?”

Jimin was looking at your shoe, his eyebrows raised. He nodded to it. “To prove that.”

You glanced down. The ribbons weren’t the neat 'x’ and circle that you’d been easily doing. Instead, they were a loose, useless tangle, just like this morning. You sighed exhausted. You couldn’t tell right from left, you couldn’t remember the steps for your solo, you couldn’t keep in time with the music, you couldn’t even tie up your own pointe shoes! What the hell was wrong with you?

“Mrs Shin, would you please look after the class for a few minutes?” Jimin asked her. Mrs. Shin pushed up her glasses and smiled a yes.

Jimin looked back down to you. He offered you his hand and you tentatively took it.

Electricity suddenly shot up your hands, and Jimin and you locked eyes. There was nothing teacher-student about it. At that point, it was as if Jimin and you were together, as one. Becoming entirely equal within a single look, equal, and connected. But that was impossible. It seemed you both shared the thought, and the both of you snapped out of it.

He pulled you up and then let go as quickly as he could. He turned and was quickly at the door. For just a second, you thought he was storming out again like last time. You felt a horrible pain blossoming in your chest, but then he turned again, holding the door open for you. Hurrying past him, into the cool corridor, you yanked off your loose shoes and held them, confused and slightly, bedazzled.

Jimin leaned back into the studio for a second. “I want to see that combination perfected by the time I get back, yes?”

“Yes, sir.” You heard your classmates chorus.

He shut the door and began walking. You had to take long steps to keep up with him as he led you to the stairs.

“Where are we going?” You asked, feeling like a child.

“To Doctor Hill’s office.” He replied shortly.

“I’ll get better.” You said. The last thing you needed right now was for this Doctor Hill to deem you unfit for classes for even just a day. You could not miss another tech class, not when your solo piece was in shreds. “I don’t need to go.”

“You do.” Jimin said sharply as you reached the stairs.

“I can’t.” You said, stopping.

He turned around, looking incredulous. “Why not? You have a concussion, you have to see a doctor.”

You bit your lip, looking down at your feet. “You don’t know if I have a concussion.”

Jimin nodded, conceding. Then looked up at you. “Which is why we’re going to the doctor, to find out.”

You sighed, exasperated, and continued down the stairs silently.

The third door on the right of the stairs held the plaque:

Dr Martin Hill, Physiotherapist

Jimin knocked. “Come in.” Came a man’s voice.

Jimin opened the door and you went in. It looked like any other doctor’s surgery. A high bed with just a pale blue sheet, a couple of armchairs, several cupboards and many posters on the mint green walls.

Ballet: the Art of Arthritis.

Eating Disorders for your Échappés.

Pointe Shoes: The Danger in Pink.

The Truth about Tutus.

Ballet befriends Bulimia.

Tondues and Tendinitis.

What on Earth? Since when did posters like these end up in a ballet school?

Doctor Hill sat at a corner desk, a laptop in front of him. He turned in his chair. “Ah, Park Jimin.” he said, standing up. He wore studious horn-rimmed glasses and his neat brown beard was flecked with grey, as was his balding hair. His face was podgy and round, but not unpleasant. He was very short, though. Only a little taller than you. “Another torn muscle?” He inquired.

Jimin grimaced and shook his head. A torn muscle? That had to have put him back a few months. “Miss (Surname) has a concussion.” He said.

Doctor Hill turned to you. “Hello Miss…(Surname) is it?” You gave a half-hearted smile. He looked at you over the top of his glasses, inky black eyes scrutinizing you. “Tell me, Miss (Surname) did you do your warm ups today?”

“Yes sir.” You nodded. You’d managed to do those, at least.

He shook his head distastefully. “Warm ups are extremely dangerous.” He said. “And to do them without teacher supervision as you do in this academy is truly ridiculous.” You blushed and looked down at your hands. He waited a moment longer. “Have a seat.” You slipped gratefully into a chair. Jimin sat next to you, but made sure your shoulders didn’t touch. “So.” He began, sitting back in his own chair and crossing his legs. “How did you get this concussion?”

“I probably don’t even have one.” You told him. “Just a headache.”

He pressed his lips together in disdain. “How long have you had a headache for?”

“Since breakfast, maybe?” You tried to work out if you’d felt anything last night. You did want to get your headache away.

“Have you experienced any dizziness or nausea?”

You bit your lip. “Yes.”

He nodded slowly, writing something down on a clipboard he’d produced out of nowhere. “Have you had any trauma to the head recently?”

“No.” You told him.

“No falls, fights or so?”

You shook your head. “Nope.” The word 'fall’ sparked a memory though. Jiwoo, she’d fallen. You remembered it now, her swaying, and then crashing, crashing into…

You looked up at Doctor Hill hesitantly. “I can’t quite remember what happened, but I think I blacked out yesterday, after Jiwoo’s fall. She fell into my partner, and he lost his hold on me and I fell, but he caught me, and then.” You frowned, what had happened next?

“Wait, you were in that accident?” Jimin asked incredulously.

You nodded. Before Jimin could say anything else, Doctor Hill butted in. “Temporary memory loss is a sign of concussion. If you fell, then it’s quite likely you hit your head on the ground.”

“How serious is this?” Asked Jimin.

Doctor Hill shrugged. “As Miss (Surname) hasn’t had any further black-outs, I would say it was grade two at the most. The memory loss is a little worrying, but there is little we can do to get that back. No vomiting?” He asked looking at you.

“No.” You said.

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a torch. “Just lean forward for me.” You complied, and he shined the little torch into your left eye, then your right. Satisfied, he clicked it off and put it back in the drawer. “The strong effects of a concussion don’t last too long. Rest until Saturday at least and you should be fine.”

“You mean no ballet?” You asked sharply, though of course that was what he meant.

“None.” He said, then pointed to one of his posters. “Stay away from ballet, your life gains a year every day.”

“I can’t stay off that long.” You told him, giving a mental eye roll at the damned poster. This was exactly what you had feared. This could not happen, not before the review.

“You will, Miss (Surname) Doctor’s orders.” He gave a twisted smile. “Now I’ll go and get you a prescription of Tylenol.” He stood up and went through a door by the desk, labelled 'Staff Only.’ As soon as the door shut, Jimin turned to you.

“Why the hell didn’t you tell anyone?” He demanded. “I had no idea there was anyone other than Jiwoo and Kwangsik involved!”

You huffed. “I think a girl screaming on the floor with a broken shoulder is slightly more important.”

Jimin stared at you with disbelief. “A concussion could be just as serious.”

“But it isn’t.” You pointed out. “I’m fine. And I’m not the one in hospital.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “This is just like with Kihyun. I couldn’t believe you didn’t tell him anything.”

“I didn’t know what it was meant to feel like! I’d never done Pas de Deux before!”

“God, everyone know it’s a responsibility to say if something’s not right!”

“What?” You snapped. “After last week I just assumed that walking out the door was how that worked.”

That stopped him short, and he glared contemptuously at the floor. Finally he looked at you. “I walked out because I realized that I had taken you way out of your depth.”

“What, you thought I wasn’t coping?”

“You could hardly cope with the simple lift Madame Zhang wanted. I saw the fear in your face. I did an over head, without any warning, with a first year. And worse, a first year who has no background in Pas de Deux or the trust or the emotion that comes with it.”

“What the hell?” You exclaimed. “So you just assumed that I was – ”

“Interesting conversations you ballet dancers have.” Doctor Hill had returned from the other room, a pill bottle in his hand. With his other hand, he pointed to another poster. Would you sacrifice mental stability for flexibility?

Worn raw with anger, you stood and stuck your hand out for the pills impatiently. “Take one every two hours, no less. Take two if it gets very bad. And remember, no ballet until Saturday. I’ll explain to your teachers.”

“Thank you, Sir.” You said mechanically, then spun on your heel and launched out of the door, eager to get away from him. Out in the entrance hall, people were heading through to dinner. Taking a deep breath to try and compose yourself, you fought against the tide of students coming down the stairs.

You had your pointe shoes in hand, and your iPod lay upstairs in your trunk. You rolled shoulders and lifted your chin.

By Sunday night, you would prove to Park Jimin that you were not an inexperienced, clueless first year.

8 | Red Skies

BTS WEREWOLF AU
WORD COUNT: 3,207 a healthy chunk i think

WARNINGS: SWEARING, VIOLENCE, MENTAL HEALTH DETERIORATION, FEELS, VIOLENCE, MORE CHOKING (not sxc choking)

Originally posted by dangerously-jamless

masterlist | ask | prev | next


Though he couldn’t remember anything about the ordeal thankfully Taehyung was okay, you’d caught him long before the grips of death could fully claim his body. His large feline eyes were the same rich chocolate brown shade they were the days you met him, a silent comfortable reminder that you did the right thing, for once.

Jimin had made your life increasingly difficult, he’d placed you under house arrest and banned you from going outside at all. You weren’t even allowed to retrieve the morning newspapers from the porch. The tension in the household only grew thicker when you and Jimin finally cracked and argued. Both of you were screaming in each other’s faces, doors were slammed and tears were shed. He was so adamant that Hoseok, Yoongi and Jungkook had branded Taehyung and killed him in cold blood, and for a while so were you.
But like you said to Jimin when the two of you almost killed each other, surely it couldn’t be them. If they were so unbelievably dangerous why didn’t Yoongi and Hoseok kill the entire pack when they had the chance? Why didn’t Jungkook murder you in your sleep as he lay beside you?

The only person in the house that sided with you was Nancy, a genuine surprise considering it was her mate who had potentially died at the hands of the people you were defending. Nancy and you were back to some form of normality, it had taken three days for her to muster up the courage to apologise but as soon as she did you both hugged it out and put your differences aside.
She also believed that the branding on Taehyung’s wrist had nothing to do with Hoseok, Yoongi and Jungkook; despite it being their initials being melted into his flesh. The act itself was too careless, too obvious, you both agreed.
Another thing she mentioned was how powerful Jungkook was before you’d unintentionally changed him into a dark breed, she said that she’d witnessed his high breed ability and that there was just no way he’d settle for killing somebody and leaving them to be found in their own lounge. Even after all the time you’d spent with the pack, still nobody would tell you what Jungkook’s high breed ability even was.

After hours and hours of research Namjoon was still no closer to finding out any more information regarding dark breeds, which only infuriated Jimin more. You’d noticed since he became alpha he hadn’t slept much, his regular trips the the strip club had been replaced with night patrols to gather more information from the surrounding area, but just like Namjoon he was no closer to finding Hoseok, Yoongi and Jungkook’s whereabouts either.

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Can’t Strip It Away

A fun little One Shot inspired by a prompt from @bleebug

Modern CS au where Emma works at a beauty salon, Killian comes in to get his chest waxed for the first time at the urging of some friends who want to set him up with another woman  

Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you like, please reblog and tag your friends ;o)

Ao3


“So, are we taking bets on whether or not he actually shows this time?”

Her colleague’s inquiry roused Emma from her sleep deprived trance, causing her to take another sip of the coffee that was so far failing her this morning.

Peaking over the rim of her mug Emma attempted to engage with Ruby and Elsa, her fellow stylists and estheticians at the Enchanted Salon and Spa, and asked, “bets on whether or not who shows?”

“K. Jones.” Elsa informed her. “He’s scheduled and cancelled a body waxing twice. If he shows today it’ll be third time’s the charm.” Her cool demeanor was all Emma needed to know that Elsa had been the one he’d cancelled on. She’d be surprised if Elsa agreed to take his appointment again.

K. Jones. The name didn’t seem to familiar to Emma, but she was still pretty new. She had gotten to know most of the regulars and had built herself a respectable clientele in the short time she had been at Enchanted, but she was still low man on the totem pole. Which is why Ruby’s next statement didn’t come as much of a surprise.

“He’s all yours, Em. I’ve put him down as your four-thirty, that way if he does cancel you’ll at least get to leave early.”

She supposed that was a bit of a consulation. Best case scenario, the guy showed and she’d get a little extra cash in her pocket and a potential new client. Worst case, she’d get to clock out early and catch up on some sleep. She’d been burning the candle at both ends with her night job bartending at the local watering hole on top of her job at the salon. It was only temporary, though. Once she built up a strong base of repeat and steady salon customers, she wouldn’t need the bartending gig any longer.

Besides, hard work and long hours were nothing new to Emma Swan. It was simply the life of a single parent. Besides, her son was worth a little sleep deprivation.

Ruby finished going over the day’s schedule with Emma and Elsa before they all went off to their own stations to prepare for the day’s clients. Emma was pleased that she had a full line-up, with K. Jones being the only wild card. She’d even had the opportunity to take on two new clients. She was just cleaning up from her second to last customer of the day when she heard Ruby and Elsa speculating by the front windows.

“That has to be him.” Elsa stated, as she stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Poor K. Jones was already on her bad side. Elsa didn’t take kindly to cancellations, especially twice over.

“If it is him, then I’m bummed I didn’t schedule him for myself.” Ruby mused, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and adjusting her barely there dress to perfectly highlight all her assets. Not one to ever miss out on a flirting opportunity, Ruby turned to check her makeup in the nearby mirror as she called out for Emma.

“Ems, get out here a check out your potential four-thirty!”

Emma approached the front windows with a smirk on her lips directed at the two women who had zero chill, only to find herself gaping out the window at the gentleman in question.

He was pacing along the sidewalk across the narrow street out front. Stopping every once in awhile, he gave a tentative glance over to the salon as he scratched nervously behind his ear. He was clearly warring with himself. He was also clearly gorgeous.

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