#smuggling contraband

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"WHITE MICE CARRIED CONVICT'S MESSAGES," Daily British Whig (Kingston, Ontario). October 21, 1920. Page 2. --- Penitentiary Inmates Have a Complete System of Telegraphy. ---- In view of the combined efforts of the convicts at the penitentiary to create a disturbance by yelling and hooting in the cells, citizens have been wondering how they carried out a system to bring it all about.

It is claimed that the convicts in the "pen" have a complete system of tapping or telegraphy, by which they communicate with each other, and it is carried on with great success, in spite of the efforts of the prison authorities to put a stop to it. Sometimes the tapping is carried out on the walls, or their tin drinking cups, but it is known for a fact that convicts have communicated with each other in this way, and that many a scheme has been carried out as a result.

It is stated that some few years ago, several of the convicts had white mice as their pets and that the mice were used to carry messages to and fro among the convicts. This may appear as a fairy story, but it is vouched for, by people in a position to know. Needless to say there are no white mice in the penitentiary to-day.

#kingston penitentiary #kingston ontario #prison strike #prisoner protest #prison agitator #trafficking in prison #smuggling contraband #smuggling letters #causes of prison riots #1920 kp rcmp investigation #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada #prison grapevine

[sincerely-sofie]

I know that officially Twigs bunker door had failed due to a lack of maintenance and loss of technological knowledge

but given how the Aunt was willing to set the bunker on fire, I sometimes wonder if she sabotaged it on purpose

then again, its not like theres any way for Twig and Co. to even know the full story

… Would now be a bad time to say that the Future was restored in such a way that Twig’s bunker is intact and everyone inside is still alive, including her aunt, and that I’ve been planning a comic that explores a possible reunion with her as well as a paradoxical human version of Twig?

#also I’m neither confirming nor denying anything— #—but Twig’s Aunt *was* a former engineer who worked on maintaining the bunker’s machinery. #she lost her position after she was caught smuggling contraband items such as lighters. #but who’s to say she wasn’t petty enough to try and make her replacement’s job extra hard by messing with some parameters? #Hm. I wonder if she regretted it when she realized she couldn’t make her escape when the fire she lit spread too fast. #Karma comes for us all you complete and utter nugget head. #the present is a gift au #stuff by sofie #sofie answers asks #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokémon mystery dungeon #pmd sky #pmd explorers #pmd #pmd eos #pmd2 #pmd au

[runnerfivestillalive]

This is from the book, while Crowley is trying to talk Aziraphale into helping him stop armageddon, and does his drunken ramble about eternity. Apparently God enjoys The Sound of Music.

“You’ll enjoy it. You really will. You won’t have a choice.”

I feel like this line gets overlooked a lot. It’s an important line, for sheer horror potential.

Whatever the control mechanism is, clearly it isn’t running on every angel at all times, because if that was the case, a rebellion never would have happened. Aziraphale wouldn’t have six thousand years of doubts piling up to critical capacity. Gabriel wouldn’t have been able to escape.

But it’s also clearly very easily turned on, since they both accept that it would be used for something as petty as enjoying a movie. This lack of will can be rolled over angels at any time, for any reason.

Aziraphale clearly has some dread of this. *Crowley* knows it, and used it to convince Aziraphale to help him stop armageddon. But Aziraphale is very good at letting one part of his brain know something while another part of his brain denies it, so it’s not clear how much *Aziraphale* knows he dreads it, even as that dread shapes his character.

He’s never really broken free of Heaven. Even when he was being called a traitor, he wasn’t fallen, and so he was expecting to be called home eventually. And he’d be happy, of course. He won’t have a choice.

Aziraphale’s been trying to walk away from Heaven for at least six thousand years. He walked away from guard duty. He gave away his sword. He lied straight to God’s face about it. He lied to the archangels, and then straight up told Crowley he was ready to go to Hell. Several millennia of trouble-making and demon-fraternizing later, he stood in the middle of Heaven, declared he wasn’t going to fight in any war, then escaped via the demonic act of human possession. He is ready to GO.

And still his wings are snowy white. He’s just as angelic as when he first worried the pretty starmaker might get in trouble, and tried to protect him with a warning.

But he can’t escape. Heaven isn’t letting anyone else go. And he knows what his future holds. Eventually, no matter how many times they put it off, eventually he will be called back to Heaven.

And so, what promises can he make Crowley?

To stay with him always? Of course not. To love him? Can he even promise to love him? No. He’ll eventually be dragged back to Heaven, and he’ll be happy to go, and he won’t even miss him. *He won’t have a choice.*

And perhaps that’s the problem. He loves Crowley too much to make promises he can’t keep.

#Gabriel’s escape isn’t terribly encouraging #He had to be warned his time was up #hide his brain inside a contraband gift from Beelzebub #smuggle it out with his now brainless body #make it to a pre-existing place of safety that could protect him from both Heaven and Hell #get rescued by Beelzebub #and even STILL he only escaped by the skin of his teeth #Aziraphale can’t just decide to leave Heaven. #good omens

[definitelynotaraccoon]

SPELL OUT YOUR URL WITH SONG TITLES - THEN TAG AS MANY PEOPLE AS THERE ARE LETTERS IN THE URL

Tagged by: @revenantinflames "You saw how many letters were in my url yet punished me anyway. Jerk."

D - Don’t Stop Me Now - Queen E - Everybody Wants To Rule The World - Tears For Fears F - Final Countdown - Europe I - In My Life - The Beatles (his personal favorite here) N - Never Gonna Give You Up - Rick Astley (has no idea about the meme) I - I Shot The Sheriff - Bob Marley and Eric Clapton  Either is good. T - Take On Me - a-ha E - Escape - Rupert Holmes (that disgusting human ‘probably a euphemism’ song) L - Lonesome Loser - Little River Band Y - You Gotta Fight for Your Right to Party - Beastie Boys N - New Moon on Monday - Duran Duran O - O Superman · Laurie Anderson (listens in private, will tell you it’s stupid.) T - Tokyo - Bruce Cockburn  A - All the Young Dudes - Mott The Hoople R - Rocky Raccoon - The Beatles (Nope. No resemblance. Fool got shot. Shut up.) A - A Real Hero - College & Electric Youth (hasn’t heard but would be a Ryan Gosl-er) C - Call Me - Blondie C - Come On Eileen · Dexys Midnight Runners O - Out Of Touch - Hall & Oates O - Oh! You Pretty Things - Bowie N - No Use in Crying - Rolling Stones

"...Maybe Stark (@overclocks) is right. Maybe I do got a music problem that needs expanding..."

"Psssh, nah. I have exceptional tastes with everything. I'm not tagging too many morons in this, I'm feeling merciful. Plus, you cannot beat my musical choices."

"...but I am tagging you, Danvers, (@paragonrising) as payback for your usual flarking paperwork!"

Additional losers to tag: @blackjack-ohare, @spiderz0mbie, @beatfreesmysoul, @galestrings

#( Smuggling Contraband : Memes ) #I loved this #but also it was suffering #space raccoon's musical knowledge damaged by one earth moron #tragic story

[ausetkmt]

Georgia Correctional Officer Arrested For Smuggling Contraband Inside Jail.

#Georgia Correctional Officer Arrested For Smuggling Contraband Inside Jail. #atlanta

[guiltye]

imagine being designed to be genetically perfect and then you meet alec.

#ooc. #do i need to elaborate? i dont think so. #actually i will- #lil smart ALEC who uses his abilities for his own selfish gain while also being able to effectively corrupt the system anywhere. #including but not limited to manticore; the damn place that he was created and born in; the place that subjected him to rounds of psy-ops; #the place that tortured him - he still managed to have a smuggling contraband ring going on INSIDE of manticore. #smokes because he thinks it's ironic and funny that the nicotine will never affect him the way it does humans since he heals at a rapid pac #and just !!!!!! usually is out to cover his own skin (while also refusing to admit that he wants to help others like him too). #i love him i cherish him. #but he is so far from perfect and i love it.

[daydreamerdrew]

The Adventures of Captain America (1991) #2

#weeee I really enjoyed this #the Golden Age comics completely skipped past Steve and Bucky’s relationship before Bucky learned that Steve was Captain America #by tacking on Bucky becoming Steve’s partner to the end of Steve’s origin story and going from there #I had no idea that Bucky smuggling contraband at Camp Lehigh predated Ed Brubaker’s comics #though I think Brubaker’s Bucky was more well-liked #and to a certain extent his business was known about and tolerated #he trades with a major in one of the Captain America and Bucky (2011) issues #and there's a reference to Bucky's smuggling being covered up so that he wouldn't get in trouble #in one of the flashbacks in Captain America (2005) #his cigarettes and candy bars were all legit to my knowledge #whereas this Bucky is described in the previous issue summary for the next issue as a ‘con man’ #and he needs Steve to protect him due to his bad deals #though that Major seems to like him- he’s smiling for Bucky #we see this Bucky manage to get his way where he wasn’t supposed to more but I think Brubaker’s Bucky came across as more charming #anyway Bucky electing Steve as his bodyguard but also saying if he got beat up then ‘I’ll help you take care of ‘em!’ is cute #I like the way he just inserts himself into Steve’s life #marvel #steve rogers #bucky barnes #my posts #comic panels

[ladylvck]

"If you ever need something that you...can't get by normal means, please do let me know. We can work something out, fufufufu."

#open #admin puck tag #aka he's willing to smuggle some contraband your way if you want it

[crazysodomite]

wtf is going on. leopard gecko husbandry changed so much wtf!!! i need to right these wrongs immediately!!!

husbandry groups in russia ARENT keeping up!! i should translate the facebook posts to spread awareness bc the most popular keeper groups here are using rlly outdated info... apparently overhead heating and loose substrate are actually better!??!? im going to get crucified for telling the truth but it must be done...

#also i was fighting for my LIFE searching for a dimming thermostat. #ive looked EVERYWHERE even the most obscure sites #and i only found ONE dimming thermostat on aliexpress but it has bad reviews and im not actually sure its a DIMMING one and not an on/off on #e #so im gonna use a manual dimmer and thermostat .okay. #orr i could smuggle one from finland lmfaooo #using contraband to give my gecko the best care i can

[kariachi]

A follow-up to last night’s pre-Osmobeast au!!

Gar has returned to the store with more company.

~~

“Kev, fuckers are back.” It wasn’t hard to guess who he meant, and Kevin put on his work face as he set his tools aside. With a roll of his shoulders, he stepped out of the backroom just in time to see Logan and another of the local heroes reach the counter. Koriand’r, codename: Starfire, Tamaranean royal. Oh, they had planned for this sort’ve profit potential.

“We were hoping you’d have something Star’d recognize,” Logan was saying, friendly smile widening when he caught sight of Kevin’s welcoming grin from over Argit’s shoulder.

“We might,” Argit answered with a questioning lilt, focusing on the royal. “What specifically are you looking for?”

“I was hoping you would have some Tamaranean items,” the royal replied and he nodded.

“Okay, I think we’ve got a book or two on the shelf, and Kevin did a piece up, was inspired by…” He snapped his fingers in Kev’s direction. “What was it?”

“Some reef off, I think the Iranan Coast,” he said, rolling his eyes with his best ‘brothers, what can you do’ air. “Saw it on a program and just, had to make something.” Her eyes lit and Kevin let himself preen in response. The only thing better than having a plan come together was when it involved shit you built with your own two hands.

“I would love to give it a look!”

“Great!” Flashing a grin Argit slipped behind him and out from around the counter, heading for the statuary with the hero following after. "It’s just over here, then I’ll show you the books we’ve got. And if you want something specific, just say the word and we can get it in for you, though it may take a while to come in-"

Chuckling and shaking his head, Logan leaned on the counter, smiling at Kevin.

“You really make some of those yourself,” he asked, gesturing towards the statuary, and Kevin preened further.

“Made all of ‘em,” he said, “and all the tech, and one or two of the books might be my work.” Logan gaped for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“Do you leave anything for that guy to do, or is he just here to look pretty?”

“Watch it,” Kevin said with a snorting laugh, “that’s my brother. He’s the better salesman.” Also the better longterm planner, and keeper of the leash on Kevin’s temper.

“Well, he’s certainly winning Star’s business,” Logan said without a hint of question about the ‘brother’ thing. Kevin couldn’t help a twinge of fondness at that. Odds were the guy wouldn’t know an Osmosian or Erinaen from a hole in the dirt, and still he just accepted the statement? You didn’t find that often enough, especially not on Earth. “Hey, there’s a question I’ve been wondering since I saw all the stuff you guys have on our last visit. I’ve heard practically nothing about alien videogames like, ever, and…” Snorting again, Kevin grinned widely.

“Oh there is so much cool shit. We can’t legally stock the best stuff because the consoles are above Earth’s registered tech level” -this was true- “but I’ve been working on modding some Earth consoles to play some good ones.” This was semi-true. “If you want I can grab some stuff out the back, you can have a couple test runs, see if there’s anything you’d like to buy?” The way Logan’s face lit up like it was his birthday was downright adorable and he began bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“That would be awesome, I’ve been wanting to try something new.” Oh yeah, hook, line, sinker.

“If you look over there, beneath the toys,” Kevin said, pointing as he backed towards the door, “there’s our full selection, and I’ll go grab a console and screen.”

“Great, thanks!” He slipped into the back as Logan headed for the games and pumped a fist in victory as soon as he knew there was no audience.

If they played their cards right this was going to be their most beneficial day since they’d moved out here.

#fanfic #they totally aren't selling contraband tech #and the store definitely isn't a front for smuggling #why would you ever think that #at some point this becomes osmobeast i know it does #but damnit if it's not for a good while #i mean gar's probably sitting there going 'this perfectly innocent shopowner is lovely and remarkable' #but kevin's still in 'okay how to do make a profit off the heroes while keeping them from knowing we do crime' #he's gonna need some time

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“MORE INVISIBLE INK LETTERS ARE UNEARTHED AT THE PENITENTIARY,”

Clipping from Kingston Standard 30-10-1920 --- In One Of These The Convict Writer Asks For Three Saws And Other Instruments - Sling Shot and Dagger Fashioned From Huge Spike Found In His Possession - Tendered Resignations Of Some Guards Have Been Refused As They Must Face Music - Some Interesting History About Segregation And Tobacco. ---- Brigadier General Hughes, Superintendent of Penitentiaries, had a busy day of it yesterday at the Penitentiary, but if there were any new developments as a result of his visit it has not been disclosed, as Gen, Hughes preserves his policy of refusing to say anything for publication.

One of the interesting rumors of the day was that several guards or keepers had tendered their resignations, but that for various reasons which will later be disclosed it has been decided not to accept these resignations. In other words, the report is that some of these officials, who are now prepared to step out voluntarily are not to be permitted to do so, but must face the music incident to any connection they may have had with recent "goings on" in the Penitentiary. As a consequence of this it is said some of these men are decidedly uneasy.

More Invisible Ink Letters. Letters written in invisible ink still continue to be unearthed and some of these, if their contents over are made public- and it is difficult to see how they can escape publicity in view of the arrests that are certain to be made - will make most interesting reading. One of the latest contains in it a request for three saws, and some other instruments that would be useful to a convict or convicts contemplating a dash for freedom. Incidentally, it is most fortunate that this letter was discovered because when the writer of it was catechized and his clothes and cell were searched a sling shot and an ugly dagger fashioned out of a huge spike was found in his possession. Needless to say, this man is now in solitary confinement and the officials are breathing a sigh of relief that his dangerous weapons were discovered in time.

Segregation and Tobacco. Concerning the renewed agitation to give tobacco to convicts and to segregate convicts, it is interesting to point out that in his report of 1918 Superintendent Hughes put himself strongly on record as in favor of segregation and also as in favor of convicts receiving tobacco. That report shows that same years ago this segregation idea had progressed so far that work on a segregation building was begun in Alexandria, Ont., and was proceeded with for some months, only to be stopped when the then Government was defeated in the general elections and Hon. Oliver Mowat became Minister of Justice. Under his orders work or the Alexandria building was halted.

It is interesting, also, to recall that up to the time Hon. Mr. Mowat became Minister of Justice the convicts here had been given a ration of one plug of chewing tobacco a week, but that this ration was discontinued under his orders. There was undoubtedly good reason for this at the time, as a great abuse had grown up under the system and a plug of tobacco had come to be in a sense a unit of currency in the Penitentiary, with much bartering and exchanging of other goods in exchange for these plugs.

Officials Bartered in Tobacco. This bartering was not confined to the convicts alone, but was participated in by some of the officials, me of whom was apprehended in the then warden's office with 28 plugs of tobacco on his person, while it is actually said that in the quarters of another official no less than 370 plugs were found. Hence, to get rid of this abuse, the weekly tobacco ration was entirely withdrawn. If now it shall be introduced - and most penologists favor it -  it is clear it must be under proper safeguards and with reasonable restrictions.

#kingston penitentiary #kingston ontario #penal reform #prison administration #letter smuggling #smuggling contraband #trafficking in prison #tobacco trafficking #corrupt officials #prison guards #dismissed prison guards #superintendent of penitentiaries #w. s. hughes #1920 kp rcmp investigation #crime and punishment in canada #history of crime and punishment in canada #invisible ink

[thewwshow]

2 Women Arrested for Smuggling Items into Prison

View On WordPress

#2 Women Arrested for Smuggling Items into Prison #contraband #drugs #jail #prison #Youtube

[eudico-my-beloved]

Hhh i think my moms starting to figure out that i bring my nb to church so i dont have to focus on religious shit and just draw

#i need to smuggle em out like some contraband now smh #my general usage nb is easier to use but its bigger than the other one #my bedside nb is smaller and has rounded corners but the pages are harder to keep open bc some of them are stuck closer than it should be #smh

[definitelynotaraccoon]

LEGAL NAME: 89P13 

NICKNAME[S]: Rocket, Ranger Rocket, Rocket Raccoon, Rocky (best pals only), Rodent, Fur Face, it goes on and on and on...

DATE OF BIRTH: Unknown

SEX: Male

PLACE OF BIRTH: Halfworld

CURRENTLY LIVING: Crew mate and owner of the Milano

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English (United States), English (United Kingdom) (formally. it’s a long story), Integrated Galactic Translator covers all bases.

EDUCATION: Extensive AI augmentation.  Universal knowledge on engineering, first-aid, piloting, tactical strategy and a scut load of everything else.

HAIR FUR COLOR: Dirty, dirty brown. 

EYE COLOR: Brown, Red at the right angle (think Blade Runner)

HEIGHT: 3’5”

WEIGHT:  Flark you.

FAMILY INFORMATION

SIBLING[S]: Zip

PARENT[S]:  Nada

CHILDREN: Sweet Hala no.

PET[S]: Kammy, (frankly, not wanted. Available for sale.) Peter Jason Quill (human team mascot, same offer applies)

RELATIONSHIP INFORMATION

SEXUAL ORIENTATION:  Male leaning Demisexual

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Your scutbaggin' mother.

SINCE WHEN:  D’ast off.

TAGGED BY: @paragonrising

"Once again, Dan. I find myself doin' the dirty work that you send me. And by dirty work, I mean paperwork, which I think goes without saying is the worst, most boring kind of work."

"--but I'm sayin' it anyway because you keep. Sending. It."

TAGGING: "Why the hell would I be sadistic enough to send this crap over to anyo--?"

"...wait, never mind. I'm forwarding it to Moon Knight ( @thesilverandjetsystem ) again. Ha. That never gets old--!"

#( Smuggling Contraband : Memes ) #primarily #( Verse: Gardeners of the Galaxy ) #but it covers all three generally #I realize I've got a ton of headcanon I'm probably never going to elaborate on #and put down like this I probably just look like I'm spitting hot nonsense #also i'm sorry marc

[devilmademewriteit]

Dark but Just a Game

pairing: (pre-ellie) joel miller x afab!fem!reader

summary: your dad’s associate and friend, joel miller, finally tires of your constant teasing

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, unprotected sex) so 18+ only content; fem afab reader; mention of reader having long-ish hair; alcohol consumption & drunkenness; pet names (sweetheart, angel, baby); dubcon (intoxication, power imbalance); age gap.

beta reader: @millllenniawrites aka that’s bestfren

word count: 3.7k

no use of y/n in this fic.

Click to read part 2: Pretty When You Cry

Click to read part 3: Let Me Love You Like a Woman

ahhhh this is my first time writing for joel so any and all feedback is super appreciated. i was slightly inspired by the amazing dbf!joel drabbles that @anchoeritic writes (seriously, if you enjoy this fic, go read them). as always, my requests are open !!

—

THEN,

It started out so innocently.

Your dad often helped Tess and Joel smuggle contraband in and out of the QZ, sometimes by keeping the right people quiet, other times by offering the pair a place to lay low at. You got accustomed to the sight of them passed out on the floor, the glow of the sunrise illuminating only their sleeping faces, or else a murmuring trio of hushed voices in the middle of the night.

Soon, however, you began to notice the way Joel’s eyes seemed to trail on you, often catching his hardened gaze in yours. Still, he rarely spoke to you and when he did, he mostly just grunted a “hullo” or asked if your father was around.

But you suspected that he noticed you.

Especially when your old clothes got too tight, hugging your skin and leaving little to the imagination. You observed his breath hitching the very first time he saw you in a skirt.

So, naturally, you played into it. You started sneaking downstairs in the morning wearing only a t-shirt and your underwear, feigning innocence at the way (you imagined) he tried, hard, not to look at your ass as you sauntered back up to your room.

Sometimes, you bumped into him on the streets of the QZ. You’d loop your arm around his broad bicep, wide-eyed, gazing up at him through your eyelashes and asking why he hadn’t dropped by to say hello recently. Causing him to tense beneath your hands always felt electrifying; the restraint in his grumbled “soon” always felt like a victory.

When it was dark out and he, Tess, and your dad shared a drink together on the dusty-old-living-room-couch, you made sure to lock eyes with him, taking in the danger lurking in them. He’d look away, leaning back casually and adjusting his jeans.

But—it was always innocent.

It was a game you played with yourself; one you weren’t even sure he was in on. Life in the QZ got dull, and there were only so many good-looking men your age that your dad’s work allowed you to see.

Sometimes, when business was good, your old man got his hands on an extra shipment of liquor, inviting all of his favourite bandits in the Zone and throwing a “party” in one of the run-down, less monitored buildings. You did yourself up as best as you knew how to, shared a flask with your friends and flirted with young smugglers.

It was seedy, but it was fun.

Joel was always there, usually asking around for parts or looking to cut deals. Usually, he drank and stayed out of your way.

Once, however, after being extremely irresponsible with your consumption, you found yourself alone with Andy, a young FEDRA guard (working for your side, of course), slurring your words and stumbling on your feet. He was good-looking in a boyish way and handsy to high heavens. You vaguely remembered his insistence on taking you back to his place and the feel of his wet lips against yours. You clearly remembered hearing a gruff, “Get off,”—Joel’s baritone echo taking you both by surprise. Andy’s head swung to find Miller’s looming form in the doorway; he immediately tore his hands from your body and scampered off. You were alone with Joel, his expression a mask of rage and contempt tinged with—could it have been—jealousy?

After that, it was all bits and pieces of blurred images and sounds. Big hands pulled you into strong arms; your feet were lifted from the ground. You retained flashes of drunken faces smiling and jeering at you as you were carried away from the festivities—then it was dilapidated hallways, the jangling of keys fumbling with a lock, and finally, the ceiling above your bed as Joel gently set you down. Even now, you could clearly picture the way his eyes traveled along your exposed skin as he stood, arms crossed, at the edge of the bed.

Sitting up, fixing your drunken, playful eyes to look deeply into his, you slurred, “Got a bit jealous?”

He said nothing. He only held your gaze and crossed his arms, the muscles beneath flexing and relaxing in rhythm with the motion.

“C’mon Joel,” you teased him, “so serious, all the time. I was fine.”

Now that had an effect.

He growled, “one more minute with that asshole…” and shook his head, his words trailing off as he fought the urge to take your bait. “Just go to sleep. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

He turned, heading towards the door. Perhaps the excess liquor made you reckless or Andy’s kisses left you wanting—either way, you needed to push the limits with Joel. You needed him to stay, to turn around and play your game.

“I could thank you now, if you want.”

He stopped in his tracks, his head slowly turning to the side. Your blood burned in your veins, both from the alcohol and from the tension pulsing between you and him in that darkened room. He paused for a moment and it felt like a lifetime—laid on the bed, watching his shoulders move with every breath he took. He flexed a hand, something he often did when he was around you.

Finally, he spoke.

“Go to sleep.”

And with that, he shut off the light and left the room, closing the door behind him.

So, you decided it was probably all in your head. Maybe the looks and the tension and the teasing were just part of a one-sided game you played with yourself. Still, you couldn’t help thinking about the strain in his voice when he ordered you to bed or the anger that went beyond disdain and contempt at the sight of Andy’s hands exploring your body. You regularly reminisced about the events of that night, most often without meaning to. Most often alone, between the hours of one and three AM, sneaking a guilty hand down between your thighs.

That was the last time Joel had interacted with you.

At least before tonight.

—

NOW,

Joel stands between Tess and a seedy looking short guy you’ve never seen before, clearly not paying attention to whatever the two of them are hashing out. Tensions are low, which makes Joel look comically out of place. He lifts a silver flask to his lips.

The chatter of people talking and laughing fills the narrow, dusty space—from somewhere down the hall, you hear your father’s booming laugh. You’re finding it increasingly hard to concentrate on whatever your peers are gushing on about. The warmth in your stomach and the buzz under your skin from whatever liquor finds its way into your cup brings you back to the last time you’d seen Joel at one of these get-togethers.

“Can’t believe Miller comes to these things,” one such peer—a bandit in training, your good friend Emma—remarks. “Weird seeing him… well, not relaxed but… not stressed.”

You laugh. “I know, right. When he’s passed out, I don’t even recognize him. Looks completely different without his signature scowl.”

She turns away from him, focusing her attention instead on you. “Right,” she says, “I forgot him and your dad…” She trails off, her expression changing as her interests do, as well.

Emma suddenly smirks at you. “Does he sleep naked?” she asks, mischievous. This piques the interest of the others paying attention to your conversation, who subsequently tune in to hear your answer.

You smile, shaking your head. “No,” you respond, keeping your voice low. “Fully clothed—with his gun in hand.”

Emma’s eyes settle back on Joel as her smile fades. The other delinquents go back to their respective conversations. “Such a shame,” she says, wistfully. “I’d bet a month’s rations that his dick is huge.”

You giggle at that and she passes you the flask. You take a big swig, heat blooming across your tongue as the whiskey burns down your throat.

He catches you staring—his eyes darken when he notices the drink in your hand. Smiling innocuously at him, you wave your fingers in an extremely girlish greeting gesture. He raises his thick eyebrows, unimpressed.

A familiar figure interrupts your silent conversation.

“Hey,” Andy says, his voice unsure and subdued.

“Hey.”

He looks rumpled and flushed, as though recent weeks had not been kind to him. Andy’s not-brown-not-blonde hair hangs limp around his crown, mirroring the defeated air his stature gives off. Despite the near foot he has on you, he seems ironically small.

He runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Look,” he tries, awkwardly stuffing his fingers in his pockets, “I’m sorry about last time. I was really drunk and I don’t really remember what I said, but I know it wasn’t cool.”

You scoff. “I don’t really think it was so much what you said, Andy,” you respond playfully. After all, you know he meant no harm. Drunk people get horny, and you had both been very drunk. “Don’t worry about it. No hard feelings,” you add.

That’s when, from over Andy’s shoulder, you catch a glimpse of Joel’s expression. Pure disapproval. Cold, ruthless contempt burns in his eyes.

“At least not from me.”

Andy turns around slowly, following your eye-line. By the time he clues in to who you’re referring to, Joel’s already looked away, turning his attention to the still-ongoing conversation between Tess and the stranger.

“Right,” Andy says, wincing. “He’s been giving me a hard time on the streets.”

“Don’t sweat over Miller,” Emma interjects casually. “He gives everyone a hard time.”

Once again, you find yourself distracted from the conversation, focussing on a different man in the room. Why should he get to decide when you get to be wild? What business does he have protecting you from other guys? After all, Joel Miller is not your father.

It frustrates you that he keeps pretending not to notice your stare. It frustrates you that he keeps his head ducked, feigning interest in the deal being made beside him. Taking in his size, the salt-and-pepper of his hair, and the fierce angle of his jaw, you steal another swig from the flask, wiping the excess off your lips.

It emboldens you.

Leaning up on your tippy-toes, you muster up your most sensual tone, whispering softly in Andy’s ear: “Let me make it up to you.”

You pull back to catch his look of disbelief, his pouty pink lips parting slightly as he struggles to locate his words. Grabbing his hand in yours, you nod your head to the right, wordlessly encouraging him to take you down the hall. He obeys without a sound.

You quickly shove the flask back into Emma’s hand.

“Save some for after,” you plead, and she shakes her head, tossing you an exaggerated eye-roll.

You lock eyes with Joel momentarily before you’re pulled down the hall, satisfaction leaking from your gaze—you’re not quite sure why. You break away, ignoring the non-verbal warning in his stare.

Who cares what he thinks, anyways?

You wind up in a run-down, dim-lit room, empty save for an old desk. Andy pins you against the wall as soon as the door creaks to a close behind you, pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy, tipsy kiss. His hands travel south to grab your ass and you respond by wrapping your arms around his neck. Things heat up—his clumsy fingers brush the fabric over your breasts and you dig your hip into the bulge beneath his denim.

It’s not that you want Andy. Frankly? It could be anyone. None of the boys you hang out with really interest you beyond being potential partners for youthful experimentation—which is exactly what Andy is to you. In all likelihood, that’s not what you are to him.

Oh well. Those are morning thoughts.

Andy’s hands snake under your shirt, the pads of his fingertips creeping up to your breasts.

The door slams open.

Andy basically leaps off of you, a horrified expression settling on his features as he registers the identity of the intruder—as history repeats itself.

“Out,” Joel orders through gritted teeth, holding the door open for the boy to walk through. Andy practically sprints free—without risking a goodbye, without uttering a “sir, yes sir.”

You sigh once you and Joel are alone, adjusting your clothing and casually leaning back against the wall.

“Okay, Joel,” you say, exasperation coating your words. “What’s this all about.”

Wordlessly, he closes the door and locks the handle. His movements are slow, precise, and calculated—butterflies erupt in your stomach.

He approaches you, leaning one hand against the wall behind your head and using a pair of thick, callused fingers to tilt your head up. He smells like sandalwood and hard liquor; he smells like a man. Electricity crackles throughout your entire being.

The touch of his hand on your face drains every last drop of your boldness.

“I think,” he grumbles out, his voice low, gravelly, dangerous, “You know exactly what this is about.”

You swallow, focussing all your energy on holding his severe gaze. Between your thighs, your nerves begin to pulse, responding to his proximity with enthusiasm.

“No, I really don’t,” you respond, mustering up some confidence from god-knows-where to render your tone convincing.

He scowls. “S’lil’ game you’re playin’,” he mutters softly, coolly. “Comin’ downstairs half-naked, clingin’ onto me in public when you know I can’t do anything…”

He shakes his head, his grip on your jaw tensing slightly.

This time, when he speaks, his tone is hoarse. “What are you tryin’ to get out of it?”

A smile creeps onto your face at the anguish in his voice.

So you hadn’t imagined it. Joel had been in on it from the start.

You look up at him with big, sultry eyes, taunting him. There’s no point in avoiding the truth anymore—you want joel. And you’ve never really been the type to not go for what you want.

In this moment, you’re willing to risk anything to have Joel do something, anything to you.

Wicked innocence drips off your every word as you purr, “Whatever you’ve been dying to give me, Joel.”

You watch your answer take effect. A vein in his jaw twitches—lust floods his eyes.

In a flash, you’re facing the wall with both hands pinned above your head by one much larger, much stronger hand. Joel’s weight presses against you, pinning you in place.

“That right, angel?” Joel challenges under his breath as his other hand explores your chest, grabbing roughly at your breasts. “Want me to show you what I’ve had in mind?”

His hand travels towards your underwear, sliding down your front in a tantalizing motion; you moan before his fingers even brush your most sensitive spot.

“I do, Joel,” you moan, desperate for his touch. The feel of his chest against your spine is intoxicating, your mind goes blank at the sensation of his cock pressed against your ass.

Joel’s index and middle fingers find your clit, rubbing torturous circles around the throbbing bud. His thumb presses into your skin, anchoring his hand in place.

“So fuckin’ wet,” he groans. “Wonder what your dad’d say if he knew his lil’ girl was soakin’ wet for this cock.”

He slips a finger inside you, curling it up, making your mouth gape open in a silent ah and your eyebrows crease together. “You think of me when you’re touchin’ this pretty pussy?” Gasping and struggling against his hold, you nod enthusiastically, overwhelmed by the feel of him inside you.

“Please,” you whisper, wanting more, more, more.

“Manners,” he growls, tightening his grasp on your wrists. “Please, Joel,” he corrects, pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt, his palm flattened and working against your swollen clit.

“Please-please, Joel,” you gasp out, throwing your head back against the crook of his shoulder. He leans forward, laying a soft kiss in the delicate nook of your neck. Then, he’s releasing you, pulling his fingers out and taking a step back.

He gestures to the desk.

“Facedown, sweetheart.”

You obey, stumbling over to it and laying your chest against the cold wood. It stings and you shiver.

Joel fumbles with his belt and then he’s behind you, unzipping his fly and pulling his length out. With your cheek laid against the desk, you get a perfect view of him towering over you, a dark God, holding his cock in his hand.

Emma had been right.

“You gotta be quiet,” he warns, before flipping up your skirt. He groans at the sight of your ass, roughly grabbing one cheek and squeezing it—hard.

“I will be,” you whine, desperate to take him in.

He chuckles, pulling down your dripping panties, letting them fall to your ankles. His tip runs between your folds, teasing your clit in tormenting strokes. You whine and moan, “Joel-s’good,” responding to every brush of his tip.

“You’re needy,” he says, gruffly.

He pushes his cock deep into your cunt, settling every inch of himself inside you.

“I like needy.”

You gasp at the sting and the pleasure and the fullness, unable to control yourself. Joel is huge—your walls wrap tightly around him as he pulls out near-completely before snapping his hips against your ass, filling you up to the brim again. You cry out as he holds your arms in place, setting a rhythm, grabbing you just as roughly as he fucks you.

“Joel,” you moan loudly before a large hand slaps over your lips.

“Shut up,” he growls.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you give yourself to him entirely, cravenly grinding against his hips.

“Look at you, fuckin’ yourself on my cock,” he taunts. “Takin’ it so good, pretty girl.”

The sound of flesh hitting flesh echoes through the room, dirty and filthy and hot.

Joel’s fingers muffle your moans of abandonment, every “fuck,” “yes,” and “thank you,” coming out simply as “mmm.”

“This what you fuckin’ wanted?” he asks gruffly, leaning a hand next to your head and bending forward to loom over you. “Gettin’ fucked by a man twice your age?”

The angle allows him to push even more of his length inside you, causing you to squirm pathetically against his hips. His fingers dig into your cheeks as he adds, “That right, pretty girl?”

You nod eagerly, your eyes growing heavy, filling with abandon.

He looses a hollow laugh. “Needy lil’ thing,” he breathes, tangling his fingers in your hair. “With a needy lil’ pussy.”

Freeing your mouth, he throws his head back, straightening out and bringing both hands to your circle your waist. Now, he fucks you fast and brutally, his breath coming heavy and hard. With every stroke, Joel’s tip grazes your inner most sensitive spot, causing sheer ecstasy to radiate throughout your core.

“Come inside me, Joel,” you beg. “Come in me—please.”

Joel groans sinfully. “Can’t do that, sweetheart.”

Fluttering waves ripple from your cunt down your legs, threatening to take you over the edge.

“Joel,” you half-sob, “I’m gonna-”

He slows down, thrusting into you in great, harsh strokes, well-versed in the art of bringing a woman to climax. You cry out as your orgasm tears through you, unable to form words or thoughts or anything beyond “Joel,” “Ohmygod,” and “yes-yes-yes.”

“S’it baby,” he coaxes. “Come aaalll over my cock.”

Your walls clench around him, your pussy just as desperate as you are to keep him tucked inside you.

He exhales shakily, grabbing fistfuls of your ass in his hands.

“Fuck it,” he groans, thrusting faster inside you. “M’gonna fill you up.” Your eyes are still rolled to the back of your head, your hands desperately searching for something to grasp onto. His cock swells inside you, tensing up between your walls as his seed spills out between them—he comes with an “oh fuck” and a final, brutal stroke.

You lie still for a moment, listening to the sound of your ragged breathing harmonizing with Joel’s. He runs a massive hand along your arm, his touch suddenly delicate, revering.

“You’d better fuckin’ pray I can find the pill for you tomorrow,” he says finally, his husky voice both amazed and amused.

Lifting your chest off the table, you slowly flip around, perching on the edge to face him as he reorganizes his clothes, pulling his boxers up and tugging at his fly. He looks so handsome between your knees, with his hair slightly disheveled and his shirt all rumpled.

“Get extra,” you coo, your breath still uneven, your thoughts still bungled. You run a slight hand devotedly down his plaid shirt, marvelling at the pleasure the proximity brings you.

He laughs low, shaking his head. “S’was a one-time deal, angel,” he says with a smile. He finishes doing up his belt and leans both his hands on the table, his nose just centimeters away from your own. “Can’t be caught fuckin’ my associates’ daughters—bad for business,” he adds, pulling your underwear back up your thighs. You adjust yourself and pout at him, playfully.

“You didn’t like it?” you ask, pretend-innocence soaking your tone.

He smiles softly. “I liked it too much,” he responds. “S’why it can’t happen again.”

You raise your eyebrows defiantly. “Well, I’m not gonna make it easy on you, Miller.”

He slowly straightens up, offering you a hand as you scoot off the desk. Your legs feel shaky, but his hold anchors you in place.

“M’countin’ on that.”

With that said, he gestures for you to leave the room, following closely behind you. He opens the door and you peer into the hallway, making note of its emptiness before stepping out. Joel exits soon after, taking off in the opposite direction. You catch him looking back at you, a dazed, hungry look still lingering on his expression.

It makes you smile.

Later that night, you find Emma and Joel finds Tess. You’re back to your side of the divide and he’s back to his.

It’s as though nothing ever happened.

“Hey, check it out,” Emma remarks. “Miller actually looks, like, chilled-out,” she slurs loudly.

You smile knowingly, nodding in agreement.

“‘Guess he found a way to blow off steam.”

She gives you a quick, faded nod before becoming absorbed in something else. It doesn’t bother you. You’re also absorbed in something else: lost in thought, consumed by the lingering echoes and traces of Joel’s skin on yours.

When you catch his eye from across the room, you can tell that his thoughts are haunted by the very same thing.

This was no longer an innocent game.

It was a dirty secret.

—

Read part 2: Pretty When You Cry

Read part 3: Let Me Love You Like a Woman (Let Me Hold You Like a Baby)

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[shadowtriovibes]

it's a sign of the times

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: PG

Word Count: 3.2K

Summary: request [paraphrased]: "Rivals-to-lovers Sebastian and MC use a Time-Turner to travel to the future with Ominis in search for a cure for Anne. Instead they find a girl who's the spitting image of MC trying to sneak into the Restricted Section in the 1910s, only she has freckles like Sebastian..."

the 'verse continues in "the train ain't even left the station" [AO3]

“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?” At once, the three of you freeze. “Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?” “I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”

“Can you please remind me again why I’m even a part of this harebrained scheme?” you ask for at least the third time.

You’re crouched around a small table in one of the far corners of the upper section of the Library. It’s well past curfew, but since you aren’t technically breaking any rules by avoiding the Restricted Section, you’re currently getting away with your loitering, as do most students who are caught studying after hours this close to final exams.

Only, you’re not studying. You’ve been summoned there by Ominis, who despite being your closest friend at Hogwarts is also a conniving, duplicitous liar who neglected to tell you that this whole thing is Sebastian’s idea.

You watch warily as he turns over a contraband Time-Turner in his hands, inspecting its impossibly small dials and knobs. The golden sands inside the hourglass hypnotically shift back and forth while he reads over its inscriptions and consults the guidebook he’d smuggled out of the Restricted Section earlier that same day.

You have no idea where he managed to get the device – perhaps in one of those vaults along the coast in Cragcroftshire that he’d been exploring during the summer term. However, now he’s got it in his head that perhaps the reason you haven’t been able to heal Anne is that the cure to her curse simply hasn’t been invented yet. Therefore, a quick jaunt several years into the future ought to reveal a way to rid Anne of her illness (and maybe even earn his way back into her good graces).

It’s not the first ludicrous and impractical idea he’s had in the past year, nor will it be the last, but it’s certainly one of the more radical ones.

“Merlin’s beard, I’ve already told you,” Sebastian sighs. “Since we’re going forward in time rather than back, this is an unauthorized use, and in case we get stuck in the future, we might need your ancient magic.”

“So I’m an insurance policy?!” you demand.

“Not so much for Sebastian as for me,” Ominis answers plainly. “He thinks he’s got it all sorted out, but I’m not as sure.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Sebastian interjects.

You huff and roll your eyes. “Need I remind you that using a Time-Turner to go forward is expressly forbidden by the Ministry? It’s only to go back.”

“Loads of people have done it, though,” he argues. “I’ve been reading all about it, it’s well-documented.”

“And they’ve all come back to the present?” you demand.

“Yes,” he snaps. “...For the most part.”

You scoff. Unbelievable.

“Do you two honestly think my magic is just an unlimited get-out-of-Azkaban-free pass?” you hiss. “I have no idea how to manipulate time and space. If we get stuck there, we’re stuck there.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out like you always do,” Sebastian mutters distractedly as he fiddles with the Time-Turner.

You glance at Ominis pleadingly and he just shrugs.

“You know we can’t let him go alone, we’ll never get him back,” Ominis reasons.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you grumble.

Sebastian shoots you a warning look before he holds up the Time-Turner for the both of you to inspect.

“I have it set to jump forward twenty years,” he explains. “We’ll have to get cozy before we go, as we’ve all got to be wearing it. Physically, we’ll land precisely where we are now, at the same time of day.”

“What if the layout of the Library changes?” you ask skeptically.

“The castle hasn’t changed in centuries,” Ominis points out. “Compared to its history, two decades is indeed quite short.”

“...Fine,” you finally mumble. “Go on, then. Let’s get this over with.”

The three of you stand in a tight circle in a spot tucked away behind some shelves, hoping to remain hidden there after you make the jump forward in time. Sebastian drapes the thin gold chain connected to the Time-Turner around the three of you; it even seems to stretch and extend in length to fit. Then he murmurs a brief incantation to the enchanted timepiece and spins the innermost piece a whopping twenty times.

Your stomach lurches while it turns over and the world around you seems to spin out of control, almost like one of those Muggle carousel rides you saw once as a child. You can barely make out years and years of students and professors walking around you – through you, even – and countless books sliding on and off the shelves until everything comes to a sudden halt and you fall straight to the floor.

Ominis and Sebastian tumble with you, winded.

“That felt bizarre,” Ominis wheezes. “Where are we? Did we travel anywhere?”

“N-no,” Sebastian breathes. “Everything else just… traveled around us.”

You glance around the Library and see that as Ominis had suggested, it looks largely the same. There are some newer books among those you recognize on the shelves, their spines less creased and dyed with more vibrant colors than those of your time.

One title jumps out at you: Advances in Practical Conjuring, 1900-1910

We’re in the 1910s, you think bewilderedly. We’re in a new century.

Mercifully, the layout of the library seems to be largely unchanged. Rows and rows of dimly lit stacks stretch along the length of the grand room with two winding spiral staircases leading down to the lower level.

Once you catch your breath, the three of you cast Disillusionment on yourselves and huddle together to make your way downstairs to the Restricted Section. Ominis leads the way with his wand extended to search for any lingering students or restless ghosts, having long since proven that his spatial awareness bests both yours and Sebastian’s even without his sight.

Your trio makes it downstairs and past the first row of shelves before Ominis stops in his tracks. Sebastian collides with him and then you knock into Sebastian, causing you both to hiss some choice words at each other.

“What’s going on?” you demand in a whisper.

“Someone just came in,” Ominis explains. “The librarian is at the desk and she hasn’t noticed, but a student is coming down the stairs.”

Sure enough, across the room you see a faint flicker of light and can just barely make out the outline of a small student sneaking down the main stairs – must be a young one, you think, no more than thirteen.

“I think it’s a girl,” you offer. “I can see her just over there.”

“What’s she doing?” Sebastian whispers.

“I’m not sure yet,” Ominis says carefully. “She’s past the desk, the librarian didn’t see – oh, for Merlin’s sake.”

“What is it?” you breathe.

“She’s going straight for the Restricted Section,” Ominis mutters. “Just our luck, I suppose.”

The three of you remain crouched behind the shelf while you watch the girl creep ever closer to your hiding spot. You’re panicking inside your head, wondering what possible seams of the universe might immediately be torn to shreds if she were to spot the three of you, but thankfully she seems single-minded in her mission to gain access to the locked collection of books across the room from you.

“She’s tiny,” Sebastian snorts. “I suppose the young ones are even more bold in the future.”

“Weren’t you about her age when you first started to sneak into the Restricted Section?” Ominis reminds him.

Sebastian insists, “No, I was fourteen. I didn’t go in until Anne was attacked. She’s got to be twelve at most, maybe even a first year.”

“Will you two be quiet?” you hiss. “She’s going to hear you!”

Across the room, the Disillusioned girl pulls a key out of the pocket of her robes and starts to insert it into the lock. A girl her age wouldn’t have mastered Alohomora yet, you think, nor would it be effective on this kind of lock. You have no idea how she managed to get a copy of the key, however.

“Do you suppose we could just go in after her?” Sebastian proposes. “She’s nearly got it open, we should take advantage of that.”

“Are you mad?” you scoff. “We can’t be in there at the same time, we’ll get caught!”

“So what if some little girl from the future sees us?” Sebastian argues. “Why wouldn’t she believe we’re just students from her time doing our own research?”

But before you can further explain to Sebastian how astonishingly stupid that idea is, the girl across the room gasps softly and drops her key to the floor. In front of her, the lock is glowing red as if it’s searing hot.

That’s a new security development from your time, you think. It’s rather lucky the three of you didn’t discover that the hard way.

Immediately, the young librarian leaps from her seat and hustles across the room to the Restricted Section’s gated entrance much faster than Madam Scribner ever would have.

“Hang on…” you say under your breath. “Is that – that’s Sophronia!”

“Who?” Ominis asks.

“Sophronia Franklin, she’s a fourth-year in our time,” you explain distractedly. “She’s always lingering in the library, of course she takes over for Scribner once we finish school.”

“I know her,” Sebastian chimes in. “Tried to get me to play a game of trivia in exchange for returning a book on curse breaking I’d been waiting for. Rather precocious, I thought.”

You glare at Sebastian and he merely rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it in a flirtatious way, I was referring to her choice in books,” he grumbles. “Merlin, you’re protective of her.”

“She’s a sweet girl,” you murmur, appreciative of the fact that Sebastian can’t see you blushing. Truthfully, you don’t think much about Sophronia these days, other than that she absolutely cannot catch the three of you in her Library as she’ll easily understand what you’re up to.

Before you can try to convince the boys to call it quits and return to the present, Sophronia rounds the corner and the girl’s Disillusionment charm melts away in surprise.

“Anne-Marie Sallow!” she calls out. “Just where do you think you’re going?”

At once, the three of you freeze.

“Did she say ‘Sallow?’” hisses Ominis. “Did I hear that right?”

“I – no. No,” Sebastian stammers. “There’s no way that’s what she said.”

“Apologies, Madam,” you hear the girl say with a cheeky lilt to her voice. “I was just looking for a book for my aunt, that’s all.”

Just then, Sophronia leans down to pick up the dropped key and all three of you catch a glimpse of the young girl’s face. She’s probably around twelve, like Sebastian had guessed, but her face… Merlin, she could be your younger sister.

Her slightly-upturned nose is nearly identical to yours, only she’s got a small smattering of freckles across hers. Then there’s her chin, which juts out just a bit like yours does, and you’re too far away to make out the color of her eyes but you’re positive that they’re almond-shaped just like your own.

Now that you think about it, her hair is tied back like you always did with yours when you were younger – braided with a green bow at the end, only her hair is a rich, warm brown color.

“...Is that you?” Sebastian asks softly. “How. How are you doing this?”

“That’s not me, I’m right here,” you remind him.

“Hold on, what am I missing?” Ominis whispers.

“That girl looks exactly like this one,” Sebastian insists. “She’s got her nose, her eyes, her face shape. It’s like there’s a second-year version of her, standing right across from us.”

“We’re twenty years into the future,” Ominis reminds you both. “...What if she’s your daughter?”

You feel like the room is starting to spin around you again, and you find yourself pitching to the side before Sebastian quickly tugs on your arm and pulls you back behind the shelf.

“Do not go daft on us now,” he mutters. “I don’t care if that is your daughter–”

“She’s your daughter too, you know,” Ominis chimes in. “In case you were wondering.”

“Wh… What?” Sebastian stutters, and Ominis gestures for the two of you to listen in.

“Goodness, Miss Sallow,” Sophronia sighs. “You really are so much like your father, always sneaking into the Restricted Section.”

You watch as the girl puffs up her chest proudly, a mischievous smirk on her face that doesn’t strike you as particularly like you at all – but rather Sebastian.

“I’ll gladly take that as a compliment, Madam Franklin,” Anne-Marie says.

“While I respect that you are both voracious consumers of knowledge, he, like you, had little respect for the rules of the Restricted Section,” Sophronia continues. “I’ll have to ask you to leave until you get permission from a professor for relevant research or turn fifteen.”

Anne-Marie is still arguing with the librarian as she’s being escorted out. “Perhaps if you would just let me borrow the book for a while–”

“I’m afraid I’ll also have to give you detention this time,” Sophronia interjects. “I can’t keep looking the other way simply because I owe your mother a favor. This is the third time this term!”

Anne-Marie huffs and folds her arms. “But my godfather–”

“Your godfather is a very busy man who would undoubtedly appreciate it if you spent more time staying out of trouble,” Sophronia finishes, “than trying to emulate your father. In fact, I think Ominis would agree with me that one Sebastian Sallow in this world is quite enough!”

Well, that certainly clears things up.

Sophoronia marches Anne-Marie up the stairs and out of the library. The three of you, having already forgotten your original mission, put your heads together without a word so Sebastian can drape the Time-Turner around your necks and return you to the present.

You collapse in a heap on the library floor, but this time it’s fully empty – even the librarian’s desk light is extinguished. You sit in silence for a few moments, and you and Sebastian don’t dare look at each other. Eventually you force yourself to stand and offer Ominis a hand up, steadfastly ignoring the other boy.

“So,” Ominis finally says, barely concealing his smile. “When exactly is it, do you suppose, that the two of you fall hopelessly in love with each other?”

You both curse at him at the same time, and Ominis throws back his head and laughs.

“Shout at me all you want, but that little girl is proof that the two of you are destined for each other,” he crows. “Oh, how brilliant!”

“Come now, Ominis,” Sebastian says with a nervous laugh. “You don’t seriously think that girl is, what… our child or something?”

“That’s precisely what I think,” Ominous answers, smirking. “You said it yourself, she looks exactly like her mother.”

“Stop!” you interject. “I’m not anyone’s mother, in case you forgot.”

“Perhaps not yet,” Ominis agrees primly. “I imagine it will be several more years before Sebastian makes you one.”

Sebastian goes deeply red while you sputter indignantly.

“Thats – that’s foul, Ominis,” you insist. “It’s untoward to even be talking about this!”

Sebastian folds his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Really? You’re that offended by the very idea of us having a child together? I’m hurt.”

“W-well, I just meant that we shouldn’t talk about things that haven’t yet come to pass,” you explain nervously. “Besides, all that is years away. Decades, even.”

Sebastian glances sidelong at you, and you wonder if you’re imagining the way he looks you up and down.

“Right,” he says slowly. “It’s not like we know anything for sure, obviously.”

“Of course,” you agree. “...I don’t suppose you have any other family members named Sebastian? Distant relatives, perhaps?”

“Why?” he drawls. “Looking to snag a cousin of mine so I won’t be the one to father your children?”

You shove him right into one of the bookshelves, but he laughs like he doesn’t regret it one bit.

“Now now,” Ominis murmurs. “You ought to be kind to your future husband, you don’t want to damage his virility.”

“I have half a mind to put a dent in Sebastian’s virility right here and now to save me some trouble later,” you reply, casually aiming your wand at his groin.

“Have you gone mad?!” he stammers as he takes several steps backward. “Put that thing away!”

“Oh, will you please relax?” you sigh. “We just saw one of your descendants, your ability to procreate is in no danger.”

“You could still put me in the Hospital Wing,” he sulks. “Besides, it’s not just procreation that I use it for.”

Ominis snorts. “Unfortunately, I am intimately aware of that.”

You make a face while Sebastian grins cheekily, offering no apology.

The three of you start to make your way toward the exit into Central Hall, ignoring the weak protests of the prefects stationed outside. As you make your way back toward the Slytherin common room, you all fall silent again, lost in your thoughts.

You aren’t sure how you’re supposed to forget what you saw, you think. In the future, you have a daughter. Her father is Sebastian Sallow, and… and she’s brilliant. Beautiful, courageous, more than a bit headstrong, and as determined as you both are if not more so.

You catch yourself actually grinning, and when you glance over at Sebastian, you see the same expression on his face.

“Anything you care to share?” you ask him.

“I know we probably shouldn’t talk about it,” he starts, “but there is one thing that girl said that I won’t soon forget.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

He’s quiet for a moment, and then he admits, “I heard her say she’s looking for a book for her aunt, and you haven’t got any sisters.”

You smile softly and reach for Sebastian’s hand. “No, I don’t.”

He lets you take his hand in his to give a reassuring squeeze.

“She’s still alive,” Sebastian says quietly. “She… she’s still sick, probably. But she’s still alive in the future. She meets my daughter, and she knows her.”

“She does,” you say. “And – and maybe we don’t quite know how that happens yet, but you can have a little faith, Sebastian. Things will work out the way they’re supposed to, and Anne will be with us for a long, long time. There’s still plenty of time to make things right again.”

He nods wordlessly but doesn’t drop your hand.

Just before you arrive at your common room, Ominis stops in his tracks.

“Hang on… Her name, Anne-Marie?” he asks you. “That sounds like something Sebastian would have picked. How generous of you.”

“Aww,” Sebastian laughs. “You must be so in love with me by then to let me pick the name.”

You grit your teeth and ignore them as you murmur the password to the giant stone snake guarding the door, hoping to get some well-earned rest and be rid of these boys for the night.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Sebastian says as he ducks around you and slips inside the door. “I’ll let you pick the name for the second one, and we can duel for rights to the third.”

You go running off after Sebastian and holler, “You bastard Sebastian Sallow, how many damn children are you expecting?!”

Ominis quickly pulls the door shut behind him and shakes his head.

“Godfather,” he mutters to himself. “I’ll never know peace, will I?”

---

[Get to know more of the Sallow kiddos in "the train ain't even left the station" ❤️]

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x mc #sebastian x reader #my fic #time travel #i tried to stick to time-turner lore as much as possible while completely retconning it #(future) dad!bastian