#Doff Cleaning

[triplecleangang]

Pressure washing service

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[jackwilliams09]

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[animesmolbean]

A World of Pure Imagination

Chapter 3: A Silver Lining

For the rest of the day, Yin couldn't stop thinking about what happened in the Gallery Gourmet. The whole scene replayed in his head, and he couldn't help but blush and let out a few laughs.

Once it was night and roll call was done, Yin watched Noodle enter her room and sit down on the bed next to him. He was still in a giddy mood.

"Can't stop thinking about him, huh?" Noodle asked with a teasing smirk. Yin blushed but smiled while nodding. "You've fallen in love with him, haven't you?" Noodle asked.

Yin sputtered but didn't deny it. "Anyone would fall madly in love with someone who doffs their hat to you with a smile."

"Not as hard as you did." Noodle retaliated in a teasing tone.

Yin let out a whine. Noodle giggled. Yin may be older than her, but Yin sometimes acted like a child. Not that she hated that. She actually likes that Yin still has that childhood wonder.

"Speaking of Mr. Wonka, I have to deliver his food to him. Want to come with? So you can meet your soulmate?" Noodle asked with a teasing smile.

Yin blushed. "No way he's my soulmate."

"Come on. He looked really into you."

"Fine. I'll come with."

Noodle smiled. "Come. Your boyfriend awaits you."

"Once again, he is not my boyfriend."

Yin waited for Noodle to get the food cart. Once she came back, Yin followed her to Mr. Wonka's room.

The pair arrived at where Wonka was staying. His door was open, but Wonka wasn't looking in their direction. Instead, he was looking out the window. "Room service." Noodle called. Yin suddenly felt shy and stepped to the side, hiding himself. Despite not showing himself, he listened to the conversation.

"Told you to read the small print." Noodle told Wonka. Yin remembered that Noodle did try to warn Wonka about the small print. He wondered why he didn't listen to her, even after she was caught. Then he got his answer when he heard Noodle speak,

"You can't read, can you?"

That sentence hit Yin hard in the face and immediately made him upset. How dare those monsters take advantage of him like that. Then, he heard Wonka speak,

"I focused my studies almost exclusively on chocolate."

"I see." Noodle nodded. Yin said it at the same time as she did, but more quiet, still shy.

"For everything else, I've relied on the kindness of strangers."

"And look where that got you: the Staff quarters. You have a bed." Noodle said in a matter of fact tone.

Willy sat on said bed, only for it to collapse underneath him. Now, from the angle Wonka was at, he saw a flimpse of another person. Yin gasped softly and backed away, hoping Wonka didn't see him.

"You had a bed. Desk. And wash basin slash toilet. Water comes in two temperatures. 'Cold'. And 'Colder'." Noodle continued.

Wonka only partially listened as he was now focused on seeing if someone else was out there. But Noodle's next question made him look back at her. "How much do you owe them?"

"Ten thousand." Wonka replied softly.

"Consider yourself lucky. I owe thirty."

"What? How do you owe them money? I thought they found you down the laundry chute." Wonka asked, confused.

"Oh, they did. Took me in out of the goodness of their hearts and charged me for the privilege." Noodle replied with sass.

"You're kidding me." Wonka was shocked.

"It's not as bad. If I keep my nose clean, I'll be out of here by the time I'm eigthy-two."

"What a pair of monsters." Wonka said, dumbstruck.

'Thank you!' Yin thought to himself.

"The greedy beat the need every time, Mr. Wonka. Guess it's just the way of the world." Noodle said as she served him slop in a bowl before leaving.

Yin went to follow her, suddenly too shy to say anything to Wonka before Wonka spoke again, catching their attention.

"Oh, come on, Noodle, that's just your orphan syndrome talking."

Noodle reappeared at the door. "My what?!"

Yin had to face palm. Did Wonka know that technically isn't a thing? Well... he guessed that it kind of was.

"Your Orphan Syndrome. And we're certainly not going to be eating any slop." Wonka dumped his food out. "And neither is your friend out there either."

Yin felt his body tense up, and his face warmed up in embarrassment. Noodle smirked at his reaction.

"Come on out now, friend." Wonka encouraged. Noodle looked at her friend. She silently motioned him to show himself.

"I recognized you from the Gallery Gourmet today. You were the one who bowed at me. I also saw you the day before when I first came."

Yin blushed harder, and Noodle had to hold back a snicker.

'He remembered me.' Yin thought to himself, feeling flattered. Yin inhaled and exhaled softly and stepped away from the wall and appeared by the door next to Noodle.

When Wonka saw Noodle's friend up close, he swore he felt his heart skip a beat. There was no doubt. This was the young man he saw today and yesterday. His (hair color) (straight/curly/wavy) framed his face, his skin was glowing softly in the room lighting, and his (eye color) eyes sparkled. He was dressed similarly to how he normally would, but from what he had seen so far, it looked like he didn't own a coat. Despite this, Wonka could only think,

'He's... beautiful.'

Yin blushed as he saw Wonka looking at him up and down, hoping he wasn't silently judging him. He shyly played with a strand of hair. Then, Wonka looked at him before giving him a smile.

"Nice to officially meet you. My name is Willy Wonka." He said, reaching a hand out to Yin.

'So that's his full name. Willy Wonka. What a name.' He thought to himself.

He placed his hand in Wonka's, shaking it gently and trying not to blush at the feeling. "N-nice to meet you, Mr. Wonka. I'm Yin (Last Name)."

'Shoot! I stuttered.' He thought to himself.

Wonka chuckled at the young man. "Lovely name, and please, no need for formalities. Just call me Willy." He said, still smiling. Yin smiled shyly before nodding. "Oh! Um.. all right then... Willy."

Willy hummed. He quickly realized that he quite liked it when Yin said his first name.

He then picked up his sample case and put it on the table. The other two looked in confusion.

"What are you doing?" Noodle asked.

"I'm making chocolate, of course. How do you like it? Dark? White? Nutty? Absolutely insane?" He asked, tilting his head to the side dramatically.

Yin bit his bottom lip to conceal a laugh as his cheeks turned red. 'He looks like a puppy. Acts like one too.' He thought to himself.

Shaking off the feeling, mostly, Yin chuckled. "I guess... absolutely insane." He said with a smile and a shrug.

Willy gave Yin a smile. "I love that answer."

He then looked at Noodle. "I don't know. I've never had any."

This was no surprise to Yin. However, to Wonka, his eyes widened, and he looked dumbstruck.

"You've never had chocolate?"

Yin chuckled quietly at his reaction. 'He looks like Noodle just said a curse word to him.'

"No." Noodle replied with a shake of her head.

Wonka threw his head back. "WHAT?!! You've never had chocolate?!"

"Still no." Noodle replied, unamused.

Yin, meanwhile, was very amused.

"Well, we'll soon put that right. Fortunately for you, I have a selection of the world's finest ingredients right here in my travel factory." Wonka opened the sample case, and it showed an almost impossible array of flasks and beakers, a miniature gas stove, and jars of ingredients.

"Whoa!" Yin and Noodle admired the case.

Wonka looked at the pair. "Where to start, that's the question... Ah! I know! Silver Linings! Made of condensed thunder clouds and liquid sunlight. Helps you see that fist ray of hope beyond the shadow of despair. Just what we need, wouldn't you say?"

The two watched Willy take the jars and start mixing the ingredients, curiosity evident on their faces.

"Did you always want to make chocolate?" Yin asked, feeling a bit bold now. Wonka looked at the pretty boy beside him, smiling a bit. "Oh no. Back when I was around Noodle's age, I wanted to be a magician. My mom was the cook. We lived on the river, just the two of us, in a perfect little world of our own..."

Willy explained to the two about how his mother made chocolate for him from a single cocoa bean and wished to know what her secret was to making the chocolate tasting delicious.

"So, what was it, Willy? What was her secret?" Noodle asked.

Wonka looked down. "I never found out. Soon after, she fell sick, and before I knew it, all I had left was her chocolate."

"I'm so sorry, Willy." Yin said, who looked to be close to tears but managed to not break.

"That's why I'm here. So I can feel the same way I did back them, eating chocolate with her."

"What do you mean?" Noodle asked.

"My mom once promised that when I share chocolate with the world, she'd be right there beside me. And I know it sounds crazy, but I always hoped she'd somehow keep that promise. She might even tell me her secret."

Noodle and Yin smiled, feeling Wonka's pain.

Then, a soft 'Ping!' rang through the room. The chocolates were done. They were powder blue, shaped like thunder clouds, and had a silver lining on the edges. They were topped with a yellow lightning bolt.

"Here, try one." Wonka handed one to each of them.

The pair tentatively took a nibble of the chocolate. Yin's teeth glided through the chocolate, and at first taste, he let out a soft gasp in surprise. It was the best chocolate he has ever had!

Willy saw his reaction and hid a smile beneath his hand, raising his eyebrows at him. He saw Yin's eyes sparkle with a childlike glimmer, like his hope had been restored.

Noodle was also shocked by the taste of the chocolate but stopped from taking another bite. "I wish you hadn't done that."

Willy looked at Noodle with a surprised look. "You don't like it?" He asked, feeling a little crestfallen.

Noodle shook her head. "No, I like it. It's just..."

"What?" Wonka asked.

"Now, each day I don't have chocolate will be a little harder." She said solemnly.

Yin frowned before nodding in agreement. She was right. He felt it, too. Not in the sense that he'll never have chocolate again, but knowing he might not ever have Willy's chocolate ever again.

Wonka saw the two with solemn looks on their faces. "Then how would you two like to have all the chocolate you can eat every day for the rest of your lives?"

"A lifetime supply?" Yin looked at Wonka with surprise.

"A lifetime supply." Wonka repeated, smiling at the young man.

"What do we have to do?" Noodle asked, suspicious.

"Not much. Just get me out of here."

"Are you crazy?!" Noodle exclaimed.

Willy and Yin shushed her. "It's easy. I'll get someone to cover my shift, and you can smuggle me out in your laundry cart - just for a few hours, mind. Nobody would even know I was gone." Wonka explained.

"What's the point of that?" Noodle asked.

"I think you know the answer." Yin whispered to her.

"To sell chocolate, of course! We'll split the profits and pay off Mrs. Scrubbit in no time!" Wonka said excitedly.

"It's a nice idea, Willy..." Noodle started.

"It's a great idea, Noodle." Wonka corrected.

"But it'll never work!" Noodle finished.

"Course it will! Eat your chocolate!" Willy told her as he walked to the window. Noodle did so. "You don't understand. Mrs. Scrubbit's like a hawk. She keeps her beady eye on everything that comes in and out of the Wash House. Except.... huh."

Willy looked at her. "What it is?"

"No, it's nothing." Noodle brushed it off.

"Oh, ok." Willy turned around again, but Yin could tell something was up.

"Huh!" Noodle hummed.

Willy turned around again but with excitement. "A double-huh! That's not nothing. That's the Silver Lining. It's given you an idea."

'His candy can give people ideas?' Yin wondered as he looked at his half eaten chocolate.

"Okay. So the one time she dropped her guard was when this aristocrat came into the laundry. He was only asking for directions, but she was all over him like a rash. It was disgusting." Noodle explained.

"That's it, Noodle! All we have to do is find an aristocrat and slip out while she's distracted." He eats his Silver Lining.

"Yeah, but where are we going to find an aristocrat?"

The light above Willy's head flicked on, Willy looked up. He had an idea.

"Huh."

"Huh?" The other two hummed.

"Huh!"

"A double-huh!" The two said together.

"Do you have a pencil and paper?" Wonka asked them.

"Uh-huh!" Noodle nodded.

"Because I have an idea..." Wonka said.

Noodle hummed before looking at her friend. "Yin? Are you in?" She asked with a smirk.

Yin, who mostly didn't say anything, looked at Noodle. Yin looked at the chocolate again and back at Wonka, who looked at him with puppy dog eyes. Yin blushed lightly but smiled softly and gave a curt nod. "Yeah, I'm in!"

Wonka smiled. "Great!" Then, he looked at a bit worried. "But... how will you get out? You don't seem -"

Noodle quickly stepped in. "That's because -"

"Huh."

Willy and Noodle looked at Yin, who had just finished chewing. "Huh?" They hummed.

"Huh!"

"A double-huh!" They said to Yin. Yin giggled. "Your Silver Lining kicked in. What's your idea?" Wonka asked, really excited.

Yin thought about it for a moment. He ran his fingers through his hair before looking at Wonka. "Well, Mr. Wonka -" "Willy." The cute chocolatier corrected. Yin giggled shyly. "Right. Willy, how do you feel if I share the laundry cart with you?"

Willy thought about it for a moment but smiling. "Of course you can. If that's the case, can you help me with something tomorrow?"

'He needs my help? Oh God, he needs my help!' Yin thought excitedly.

"Of course! Anything." He replied, a bit too excited.

"Perfect!" Wonka said with a wide smile. A smile that made Yin's heart skip a beat.

The three conversed into the night, talking until they were positive in their plan.

Tomorrow, they will put their plan into action.

[meowww-ffxiv]

(day to day activities in the Pentaghast Household)

[7am]

Typically, a servant would wake Theodore with a knock on his door and then enter with a washbasin filled with warm water and a clean towel.

Mordred did it, nowadays. He did not knock. He did not even announce himself, actually, until he had set the washbasin down on one side of the room. Then he would come to Theodore's bedside and simply sit down.

The dip of the bed was enough for a seasoned warrior of Theodore's caliber to immediately open his eyes. There would be half a second where he just squinted up at the fluffy head and the two-colored eyes hovering above him, before he sighed.

Theodore always sighed when woken in the morning, like the very thought of another day was troublesome.

Mordred's ears flicked. He giggled, in the way he usually did when Theodore had done something adorable.

"Tea or coffee?" Mordred asked.

"Tea," Theodore said.

"Wrong, it's coffee."

Theodore sighed again, much like a put-upon dog, and rolled over for his sacred five-more-minutes while Mordred left the room and returned ten generous minutes later with both coffee and tea, and fresh-baked rolanberry scones.

[8am]

Mordred did always help Theodore dress.

Well, usually he helped him don and doff his armor, like a squire would their knight. Except Mordred was the one who forged the armor as well, so it was more akin to being wreathed and crowned by your liege.

That was a non sequitur. Being dressed by Mordred was not the same as being armored by him. Mordred moved Theodore with such efficiency that it bordered ruthlessness, pulling his clothes on and lacing them up and fastening buttons like... Well, like a tailor.

Theodore was fully awake by this point -- he had been fully awake since Mordred sat on the bed -- but he was still not feeling like doing anything more than the bare minimum, so he endured this process with demureness. While working, Mordred laid out the plans for the day as such:

"Lunch with a bunch of Gridanian artisans looking to establish a branch of Fen-Yll Fineries here, twelve-sharp. Your sister will visit at two-sharp to discuss converting an old weaponry warehouse into an extra dock for airship cargo. At around seven, you have evening tea with those three dowagers who were always asking after your heir."

"Hm." Theodore squinted at his opened wardrobe. "Let us go with green for the dominant color today, if I will be wearing this to lunch. It will make the Gridanians more at home, and hopefully put them at ease. I should change before talking to Meledia, though."

"Or she'll laugh at you, right," Mordred snorted. He lifted two tunics and a coat out of the wardrobe, and these went on Theodore quickly, too.

When he was done, Mordred hopped back with hands on hips to examine Theodore. He, too, took a chance to examine his companion...

Not that it was necessary. Mordred tended to dress like a popoto sack only when he did not want to be seen. Here, in Theodore's home that they now shared, where he was both master and ever welcomed, Mordred dressed to match his partner -- Thanalan embroideries upon tunics with Coerthan silhouettes, his sash elegantly slanted yet fastened with a polished silver buckle that bore the crest of Theodore's house. His sleeves were wide but precisely short of his hands, and they bore rings interlinked with chains.

Few Miqo'tes truly resided in Ishgard, still, even with the influx of skybuilders from all over following the Firmament's restoration. And Mordred Surana belonged too much to the desert to ever be called Ishgardian. Yet he had integrated himself with them all the same.

He tapped a polished, dainty toe-boot on the floor, tail swishing. "Very good," Mordred declared.

With a gesture, he ushered Theodore out the door of his comfortable quarters and into the day ahead filled with tasks and talks.

And somehow, like witchcraft, Theodore would not even miss that bed until that night.

[10am]

When Theodore's father was still alive to plague these halls, the strict schedules he set for the servants were meant to punish them for tardiness and slacking.

Mordred had banished him and his shade so thoroughly from Theodore's house that not even the servants seemed to remember what it was like to be late.

But they did not run late, that was the thing. If Master Surana descended to the kitchen at six-sharp and found that Theodore's morning meal had not yet been made, he would sigh a certain way and do it himself, and it would make the kitchen girls blush redder than if they were caught reading porn in the middle of mass.

In this way, Mordred ran the house around his own punctuality. And he was punctual. When the grandfather clock struck ten, it was time for the servants' children's first lessons to be over. Mordred would have sent out maybe three to five missives by then, and he would join them in the drawing room for their break.

There were six children total, of varying ages. They were taught their basic letters and arithmetic, but beyond that their interests varied wildly. One girl had a love for music. One wanted to be a botanist. Another dreamed of opening her own bakery. A boy of eleven wanted nothing more than to travel to Dravania and rear chocobos. The other two boys wanted to be adventurers.

The eleven-year-old was the oldest. The youngest was the six-year-old who wanted her own bakery. Mordred sat in the drawing room with them, kneading colored dough, and asked each, "What did those old folks tell ya today?"

Repeating learned information was teaching, in a way, Mordred once told Theodore. If the children could learn to relay the information to him -- that was, teach -- they could retain it better. That was why he always did it immediately after their first lesson, which was usually their most important one and the one they were least interested in.

So the children took turns, and told him. And they kneaded colored dough, and then Mordred baked them into cookies that might not always taste good because the children were the ones who picked color combinations. This was alright, since anything that didn't taste good would be fed to strays in the streets. Or Mordred composted them in that big bin in the Firmament.

They had an indoors garden, a converted chapel with excellent water and air flow. They grew lettuces and carrots and even a hardy strand of wheat there. The children took turns taking care of the garden. This was usually the last thing they did together before their two-hour break ended and Mordred said goodbye to them, so they could go to their next lesson.

The garden was Mordred's making. A miniature sun was held in a statue of a woman's uplifted hands that provided light for the herbs and vegetables. Sometimes, when the children had gone, Mordred would sit at the statue's foot, close his eyes, and bask in that light.

Today, Theodore joined him. He carefully spread out a blanket before settling down by his side. Almost instinctively, Mordred's tail curled around him.

"All of the children are very excited to meet dragons," Mordred said eventually. "Ysayle..."

Theodore looked up at the face of the statue, at its gentle smile and flowing hair. Though it was unpainted, he knew it to be silvery-white.

[12pm]

The head chef decided the meal plans with Mordred and Theodore's mutual input, but specialty meals like the one served at lunch with the Fen-Yll representatives were made by Mordred himself.

Since the weather had been too poor lately for airships, their visitors had arrived by foot. Theodore had acquired the news the day before, when a missive arrived from Whitebrim from them apologizing for the delay.

Therefore, a feast fit for a rich man of Gridania awaited them in Theodore's dining room: mushroom cream soup, steaming eft-tail quiches, Mun-Tuy tonics served in elegant brass cups that showcased Mordred's skill in metalwork, pickles made with vegetables from their indoors garden, miniature royal maple cakes, and fresh fruits expertly cut by the head chef, arrayed in flattering platters.

"Gridanians do not usually cut their fruits," Theodore said.

Mordred looked at him. "But they're not in Gridania. They're in Ishgard. And Ishgardians always array their platters," he answered.

Therein, Theodore supposed, lie Mordred's opinion about the matter their guests were here to discuss.

"You do not wish to invest in their venture."

"I don't," Mordred agreed after a moment. "Fen-Yll is a luxury brand known well in the Black Shroud and in Gridania. If they take roots here, they'll have access to the bounty from the Diadem and Dravania. The Twelveswood is notoriously anti-poaching, so this is their alternative to access those resources. I don't want them cornering an underdeveloped Ishgardian market. Instead, I'd rather they set up shop on the terms that they will take apprentices. So long as their students are Ishgardians themselves, the populace's mastery will be developed and the skill remains within the country."

Hence the dishes set up the way that they were: a collection of Gridanian fares that showed their visitors Mordred and Theodore's understanding of their country, their culture. But the most iconic and homely of those dishes -- fruits, vegetables -- purposefully prepared Ishgardian-style. Foods pleasing and familiar in their core, but in those preparations reminding the guests that they were guests, and should not overstep their bounds.

"You are perhaps wasting your time on people who might be without the acumen to understand your meaning," Theodore said eventually, though he did not bother to hide the mild awe he felt.

Mordred shook his head. "They don't need to understand it. Food is taste and presentation. It's just to underscore our discussion."

The visitors were understandably disappointed to hear that they would not receive funding from the Warriors of Light, though the good food and Theodore's gentle persuasion seemed to leave them open to the idea of setting up a "workshop" -- somewhere they could make and sell Fen-Yll brand leatherworks in Ishgard.

"Who taught you such mindfulness over a meal?" Theodore asked afterwards.

"A woman who ran a brothel," Mordred replied. "If all goes well, she's lining herself up for a Syndicate seat."

[2pm]

Meledia was Theodore's twin sister, older by two minutes. The way she acted, though, you would think she was older than him by four years.

"Aren't you a little under-dressed to receive guests?" she asked when she walked into the side-lounge and found Theodore half-sprawled on the couch with a book in his lap.

"Are we role-playing the Holy See at mass, that you deride me for immodesty because I fail to have an overcoat on?" Theodore replied. But he did put both feet on the floor, set the book aside, and come to take her gloves.

She used the opportunity to kiss him on the cheek. Theodore grimaced, leaning away -- he always hated it when she doted on him like he was a child -- but Meledia slapped his arm with her glove and then tossed them on the coffee table.

"Mordred told me you are here for very serious business, not to bully me."

Meledia rolled her eyes. "I can do both at the same time, Little Brother. I haven't seen you in two weeks. Can't a lady enjoy herself a little?"

"The lady does have a habit of taking the whole arm when she is offered a thumb," Theodore answered. They took their seats on the couch, however, and he smiled -- not tiredly, not politely. He just smiled.

Meledia smiled too, one very like him and in that likeness was their mutual relief.

They had been separated for years. They had spent many of those years not even knowing if the other was dead or alive. Even now it seemed so much a miracle that Meledia couldn't help but lay a hand on Theodore's arm, and he clasped his hand over hers.

A moment later, they let go. And then it was to business--

A knock on the door. Mordred's voice drifted in. "Tea!"

Theodore opened it to find that Mordred was holding an entire tray of more than just tea. It was an entire feast in miniature of sweets and fruits, and yes, a teapot and two cups.

Meledia jumped to her feet and helped him carry it all in. She picked up her gloves and shoved them into her dress's pockets like they weren't made from expensive silk, so he'd have somewhere to put the tray down.

"You're eating this good everyday?" Meledia whistled at Theodore -- a rather unladylike, roguish habit she'd picked up from her years in Limsa Lominsa. "Goodness, let me borrow your head chef some time."

"Would you ever give him back? Unlikely. So, no," Theodore answered.

"Oh, I made these," Mordred said. "Sent chef on vacation. He deserves it."

Meledia clapped her hands in very sincere glee. "Ooh, you did?! I get to taste the famous Warrior of Light's pastries? Thank you, Mordred!"

Mordred's ears flicked. His cheeks darkened, and he looked away. But the excited back-and-forth of his tail betrayed him.

Meledia's lips trembled. She was trying very hard, Theodore knew, not to squeal and do something regretful like hugging Mordred. She had never met Miqo'tes until she came to Limsa Lominsa, and Theodore had heard that Meledia found their semblance to cats to be incredibly cute.

Mordred did genuinely look cute when he had no idea what to do with a compliment that he liked. If they were in private, Theodore would be kneading his ears by now.

Alas, they were not. So, loudly clearing his throat, Theodore poured the tea and doled out the pastries.

They did talk business afterwards, but not for very long. Soon the conversation drifted towards what each had done in the weeks they didn't see one another. And then that drifted into anecdotes of their past that Meledia gleefully shared with Mordred while Theodore vehemently edited her line-by-line.

There was not a drop of wine or anything alcoholic in anything Mordred brought, yet by the time Meledia left, red-faced from laughing, Theodore was warm all over. Warm from the core of his soul.

[7pm]

"Arrange some kind of accident for those dowagers. I do not want to deal with them," Theodore said.

He was face-down on the couch. This was not unusual in and of itself. He might even be inspired to move from this position provided there was a worthy emergency.

Unfortunately for all, he was lying on top of something very fluffy and precious.

Mordred's tail twitching tickled Theodore's waist, and his voice sounded very squeezed and muffled when he replied, "We're not hiring hits on old women just 'cos you're not feeling like talking to them."

Theodore performed a maneuver. It was a bit like if a dumpling wrapper gained sentience and encircled its filling. Or like a jellyfish devouring prey, he supposed. Either way, Mister Meow was certainly more forgiving than a real cat, because aside from two or three squeaky complaints, he sullenly let Theodore do as he liked.

"Send them away," Theodore muttered, burying his face in a velvety tail. "Else I shall arrange the accidents myself."

"Let go of me then."

"Send one of your familiars or voidsents."

Theodore could feel Mordred rolling his eyes, but he heard a snap of fingers and a zing of aether gathering and dissipating.

And, indeed, no dowager came to bother them that night.

[aaronsrpgs]

Keeper of the Swans, Year One

When the queen appoints you keeper of the sacred swans, get all of these or be killed for treason.

You learn the swans’ names.

You feed the swans with the specially dried grasses.

You keep them clean of parasites.

You chase away other birds.

You keep their pond and its shore clean and attractive.

Keeper of the Swans, Year Two

On your second year of caring for the swans, get all of these or be killed for treason.

You learn the swans’ true names.

You leave your family to focus on the swans.

You understand the swans’ profane song.

You overreact when found muttering and crying near the pond.

Keeper of the Swans, Year Three

On your third year devoted to the swans, get all of these or die a failure.

You learn of their penchant for fresh meat.

You squat in their nest to keep their eggs warm.

You doff your human clothes, seeing them for the illusion they are.

Keeper of the Swans, Year Four

On your fourth among the swans, get all of these or return to humanity to die like a fish in the desert.

You lie with a swan.

You hide the victim of a swan murder.

Keeper of the Swans, Year Five

On your fifth swan birthday, you get your feathers. You get your beak. You become vicious.

[grox]

Boy I see gou let my at your dick I'll duck it clean doff 👍👍👍👍

OKAY OKAY OKAY

[dinrelsanddragons]

Who takes the longest to get ready in the morning?

Rhoam, hands down. The man's a king and has to be very well-groomed, not to mention he has to navigate the fine details of his clothing. It would take even longer if he didn't have servants assisting him.

In the BotW/TotK verse, however, Rhoam wears a somewhat simpler outfit– he's still got his trademark robe, but his boots, slacks, and shirt are of simpler make (though remain largely the same colors) and therefore easier to don and doff. And, of course, in that verse, he doesn't wear the crown anymore, as it's rightfully Zelda's, even if he's keeping it safe for her.

On the other end of things, the one who takes the least amount of time is Shanz. The man simply rolls out of bed, puts on the nearest set of clean clothes, finds something to eat, and he's done. He doesn't have a routine as it's so simple and easy.

[saints-who-never-existed]

Rereading The Terror

Chapter Seventeen: Irving 

Okay so first of all, I cannot get over how much this chapter goes out of its way to tell us that Irving is an absolute fuck-machine and how much he thinks he’s in love with Silna. We get paragraph after paragraph about his various saucy encounters including his first with a “clean and pleasant dockside whore names Mol” whose services are paid for by his uncle. Wild stuff. 

He was also planning on more or less abandoning his fiancée (And possible child! - ”The consolation grew to interesting heights - Lieutenant Irving knew that he might well be a father by now, two and a half years after the consoling.”) Apparently Book-Irving was thinking about quitting the Navy altogether and going into business in Shanghai. Wee shitebag!

All that filth pales in comparison to the highlight of this chapter though - Irving catching Hickey and Manson in flagrante down in the hold! Huzzah! There’s so much to love about this encounter!  - I love that Manson’s first instinct is to advance ominously toward Irving, possibly even meaning to do real harm to him, and it’s Hickey that tells him no.  - I love that Hickey comes up with the most pathetically hilarious lie too - “...begging your pardon, sir, Mr Diggle sent us down for some flour, sir. One of them damn rats rushed up Seaman Manson’s trouser leg, sir, and we was trying to set it right. Filthy buggers, them rats.” Outstanding! - I love the description of Hickey that follows too - “The words were a challenge and a defiance. Almost a command. Insolence came off the little man in waves...” - And lastly, I love that the first thing Irving says aloud after Hickey and Manson scarper and he’s trying to decide whether to report them or not is “Oh, bugger me...”

As the chapter ends, he finds Silna, who he’s down there looking for in the first place. She happens to be naked and chomping away on some nice fresh meat, just minding her own business. Irving’s so taken aback that he simply says “I’m terribly sorry, madam”, doffs his cap at her, and runs away. How does this man manage to be a world-renowned fuck-machine and a confused little virgin at the same time? Answers on a postcard please!

[caer-gai]

Rope Burns

For @febuwhump day 5 =)

Characters: Gareth and Lancelot

Warnings depiction of injuries and blood, implied violence

“Sir Launcelot?”

Launcelot groaned in response. His arms were numb and tingly from being confined and the still fresh bruises that littered his body ached sharply. He lifted his head warily, ready to face another barrage of torments from his captors.

Launcelot took comfort in knowing that Gareth had evaded capture. He didn’t think he could live with himself if his dear squire faced pain because of him.

“Launcelot?” The call came again, closer and clearer. Not the voice of any of his captors. No.

No, that was Gareth’s voice.

Immediate panic rose in Launcelot’s chest. The thought of his sweet squire in the hands of these brutes filled him with anguish and rage. He threw himself forward against his bonds, struggling with all his might, but the sturdy ropes wouldn’t budge.

His wrists were still raw from earlier escape attempts and further rubbing drew blood, but he didn’t care. Nothing mattered more in that moment than getting free, getting to sweet, dear Gareth and getting as far from this horrid place as possible.

“Launcelot!!”

Ths shout brought Lancelot’s focus back to the room around him. On the landing above stood Gareth, unbound and still armed. The squire sprinted down the steps towards his knight.

“Gareth?” Launcelot managed to choke out.

“Yes, yes i’m here,” Gareth’s eyes darted nervously over Launcelot’s bruised body before landing on his bonds, “Here, let me get you out.”

Launcelot nodded while Gareth moved to untie him. Up close he could see blood on the boy’s armour.

“You’re hurt!”

“Just a few scratches,” Gareth attempted to soothe, though his voice was shaky. He fumbled with the ropes for a few moments before remembering his dagger and opting to saw them off instead. The ropes fell away and Launcelot hissed as air hit his open wounds. Gareth gasped at the sight of his bloodied wrists, and for the first time Launcelot realized the true source of Gareth’s fear.

“I’m alright,” Lancelot forced as comforting a smile as he could, “Let’s get out of here.”

“Right.”

Gareth helped Lancelot up the stairs and out of the dungeons. The sun hurt his eyes after days underground, but Gareth kept a firm hand on his arm and guided him to where their horses were hidden.

They rode a short distance away before Gareth insisted on checking Lancelot’s wounds. Overcome with yet another rush of protectiveness, Lancelot insisted he check Gareth’s first.

They dismounted and Lancelot helped Gareth doff his armour. He was relieved most of the blood wasn’t Gareth’s, but he still cleaned every cut to be sure, and worried over the bruising on Gareth’s ribs. Gareth brushed it all aside with a series of ‘it’s fines’ and the dreaded ‘i’ve had worse’ that always made Lancelot’s stomach pool with dread while thoughts of who would do worse to Gareth flooded his head.

No sooner had Lancelot finished then Gareth started on him. He gently cleaned and bandaged Lancelot’s raw and bloodied wrists, a look of concentration on his face that would’ve been funny if Lancelot wasn’t in pain.

Gareth's hand lingered lightly on his wrists. Lancelot remembered his earlier fear.

“I’m alright, really,” Lancelot reassured, “You did good.”

Gareth leaned hesitantly against Lancelot’s side. He seemed much younger than he was sometimes, or maybe it was that he was usually so mature. Either way Lancelot wrapped a gentle arm around Gareth’s shoulders and let his squire hug him.

[sassooda]

Worlds Away JJK AU / Chapter 88 - This Must Be Love 🔞

w/c - 7,436

               “What is in here?!” Hiromi huffs as he levies the large 4ft tall box labeled Mindray across the lab. He grunts when he works both sides to maneuver it into the corner, backing it in one swiveled scoot at a time. Unbuttoning his blazer, he doffs it and sets it aside as managing the heat from his efforts have become his new task.

               Shoko didn’t even hear him and is instead, dwelling on the new emptiness regarding her sacred space. Yes, it’s organized and ready for some samples and although this productive activity distracted her mind, the fact remains now that she doesn’t know enough. Her desperation to make sense of the turned has become chaotically revised as the situation now clutches Nanami’s fate as well. Her agony takes form of a silent tear as it rushes from her lashes, down her cheek.

               Hiromi gathers a few smaller items that he was charged with putting away but as they were cleaning up, he gathered everything in one place prior to storing them in the closet. He’s not sure how to address Shoko’s mood switch, he doesn’t know where the line is drawn or begins. While contemplating on the best course of action, he mindlessly carries an armful of boxes over to the storage area and opens it. His eyes unfasten.

               Ieiri snaps out of her mind when Hiromi shouts and crashes to the floor, “What the hell?”, she asks as she turns.

               Hiromi hasn’t any words immediately but his eyes are trained to the blood-spattered wing vertically occupying space that blocks the shelves behind it.

               “Oh that!”, Shoko nearly slurs from being intoxicated, “Getou took that from Elska a long time ago…”. Shoko’s eyes instinctively train to the medical table as she remembers Gojo being strapped to it, emotionally broken.

               Scuddling to a stand, Hiromi’s gaze never leaves the gored metal feathers as he envisions the pain caused by the removal. Dried, shriveled flesh clings to the base, appearing as if it would break away to dust if moved. For a moment, his heart sympathizes for the blood shaman woman, imagining how horrible of an experience it must have been.

               “Her composition has changed since so this wing no longer vies as a suitable source of information.”, Shoko helps brush off Hiromi’s sweat dampened work shirt, “But it was once the key for creating the blood substitutions.”. She walks over to the nearly empty case of beer and cracks two open for them, kindly handing one to Hiromi, “I can work magic as long as I have the ingredients before me!”.

               “You created that?!”, his eyes widen with amazement. When word traveled through the ranks that such a concoction was finalized, every higher up felt various waves of unease. Elska, though originally thought as this world’s saving grace against Gojo has been slowly dividing the elders. Even the dullest of high-ranking shaman understand that their entire plan to build her as the ultimate weapon against Satoru will never come to fruition. Some want to work with Elska, choosing to have faith in their relationship and wanting to nurture and mold them into possibly fine allies. Others, on the more extreme opposing side find her and the other blood shamans’ demise mandatory. ‘To think that she is the one that single-handedly cracked the elder’s security…’, he tells himself while studying Shoko. Confliction should have been his middle name.

               “Yep!”, she retorts proudly, “One of my greatest discoveries…”. Her cheerfulness fades though as she orients herself to the Mindray box, containing the ultra sound machine. Would she be able to bear Kento’s children if they so please to go that route? Is it possible? Does she stand a chance against whatever hold Elska has on him? Ieiri’s presence drops as she considers all of the unknown factors but snaps out of it and shakes her head with, “There are more questions than answers which means there’s nothing to celebrate.”. She listens to Hiromi’s approaching footsteps, “And at least Kento didn’t have to bond with her.”. That indeed is a fact that keeps her going. There’s still hope.

               Hiromi feels like he just got sucker punched as her words saunter through the air, ‘She doesn’t know?!’. Suddenly, the room feels smaller, his chest heavier as the duty to pull her out of the dark arises. He lays his broken eyes to Shoko and though he tried to hide his pity, it peered through.

               She says nothing but has to catch her breath, her worst fears coming to life in the wordless expression of his eyes, “Right?!”

               Hiromi turns his head away but walks closer to her. She asks for clarification again but he simply cannot bring himself to say it and instead, hugs her as her body begins to shake and lower to the ground. He bends his knees, offering to be her support as he silently consoles and provides the refuge she’s in need of against the stark tile. He doesn’t need to speak one way or another and it seems like an effective method of delivery as Shoko trembles and cries to the ungiven news. “I’m sorry…”, quietly flows out of him.

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               Suguru tucks his face into the back of the couch while the splashing from Elska’s shower resounds through the room. He’s peeked over to see Choso a few times and is further unnerved with how the being stoically stands, watching over the turned in the bed. ‘What’s his deal?’, he wonders uncomfortably as he sighs and shudders to recent memories the question sent flashing through his mind. ‘So…fucking…gross…’, the grimace webs his face as he snarls under his breath.

               “You needn’t be afraid of me.”, is all Choso says in absence of turning around to address the elephant in the room, “I am on your side.”. A sarcastic chuckle rumbles out of the Titer’s throat but Choso was expecting Getou’s disinclination and knows he’ll come around. His current fascination is how incredibly malevolent the turneds’ energy is becoming. They all carry an air of darkness from simply undergoing the DNA synthesis already but this latest evolution will over shadow their previous submersion into wickedness for they will all harness much more of himself. Choso’s eyes widen and light up wonderfully when he notices Gojo’s hair slowly bleaching to become more alabaster than silver and proudly muses, “The strongest indeed.”.

               “What did you do with Choso?”.

               Choso finally peels his eyes away from the turned to allow them to befall to Getou, to which they narrow.

               Jumping on the defensive, Suguru goes to sit up but is motioned to wait by the being.

               “I am still me…”, Choso lets out a small whine, “I remember everything that’s happened between us. My brothers, me melting your brain…”, he softens his eyes, “…The day I realized that you didn’t slay my family in cold blood.”. He’s glad to see that Suguru seems to believe him, and he should because it’s all true. He is still Choso.

               Getou felt and heard the genuinely given statements and is struck with something so bizarre. ‘Could it really be him?’, he dares to ask himself as the being’s presence is certainly mirroring the thing from the Final Stage. Somewhere deep down, even buried under the doubts, Suguru feels a wave of relief. He knows that regardless of whatever happened to Choso, the powerful hybrid’s loyalty to Elska remains unwavering, something that eases his worries over prospective outcomes. He witnesses Choso spin around towards the west wall and smile.

               ‘Temujin Genghis…’, Choso smirks, ‘Your plan has backfired, has it not?’. How entertaining. Amnessia is currently reeling from the previously overwritten memories of her on Gaia, where she was born. The man that owned her worked directly under the King’s brother, which is how Temujin crossed paths with her. Choso appreciates the part of Genghis that rejects his master’s, the King’s sister’s, wishes. Amnessia is special too, in a vastly different way than the turned but even better, Genghis refusing to kill her as his master requested, is evidence. This is proof that even though Gaia’s turned were not bitten by Elska, they will hold a small definitive reluctance to obey if it’s to oppose Mictlantecuhtli because every single one of them is ultimately born of Mictlantecuhtli’s essence and he wishes for her success. He’s always marked the humans as being irrational with their wars, but for a turned such as Genghis to initiate the same? Flaws. Mictlantecuhtli doesn’t care for defective creations and this is why he considers those on Gaia to be far lesser than Elska. Amnessia’s current predicament is exactly why the Titer’s refrained from rewriting Elska’s memories a second time, they just didn’t understand and were right to be hesitant.

               They saw through their water viewing technique that tampering a second time would lead Elska to a destructive path and this is accurate. Had the Titers tried to manipulate her memories again, just like Amnessia, the previous rewrite would become null and void. This would have caused Elska to lash out violently due to her time spent under Gojo’s torturous ways. Those memories would return but her then the currently growing affections towards those in her life at that time would be erased. She wouldn’t have remembered those she came to care for but only the horrors endured on this strange planet and would have been driven to a frightful, devastating madness. With her instinctual and fully unleashed fury through all of this, she would have devastated everything. ‘Imprudent humans.’, Choso notes as the Titers will not find out about the whole, ‘One memory rewrite at a time’ rule until Amnessia brings it to light, which she will. Very entertaining.

               ‘Amnessia…’, Choso says internally. She is a rare case in regards to Mictlantecuhtli as she is a human but he’s volunteered his protection concerning her. His smile fades as he briefly permits the burdens of her family’s past to flood through him. They were all humans, her people. Gaia has tribes that are similar to the status of clans on Earth and other than his own flesh such as the turned, there’s no aberration from the human form there. Mictlantecuhtli always despised the idea of homo sapiens ever since their design became a thought but unlike other ignorant, greed-filled humans who all eventually forgot about Mictlantecuhtli and other relics, Amnessia’s tribe at least paid tribute to him. They were the least foul of the two-legged, spine derived creatures that infested that planet like roaches. “Memoriam”, he whispers her tribe’s name as if to pay reverence to the people of her line that at least asked forgiveness for existing. Memoriam also bore the weight of repenting for all human sin. Mictlantecuhtli found them respectable, worthy, as their ritualistic practices were intended for the betterment of the future. They were selfless. After the tragedies that befell her people because of his own plots, paths that were necessary to take, he vowed to watch over her and the other survivors, and he still does. She is here on Elska’s side for this very reason. Amnessia is the daughter of the good-natured humans that governed Memoriam and one day, the young woman will discover her true name.

               Elska steps out of the shower, blushing to the less neat black set that adorns the bathroom floor with frazzled, fuzzy lace. Briefly reliving the recent sexual escapade, she moans under her breath and runs her hands over the places Choso and Suguru once held. She’s capsized by happiness with having both of them back and releases all of the tolling fears that have been replaced by effulgence. As she dries herself, her gaze aims mindlessly as images of all her beloveds flash behind her eyes. She’s eager to hear Toji’s voice again, to feel the rumbling of Naoya’s laughter and to console her sweet Satoru. Wrapping herself in the black silk robe, she exits the steamy room and suffers chills as the temperature blends and cold air rushes past her.

               Suguru’s head lifts when she enters and has to calm himself from the sight of her radiance. He watches Choso walk up to her and pouts his lips in distrust, ‘This fucking guy…’.

               Choso merely stares at her with a smile, his arms automatically opening like there’s a sensor where her feet have reached. She shivers against him so he assures, “Naoya will order for that wall to be put back up in the morning.”, and closes his eyes as he holds her preciously. He knows there’re other responsibilities before him but is gratefully enjoying a few moments of pure elation.

               Elska hears Suguru shifting so she peers around her hybrid and asks, “There’s plenty of room on the bed, why don’t you come over here?”. She knew the likelihood of his refusing but had to at least try the offer as his long legs fold in order to belong, “That can’t be comfortable!”.

               Getou lies back down, rather exhausted, “I appreciate your gesture little one but I’m afraid I must decline. I prefer to have a little head start in case Zenin wakes up and is unenthusiastic to seeing my face.”. He chuckles through the statement for the sake of lightheartedness but in no way, shape or form is he joking. He settles back into the cushions and balls up in protest to the winter chill.

               “I guess I understand…”, Elska sighs defeatedly. She longs for the day when her turned finally accept each other but figures that may not be so far away. ‘They’re back…’, she reminds herself, smiling to how that’s good enough for now. She looks from her curled up Titer back to Choso who she was about to speak to but before she can, the hybrid smiles and leaves the room. Her brow lifts but a smirk splits her lips as she comprehends that he’s a few steps ahead of her. ‘Thank you…’, she thinks to the being as he crosses the hall back to the smaller room.

               ‘He said I know who he is…’, Getou surmises, ‘…but I really don’t.’. He’s having a hard time connecting how the thing from the Final Stage has become one with the being. ‘Is Choso in danger because of it?’. Suguru’s inherent response to that energy is adverse considering the torture he’s survived in that stage. First, there were the endless months he spent learning the time manipulation technique. No one other than himself and Genghis are aware of this though since it’s truly hard to explain how he experienced that in a matter of hours through everyone else’s perception. He endured loops of the initial frenzy and suffered tremendously with being unable to bond with Elska right away. Suguru’s entire demeanor depresses as his heart mimics the same despair that nearly consumed him while in the depths of that training.

               Then there’s the most recent situation where he relived all of his worst life experiences repeatedly. It was maddening, cruel and unusual. His fists clench without his notice as the memory of crushing his parents plays ever so freshly in his mind as if it were once dulled. Nightmares made sure it never was. ‘That thing…’, Getou grinds his teeth as he correctly blames it for orchestrating this additional trauma, ‘What do I do about it?’. There’s a piece of Suguru that recognizes its enigmatic air as something important and kin to them all but he can’t make heads or tails as to why. He doesn’t realize that Elska has since sat behind him on the edge of the couch; only after minutes of her caressing does he snap back to the present. “Little one…”, he coos, reaching over his shoulder to hold her hand as he twists to his back.

               Elska cups his face, relieved that he doesn’t seem angry like she assumed when he didn’t respond. Her eyes cast over his features, moving from one eye to the other, then down to his nose, lips and back up to his hair. She says nothing as she runs her fingers over his scalp and simply cherishes his being alive and well, whispering, “I’m glad you’re home.”. She catches the way his brow folds, as if he never thought have such a place with her.

               “Elska…”, he turns his head to kiss her hand, screwing his eyes shut as he does, “Home?”. Her soft giggles force him to smile as he ponders on this being some kind of hallucination. She leans down with glowing eyes and gently connects their mouths which causes him to feel the domestication in their dynamic blossom. He wants this to be their routine, their norm.

               Choso comes back through the door with a blanket and pillow in hand. His own heart flutters to the scene before him as it marks the end of the Titer’s isolation. ‘I regret how much he’s had to endure for the sake of my workings…’, he speaks internally but at least finds resolution in the fact that Suguru Getou will finally experience the security he deserves, ‘I’ve taken everything from you.’. He quietly approaches them bearing the gifts of comfort to which Elska thanks him prior to tucking the large Titer under the blanket.

               “Get some rest, ok?”, she whispers before kissing Suguru on the cheek, “And if you need anything, just ask alright?”.

               Getou beams warmly in response, wishing she’d cuddle up with him despite there not being much room but nods instead. He’s apprehensive about Gojo waking up after hearing what Choso had to say so he’s not truly planning on sleeping, but rather is going to keep guard over her.

               Choso snickers to the attempt to fool them both but of course, he knows Suguru will interfere with Satoru and that would only cause his death. After Elska stands and tells her Titer goodnight, Choso looks down to Getou and says, “Sleep.”.

               Suguru instantly falls unconscious and this rubs her the wrong way so she turns to Choso and demands to know why he did that. “He’s defenseless like this!”, she shouts before turning around to glance at Naoya and Toji who she’s sure will be displeased with him being there.

               Choso doesn’t like the tone she’s using as it sends agony through his chest. He narrows his eyes, grabs her wrists and forcibly leads her over to the bed. He hears his name in her troubled voice but says nothing until she’s placed before Gojo. “Suguru wasn’t going to rest Elska, he was waiting to defend you against him.”, he explains as he points to the not so silver shaman. She relaxes a bit which tells him she understands but just to make sure he reiterates, “Satoru is going to need you…”, and blasts him with a flash of violet light.

               “What did you do?!”, she yelps as she bucks away to frantically check over her Sati. Choso is now starting to exact a menacing demeanor with everyone and she’s picking up on it already. Luckily though, she finds nothing wrong with Gojo but notices the whitening of his hair and studies it with perplexity. Before she can even ask, Choso slumps up behind her and bends her over the mattress.

               As he grips her waist and deeply rubs himself into her rear, his eyes glow red with frustration as he wants to take her again. Her little whimpers of ambiguity as she sprawls out over Gojo tempts every indecent fiber of his existence. Mictlantecuhtli growls when her flesh dimples from his fingers and nearly loses sight of his own mission until he senses Yuuji and Nobara returning to the campus, ‘Brother.’.

               Elska holds her breath while Choso unmounts her and tenderly helps her to a stand, his behavioral switch throwing her off. “My hybrid?”.

               “All I did was ensure that Satoru would wake up before the rest but do not worry yolotli”, he licks across her lips and ignores her stunned expression, “the others will all wake by the morning.”. Choso’s happy to see her eyes light up to the confirmation of his actions, glad that she believes him. “I will return shortly but I wish to see my brother for a while.”.

               Elska, far less defensive, hugs the being and grants him leave with her blessing, “Tell them I said hey, will you?”. Choso cackles innocently, a sound that strikes her soul as it can only be her hybrid forming such a distinctive laugh. She knows he’s different but whatever changed within him oddly leaves her with some peace. Sure, he’s doing a lot of strange things and is definitely acting inversely but there’s something about his twisted presence that soothes her. It’s familiar, nurturing even.

               Gojo begins to stir which is Choso’s cue to exit and he does so by slipping away his fingers from her pretty neck as he goes to turn. “Everything is going to be alright… but you need to be patient with him.”, he confidently speaks while quickly leaving the room. He stops as he turns the knob to briskly add, “And don’t take any shit from him either. Put him in his place, only you can do that.”. As the door shuts behind him, Choso picks up his pace, walking faster and faster until he leaves through the foyer and heads towards the dorms across the way. He’s very excited to see Itadori but there’s more purpose to this meeting than that. Choso’s caught between aggravation and excitement as he approaches the first building and quietly states, “You owe me an explanation, Sukuna…”.

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               Elska cautiously caresses Satoru as he twitches every so often and whimpers in his sleep. She catches the first tear that falls from the corner of his now ashier looking lashes, missing the others that pour out. “Oh Sati…”, she grimaces to the noises he makes, choking on his own breath as if he’s having the worst of dreams, “Sweet Sati…”. She climbs over top of him but bends down to lay on his chest, hoping that her presence can reach him. He does seem to simmer down a bit, granting her respite but after a few seconds of triumph, his arms wrench around her hazardously. Before she understands what’s going on, she’s being slammed against a wall. The air has been knocked out of her lungs, her throat being viced anyway but her fearful eyes glow as Gojo’s crazed two-toned expression hones into her. “He’s frenzied!”, she struggles out, only her knowing what the gurgled words were meant to be.

               Gojo lifts her by the neck, pushing her up higher towards the ceiling until her scent catches his attention. “Luuuv-….”, he growls wickedly, squeezing her throat progressively more. His other hand begins clawing at her chest, tearing ribbons of skin away as he peels his love in a belligerent rage.

                “Don’t take any shit from him.”, Choso’s words play in her ears, “Put him in his place.”

               Something in Elska breaks, or rather, releases. With a wild cry, she swings up her right knee, cracking his elbow to which he doesn’t release her but they both fall to the floor. He viciously growls while gathering to his knees and flings his broken arm to drag her closer. Elska bears her fangs, not at all deterred. He slugs her but she takes the frightful hit as gracefully as possible before pushing her feet up from the ground to launch her lower half upwards. They grapple for a few but she’s ultimately determined enough and successfully wraps her thighs around his neck and then bends backwards to extend his injured extremity out. She put him in an arm-bar. Elska snarls into the air as she uses her entirety to pull his arm out of socket, needing to injure his offense before this gets out of control and he becomes serious. “SAAAATII!”, she screams in her lowly voice as his shoulder finally gives, his own roars competing to be heard. She swiftly scurries back over top of him, fighting horrendously to keep his long flailing body against the floor. He bucks up, she gains air. He tries to roll over, she’s straddles for balance. He disappears.

               “Shit…”, she huffs, stilled momentarily in distress. It doesn’t last long though because as she gulps and closes her eyes, he can be heard behind her. She waits…patiently. When Satoru lunges with his animalistic cries, Elska rolls to her side, dodging him. There’s no time to lose though and she’s come to see this so she tears open her own wrist and fills her mouth with the blood. Gojo pushes from the floor over in her direction and when he does, Elska connects a back fist across his beautiful face, her heart compressing in response. ‘There’s no time…’, she tells herself again, climbing over his battered form and latching her lips to his own to force feed her essence. It’s instantaneous almost, how his hypertonicity fades. He threatening hands cling to her affectionately, his shrieks turned to muffled moans resounding between swallows.

               Gojo focuses his view and blinks to her glowing ones inches from his face, startling him. He doesn’t throw her off or anything but he sits up with a quickness and holds his head as he takes in her injuries. “LOVE!”, he shouts as her bloodied chin shows pearly whites between lips that turn upwards to a satisfied grin. He tries to pick her up but feels the pain from his dangling arm and gasps, “What the fuck happened to us?!”, but then he actually starts to remember.

               “Shhh…”, Elska crawls into his lap and pushes her hair over her shoulder, “You need more, Sati…”, drawing him into her neck. She feels his quivering lips against her skin but cradles his head and tells him, “You’re alright, everything is alright.”. His high whines sound so foreign, his trembling body so unlike the man she knows. She thinks he’s going to pierce her until he wails into her neck, prompting her to study his eyes.

               “I…”, Gojo sobs while frantically folding up the skin he raked from her chest, as if it would be fine and link like puzzle pieces. “FUCK!”, he peers to his own stained hands that have her blood and tissues under his nails, “I… I did it again!”, he darts his tearing eyes to Elska.

               “I’m ok Sati!”, she sniffles and holds him once more, “You can’t help it either! Don’t blame yourself!”. Waves of his breath create humidity in the small area where he cries, his hands defeatedly out beside him as if he doesn’t want to touch her. Digging her chin into the top of his head, she solidifies her hold to express to him that she’ll never let him go. “Just feed Sati, I will too, ok?”, she nuzzles her face into his palish hair, “I’ll explain everything, just do it…please.”.

               Satoru inhales sharply through his teeth, terrorized by what he’s done. The images of her struggling to breathe near the ceiling where he pinned her, blind him mercilessly. “My-…love.”, he chokes out, sensing her desperation to get him under control. It depletes him of his wits, her never ending devotion to the monster that never fails to fucking hurt her. “I- I can’t...”.

               Elska feels how unstable he remains and is growing anxious with his current lack of reason. He’s always been a very direct man but there’s something different about the crumpled display she’s tangled into that causes her to shed more tears. “Yes…”, she pulls away and lifts his chin so she can see his eyes, “You can.”. His two-toned hue illuminates more as his eyes flare open and refracts from his wettened lashes.

               Gojo studies the colorful dashes beaming down at him and comprehends that his vicious little Elska in her true form but is being incredibly gentle. His six-eyes detect something within her that’s evolved, a variance he still can’t quite finger but its so immensely overpowering that he’s left in awe. As he speechlessly looks up to his woman, she bends her neck to tenderly meet lips. Another tear streams down his face as she exacts how understanding she is yet again.

               “I love you Sati…so much…”, she whispers into him, “When will you learn that there is nothing, and I mean nothing that you could do to lose my love?”. He finally responds positively and saves words in order to kiss her back, normalcy slowly creeping over them. She means for him to feed immediately but his uncharacteristic submissiveness draws her in as she also needs him to know how irreplaceable he is. She cups his face but turns it to the side as she trails her lips across his cheek to his ear where she lets out a soft gasp before trapping his lobe.

               Her passion calls to him but his culpability keeps him weighted with confliction. She’s trying to speak the language he wields best, the physical kind. Usually this would distract him without issue but the fact remains that he’s met with this strange affliction that keeps him depressed.

               Elska, catches wind of the usual rouse not working and decides she needs to ramp it up a bit. She can sense through his energy that he’s still rather dejected and not back to normal, that of which she isn’t having. Removing the fastener from her robe she looks down to her tear-stained lover and commands, “Arms above your head.”.

               Satoru eyes her oddly but heeds the demand, wincing to his worthless arm as she ties them together at the wrists but then secures that to the post on the bed. When she tugs it, he’s forced to scoot closer until his shoulders are at least resting against the mattress, his legs laid out straight in front of him. He doesn’t understand why she’s doing this but also isn’t about to question her while the dashes persist in her eyes.

               “So, you feel badly, my sweet Sati?”, she taunts as she straddles him once more. His confusion is blatant but she also perceives his trust when he nods. “What you’re feeling is accountability…”, she sweetly explains as she yanks down his pants to his knees, finding that he’s still not aroused. ‘Is he actually ok?’, she wonders nervously while maintaining her masterful air, ‘This isn’t like him at all.’.  She removes her robe to consume him with nudity as she lightly drags her nails down his abs, “Most people feel that all the time Sati, but you’re unique.”.

               He shuts his eyes and attempts to focus on what she’s doing instead of the demons raging within. Her wild call resounds however, causing them to open as the gusts of wind sail past him to expose all four of her wings.

               She smiles amiably as he gawks at them, lifting his chin when his curiosity subsides to be replaced with that same lamentable expression. “You’ve done many terrible things and have escaped the emotional repercussions for a long time…”, she notices his eyes feign pain to her words, “But you do not have to suffer this alone for you will never be alone.”. His jaw tenses as if he’s in disbelief so she continues, “This must be love.”.

               Gojo inhales shakily and whimpers to the beautiful memory as the only woman he’s ever wanted to be with forces him to understand that it’s still reciprocated. She leans down and hovers over his lips before finishing her speech with, “My King.”. Suddenly everything is clearer. Yes, he still has mountains of guilt to dig through, countless slain faces to reckon with but he also still has enemies to devour, people to protect her from. He is hers and she is his. His voice returns with strength, the same tenacity as before, “My love”.

               Elska’s lips part when she feels his throbbing member take breath and excitedly squeals as she attacks him with fevered kisses. His own low and spacey chuckles interrupt their timing as lips meet teeth but this doesn’t dare ruin the moment. She shifts her weight to her knees, stealing his hardened flesh for herself and bears his girth as she works down over it. She’s pleased when Gojo’s head whips back in pleasure and he presents with half-lidded eyes that seemingly stain the whitened disheveled locks. It’s only now that she questions if his physical appearance changed from evolution or from psychological stress, praying it wasn’t the latter.

               Nothing matters but her and their loved ones; the turned, the junior shaman, their friends. Her sensuality as she slowly rides him pulls these realizations back to the forefront where they belong. He can’t stand to see her lacerations caused by literally his own hand though so with nothing but a growl to gain her attention, he tells her through thought, ‘You feed first my love’, and turns his head away so she can. Her lack of hesitation fuels him with their bond, how he comprehends that she’s willing to bargain with him even under circumstances such as this. When her fangs puncture him, he’s so overcome with euphoria that he breaks his restraints, post included, to embrace her wholly.  

               She whimpers uncontrollably to his essence, the flavor he feigns is so much viler now. It’s enchanting. She mumbles his name in between gulps while he lifts her thighs to plunge her with ecstasy. This is her Sati, the poisonous man that changed her life the day he decided her existence belonged to him. She loves him. She loves every ounce of bitterness that flows through his veins, every murderous thought the trickles in his mind. It’s so pleasing, his seasoning. Far after her wounds have healed, she takes in more just to decipher his feelings, to ensure he’s stable. It’s a hard thing to concentrate on when his wonderful divider splits her core as his beautiful moans confine her ears. She tastes that the prolonged combination of her bite and body are whisking him away to his end though so she lifts her head and closes his marks, falling in love all over again.

               Satoru huddles her against his chest but then flips her over to her back, chunks of wood splintering from the floor as her wings make first contact. She doesn’t release them but rather folds them around his body as if to symbolize her protective nature regarding him. He doesn’t know how its possible, but she’s never appeared more beautiful to him than she is in this moment. It steals his breath away honestly, how she expectantly stares up to him with open arms, welcoming his feeding like it’s a gift. First, he enters her once more but slowly, tenderly. She slickens him and clenches to whatever expression he wears, becoming so mesmerized by the dashes that dissolve any superficial barriers between them. He can be himself. He pulls out of her but ducks down to suckle her sensitive bundle of nerves as there’s nothing more he wants to do than demonstrate his unwavering obsession. His arm throbs horribly but while in this setting, he uses that to indulge his affinity to pain. “You are everything to me…”, he speaks into that second favorite smile of his prior to unleashing his oral prowess that causes her to contort and cry out. “Yes love…”, he calls to her, “Cum on my tongue.”.

               Elska recognizes his mannerisms and smiles deviously to his tone as she arches. When he feeds it into her and twists his tongue, a surprised gasps escapes her. When he stops to tend to her clitoris again though, she whimpers into a loud moan that must have held all of her volume. She most certainly does cum on him and her eyes nearly cross from the fact that it was him that demanded it. Her pheromones are billowing inside but she hasn’t a single qualm about letting them out so she does so without restriction. Cool air circulates between her legs as his heat dissipates but she feels his body lowering over hers and does her best to not look as much of a mess as she must be. As she exhales deeply to try and survive the remnants of the orgasm, his lips steal her purpose and are commandeered for his liking.

               Gojo loves how she doesn’t shy away from drinking in her own arousal, and moans wantonly as he pushes back through her folds. Her healed body teases him as her breasts bounce from his thrusts, suctioning him deeper. He props his busted arm under her elevated back and keeps her anchored with his weight as he licks into the crook of her neck. The sound of their skin slapping together sings to him like a song he’s not heard in forever and as much as he’d love to visualize his length plowing her, he remains as he is, needing to indulge in their intimacy. He rolls his hips to a stop, completely sheathed by her as he finally forms his fangs. Her eyes flash up to him, colorful and full of emotion as she anticipates his bite. “I know you have to do something to this world, love…”, he speaks with abated breath as she curiously stalks him, “…and I don’t care what that is. I will help you.”.

               Elska, caught off guard by his seemingly random declaration, runs a hand through his sweaty hair and asks, “You remember me saying that?”. It feels like a lifetime ago but she recalls the conversation when she was in the other form explaining her origins. He nods yes and smiles before bending down to flick his tongue along her nipple, causing her core to flutter around his buried length.

               “You said the stipulation the Oda’s must fulfil is ending humanity, correct?”, he asks it so casually as he licks a stripe up her entire breast.

               Elska’s brow furrows, caught between his ministrations and meaning, “Do you mean to tell me that you have no reservations over that?”. Sure, Satoru Gojo is a menace but she’s tongue-tied over his easy condemnation of the world.

               “None.”, he confesses as he starts working his hips once more. They’re soon panting into each other but he manages to add, “Your debts are my debts. Your desires, my own.”. Her expression reads bewilderment but her body tells the truth as she tightens around him. “Fuck the humans, love. They would never treat you kindly anyways. They’re filth; conniving little flesh sacks that would try to end you if they weren’t so weak.”.

               Elska clings to her sweet Sati as he charms her body and mind alike. The veiny rod of her conqueror drags through her walls as his lecherous presence shines without a veil. ‘He means it.’, she admits as his caring, wildly ominous eyes adore her from above.

               “I definitely do mean it.”, he clarifies verbally with a calamitous smirk that he lowers to her lips. He slips his tongue into her and slows his rhythm as he’s not wanting to end this perfect space in time where they currently exist. Satoru has always hated everything about this world; the clans, the shaman society, the elders, the stupid fucking non-shaman they’re sworn to protect. It’s all worthless or corrupt. “Fuck the King too. I’ll kill him and every single one of his turned…”, he snarls into her as he senses her nearing finality. “That fucking cunt will never-…”, Gojo moans to the heat building in his groin as she cries out his name, “He will never take you away from us, my love.”. His moans turn to grunts as she convulses around him, her physical response to his actions and stance twisting his testicles into a warm sensation of release. “You belong here with me…”, he whines as he desperately staves off his own end until he makes his point, thrusting, “and Naoya…and Toji…”, his hips stutter as he loses his own battle, “and Getou…and Cho-…”, he groans profoundly as he fills her, “sssso.”.

               Elska releases her wings and coddles Satoru when he breathlessly collapses overtop of her. She strokes his hair while they catch their breath, her mind stuck on his readiness to literally turn this world upside down. It should be corrosive but, in all actuality, it makes her feel as if this is indeed the right course to take. Choso said he’d do anything for her but she wasn’t expecting this. Elska knows Satoru means it though, from the very bottom of his obsidian heart and promises, “I will remain with you…forever.”.

               Gojo lifts his head to view her and brushes the stray strands from her face attentively, “Then forever it is.”. Howling wind from the hall jars the latched bedroom door, giving the façade that something is haunting them. No other distractions exist however as they lay against the cold floor, glistening from the ramifications of satisfaction. Something nearly left his lips as they stalled into this moment together, words he never fathomed would take life of their own. He almost proposed. This is shocking to him but not entirely as the initial wave of “WHAT THE FUCK GOJO”, dispels and leaves him to comprehend that this desire is unavoidable. “Love?”, he sheepishly asks but looks away nervously when she giggles, “You wouldn’t marry me, would you?”.

               Elska’s entire body jolts as if he’d cursed her but its only because she’s now concerned again, “Are you feeling ok, Sati?”. She’s never needed the title of marriage and he’s never shown interest in it either and although she would happily be his wife, she looks over her should to barely see Naoya’s profile and subjects to the knowledge of that crushing her prince.

               “I’m fine!”, Gojo laughs it off and hides his frown, having caught what gave her hesitation. He’d honestly forgotten about his Zenin friend for a minute there and didn’t mean to put her in that kind of predicament. He chews his lip while trying to save them both from this awkward pause but her voice breaks his train of thought.

               “Isn’t it weird that you are my boyfriend but we’re both considerate of my lover?”, she couldn’t help but state the obvious as when spoken, it almost doesn’t make sense. It comes off insane actually. They share a laugh of irony that fizzles out to his lips meeting her neck.

               “When you put it that way, I sound like a fucking chode!”, he snickers playfully as he forms his fangs. He’s not lost his interest in this topic but would rather come back to it after he works out a few kinks, “Naoya is important to me too though, love and I know how much he means to you…”. He skips his daggers across her skin, thirst drying his tongue, “Maybe you will have to marry all of us.”, he delivers this message hintingly.

               “No one-…”, she shivers in preparation for his penetration, “is going to honor such a union, Sati…”, but says it in a way that conveys her adherence to an idea like that, “…not that they matter. I love every single one of you…”.

               “Exactly.”, he jeers into her skin, “And who the fuck is going to stop us?”. She whimpers to his fangs as he clamps into her flesh, the story of her state sending signals to his brain. He’s given the image of the budding plant and inhales brashly when seeing how much it’s grown. ‘Little Zenin, huh?’, he smiles to himself while sifting through other parts of her. Something he tastes is new. As Satoru gently guides her backwards to the floor and begins to decode, an alarming message is sent through his mind.

               “You must know.”        

               His lids flare open, the light from them even blinding himself so he squints. He inherently understands what this ancient voice is and his six-eyes go into overdrive as they work with his new sensory abilities since being turned and break down loads of information within a second.

               “You will know.”

               His retinas begin to heat up from the intense light filtering through him but it’s like the muscular contraction when electrocuted, he can’t break away. He hears Elska’s voice calling to him but there’s nothing he can do as his six-eyes and infinity now couple in efforts to unlock the new visible variances that have troubled him for so long. He’s fucking stuck.

               “Meet with me.”

               He wails in agony as his head feels it may implode, her blood surging from his lips as he coughs and struggles to maintain bodily functions. His ears ring from the pressure and violet light invades his surging eyes.

               “Save her.”

 ((Chapter 89 will be out soon, thank you for reading!))

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Chapter List

Tagging: @syynnaaah @angelofthorr @itstackytime @animemenrbettr

[braveryinblue]

"Pardon, sorry! Excuse me!"

Getting into the concessions area was rather easy. Getting out while attempting to carry two plates? Much less so. Micaiah finds herself bumping into a fairly solid man in her attempts to do just that.

"Oh, the sauce!" Micaiah attempts to do what she can for the poor cravat she's just spilled on when, upon raising her hand, the mark of fire lights up and with a red hue cleans both the cravat and the white half-glove she wears holding it.

"Huh." Micaiah says, looking from her hand up into the face of her new friend. Not so new she supposes once she recognizes him (the hair on her neck a few lengths less certainly does at least).

"Lord Hector, yes? We certainly do keeping meeting under odd… school related circumstances. Still, my apologies."

Blast, and blast again.

It wasn't on purpose, he's sure, but he'd been very keen to look on the silver lining of this particular mishap.

"Egh... If it had stayed, I might have had an excuse to doff all this fancy frippery in favour of something more reasonable," he complains with a sigh and half a pinch of dramatics. "But no... No. I suppose they must enjoy watching us suffer."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he shakes his head and only then, finally, happens to gaze upon Micaiah - the one behind this unfortunate run-in. (Hector might be inclined to take partial fault... Might. The jury's still out.)

"And you're Lady Micaiah, yes?" he parrots with a nod. Ugh. He feels so. Stiff. "No harm done. Though I'd not call a battle in the middle of a purposefully orchestrated battlefield so odd a circumstance compared to, well," he gestures to the whole of the ballroom, "all this. Every time I think I'm getting used to life in Fodlan, something like this happens."

Well. He's still around and kicking, one supposes, and learning well enough.

Bah.

A mouse has already scurried off with what's left of the unfortunate plate, but that still leaves one problem.

"Allow me to escort you and your next second plate to its intended destination, will you? Might be that it'll get there more, ah, intact."

[atompowers]

Renewable Shakespeare Energy

🎁 Happy Birthday William Shakespeare (April 23rd, 1564). Here are a couple climate and clean energy poems I’ve written inspired by the famed queer bard himself:

🌅 Should we do nothing to face climate change?

But our eternal sunshine shall not fade Nor lose sight of what’s right and what we ow’st Nor shall grief drag us far down, nor our rage When we can transform along with time grow’st. So long as we work to help all to breathe So long lives this, and this gives life to be

🌕 Song of the Climate Witches

Double double, exponential good trouble Catastrophic success through the struggle Cool it with the warmth of love Then the charm is cast above.

🌹 "Methane" What's in a name?

J:  ‘Tis thy name that's not my enemy;

’Tis thy part thou art a Fossil Fuel.

What’s Fossil Fuel? Tis burned fuel, with footprint,

Of harm, we face, not any one part

Natural to a man. O! be some other name:

What’s in a name? that which we call Methane

Gas by any other name would smell as sweet;

So “Natural” would, were he not “Natural” call’d,

Retain that dear perfection which he lies

Without that title. “Natural”, doff thy name;

And for that name, which doesn’t describe thee,

Rename thyself.

⚡ Love Sonnet to the Wind & Solar Witches

What kind of magic not only saves lives, But also puts people to work brewing Electricity from our very skies?

☀️ "To Solar, or Not to Solar?" That is the Question of Saving Money and Saving the Planet

[digitalsanshta]

Cleaning chemicals play a vital role in maintaining hygiene and cleanliness across various industries, from offices to factories. However, handling these chemicals can pose significant risks if not managed properly. Lunima, a leader in safety solutions, offers comprehensive Cleaning Chemical Safety Training programs that aim to equip workers with the knowledge and tools needed to handle cleaning chemicals safely and responsibly. This blog will explore the key aspects of cleaning chemical safety and how Lunima’s training program can help ensure a safer work environment.

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Cleaning chemical safety program, such as disinfectants, detergents, and solvents, often contain hazardous substances that can cause severe health problems if not used correctly. These chemicals may lead to:

Skin and eye irritation

Respiratory issues

Allergic reactions

Burns and other injuries

Environmental pollution

Accidents can occur when workers lack the appropriate knowledge about the chemical properties, risks, and proper handling techniques. Lunima’s Cleaning Chemical Safety Training ensures that employees are well-prepared to avoid such incidents.

Key Components of Cleaning Chemical Safety Training

Understanding Chemical Hazards

The first step in handling cleaning chemicals safely is to understand the nature of the chemicals used in the workplace. Lunima’s training covers essential information about the hazard classifications of cleaning chemicals, including:

Flammable substances

Corrosive materials

Toxic and irritant chemicals

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Mishandling cleaning chemicals can lead to spills, accidents, and exposure. The training emphasizes the correct storage, mixing, and use of chemicals to minimize the risks. Key topics include:

Storage requirements: Understanding how to store chemicals properly to prevent leaks and spills.

Mixing guidelines: Learning the proper dilution ratios to avoid dangerous reactions.

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PPE plays a critical role in safeguarding workers from exposure to harmful chemicals. Lunima’s training covers the appropriate types of PPE that should be worn during cleaning activities, including:

Gloves

Goggles

Face masks or respirators

Protective clothing

Employees will also be trained on how to properly don and doff PPE, ensuring that they remain protected throughout their cleaning tasks.

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In the event of an accident, knowing the proper emergency procedures is crucial to minimizing damage and protecting health. Lunima’s training includes:

First-aid measures for chemical burns, inhalation, or ingestion of harmful substances.

Spill containment and clean-up procedures to ensure a quick and effective response to chemical spills.

Fire safety protocols for flammable chemicals, including the correct use of fire extinguishers and evacuation routes.

Environmental Protection

Cleaning chemicals can have a detrimental impact on the environment if not disposed of properly. The training covers the safe disposal of chemical waste, ensuring that workers follow environmental regulations and avoid contaminating water sources, soil, and air.

Benefits of Lunima’s Cleaning Chemical Safety Training

Reduced Workplace Accidents

With a clear understanding of chemical hazards and proper safety procedures, workers are less likely to suffer from accidents, injuries, or health complications. This leads to a safer, more productive work environment.

Compliance with Safety Regulations

Lunima’s training ensures that businesses comply with government regulations, including Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) standards. By following these guidelines, companies can avoid hefty fines and potential legal issues.

Increased Employee Confidence

Workers who are well-trained in cleaning chemical safety are more confident in performing their tasks efficiently. This reduces hesitation, enhances productivity, and fosters a positive work culture focused on safety and well-being.

Environmental Responsibility

Proper chemical handling and disposal reduce the risk of environmental damage, allowing companies to demonstrate their commitment to sustainability and corporate responsibility.

Conclusion

Cleaning chemical safety is not something that should be taken lightly. With the proper training, companies can drastically reduce the risks associated with using hazardous substances. Lunima’s Cleaning Chemical Safety Training program provides a comprehensive solution to ensure that workers are equipped with the necessary knowledge and skills to handle chemicals safely, protect their health, and contribute to a safe working environment.

Investing in cleaning chemical safety training is not just a legal requirement but a crucial step in building a safe and responsible workplace. Lunima is dedicated to helping companies achieve this goal through tailored, industry-leading safety training programs. Contact Lunima today to learn more about how we can help safeguard your workplace.

[superiorcleanroom]

Comprehensive Protection Solutions: Exploring Superior Cleanroom Products' Essential Protective Garments and Accessories

Coverall with Hood and Boots

The Coverall with Hood and Boots offers full-body protection in cleanroom environments. Designed with a hood to cover the head and integrated boots, it ensures contamination control from head to toe. Made from lightweight, breathable material, this coverall is comfortable for extended wear while maintaining a barrier against particulates and biological contaminants. Ideal for pharmaceutical, biotech, and electronics industries, this coverall provides a secure fit with elastic cuffs and ankles, ensuring no exposure. It meets stringent cleanroom standards, making it a reliable choice for maintaining a sterile environment.

Coverall with Collar

The Coverall with Collar is a versatile protective garment designed for use in controlled environments. Featuring a simple collar, it provides neck protection while allowing flexibility for additional protective gear like masks or hoods. Made from high-quality, non-woven fabric, it offers excellent breathability and particle filtration. The coverall is easy to don and doff, with a front zipper closure for convenience. Its anti-static properties and low-lint material make it ideal for cleanroom applications, ensuring minimal contamination risk. This coverall is perfect for industries where cleanliness and safety are paramount.

Cleanroom Sleeve Protectors

Cleanroom Sleeve Protectors are essential for maintaining hygiene and protection in controlled environments. Designed to cover the forearms, these sleeve protectors are made from durable, low-lint materials that prevent particle shedding. They are easy to wear over cleanroom garments, providing an extra layer of protection against contaminants. The elastic cuffs at both ends ensure a secure fit, preventing the sleeves from slipping during use. Ideal for use in pharmaceutical, biotechnology, and electronics manufacturing, these sleeve protectors help maintain the integrity of cleanroom protocols by minimizing contamination risks.

Chem-Protekt Coverall

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Coverall with Hood

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Blue Vinyl Coat Apron

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Chem-Protekt Sleeve Cover

The Chem-Protekt® Sleeve Cover is engineered for maximum protection against chemical splashes and contaminants. Made from specialized materials that resist a wide range of chemicals, these sleeve covers are perfect for use in hazardous cleanroom environments. The elastic cuffs ensure a secure fit, preventing slippage and exposure during critical tasks. Lightweight and flexible, these sleeve covers do not hinder movement, making them comfortable for extended wear. Ideal for pharmaceutical, chemical processing, and industrial applications, the Chem-Protekt® Sleeve Cover is an essential component of comprehensive cleanroom protection.

[meowww-ffxiv]

Thinking about Liios and Estinien again. 😩

.

At the end of long days fighting, Estinien allowed Liios to help him doff his armor.

What was usually the work asked of a squire meant something else entirely when your equal was the one to do it for you, and Liios performed the task with a quiet devotion that made Estinien's heart ache with some unnamed, fierce emotion that had taken up residence in his ribcage for years.

First his gauntlets, then greaves, then the pauldrons, then the chest plate and tassets. Liios lifted them from him, unbuckling the belts and pulling them free with efficiency born of familiarity. He had gotten used to this new armor very quickly, Estinien thought. Though he had also been quick to learn with his old ones, the one stained with Nidhogg's blood, that was his undoing.

The pieces were mounted on the armor rack reserved for them. Liios looked them over with a craftsman's eye, cataloging the nicks and tears to fix. Then he returned to help Estinien out of his tabard, until he was unencumbered enough to do the rest himself.

While Estinien changed out of the sweat-soaked shirt for a fresh one, Liios rummaged for his toolkit and some alkahest. The usual repairs could be carried out with dark-matter crystals, but Estinien understood that the infrequent application of alkahests and solvents kept equipment as effective as when they were first made...

...when done by skilled hands.

If it had been anyone else, even if it was the Ishgardian masters of the forges themselves, Estinien would have yanked back the armor. Passed to him by Hraesvelgr, there was no way he could take such a risk with it. Even now he watched from across the room as Liios emptied the solutions and solvents into bowls, watched as he picked up the tools and crystals.

And only kept watching, as Liios mended first the chips and tears, then coated them. The movements were the same as they had been the last three times Liios had done it for him, months apart, so precise and regular Estinien could be certain they did not change between applications.

He did it in the same order as he had taken them off Estinien. Gauntlets, greaves, pauldrons, chest plate, tassets. The leather parts required a different solution, though Liios didn't reach for it. Instead he tested them, seemingly found them satisfactory, and set them aside in a moment.

Estinien left him to it, so he could go wash his face and the blood and Void dust out of his hair. When he returned, two chilled goblets of mint-flavored drinks in hands, Liios had finished.

Iceheart wore her challenges well, not unlike the woman Estinien had named the suit of armor after. She would never have the handsomeness of new steel, as she had seen battle even before the Dragonsong War, but as Estinien stood there and studied her, he felt the satisfying certainty of knowing she would bear him through several more decades yet. Perhaps even beyond it.

Liios, still seated at the table and now cleaning up his array of tools, looked up at him. He inclined his head in wordless request for his opinion, and Estinien nodded.

He put the drinks on the table where it had been cleared, and kissed Liios's cheek as he took the seat next to him. His not-lover hummed, long eyelashes fluttering as he returned the kiss with one of his own, then another one on Estinien's jaw, as was their habit.

They clacked their goblets together in silent cheer and relief at the end of another day, and drank.

[purcho]

The Practical Benefits of Disposable White 16 Micron Aprons: A Must-Have for Hygiene and Protection

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Choosing the Right Disposable Apron

When selecting disposable white 16-micron aprons, consider the specific needs of your environment. Look for aprons that meet relevant safety and hygiene standards. Additionally, ensure that the aprons are of a suitable size and length to provide adequate coverage and protection.

Best Practices for Using Disposable Aprons

Proper Donning and Doffing: Ensure that aprons are put on and removed in a manner that avoids contamination. Always wash hands before and after handling aprons.

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Conclusion

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