#House Cleaning in St. George

[stgeorgecleaner]

How Frequently Do You Need Professional House Cleaning in St. George?

Ensuring a tidy and well-organised home is crucial to create a comfortable living space. While regular cleaning is part of every homeowner's routine, the need for professional house cleaning in St George can vary based on several crucial factors. Let's explore these factors to determine how often you should consider hiring professional cleaning services. Read this article for more details!

[greynatomy]

reputation

ella toone x reader

first ella toone fic! was in the drafts for a while and got around to finally finishing it. honestly don’t know where i was going with this

———

You had a reputation.

Once you turned eighteen, you started to rebel, wanting to make your point across. At eighteen, you started getting tattoos and buzzed all your hair, looking completely different from the colorful person you used to be. You wanted to steer away from the child everyone sees you to be and be seen more of an adult. The thing is, your management thought that the only way to do that is to make you out to be a womanizer, getting girls left and right.

The smoking, though, that was on you. Becoming well known starting at the age of fifteen, you’ve been under the spotlight from a young age, being told how to dress, how to act, everything in your life was controlled. The smoking, getting tattoos, cutting your hair was a way for you to get some of the control back.

You are now twenty-five. Fired your old management, signed into a new label who let you be you. Its been two years and you’ve been writing and producing songs on low profile. Your fans still figure out which songs have been written/produced by you - even under pseudonyms. You were loving being out of the spotlight for once.

—

The sun shining through the curtains wakes you up from your sleep, eyes fluttering shut from the light. Your arm tightens its hold from the body it’s slung over, pulling them close.

“Mmm, five more minutes.”

You didn’t reply, just pulled her closer than she already is, drifting back to sleep. About an hour later, you wake up to footsteps running around. Sitting up, back resting against the headboard, you see your girlfriend running around, stuffing things into her training bag. You sat there quietly, admiring your her chaotic form rushing in and out the room.

“You’re staring.”

“Just admiring.” You mouth twitching up in amusement.

“Well, I need to leave now or I’ll be late.”

“Did you pack any going out clothes? Wanna take you out after training.”

“Yeah, but what about my car?”

“I’ll take a cab to the facility. Wait for you.”

“Alright, text me when you’re there.” She leans down, giving you a kiss. “I love you.”

You grab the back of her neck and pull her back when she moves away, pulling her back in for another kiss.

“I love you. Now, go before you’re late.”

“See you soon.”

To make time go by faster, you decided to busy yourself with some cleaning around the house. You quite liked being a little housewife for Ella, cooking, cleaning, waiting for her to get back home from training.

Few hours later, dressed casual, you’re in a cab on the way to St. George’s Park. paying the cab driver, you walk to the parking lot looking for Ella’s car.

Rockstar 🎸🖤

at the car. forgot the spare key. take your time

Looney Toones ❤️⚽️

give me a few minutes

You leaned against the car, answering some messages and emails from your phone. You were too focused to notice a couple of footsteps coming towards you.

“Uh, excuse you. Don’t lean on the car.”

You look up, taking the hood off your head, to see Ella’s best friend, Alessia, and one other.

“Oh, sorry.”

“Hold on.” Mary, the goalkeeper that Ella’s told you about, spoke up. “Why do you look so familiar?”

Before you could answer, you’re cut off by a very loud voice.

“We’re matching!”

Your face instantly lights up at the voice of your girlfriend.

“What a coincidence!”

“Ha. Ha.” Ella realizes you, once again, matched with her on purpose. “What is it with you wanting to match with me?” She smiles at you with adoration.

You shrug. “You ready to go?”

The clearing of a throat breaks the two of you out of your bubble, forgetting about the other two Lionesses.

“Uh, Tooney?”

“Yeah?”

“Who’s this?”

Ella’s face lights up. “Oh! This is me girlfriend, Y/N!”

“Nice to meet your two!” You hold your hand out, but it was just stared at. You let out a chuckle, awkwardly putting your hand back down. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah. Bye guys.”

Mary and Alessia watch as the car drives off with their friend inside.

“I remember now! She’s Y/N Y/LN. The one I’ve seen on the news always bringing a new one home.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I wouldn’t be surprised if Ella was just another one of her conquests.”

The next day at training, Mary and Alessia approach Ella during break.

“Hey, guys!” Ella greeted them cheerfully.

“Hey, Ella. Uh, just some questions.”

“What is it?”

“Your girlfriend. You know who she is right?”

Ella was now confused. “Uh, yeah. Of course I do.”

“Well, we’re just worried.”

“About?” Now Ella was getting a bit impatient.

“She’s a bit off a womanizer isn’t she?” Alessia blurts out, speaking up for the first time.

“Excuse me?”

“She’s always seen with a new girl hanging by her arm like every week.”

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“Look, Tooney. We’re just looking out for you.”

“Looking out for me? Nah, I’m done with this conversation.”

You were in the backyard when you heard the front door slam shut. Looking towards the door, you see your girlfriend stomping towards you and plopping down on your lap.

“What’s happened?”

“Ugh! Can you believe Mary and Less? They had the nerve! The nerve to accuse you of being with me only temporarily.”

“What else did they say?”

“They were talking ‘bout how you always have anew girl hanging off your arm and stuff, but those were from years ago before you fired everyone.”

You wrap your arms tighter around her, pulling her closer. “Well, I mean, look at it from their perspective. They’ve never met me, they don’t know me like you do. All they have is what they’ve seen online. And they’re your best mates, they’re looking out for you.”

After a few moments of silence, Ella now has a look of determination on her face. She grabs her phone and sends out a text.

“They’ll be here in a couple minutes.”

Your eyes almost pop out of their sockets.

“What do you mean in a couple minutes. I haven’t even cleaned the house yet.”

You run around the house picking up anything you could see to put away, wanting to make a good first- technically second- impression with Ella’s best friends.

“Babe.”

You go to grab the vacuum.

“Baby.”

You also grab a broom because what if the vacuum isn’t enough.

“Baby!” She grabs you by the shoulders to keep you in place. “Breathe.” You do as she says. “Okay. The house isn’t even messy and even if it was, they’d know it was from me.”

You nod your head. “True.”

Exactly as Ella stated, there was a knock on your front door a couple of minutes later. She greets them, letting them in and goes to stand next to you.

“This is Y/N. My girlfriend, as I stated yesterday.”

“Hi, nice to meet you both.” You give them a small wave.

Mary’s lips form a straight line while Alessia gives you a small smile in greeting.

“Let me get us something to drink.” Ella announces, leaving the three of you alone.

“What’s your game here?” Mary gets straight to the point.

“Sorry?” Your eyebrows furrow in confusion.

“C’mon! You’ve gotten with singers and supermodels, basically everyone. Is Ella another one of your conquests?”

“What? No!”

“I’m not stupid! I know your reputation, you go from one girl to another.”

“Well, then you don’t know me at all!” You were now getting frustrated. You hated when people judge you just because of what they see from the media. You can’t blame them though, that’s all people know you from.

“What’s going on here?” Ella walks back in, drinks in hand, confusion on her face.

“Nothing. Just getting to know—”

“—Actually.” Mary cuts Alessia off. “I just wanted to make sure she is good for you. Based on all the girls she’s been with, I don’t think she is.”

“Okay, that’s enough Mary!”

“I’m just being realistic!”

“No, you’re being an asshole judging my girlfriend from things you see on the internet. You should know not to believe everything you see online. The both of you.” Mary and Alessia looks down in shame. “Also, if you haven’t noticed, she’s been out of the media for two years so everything you’ve seen was from a long time ago.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that she’s been with half the population before you!”

“It does when you find out that that isn’t true at all.”

“What?” Alessia’s voice was soft but heard.

“My name is-was a brand by the label. I was legally blinded to do what they told me to do and the acting out, smoking, tattoos, those are the only ways I could take some control back, but I never took advantage of anyone. All those girls I’ve been pictured with, I’ve only slept with one until she left me because management wanted to keep the ‘bad girl’ image.”

You move to the kitchen, grabbing a beer from a refrigerator. Popping it open, you take a swig, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Two years ago, I decided to ‘run away’ to Manchester. Fired my whole team and just disappeared.”

“That’s when I met ‘er.” Ella cuts in, wrapping an arm around your waist, leaning into you. “Started dating two months after the countless dates she took me on and it’s been almost two years. She makes me really happy.” The last sentence was directed right at her friends.

“Okay. I’m sorry for judging you so quick.”

“Same with me. I’m sorry.”

“No hard feelings at all.” You give them both a smile. “Now since you’re both here, why don’t you stay for dinner.

The three perk up at the mention of food.

[hailqiqi]

these secrets beneath your fingertips

I'm going to (eventually) post all of my fics over here on tumblr, so here's the next one! Content warning for non-graphic L&O SVU style content in the first part. This fic was originally supposed to be crack. I'm not sorry.

Characters: Lucy, Skull, Sir Rupert Gale, Lockwood.

Words: 6,207

Read in full below or on AO3 here.

>>>>>>>>>⚔︎

Three in the morning was a good time to be out if you didn't want to be seen. It was still dark for a few hours yet, so most of the country was asleep indoors safe behind their ghost wards and lavender smoke. It being the end of the night, most agents were safe at home, too — maybe clean and in pyjamas, or maybe conked out on top of their quilts, still covered in grave dirt and magnesium ash and the other detritus of the profession (as I’d been known to do on particularly hard nights).

The only people on the roads were night cab drivers, DEPRAC workers, and the Night Watch — but few and far between, and all at the ends of their shifts. I’d only seen a single car on the short walk from Marylebone, and it hadn’t seen me. That suited me fine.

Now I crouched outside the front door of a semi-detached townhouse in St James’s. The windows were dark, as they should have been at that hour. The front garden was lovely and well-tended, with luscious fronds and rows of short palm trees celebrating the last vestiges of summer, and offering almost complete privacy from the road. My rucksack — with the ghost jar — was upon my back, my rapier hung at my hip, and my belt was well stocked, though I’d swapped most of the salt bombs for extra flares. I was after human prey tonight.

‘Since you’re picking locks like a cracksman, I assume this isn’t a social call.’

I hushed the skull quietly and turned my wrist a fraction, intent on hearing the tiny ‘click’ as the bolt slid into place. Two more seconds and the lock came free. I caught the door before it could open all the way, but paused.

‘There’s still time to turn back, you know. You haven’t told me what you’re up to but I know it’s a terrible idea.’

He had a point. I thought of the fight on the bridge, when swords had been drawn so quickly I hadn’t seen it happen. Twice Sir Rupert had challenged Lockwood, and twice Lockwood had been hard-pressed to fight him off. And I’d never beaten Lockwood in a proper spar yet, despite my suspicion that he was still going easy on me. I was definitely outmatched here.

But then I thought of George lying in Lockwood’s bed, so small and weak and broken and everything George wasn’t. I slipped inside the house.

The door closed silently behind me, and I took a moment to let my eyes adjust to the darkness. To my left and right were doors; presumably leading to the sitting and dining rooms. Ahead of me was a dark flight of stairs leading to the first floor, and a dim hall that probably led to a kitchen at the back of the house. The decor was surprisingly tasteful, given Sir Rupert’s garish fashion choices, though I couldn’t make out the colours in the dark. The walls were mostly bare save for some classical artwork, and the carpeting and furnishings in the hall both had a luxurious, moneyed look about them. At a glance, it all looked like the type of aesthetic Lockwood would pretend to like.

Out of habit, I closed my eyes and opened my inner ears to Listen. The streets outside were quiet, the area was well-defended, and the house itself had the usual iron and silver ghost charms (along with a costly runnel outside) so I expected it to be quiet. It was. I moved on.

The skull was quiet as I did a quick sweep of the ground floor — the kitchen was a modern, airy room that ran along the back width of the house, with floor to ceiling windows and doors leading straight out into the back garden that made it feel more like a conservatory. An open doorway led back towards a room of thick carpets and white chesterfields, and a matching doorway at the opposite end of the wall led to what appeared to be a library. Another door was set in the side wall close to the library which presumably led to a cellar of some sort.

I’d already decided not to open any unnecessary doors — silence was the name of the game here — but the cellar door gave me pause. The door was wooden, painted white to match the wall, but decorated with silver tracework that ran in thin curves to cover the entire length and width of the door. The handle was small and unobtrusive, but undeniably silver. 

‘Do you feel that, Lucy?’

I stood before it and Listened, one hand on the wood; the only sounds I couldhear were the ticking of the clock on the wall, almost echoing in the quiet, and my own soft, even breathing. Still, the skull was right — there, underneath the darkness, hushed by the expensive carpets, was some sort of disturbance. It was muffled and restrained to the point where I couldn’t tell you anything about it. It didn’t have a discernible sound, there wasn’t an underlying current of distress or fear or anger like many psychic disturbances emanated. All I could recognise was a feeling of wrongness, and it wasn’t malaise.

Two nights ago — or was it three nights ago? I couldn’t remember at this point — Sir Rupert had quite clearly Seen the Clapham Butcher Boy in the pillar at Fittes House. Something told me that, despite the defences, he didn’t fear Visitors as much as most adults. Anything could be behind that door.

Carefully, I re-checked all the pockets on my work belt. Then I stepped away and padded back towards the stairs, keeping my footsteps as silent as I could.

‘Not going to check, Lucy? How very sensible…and un-like you.’

I couldn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. The skull was still acting much more subdued than its usual abrasive self; likely it had realised how tenuous the grip on my sanity was these few days and had wisely opted to cut the snark out of self-preservation. It certainly hadn’t offered any sympathy for George’s condition — but it had made an effort not to twist the knife, and for that I was somewhat grateful. Still, I couldn’t really tell you why I’d brought it with me tonight. Perhaps I just wanted the company.

Boots weren’t the best choice of footwear for this kind of job, but thankfully rich people loved their peace and quiet. The carpet absorbed most of the sound as I crept up the stairs towards the first floor.

The same hushed stillness permeated the first floor landing. Artwork hung on the walls, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering in from the window at one end. To my right, a staircase led to an upper level — likely guest rooms, or rooms that used to serve as servants’ quarters. Only three doors led off this landing, and it was anybody’s guess as to which one I wanted.

Maybe the skull could help. I jostled my rucksack quietly, hoping it would offer some insight. Luckily, it caught on quickly.

‘You’re not alone up here,’ it said, its voice pressing against my mind. ‘I don’t think I want to know what you’re actually planning, but stay quiet.’

I risked a whisper. ‘Is anyone awake?’

A pause, and then: ‘I don’t know. Tread carefully.’

Not very helpful, then.

One out of three, pick a door. It was a game agents often played in the dead of night, one we dreaded. It was a game that was always worse to play alone, of course, but at least I’d grown used to that the year before. I crept towards the door closest to the window and eased it open.

For a moment, I thought I’d found another library, this one more modern in décor and lit by coloured string lights, like my attic was now (George had once called it ‘basic teenage girl lighting’ and I’d immediately stormed out to buy another string). But then my eyes adjusted to the strange light in the room and I began to make out the details.

Thick, dark curtains covered two large windows, blocking out the light from the street and the ghost-lamp outside; the room itself was mostly open space, furnished with a few trophy cabinets and display cases, and the walls were covered in frames clustered around individual wall-mounted boxes. It was a trophy room, like we had back in the basement at home. I turned to leave, then paused.

It was a little too like the trophy room at home, actually. The pale blues, yellows, and lilacs were eerily familiar, as were the shifting glows cast as they shimmered across the floor in swirling ripples. Too familiar.

I walked softly towards the nearest light source, my mission momentarily forgotten. The pale blue light was contained within a small wall-mounted display case, a silver-glass box stuck to the wall at around waist-height. Inside the case was a severed finger, still wearing a ring — and, of course, a ghost.

As an experienced agent, these things shouldn’t affect me anymore. I’d seen worse — just five months prior I’d walked in another world of glittering frost and starless skies, a place where the only living beings were myself and Lockwood beside me. But sometimes the shock still gets to you, even when you were expecting it.

This one wall held at least five similar display cases interspersed between ordinary picture frames, all containing Sources glowing various colours. I counted seven on the long wall — the one with no windows or doors. The other two walls, with their large windows, held only one or two each, and each display cabinet held at least three Sources, scattered amidst dark frames and boxes. Gaping at the sheer scale of it, I shrugged my rucksack onto one shoulder and loosened the top so that the ghost in the jar could see out. 

‘Oh, so now you want my— that’s…unexpected.’ The ghost inside swirled with a green light as the face spun, taking in the vast array of Sources on display. ‘Lucy… Where are we?’

‘Sir Rupert Gale’s house,’ I muttered, transfixed.

‘Marissa’s bodyguard? The bully with the bum-fluff moustache and terrible fashion sense?’

I nodded. Maybe he’d been an agent before, back in the day. Maybe, like Lockwood, he collected trophies from successful cases. He was admittedly an excellent swordsman; likely he’d had a great deal of those. And, I supposed, like many adults past their prime he longed for his glory days — the days before his Talent deserted him, the days when he was still useful in the fight against the Problem — and with all the money at his disposal, he’d decided to create a display room to help him remember.

But Sir Rupert’s glory days weren’t behind him yet — he still had excellent Sight, if the other evening was anything to go by, and it was hard for me to think he might be trying to fight against the Problem, when he seemed so devoted to the person we suspected of causing it. No, whatever this was, it was something else.

With a glance at the open door, I took my torch from my belt, set the light to low and flicked it on.

I expected the frame directly next to the box containing the finger to contain a newspaper cutting or perhaps some information on the Source itself. Instead, it contained a photograph: a simple picture of a slim boy about my age, dressed in an old-fashioned agency uniform and holding a rapier. He was smiling at the camera, all confidence and easy charm.

The next frame contained a newspaper cutting featuring an article about a successful case from the 80s, the sealing of a Dark Spectre that had caused several deaths by a team from the newly-established Sebright Agency. The boy in the first photograph was part of the team, again pictured holding his rapier. His name was James Hynes and he was 16 years old.

Above the article was another photograph of the same James, this time crossing the road with a smaller boy. He seemed unaware of the camera in that one. Next to that one, closer to the case, yet another photograph, this one taken in a shop. Then another of him on a street I didn’t recognise, leaving a building with the DEPRAC logo hanging above the door. There were a few more shots, all clustered to the right of the Source in a haphazard semi-circle — all candid shots where he was seemingly unaware of the camera.

I followed the images round, slowly moving my light up and around, to the frame hanging above the case. This time James was looking at the camera, but that charming smile was nowhere to be seen. His hands were bound behind his back, a gag was around his mouth, and his naked body was bruised and bleeding. He looked terrified.

Heart in my throat, my eyes roved frantically roving over the next few photographs. Clustered around the other half of the case were similar pictures of James naked, beaten, and terrified, his body growing more and more broken as the photographs went on. I didn’t get very far along that terrible journey — three or four more photographs, and then I looked away. I didn’t need to see how it had ended.

Perhaps in response to my turbulent emotions, the blue glow from the Source in front of me brightened, James’ ghost shifting restlessly, swirling and ebbing with new urgency as it tried to escape the confines of the silver-glass. Taking a calming breath, I reached out with my senses, trying to establish some kind of connection, but could only pick up the barest whispers of anger and frustration through the glass. Opening my mind further, I concentrated, trying to pick up a sense of the other Visitors in the room.

The feelings were muffled, but they were there: anger, sadness, and an almost overwhelming sense of frustrated helplessness. And so many of them. The sheer scale of it made my breath catch; for a moment, I was back under Aickmere’s, with the ghosts of those who’d been left to die, forgotten and abandoned until I’d found them — and then they’d been unceremoniously dumped in the fires at Clerkenwell, removed from this world without a shred of justice. Maybe I could do better here.

Determined, I stepped away from James’ display and moved further into the room, towards the next. Before I could take a proper look, however, the skull spoke.

‘Lucy…I think you should leave.’  

I paused, my hand on the hilt of my rapier. ‘Why? Is he coming?’

‘No,’ it replied slowly, as though carefully weighing each word. ‘But I’ve…known people like this before. You don’t want to be at their mercy. They don’t have any.’

I checked my watch; it was half past three. I still had at least two hours before dawn, and likely more than that before Sir Rupert would wake up. I could afford to spend a few moments learning their stories, and I told the skull as much. It grumbled, clearly displeased, but by now it knew me well enough to know when I wouldn’t be dissuaded.

The next case held a human ear and a swirl of lilac plasm. The photographs to the right — all seemingly candid — showed a tall slim boy; the ones to the left showed the same boy, bound and gagged in what appeared to be the same windowless room that James had been in. I didn’t look too hard at those ones. A newspaper article on his disappearance named him Harry Newman, a 15-year-old agent who had worked at Grimble’s in the 90s.

I moved on. The next set of photographs showed an unnamed smiling boy with dark hair and a slender build, dressed in a Rotwell’s uniform. His Source was a rumpled and bloody prayer booklet. Another case contained a ring, like the one Lockwood wore, belonging to a dark-haired 17-year-old called Denis Butler who’d worked for Tendy’s just before I was born. Next to Denis rested Reginald Spencer, a tall 16-year-old Fittes agent in the 70s who was now a Dark Spectre tied to a mummified hand. I kept going.

Josh Murphy, 18, tall, dark-haired, cocky smile. Went missing ten years ago and now resided in what looked like his kneecap. Noel Hart, fifteen with a floof of curly dark hair, was an agent at Sinclair and Soanes eight years prior, now tied to a broken rapier hilt. Smiling Louis Burton, 17, a team leader at Mellingcamp in the 80s before being reduced to yellow light and a couple of teeth.

On and on it went, boy after boy after boy. My head was spinning, but somehow I managed to keep it together as I swiftly worked my way through the room. The last one made the bile rise in my throat: Lachlan Thomson, a tall, friendly Scottish Listener from Staines that I’d worked with over the Black Winter. One of the astonishingly few agents I’d enjoyed working with during those cold, dark nights, I’d been upset to hear of his disappearance five months back. I stared at the shifting maroon hues of his ghost with sorrow, remembering how he’d put himself between me and the Spitalfields Horror with zero hesitation, holding the Changer back while I broke free of the ghost-lock and gathered my wits. He’d been brave, and kind, and competent (which was shockingly rare), and he’d talked me into meeting him for coffee as thanks for a job well done. I’d had hopes that I’d made my first new friend as a freelance agent, but we’d never found the time to meet up.

‘Lucy! Lucy, look at this!’

The urgency in the skull’s voice pulled me from my reverie, and I glanced quickly at the door, hand on my rapier. The landing was quiet.

The case next to Lachlan’s was dark — I’d initially suspected another Dark Spectre, but a brief inspection showed it to be empty. There were, however, photographs, and the first one stole my breath in an instant.

It was Lockwood. I knew the photograph well, as it was one of my favourite images of him in our album back home: a mid-air shot of him leaping between two floats at the doomed ‘Take Back the Night’ Carnival last year, sword in hand, coat billowing behind him, the thrill of the chase clear on his face. George had cut it out of the Times and pasted it on the inside cover of our album.

But this wasn’t our album, and it wasn’t our cut-out. And it shouldn’t be here. In a panic, I checked the case, but of course it was empty; Lockwood was safe at home, hopefully still asleep on the library sofa. The frame hanging above the case — the one that would show the initial stages of the torture — was empty too. I stared at it, breathing hard. It seemed to me as though it were waiting.

‘Lucy, isn’t that you?’

Wrenching myself away from the empty frame, I shone my torch on the other frames to the right. It was a collection of candid photographs — Lockwood at Arif’s, Lockwood and Holly outside The Times offices in town, Lockwood sweeping the steps at home, Lockwood at Satchell’s. And there, as the skull had said, a picture of Lockwood and myself, though my back was to the camera. We were standing by the penguin enclosure at London Zoo, on a day last summer after the business with the Bone Glass — I’d mentioned that I’d never been to a zoo before, and Lockwood had managed to scrounge up a pair of tickets a week or so later, so we’d gone. It had been odd, walking around with Lockwood in the daylight without the excuse of work to distract us, but pleasant, too, in ways I wouldn’t have wanted to admit to anybody else.

He’d bought a flower from a passing vendor and presented it to me, and the photographer had captured the moment he’d tucked it behind my ear. It had been a sweet, unexpected gesture, a private moment between friends that cemented our closeness…but now it was here, hanging on the wall in a serial killer’s house.

I was horrified. ‘He’s been following him for over a year…’

‘Yes, well, he has proven rather difficult to pin down.’

The skull at my back let out a litany of profanity and I whirled around, drawing my sword in one fluid motion and dropping into a defensive stance. Sir Rupert Gale leant against the doorframe, sword held casually at his side, dressed in garish purple silk pyjamas that reflected the shimmering lights of the Sources in the room. For once, his arrival wasn’t heralded by a cloud of aftershave — I suppose that was his one concession to the late hour — and the smile he bestowed upon me was polite and genial, his eyes glittering with a benign amusement like a jolly old grandfather at a family dinner who had caught the children hiding their vegetables. He terrified me.

‘I rarely have guests, Miss Carlyle,’ he said, pushing away from the doorway and slowly moving into the room. I took a step back and strengthened my stance. ‘And when I do receive visitors, they tend to stay downstairs.’ His smile grew. ‘Only very special visitors get to lay eyes on this room, and unfortunately you don’t meet the qualifications yet.’

‘You mean I’m not dead,’ I spat, my heart pounding. I kept my eyes on his hips — after the chase at the carnival he’d attacked so fast I hadn’t even seen him move.

‘Lucy!’

He paused by one of the display cases in the middle of the room and raised a hand, as though to greet the Visitors on the shelves within. For a moment, his face took on a curious expression, something blank and almost gentle. An instant and then it was gone, his posture taking on a predatory air as he turned to me again. ‘I rather think, Miss Carlyle, that they failed to teach you proper manners in that hovel you hail from. I can fix that, if you accompany me to the cellar.’

I’d seen enough photographs of the cellar to know what that meant. My lip curled. ‘Fuck you.’

‘Are you sure? I’m a rather good teacher.’ He tapped lightly on one of the wall-mounted display cases as he prowled closer. ‘This young man was rather polite by the time I was finished with him. Used all his P’s and Q’s perfectly.’

‘And look at where that got him,’ the skull interjected. ‘Lucy, you have to get out of here.’

‘I know,’ I answered, gritting my teeth.

The problem was, there was nowhere to go. We were trapped in this strange dance, him slowly prowling closer, me slowly edging backwards, trying to keep up the niceties when in reality we were circling each other like two tigers waiting to strike. Only I didn’t feel like a tiger. I felt like the prey.

I’d never been foolish enough to believe I could beat him in a fair fight; the plan had been to slit his throat while he slept. But it seemed that, in all my hurt and fury, I’d forgotten something: I was an agent, not a killer. God, why hadn’t I listened to Lockwood? He’d said he had a plan. For once, couldn’t I have just listened? 

Sir Rupert moved closer, regarding me appraisingly. ‘While it’s unfortunate that you’re nothing like my usual preference, I suspect I’m going to rather enjoy your extended stay.’ His smile was all teeth, like a shark. ‘At the very least, you’ll make excellent bait.’

A wave of fury rushed through me. ‘Never!’

‘I think you’ll find you don’t have much say in the matter,’ he said calmly, and in the same breath he lunged.

I parried the blow, barely dancing away from his follow-up in time to avoid having my thighs sliced open. He pressed the attack, and even as I tried to counter he caught my rapier with his own and tried to push it to one side. I only just managed to disengage before he twisted his wrist, scarcely avoiding the attempted disarm.

‘Lucy, let me out!’

‘How?!’ I cried, whirling out of the way of another swipe and letting the momentum carry me, futilely trying to put more distance between us. Even if I’d wanted to, I didn’t have the hands to do it; Sir Rupert was relentless.

Yellow light flared at my elbow and on impulse I feinted high, then used the split second of time that bought me to fling myself to the side and smash the hilt of my sword down hard on the display case. At once I was engulfed by a wave of fury, a desperate need for freedom and revenge that was abruptly cut off as Sir Rupert dispatched the Visitor with a swipe of his sword.

But the distraction had already served its purpose and before he could turn on me again I threw a flare at the display cabinet behind him. In an instant, it all changed: glass shattered, bright light burst against my tightly-closed eyelids, and a freezing cold wave of psychic energy slammed me back against the wall. My inner senses were immediately bombarded with a cacophony of sound and I winced, blinking away the last of the flare-light to see three or four Visitors converge on Sir Rupert.

He burst into movement with a roar of fury, his blade flashing as he whirled to defend against the advancing ghosts. Two were already rematerializing as I scrambled upright.

‘Oh, you’ll let them out, but not me,’ the skull groused.

‘Shut up,’ I answered, ripping another flare from my belt and lobbing it at where two cabinets stood close together. ‘You’re not as accessible.’

‘I’m also less likely to turn on you.’

‘Or more likely, depending on your mood.’

I braced myself and covered my face as the second flare exploded and more glass flew. Sir Rupert was — in a feat of particularly impressive rapier work — somehow holding his own, though I doubted it would last as the numbers grew. The most important thing was that he was no longer after me.

The ghosts weren’t after me, either. The first ghost I’d freed had rematerialised less than a foot away and completely ignored me, instead moving towards where a wild-eyed Sir Rupert fought for his life with a single-mindedness reminiscent of George with a new book. I moved along the wall towards the door, smashing cases as I went for good measure.

‘Are you going to let them all out? What’s the plan for when they’re done with their revenge?’

‘No idea,’ I huffed, ducking as the Dark Spectre floated to hang overhead. ‘He’s making a good go of it, hopefully I'll be out by then.’

The skull grumbled a response, something about a lack of planning. Part of me wanted to point out that I had no other choice, but as usual: it had a point. Annie Ward had moved on once she’d exacted her revenge on her killer, but there was no guarantee these spirits would. And there were so many of them — Spectres, Wraiths, a Raw-Bones, plus a few Type Ones. Leaving would be the smart option.

But I had one thing I wanted to do first. I spun around, carefully avoiding a Shade hanging at the edges of the fray as I cut the corner and flung myself at Lachlan’s display case, driving the hilt of my sword into it with my full body weight. The maroon glow flared brightly then disappeared, reforming right where I’d stood a moment before into the shape of a boy. His naked torso was covered in bloody gashes and bruises, the skin hanging off in places, the bones twisted and broken. I blinked back a tear.

The Wraith regarded me silently, and I held its gaze, my breath fogging in the frigid air.  There was no trace of Lachlan’s confident smile on its visage, only a deep, hollow exhaustion. Then Sir Rupert screamed, and it turned and glided away towards the centre of the room.

I didn’t see him hit the ground but I felt it all the same when he lost the fight; the energy in the room suddenly shifted, expanding as the frenzied, focused rage lost some of its strength. Whether he was dead yet or not didn’t really matter; he would be soon.

‘Time to go, Lucy.’

‘I know.’ I stopped in front of the empty case beside Lachlan’s and snatched the photo from the zoo off the wall.  Then I got the hell out.

⚔⚔⚔

The dawn chorus was in full swing when I slipped into the front hall at home. Quietly, very quietly, I placed my rapier in the umbrella stand, removed my boots, then tiptoed towards the library where Lockwood slept.

He’d shut the door.

‘You’d think he’d at least leave it open so you could watch him sleep.’ The skull sighed dramatically. ‘How short-sighted of him to deny you one of the few simple pleasures in your miserable existence.’

I scoffed and turned for the stairs. It was past four-thirty in the morning; I didn’t need to see him to know that Lockwood was fast asleep on the sofa, long legs slung over one end. George’s harsh breathing was audible on the landing, so I knew he was safe too. All was well.

Still, twenty minutes later I stood outside the library door, my hair damp from the shower. The skull’s derisive laughter echoed in my ears. It was irrational, and it was stupid, but…I just needed to be sure. I couldn’t rest until I’d checked.

The door opened with a soft creak and my entire being sagged with relief: there lay Lockwood, one arm thrown up above his head, his too-long legs hanging off the opposite end of the sofa, the spare blanket he’d taken from my room cutting out at his shins. I drank him in for a moment, studying the way his fringe flopped over his brow and the way his expression was relaxed and serene. Tomorrow he’d be a force of nature, a tornado of sharp focus and purpose as he rallied the troops for the next great challenge. Right now, he was just a boy.

The clock in the hallway chimed five, and he stirred.

‘Luce?’

‘Go back to sleep, Lockwood,’ I said gently. ‘I’m sorry for waking you up.’

‘S’okay,’ he mumbled, blearily rubbing his eyes. ‘Did you have a nightmare?’

I thought of the photographs covering the walls, of breaking glass and the smell of magnesium smoke. I thought of Sir Rupert’s shark-like smile as he moved towards me and found I couldn’t quite dismiss it. ‘Something like that.’

‘C’mere then,’ he said, shifting and lifting the blanket with a yawn. ‘There’s room for two if we squish.’

On any other night, I would have declined. I’m sure my face would have turned scarlet at the offer alone — surely only made because he was half-asleep — and I would have insisted that I was fine, that all I needed was a bit of warm milk and a book and then I’d be out like a light, all by myself. But tonight? Tonight I was haunted by images of an unaware Lockwood on the street, by wide, terrified eyes and horror and gore and cruelty too great to name. Tonight I had no strength to resist.

I crawled under the cover and he shifted to accommodate me, arms coming around to press me to his bare chest and keep me from falling off. Our legs tangled together, and I pulled the blanket up to my shoulders before wrapping my free arm around his back. Somewhere, at the back of my mind, time dipped and whirred; the clock on the bookshelf ticked softly, but my world was spinning with the way my face fit perfectly in the hollow of his throat, the way his breath tickled my ear, the way his hand felt so warm on the skin of my back where he’d slipped it underneath my top. We’d never been so close before, not even when we’d sheltered under the same spirit cape. And the circumstances had been quite different.

Eventually, though, I relaxed, the tension gradually drawn out of me like a slow sigh by the warmth of his body, his steady heartbeat, and the rise and fall of his chest. This was new, but this was Lockwood. I’d wanted to reassure myself he was alive, and really: how much more alive could he get? Neither of us had spoken since I’d lain down with him, but I could feel the lines of his muscles relaxing as I melted into his embrace.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ The question was soft, murmured into my hair. I shook my head. ‘Okay then,’ he whispered. ‘Go to sleep, Lucy.’ His hand brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, and the gesture sparked a memory.

‘Lockwood?’

‘Mm?’

‘Do you remember that day we went to the zoo?’

‘Yes?’

If I hadn’t been safely ensconced in his warmth, my face hidden in his neck, I would never have asked. But it turns out certain things are easier to voice when you’re snuggled up in the dark, and the way he’d looked at me in that photo…it was making me connect all kinds of dots. I needed to know, so I asked.

‘Was that a date?’

‘...Yes?’ His voice was laced with sleepy confusion, but the answer still made my heart skip a beat. ‘Wait, Lucy, did you not know that was a date?’

He tried to shift away, probably to get a look at my face, but I stubbornly pressed closer and shook my head.

‘Lucy, I gave you a flower!’

‘I thought it was just…you know, a flower,’ I said, my voice a strangled whisper. ‘You never said—’

‘I’m quite sure I did,’ he replied, his tone incredulous. ‘Even George knew.’

‘Oh.’ That explained why George had given me such an odd look when I’d invited him to join.

‘Did you really not know?’

‘I really didn’t know,’ I said, shaking my head again. My cheeks were burning, and I was very glad for the darkness. ‘Um…Do you think, maybe, when all this is over, we can go on a second date?’

Lockwood was silent for a moment, then his chest began to rumble with laughter. ‘Lucy,’ he began, ‘what did you think that day at the fair was?’

‘Oh!’

‘Oh,’ he agreed, burying his face in my hair as he laughed softly. ‘Oh my god, Luce. This explains so much.’

I was starting to laugh now, too, embarrassed though I was. ‘Like what?’

‘Like why you were always so hot and cold. One day I’d feel like we were doing great, and the next day I’d be wondering where I stood with you.’

‘Oh my god. Wait, so how long were we dating for?’

His arm around me tightened. ‘Well, you broke up with me when you left—’

‘I wouldn’t have if I’d known!’

 ‘—but if we ignore that, about a year?’

‘Wait, really?’ I finally pulled back so I could look at him. He looked as exhausted as I remembered from earlier — his smooth face lined and weary, the bags under his eyes prominent even in the dim dawn — but his eyes glittered with amusement. ‘Did you think we were dating now, too?’

‘Didn’t we just go out for lunch last month?’

‘That was a date?’

‘Lucy.’ He threaded a hand through my hair, drawing me closer. ‘It was a fancy restaurant. You wore a dress. Remember?’

His breath ghosted across my lips, and my laughter died away as we gazed at each other. Dark hair fell across his eyes, that floof I always wanted to reach out and push back, and I suddenly realised that he definitely wouldn’t mind if I did.

His hair was soft and silky beneath my fingertips. ‘Have there been others?’ I whispered, searching his gaze. ‘Since I came back, I mean.’

‘A few,’ he breathed, gently touching his nose to mine. ‘How did you not know?’

‘You never kissed me.’

His eyes darkened. ‘I could fix that.’

‘Please do,’ I replied.

His lips met mine — soft, gentle, tentative — just for a moment, and then he pulled back. I closed the distance for a second one, laughing as our noses bumped, pulling back just as quickly. But we were fast learners, Lockwood and I, and years of living and working together had us pretty in sync; it didn’t take long to find our bearings, to figure out how to melt against each other as what had always been between us deepened into something slow and warm and perfect.

Outside the window the first rays of sunlight spilled across the street, chasing away the last remnants of the night; here, inside, I held my own piece of sunlight safe in my arms, and let his warmth melt away the remnants of mine. Later, I’d have to tell him what I’d done, but for now? I’d let him help me forget it.

Thanks for reading! If you got this far, please reblog.

[purpleprincessonfyre]

And now before the Grand Finale, a mini post listing the odd shit my daughter says on a daily basis. Think Kids Say The Darndest Things then turn it up to....an eleven? Oh but I can't vouch for the stuff she said to Cole, or the stuff about monsters. Kids amiright? *opens another bottle of wine*

OUAT AU - Incorrect Quotes, Accurate Facts

Bella: *whilst at Cole's shop* Your husband is lost at sea somewhere.

Liane: Okay Bella what have I said? We don't assume people's sexualities or make vague threats.

Cole: *chuckles lightly* Oh its quite alright, Ms St James, I'm used to it. *waits for Liane to be out of earshot* Alright you listen here you little shit-

Erik: Morning Ms St James! Belladonna.

Liane: Morning Sherrif. Bella say hello.

Bella: It's impossible for pigs to look up at the sky.

Erik: I- what?

Bella: Good day. *walks off with Liane*

Erik: *the penny drops* Now wait!

*while babysitting*

Gia: But I'm not sleepy!

Bella: Georgina, it is a known fact that most people can fall asleep in around seven minutes. Besides if you don't close your eyes monsters might come in your bedroom.

George: M-monsters?

Bella: *pulls out her storybook* I'll show you....

Liane: *squeals from the bathroom*

Bella: Mom?

Liane: Spider in the sink! Spider in the sink!!!

Bella: *sighs and scoops it up into her hand* Mother one spider is nothing. In the course of an average lifetime, while sleeping you might eat around 70 assorted insects and 10 spiders, or more.

Liane: I just want you to stop saying odd shit.

*whilst out shopping*

Liane: *looking for makeup* Do you want anything sweetie? A black eyeliner? A dark lipstick?

Bella: *nonchalantly* Some lipsticks contain fish scales.

Liane: Bella!

*whilst out for dinner with Ethan*

Ethan: So what are you learning in school these days?

Bella: Nothing of importance to you.

Ethan: Aw go on try me.

Bella: *looks him in the eye* A tiger not only has striped fur but also has striped skin underneath.

Ethan: *chokes on his food* That's...Nice honey.

Riley: *listening to music in headphones* Oh hey Bella, I'm just finishing my homework.

Bella: You know wearing headphones for as long as an hour can increase the bacteria in your ears by 700 times.

Riley: *can't hear* What?

Bella: Never mind.

Liane: Alright uh yeah I'll get that to you right away. Okay. *Bella walks by the door as Liane is talking to the Mayor*

Alex: Hello there, Belladonna. Any riveting facts today?

Bella: *dead-eyed glares at him* If you sneeze too hard you could fracture a rib.

Alex: *laughs uncertainly* Really?

Bella: Enjoy the flowers. *walks away*

Alex: Funny kid isn't she?

*at Cassie's house*

Cass: Sorry about the mess. Blanche (her cat) had a bit of an accident but I managed to clean it up.

Liane: Oh its okay, it looks fine to me.

Bella: Cat urine glows under a black light.

Cass: Right....*stirs her tea*

Kid: *flicks a rubber band at the back of her head and it snaps*

Bella: *turns around severely* Rubber bands last longer when refrigerated. *pulls out her own band*

Roch (the teacher): Bella no!

*out with Ethan, comes across Alex*

Alex: Ah our newcomer out on the town with his...darling daughter.

Ethan: Uh yeah she wanted to show me around.

Alex: *looks at Bella* What have you got for me today, little minx?

Bella: *looks directly at him* A shark is the only known fish that can blink with both eyes.

Alex: *blinks, trying not to drop his gaze* Excellent.

Liane: *after a big meal* Oof I don't think I can finish that, guess my eyes were bigger than my belly huh?

Bella: An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain.

Liane: Fascinating.

Ethan: *sat there awkwardly*

Bella: But the giant squid has the largest eyes in the world.

Liane: Thanks for that honey. *sips her wine*

As long as she's not threatening people it's fine by me...

Do your kids say odd shit? @rickb-chaos @luna-d-marsh @ask-missparker @askstevella

*all characters mentioned are original characters created by @jackiequick @gcthvile @blueboirick @luna-d-marsh and @missstrawbs2001 or are from Marvel media (Erik Lensherr)

[conjuremanj]

Marie Laveau. Voodoo Queen.

Marie Catherine Laveau (September 10, 1801 – June 15, 1881) was a Louisiana Creole (free women of color) practitioner of Voodoo, herbalist and midwife who was renowned in New Orleans. Her daughter, Marie Laveau II (1827 – c. 1862), also practiced rootwork, conjure, Native American and African spiritualism as well as New Orleans Voodoo. Her daughter was to me the most powerful one.

Her Real Story. Her house was probably on St. Ann St. She would have lived in a creole cottage similar to the one in this picture but probably not as clean.

She did have kids with her husband but there's no record of them as adults so they probably died young. Her and her husband did get married at St Louis cathedral he was a Haitian man. Then sometime around 1825. Jacques Perry her husband so called disappeared they tried to make it a big mystery but in all honesty people back then didn't really report that loved ones death. After St Louis cathedral burned down they lost all the records so later on she started calling herself the widow Perry which gives the idea that Jacques did die. The story of her actually being a hairdresser there is no record her being a hairdresser there was a book that was written by George Washington Cabal in 1880 who wrote about a voodoo priestess who was a hairdresser and people later on assume that he was speaking about Marie Laveau which I think is a cool story to keep her memory alive. There is only one article that mentions her and voodoo but we don't know a 100% if she did practice it or not, I think she did as well as being a root worker. Now there was also another man Kristoff Glapion and one of the stores that they have of him is that he was born a free man of color but records show that he was actually born of two white parents. She wasn't married to this man kristoff because at that time a black woman could not marry a white man but she did stay with him and lived their with him until his death. The historian believe they stayed together for probably around 30 years. She did pout him in the Perry tomb. After kristoff died she was in so much financial debt they had to sell off the house on Saint Ann Street to pay for his funeral and anything else that needs to be paid off. So she didn't have a place to stay until one of their family friends name Crocker bought the property and let her stay there until she died.

HER FATHER'S ETHNICITY : She was born Marie Laveaux, as her father was Charles Laveaux. Many sources are in error stating her father was a White plantation owner. He in fact was a Mulatto grocery store owner, born a free man of color. He is allegedly the son of Charles (Don Carlo) Trudeau and an unknown Laveaux.

Legend.

The legend of Marie Laveau it runs deep through the veins of New Orleans. The Voodoo priestess was believed to have been born free in the French Quarter of New Orleans, Louisiana, about 1794, the daughter of a white planter and a free Creole woman of color.

The source of this power was the Voodoo religion and its queen, Marie Laveau. She was worshiped at the same time she's was feared by people of all races. Some people believe that her powers were actually based on a network of informants. Being a hairdresser, she was able to lesson to her clients (mostly white) gossip. She used this inside information to influence and instill fear in her believers. Whether or not the legends of this Voodoo priestess are true, it cannot be denied that she has left her mark on the city. She was buried in Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1 in New Orleans in 1881. Her daughter in St Louis cemetery no. 2

MARIE LAVEAU II MYSTERY: There is myth and mystery behind a named Marie Laveau II. No document listed a Marie Laveau II as Marie Laveau's daughter, but the name sure does have a crazy story behind it, claiming that Marie Laveau had magically become Marie Laveau II so she could live on forever. Truth is, Marie had a daughter named Marie who was a devout Catholic as well as Marie-Heloise who did not turn to Voodoo and died in her 30s. Any of those Maries could have been twisted into the stories, by name only, as none of them were Voodoo practitioners as far as we know.

To this day her and her daughters tomb continues to attract visitors who unlawfully desecrate it by marking three “X”s (XXX) on its side, in the hopes that Laveau’s spirit will grant them a wish. Ok, let me say first no one who practices Voodoo whenever desecrate a grave of writing on it second she isn't a voodoo spirit since Louisiana Voodoo is part Haitian and African she's not a elevated spirit. She's a woman that is well known and well respected within our city. What she really is in voodoo. She's a conjured spirit similar to a saint she is called upon to do a specific task.

Here is a pic I took of the largest international Marie laveau shrine in the US.

BECOMING A DEVOTEE: these days Marie Laveau devotees are no different they still believe in Jesus and saints, just as Madame Marie did. They go to church, pray the rosary, and work the gris gris. Some voodooist here in New Orleans believe Marie Laveau is one of the Lwa (Loa) in Voodoo tradition. She is not a elevated spirit but is a folk saint. She is honored on many altars and shrines through New Orleans. People pray to her or even make wishes to her. Understand who she was and what she did for people and the city. The rituals and blessings she preformed like the St John's Eve blessings. So get to know her.

BUILDING AN ALTAR Building her altar isn't complicated a statue or pic of her. You can add flowers. Candles white, blue or red or even add her veves. (symbol) (normally she wouldn't have the symbol because she's not a voodoo spirit but she's important so they made one for her anyway)

OFFERING: This can be flowers, mini liquor bottle, cigarettes, cigars. Money she's not picky.

Your relationship with spirit will be different from the next person’s. The connection you make with Marie Laveau will be unique to only you.

This video I took of her shrine in The Healing Center. In New Orleans.

If your in the city check it out on St Claude in the building is the Island of Salvation Botanica own by priestess Sally Ann.

[kaylinalexanderbooks]

Happy STS! How are the chores divided among your cast? Is there a person who prefers to do the dishes or someone who will do anything to get out of doing dishes?

Heya! Finally getting to this one!

In TSP Part Two, we get a good sense of the dynamic of the people who live at the main house: Jedi, Carmen, Carla, George, Akash (here to take pressure off the Staffords, at least in his mind), Gabriel (whose parents want him to be there), and Tyler (runaway).

(I'm not unpacking those three right now)

Carmen is the one who believes in a strict chore schedule. Hates last minute shit. It doesn't matter if the kitchen will get done before bed regardless DO IT NOW!!! Carmen believes all the chores should alternate so it's fair.

Jedi is a little more understanding but he does believe in following a schedule for fairness in chore load. If someone doesn't want to clean the dishes but is okay with dusting, they can dust more often than clean the dishes. Tyler and George have jobs, so their chores should be adapted to their schedule.

Akash and Gabriel are more than willing to comply, and Tyler will try to argue a few things that he believes will make the chores easier/more fair and give everyone chores that actually will benefit them/they don't mind doing. He's actually succeeded in that regard, especially when convincing Jedi who can convince Carmen.

But Carla and George? Oh, man. Total disaster. How do you get more "imma do chores last minute" than the siblings who can respectively control time and move super fast? They'd do literally anything to get out of the chores they don't want to and will procrastinate as long as possible.

Hope this was a satisfying answer!

TSP intro

TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites

@nebula--nix @literarynecromancy @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet

[mpregandproud]

Isaac (Part 5)

We had already been on the road for three hours. We were halfway between Sandra's town and the city where Isaac and I were living and where I moved to when I started college. I had made that drive thousands of times in those four-plus years and it had never felt as long as it did that day. I was tense, I sensed that something bad had happened. I was worried about Sandra, of course, but one question kept hovering over me: would my children be okay?

Since we rushed out of the house, I kept rubbing my belly. It was as if my body was asking me to protect the three lives I was carrying inside me. I was telling them that they would be safe with me, that nothing would happen to them. Could I really guarantee their safety? Would I really be able to give them a good life? A whirlwind of questions and doubts flooded my head, and Isaac's hand.

He was driving the car, but he practically never let go of my left hand. I barely told him that the call was from St. George's Hospital, where Sandra was supposed to deliver. I was told that something had happened with her and that I should report to the hospital immediately. Isaac's reaction was instantaneous, he set about packing two travel bags with clean clothes and some necessities. In 10 minutes he had everything packed for him and me as well while I wandered around the house with a blank stare and my hands on my belly. Isaac called the university where he was teaching to ask for a few days off so he could come with me. He knew very well that my insecurity and anxiety, even though they seemed to have been overcome, were still there, and that he was one of the few things that put my life in order.

We arrived after two in the afternoon. We asked at reception for Sandra Díaz and were taken to a large meeting room. There the hospital director, the head of maternity and a couple of lawyers introduced themselves. I knew one of the lawyers, he was a friend of Sandra's, I had dinner with him several times while I was married to her. That whole scene only made me even more tense, until James, the hospital's lawyer, began to speak.

"Mr. Norris, thank you for coming so quickly. I imagine the gentleman with you is your current partner, your ex-wife's lawyer has brought us up to date. I'm sorry to have to give you this news, but considering your pregnancy, we felt it best not to tell you anything until you were here. Three days ago, Sandra, your ex-wife, went into labor and it was her mother, Linda, who brought her here. Unfortunately, on their way to the hospital they were hit by another hit-and-run vehicle. Linda died and Sandra was badly injured. She was immediately transferred to this hospital and we performed a cesarean section to try to save the babies. The boy did not survive, but the girl is safe and sound, being cared for by the nurses. Sandra, she clung to life for a few more hours, until she passed away early this morning," the lawyer said coldly. Isaac gripped my hand tighter than ever, and draped his other arm over my shoulder supporting me. I needed something to give me stability at that moment. I needed Isaac. The four people in front of me offered their condolences and regretted what had happened.

After a brief pause, Ernest, Sandra's lawyer and friend, spoke. "I'm very sorry we have to meet under these circumstances, Dan. Sandra hasn't stopped talking about you these last few weeks since she came back to town. For her, leaving you, was the biggest mistake of her life. She admired you, and she admired what you had built with Isaac. She wanted you to be a part of her children's lives, she wanted them to know a man as good and caring as you. Now, sadly, that little girl will never get to meet her mother. How unfair life is”. Ernest found it hard to say those words, he was very fond of Sandra. Once she told me that when they studied together at the village high school they were like sweethearts. "The thing is that the only family Sandra had left was her mother, and she died in the accident. Before she passed away we presented her with different solutions and she was clear from the very first moment that she would like you, the girl's father, to take care of her. One of her last wishes was for you and Isaac to be the parents of the little girl. I know it's all very hasty but we should settle this matter today, otherwise the child would go to social services," Ernest said. "Think about it, Mr. Norris, talk it over with your partner and let us know in a few hours what you want to do," the hospital director added. "If you want to see the girl you can ask one of our nurses to accompany you to the maternity service to see her," the head of that department added.

The four of them left, Ernest being the only one who came over to give me a hug. We both burst into tears at that moment. He already had a partner and a baby girl, I had already divorced Sandra and was expecting triplets with Isaac, but neither of us had forgotten her. He smiled and said goodbye to me, shook Isaac's hand and walked out of the room to leave us alone. I turned and before I even started crying again Isaac wrapped his strong arms around me. I soaked his shirt with my tears, but he didn't let go of me at any point, nor did he make any pretense of trying to stop my crying. He let me cry until I had completely let it all out. And after that, when I had hardly any tears left to shed, he grabbed both my hands, smiled at me, looked at my lips and kissed me. "I want you to know that I love you and that I will support you 100% in whatever decision you make," he said.

We asked a nurse to accompany us to the maternity ward. There in a crib was the little girl. She looked just like me, except for her eyes, which resembled Sandra's. I was seeing a little cross between me and my ex-wife, I couldn't believe it. It was the most beautiful and exciting thing I had ever seen in my life. I took the baby girl in my arms and rested her on top of my belly. I spent long minutes cradling that precious little girl in my arms, while Isaac fiddled with her tiny hands. She was perfect, precious, beautiful... she was my daughter. Isaac knew from the moment I saw her that I wanted to take her with me. I don't know if it was pregnancy hormones or my parenting instincts, but I couldn't conceive of my daughter being raised by other people. "We'll have to prepare her room at home, buy her a beautiful crib, toys and lots of clothes. And name her," Isaac told me, without needing to ask me if I wanted to take her. "Her name will be Sandra," is all I told him.

We met again in the afternoon with the committee and processed all the paperwork. Little Sandra already had a father, and in the same paperwork, Isaac legally adopted her. Her mother would not be able to take care of her, but her father would be with her all her life.

For the next two days we were in the hospital. The nurses taught us several tricks to give her a bottle, too bad my breast is still not able to give her milk. We learned how to change diapers. We learned how to be parents in an express way. Looking at the situation, it will be good for us to practice with Sandra for when the triplets arrive.

My pregnancy, as you can imagine, was the center of attention during those days. Isaac took the tightest clothes he had around the house, so much so that part of my belly had to be worn up in the air at times. I was four and a half months pregnant with triplets, my belly was unmistakably pregnant. The head of maternity offered to reveal the sex of the babies we were expecting. I was tested and was pregnant with a girl and two boys. The tests were all in order, except for the weight, which was too much for this stage of pregnancy, although it was nothing alarming, at least medically speaking, my clothes did not agree.

When we left the hospital I asked Isaac for the most complicated favor. "Honey, I want to stop in my village on the way back to our house. I want to talk to my parents and introduce you and little Sandra, my family. I think I'm finally ready to take this step."

Go to Part 6

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

Which Disney movies do you like most?

Zootopia is one of my all-time favorites, the way the fur is animated, the way they updated everything it looks so clean and polished and the story was absolutely important for the times and there is so much opportunity to expand this world.

Elemental covered this later on in Pixar's side Elemental covered the personal side while Zootopia showed the whole societal effects of racism and judgment especially within a police force which back in 2016 was a huge debate as George Floyd had just happened and it still is to this day with the Black Lives Matter Movement and Free Palestine

Another one that completely changed my life was Meet the Robinsons, the quote that ran through the movie, Keep Moving Forward, that's actually my motto,

“Around here, however, we don't look backwards for very long. We keep moving forward, opening up new doors and doing new things… and curiosity keeps leading us down new paths.”- Walter Elias Disney

It is such a poignant quote that everybody forgets,especially in a world where we can easily stagnate and stay in one place thinking the same idea over and over. It developed into my belief

Keep moving forward for tomorrow is going to be a better day. Tomorrow is going to be better, and I have lived by those words since I was 8 and saw this film,

This film also showed me what a family really should be, that despite your quirks and how weird you may be they don't flinch they don't get angry

yeah your parent may get annoyed if you time travel when you shouldn't, but you know there's a logical reason behind that haha

I didn't have the best family growing up I have an amazing mother and father now but back then I didn't know what a healthy family looked like until Meet the Robinsons showed me which is why it's so dear to my heart nowadays.

Brother Bear is another one that I absolutely loved as a kid and especially as an adult from the visuals to the story

Brother Bear is another one like Zootopia that has a poignant message for everyone in 2024 look through another's eyes before you judge them and do something that is irreversible that you may regret especially if that person has done something to you and you don't know the full story.

Walk in another's shoes before you scorn them, even though it may be the most exhausting Journey you've been on, you still come out of it, understanding a little bit more about that person

And the visuals of this film are still some of the highlights of Disney the Transformation scene between the music provided by the Bulgarian women's choir and the absolutely stunning animation from Disney come together in a spectacular Feast for the viewer it's a scene I watch repeatedly.

Treasure Planet is near and dear to me as someone who grew up with a single mother I know Jim's mother's frustration and just trying to make it I always felt heartbreak for her when she lost everything,

I saw my own mother in her when she had to let her baby go to go on this journey hoping that it may be what he needs to grow.

And Jim's song I'm still here I was raised without my father my biological father he's a sweet man but unfortunately my stepmother it's a classic Cinderella tale she runs the house and treats us his biological kids like shit,

And so I used to listen to I'm still here on repeat because I related to that, especially as my stepdad came into my life my mom found her happiness finally and I didn't know exactly how to react

all the men in my life had been bad and here was this man reaching out with a gentle kind hand and I didn't know whether to bite at him or allow him to get close for fear of being hurt again.

This movie weirdly mostly helped me through a lot, understanding that it's okay to heal and move on, that there was nothing you could do, just be grateful for the parent or parents you do have.

Shout out to Onwards for having a similar effect with me. Especially at the end, I cried with the stepdad because all I could picture was my own stepdad, who is just as big a goof as the police chief is.

Atlantis the Lost Empire is another one I just like watching because it's funny and it's one of my favorite films visually and story wise. It was so unique and out of the box that this is one of the rare films I really do hope they take to live action, especially my most favorite scene out of every single Disney catalog which is The Crystal Chamber Scene

That scene still gives me goosebumps that moment where Kida walks on the water and says Matem fun fact I can actually say her full name

The way Milo's head slightly nods when she says what she says you think as a kid he really didn't catch it but as an adult you catch that moment and you realize he did he just lied to Rourke

The lighting, the animation and the music oh the music is powerful It's haunting it's ethereal this to me is Disney at its Peak right then in there in that moment

The jokes of this film are top notch and again the animation is just so unique and stunning

[theoriginalmarke]

GOODBYE WEDNESDAY

We're heading out shortly. Goodbye, Santa Barbara!

The bikes are at a friend's house. I'm getting new bids and he'll supervise the transporter when the time comes to pick them up. This takes a huge load off our minds. He won't read this because he doesn't get online, but: Thank you, brother.

The extra day was actually a blessing. We got more cleaning done, Kitten had to do a little more work at the office, and one of our seasonal neighbors arrived yesterday from up north. We helped her unload the horses, ponies, and donkeys and got some kisses from her Great Dane.

I also have new scars from two of the horses trying to turn me into a MarkE sandwich. My buddy Turbo started rubbing his head against me, then the other horse I was holding started on the other side. Next thing I know they are squishing me between their big heads and one of the halters ripped the skin on my arm. Brats.

Anyway, the roof rack is loaded already and there's a few more odds and ends to load then we'll try to herd the cats. The BFFs Jackie and Becca have a dog crate and Raja has a large carrier. The poor babies are gonna hate it.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's time to bid adieu. Thank you everyone here who has befriended us, helped us, mentored us, and supported us. This is an amazingly beautiful place to live, and we'll never find anyplace with views like we have every day at this home.

There's wonderful memories of hikes, camping, dogs, cats, bunnies, horses and other critters. There's hosting an open mic. Some of the best motorcycle roads in the country are in this area.

Most importantly, it's where Kitten and I were together. I love you, baby. MWAH!

Next stop: St. George, Utah. Y'all have a great day.

[anothergleekgirl]

[S2 FINCHEL CANON REWRITE] Santana's threat right before his mom's wedding was a wake-up call. Find out what happens when Finn has a crisis of conscience and decides to tell Rachel the truth himself - and what happens when Rachel confronts Santana. . . Yes, another v-card bomb alternate story. Canon to Furt 2x08 then AU.

Glee - Rated: M - English - Romance/Drama Chapters: 1 - Words: 9,048 Published: Jun 20, 2024 Cast: [Finn H., Rachel B.] Santana L., Carole H. Status: Complete

[excerpt]

He’s gotta tell her. 

That crazy Spanish one-woman wrecking ball doesn’t pull her punches, and she seems to live to torment Rachel like a favorite pastime. She’s gonna blab if he doesn’t speak up first, he just knows it. His luck isn’t that great and his track record for breaking Rachel’s heart is even worse. So it’s gotta happen and it’s gotta be sooner rather than later before he loses the upper hand and any hope of saving his relationship with her... assuming he still can.

Six months. Almost six full months they’ve had together. Six months of falling, falling, falling so deep, deep, deep in love with this girl. Six months of happiness. He’d never known happiness like this. He’d never known how to love someone like this before Rachel. But he does now, so completely... and he’s in too deep; there’s no way back for him. He can’t lose her now, he just CAN’T. Like, that’s not even an option. And if she tries to walk away, he’s prepared to fight to win her back, whatever it takes. He’s not above groveling or begging. But if there’s any hope in hell of keeping her, he KNOWS she has to hear this from him.   

‘Cause he’s totally seen it from her side already. He remembers what it felt like when Rachel told him she’d done the deed with Jesse, and also what it felt like when she confessed to lying about it later. He knows that if it was Rachel who lied to him in this way, he’d be pretty crushed. If she’d said she hadn’t when she had and then hidden it for months into their relationship, he’d be really hurt, and like, maybe even uncontrollably pissed – at least for a little while. But he knows it’d be a hundred times worse if he heard something like that from St Jerkoff instead of his beautiful sweet girl. After the shit that went down with Quinn, Rachel not telling him the truth about something like that would probably devastate their relationship and kill his trust in her. So why should he expect her to feel any different about him not offering full disclosure?

If only he’d come clean when Rachel did. He had the perfect opening and didn’t take it, now he’s kicking himself. She was HONEST about her lie; that is, she had already confessed her sins to him. Of course, the difference between her lie and his is the difference between forgetting you bought a lotto ticket that turns out to be a jackpot winner and forgetting to unplug the George Foreman grill and burning the house down.

Why the fuck did Santana have to pull this bullshit powerplay with him again now anyway? Or at all? This doesn’t even make sense to him and he cannot get his head around WHY NOW. Then again, he didn’t have a very good grip on WHY THEN last year either, why she even approached him in the first place. 

::: READ THE REST ON FFN OR AO3 :::

[bess3714]

Lewis Hine's Photography

Lewis Hine was a sociologist and photographer who documented laborers and the conditions they worked in across America in the early 1900's. He was a staff photographer for the National Child Labor Committee for a while, and he photographed child laborers in an effort to enact social and legal reforms to protect children.

Several of his photographs live rent free in my head, so I'm putting them here!

Newsies at Skeeters Branch, St. Louis, Missouri

This is probably the photo I think about the most. Newsboys were considered independent contractors, and so weren't subject to labor laws. Any papers they bought, they couldn't sell back, so if they didn't sell all their papers for the day, they had a loss. Hine took several pictures of newsboys.

Top: Roland, Eleven Year Old Negro Newsboy, Newark, N.J. Bottom: Self-Portrait with Newsboy.

Left: Breaker Boys in Coal Mine, South Pittston, Pennsylvania Right: Drivers and Mules, Gary, W. Va

Breaker boys, as the name implies, broke large chunks of coal into more uniform sizes and sorted out impurities. Breaker boys were mainly children, though elderly and injured miners would also sometimes be employed as breakers. Boys might start as a breaker boy, but as they got older, they would often move on to different, more physically demanding jobs in the mine.

Some pictures of tiny children working.

Boy from Loray Mill

Vera Hill, 5 Years Old, Cotton Picker, Comanche County, Oklahoma

Left: George Barbee, 13 years old topping, Nicholas County, Kentucky. Right: Jennie Camillo, 8 years, cranberry picker, Pemberton, New Jersey

Addie Card, 12 years. Spinner in North Pownal Cotton Mill

Left: 7-year old Rosie, oyster shucker, Bluffton, South Carolina

Right: Noon in East Side factory district, New York

Icarus Atop Empire State Building, 1931

Not all of Hine's pictures were of children. He took plenty of pictures of adults, too. This one is pretty spectacular, and very dramatically named.

Mt. Holyoke, Massachusetts - Paragon Rubber Co. and American Character Doll. Building rubber doll moulds.

I really like this one because of the row of doll legs. It's amusing to look at. That, and the worker has massive arms. Fabulous.

Power House Mechanic

Another worker with excellent arms. According to the Brooklyn Museum, "The clean muscularity and precise industrial order presented by Lewis Hine in Power House Mechanic demonstrates the photographer’s shift, in 1919, from a gritty documentary style to what he called “interpretive photography”—an approach intended to raise the stature of industrial workers, who were increasingly diminished by the massive machinery they operated."

Soldier Thrown in Air, 1917

This picture really captures the joy of the moment and I like that.

Colored School at Anthoston, Kentucky, 1916.

I love pictures of old schools. My favorite are when all the students and the teacher are lined up in front of the school. This one has the kids inside the school, which is just as good. Here is a little history about African-American schools in Henderson County, Kentucky, which is where Anthoston is located.

[usernoneexistent]

Challenge: I solemly swear I am up to no good by @hp-12monthsofmagic

I had originally intended for Duncan to have a story this month however he wasn't cooperating which is his loss so instead I have turned my focus on the Weasley twins? Yeah, kinda just jumped from one prankster to two, lol.

Credits: inspiration based on a conversation with @that-scouse-wizard

Warnings: no ghouls were harmed

The air smelt of freshly cut grass in Ottery St Catchpole as the Burrow was livelier than ever when five Weasley children returned from the Summer holiday. The house became even noisier with the return of the twins, Fred and George.

Molly had secretly hoped that a year at Hogwarts would have tamed the twins. As she expected, Hogwarts didn't work its magic. Instead, it seemed to have encouraged their antics further. Apparently, their time scrubbing in the kitchen inspired them to make homemade dung bombs; instead of exploding a stink, they covered the house in white powder.

"Fred! George!" Molly yelled as she tried to wipe the flour off Ron's face. "What have I told you about using flour as bombs?!"

She heard stifled giggles from up the stairs. When the twins listened to their mother's footsteps coming closer, they quickly ran up to the top floor of the attic. Their ninth residence in the Weasley household slept, whimpering and moaning in a deep slumber. Fred and George quickly snuck past and found a large trunk they squeezed inside.

"Fred? George?" Molly asked around. Based on the loud groans of the ghoul waking slowly up. "Have you seen them? They have to be hiding somewhere here."

The ghoul groaned out of confusion. George and Fred covered each other's mouths to not relinquish their position.

"They'll be here somewhere alright. They can't have gone far."

Fred and George waited in anticipation as their mother's slippers no longer could be heard. They peeked their head out of the trunk, taking the piece of clothing off them.

"The coast is clear, George." Fred said in a hushed voice.

"Guess we'll have to stay here for a while until mum is too busy with cleaning to be mad at us." George hopped out of the trunk, followed by Fred. He saw the white imprints of Molly's slipper on the wooden floor. "In the meantime, let's find something to kept us busy," a wide grin grew on his face.

"You're thinking what I'm thinking." Fred matched George's grin.

"That's exactly what I was thinking."

Fred and George raided through the boxes and trunks to find old and discarded items they could use for their next prank. The attic was full of hidden treasures for them to work with. The ghoul minded his own business instead of playing with his chains. George looked back into the trunk where they hid. An old dusty magenta dress suit lined with frills was tossed aside.

"Hey Fred, come look at this," George beckoned over as he lifted the musty-smelling suit.

"This must be ancient," Fred snickered. "Anyone wearing would look daft."

"Who do you think we can get to wear it?"

They both shared a mischievous glint before simultaneously turning to look at the attic ghoul. The ghoul moaned a sound of confusion.

"Let's test it out on him," Fred said.

The realisation hit the ghoul a little too late as the twins immediately dressed him in the silly-looking dress suit. Despite his protests, they managed to get his arms through the sleeve, but the ghoul slowly accepted his fate. George pulled out the broken, dirty mirror for the ghoul. "What do you think?"

The ghoul crawled closer to the mirror, looking at his cracked reflection. Although the clash of the purple on his greenish-grey skin and the straw-coloured hair made him look like an abomination of colours, the ghoul made sounds of curiosity, even admiration.

"I think he likes it, George," Fred laughed.

As they entertained the ghoul, they didn't notice their mother approaching the attic. The door creaked as someone opened it, causing Fred and George to jump on guard.

"There you are boys-"

Molly stopped herself from being rendered speechless by the ghoul, who was in bliss with the suit. She blinked, looking back and forth at both boys and then at the ghoul again. Without saying anything else, their mother slowly backed out like a muggle car and left them alone.

Fred and George looked at each before bursting out laughing.

"Thanks for getting us out of trouble," Fred slapped the ghoul on the back.

"We owe you one," George said.

The ghoul gave a sloppy lopsided grin back before going back to admire himself. Thanks to Fred and George, the Burrow was free from the ghouls banging the pipes for at least two weeks at night.

[thekatebridgerton]

AU Idea: Agatha Christie Cozy Mystery

The Sheffield's are powerful and awful people, are mysteriously and there are too many suspects.

The one who is a person of interest is Edwina Sharma and her sister Kate has to find a way to clear her name (or cover up a crime?) and Detective Anthony Bridgerton needs to get to the bottom of it.

Or something to that effect. Thoughts?

Oh if we're bringing Agatha Christie into this it's going to be the Miss Marple series. Because who doesn't love dear aunt Jane from the village of St Mary's Mead (also because we all know Poirot would be way too annoyed by Anthony if he met the man)

It so happens that aunt Jane Marple was invited to chaperone one of Violet's daughters in her courtship with some good looking fellow. And thus is in residence at N5 when Anthony brings home one of his most baffling cases yet.

A wealthy elderly couple has been found stabbed to death in their bedroom: The Sheffields. The night of the murder the Sheffields held a Houseparty to celebrate the return of their most favored granddaughter to England. And all attendees had a motive to wish the couple dead. Yet everyone claims to have an airtight alibi for where they found themselves at the time of the murder. And the Sheffield's bedroom was locked from the inside by Mrs Sheffield every night according to her ladies maid. If the murderer had gone in or come out, the servants cleaning the hall and the guests staying in the adjacent bedrooms would have heard it.

Anthony is convinced that one of the guests must be lying about their alibi.

And out of all of them the person with the most flimsy alibi is the one with the most motive: Miss Kate. The scorned step granddaughter who was insulted heavily during the Houseparty and had to leave the house to get some air before returning after everyone retired to bed.

Anthony has met all the suspects ( Jack, Portia, Fredrich, George, Marina, Phillip, Theo, Mary, Edwina and Kate) and he is inclined to believe that as much as all signs of guilt point to Kate, that she is infact innocent. But if Kate Sharma didn't murder the Sheffields, then who did? And what was the true motive of the crime.

Anthony wants to help clear Kate's name and the more time he spends with her the more he's hoping to stall Scotland yard so they don't take her to the gallows. This is why he asks aunt Jane Marple for help resolving the case

And then aunt Jane tells him that the real murder may not be anyone in his suspect list at all. And that Kate is in danger of becoming the killers second victim

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Wednesday 5.. February 1840

8 ½

..

monsieur came in the night?  chemise much soiled at noon on Thursday – Refreshed after having slept perhaps 1 ½ hour – finished the little bit of packing that remained to be done – breakfast over at 11 ½ and at 11 ½ sent Gross to Mr. Marc’s with note enclosing five £25 circulars nos. 8592, 3, 4, 5, 6 to be cashed and A-‘s letter to her sister and my own letters to “Miss Marian Lister North Cave Yorkshire Angleterre” “Robert Parker Esquire Solicitor, Halifax, Yorkshire England” – “Messrs. R. and H. Hunt, Hamburg” and packet to “John Hodgson Esquire English Quay, St. Petersburg” (containing civil note to Mr. Hodgson himself thanks for his attention etc. and asking him to forward thro’ Mr. Buchanan by the bag my 2 half sheet-notes to the “Honourable Lady Stuart” and to “Lady Stuart de Rothesay” both undercover to Lord Stuart de Rothesay 3 Carlton house terrace London) and packet to “Messrs. Hammersley and co. Bankers London” containing a thin ½ sheet close and small written note in envelope to “Lady Duff Gordon 34 Hertford street” from 11 ½ to 6 at accounts and settling with George the courier Grotza who leaves us on our setting off on our journey, and Gross – paid the latter his ¼ years wages due on the 16th instant and 30 days board in advance £1 for every 6 days i.e. 24 Roubles for every 6 days = 21 x 5 = 105 R. per 30 days – Had Mrs. Howard sundry times on one account or other – I had ordered the Kibitkas’ to be packed immediately on Gross’s return from Mr. Marcs’, but somehow this was not understood and it was 4 p.m. when Gross came to ask if they were to be packed – and it being a 3 or 4 hours job made us off so late – Mr. Marcs’ cashier brought the money I having omitted to indorse the circulars – asked for tea about 6 – wrote and left with Mrs. Howard the following character of Grotza – Mrs. Lister will be obliged to Mrs. Howard to inform anyone who may apply for the character of Elizabeth Catherine Gross that she has lived in Mrs. Listers’ service as Ladys’ maid from the 10th of May 1839 to the 5th of February 1840, and that Mrs. Lister has found her strictly honest, well-conducted and trustworthy, clean and neat in her person and about her work and a good hairdresser, and getter up of fine linen – Mrs. Lister has had no occasion of trying her in dress-making, but she had a good character for ability in this respect from the lady with whom she lived last – Wednesday 5 February 1840. (I am not certain whether the paper was dated or not) –

we had had tea and waited some time for all [?] announced ready when the summons came at 7 25/.. – but our kibitka so uncomfortable the little alteration that could be made took till 7 ¾ vid. p. 7

SH:7/ML/E/24/0006

(vid. p. 7) still the seat too high – our kibitka uncomfortably pace – no help for it till morning – never dreampt of being off so late – in the dark – now at 7 ¾ as we drive off from Mrs. Howards’ in the Great Dimitri Street Moscow – A- and I and our government post courier in our covered kibitka (3 horses) followed by our Russian servants George and his wife, and our German Gross in an ordinary ½ mat-covered kibitka also with 3 horses – uncomfortable

Leave Moscow fine day

[buystgeorgehomes]

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[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"FOUR BURGLARIES, THEFTS OF AUTOS BELIEVED SOLVED," Niagara Falls Review. August 16, 1932. Page 1 & 5. --- Four youths are in custody, and make statements to police ---- TICKETS TO BOYS ---- Conductor noted numbers and arrest of the four followed ---- Four burglaries and the theft of two automobiles staged in this city during the past few weeks are believed cleaned up by Detective George Hughes of the City Police department, and four young men are under arrest charged with breaking and entering. They were arrested yesterday afternoon by Detective George Hughes and Constable Cecil Pay and appeared in police court this morning. Without being asked to plead they were remanded for trial until August. 23.

The police said today the youths gave their statements admitting their participation in the robberies. Grandmason and Lascelles are remanded in custody and the other boys were released on their own recognizance.

Those under arrest are Arthur Grandmason, sixteen years old, of River Roard; Leslie Murray Lascelles, 16, of Ryerson Crescent, and two other youths. Grandmason pleaded guilty to a charge of stealing 180 tickets from the International Railway Company depot at Chippawa last week and, was remanded until August 23 for sentence. He is also. charged with taking a car owned by Hugh Munro from the garage at his residence 1070 Armoury Avenue, the night of August 10; taking Wendell Musgrove's small car from his residence at 457 John Street on August 6; breaking and entering Bredin's bakery on July 30 taking a quantity of cakes; breaking and entering Roy Woolnough's store, on Palmer Avenue, July 5, and stealing twenty packages of cigarettes, marshmallows, candy, cakes and $2.70 in change; and breaking into Robert Delaney's refreshment booth on Palmer Avenue, August 10 taking 20 packages of cigarettes.

Lascelles is charged with breaking into Mrs. Bird's shop, 939 St. Clair avenue last May stealing $90 from the cash drawer and a cheque for $10 on the Imperial Bank made out to Samuel Speakman. It is also charged that he broke into Woolnough's shop. Bredin's Bakerery, Delaney's confectionery booth and took Hugh Munro's car with Grandmason without the owner's consent.

The other youths appeared in court for the first time and they were charged with breaking and Jentering Mrs. Bird's store.

The alertness of a conductor on the International Railway Company's car brought about the arrest of Grandmason in connection with the robbery at the Chippawa station, in which 180 commuters tickets were stolen.

Grandmason gave a few of the tickets to some small boys to ride on the street car to Dufferin Islands. The boys presented them on the car and the conductor immediately noticed the number on the tickets and handed the youths over to Chief Perry at Chippawa.

Grandmason was charged with having stolen goods in his possession, and the other boys were similarly charged. After Grandmason pleaded guilty to the charge in court today the Magistrate dismissed the charges against the other boys stating that they evidently didn't know the tickets were stolen when they accepted Grandmason's gift.

The remainder tickets were thrown over the river bank at the foot of Seneca street and they were recovered by Grandmason's brother who promptly turned them over to the court. Chief Perry took possession of them and they will be returned to the International Railway depot Grandmason told the police he got into the station through the window on the west side.

The police say that the night Munro's car was taken out of the garage Lascelles and Grandmason drove to Niagara-on-the-Lake, and returned to the city breaking into Delaney's refreshment stand.

They forced the door at the rear of the building, and after taking twenty packages of cigarettes drove to Chippawa where Grandmason broke into the International Railway depot about two o'clock the following morning. They left the automobile in the driveway at Munro's house police say.

They used Musgrove's car for a Joyride the police say. When it ran out of gas they siphoned fuel from two other machines and also blew the muffler off, before abandoning the car in front of Musgrove's residence just before daybreak.

Detective George Hughes recovered the cheque stolen from Mrs. Bird's store the following day. A man who had shelter in the police station on the night of May 20 while strolling below the river bank in the vicinity of Seneca street said he came across the cheque. He took it to the Imperial Bank, Bridge Street branch and attempted to cash it. In the meantime Detective Hughes had notified the bank about the missing cheque and when the "shelter" appeared on the scene Teller Howard Felstead immediately notified Detective Hughes, who took possession of the cheque and returned It to Mrs. Bird.

Later Mrs. Bird found $4 in silver, in an envelope, between the doors of her store, to which was attached the following note: "We are sorry, more money later."