#Window Cleaning Cradle Services

[hottpinkpenguin]

Can I request a band of brothers imagine please I was thinking a one where her a d dick are In a secret relationship and she wants to come clean to the other men. They get in an argument about it. She feels like he is ashamed of embarrassed. He loves her more than anything so he kisses her infront of everyone and he asks her to marry him. They all congratulate them xx

A/N: another one that turned steamy/spicy before my eyes! great request my dear, thank you! :)

Show It - Dick Winters X Fem!Reader

*This fic is entirely based on the Band of Brothers TV show - no disrespect intended to the true veterans and their families* WC: 1992 Warnings: references to canon-typical gore; non-canon; spice/steam; implied smut

Zell Am See was breathtakingly gorgeous, and all you could do was cry. Sitting on the edge of the dock, that beautiful mirror-smooth water stretching out around you, the Alps rising up through the horizon in front of you like a crown made of stone, your eyes were glued on your lap. Big fat tears dribbled down your cheeks and neck. 

This is foolish, you chided yourself. Pull it together. He is not embarrassed. 

After a year and a half of serving in the Army Nurse Corps, watching men choke on their own blood and holding them down while they got amputations without morphine and cradling their heads while they cried out for their mothers in agony, this was what brought you to your knees? The fact that your boyfriend wouldn’t hold your hand in front of a few soldiers?

Dick Winters was many things, but embarrassed by you was not one of them. After keeping your relationship with the handsome, stoic major a secret since you’d met at Toccoa, you knew his reasons for the secrecy. It was improper, a violation of the Army’s no fraternization policy, and ultimately disrespectful to your fellow service members. And he’d told you time and time again, in no uncertain terms, that he expected the two of you to keep your relationship under wraps until you were both safely back in the States and no longer at the Army’s beck and call. 

Nevertheless, you’d made the fatal mistake of dreaming. Ever since VE Day, you’d let yourself get slack with secrecy. Risking a peck on his cheek in front of an open window. Running your hand along his shoulders as you walk past him in the aid station. Trying to intertwine your fingers with his as he escorted you back to your barracks…

“Y/n.” The sound of his voice tore your thoughts to shreds, leaving them scattered like scraps of tissue paper along the dock. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, the memory of him gently swatting your hand away as you’d reached for his stinging fresh in your mind. 

“Not now, Dick,” you groaned back, burying your face in your shoulder away from him as he took a seat next to you. 

“Look at me, y/n.” 

You stubbornly turned further away from him, gluing your eyes to the lake. You saw a few of the Easy Company guys lazing on the sun dappled shoreline in their military issue boxers. After so many campaigns in the snow and rain and mud, the warm sunshine and clean air of Switzerland felt like a rebirth. 

“Please.” 

Damnit Dick, you thought as the tone of pleading in his voice finally broke you. Can’t you just leave me be? 

“What is it?” you groused. You let yourself turn halfway back to him, still avoiding looking at him, not sure if you could trust yourself fully yet. 

“You know what it is,” he replied patiently. He knew you were pouting and prone to stubbornness. You wished you were calmer, more mature, like him. But at the end of the day, your passion - which he proclaimed to love so much - came with its fair share of warts. 

You sighed heavily, busying yourself with dragging a stick across the surface of the lake beneath your foot. You leaned your cheek against the knee you had bent upwards, your foot tucked in against you while the other one hung loosely over the edge of the dock. 

“I’m sorry.” You hated how petulant it sounded, but it was the best you could do. You’d probably have to rehash this conversation later, in private. The sounds of men playing football and jumping into the lake around you made you keenly aware that there were eyes and ears close enough to learn your secret. The last thing you wanted to do was have a repeat of earlier, where Dick publicly rejected you.

“No, you’re not.” There was a pressure in his voice, and his words startled you. You looked at him, your brows knitted together in question. He reached out and extracted the stick you’d been idly tracing along the surface of the water from your fingers, lacing them with his. He held up your intertwined hand and showed it to you. 

“I’m the one who’s sorry,” he clarified. His voice was dripping with sincerity, threatening to break you apart. You’d only heard that tone in his voice three times before: the first time he’d confessed his feelings for you the night before D-Day, the first time you’d slept together on a squeaky bunk bed in a half-bombed out house in Carentan, and the first time he’d said he’d loved you in Haguenau. Each moment was seared into your memory like a brand. 

“I’ve been fighting for so long, I forgot what it’s like to be at peace.” He paused, swallowing effortfully with a look of concentration on his face. You were shocked to see the threat of tears in his eyes. You reached out with your free hand to capture his cheek, your touch hesitant at first. He practically melted against your palm, his eyes closing. 

“I know what you thought, when I wouldn’t hold your hand,” he continued softly. “That I was embarrassed.”

“Dick, I know you’re not, I ju-”

“That’s what your heart felt. Maybe your mind told you otherwise, but I know you.” You squirmed slightly. It was true, Dick Winters knew you better than anyone. And the fact that he knew it too felt intimate and tender. 

“But you also know me,” he added. You smiled, demurring slightly as a blush spread across your cheeks. It was true. Dick Winters wasn’t a complicated man, but he was deep. One of many reasons you’d fallen for him was his thoughtfulness, his depth of character, and his bottomless loyalty. You wore your thoughts and feelings on your sleeves, while Dick’s passions had to be dug for like a well. But time and time again, you’d been reminded that the effort was worth the reward.

“You know I love you. I know you know that. But… I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, I forgot the importance of showing it.” 

You nodded in agreement, trying to fight the urge to defend his actions from his own apology. As much as his contrition was soothing your damaged ego, you wanted to reach out and smooth away the worry etched in that little creased line between his eyebrows. Nothing hurt you as much as seeing Dick Winters hurt, even if it was by his own doing. 

“It’s ok, Dick. We made an agreement, it’s for the best. And it’s only a couple more weeks.” Surely the Army wouldn’t keep you here longer than that, not now that Germany had officially surrendered. 

Dick lifted your still-interlocked hand to his lips, pressing a warm kiss to your knuckles. 

“I’m tired of waiting,” he murmured. The heat in his eyes was beckoning you to fall into him. You felt your stomach tie itself into knots and your toes curl under themselves at the suggestions in that gaze. 

Without hesitating, he released your hand and found the back of your neck, guiding you towards him. You practically leapt into the embrace, Dick’s lips finding yours with ease. The intensity with which he kissed you wiped your mind clean of any lingering fears. You’d never felt him take so much time with you. Months of sneaking around taking advantage of stolen moments and darkened corners had conditioned both of you to love each other fast and purposefully. There hadn’t been the luxury of time to laze around in each other’s embrace in Carentan or Haguenau or Bastogne. 

But here, in Zell Am See, Dick’s slow and full-bodied kiss took its sweet time to bloom. You weren’t sure you were going to be able to stay decent much longer. Your heart was beating erratically like a drunk marching band in your chest, and there was a sinful coil of desire beginning to tighten deep inside your gut. You let Dick explore your lips and mouth and tongue, eagerly leaving yourself wide open to this new pitch of passion. 

You weren’t sure how long you kissed him. Moments, minutes, hours, eons. Time felt liquid. 

You would have been content to hover there on the edge of that dock until you died, but the rest of Easy Company had other ideas. A handful of wolf whistles and matching whoops shattered your concentration, along with Dick’s. He smiled against your lips at Lew Nixon’s rousing admonition that “it’s ‘bout damn time!”, which was immediately answered by a loud cheer from the rest of the Company. No one sounded surprised, you realized. All the careful attention to detail you and Dick had put in to cover your tracks hadn’t fooled anyone. Dick realized it too, his face breaking into a sheepish but relieved grin as he pulled back from you. 

“Not so fast, Major,” you teased him, repositioning yourself so that you were straddling Dick’s lap. You recaptured his lips in an encore kiss, eliciting another round of cat-calls from Easy. Dick’s arms hovered on your hips for a moment before he snaked his arms around you, pulling you closer against him. The two of you could barely keep your lips connected with all the smiling and giggling. You sat back with a contented sigh, coming to rest on Dick’s thighs. He cocked an eyebrow at you as his eyes danced up and down your body, squeezing your hips with greedy hands. 

“Now that the entire Company knows, think we can safely kick Lew out for an afternoon without having to come up with an excuse?” you simpered as you tugged playfully at Dick’s tie. Even now, as the rest of Easy was lazing around in their makeshift swim trunks and aviator sunglasses, Dick Winters was ever in uniform. You were eager to change that. 

“I’m sure Lew can be persuaded,” Dick agreed with a mischievous note in his voice. “Although, before we go…”

He tipped you backwards off his lap and into the cold water of the lake before you had a chance to scream. He broke the surface immediately after you. You surfaced with a gasp at the chill of the water and a laugh on your lips. 

“Major, how very unprofessional of you!” you teased with a splash aimed at his face. He only laughed and reached out, pulling you closer. The heat from his body felt too good in the mountain-cold lake to resist, and even if you could have, you wouldn’t want to. You wrapped your legs around his torso and your arms around his shoulders as he treaded water with his arms. The feel of his muscles flexing under your touch was tantalizing. He laid a soft, chaste peck against the soft, wet skin of your throat. 

“How about we get you warmed up, then?” he offered as you shivered involuntarily. You could barely contain yourself at the offer, only able to nod and look at him needily. He swam over to the side of the dock, helping you clamber your way up the ladder in your water-logged skirt. He was close behind you, a hand coming to rest at the small of your back as he strode off quickly in the direction of the barracks. It seemed you weren’t the only one who was excited by this newfound public acceptance of your relationship to cash in. 

“Don’t get my bed wet!” Nixon called after the two of you. 

“Oh, don’t worry Nix, we’re not going to make it that far,” Dick called back, causing you to stifle a gasp at his insolence with the back of your hand. You smacked him lightly on the chest as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder. 

Despite the chill of the air as you and Dick practically sprinted back to the privacy of his quarters, you’d never felt warmer.

[storyofmychoices]

Adventures With Threep

[Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 1 + Beyond] [Mal’s Orphanage] [Mal Volari x Daenarya Blades 2 AU]

Pairings: Mal Volari x Daenarya (F!OC) With: Threep, Rayden (M!OC) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow Word Count: > 1,500 Rating/Warnings: General; (mpreg!Threep)

Synopsis: Three vignettes of Threep's life with Rayden, Mal, and Daenarya.

The regal nesper fluttered through the open window, gracefully moving through the house, looking for his favorite human. Threep landed softly on the floor, his paws a soft pitter-patter against the worn wooden floorboards of the orphanage. Threep's sleek fur brushed softly against his leg. 

"Kitty!" Rayden cheered, scooping the nesper eagerly into his arms. He hugged him warmly, nuzzling his face against Threep's. "I've missed you so much!"

"Your sentiment is reciprocated," Threep purred happily. 

"Re-sip-prated? What's that?" The young boy questioned curiously as he carried the bat-cat to the couch. 

Threep smiled, relaxing in the boy's tender embrace. "It means I missed you too, Rayden."

The child squealed with excitement, plopping down on the couch with his favorite kitty in his lap. His fingers ran gingerly through the creature's silky fur, watching as it shimmered in the sun's rays peeking through the window. 

Threep stretched out, enjoying the warmth and comfort surrounding him.

"Oh!" Rayden's eyes popped open in alarm. His small hand pressed against his forehead in a gentle tap. "I forgot! I didn't get you a snack! You must be so hungry." 

The nesper's head dipped to the side in contemplation, but instead of jumping at the suggestion, he turned in the boy's lap, offering him his stomach. "Maybe in a bit."

Rayden snuggled Threep closer, happily rubbing his belly. 

"You can't still be hungry," Mal complained as he watched the violet nesper shove another slice of buttered bread into his mouth. His cheeks puffed out from the size of the bite he took, reminding the Rogue of a chipmunk collecting food to bring back to its home, except in Threep's case, he wasn't saving any for later. 

"How are you not hungry," Threep whined once he was able to speak again. He lifted one front paw above his brow while the other rubbed his belly, feigning famishment. 

"We've eaten a five-course meal—" Mal's fingers adjusted his belt. "I couldn't eat another bite."

Threep's gaze shifted to the bottle of wine sitting beside the Rogue. "You were saying."

"I said eat," Mal corrected, taking a drink of the ruby-red liquid. "I never said drink."

Threep was about to protest when his eyes perked up, noticing a morsel of cake left on Mal's plate. "Since you are soooo full, you wouldn't mind me finishing your cake?"

"Have at it." Mal guided the plate toward the nesper. "When you throw up later, you're cleaning it up yourself. I've cleaned up enough of your vomit recently." His lips pulled into a frown.

Threep's shock quickly fell and was replaced by a satisfied hum as he licked up the crumbs of the delicious dessert. 

Mal shook his head with a mix of disgust and wonder. He had seen Threep eat, or rather, in this case, gorge himself before, but this was a new level. Thankfully, as compensation for his services, the crown funded his eating expenses. Mal chuckled at the thought, "That's one way to bring down the monarchy, bankrupt them by enjoying the finest food and drink in the land on them." He raised his goblet up, tipping it toward his companion, who had flagged the waiter down for a honey cake to go. 

"Mama! Mama!" Rayden ran across the small yard of the orphanage, heading for the steps at the back of the house. 

"Careful!" Threep hissed, dangling precariously from his position in the boy's arms.

Daenarya met them with open arms at the door at the sound of his cries. "What's wrong?" Her hands cradled Rayden's face, brushing his dark, shaggy hair away from his eyes, looking for any injuries. She scanned down his arms and legs next.

Rayden shook her away. "Not me!" His lip quivered. "Kitty!"

Threep hung loosely from the boy's grasp, his back legs swaying below. "I'm fine." His wings fluttered briefly as he wiggled back more comfortably into the boy's arms. 

Daenarya breathed a little easier. She loved Threep, but Rayden was her son, and she thanked the gods, new and old, that he was all right. She gestured for them to sit down on the steps to talk. "What's wrong with Threep?" 

"I'm fine," the nesper grumbled. "Is that—" His nose twitched as he sniffed the air. "Banana muffins?"

Rayden held him firmly, despite Threep's attempts to wriggle away toward the sweets. "Look at his belly!"

Daenarya attempted to stifle her chuckle. It was no secret Threep had put on a few (or more) pounds lately. Mal had pointed it out following his lunch with him. "Oh, Threep's okay, sweetie, he just needs a diet." Her eyes narrowed at him. "So, NO! Muffins! They're for the children."

Before Threep could protest, Rayden cut him off. He grabbed Daenarya's hand, placing it on Threep's stomach. "It's all hard and not soft like Papa's when he eats too much. And there's little bumps growing."

She couldn't stop the laugh rising in her throat. 

"It's muscle," Threep defended, looking down at his swollen stomach.   

"Something's wrong," Rayden insisted, holding Daenarya's hand on Threep. "First, he didn't want to eat and was extra sleepy. Then, he kept getting sick. Now, his belly is hard and has bumps."

Daenarya's smile fell, carefully considering his words. She hadn't really thought about it before. Threep was Threep. He was dramatic, but this—this was different. 

"What's wrong with him?" 

Daenarya's fingers caressed the nesper's abdomen, feeling carefully for any abnormalities. Her fingers brushed over the bumps Rayden had mentioned. Her eyes widen. "It can't be." 

"What? What? What?" Rayden questioned nervously.

Daenarya peered closer, parting the fur to get a better look. Her mouth fell open as she tried to reconcile what she saw, but it was clear—his stomach wasn't the only thing growing. 

"Am I dying?" Threep stared down at her hands in his fur. "And I don't mean from starvation, because from that, I am well aware."

"Uh, Threep," Daenarya shook her head in amusement, her knowing smile growing. "With nespers, who—uh— you know—carries the young?"

"Both male and female nespers can carry our progeny—" he began with little consideration for the question, "—but for some reason, males more often...I mean...but...I...I can't be—" His head was spinning. 

"Now he can't remember words!" Rayden worried. "Mama, fix him!" 

"I can't." Daenara drew her son closer, pressing a kiss on his forehead. "But he's going to be just fine."

"Really?" He sniffled, his eyes glistening in the afternoon sun.

"I'm going to need to lie down," he breathed dramatically.

"You are lying down." She shook her head watching the nesper paw at his stomach. Her attention shifted back to Rayden. "But yes, Threep is going to be just fine." Her hand glided over her own swollen stomach. "Threep's just having a baby."

"What?!" Mal choked on the muffin he had been sneaking as he joined the trio on the porch.

Rayden's face lit up, his eyes popping open as he bounced with excitement. "There's going to be more kitties?!"

"Yup!" Daenarya marveled at the two—well, three—different reactions to the news. Shock (and horror). Excitement. And.... whatever it was Threep was feeling.

"Uhhuhhahh," Threep moaned. "Will you carry me?" He held his paws out toward Mal.

Dramatic—Daenarya decided with a gentle laugh.

"Fat chance bat-cat," Mal sneered. "Carry yourself. You got wings!"

Threep hissed sharply in his direction, his pointy teeth showing threateningly. Mal bared his own teeth in reply, but Threep took little notice, his attention shifted to Rayden once more. He opened his eyes wide, his mouth pulling down. He swallowed his pride, "Kitty up?"

Rayden cheered happily, pulling his favorite Kitty back into his arms. "Let's get you some muffins. You need to make sure the baby kitties have lots of food." 

Daenarya watched as the two disappeared into the kitchen.

"You're not going to stop them?" Mal complained. "You said the muffins were for the children."

"Rayden is a child." 

"The mangy bat-cat isn't?" Mal whined. 

"And you are what? because I'm quite certain those are muffin crumbs you spit up as you choked on the news."

"What? No...." Mal quickly changed the subject. "If we don't put our foot down now, he's only going to get worse."

"Let them celebrate. Rayden is going to be over the moon."

"Sure, but then we're stuck with having a litter of Threeps running through the place."

"One step at a time." 

"I guess someone should tell Loola," Mal suggested. "You know since his first thought was securing his own private attendant to carry him around and serve him food."

"Can you blame him? It's not easy carrying another life." Daenarya extended her arms toward him. "I wouldn't mind my own personal attendant to carry me around, fetch me snacks, and maybe offer the occasional massage to help my sore, swollen muscles and joints." 

Mal shook his head despite the smile spreading on his features. He knew better than to protest, even as a joke. He slid his arms around her back and under her knees, lifting her into his arms. "You're lucky, I love you so damn much."

"I can't argue with that." She pressed a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. "Now, take me to get some sustenance." 

He roared with laughter. "I've created a monster."

"At least I don't bite..." She grazed his jaw as he carried her, following the path Rayden and Threep had taken. "...much."

A/N: I'm setting this in my Blades 1 Universe simply because that's the one I've expanded the most and the one I consider my "main" universe. However, Threep will also be the one pregnant in my Blades 2 AU. I've been talking about Threep having a baby for years, and here we finally are.

[dairsmuids]

— if i could hold you for a minute, i’d go through it again

It feels like a laughable paradox. A bitter, haunted old mercenary's calloused palms cradling the face of a fellow soldier with seemingly-effortless affection. For this split second in time, it's as though they can pretend tenderness is a mutual proficiency. “Twenty years on my own, then I meet you and you turn me into some sentimental bastard.”

At Shepard's party, Zaeed finally comes clean about his true feelings for her. (or, alternatively: they're horny and in love, your honour)

Fic based loosely on this, which lives in my mind rent free. So many moments in the Citadel DLC canonise the idea that Zaeed is a secret softie, so I'm taking that canon and running to the end zone with it. Also, for a visual reference, Zaeed is dressed in this, because wearing full armor at parties is sociopathic.

Some context, for anyone new: my canon Shepard is Lucrezia "Ezi" Shepard, a Renegade vanguard with a Spacer background & Ruthless service history. Ezi had a fling with Zaeed during Mass Effect 2, but as a pair of grumpy idiots who'd rather blow something up than be vulnerable, they struggled to express their feelings. So the romance fizzled out, and Ezi ended up with Garrus.

Fic title comes from Hozier’s song Francesca, which is so Ezi and Zaeed coded that it gives me chest pains.

Content warnings: some brief smut. Also, Ezi and Zaeed both like to use swear words like punctuation. Another also, this is 5.3k words. Apologies, I'm a yapper.

Swirls and flurries of dark shadows and fluorescent lights filter through the floor-to-ceiling open blinds of Anderson’s — no, Shepard's — penthouse apartment, a combination of the Citadel’s artificial night cycle with the Silversun Strip’s vibrant, flickering billboards. On the ground floor of this ample dwelling the party is still very much in full swing, the cacophony of dance music and drunken laughter mingling as it wafts upward. Shepard is stunned that there hasn't been a complaint yet; though after Grunt’s earlier command of the front door comm, she's sure her neighbours are simply too afraid to risk the retaliation of a krogan airdrop through their living room window.

Shepard herself leans idly against the balcony railing, glancing downward into the empty living area, her gaze slowly trailing across the clutter of empty glasses and beer bottles strewn across Anderson’s — her — usually pristine coffee table.

She doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to calling this place her own.

The rest of the Normandy crew are gathered in various spots around the apartment: some are dancing in the kitchen whilst some are gathered around the poker table in the back room. Grunt is fast asleep in Shepard’s shower, no doubt racking up a water bill that could easily eclipse the water usage of the entirety of Zakera Ward. Kasumi has been suspiciously unaccounted for for the past half an hour, and Shepard can't help but wonder what secrets are going to end up on the extranet thanks to the thief’s snooping.

The slight frost of Shepard's mostly-full whiskey glass chills the inside of her palm as she clutches onto it, resting both her arms against the railing as she allows herself to revel in a few moments of relative solitude. She loves her friends and crewmates, but she can't fully get her mind off the war tonight. She thinks of Anderson, out there in the thick of it on Earth, drenched in sweat and blood fighting off Reaper forces with no reprieve. He should be here, sitting in front of the fire with Kahlee. He's earned that. More than I have.

The guilt gnaws unrelentingly at her insides.

Her head tilts to the side slightly as she gazes out towards the obscenely large windows. As she begins to lose herself in her thoughts, her reverie is broken by the sound of boots thudding against the polished floor. 

“Wondered where you'd got to,” comes Zaeed's trademark rasp as he comes to a stop beside her, their elbows briefly brushing as he leans against the railing next to her. He doesn't have a drink in hand, which surprises her, since he's had a steady stream of beer bottles and liquor glasses in his hand since he arrived.

Shepard doesn't turn her head to look at him, but she gives a soft grunt in response to his greeting, chest gently jolting with the sound. The smell of him permeates around the pair of them, that sharp combination of cigarette smoke, sweat and alcohol, and for the very briefest of seconds she's sure she could close her eyes and perfectly imagine that she's back in the Normandy’s starboard cargo hold again, listening to another one of his ridiculous stories. 

“Needed a breather from all the excitement,” she mutters in response, “And from Kaidan’s dad-dancing.” She forces out a laugh as she brings her glass to her lips, taking a slow but ample sip. The skyline in front of her glitters and pulses, a kaleidoscope of searing and engaging colour, and she suddenly remembers James’ comment from months ago upon his first visit to the Citadel. There's no war here. 

Below, the muffled sound of Tali’s alcohol-slurred voice shouting “Nerrrrd!” — followed by Garrus’ equally slurred response of “Speak for yourself, vas Normandy!” — drifts upwards. The corners of Shepard's lips quirk ever so slightly in a mixture of amusement and affection. It's a reminder that this party, this shore leave, this break from everything… it isn't just about her. It's for them, too. The ones she cares for, those who have been fighting this war alongside her. And, particularly in Garrus and Tali’s case, they've been with her longer than most. 

The silence between her and Zaeed feels surprisingly comfortable as they stand there side-by-side, staring out over the balcony. A C-Sec surveillance drone wails as it whizzes past the window, the shrill sound fading away in a matter of seconds. 

Shepard turns her head toward Zaeed, finally taking the opportunity to drink him in. His attire is pretty simple and casual, just a sleeveless dark shirt, a pair of matching cargo pants and some scuffed old combat boots — it's hardly party wear, but she knows that Zaeed barely comprehends the idea of attending a party these days, unless it's to shoot up the place or take out one of the attendees. But, even despite his usual roughness and the obvious exhaustion etched on his face, she can't deny that he looks good out of his trademark armor for a change.

Her stomach gives a sudden fluttery twist, that familiar feeling of desire pooling low — though it's certainly not the first time tonight that the sight of him has made her feel this way. It's the same feeling she used to get whenever he'd corner her on the Normandy in stolen moments of intimacy. If she concentrates hard enough, she can remember the taste of his tongue sweeping across hers, the surprising softness of his short greying locks against her fingertips. 

She internally chastises herself, trying to will her mind to focus on anything but those unbidden memories.

“So, are you enjoying yourself?” she asks him, making conversation as a distraction for her thoughts. The beginnings of a grin play at her lips, growing slightly wider as he scoffs in mild amusement. 

“S’pose so,” he mutters gruffly in response, though the amusement on his face morphs into slight disdain as he gestures at the sculpture and canvases further down the balcony. “Be better if this place wasn't so fuckin’ sterile. I've been in asari museums with more life.” There's a hint of a slur in his words, a reminder of the copious amounts of liquor he's already consumed tonight.

Shepard gives a soft snort at that, turning her body so she's fully facing him now, resting one of her arms against the railing as she leans on it. “Never expected you of all people to care about interior design, Massani,” she teases, to which he just responds with a smirk, folding his arms as he turns to face her in kind. 

She knows better than to probe him on his knowledge of asari museum interiors: she's confident it would lead to a lengthy recount of one of his old contracts. As much as she enjoys the tales of his exploits, the thoughts in her own head are too loud for her to focus on anything right now. (Plus, the mental image of him taking down a target with his usual jarringly-cold confidence would only serve to exacerbate her lusts, though she'd never admit that to him).

Shepard brings her whiskey glass to her lips once again, barely noticing the burn of the alcohol anymore as it slides down her throat. She shifts her weight slightly, the fabric of her leather dress groaning with the movement. It's hardly her favourite piece of attire, but it's not like she had a huge selection of partywear to choose from. She lives out of fatigues and armor. Clothes shopping is hardly her forte. She still cringes thinking about that dress Kasumi made her wear to Donovan Hock’s party last year.

She notices the way Zaeed's gaze quietly skims down her body, but she doesn't comment on it. Doesn't trust herself to do so. The view of his arms in that sleeveless shirt has suffered her enough salacious thoughts since he got here.

“What do you think of the music? Great? Bad? What?” she asks then, gesturing around them in question of the obnoxious thumping dance number blaring over the speakers.

Zaeed's eyes lazily flick back up to find her face once more, and his expression is something she can't quite place. If she trusted him less, it might’ve almost unnerved her.

A pause of tentative silence brews between them. 

“You don't really want to know what I think, Shepard,” he finally says, his words slipping out with an obvious hesitance, one of his hands coming up to rub absently against the barely-there scruff on his cheek. 

Shepard gives a questioning head tilt at that, eyebrows knitting together as she emits a nervous chuckle. “Sure I do,” she replies, her teeth worrying over her bottom lip as she allows her eyes to dart between his own, searching, trying to figure him out.

Zaeed lets out a rough exhale, giving a gentle shake of his head. It almost seems as though he's going to back off, end the conversation here, walk away. 

And then he doesn't. 

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful,” he admits at last, his voice a low, intimate rumble between them, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath. His knuckles turn white where they grip the balcony railing, shoulders taut with obvious tension. “Beautiful and goddamn magnificent.”

He lets out a soft huff, a sound that's suspiciously like self-deprecation. “Never could walk away from you, Ez, not really,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face, almost like he’s fighting exhaustion — the exhaustion of feelings, despite swearing for years that feelings were a weakness he couldn't afford, not again. His weighted gaze flickers back to hers. “Fuckin’ hell… you’re it for me, sweetheart. Always have been.”

As if suddenly realising he might have said too much, he shifts back half a step. His brows twitch upward as a short, rough breath escapes his lips, almost like he's been sucker-punched by his own words. “There. I said it.”

The sudden admission hits Shepard like the force of a krogan charge she hadn't seen coming. She gives a blink, her expression nothing short of stunned as she searches his eyes again. But there's no amusement there, no sneer, no sarcasm. His words just hang there between them, a raw and fragile thing, like an unpinned grenade that threatens to obliterate them both with each second that passes. 

“Zaeed…” she starts, but then she falters, internally berating herself for not being able to find the right words. Talking down the quarians from going back into war with the geth felt less daunting than this.

And then, it seems, she hesitates far too long for his bruised ego to cope any longer.

“Shhh, don't say anything, just forget it,” he mutters bitterly, straightening up as he moves to take a step back from her, breaking the eye contact between them. “Just an old man chatting shit. Forget I said anything.”

Logically, she knows that he's not wrong — she probably should forget it. Let bygones be bygones. Let that be the end of it, perhaps for good, if she doesn't see him again after this party. And then her body tenses up, muscles in her shoulders tightening, stomach doing acrobatics to the point of making her nauseous. She knows, deep down, that this sudden tension in her bones isn't a reaction to his confession. It's a reaction to the thought of letting him slip away after all this.

As he begins to turn around, preparing to walk away, she lets the logical part of her brain scream, ignored, into a silent void. Her heart wins out. She reaches for him, fingers pressing against the inside of his wrist as she grabs onto his arm. His pulse hammers beneath her fingertips, faster than it should be for a man at rest, betraying his attempt at outward nonchalance.

He immediately freezes on the spot, unable to bring himself to look at her, a muscle in his scarred cheek visibly twitching.

“No,” Shepard says firmly. “How the hell can I? How am I meant to forget this, Zaeed?”

When he still won't turn back around or look at her, she feels suddenly irritated, her jaw clenching tightly as her mixed emotions swirl almost violently in her chest. She downs the rest of her glass of whiskey — in a quick shot that makes her grimace — and lets the empty tumbler drop to the rug-covered floor, silently grateful when it makes a thud sound instead of a smash. 

“You never said anything before,” she accuses as she takes a step closer, though the tone of her voice gives way to a desperate hurt rather than any kind of genuine anger. “Why? Why say it now? Why not last year?”

Memories of moments spent with him on the Normandy flood Shepard's mind — hours of laughing through alcohol-fuelled swapping of war stories, sparring matches that left them both bruised and breathless, the husky growl of her name escaping his lips as he pressed her up against the weapon bench, his weathered hands mapping the scars of her rebuilt body. For a while they'd been the worst kept secret on the ship. Falling in love might’ve been easier than either of them expected, if only they hadn't given so easily into their mutual cynicism. 

“What would you have done, eh?” Zaeed challenges, voice raw as he finally braves turning his head just enough to meet her confused stare. “If I'd actually fucking said it then?” He shakes his arm out of her grip so he can fully turn around to face her. “You'd have told me to piss off —”

“You don't know that,” she counters sharply, talking over him before he's even finished his sentence. 

“I do,” he argues. “We had the Collectors on our arses, we had a job to do, and now you tell me you expected time for bloody hearts and flowers? Since when were you such a goddamn idealist, Lucrezia?”

Shepard's eyes narrow at his pointed use of her name. Their mingled breaths in the space between them are sharp and short, tension like a rubber band threatening to snap.

“Besides, you're telling me a woman like you would throw her life away on some old ghost?” Zaeed continues, folding his arms defensively across his chest as his ruined stare hits the floor. His tone is marginally less argumentative now. “What a fucking joke.”

Shepard's lips part as she prepares to shoot back a response, but then a flicker of sudden hesitation washes over her. Bright blue eyes bore into the crown of Zaeed’s head as he remains staunchly focused on the ground, his jaw working like he's chewing gravel, and it occurs to her then — like the flicker of a light bulb — that this insolence isn't just Zaeed being his typical difficult self. It's insecurity. A fear of rejection.

Her shoulders sag, any lingering shred of antagonism immediately draining out of her. 

The two of them stand there in the tense silence, unspoken emotions stifling their shared air. Shepard loathes Zaeed's notion that they're too different, that she's some impossible dream he couldn't dare to hope for. They're cut from the same cloth, forged in war and violence: he was once a respected leader, co-founder of the most feared merc band in the galaxy. She's an Alliance hero, a human band-aid for the galaxy's biggest problems. Similar experiences, shaped by them in hugely different ways. 

The specter and the Spectre. 

In another life, with other choices, perhaps they would have met as equals. She wonders if that's a part of his insecurity, his reluctance to pursue her. 

I am all you could've been, and you are all I might be, she thinks.

“A part of me always waited and hoped, you know,” she starts, breaking the silence, and immediately she hates how painful it feels to be emotionally vulnerable with him. It's not their thing: it never was. That had always been their unsolvable problem. “For you. Even when I kept telling myself I didn't give a shit, that I had Garrus, that he was enough. Even with all that, I still kept hoping. I couldn't stop. I… I don't think I'll ever fucking stop.”

Downstairs she can hear the distant sound of Garrus’ modulated baritone as he engages in conversation. She pictures the turian in her mind, hopeful eyes, the gentle flicker of his mandibles whenever he says something clever or just looks her way. She loves him, so deeply that sometimes she doesn't know what to do with the feelings.

And yet. And yet.

Zaeed slowly unfolds his arms, finally meeting her eyes again, his previous defensive posturing replaced with an action that threatens to take Shepard's breath away: he gently reaches upward to cup her cheeks tenderly between his hands, thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. She doesn't hesitate, immediately pressing her hands against his to keep him there. She knows she's playing with fire — any one of her friends could come up the stairs or round the corner and see this display at any moment, after all. Or even Garrus, to make matters worse.

“Stubborn bitch, you are,” he mutters gruffly, but there’s no heat behind his words. “Could have your pick of any man in the galaxy, but you'd rather waste your time on a washed-up old merc. You're ridiculous. Should've never joined up with you in the first place.”

Shepard gives a soft huff at his words, holding his stare, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his rough, tattooed knuckles. “Admit it, your life would've been boring if you'd never met me,” she challenges playfully.

Zaeed scoffs at that. “Boring and a damn sight shorter, probably,” he concedes. He strokes his thumbs against her cheekbones once more, giving an almost resigned sigh. “You're the only thing in the galaxy that's ever made surviving worth the goddamn trouble.”

It feels like a laughable paradox. A bitter, haunted old mercenary's calloused palms cradling the face of a fellow soldier with seemingly-effortless affection. For this split second in time, it's as though they can pretend tenderness is a mutual proficiency. “Twenty years on my own, then I meet you and you turn me into some sentimental bastard.” His voice cracks, dry and rough, like the infertile land in the northernmost reaches of Tuchanka. He searches her gaze, assessing it with a kind of scrutiny that's not a far cry from assessing raid plans in his Blue Suns days. “Is he enough? Vakarian? I'll accept it if it's a yes, beautiful, but I need you to tell me.”

She doesn't know if it's the alcohol in her system, or the close proximity to him, or the way he calls her beautiful in a way that makes everything south of her belly button tighten up — but the whirlwind of emotions make her want to throw caution to the wind and fuck the consequences. 

“I don't… know the answer to that,” she admits, and it's a bitter yet somewhat unsurprising truth on her tongue.

As if surrendering to the inevitability of it all, Shepard lets her hand drift downward between them, tracking the movement with her eyes as she toys with the hem of Zaeed’s shirt before slipping beneath. Her fingers splay over the sharp jut of his hip bone, her thumb tracing slow and deliberate circles, teetering on a knife edge between affectionate and indecent. Her hand moves with a kind of uncharacteristic reverence, fingertips ghosting over the expanse of his abdomen.

Once she slowly lifts her head back up her breath catches in her throat, as if it suddenly dawns on her how close he is, their faces hovering mere inches apart. She doesn't mean to stare at his lips, but their proximity almost feels like a dare to do otherwise. 

“Tell me to fuck off, Ez. Do us both a favour,” he says, his gritty voice barely above a whisper. He reaches to tilt her chin upward, forcing her gaze back to his.

“I can't,” she manages. “Damn it, Zaeed, you know I can't, not when it comes to you.” Her fingers continue their journey across the warmth of his skin, tracking dangerously low down his abdomen until her palm brushes the soft curls of hair at his waistband.

And that’s what finally strips away the last shred of Zaeed's restraint. He lets out a low growl, immediately crowding her backwards until she hits the back wall with a soft sound of surprise, knocking against some ridiculous looking piece of canvas art that Zaeed definitely wants to use as a convenient place to put out his next cigarette. He acts with zero hesitation, not a care in the world for the fact that they're not alone in this apartment, his palm pressing possessively against the sharp line of her jaw as he catches her in a rough kiss.

There's no finesse to it in the slightest, teeth clashes and sloppy tongues, a rhapsody of mutual frenzy. Shepard arches upward, grabbing roughly at the front of his shirt as though she'll die all over again if he dares to let her go. 

Zaeed's hand slips upward, disappearing under the hem of her dress, calloused fingers slipping past the barrier of her underwear to slide between her slick folds.

“Soaked through for me already, just like always,” he rasps against her lips. He probes two fingers inside her without warning, giving a gruff sound of predatory satisfaction when she responds to the breach with a needy gasp and a flutter of her eyelids. “Been like this all night, have you, sweetheart? Bet Vakarian never gets you this wet.”

Shepard opens her mouth with full intention to respond to his vicious and unnecessary remark, until his thumb begins to brush insistent circles over her swollen clit in a way that makes her whimper — actually whimper. A sound that she's sure most people wouldn't expect from the ruthless, volatile Commander. He remembers just how she likes to be touched, almost as though he's been keeping this knowledge carefully stored away for future use. Arrogant fucking asshole. She lets her head drop back against the wall behind her, her hand coming up to claw at his bicep, the skin beneath her fingertips an intricate tapestry of fading tattoos and healed wounds.

“Tell me to stop,” Zaeed utters gruffly as he leaves a path of kisses and nips up her jawline. The low, gravelly timbre of his voice rumbling against her skin only exacerbates the building pleasure he's coaxing between her thighs. “Tell me to let you go back to your turian.”

But she doesn't. This behaviour is a perfect representation of their mutual recklessness: the kind that rivals even their agreement to ignore the screams of those refinery workers on Zorya. A penchant for destruction in the name of immediate gratification.

The brief mention of Garrus is a whisper of guilt at her ear. A whisper she’s all too eager to ignore, muffled by a large amount of alcohol and even larger amount of repressed primal desperation.

Her lack of response makes Zaeed smirk smugly against her throat. “That's how it is, then,” he rasps, the sound practically vibrating against the pulse point of her neck. “Still mine, after all this time.”

Shepard's immediate scoff is a quiet, breathless thing between them, barely audible over the thumping vibration of the party music’s bass line. “I was never yours, Massani,” she retorts, bringing her hand down between them, groping at the rigid outline of his cock as it strains eagerly against the confines of his trousers. The sound he emits in response against her ear — a low, lingering groan of a curse followed by her name — is so delightfully obscene that it threatens to undo her then and there.

But even despite her retort, her hips continue to jolt upwards into his clever touch, her nails leaving crescent-shaped dents in his shoulder as she clings to him for dear life. The friction of his scruff against the pale expanse of her clavicle easily erases her lie in the space between them. She may have arisen on that slab at the Lazarus Project facility, but it was meeting Zaeed that truly reanimated her, and they both know it.

Some heated minutes pass, time that feels like hours. He's three fingers deep, his teeth grazing her neck, grinding his insistent erection eagerly against the palm of her hand, when the sounds of loud laughter and multiple pairs of footsteps coming from the upstairs hallway makes her body tense up and freeze. A stark reminder that they aren't alone in this place. A stark reminder that their actions have consequences. 

A frustrated whine tears from Shepard's throat, and she gives a final deliberate clench around his fingers before moving to gently press her hand against his chest, signalling to him that they have to stop. His equally frustrated growl rumbles in the space between them, but he respects her too much to refuse her silent request. He laments the loss of her around him as he slips out his fingers, bringing them to his lips to suck them clean — an act of casual brazenness that makes her huff with surprise despite herself.

She reaches up to stroke her fingertips against his scarred cheek, letting the gesture and the look in her eye say all the soft things she knows she can't say. She's visibly trembling, heart thudding wildly in her chest, body running on a dangerous combination of adrenaline and arousal that almost makes her stupid with a want to pull him back in, wrap her legs around his waist and rut against him like an animal in heat.

He opens his mouth to speak, and she almost braces herself for whatever it is he's about to say — until the familiar figures of Tali, Garrus and Kaidan come striding round the corner, a low murmur of amused conversation between them. 

Shepard drops her hand from Zaeed's face and the two of them swiftly separate as though they've been burned. She straightens herself up, forcing a jovial smile as she meets the faces of her closest friends and boyfriend.

“Hey, there you are Ez,” comes Kaidan’s warm greeting, his voice its usual raspy timbre with an addition of an alcohol-induced slur. “Hey, Zaeed. Good to see you.”

Zaeed just gives a simple nod, folding his arms across his chest in his usual guarded manner, making a gallant effort to act as though his heart isn't currently thudding manically against his rib cage. “‘Ello there.”

Shepard deliberately refuses to look in his direction, focusing her eyes on Kaidan’s face instead. She's grateful that her friends appear to be far too inebriated to notice the way Zaeed's pants are currently fitting a little too snugly in the crotch area, or that her own face and neck are flushed as though she's just returned from a shuttle bay sparring session with Vega. If this wasn't such a shitty situation, it might almost pass for comical.

“Ezi, tell this bosh’tet that Fleet and Flotilla is one of the greatest vids of our generation —” Tali suddenly pipes up as she gestures in Kaidan’s direction.

The Major responds with a here we go again eye roll and a quirk of his lips, interjecting before Tali’s even finished talking. “It's terrible, and you and Shepard were lucky I stayed to watch the entire thing. You have crappy taste in vids, Tali.”

“I do not! The only one with crappy taste here is you. In vids, in omni-tools —”

“Hey now, I already told you, the Logic Arrest trumps anything else on the market...”

Shepard doesn't even bother to interject between her friends’ ridiculous bickering, her gaze hitting the floor as Garrus moves toward her, slipping an arm around her shoulders in an affectionate yet protective manner. From beneath her lashes she sees Zaeed turn and saunter away with a gruff mutter of “I need another fuckin’ drink”, and she hates the way her chest suddenly aches with a mixture of guilt and loneliness once he's out of sight.

“You okay?” Garrus’ rumbling voice is like a warm blanket between them, his gentle eyes drifting across the side of her face as he drinks her in. He reaches out, talons brushing ever so delicately against her temple as he pushes back a strand of her dark hair. “What were you and Zaeed talking about?”

The weighted secret of her infidelity hangs over her, heavy and stifling like one of those dust storms on Mars. She's suddenly grateful that Garrus is in casual wear instead of being armoured up: she knows that if he was wearing his visor he'd be able to clearly read how fast her heart is hammering in her chest, a combination of lingering arousal and intense guilt that she doesn't want to be held accountable for, even if she knows she should.

“Just the old days,” she replies, and she automatically leans her head to rest against his carapace, still pointedly avoiding his gaze. She can't look at him. He always looks at her like she put every single star in the sky, and right now it'd be more than she can bear. “You know how Massani gets with his reminiscing.” She forces out a laugh, the sound almost brittle and excruciating.

It's not a complete lie, she tries to tell herself, as though the technicality will make any of this better.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see Garrus still gazing at her concernedly, almost assessing her, and for a painful split second she's sure he's going to probe her further — but then the sound of Tali’s voice rings out as she loudly asks for his opinion on dextro cheese, and as he turns away to amusedly engage in their friends’ conversation, Shepard lets out a barely-audible sigh of relief. 

As her gaze drifts downward, she catches sight of Zaeed stepping into the living area. He moves with his typical nonchalance, settling onto the armrest of the couch, a fresh bottle of beer in hand. He takes a slow swig, eyes lifting to meet hers, and the way she gazes down longingly at him feels like a second infidelity to the fiercely-loyal turian standing next to her. She thinks of the betrayal Garrus suffered through with Sidonis, and a sudden and intense self-loathing gnaws at her gut as she realises she's no better.

Shepard finally tears her eyes away from Zaeed as she moves to cuddle against Garrus’ form, slipping her arm around his waist. The turian immediately relishes the closer contact, mandibles giving a contented flicker as he leans in to press his forehead against hers for a brief moment. 

For once, she’s startled by the way his affection doesn't immediately ground her like it usually does. But she knows that this change is nobody’s fault but her own, a consequence of the lingering guilt that seeps into her bones.

When she turns her head back around to chance another look over the railing, the space is once again devoid of Zaeed's presence. She swallows hard, a fight to ignore the hollow ache creeping into her chest, the same one she’d felt the last time they went their separate ways. A fight that somehow seems more bleak than pushing back the Reapers.

Back then — after Aratoht, when she prepared to go face the music on Earth and her suicide mission comrades all began scattering their separate ways — she’d told herself that distance between her and Zaeed was for the best. She’d told herself she’d moved on. But as she stands here now, the heat of his touch still lingering on her skin, she knows she’s only ever been lying to herself.

When she awakens early the next morning to make the rounds with her hungover friends and crewmates, Shepard's stomach drops as she realises Zaeed has already gone. No goodbyes, no words, just… gone. And despite everything — despite the warmth of her friends’ company, and the stabilising comfort of Garrus’ love for her — she can’t ignore the way this loss stings like no other.

[welldonebeca]

bloodbrothers (8)

WC: 6.8k words Warnings: A little bit of tension. Fluff. Set in June 2023.

masterlist

Jace went to shower first, fully aware that if he didn’t get out of there quickly, Cregan would break through his resistance and absolutely drag him right back into round two. Honestly, it was a damn good boost to his ego. Knowing his boyfriend couldn’t get enough of him? Great for the heart.

He stepped into the compact shower, doing his best to scrub away the unmistakable smell of sex. The jet was luxurious, sure, but the shower was still a bit cramped — it was functional, not spa-like. After a good scrub, he dried off, dressed, and ran his fingers through his hair, putting some cream and a bit of definition to his curls before stepping out.

“Hey, is your deodorant easy?” he called out.

Cregan was lounging in the nearest seat, staring out the window with a distracted expression. Jace followed his gaze for a moment.

Oh, they are pretty close to the coast already. 

“Yeah,” Cregan replied, snapping out of his thoughts. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a stick of deodorant. “Want cologne too?”

“Yeah, toss it over,” Jace confirmed.

As he applied both, he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose.

The cabin definitely smelled like sex. Grabbing the deodorant, he sprayed a little in the air, earning a laugh from Cregan.

“What are you doing?” Cregan asked, amused.

“When you’re done with your shower, put your deodorant and cologne on over there,” Jace instructed, pointing toward the opposite side of the cabin, nearer their seats. “We need to clear this air before someone walks in and starts asking questions.”

Cregan chuckled, shaking his head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m practical,” Jace corrected him. “Now hurry up. We should eat before we land.”

Cregan rose slowly, a teasing smirk on his face as he took the towel from Jace’s hand and leaned in to press a kiss to his lips.

“Yes, my Prince,” he teased him.

Jace rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile as Cregan finally headed into the bathroom. The moment the door closed, he sprang right into action.

First, he cranked up the A/C, hoping it would help disperse the lingering scent in the cabin. Then, he grabbed the canister of Aqua Waves Odour-Fighting spray from the bathroom supplies and gave the air a generous spraying – everywhere. The ocean-like fragrance wasn’t perfect, but it was better than the stink.

When he was satisfied that the cabin was smelling a little less incriminating, he tidied up the table and straightened the seats, making everything look as pristine as it had when they’d boarded. A quick glance at his watch told him they had a little bit over an hour before landing. Just enough time for food and cleaning, and then getting Vermax into his box.

Jace pulled up the cabin service tablet, quickly placing an order for something light that would hopefully arrive after Cregan finished his shower. Once done, he slotted the tablet back into its charging dock and tried to settle into his seat.

But as soon as he leaned back, the familiar anxious thoughts began creeping in, filling the silence in the cabin.

His boyfriend was about to meet his entire family.

Not just Mum and Kepa – that would have been overwhelming enough. No, this was everyone. All four of his brothers, two sisters, three fathers, grandparents, and every single extended Velaryon in existence. That meant granduncles, cousins, and the whole chaotic mix of cool people and assholes.

No big deal. No big deal at all. Totally fine.

Jace let out a slow breath, his eyes drifting to Vermax. His cat was sprawled out in his cradle, completely unfazed by the mess in his head, belly up and batting lazily at the hanging toy. Honestly, Vermax looked like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“At least someone’s happy,” Jace muttered, standing and walking over to the cradle.

He knelt beside it, reaching through the bars to wiggle his fingers near Vermax. His cat immediately perked up, rubbing his head and body against Jace’s hand with a pleased purr.

“You’re excited to see Syrax, aren’t you?” Jace crooned softly, scratching under his chin. “Your mama’s been missing you.”

Mum had told him how excited Syrax had been to travel when she started talking about Vermax being there. Honestly, those cats were too smart for their own good.

Vermax responded with a chirpy meow, pressing into his touch.

“You want some food?” Jace offered, tilting his head.

His cat’s ears twitched, and his wide eyes seemed to brighten at the word. Jace chuckled, knowing full well how Vermax associated flying with fancy meals. He’d packed the good stuff – wet food that would make even the pickiest eater purr with delight.

“Fancy patée it is,” he said with a smirk, standing to grab the little can from his bag. “You’ve got me well-trained, don’t you?”

Vermax meowed right back to him, jumping inside the cradle, and climbing the spot closer to him to try to reach him - and failing, of course.

“Alright, alright, I’m getting there,” Jace opened the cans.

Vermax usually ate natural food but although the airports were longed convinced to let Valyrian animals through with a large fee, carrying raw meat wasn’t exactly allowed, so canned patée was the best option – all three big cans of it.

He slid it through the cradle door, only for Vermax to lunge at it like it was the first meal he’d had in weeks before his hand was even out of the way.

“Gods, calm down,” Jace chuckled, putting it down. “The crew will think I’ve been starving you!”

He shook his head, amused, as Vermax devoured the food with single-minded focus. Wasn’t it enough that everyone thought Jace was freezing his poor Valyrian cat off every day, now he was behaving like he hadn’t seen food since they’d been in New Valyria?

Jace reached in to scratch gently behind Vermax’s ears.

“I know you won’t be happy at all when we go back to Winterfell,” he sighed.

Vermax paused just long enough to flick his tail dismissively before burying his face back in the bowl.

“Yeah, I’ll take that as ‘you’re right’,” Jace mumbled.

His poor warm-weather-loving cat.

Jace moved back to his seat, trying to take a deep breath, though it didn’t feel like it helped much. He squirmed in his spot, restlessly tapping his fingers on the armrest. The nerves were creeping in again.

He wanted everyone to like Cregan. A lot! But there were a lot of people who were about to get their first impression of him in just a few days, and it was overwhelming.

If they were back in New Valyria, things could have gone so much slower. He could’ve introduced Cregan to the girls and Luke first at school – or he wouldn’t even need to, because they would be from the same school.

Then, after a few weeks or months, maybe he’d bring him home to meet Mum and Kepa, and the kids. They’d have time to adjust, to get comfortable. A few months later, there’d be the holidays or a special event, and that’d be the right moment to introduce Cregan to Dad and Uncle Joffrey. Eventually, when the timing felt perfect, he’d bring Cregan to meet his grandparents.

It wouldn’t be all at once. It would be measured, and paced, with each introduction carefully planned. Everyone would get their own space to meet Cregan, and he’d have time to prepare for every step.

But no. This wasn’t going to be that.

Instead, it was a full-on Targaryen-Velaryon family event. All six of his siblings, every single one of his parents and step-parents, his grandparents and then — just for extra spice — a massive annual Velaryon event that was open to the public.

It was a lot.

Jace exhaled, sinking back into his seat.

“No big deal,” he mumbled, trying very hard to convince himself.

It wasn’t working.

He looked back at the bathroom, but Cregan didn’t seem to be done or out, leaving him to stew in that on his own.

A meow drew his attention, and he turned to see Vermax pawing at the cradle door, clearly trying to break free. His cat had apparently decided he was done with being cooped up.

Well, he’d been stuck there for a bit of time already.

“Well, you have been in there for a while,” Jace sighed, walking over to unlatch the door.

As soon as the cradle opened, Vermax eagerly climbed into his arms, pressing his head against Jace’s chin and bumping him affectionately, and he chuckled when his cat tried licking at his hair to groom him, the rough tongue making him cringe and grin all at once.

“All right, all right, let’s sit down, you big kitty,” Jace said, gently shifting Vermax into a more comfortable position. “Come on. No more hair-licking.”

Vermax purred contentedly, clearly satisfied with his newfound freedom and Jace’s company. The cat clung to him, pushing his butt insistently against Jace’s hand in a demand for pets. He smiled softly, obliging as his fingers moved over Vermax’s green fur, the rhythmic motion grounding him as the cat’s loud purring reverberated against his chest.

It helped – being with Vermax always helped.

Jace let his fingers trail up to Vermax’s little earth-orange ears, gently scratching them as his eyes fluttered closed. He leaned back into the chair, the tension in his shoulders easing bit by bit.

It was fine, they were gonna be fine.

Jace perked up at the sound of the door opening, expecting Cregan, but instead, the cabin crew entered with their food.

“Thank you,” he said quickly, sitting up straighter and adjusting Vermax.

His cat, ever content, made himself comfortable on Jace’s lap, but when he attempted to lift him and move him elsewhere, Vermax let out a loud, indignant meow and clung stubbornly to Jace’s pants with his claws, digging them into his leg.

“Hey!” Jace protested, trying to pry his cat away. “No claws!”

Vermax, however, was unimpressed by the reprimand, meowing even louder as if to voice his own protest, curling more around him.

Oh, come on. He knew he couldn’t pick him up when he was like that!

“Fine,” Jace rolled his eyes. “But if you start trying to poke my food, you’re out. I’m getting the water spray.”

The stewardess setting the plates down chuckled softly but remained professional as she organised the table – she was probably way too used to how spoiled their pets were, considering Dad flying with Seasmoke and Grandma flying with Meleys.

“Is there anything else you need, Mr Velaryon?”

“This is all,” Jace said quickly. “Thank you.”

The stewardess nodded, and with her colleague taking the card away, they left the cabin.

Jace glanced over his shoulder just in time to hear the bathroom door open. Cregan emerged, towel around his neck, already grabbing the can of spray to freshen the bathroom and a bit of the cabin air before shutting the door behind him.

“Sorry,” his boyfriend mumbled, looking a bit red on the face. “Stomach was weird.”

Jace tilted his head, watching him carefully. Yeah, that added up, but Cregan looked more embarrassed than sick.

“It’s alright,” Jace reassured him. “You feeling better? I think there’s a medicine cabinet somewhere if you need it.”

Cregan waved him off, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I’m fine now. Just… stomach was weird.”

Jace raised his eyebrows. He’d already said that.

Cregan came closer to him, putting the towel in his backpack along with his dirty clothes, and putting on deodorant and perfume.

“You want something different to eat?” Jace offered, wrestling Vermax into a better position so he could push the table out of the way so Cregan could sit down.

Cregan glanced at the table, then back at Jace, and shook his head.

“I’m good,” he told him. “And it smells great.”

Cregan moved to take his seat, but before he could even step close, Vermax growled loudly in his direction, arching himself – and the sound was the closest thing to what dragons used to sound like, so deep it reverberated through all of his cat’s body and even Jace’s.

“Vermax!” he snapped, startled.

What the hell?!

“Lykiri.”

The cat hissed in response, fixing his piercing gaze on Cregan as if he were the most dangerous enemy imaginable.

“Lykiri!” Jace repeated, his voice firm. “Settle.”

Vermax lowered himself back onto Jace’s lap very slowly, though his eyes never left Cregan, glowering as if he were plotting his next move.

Cregan stood frozen, his eyes wide.

“I’ll… uh… take another chair,” Cregan said cautiously, edging away from Vermax, who was still giving him the evil eye.

Jace grimaced, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, feeling a little embarrassed.

But Cregan just raised both hands in mock surrender and moved to sit across from him, carefully pulling his plate closer.

“We know he hates me, it’s fine,” Cregan said with a nonchalant shrug. “We respect each other’s space. I had you for a bit, he can have you now.”

That made Jace chuckle, the tension easing just a bit.

“You’re gonna take turns with me?” Jace teased, a playful glint in his eyes.

“It’s that or getting bitten,” Cregan pointed at Vermax, who was still glaring. “And I’m pretty sure that cat’s half my size. I don’t want to find out if he actually bites or not.”

Jace glanced down at Vermax, who was still locked on Cregan, his tail flicking. Well, that was fair. He’d taken Vermax to the vet before they left New Valyria, and the vet had confirmed the cat was about 90 cm long and weighed around 30 kg. But Jace was pretty sure the little furball had gained some weight over the last few months — mostly because he’d been less active at Harwin’s house, which wasn’t great for his health.

“Well, he’s definitely been enjoying the sedentary life a little too much lately, dunno if he can chase you as good,” Jace scoffed, his hand resting gently on Vermax’s back, patting him. “You won, come on. Just relax.”

Vermax meowed softly, still not too happy about Cregan’s presence, but at least not actively attacking him for the moment, and curled his body around him again, his back legs lazily spread on the chair under them.

They ate in quiet companionship, the soft hum of the cabin around them. Vermax was soon curled up on Jace’s lap, his body warm and steady, the cat’s soft snores filling the space. The silence between them felt comfortable, each lost in their own thoughts, though Jace could feel the growing anticipation in his chest already.

“Attention all passengers, we’ll be landing in five minutes,” the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom. “I repeat, we’ll be landing in five minutes. Please prepare to put on your seatbelts and secure all pets and objects to the designated areas.”

Jace clicked his tongue, exhaling slowly. Five minutes. Just five minutes until he was back home with his family. The idea of it settled uneasily in his stomach.

“I’ll get the plates,” Cregan said, standing up to gather the empty dishes. “Want help with the box?”

“It’s fine,” Jace answered distractedly, poking Vermax awake. The cat gave a lazy stretch, blinking his eyes open. “He’s used to this by now.”

Jace smiled a little, remembering how small Vermax had been when he first started flying with him. He had been so easy to handle back then. It felt like ages ago.

“Come on, let’s get you in your box,” he murmured, adjusting the cat in his lap as he crouched down to open the travel box.

Vermax let out a series of quiet whines but complied, settling into his carrier with the resigned patience of a cat who knew the drill.

Jace secured the box and gave him one last pet through the mesh, his cat’s content purring a small comfort before he rolled it into the designated area. He returned to his seat, his movements automatic now, as Cregan buckled his seatbelt next to him.

“You’re alright?” his boyfriend asked, turning to Jace.

Jace took a deep breath, clicking his own seatbelt into place. He paused for a moment, words dancing around in his mind before he spoke them out loud.

“Yeah, just... you know. Going home you know?”

There was a strange weight to those words. Home. He had so many places he called home. New Valyria, Driftmark, and even Dragonstone, to a degree. But this was the first time he was going back to any of them since he’d left for the North. It felt different now, as if everything had shifted in the time that had passed, even though it was, what? A bit over six months?

Cregan nodded.

“Yeah,” he spoke softly.

They sat in silence, the quiet hum of the plane around them, and Cregan reached over, squeezing Jace's hand tightly. Jace leaned into the touch, clinging to him as the crew moved about, securing everything for landing. He nodded at them when they passed by, a bit of awkwardness passing through him as his mind briefly flashed to what they had done on seats an hour ago. Well, there was no going back now.

Oh, well. He really hoped that summer breeze and lunch spray was enough.

The landing was easy – though Cregan was squeezing his hand quite a bit as they made the descent and taxied around the landing path, but he relaxed enough when they finally stopped.

Once they were on the ground, the crew helped Jace get Vermax's carrier down with a ramp, and after grabbing their luggage, they breezed through security without incident. The moment they rolled into the private lounge, Jace barely had a chance to register the surroundings before he felt a familiar, warm pair of arms coming around him.

“Jace!” his mother’s voice rang out, and she wrapped him up in a hug so tight it almost knocked the air out of him.

It took him maybe two seconds before he registered and melted into the familiar warmth and softness of her, the comforting scent of her perfume, and for a moment, the world outside the lounge faded.

“Hi, Mum,” he breathed out, squeezing her.

He missed her so much.

She squeezed him more, moving her hands up to his hair, brushing it back, petting it before stepping back, and he smiled when she moved back and grabbed his face, squeezing it for a moment, running her thumbs over his cheek.

“Hello, my sweet boy,” mum exhaled.

Before he could respond, she started peppering his face with kisses, quick and relentless. One on his cheek, then his nose, his forehead, and finally a loud, smacking kiss near his ear that made him squirm.

“Mum!” Jace protested, laughing despite himself as he tried to pull back, his cheeks already hot.

“Alright, alright,” Kepa called, amused. “Give the boy a moment to breathe, Rhaenyra. You’ll break his bones.”

Rhaenyra turned her head briefly to shoot him a playful glare.

“I’ve been waiting months for this,” she said firmly, turning back to Jace and giving his face one last affectionate squeeze. “I’m allowed to smother my son.”

But Daemon just shook his head.

“You’ll have all our stay to smother him,” he reminded her, his tone dry but his eyes warm, betraying the grin he was holding back. “Can I at least talk to him for a minute?”

Mum sighed dramatically but relented, giving Jace one final affectionate squeeze before stepping aside.

Daemon moved in, his sharp eyes sweeping over Jace as he clapped a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Did you have a good flight?” he asked, his voice gruff and full of concern. “Harwin treating you well?”

“He is,” Jace replied quickly. “And the flight was fine.”

Daemon’s lips twisted slightly as if he didn’t entirely believe him.

Before Jace could elaborate, Daemon pulled him into what could only be described as the world’s fastest hug — a quick squeeze and two solid pats on the back before stepping away. It was enough to make Jace chuckle.

“And that one?” Daemon asked suddenly, his chin jutting toward something behind Jace.

Jace blinked, his eyes widening.

Oh, shit. He’d forgotten about Cregan!

Jace turned sharply to see his boyfriend standing awkwardly near the luggage, trying his best to look unnoticeable while Vermax’s carrier was perched at his feet, and Cregan gave a small wave to his parents, looking as out of place as a direwolf in a dragon’s den.

He stepped away quickly, feeling his face hot. And they’d been speaking in High Valyrian that entire time — his poor boyfriend must have felt completely lost.

“Mum, Kepa,” he began, doing his best to sound composed. “This is my boyfriend, Cregan Stark.”

Cregan offered a polite, albeit tense, smile. Jace glanced nervously between his parents, suddenly hyper-aware of their scrutiny.

“Cregan, this is my mother, Rhaenyra Targaryen,” he gestured toward her. “And my stepfather, Doctor Daemon Targaryen.”

Cregan straightened his posture, offering them both a firm nod before extending his hand.

“It’s an honour to meet you both,” he said, his voice steady but a bit formal. “Jace talks about you all the time.”

Mum stepped forward first, her smile warm but measured, shaking his hand while Daemon lingered behind her, his brow furrowed in his usual intimidating glare.

“And we’ve heard quite a bit about you as well,” she said with a smile, though Jace could hear the implications under that. “It’s so good to finally meet you, Cregan. Welcome.”

Cregan nodded stiffly as she gave his cheek a polite distant kiss.

“Thank you, Mrs Targaryen,” Cregan replied, his stiff politeness almost endearing. “I… admire your work quite a bit.”

Jace cringed internally but couldn’t suppress a small smile. Of course Cregan knew about her modelling career — he’d already confessed he recognised her name before Jace had even told him who his mother was.

Rhaenyra’s smile widened slightly as she leaned in to place a polite kiss on his cheek.

“That’s very kind of you to say.”

“Doctor Targaryen,” he offered a hand to Kepa when mum stepped away.

“Cregan,” Daemon said simply, his tone neutral as he shook the offered hand brieftly. 

Jace held his breath, watching the silent exchange between them, and Daemon’s eyes lingered on Cregan for a moment longer, clearly reading him in a way that only made Jace’s nerves worse.

Finally, Daemon nodded slightly, letting go.

“Welcome,” he said simply.

They all stood there in awkward silence for what felt like ages until Vermax let out a loud, impatient meow from his carrier.

“Oh, and you brought Vermax with you!” Mum exclaimed, her face lighting up instantly. “Let’s get to the car so we can let him out of that box.”

Daemon reached into the box, and Vermax quickly pressed himself to the door for some pets and attention.

They made their way to the car quickly, despite Jace and Cregan’s attempts to help with the luggage, which Daemon waved off with an impatient gesture. Once near it Mum wasted no time unfastening the carrier and letting Vermax out so the box could go over the car. 

“Oh, here’s my baby,” she cooed, scooping the cat into her arms as he meowed in greeting. “Hi, my baby.”

Vermax purred loudly, his fluffy tail swishing contentedly as Mum peppered his head with kisses and scratched behind his ears.

“Who’s my big green kitty?” she murmured in her sing-song voice. “Who’s my big green kitty?”

Jace couldn’t help but smile at the sight, but a small movement beside him drew his attention. Cregan lingered uncertainly by the car, his eyes flicking between the vehicle and Mum.

He glanced into the car, noting the two rows of seats, probably for the whole family to travel together, and Vermax’s seatbelt harness was already set up on the first seat, right in prime view of the window.

“It’s fine,” Jace reassured his boyfriend, giving him an encouraging smile.

But Cregan gave him a very distrustful look, and Jace poked his side.

“I’ll be…” he hesitated, trying to find the right words. “The shield that guards the realms of men.”

He paused. Well.

“…Or, you know, the body of one man.”

That finally earned him a snort of laughter from Cregan.

“You’ll be my Wall,” Cregan teased, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Jace smiled, relieved to see him relax, even just a little.

Cregan returned a small, tentative smile, though he still looked slightly out of his element as he fanned himself with his shirt, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“It’s… sunny here,” he breathed out.

“Oh, the weather in Driftmark is wonderful,” Mum chimed in, adjusting Vermax’s harness and seatbelt with ease. His cat settled into his spot, purring softly. “There was some rain before we came, but it’s going to be a sunny week. I can’t seem to get the little boys out of the pool for a minute.”

Jace’s face softened at the mention of his brothers. He’d missed them so much.

Mum stepped back, giving them both a bit of space, but her warm smile didn’t waver.

“Everyone is very curious to meet you, Cregan,” she said, her tone as inviting as it was pointed. “You’re the first ever partner to visit.”

Jace turned to gauge Cregan’s reaction, only to find his boyfriend raising his eyebrows high enough to nearly disappear into his hairline. His shoulders tensed again, and he cleared his throat.

“Cool,” Cregan said slowly, his voice carrying an unmistakable edge of sarcasm. “No pressure.”

His parents just ignored it, entering the car.  Jace slid in between Vermax and Cregan, and his cat promptly rested his head on his thigh, purring softly, though slightly restrained by the harness.

“What are everyone’s names again?” Cregan whispered through gritted teeth, keeping his voice low.

Jace glanced up, catching his mother's sharp eyes fixed on them through the rearview mirror. They were so piercing it felt like they could cut straight through steel.

When she realised he was looking back at her, she quickly turned her attention elsewhere.

“Baela has the curly hair, Rhaena has the dreadlocks,” Jace began, keeping his voice just as quiet. “Luke’s the oldest with dark hair. Joff is the youngest with dark hair-”

“Named after your other stepfather,” Cregan added in a mutter.

Jace nodded quickly in agreement, continuing without pause.

“Eggy’s the older one with blonde hair and the shy one. Viz is the youngest blonde one, and he never shuts up.”

He smiled a bit thinking of seeing them again. Cregan would get everyone’s names and personalities down in no time.

The drive to the hotel was quick, and Jace took the leash set aside for Vermax – he didn’t really need one, Vermax never once stepped away from Jace's side whenever they went out, but somehow it kept people more comfortable when he did that, so he didn’t mind.

And it made Vermax look cute, which was always good.

Kepa loaded their luggage onto a cart, including Vermax’s empty carrier. They stepped into a lift that took them straight up to the very last floor without stopping. When the doors slid open, they stepped out and waited for the lift door to close, and just then opened the suite door.

The moment it opened, a stampede of cats bolted out into the hall. Syrax, Arrax, Morning, and Moondancer meowed loudly as they rushed toward Jace and Vermax, weaving around their legs and nudging against them with enthusiastic purrs, and Cregan jumped back maybe three steps, so surprised he dropped Jace’s hand.

Syrax, Arrax, Morning and Moondancer all meowed very loudly as they rubbed themselves on Jace and Vermax alike, purring and nudging them.

“Alright, alright,” Mum called, clapping her hands to corral them. “Everyone inside. Inside.”

The cats retreated back into the suite, still meowing their greetings and circling Jace like he was their long-lost favourite person, doing the same to Vermax, as if not knowing who they wanted to see more.

“That’s… a lot of big cats,” Cregan said slowly, his tone a mix of awe and apprehension.

Jace grimaced.

Right, he might have forgotten to mention that everyone had brought their cats along. In his defence, though, Cregan had already been wary of Vermax alone — this level of feline chaos would’ve been too much to explain.

Cregan looked a little pale and shiny as he stared down at the cats weaving around their feet.

“Oh, let me show you the thermostat, Cregan,” Rhaenyra said smoothly, stepping in. “Jace mentioned you might find it warm here. We wouldn’t want you feeling uncomfortable.”

Cregan exhaled audibly, relief flickering across his face. He nodded quickly, gratefully allowing her to guide him toward the control panel.

Jace crouched down to unclip Vermax’s leash as they left. The moment he did, Vermax joined the other cats in their usual happy tangle, all of them rolling and batting at each other on the floor happily.

He was just watching the playful pile with a smile when Syrax suddenly broke away, her sharp meow catching his attention. She darted toward him, leaping onto the couch and then right into his arms, purring loudly.

“Oh, hello, you,” he said warmly, scooping her up with some difficulty. “Hi, Syrax.”

She was the biggest one at home, at least ten kilos bigger than Vermax – Seasmoke was even heavier, if he remembered, which made it a little hard to pick him up without his help, it was why it was important that the cats were trained, they were too big to run wild.

Jace still remembered being a kid and being cuddled by Syrax and groomed like he was one of her kittens, it took him until he was a full teenager to ever be able to pick her up, and she seemed too delighted by it she threw herself into his arms happily now.

Syrax nuzzled her head under his chin, purring as she adjusted herself, licking his skin with her rough tongue very attentively as he felt the air a little cooler, brushing her golden fur.

“They get bigger?” he heard a hiss.

Jace turned at the sharp hiss to find Cregan standing there, wide-eyed and staring at Syrax like she might suddenly double in size. His mouth opened and closed a few times as if the words just wouldn’t come.

He opened and closed his mouth, surprised. Was she really that much bigger than Vermax?

“This is Vermax’s mum,” Jace explained quickly, stroking Syrax’s side. “She’s older. And, yeah… they never really stop growing.”

Cregan blinked, his expression caught between awe and horror.

“It slows down,” Jace added hurriedly. “When they’re adults, and even more when they’re past their reproductive years. But they do keep growing.”

It was the thing with Valyrian pets, they never stopped growing – Grandpa used to tell him about Balerion, and how he was practically 250cm long by the time of his death.

And, of course, the dogs-

“Oh, shit,” he blurted. “I need to tell you about Caraxes and Meleys.”

Valyrian cats were big. Valyrian dogs were huge. Caraxes was a beast compared to the cats.

Jace set Syrax down, petting her through little protests, and she glared at Cregan before finally moving away, moving off of the couch and following her children.

Cregan was still staring at him, eyes wide.

“Ca-what?”

Jace grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to downplay just how intimidating Caraxes could be.

“He’s Kepa’s dog… and, uh, he’s big. Like, really big. He is very protective of the kids and the cats — he kind of thinks we are all his kids, so... yeah. He’s really, really big. And, well... not exactly the most social guy.”

He’d seen it himself plenty of times — Kepa didn’t like strangers, and Caraxes was Kepa’s exact reflection in canine form. The dog wasn’t aggressive, but he sure as hell wasn’t warm to new faces. It was a little unsettling how closely that dog and his stepfather mirrored each other in that regard.

Cregan gulped, eyes darting around the room as if expecting Caraxes to suddenly appear from the shadows.

“How big?”

Jace sighed, unable to find a way to soften the truth.

“About two Vermaxes... and a little more.” He grimaced, rubbing his forehead as he watched Cregan’s face turn a few shades paler. “He’s... um, not a fan of being bothered by new people. But, hey, if you don’t mess with him, he’s cool.”

There was a long pause, and Cregan nodded slowly, still looking a bit unsure, clearly processing the size of the challenge he was about to face.

"Great," he muttered. "Just what I needed."

Jace gave him an apologetic smile, hoping that once Cregan saw Caraxes in action, he’d see he wasn’t nearly as terrifying as he imagined. Though, knowing Caraxes, that would probably be wishful thinking.

“Hey, no running and keep your robes on,” Mum called out from somewhere in the suite. “Your brother isn’t going to disappear if you walk and don’t push anyone out of the way.”

Jace turned just in time to see them — Viserys was already sprinting toward him, a wide grin plastered on his face, and before Jace could say anything, he was already crouching to scoop him up.

“Jace!” Viserys screamed in sheer joy, his arms flailing around as he leapt into his arms arms.

Jace barely managed to hold on as Viz squeezed his neck so tightly, that it almost made him gasp for air.

“Viz Viz!” he exclaimed, balancing him as he felt not one but two impacts around his legs as Eggy and Joff hugged him tightly.

“You’re back! You’re back!” they parroted together.

He tried to reach and hug all of them as they snuggled into him, unable to contain his wide smile, tearing up a little. Yeah, he really missed them.

Harwin’s house was the quietest place he’d ever been in. It was so weird to wake up and go eat and not have his brothers there.

Mum was standing just behind them, a soft smile on her face as she watched the boys swarm him.

“I see you’ve made an impact already,” she teased, but there was a warmth in her voice that made Jace’s heart swell even more.

"Can't even breathe without them trying to suffocate me," Jace joked.

Jace couldn’t help but chuckle as Viserys covered him with wet baby kisses, making his heart grow twice as big. 

He adjusted him in his arms, brushing away a few strands of hair from his own face.

“Let’s sit down, guys,” Jace called out to his little siblings, glancing over at Cregan, who was still standing by the couch, looking amused but a little unsure. “Come on, I have someone I want you to meet.”

The boys followed him as he carefully made his way to the couch, doing his best not to bump into them. Viserys kept clinging to him, almost like he didn’t want to let go, and Jace leaned in, planting a big kiss on his brother’s face, which made the boy giggle and squirm in his arms.

As soon as Jace sat down, Eggy was right there, climbing into his lap to hug him, burying his face against Jace's shoulder and sniffing, and he rubbed his little back gently.

“Hi,” he murmured, “It’s okay, I’m back.”

Viserys pulled away after a moment, allowing Jace to brush Eggy’s hair back, his little brother still holding on tightly, refusing to let go. Eggy whined softly, his small hands gripping Jace's shirt like he might vanish if he didn’t hold on.

“I missed you,” he said, his voice small and earnest, already crying.

Jace squeezed him a little tighter, smiling brightly.

“I missed you too,” he said. “But don’t worry, I’m going to spend a whole week with you guys!”

Eggy’s sobs softened, though he still clung to Jace, crying into his shoulder as Joff came over, wrapping his arms around them in an awkward but sweet hug. He pressed a kiss to Jace’s cheek, and he gave him a smile, half-hugging him as he took a look at him.

“Are you taller?” he asked him, amusing him.

Joff lit up.

“I am!” he affirmed. “Mama said I need new clothes!”

“Look at that!” Jace laughed, rubbing Joff's shoulder with affection. “You’ll be taller than me before I graduate!”

His brother giggled, and he glanced at Cregan, patting Joffrey’s shoulder before rubbing Eggy’s back.

“Hey, look,” he called them. “Look.”

He called Cregan closer with a free hand, and his boyfriend moved to sit in the armchair across from them, eyes fixed on them. Mum stood in the background, keeping a watchful eye over them all.

“Can you sit a bit, Eggy?” Jace asked softly, guiding him to settle on his lap. “It’s okay, you can stay with me.”

It took a moment, but Eggy finally shifted, carefully sitting on Jace’s thigh. Jace kept one arm around him, pulling Viz close with the other and running his fingers through his hair.

“Cregan, these are Joffrey, Aegon, and Viserys,” Jace introduced, gently tapping each boy’s head to indicate who was who. “But we call them Joff, Eggy, and Viz.”

Jace looked at the boys with a smile.

“Boys, this is my boyfriend, Cregan,” he told them.

Cregan softened as he looked at each of the boys, offering a gentle smile before extending his hand for the boys to shake, and Joffrey was the one who took it.

“Hello, Joffrey, Aegon and Viserys,” he said slowly, his voice kind and steady. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Jace looked at them, and Joffrey was quite wide-eyed as he looked at Cregan, seeming surprised.

“How old are you?” Joffrey asked, his curiosity evident in his tone.

Cregan smiled warmly.

“I’m 18,” he replied. “How old are you, Joffrey?”

“I’m nine!” Joff declared proudly, his chest puffing out with the importance of the statement. “And everyone calls me Joff!”

“Of course, Joff,” Cregan corrected himself, smiling.

“I’m three and seven months!” Viz announced suddenly, raising his fingers to show how many months old he was. “But I’ll be four in November, in… in…”

He paused, looking to Mum for confirmation.

“Mama?”

“In five months,” Mum answered with a smile. “You’ll be four in five months.”

“I’ll be four in five months!” Viz repeated with a proud nod. 

Cregan gave him a big genuine smile.

“And you?” he asked, turning his attention to Eggy.

Aegon lowered his gaze shyly, his cheeks tinged pink. Jace brushed his light hair gently, teasing him lightly.

“You’re seven, right?”

Aegon shook his head quickly, his face scrunching up in mild embarrassment.

“No, I’m six!” he corrected quickly and lowered his voice. “I’ll be seven next month.”

“Oh, of course!” Jace feigned embarrassment, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m so sorry, I forgot! What a terrible memory I have!”

Jace grinned, leaning in to kiss Eggy’s chubby cheek gently.

“Will you forgive me?” he asked, his voice soft but teasing.

Eggy nodded enthusiastically, his face now completely free of tears.

“I forgive you,” he affirmed, very sincere.

And just as Jace straightened up, Rhaena and Baela appeared in the doorway, standing by Mum in their robes. They were likely the ones who had been with the boys at the pool, judging by the outfits.

He couldn't help but smile as he gave Eggy a final playful tickle before standing up.

“You got tired of that big ice wall?” Rhaena teased, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug.

Jace chuckled, squeezing her back.

“You got tired of the pool?” he shot back, raising an eyebrow.

Rhaena stepped back, and barely a second later, Baela was there, wrapping her arms around him as well.

“You two took your time to come talk to me,” he taunted them.

“Oh, the sun was too nice to miss,” Baela joked back with a wink. “And it’s not like you weren’t being hoarded by the three rascals.”

She nodded toward the boys, who were still clustered around Jace, their little faces beaming.

Jace laughed, shaking his head.

“I guess I’m popular today,” he said, with a playful shrug.

Baela and Rhaena chuckled, and Jace turned quickly to Cregan’s side as his boyfriend stood, smiling politely.

“Girls, this is Cregan,” he introduced them. “Cregan, these are my sisters Baela and Rhaena.”

His boyfriend nodded politely, shaking their hands, with all the greetings and introductions and all, and Jace looked around.

“Where’s Luke?” he asked. “Is he sleeping?”

Rhaena was the one who piped up quickly.

“Oh, he’s out with grandma,” she told him. “But he’ll be back for dinner.”

…

“bloodbrothers” is a Jacegan modern AU, part of my Keeping Up with the Targaryens series. To have early access to each chapter 3 months before they are posted her and on AO3, consider subscribing to my Patreon. It’s just $2 and I promise you won’t regret it. Chapter 17 is just up 😉.

Tag list is open and +18. DM me to be added.

[frischkasekuchen]

Dreamtalia King-Verse Affection Headcanons

(I was thinking about Carrie again, then I got to thinking about how the boys never really get to express their affections or bond with characters because PLOT-HORROR stuff so I'm just gonna write 'em down! What's listed could be interpeted as romantic or platonic (unless stated otherwise).)

Carrie!World-Nicholas Major (V)

This boy's main love language is acts of service.

You have dishes to do when you get home- done! Forgot to throw the laundry to wash- BAM Nick's taking them out the dryer when you go to the basket. You really need to vacuum/sweep/mop but your back hurts? Nick's re-enacting every Ghibli cleaning montage ever!

Smaller acts of affection include referring to you in conversation as : "my love" (if you're dating), "dove", or "my (Y/N)". Yes, it's possessive. He likes letting others know that you choose to associate with him.

Naps with you, he thinks it's safer that way.

If he ever makes you an outfit- it's over bro- you're not leaving him. Something like that is sign of trust and devotion.

IT!Reve-Fauchereve the Dancing Clown (XVIII)

This eldritch horror is TOUCH-STARVED.

With drinking buddies (C!Vanya) he sticks to the arm around the shoulder or the occasional noogie.

If he considers you a part of his brood(children), expect a lotta forehead kisses and being cradled like a damn infant.

If you're a lover, hohoho- he's hanging off of your arm like a trophy wife (because he's the best wife you're ever gonna have ;3 ), kisses you in public (bystanders better be grateful he saves frenching for the bedroom). BIG TIME cuddler, it don't matter if it's BOILING he is GLOMPING you. Likes hugging you from behind and throwing his arms around your neck; nuzzling abound!

Likes singing to you when you're stressed, it has a calming affect (see: eldritch audible sedative-)

If he desires your presence while occupied with an activity (eg. washing dishes, completing schoolwork so long as you're still) he will cling to your leg or lay his head on one of your thighs. Bonus points if you're doing some form of art (drawing, needlepoint, knitting), he will watch attentively and quietly, he enjoys watching the creative process.

Watches you sleep! :D Since he doesn't sleep sans hibernation, he'll protect you from the Other HorrorsTM.

Calls you by nicknames or petnames, some French some old-fashioned.

Speaks to you in Arcane in vulnerable moments (The Funny Kyo Language)

C!Vanya- The Ram (XV)

Sugar daddy.

Not that he has money. But that jacket you saw in the store window that looked real nice in passing thought- yours. That expensive jewelry you saw in Dior's boutique that you couldn't afford- it's yours now...what do mean the 'where's the receipt?' Don't worry about it!

If Vanya can't steal it acquire it, bet your sweet ass that he fashioned you something better, in his colors.

Let him style your hair, please, it's a wonderful de-stressor and he loves making you feel more beautiful whenever he can.

He is #1 hype man on GOD.

Enjoys hearing about your day, vent to him and he'll see what he can help you with.

Likes taking you stargazing.

A big sign of trust from him is singing in front of you. ('I can't sing-' Mikhail: 'BULLSHEET')

What signals true attachment from Vanya is if he gives you a theme song. (e.g plays a song from his radio when you meet up.)

Nick-naming after a bird- no- this isn't up for debate.

All the boys are mad possessive, so they all get to christen you with a nickname-

[butternuggets-blog]

FOR WANT OF A NAIL

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @wheresthesunshinesblog @adowbaldwin @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont @adarafaelbarba-blog @dogblessyoutascha

Part Fourty-Six

Summary:  Baldwin Montclair had a string of ex girlfriends, a single child, and a  lifetime longer than most people could dream of to make all kinds of  mistakes. His family knew one which kept coming out of the woodwork to  irritate him every other century

Also on AO3

The house had been a whirlwind of activity since Martin had first brought Yvette home. Estienne had spent of his time cooing over the baby and worrying about the list of things that she would need. Josselin had rolled her eyes and gone down into the town, muttering something about over-emotional men.

Sister Rosaline hadn't been able to abandon her duties to join the household as Yvette's wet nurse, but she'd passed on the details of a second woman, Loyse, who had accepted the position. She was off somewhere now, setting up her things and sorting out the belongings of her own son, Jaquob.

Martin smiled. The boy had been hovering over Yvette all day, even letting her sleep on his lap while he held her hand.

Her first friend.

Yvette was awake now, eyes roving over her room. It was, temporarily, in the guest quarters while extensions to his tower were completed. There was a wooden cradle in the middle of the room - oak, covered in tangled vines and small birds - and a basket in the corner for dirty swaddling, but for the moment the room was bare of decoration.

'Do not worry,' Martin said softly, 'We shall have some tapestries cleaned and brought up for you.'

Yvette looked up at him, eyes rolling up immediately to stare at the ceiling then over at the window. Martin brought her over and held her up to the glass.

________________________________________________________________

'For the baby,' Miriam smiled, passing Martin a small wooden box.

Martin had given Yvette a proper Gaul baptism during their ride home. Now he had to pay for a Roman Catholic service to make everything legal and above board.

Matthew leaned over Martin's shoulder as he unboxed a silver spoon. The spoon was carefully engraved with YB, the letters entwined by tiny curlicues. 'That is beautiful!'

Martin leaned in and hugged Miriam. 'Thank you.'

'Of course! Anything for my favourite god-daughter.'

The guests parted behind her as Baldwin stepped through.

'Speaking of favourite god-daughters' Miriam murmured.

Yvette was gazing, enraptured, up at Baldwin as he carried her around. They had taken to each other immediately; Baldwin scooped her up and called her pignora, and Yvette shrieked with laughter for the first time ever and buried a tiny hand in his hair.

She was still playing with it now, winding copper strands through her fingers and watching the light play across them. Baldwin had a pinched expression on his face; as they drew closer Martin could smell why.

'All yours' Yvette cried out as Baldwin passed her to Martin, her big blue eyes filling with tears. Baldwin looked as though he'd been stabbed.

'Let us get you changed and Uncle Baldwin can carry you again' Martin kissed Yvette on the forehead as she started to sob, and went off to look for Loyse.

****

'What has happened?' Baldwin asked, as Matthew and Miriam blurted out 'Are you alright?'

'I asked Loyse to show me how to dress Yvette in case I ever need to in future.' Martin passed Yvette to Baldwin; he looked pale and green at the throat.

'And?' asked Baldwin, pointedly ignoring Miriam's unsublte shakes of the head.

Martin shuddered and turned even paler.

****

Later that evening, after the celebratory feast had died down and the guests had gone to bed, and Yvette had finally been peeled off Baldwin and put to sleep in the new nursery, Martin lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling.

Seeing his best friend holding his daughter, it was like - rītije - Martin swallowed the lump in his throat.

A future so tantalisingly close he could picture it as easily as breathing lay just in front of him on the other side of impossible and it was killing him.

Before, when it was just the two of them, - and isn't that a knife twist into his guts- he could pretend that it was fine, that meaningless hugs and stolen glances were enough to close the chasm in his chest.

Now though...

Now...

Now.

'He loves her too..' Martin rolled over, clenching fists into his pillow as he started to sob.

Author's Notes

From my research into medieval childrearing, it appears that nappies weren't used during the period. Instead, the child's swaddling acted as a kind of onesie plus, both clothing and diaper.

"...The most idiomatic and Roman of endearments is pignus. A pignus is whatever one gives as bond or security for a debt, or to assure appearance in court, good conduct, etc. By extension, a person who is a pignus can serve as a “collateral” or “hostage”—for example, in diplomacy between two states. When applied to children, as it sometimes is in epitaphs, in poetry and other emotive contexts, pignora casts them as “sureties” or “pledges” of the love of the parents, assuring the reality of their marriage. But in such contexts it has no legalistic flavor. Often the best translation is simply “dear ones” rather than something more literal, like “little guarantees.”" - Dickinson College Commentaries

Silver spoons: "In many religions, the christening of a baby is an extremely important occasion and one marked with a good deal of ceremony and hope for the future. It’s the moment shortly after birth where a child is named before their God and welcomed into the church as a newborn.

Many faiths have their own form of christening and celebration, but all these occasions tend to involve buying a gift for the new child. In many cases, this is a silver artefact or nicknack such as a spoon, box or bookmark.

There is a rich history for gifting silver christening spoons and it stretches back to Medieval times, perhaps even before then. The original reason for this was not because silver was a valuable metal but because it could help ward off evil and protect the child. The spoon later became a way to wish a child health and prosperity for the future and was highly symbolic.

As silver became a more valuable commodity, its gifting was more generally seen as a matter of prestige. It said something about your status in life and who you were. This is where the phrase ‘born with a silver spoon in their mouth’ came from, with all its negative connotations.

Today, giving a silver christening spoon remains part of the tradition and is usually given by a close family member such as a godfather or mother, brother or sister. The spoon can vary in design from the very ornate to a simple motif but it is normally engraved with the initials of the recipient child." - Edinburgh Silver

rītije/o - copulate (I'm using this as a stand-in for 'fuck' because the Proto-Celtic word list, which sadly is no longer available online, didn't have 'fuck' on the list).

[thelocalguyscleaning0]

Sparkling Farewells: Cleaning Homes with Care

The Significance of a Spotless Departure

Moving out of a home marks the end of one chapter and the beginning of another, a bittersweet transition filled with memories and possibilities. Yet, amidst the packing and planning, there’s a task that looms large—leaving the space as pristine as when you arrived. This is where end of lease cleaning and house cleaners Rotorua step in, transforming a daunting chore into a seamless farewell. In Rotorua, New Zealand, a city cradled by geothermal wonders and serene lakes, the art of cleaning takes on a special meaning, ensuring homes are handed over in impeccable condition. This article delves into how these services weave practicality with peace of mind, making every exit a clean slate.

A thorough clean isn’t just about courtesy—it’s often a legal and financial necessity. Lease agreements typically require tenants to restore the property to its original state, a standard that can influence the return of a deposit. For landlords, a spotless home attracts new occupants quickly, maintaining the property’s value. Whether you’re a tenant aiming to impress or a homeowner preparing for the next resident, professional cleaning becomes the bridge between past and future, a final act of care for a space that once held life.

The Precision of End of Lease Cleaning

End of lease cleaning is no ordinary tidy-up—it’s a meticulous process designed to meet strict standards. This service goes beyond surface dusting, diving into the nooks and crannies that everyday cleaning might overlook. Think of ovens scrubbed free of grease, carpets steamed to lift stubborn stains, and windows polished to a streak-free shine. It’s a deep clean that erases traces of occupancy, leaving behind a blank canvas for whoever comes next. In Rotorua, where homes often contend with volcanic dust and humid air, this level of detail is especially crucial.

The process begins with a checklist tailored to lease requirements—walls wiped of scuff marks, skirting boards dusted, and bathrooms sanitized until they gleam. Professionals tackle high-traffic areas with specialized tools, ensuring floors are free of wear and tear’s telltale signs. They address the unexpected, too, like mildew in damp corners or cobwebs in forgotten ceiling edges. For tenants, this means confidence that their deposit is secure; for property managers, it’s assurance that the home meets move-in-ready expectations. It’s a labor-intensive farewell, but one that pays off in satisfaction and savings.

House Cleaners Rotorua: Local Expertise at Work

In Rotorua, cleaning is more than a job—it’s an art form honed by the region’s unique environment. House cleaners Rotorua bring a local touch to their craft, understanding how the area’s geothermal activity and lush surroundings shape a home’s needs. The sulfur-rich air can leave a fine residue on surfaces, while the damp climate invites mold if left unchecked. These cleaners come armed with knowledge and experience, tackling these challenges with precision and care.

Their work extends beyond lease endings, offering regular maintenance or one-off spruce-ups, but their role in move-out scenarios is particularly vital. They arrive with eco-friendly products and industrial-grade equipment, ready to refresh every room. Kitchens, often the heart of a home, get special attention—stoves sparkle, benchtops shine, and cupboards are left odor-free. Living spaces are revitalized, with upholstery vacuumed and wooden floors buffed to a warm glow. It’s a transformation that reflects Rotorua’s pride in its homes, ensuring they stand as welcoming as the city’s famous geysers and hot springs.

A Partnership in Transition

The synergy between end of lease cleaning and house cleaners Rotorua creates a seamless handover. Tenants benefit from a service that aligns with their lease terms, while landlords gain a property ready to rent without delay. This partnership thrives on communication—cleaners consult with clients to understand specific needs, whether it’s focusing on a stained carpet or a grimy garage. They adapt to tight timelines, often completing jobs in a single day, so moving day stays on track.

This collaboration also eases the emotional load of leaving. Packing up a life is stressful enough without scrubbing tiles or climbing ladders to clean light fixtures. Handing the reins to professionals lets tenants focus on their next adventure, while landlords rest easy knowing their investment is in good hands. It’s a shared effort that turns a potentially chaotic exit into a smooth transition, leaving both parties with a sense of closure and a job well done.

Overcoming Rotorua’s Cleaning Challenges

Cleaning in Rotorua comes with distinct hurdles. The geothermal environment deposits fine ash that settles into crevices, while humidity fosters mold in poorly ventilated spaces. House cleaners Rotorua rise to these challenges, using techniques that combat the elements—like HEPA-filtered vacuums for dust and anti-mold treatments for bathrooms. End of lease cleaning in this region demands extra vigilance, ensuring every trace of occupancy is erased despite nature’s interference.

Time constraints add another layer of complexity. Move-out deadlines often clash with rental inspections, leaving little room for error. Cleaners work efficiently, prioritizing high-impact areas like kitchens and bathrooms while still tending to details like switch plates and door frames. Their familiarity with Rotorua’s housing styles—bungalows, modern flats, or lakeside retreats—means they know where dirt hides and how to banish it. It’s a dance of skill and speed, choreographed to perfection.

[windowcleaningbelfast1]

Cleaning High-Rise Windows: Safety Measures and Techniques

Cleaning high-rise windows presents unique challenges, particularly concerning safety and technique. As buildings soar higher, maintaining the clarity and cleanliness of their windows becomes crucial not only for aesthetic appeal but also for ensuring the longevity of the structure. In this blog, we will explore the essential safety measures and techniques involved in high-rise window cleaning, with a focus on how professional window cleaning services in Belfast can address these needs. We’ll also touch on how office cleaning in Belfast can benefit from understanding these high-rise cleaning practices.

The Challenges of High-Rise Window Cleaning

High-rise window cleaning involves several specific challenges that require careful planning and execution:

Height and Accessibility

Safety Risks: Cleaning windows on tall buildings involves working at significant heights, which introduces various safety risks. Proper safety measures are essential to prevent accidents and ensure the well-being of the cleaning crew.

Specialised Equipment: Reaching high windows requires specialised equipment, such as harnesses, ropes, and scaffolding, to safely access and clean the windows.

Weather Conditions

Impact of Weather: Weather conditions can greatly affect the safety and effectiveness of high-rise window cleaning. Wind, rain, and extreme temperatures can pose risks and impact the cleaning process.

Window Type and Condition

Varied Designs: High-rise buildings often feature different types of windows, such as tinted or double-glazed, each of which may require specific cleaning techniques and solutions.

Essential Safety Measures

Use of Personal Protective Equipment (PPE)

Harnesses and Safety Gear: Cleaners working on high-rise buildings must wear appropriate PPE, including harnesses, helmets, and safety gloves. These items help protect against falls and other hazards.

Regular Inspections: Safety equipment should be regularly inspected and maintained to ensure it functions properly during cleaning operations.

Proper Training

Qualified Personnel: Only trained and qualified professionals should undertake high-rise window cleaning. Proper training ensures that cleaners are familiar with the equipment, safety procedures, and techniques necessary for safe and effective window cleaning.

Emergency Preparedness

Safety Protocols: High-rise window cleaning companies should have emergency procedures in place in case of accidents or unforeseen incidents. This includes having first aid kits and communication systems ready for emergencies.

Rigorous Equipment Checks

Maintenance of Equipment: Equipment such as ropes, harnesses, and scaffolding must be rigorously checked and maintained to ensure their safety and functionality.

Techniques for Effective High-Rise Window Cleaning

Water-Fed Pole Systems

Advanced Technology: Water-fed pole systems use purified water to clean windows without the need for ladders or scaffolding. This method is particularly useful for high-rise buildings, as it allows cleaners to reach windows safely from the ground.

Efficiency: These systems are efficient and effective, reducing the need for traditional cleaning methods and minimising the risk associated with high-rise window cleaning.

Swing Stages and Cradles

Suspended Platforms: Swing stages and cradles are suspended platforms that provide a safe and stable working environment for cleaners. They are commonly used for high-rise window cleaning, allowing access to large areas of windows.

Precise Cleaning: These platforms offer precise control and movement, enabling cleaners to thoroughly clean windows with minimal disruption.

Abseiling Techniques

Rope Access: Abseiling techniques involve descending from the roof using ropes and harnesses. This method is often used when other access methods are not feasible. It requires skilled technicians who can safely manoeuvre and clean windows from a hanging position.

Flexibility: Abseiling provides flexibility in accessing difficult-to-reach areas and is suitable for various high-rise building designs.

Automated Systems

Robotic Cleaners: Some high-rise buildings use robotic window cleaners equipped with advanced technology to perform the cleaning tasks. These systems can operate autonomously and are especially useful for large glass facades.

Innovation: Automated systems represent the cutting edge of high-rise window cleaning technology, providing efficiency and consistency.

The Role of Professional Window Cleaning Services in Belfast

For buildings in Belfast, professional window cleaning services offer several advantages when it comes to high-rise window cleaning:

Expertise and Equipment

Specialised Services: Professional window cleaning services in Belfast are equipped with the latest technology and safety gear, ensuring a high standard of cleaning and adherence to safety protocols.

Experienced Technicians: Trained professionals bring expertise in handling high-rise cleaning challenges and using the appropriate techniques for different window types and conditions.

Efficiency and Quality

Thorough Cleaning: Professional services ensure that high-rise windows are cleaned thoroughly and efficiently, enhancing the building’s appearance and maintaining its value.

Regular Maintenance: Scheduled cleaning by professionals helps maintain the condition of windows and prevents the buildup of grime and damage.

Office Cleaning in Belfast: Incorporating High-Rise Techniques

For offices located in high-rise buildings, understanding high-rise window cleaning techniques can improve overall office cleaning practices:

Comprehensive Cleaning Plans

Integrated Services: Office cleaning services in Belfast can benefit from integrating high-rise window cleaning techniques into their regular cleaning schedules, ensuring a comprehensive approach to maintaining office cleanliness.

Aesthetic Appeal: Clean windows contribute to a professional and inviting office environment, which can positively impact employee morale and client impressions.

Conclusion

Cleaning high-rise windows requires a combination of safety measures and specialised techniques to ensure effective and safe cleaning. Whether you’re a building manager or a homeowner in Belfast, understanding these practices and considering professional window cleaning services can greatly benefit your property. From water-fed pole systems to automated cleaning technologies, the right approach ensures sparkling windows and a fresh start for your high-rise building.

For top-notch results and safety assurance, professional window cleaning services in Belfast provide the expertise and equipment needed for a flawless finish. Embrace these advanced techniques and safety practices to keep your high-rise windows looking their best.

[peachyynotesapp]

A Man's Job

[this is an original short story i wrote for a class, please enjoy!]

Nick rubs at the scruff on his face as he reads over the letter he’s been anxiously waiting for these past two weeks.

            Nicholas Fender,

We at the Missouri Department of Social Services recognize your request for supplemental income for nutritional assistance. At this time, we are unable to accept your application, due to—

He crumples the letter and shoves it in his pocket, swallowing back his disappointed sighs and the frustration that bubbles up in his chest. Bethie didn’t need to hear it; she didn’t need any reason to stress.

“Nick? You down here?”

Nick wipes the grease from his calloused hands on his work trousers; Bethie hated when he tracked his dirt and grime from the auto shop around her perfectly spotless house. He straightens the collar of his polo uniform shirt, walking over to see Sweet Bethie waddling down the stairs, her soft and dainty hands cupping her swollen belly. He instinctively holds his hands out to help her, but she waves off his efforts at chivalry and continues to slowly sidestep her way down to him. She walks right past him once she’s made it down the stairs, ignoring his outstretched arms and heading straight for the kitchen.

“Did you get the tea I asked for?”

Nick scolds himself mentally for his forgetfulness, pushing aside the lingering doubt that he wouldn’t have enough cash to buy the tea anyway, had he remembered.

“No, baby. ‘M sorry. Store was out again.”

Bethie turns to look at him with her delicate features twisted into an irritated scowl. He couldn’t blame her; it was the same excuse he’d given for the last three weeks now. Her eyes were still the same wideset blue-green ovals he’d loved since he was fourteen, but they held none of the warmth from back in those days. Sixteen-year-old Bethie, the girl who lived in the apartment down the street, the girl who rode her bike too fast down busy roads, the girl who spent ages in the sun during the Missouri heatwaves, her porcelain skin dotted with peach-colored freckles that never seemed to get tan before it would burn. Sweet Bethie always put her long red curls in a ponytail; she didn’t like the way they’d get frizzy in the humidity. The woman who stood in front of him now held only glimpses of the girl he loved back then. Her pale skin was still freckled, her red curls were still frizzy, but her eyes were duller now. She looked exhausted, cradling her belly like it held a curse, rather than a blessing.

Nick glanced away from her piercing gaze, staring at his dirty work boots he’d forgotten to remove at the door. He could feel it coming, the yelling, the bitterness, the frustration, the disappointment. He knew exactly what she’d say, exactly what she always said:

I ask so little of you, Nick!

I’m stuck here, day after day, can’t you at least give me the satisfaction of clean floors and hot tea?

I wish I’d married Peter Breckage instead. He’s a realtor now, you know that? Well off, too. At least he’d be able to get me the tea I like.

That last one she’d never really said before, not aloud. But Nick knew she thought it, every time they’d drive past his big fancy sign over his big fancy office, shiny glass windows and shiny marble floors. All Peter Breckage was missing was a throne.

It was as though Bethie could hear his thoughts at this moment, her expression shifting to one indiscernible to Nick. He was in the center of a twister, the wind spiraling around him and Bethie, destroying her perfect and beautiful home he couldn’t afford. Her voice was low and stern, as though she was scolding him while holding their unborn child in her hands, yet another perfect and beautiful financial burden Nick couldn’t carry.

“Peter’s secretary called again today. She said he wants an answer by Friday. I don’t understand why you can’t just—”

“I won’t work for that ignorant, pompous, self-righteous bastard.”

“How could you say that, Nick? He’s only trying to help. He knows that business at the shop’s been down, he only wants to—”

Those words felt like knives. Nick felt his anger bubbling up in his chest, he clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as he attempted to restrain himself from lashing out. His father was an angry man, his father’s father was even angrier. Generations of wives to the Fender men had been miserable and beaten down, sometimes literally, and Nick wanted—needed—to be better. He stared back at his dirty work boots, feeling his rage simmering down and turning to something deeper, something he didn’t want Bethie to see.

He muttered an excuse towards his wife, ignored the way she sniffled in response and quietly pleaded he’d stay. He retreated from her sanctuary of cleanliness, driving his beat-up old truck to the same liquor store he snuck beers from when he was too young to buy them properly. He scoffed as he passed Peter Breckage’s shiny palace of glass and marble, the beers in his passenger seat clattering together as he drove down the dirt path to the lakefront. He parked and made his way to the willow tree next to the water, his heavy work boots barely making a sound in the soft dirt and overgrown grass.

Back against the trunk, bark scraping against his polo, beers resting unopened by his foot, it was now that he let himself breathe. No one was here to listen as he sniffed and sobbed quietly, the guilt and the doubt squeezing his chest as hot tears fell down his cheeks, streaking the dirt and the oil that seemed to never go away. It was here, sitting under this willow tree, listening to the croaking bullfrogs and swish of the wind in the cattails, that Nick let his cracked armor fall away.

It must’ve been hours before he sighed and stood from the ground, picking up the unopened six-pack and dusting off his work trousers. He turns and is met with the headlights of a taxi, the passenger door opening, and Sweet Bethie doing her best to rush to him from the car, clutching her belly with one hand as she waves off the driver. Her wideset blue-green eyes are filled with concern and urgency, her tear-stained cheeks are flushed as she carefully holds his face in her hands, turning his head slightly as she looks him over, asking a multitude of questions about how much he drank, if he was harmed, what the hell was he thinking. Nick’s mind was silent for the first time in ages, he had no answer good enough. He stares at her for a moment before his gaze lowers to her belly, his hands shaking slightly as he carefully runs them over her bump. Tears are spilling down his cheeks again, unable to be held back any longer as he whispers countless apologies to Sweet Bethie and his unborn child. Bethie furrows her brows in confusion, urging Nick to explain.

“I’ve failed to care for you. It’s a man’s job to provide for his wife, for his children, and I’ve failed. I’ve failed as a man, as a husband, as a father.”

Bethie doesn’t respond with words, for there are no words in the English language that could heal generations of unspoken insecurity and guilt, no words that could remove the burden of responsibility Nick had carried alone for so long. Bethie only smiles and wraps her arms around him, holding him close to her, running her fingers through his hair as she kisses him. It was a simple action, but it was enough. For the first time in far too long, Sweet Bethie was the girl he met when she was sixteen, and Nick was the fourteen-year-old boy who loved her.

[mcphersonwindowcleaning]

Window Cleaning for Commercial

Our team of specialists will determine the best option on your property; whether or not that be a cherry picker, water-fed pole, or abseil window cleaning. A technician can arrive to do his window cleaning company on any workday, weekend, and even on official holidays. On buildings where it’s possible to affix pulleys, cradle cleaning can often be the right option. We also present business window cleansing throughout the relaxation and have operatives that reside and work in the nearby towns and villages - commercial window cleaning services Melbourne.

With so many industrial window cleaners out there, it's sometimes not apparent if you're paying an excessive amount. We use trusted outsourced companions to offer prime quality window cleaning companies. Each contract is particular person and we’ll be sure that it matches the phrases of different agreements we now have together. If you may have determined to rent skilled window cleaners to wash the home windows in your premises, there are some components you need to think about in the course of the vetting course of. This course of is pretty much like the method of choosing the proper business workplace cleaning company which we now have a comprehensive article about - high rise window cleaning services Melbourne.

Keeping up the quality of your view is important, especially if investors, business partners, or other cohorts are around. If an investor is used to pristine windows and a crystal-clear view, they will likely notice your smudges, dirt, or other obstructions on-sight. We provide personnel to clean your windows on an as-needed basis, as often as you’d like. Your windows will color the way you see the rest of the world around the building. Considering the average worker spends ten hours per day or more inside, that’s a huge deal. We get it done properly the first time.

High-rise and Low-rise window cleaning have been historically treacherous tasks. We’ve equipped our teams with the best gear and tools available and we ensure every employee keeps their training fresh. Because no risk is acceptable if steps can be taken to mitigate it. And you deserve to see a sparkling city every day. For more information, please visit our site https://mcphersonwindowcleaning.com.au/

[jtworxptyltd]

Elevate Safety: The Crucial Role of Height Safety Services in Elevated Work Environments

Safety is paramount in any work environment, but the importance of maintaining safe conditions is amplified when it comes to elevated work settings. Whether it's construction projects, high rise window cleaning, or maintenance work on tall structures, ensuring the safety of workers in these environments is non-negotiable.

This blog will delve into the significance of height safety services in Sydney and their role in safeguarding individuals in elevated work settings.

Specifically, we'll explore the understanding of height safety services, the associated risks and hazards, the benefits of professional services, the focus on high rise window cleaning, regulations and standards, and choosing the right height safety service provider.

Understanding Height Safety Services

Height safety services encompass a range of measures and protocols designed to prevent accidents and injuries in elevated work environments. These services involve specialised equipment, such as harnesses, lanyards, and anchor points, along with safety systems like guardrails and fall arrest devices. These services aim to mitigate the risks associated with working at heights and ensure the well-being of individuals involved in such tasks.

Proper training and certification for workers in elevated work environments are critical components of height safety services Sydney, as they equip individuals with the knowledge and skills necessary to navigate these settings safely.

Risks and Hazards in Elevated Work Environments

Working at heights presents various risks, including falls, equipment malfunctions, and environmental factors such as strong winds and slippery surfaces. The potential consequences of accidents or falls in elevated work settings can be severe, ranging from injuries to fatalities. Statistics on workplace incidents related to inadequate height safety measures underscore the urgency of addressing these hazards effectively. Recognising these risks and taking proactive measures to mitigate them through comprehensive height safety services is imperative.

Benefits of Professional Height Safety Services

Professional height safety services are pivotal in accident prevention and risk mitigation. By engaging experienced and knowledgeable professionals, businesses and project managers can ensure proper safety protocols are in place, reducing the likelihood of workplace incidents. Moreover, professional services contribute to compliance with safety regulations and standards, providing peace of mind for all stakeholders involved. Case studies and success stories serve as compelling evidence of the positive impact that professional height safety services have on creating a secure working environment at heights.

Focus on High Rise Window Cleaning

High rise window cleaning presents unique challenges and risks, necessitating specialised equipment and techniques to ensure the safety of workers. The use of rope access systems, powered platforms, and cradles is expected in this context, highlighting the need for expert height safety services. Partnering with reputable height safety service providers is crucial for high rise window cleaning Sydney projects, as their expertise and commitment to safety are instrumental in executing these tasks securely and efficiently.

Regulations and Standards for Height Safety

Various regulations, codes, and standards govern height safety services, outlining the requirements and best practices for ensuring a safe work environment at heights. Staying updated with these industry guidelines is essential for businesses and individuals involved in elevated work settings, as it reflects a commitment to prioritising safety and adhering to legal and ethical obligations.

Choosing the Right Height Safety Service Provider

Several factors merit consideration when selecting a height safety service provider. Expertise, experience, and a strong commitment to safety should be at the forefront of the decision-making process. Asking pertinent questions about the provider's track record, approach to safety, and comprehensiveness of services can offer valuable insights into their suitability for a particular project.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the significance of prioritising safety in elevated work settings cannot be overstated. Height safety services are indispensable in mitigating risks, preventing accidents, and ensuring the well-being of individuals working at heights. Whether it's high rise window cleaning or construction projects, the value that professional height safety services Sydney bring to creating a secure working environment is undeniable. By embracing these services and partnering with reputable providers, businesses and project managers can uphold the highest safety standards, fostering a culture of security and responsibility in elevated work environments.

Source From: Elevate Safety: The Crucial Role of Height Safety Services in Elevated Work Environments

[arunima123]

Maintaining Excellence: The Comprehensive Guide to Building Cleaning Services in Abu Dhabi

Abu Dhabi, the capital city of the United Arab Emirates, stands as a testament to modernity and architectural splendor. The towering structures that adorn its skyline are not just marvels of engineering but also symbols of progress. However, maintaining these architectural masterpieces requires meticulous care and attention, especially in a region where the climate can be challenging. This is where building cleaning services in Abu Dhabi play a pivotal role in ensuring that the city continues to shine.

 The Crucial Role of Building Cleaning Services

Abu Dhabi's skyline is characterized by skyscrapers, gleaming glass facades, and avant-garde structures. However, the harsh desert climate, with its frequent sandstorms and high temperatures, can take a toll on these buildings. Dust, grime, and pollutants settle on surfaces, diminishing the visual appeal of these architectural wonders. This is where professional building cleaning services step in.

Building cleaning services Abu Dhabi, are not just about aesthetic enhancements. Regular cleaning and maintenance contribute to the longevity of structures. Professional cleaners utilize state-of-the-art equipment and environmentally friendly cleaning agents to ensure that buildings remain pristine without causing harm to the environment or the occupants.

 Understanding the Building Cleaning Process

Maintaining excellence in building cleaning involves a comprehensive approach that covers both the interior and exterior of structures. Here's a breakdown of the key aspects involved:

 1. Exterior Cleaning:

   - Facade Cleaning: High-rise buildings require specialized techniques for cleaning their exteriors. Rope access and cradle systems are commonly used to reach every corner and surface of the facade.

   - Window Cleaning: Crystal-clear windows are essential for an unobstructed view of Abu Dhabi's breathtaking skyline. Professional cleaners employ high-reach systems and tools to ensure windows are spotless.

   - Pressure Washing: The sandstorms prevalent in Abu Dhabi can leave exterior surfaces covered in a layer of dust. Pressure washing is an effective method to remove stubborn dirt and restore the building's original shine.

 2. Interior Cleaning:

   - Floor and Surface Cleaning: Marble and granite are popular flooring choices in Abu Dhabi's buildings. Professional cleaners use specialized techniques and cleaning agents to maintain the pristine condition of these surfaces.

   - Carpet Cleaning: Carpets in commercial spaces can accumulate dust and allergens. Thorough cleaning using steam or dry methods ensures a healthy indoor environment.

   - HVAC System Cleaning: The desert climate can strain air conditioning systems. Regular cleaning and maintenance of HVAC systems are crucial for maintaining indoor air quality and energy efficiency.

 Pest Control Services in UAE: A Necessary Companion

While building cleaning services focus on maintaining the physical aesthetics and cleanliness of structures, pest control services in UAE are equally essential. Abu Dhabi's warm climate provides an ideal breeding ground for various pests, including ants, cockroaches, and rodents. Ignoring pest control can lead to not only structural damage but also health hazards for occupants.

 1. Ant Pest Control:

   - Identification: Ants are common pests in the UAE, attracted to food sources. Professional pest control companies employ advanced techniques to identify the ant species and determine the most effective treatment.

   - Baiting and Treatment: Targeted baiting and insecticide treatments are used to eliminate ant colonies. This ensures a long-term solution to the ant infestation problem.

 2. Cockroach Control:

   - Inspection: Cockroaches thrive in warm and humid environments. Pest control experts conduct thorough inspections to identify hiding spots and breeding grounds.

   - Chemical Treatments: Effective insecticides are applied to eradicate cockroaches. In some cases, baiting systems may also be employed to eliminate colonies.

 3. Rodent Control:

   - Exclusion and Trapping: Rodents can pose serious threats to buildings. Pest control services employ exclusion methods to seal entry points and strategically place traps to capture and remove rodents.

   - Sanitation Measures: Pest control experts also provide recommendations for maintaining a clean environment to deter rodents from returning.

 Finding Pest Control Near You

In the modern era of technology, finding pest control services has never been easier. A simple online search using keywords like "pest control near me" can yield a list of reputable companies in Abu Dhabi. However, it's crucial to choose a company with a proven track record and certified technicians.

 Key Considerations When Hiring Pest Control Services:

   - Experience: Look for companies with a substantial track record in pest control services in the UAE. Experienced technicians are more likely to provide effective solutions.

   - Certifications: Ensure that the pest control company is licensed and certified by relevant authorities. This ensures compliance with industry standards and regulations.

   - Customer Reviews: Reading reviews from previous clients provides insights into the effectiveness and reliability of a pest control service.

   - Customized Solutions: The best pest control services tailor their solutions to the specific needs of the client and the nature of the pest infestation.

 Building Maintenance: A Holistic Approach

Maintaining excellence in building cleanliness and pest control goes beyond periodic cleaning and treatment. It requires a proactive and holistic approach to building maintenance. Regular inspections, preventive measures, and strategic planning are essential components of this approach.

 Benefits of a Holistic Building Maintenance Approach:

   - Cost Savings: Proactive maintenance helps identify and address issues before they escalate, potentially saving significant repair costs.

   - Enhanced Property Value: Well-maintained buildings retain their value and appeal, contributing to a positive perception among residents, tenants, and investors.

   - Health and Safety: Regular cleaning and pest control contribute to a healthy and safe indoor environment for occupants.

   - Sustainability: Environmentally conscious cleaning practices and integrated pest management contribute to sustainable building maintenance.

 Conclusion

In the dynamic landscape of Abu Dhabi, where architectural brilliance meets the challenges of the desert environment, maintaining excellence in building cleanliness and pest control is non-negotiable. The comprehensive guide presented here underscores the importance of professional building cleaning services and  pest control near me measures in preserving the beauty and integrity of the city's structures. As Abu Dhabi continues to evolve, a commitment to holistic building maintenance ensures that the city's skyline remains a beacon of modernity and sustainability.

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How Cleaning Companies Operate in Qatar

Cleaning companies in Qatar provide a range of cleaning services to individuals, businesses, and institutions. The services they offer are aimed at maintaining cleanliness, hygiene, and a pleasant environment. Here are some of the common services provided by cleaning companies in Qatar:

Residential Cleaning: These companies offer cleaning services for homes, apartments, and villas. They typically include tasks like dusting, vacuuming, mopping, kitchen and bathroom cleaning, and changing bed linens.

Commercial Cleaning: Cleaning companies in Qatar cater to businesses, offices, and commercial spaces. They provide services such as daily or periodic cleaning, floor maintenance, restroom sanitation, and window cleaning.

Industrial Cleaning: This involves cleaning factories, warehouses, and industrial facilities. It often requires specialized equipment and expertise to handle heavy machinery, high ceilings, and unique challenges specific to industrial settings.

Carpet and Upholstery Cleaning: Cleaning companies offer deep cleaning services for carpets, rugs, and upholstery. This may include steam cleaning, stain removal, and fabric protection.

Window Cleaning: Window cleaning services include cleaning exterior and interior windows of residential and commercial buildings. This can be particularly important for maintaining the appearance of high-rise buildings.

Deep Cleaning: Some companies offer deep cleaning services, which involve a more thorough and detailed cleaning of a space. This may be suitable for post-construction cleaning, moving in/out cleaning, or preparing a space for a special event.

Specialized Cleaning: Cleaning companies may offer specialized services, such as cleaning for medical facilities, schools, gyms, or other specialized environments. These services often require specific knowledge of industry standards and regulations.

Janitorial Services: Janitorial services are typically contracted for ongoing cleaning and maintenance of commercial and office spaces. This may include daily or nightly cleaning, restroom restocking, and waste management.

External and Facade Cleaning: Cleaning companies also offer services for the exterior of buildings, including high-rise and skyscrapers. They use equipment like cradles, lifts, or rope access techniques to clean building facades.

Post-Construction Cleaning: After construction or renovation projects, cleaning companies can perform a thorough cleanup to remove dust, debris, and construction-related mess.

Special Event Cleaning: For events like conferences, exhibitions, or weddings, cleaning companies can ensure that venues are clean and well-maintained before, during, and after the event.

Hazardous Waste Cleaning: Some cleaning companies are equipped to handle hazardous materials, such as biohazard cleanup or chemical spills, following strict safety protocols.

Cleaning companies in Qatar may offer a combination of these services and tailor their offerings to meet the specific needs of their clients. The services provided can range from one-time deep cleaning to ongoing maintenance contracts, depending on the requirements of the clients and the type of property or facility being serviced.

Blog Source - QatarsTalk.com

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A Building Maintenance Unit (BMU), also called a BMU cradle/gantry/gondola, is the best solution to ensure all-round access for high-rises and other uniquely designed structures. Window cleaning cradles are a type of BMU. Check out this article to know why a bespoke BMU system will always work for you. https://bit.ly/3eXEaxh

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Reach And Wash System- A New Technique For Effective Cleaning Of High-Rise Windows

There are different types of cleaning services such as power washing, window cleaning, carpet cleaning and so much more. Reach and wash cleaning services come under window cleaning in which high-rise windows are cleaned from the ground by using telescopic poles. Cleaning windows at a height has always been an occupational hazard and not many people are trained for performing this task. However, cleaning windows is very essential as they make up the entire outlook of a building. And obviously, a building which has dirty windows will not give a very good impression to the passerby. Especially if you are business, then it is very important for you to have squeaky clean windows.

How does the reach and wash process works?

Even the cleaners have a right of working safely and Reach and wash cleaning process is very common in London. In this telescopic poles are used for cleaning high-rise windows. The telescopic poles have soft bristles attached to them and should have a stable water connection. For the windows to be effectively cleaned the bristles must be of good quality. The first step is spraying the windows with pure water and with the help of bristles scrubbing off any dirt or debris that is stuck on the window glass. After the glass has been properly cleaned, then use jets of pure water for cleaning any residues which might have been left behind.

Usually, when the windows are cleaned manually, they are first washed with a dish soap cleaning liquid and after that, the glass is cleaned with water, it does not matter whether pure or not. But the final touches are given by cleaning the windows with a dry cloth. However, in the case of cleaning with telescopic poles, we cannot clean the windows with a dry cloth hence we use pure water. Pure water makes sure that it cleans all the impurities and leaves a spot-free finish with no residues left behind. Provides safer cleaning:

This system is becoming very popular amongst cleaners not because it efficiently cleans the windows but also because it is the safest way of window cleaning. Cleaning a window that reaches the height of 80 ft. with a ladder is not the safest and reliable method. Whilst cleaning a window with a ladder, there are a variety of things which can go wrong like the window cleaner could slip off the ladder or the ladder can break or the cleaner forgot some cleaning product on the ground for which he would have to go back and so on. Also, it is not the most efficient or fastest way of cleaning windows. Hence, the majority of the window cleaners are shifting to reach and wash cleaning method which is fast as well as efficient.

Reach and Wash cleaning professionals:

The reach and wash term is not only used for window cleaning but it also used by cleaning professionals for the deep cleaning of a property. In this, the cleaning professionals clean dirt from the floors which have not been frequently cleaned before and bring back their original beauty. You can avail reach and wash cleaning services for cleaning hard surfaces such as tiles, marble, and hardwood floors.