#curtain cleaners london

[vipcarpetcleaninglondon]

Give Your Curtains a Fresh New Look with Professional Curtain Cleaning

Curtains are expensive to replace, but with professional curtain cleaning from Vip Carpet Cleaning London. You can restore your curtains to look fresh and vibrant again at a fraction of the cost. Read more

[kensingtonpark1]

Dry Cleaning Pickup and Delivery Service in Kensington: A Comprehensive Guide by Kensington Park Dry Cleaners

In today’s fast-paced world, juggling work, family, and personal time often leaves little room for household chores, including laundry. Fortunately, Kensington Park Dry Cleaners offers a convenient solution with their dry cleaning pickup and delivery service in Kensington. This service is designed to save you time and effort, ensuring your clothes are professionally cleaned and returned right to your doorstep.

Why Choose Kensington Park Dry Cleaners?

Kensington Park Dry Cleaners is a well-established name in the laundry and dry cleaning industry, known for its premium service and attention to detail. Whether you need your business attire, delicate garments, or household items cleaned, they have the expertise to handle it all. Their laundry service in Kensington is tailored to meet the specific needs of busy individuals and families, providing a seamless experience from start to finish.

Key Features of the Service:

Convenient Pickup and Delivery  Forget about making trips to the dry cleaners. With Kensington Park Dry Cleaners’ dry cleaning pickup and delivery service, you can schedule a time for collection and return that suits your schedule. You don’t even have to be home — just leave your items in a designated spot for collection, and they will be returned to the same location, freshly cleaned and pressed.

Expert Cleaning Techniques  From delicate fabrics like silk and wool to everyday cotton, Kensington Park Dry Cleaners use advanced cleaning techniques to ensure your clothes are treated with the utmost care. Their experienced team uses environmentally friendly cleaning solutions, ensuring your garments are fresh, clean, and safe to wear.

Comprehensive Laundry and Dry Cleaning Services  The service goes beyond just dry cleaning. Kensington Park Dry Cleaners offers a full suite of laundry services, including washing, ironing, and folding. Whether it’s your casual wear or special occasion outfits, their attention to detail ensures your items come back looking as good as new.

Customizable Plans  The laundry needs of every household are different. Kensington Park Dry Cleaners offers customizable service plans, allowing you to schedule weekly, bi-weekly, or one-time services according to your preferences. Their flexibility makes it easy to maintain a clean wardrobe without the hassle.

Specialized Cleaning for Household Items  Kensington Park Dry Cleaners doesn’t just handle clothing — they also specialize in cleaning household items such as curtains, bed linens, and upholstery. These items require professional attention, and their team ensures a deep clean while preserving fabric quality.

How the Pickup and Delivery Service Works:

Schedule a Pickup  Simply visit the Kensington Park Dry Cleaners website or give them a call to book a pickup time that works for you. Provide details about the items you need cleaned and any specific instructions.

Pickup and Cleaning  At the scheduled time, their team will collect your items from your home. They’ll carefully inspect your garments, noting any stains or areas that require special attention. The cleaning process will then be carried out by their expert team.

Delivery to Your Doorstep  Once your items are cleaned, pressed, and ready to go, Kensington Park Dry Cleaners will return them to your home. You can choose to have the delivery made to your doorstep or another designated location.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. How do I schedule a pickup?  Scheduling a pickup is simple. You can either call Kensington Park Dry Cleaners directly or book through their website. Just choose a time that’s convenient for you.

2. What types of fabrics can you clean?  Kensington Park Dry Cleaners handles a wide range of fabrics, including delicate materials like silk, wool, linen, and synthetic blends. They are equipped to clean everyday garments as well as high-end designer clothing.

3. Do I need to be home for pickup and delivery?  No, you don’t need to be home. Simply leave your items in a secure location, and their team will pick them up and deliver them back to the same spot once they’re cleaned.

4. How long does the cleaning process take?  Turnaround times depend on the items being cleaned, but most services are completed within 2–3 days. Expedited services are available for urgent needs.

Conclusion

With Kensington Park Dry Cleaners’ dry cleaning pickup and delivery service in Kensington, maintaining a clean and professional wardrobe has never been easier. Their commitment to quality, convenience, and customer satisfaction makes them the go-to Kensington laundry service in the area. Whether you need regular laundry care or a one-off service for a special occasion, their flexible and efficient services ensure your garments are always in pristine condition.

[leonsdrycleaners]

Shirt Laundry Services from Leons Dry Cleaners:

Leons Dry Cleaners is your trusted destination for high-quality dry cleaning and Shirt laundry Victoria in South West London. With years of experience and a deep commitment to customer care, we have become a local favorite for residents and businesses alike.

Leons Dry Cleaners is proud to be a part of the South West London community. Visit us today and experience the convenience, quality, and professionalism that have made us a trusted name in local dry cleaning. We look forward to serving you! Visit Us - https://leonsdrycleaners.com/services/shirt-laundry-at-victoria-south-west-london/

[localcurtaincleaninglondon]

5 Things To Consider While Performing Curtain Cleaning At Home

We rarely consider the risk of our curtains being too dusty or worn out. Nevertheless, there are a variety of matters in your curtains that go hidden. Dust, tiny spills, dampness from mop or wet shoes get worse, and your urite pet peeing on your curtain are all examples. 

You can notice but don’t pull out the bleach just yet, even if you’re officially receiving it. When it comes to freshening up your drapes, dry-cleaning is usually the best solution. So, think about your local curtain cleaning company before taking any DIY remedies. Sunshine and the other environmental components described above, such as mud, moistness, or, uh, cat pee, can diminish the texture of your curtains and cause them to stick unfriendly in the wash, as per experts. 

Unless you have a simple flat-panel produced from pre-shrunk, dry-cleaning is the ideal technique unless you have a simple flat panel manufactured from pre-shrunk, no-wrinkle fabric. Furthermore, many “dry-clean only” items you can wash at home. Curtains frequently feature linings, and decorations, and the hardware should make the DIY washing process. 

In 5 simple steps, learn how to clean curtains like a pro at your home. 

1.Look for information on how to clean the curtains on the tag. 

Check the label, before taking any step to see whether your curtains have any special care instructions. Of course, if the label specifies “dry-clean only,” “hand-wash only,” “lay flat to dry,” or any other curtain cleaning cost, it’s preferable to follow those instructions. 

2. Get your curtains ready for the washer. 

Assuming that any cleaning instructions on the curtain’s label don’t prevent you from using the washing machine. Professionals curtain cleaning guide you plan to use for the main cleaning event. But you first prepare the textile with a pre-wash. 

This implies that before washing, you should vacuum the dust as much as possible to ensure that nothing sticks to the curtain’s fibres on their journey to perfect cleanliness. Also, at this point in the curtain-cleaning process, make sure all removable hardware is removed. During the spin cycle, you don’t want any buckle which grabs your curtains. 

3. USE COOL WATER TO WASH YOUR CURTAINS. 

Plan on putting your washing machine to the “delicate” setting, using the lowest heat setting feasible, and light detergent unless specific instructions from the label you learned in the first step state otherwise. Additionally, keep the laundry load low key by washing only the curtains and nothing else in the mix. 

4. Separate your curtains into two sections to dry. 

Professionals suggest running your curtains through the dryer on low heat for a few minutes after they’ve been washed, presuming the label didn’t specify otherwise. After that, give the curtains a fair shake and roll them to heat. The curtains will shrink less if they are allowed to air dry. 

5. Iron the curtains to keep them looking new. 

Professional curtain cleaning london suggest ironing the fabric on a low heat setting before replacing your curtains in their proper location. 

In case of an emergency cleaning or if you are looking for a same-day curtain cleaning service, Local Curtain Cleaning London is available to help. Local Curtain Cleaning London is one of the leading service providers when it comes to curtain cleaning in London. We have a team of expert cleaners that are trained, certified, and competent in cleaning all kinds of curtains, blinds, and drapes. To book an appointment visit us at https://localcurtaincleaninglondon.uk/ or call us at (+44) 12 9523 6715 and our team will come in around an hour. 

[whereforarthur]

A Night In

Request: I'm literally begging you for some George smut?? Like something dom and hot but still kinda cute and fluffy? He'd defo talk you through everything and give aftercare

Pairing: George Clarke x Reader

Category: Smut and Fluff

Word Count: 4.5k

*****

“You don't love someone because they're perfect, you love them in spite of the fact that they're not.” ― Jodi Picoult

George Clarke was a man of meticulous habits. Every morning, without fail, he'd rise with the sun, the faint light from the gap in the curtains tracing a path across his face. He'd blink the sleep away, his eyes focusing on the digital clock's unforgiving display, and then he'd slide out of bed, his bare feet making almost no sound on the cool hardwood floor. His apartment, nestled in the bustling heart of London, was a sanctuary of order and quietude. The only sounds that typically pierced the early morning silence were the distant rumble of a garbage truck or the occasional shout from a street cleaner.

But this morning was different. The air was charged with an electric anticipation that even George couldn't ignore. He'd felt it brewing for days, a tension that coiled tighter with each shared glance, each brush of skin against skin. He knew what he wanted, and he knew she felt it too. The question was, would she say yes? He padded into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air, and poured two cups, his hand shaking slightly as he added sugar and milk to hers. He hoped she'd appreciate the gesture, the sweetness to start their day off right.

When Y/N emerged from the bedroom, her hair a wild halo around her flushed face, she looked at him with those big, doe-like eyes that never failed to make his heart stutter. He held out the cup, his voice a low rumble. "Can we stay home tonight so I can fuck your brains out?" The words were blunt, but the tender way he said them took the edge off, leaving only raw, unfiltered desire.

Her cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink as she took the cup, the warmth of the liquid seeping into her palms. She studied him over the rim, her thoughts swirling behind her eyes like a storm about to break. "What makes you think I'd say no?" she replied, a hint of a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. It was the answer he'd been hoping for, and his grin grew in response.

They spent the day in a delicious dance of anticipation, their every interaction a silent promise of what was to come. Every brush of their hands was a spark, every shared laugh a secret shared only between them. The city outside their windows was a blur of life and color, but all George could see was the siren call of their shared solitude, the unspoken understanding that tonight would be theirs.

When evening finally fell, they settled into their usual routine, the tension thick enough to slice with a knife. He talked her through dinner, his voice a gentle command that sent shivers down her spine. He was always like this, attentive and considerate, but tonight there was an edge to his care that made her pulse race. The way he'd look at her, his eyes dark with want, was almost too much to bear.

After the dishes were done and the apartment was once again bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, George turned to her, his expression serious. "Are you ready?" he asked, his voice a low purr that sent a thrill through her body. She nodded, her heart hammering in her chest. He took her hand, leading her to the bedroom, and she knew that tonight would be nothing short of explosive.

*****

Once the door was closed, the air grew heavy with desire. He stepped closer, his breath hot against her neck as he whispered dark promises into her ear, each word a caress that made her knees weak. "I'm going to peel every layer of you away," he murmured, his hands skimming over her body, tracing the curves of her hips and the line of her spine. "I want to see every inch of you, feel every tremble, taste every gasp." His words were a symphony of filth and love, a heady combination that made her melt into him.

As his hands roamed, she felt the heat of his touch like a brand, searing through the fabric of her clothes. His fingertips grazed her collarbone, her breasts, and she arched into his touch, desperate for more. He chuckled, the sound a dark, delicious rumble in her ear. "Patience, love," he said, his teeth grazing her lobe. "We've got all night."

His whispered words painted a picture of debauchery, a night of unbridled passion that she knew she'd never forget. Each syllable was a caress, a promise of the pleasure to come. He knew exactly what she liked, exactly how to make her tremble, and he used that knowledge with the precision of a master artist. "You're going to scream my name," he murmured, his hand sliding down to cup her through her jeans. "You're going to beg for me to never stop."

Her breath hitched as his thumb found her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. She could feel herself getting wet, her body betraying her excitement even as she tried to maintain some semblance of control. But control was a fleeting thing with George, and she knew it. He'd take it from her, piece by piece, until she was nothing but a puddle of want at his feet. And she'd love every second of it.

Her hands found their way to his hair, desperately clutching at the strands as he kissed her. It was messy and hungry, their teeth clacking together in their haste. He tasted like mint and something darker, something that made her want to devour him whole. She felt his cock pressing against her, hard and insistent, and she could feel herself getting wetter, her body eager to take him in.

George's hands were everywhere, unbuttoning her shirt with shaking fingers, pushing it off her shoulders to expose her lacy bra. He growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating through her chest as he took in the sight of her. His eyes were hooded, his pupils blown wide with desire. He traced the outline of her breasts with his fingertips before deftly unhooking her bra, letting it fall to the floor. Her nipples pebbled under his gaze, aching for his touch.

"My little slut," he murmured, his voice a warm caress as he bent his head to capture one of her nipples in his mouth. He sucked hard, the sensation sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core. His tongue flicked and teased, the wet heat of his mouth making her squirm. She gasped, her nails digging into his scalp as he worked her other nipple with his thumb. "You're mine to ruin," he continued, his words a dark promise that sent a shiver down her spine. "Mine to use and claim."

He pushed her back onto the bed, the mattress giving way with a soft sigh. His body hovered over hers, his muscles taut with restrained power. She could feel the weight of his gaze as he took in the sight of her, spread out before him like a feast. He took his time, savoring every inch of her, his eyes lingering on the juncture of her thighs. "You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with need. "And you're all mine."

Her eyes searched his, finding the truth in his words. "I'm yours," she breathed, the confession slipping from her lips like a sacred vow. "Only yours." She watched as his pupils dilated, the blue of his eyes darkening with desire. It was a heady feeling, knowing she had that much power over him, that she could make him crave her so desperately.

He kissed her again, his hands moving to the button of her jeans. He tugged them down, his palms skimming her skin as he revealed the matching lacy underwear beneath. His eyes raked over her, a silent declaration of his appreciation. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice a soft caress.

He slid her panties aside, exposing her to his gaze. He took a moment to just look at her, to drink in the sight of her. Then, with a wicked grin, he dipped his head and kissed her there, his tongue delving into her folds, tasting her sweetness. She bucked against him, her hips rising to meet his mouth. He licked and sucked, exploring every inch of her, teasing her clit until she was begging for more.

"I want to taste you so badly," he murmured against her, his voice muffled by her flesh. His words were a declaration of war, a promise of pleasure that had her body tightening with anticipation. His tongue swirled around her clit, applying just the right amount of pressure, and she could feel herself getting closer, the tension coiling tighter and tighter.

Her hands tangled in his hair, urging him on as he devoured her. The sensation was exquisite, a symphony of pleasure that had her body thrumming with need. She was close, so close, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she shattered. "Oh, George," she whimpered, her voice high and desperate.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark with lust, and she could see the smug satisfaction in his gaze. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he loved it. "You want it, don't you?" he murmured, his breath hot against her wet flesh. "You want me to fuck you so badly you can't think straight."

"Yes," she moaned, the word a desperate plea that seemed to echo around the room. "Please, George. I need you."

He chuckled against her, the vibration sending a fresh wave of sensation through her. He kissed his way back up her body, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. "Good girl," he whispered, his teeth grazing her skin. "But first, I want to watch you come for me."

With a final, lingering lick, he pulled away and stood, shedding his own clothes with a speed that belied his earlier patience. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, and she licked her lips, eager to taste him. But he had other plans. He grabbed a condom from the bedside drawer and rolled it on, his eyes never leaving hers. Then he climbed back onto the bed, positioning himself between her legs.

"Do whatever you want with me," she whispered, her eyes glazed with need. "I'm yours."

The words were barely out of her mouth before George took action, claiming her with a ferocity that made her toes curl. He slid into her with a groan, filling her completely, stretching her until she thought she'd break. But she didn't. Instead, she welcomed him, her body opening up to him like a flower to the sun. He began to move, his hips a steady, relentless rhythm that had her arching off the bed, her nails digging into his back.

He leaned down, capturing her mouth with his, his tongue mimicking the thrust of his cock. She moaned into the kiss, her hips rising to meet his, the friction delicious and intense. He felt so good, so right, and she never wanted it to end. His hands roamed her body, touching and teasing, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.

"Your body was made for mine," he murmured against her lips, his words a declaration that seemed to resonate in every cell of her being. She nodded, her breath coming in gasps as he found her G-spot, his strokes long and deep. She felt herself tightening around him, the pressure building until she couldn't take it anymore.

"I'm going to come," she panted, her eyes squeezed shut as she tried to hold on to the last shreds of her sanity. "Oh, fuck, George, I'm so close."

"Good," he growled, his hips pumping into her with a force that was almost brutal. "Come for me, baby. Show me how good I make you feel."

His words were a catalyst, sending her hurtling over the edge. Her body convulsed around him, her orgasm a white-hot burst of pleasure that stole her breath. She screamed his name, the sound echoing through the room as she clung to him, her nails digging into his back. He didn't stop, though, didn't even slow, his movements only becoming more intense as he drove her through wave after wave of pleasure.

"You're so good for me," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he watched her come apart. "So fucking good around me." His words were a gentle command, a declaration of his ownership, and she reveled in it. She felt like she was made for this, made for him, and the thought sent another ripple of pleasure through her.

Her body was still trembling when he pulled out, his cock slick with her arousal. He rolled her over, pressing her face down into the pillows, his hand coming down to rest on the small of her back. "Mine," he said, the word a dark promise that had her pussy clenching with need. She knew what was coming, knew she'd never be the same after tonight.

He positioned himself behind her, his cock nudging at her entrance. "Are you ready for me to claim you?" he asked, his voice a seductive purr that sent a shiver down her spine. She nodded, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "Say it," he demanded, his hand sliding down to squeeze her ass.

"I'm ready," she whimpered, the words barely audible over the pounding of her heart. "Claim me, George. Make me yours."

He didn't need any more encouragement. With a growl of pure lust, he slammed into her, filling her completely. She gasped, the sound muffled by the pillow, as he began to move, his hands gripping her hips tightly. He didn't hold back, his strokes deep and powerful, each one driving her closer to the edge again.

"You look better with my hands around your neck," he murmured, his breath hot against her ear. He reached up, his fingers wrapping gently around her throat. The sensation was surprising, a mix of fear and excitement that sent her arousal skyrocketing. He didn't squeeze, just applied enough pressure to make her aware of his control, his dominance.

"And your mouth around my cock," he added, his voice a dark, seductive whisper that made her shiver. She felt him pull out, the emptiness a stark contrast to the fullness she'd grown accustomed to. "On your knees," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument. She complied, her legs trembling with the effort to support herself as she felt him line up behind her.

With a firm grip on her hair, George guided her face down to his cock, still glistening with her juices. She took him in eagerly, her mouth stretching around his girth, the musky scent of their combined arousal filling her nostrils. He groaned, his hips bucking slightly as she swirled her tongue around the tip. She took him deeper, her throat relaxing to accommodate him, and she could feel his restraint slipping.

"Ah, fuck," he breathed, his voice strained. His hand tightened on her neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to make her aware of his need. "Don't close your eyes, baby. Look at me." She obeyed, her gaze locking onto his, and the intensity in his eyes was almost too much to handle. The way he watched her, like she was the only thing that mattered in the world, made her feel powerful and vulnerable all at once.

He began to thrust into her mouth, his movements growing more demanding with each passing second. "That's it," he praised, his voice a low growl. "Take it all." And she did, eager to please him, eager to feel him lose control. She could feel the head of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and she gagged slightly, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she took him deeper, her tongue working him with a fervor that matched his own.

"You're so good at this," he murmured, his grip on her hair tightening. "So fucking good." He picked up the pace, his hips snapping against her face, and she could feel the beginnings of his climax building. Her eyes watered, her throat ached, but she didn't care. All she cared about was making him feel good, making him come apart the way he made her feel.

Her hands gripped the bed, her knuckles white with the effort to stay still as he fucked her mouth. She could feel his thighs tremble against her cheeks, the muscles in his stomach tightening as he approached his peak. "Don't be gentle with me," she whispered, the words barely audible around his cock. "I like it when you're rough."

It was all the encouragement he needed. His grip on her hair tightened, his hips moving faster, more forcefully. She could feel his cock thicken, the veins pulsing beneath her tongue. He was close, so close, and she reveled in the power she had over him. He groaned, his body tensing, and then he was coming, his warmth filling her mouth as he held her in place, his eyes never leaving hers.

The command was simple but loaded with meaning. "Swallow it," he said, his voice hoarse with passion. "All of it." It was a declaration of his ownership, a demand for her submission, and she complied without hesitation. She swallowed, her eyes never leaving his, the salty taste of him coating her tongue. He watched her, his gaze intense, as she took every drop, savoring the evidence of his pleasure.

*****

"I didn't hurt you too much, did I?" he asked, his voice laced with concern. His hand, still wrapped around her neck, gently massaged the skin there, his thumb brushing over the pulse point. She could feel the throb of his heart against her back, the steady beat a reminder of the connection they shared.

"No," she assured him, her voice a little raspy from his use. "I liked it." She felt his body relax, his grip on her loosening slightly. "Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "Let me take care of you."

George pulled her back onto the bed, rolling her onto her back and settling between her legs. His eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of discomfort or distress. Finding none, he leaned down and kissed her softly, tasting himself on her lips. He was gentle now, his earlier ferocity replaced by a tenderness that made her heart ache.

He slid back inside her, his movements slow and deliberate. This time, there was no urgency, no need to claim or conquer. It was just them, lost in the intimacy of their shared passion. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, his teeth nipping at her sensitive skin as he moved. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her heels digging into his back as she met his every thrust.

Their breaths mingled, the sound of their bodies coming together the only noise in the quiet apartment. The world outside had ceased to exist, and all that mattered was the feel of him inside her, the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his voice as he whispered sweet nothings in her ear. "You're mine," he murmured, his breath hot against her skin. "And I'm yours."

His words were a gentle caress, a reminder of their connection, and she felt herself opening up to him even more. He was right there with her, their hearts beating in sync, their bodies moving together as if they'd been doing this dance for a lifetime. She felt cherished, worshipped, and it was a feeling she never wanted to lose.

As he moved inside her, she could feel her orgasm building again, a slow crescendo that started in her toes and worked its way up. It was a different kind of pleasure, one that washed over her in waves, gentle and all-consuming. "I've never heard such a truly beautiful sound," he murmured, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of sensations. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with wonder, and he leaned down to kiss her, his tongue delving into her mouth with the same slow, sweet strokes that his cock was making inside her.

He whispered sweet nothings into her ear, his breath a warm caress that sent shivers down her spine. "You're so perfect," he said, his voice a gentle rumble that seemed to resonate deep within her. "So perfect for me." His words were a drug, a heady cocktail of praise and possession that had her clinging to him even tighter.

Her body responded to his gentle touch, her hips rising to meet his, her legs wrapping around his waist. She felt herself getting closer, the pressure building, the tension coiling in her belly like a tightly wound spring. "I'm going to come," she whispered, the words a breathless confession that seemed to hang in the air.

George's eyes lit up, a wicked smile playing on his lips. "Come for me, baby," he urged, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down her spine. "Let me feel you come around me." He kissed her again, his tongue mimicking the movement of his cock. She could feel herself tightening around him, her body straining for release.

And then it hit her, the orgasm rolling over her like a tidal wave. She screamed, her nails digging into his back, her body arching off the bed. He followed her over, his own climax crashing into her like a meteor, the force of it making her see stars. They came together, their bodies shuddering with the intensity of their shared pleasure. It was a moment of pure connection, a moment where nothing else mattered except the feel of him inside her, their hearts beating as one.

Their breaths mingled, ragged and desperate, as they rode out the aftershocks of their shared climax. His cock pulsed inside her, the sensation making her shiver. "You're mine," he murmured again, his voice a gentle reminder of the power he held over her. "And I'm yours."

He didn't pull out, instead choosing to stay buried deep within her, his body a warm, heavy weight that she never wanted to escape. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs still wrapped around his waist, holding him close as if she could keep him there forever. "Always," she whispered, her voice a soft promise that seemed to echo through the quiet room.

George kissed her forehead, his movements gentle and soothing. He pulled out slowly, the feeling of emptiness making her whimper. He rolled onto his side, bringing her with him so that she was nestled against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, his chest rising and falling with each deep breath he took.

"You're mine," he murmured again, his voice a gentle reminder of the possessive need that had driven him all night. She nodded, her eyes drifting shut as she felt the warmth of his embrace envelop her. His hand trailed down her back, his fingers tracing patterns on her skin that had her melting into him even more.

*****

"Bloody hell, George, that was..." Y/n's voice trailed off, the final word stuck in her throat as she stared at the ceiling, her chest heaving.

George, grinning from ear to ear, leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I'm guessing you enjoyed it?"

Her cheeks flushed a deep shade of red, but she couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Well, it wasn't exactly your typical Tuesday night."

They lay there for a moment, basking in the afterglow, the room still and quiet. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock on the bedside table. Y/n's hand reached out and found George's, their fingers interlocking in a silent promise of comfort and care.

George pulled the duvet up to cover their naked forms, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. "You okay?" he asked, his voice a low murmur in the quiet room.

"Mmhmm," she hummed, her eyes fluttering closed. "Just a bit... tender."

He chuckled softly, the warmth of his breath fanning her cheek. "I'll be more gentle next time," he promised, planting another kiss on her forehead.

With a sigh, Y/n turned to face him, her eyes searching his. "Thank you," she whispered.

He brushed a strand of hair out of her face, his eyes filled with concern. "For what?"

"For always looking after me, even when things get... intense."

He nodded, understanding in his gaze. "It's what we do, isn't it?"

They lay there for a while longer, their bodies entwined, until the room grew cold and the early morning light began to creep in through the curtains. Y/n shivered and George tightened his hold, sharing his warmth.

"Would you like some tea?" he offered, his voice still a gentle rumble.

"That would be lovely," she murmured, her eyes still closed.

With a soft squeeze of her hand, George slipped out of bed, his footsteps padding quietly across the floorboards as he disappeared into the kitchen. The faint sound of the kettle being filled and turned on echoed through the flat.

Y/n took a deep breath, letting the scent of him linger on her skin. She could feel the tenderness between her legs, a reminder of their passionate night. As she waited for him to return, she couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her. Despite the occasional roughness, their relationship had always been one of care and consideration.

When George came back with two steaming mugs, she sat up and took one from him, wrapping her hands around the warm ceramic. The scent of Earl Grey wafted up, soothing and familiar. They sat in companionable silence, sipping their tea and watching the shadows on the wall dance as the sun rose over London.

The moment was peaceful, a stark contrast to the passionate tumult of just an hour ago. Yet, in its own way, it was just as intimate. It was the quiet aftercare that followed the storm, the gentle touches and soft words that stitched their hearts back together, ready to face whatever the day had in store.

And as the night stretched out before them, she knew that she'd never want to leave this moment, never want to break the spell that held them in its thrall. Because in George's arms, she'd found a home, a place where she could be both the soft, vulnerable creature she truly was, and the fiery siren he brought out in her. It was a balance she never knew she needed, but now that she had it, she couldn't imagine life without it.

The city outside their window was a distant memory, the only world that mattered was the one they'd created in this room, in this bed. And as she closed her eyes, letting sleep claim her, she knew that she'd wake up to the same sweet, gentle care that had become their signature. This was their little slice of heaven, and she had no intention of ever letting go.

*****

@gvf23

@xxkatxgracexx

[kurishiri]

alfons sylvatica . . . episode.0

— this translation may not be 100% accurate or contain creative liberties due to characterization or narrative flow purposes. if you enjoy, please consider reblogging, but don’t repost these or claim these as your own!

— cw: depiction of death.

I do so wonder, were I to say, “Life is but a tragedy,” would you disagree with me?

Well, in the end, it matters not if you agree or disagree.

Everyone is free to interpret what’s before them in their own way. Much like everyone is free to choose how they face reality.

By this, then, if I were to state my personal views on this, I would claim for certain that life is but a tragedy.

Ah, but by no means am I embracing a pessimistic perspective.

If you find reality to be unpleasant, you need only seek out an escape.

Even should an escape fail you, though——

madness will still remain your friend.

In the back alley, where twilight drew near, I happened upon an elderly man collapsed on the ground.

With my hands on my knees, I crouched down beside him. In response, the man’s hollow eyes, devoid of any sign of vitality, looked my way.

Elderly man: Ahh… it’s you.

Alfons: Yes, indeed, it is none other than me.

I do, in fact, have quite a large circle of acquaintances.

That goes especially for people like this man, who had been driven out from the light.

Alfons: Might there a final dream you wish to see?

Elderly man: ………My wife.

Elderly man: I………would like to say sorry………

Alfons: …Is that so.

For a miraculous, utterly unrealistic happening to occur in the finale, right before the curtain closed on a play, would be the universal joke of all comedies.

Alfons: See now, look there. Isn’t it great? “Your wife has come to see you.”

Elderly man: ………Ahh…ahh…

When I murmured this while touching the back of his neck, the man’s eyes widened, tears brimming slightly at the edge of his eyes,

and unable to say the words ‘I’m sorry’ until the end, he drew his last breath.

Alfons: Did she smile for you in your final dream?

A: …Or so I ask, but I can hardly say I’m very interested in the answer.

I gently closed his eyes before promptly leaving the place myself.

(Now, I say it’s about time to search for something new to kill off this boredom.)

Upon leaving the alleyway, I found myself in a twilight-colored London, filled with livelihood,

and the people, in their restlessness, couldn’t bother to pay heed to the fact that just a step in the alleyway would reveal quite a ghastly death.

That would make up the majority. ——However.

(…Oh?)

A postwoman passed me by, running the opposite direction as me,

and as she entered the alleyway where the man was lying, she suddenly stopped.

(So she realized him…?)

At first, I held no interest, but now I was curious to see what this postwoman would do, so in a daze, I stared after her.

She hesitated to step into the alleyway, which had begun to sink in the twilight,

instead looking around her before running toward some patrolling police officers who were some ways away.

(Aww, truly a fool she is. If only she simply feigned ignorance…)

(As the first witness of the body, she will be questioned and subsequently end up tardy for her deliveries.)

But if she left the body, either the police or the cleaners would have discovered it eventually.

(I take it she is the type to carry more burdens than she needs to.)

The kindest people are the easiest to hurt. Such habits are troublesome because it is much like walking into a bush of thorns.

(A pitiable soul she is.)

(Her naïve honesty will be her downfall and lead her to scenes that reek of blood…)

(Well, I suppose I can only hope this theory remains as such.)

Victor: You went out and used your ability again, didn’t you, Alfons?

The next day, the one who caught me in the hallway was the Queen’s Aide, who was laughing wryly.

Alfons: Well, now, whenever could that be? If you remain so vague like that, I’m afraid I will be unable to pin down exactly which incident you speak of.

A: You see, I am but a frugal soul who is simply using what is at his disposal.

Victor: Just as a friendly reminder, you guys’ existences are to be kept confidential, okay?

Alfons: Now, now, why so caught up in the gritty details?

A: After all, I reckon my ability is about as good as a plain old crook when put next to one like William’s.

Victor: Good lord, you naughty boy, you. It’s a no from me, I say, no!

With an air of jest surrounding his warning, his jewel-like eyes narrowed.

Although he was likely scheming a thing — or perhaps two, this respectable person’s true colors still remained ever unfathomable.

Victor: Anyway, all that aside, tonight marks the day of the mission. Have you made your preparations?

Alfons: Yes, but of course.

Crown, a villainous organization that used evil to fight evil, was going to condemn a target tonight.

It was just going to be like any other dull mission that gave me no room to show a sweet dream in one’s dying moments.

Or, that was what I thought.

As per William’s command, the target slit their own throat, and it was right after that.

The door opened, and in came none other than that postwoman.

Kate: ——!?

Drawing in a breath, I could hear the sound come from her throat.

(…Aww…)

(I know I had foreshadowed this, but even for a prediction, is this not much too soon?)

(Goodness, I just cannot help but wonder how that naïve honesty led you here.)

With blood staining her cheeks, she simply stood there, dumbfounded.

I could practically hear the sound of the cruel reality before her piercing through her gentle heart, even now.

(Oh, please, I would prefer anything over this serious air.)

A dull and boring mission turning into a stage set for a tragedy was much too common to hold an ounce of my interest.

(And if this is bound to become a tragedy,)

(why not simply make it a most amusing stage instead?)

If you find reality to be unpleasant, you need only seek out an escape. Even should an escape fail you, though…

Alfons: Well, well, to think we had an audience.

——madness will still remain your friend.

In the end, the lady, who introduced herself as Kate, was given a joke of a role dubbed as a ‘fairytale keeper,’

and it was decided that she would be staying in this den of evil for a month.

Alfons: She truly is hapless… I’m certain anyone would find themselves more at home in this world of darkness than a lady such as her.

Shrugging my shoulders while heading toward my own room, Elbert, who was walking beside me, turned to me with worry.

Elbert: …Are you alright, Al?

Alfons: Yes? Now whatever could you be referring to?

Elbert: Well… you seemed somewhat sad, if I had to say.

Alfons: Ahha! I assure you I am anything but.

A: Why, in fact, when will such an opportune moment arise again, where I will have a most interesting plaything for an entire month? Do you truly believe I have capacity for anything but amusement?

Elbert: …I see.

To me, this ordeal was naught but a new plaything, having stumbled in here, I can use to fill this life with amusement.

And to her, this ordeal was naught but the darkness of England that she did not have to witness, and a troublesome role that was pushed onto her.

(And for the both of us, if this can become an entertainment that can divert us, even for a moment, that is all it needs to be.)

Alfons: Truly… I do look forward to this.

Reality knows nothing but cruelty: it will only eat away at your heart before throwing you in the middle of the darkness.

So cease this folly act of trying to face it directly and getting yourself hurt.

(Now——may the time pass us by, much like a most amusing dream.)

← prev next →

NOTE: and this would mark the start of alfons’ route! i feel this route may probably be the least romantic-feeling out of the ones released so far; of course, that’s not to say there isn’t romance, but the way he expresses love is quite subtle and the romance may feel overshadowed by his issues. but i hope the high drama can make up for any (perceived) lack of romance!

truth be told, i feel this route may end up dividing the fandom when it comes to alfons, especially with his actions. and you may find yourself surprised at how kate ends up sort of toughing it out to the very end with him. but i do think, overall, it does take a read through of this route to really understand and delve into the parts of his character the other routes seem to only hint at.

i hope you enjoy this wild ride, if you choose to ride along with me!

masterlist🪞 ╱ ko-fi ☕️

꒰ ִ ֺ ⊹ @ tags🏷️ ⊹ ֺ ִ ꒱ @drachonia @.comment or dm to be added or removed!

[aneurinallday]

The Grey Man

Chapter 10: Wild Mint

One day, Holford awoke from a fitful nap to find the wagon a little brighter than normal. Tommy had left the doors ajar. Refusing the call of the sunshine and fresh air, Holford returned to his position facing the dark wall. He could smell wood-smoke from the campfire. A breeze stirred the curtains and the tassels.

After a while, Tommy’s voice came from outside.

“Are you awake?”

“...Yes.”

“Then come out here.”

Dragging himself out of his torpor, Holford rose, drew his blanket around his shoulders, and limped towards the wagon’s doors. He stepped blinking out into the sunshine, onto the narrow ledge where the driver would perch. Tommy was sitting with his legs hanging over the side, chewing on something. A small sprig of green.

“What do you want?” Holford asked. His tone was subdued and his posture defeated.

“Fancy one?” Tommy offered up a leaf.

“What is it?”

“Mint.”

Holford accepted, and nibbled the edge of  the leaf cautiously. He expected it to taste like dirt, but it had the familiar cooling flavour, albeit with a bitter edge.

“Sit next to me,” said Tommy.

Holford obeyed, wincing as he manoeuvred himself down. He rested his feet on the steps which led down onto the grass; and turned his face towards the clouds, feeling the cool sunshine and fresh breeze on his skin. For a while, the two men sat in silence - Tommy chewing, Holford merely existing.

“Do you like horses?” Tommy finally spoke.

“I suppose so.”

“Do you keep any?”

“No. I prefer a car. It’s faster. And cleaner.”

“Afraid of a bit of dirt?”

“Well, I am a doctor, Mister Shelby.”

“True enough. Do you go to the races?”

“If obligation demands it. I don’t much enjoy crowds, though.”

“Not clean enough for you?”

“Not calm enough. I don’t like ruckus and sweat.”

“Or fun, by the sounds of it.” Tommy offered him another leaf. “Lived in Derbyshire long?”

“All my life.”

“Grew up in that house, eh?”

“It belonged to my mother’s side of the family. I was an only child, so when she and my father passed away, I inherited everything.”

“What happened to them?”

“Spanish influenza. The second wave of the pandemic, the winter of 1918. Even the rich weren’t spared its ravages.”

“Let me guess - that’s why you went into medicine.”

“Yes.”

“1918,” Tommy mused. “How old were you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Who took care of you until your eighteenth birthday?”

“My servants. And, I suppose, distant relatives who wanted my money.”

“I see. How was your life before that?”

“Idyllic. Carefree. My mother was kind and my father…worked a lot, which suited us fine. I spent my time reading, dancing, singing, playing the piano. I had no troubles.”

“Sounds like paradise.” Tommy picked the final leaf off the sprig, popping it in his mouth. He flicked away the naked stem. “Do you travel much? When you’re not showing up at fascist weddings, I mean.”

“A few times a year. Medical conferences and such. Berlin, Munich, Paris.”

“You don’t travel for pleasure?”

“My work keeps me too busy.”

“You should try it some time. Take a break, get away from everyone. Like me - sometimes I just hop in a caravan and drive. Don’t need to go anywhere in particular, just drive. Enjoy the solitude, listen to the trees, eat what you catch with your own two hands. It clears the head. Gives you perspective.”

“Tommy,” Holford interrupted. “If you let me live, I am never setting food in the countryside again. I’ll stay in central London until the day I die.”

“Good to know. Maybe it’s different for me. My father was an Irish Traveller, my mother was a Gypsy. The countryside’s in my blood.” Tommy stretched a little, and rolled his stiff neck until it clicked. “I imagine you keep an extensive library in that big house. What books do you read?”

“Textbooks, mostly. I was obliged to learn the great classics at school, but I always preferred non-fiction for some reason. I suppose I thought real life was already strange and ridiculous enough, it didn’t need embellishment. What about you?”

“I’m partial to Shakespeare, as you may have guessed. And Dickens. What about sports, do you play any sports?”

“Mister Shelby, why are you asking me all these questions?”

“When you’ve been living with a man for over a month, and sharing a bunk on occasion, it seems appropriate to get to know him.”

“There’s not much to know. I’m an ordinary person.” Holford’s feet were getting cold. He drew them up inside the blanket.

“You never sang for me,” said Tommy.

“Pardon?”

“You offered to sing for me. I’m taking you up on that offer.”

“Mm…maybe another time. My throat’s still a little sore.”

“Fine. A poem, then. You seem like the sort of man who knows a poetry book by heart.”

“You think too highly of me. Let me think.” Holford sighed, rifling through mental filing cabinets that had grown dusty from neglect. “Alright, here’s one. When, like committed linnets, I with shriller throat shall sing - ”

“What is this?”

“Lovelace’s tribute to Althea. Written 1642.”

“I can’t say I know it.”

“Well, I have a fondness for old, doomed melancholics. I with shriller throat shall sing the sweetness, mercy, majesty, and glories of my King: when I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be; enlarged winds, that curl the flood, know no such liberty - ”

“Christ.”

“Mister Shelby, please.”

“Sorry. Carry on.”

“Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage: minds innocent and quiet take that for an hermitage. If I have freedom in my love, and in my soul am free; angels alone, that soar above, enjoy such liberty.”

“Very nice.”

“What about you? Recite me something.”

“In the bleak midwinter,” Tommy began, and then stopped. “I think that’s enough poetry.”

“You can’t finish what you started?”

“Judging by the fact that you’re still alive, no, it seems I can’t.”

Holford was shivering now. His nose and ears were turning pink from the cold.

“I’d like to go back inside, please,” he said.

“Aye, go on, then.”

Holding his blanket tight around him, Holford turned and disappeared back into the wagon - back into the semi-darkness and the cramped bunk with which he’d become far too familiar.

And so their routine continued, with one new addition: when the weather was mild, the doctor would join Tommy outside, to talk or simply to sit in silence. The extent of Holford’s liberty grew further and further, until he was sitting on the bottom step, then on the grass, then by the small campfire where Tommy cooked their supper. Tommy no longer bothered closing the doors, leaving them wide-open when the weather permitted it.

The rabbits which Tommy brought back were already skinned - he never did the skinning in front of Holford. Partly because he didn’t want to spill blood in the camp, and partly because he didn’t want to trigger memories of the doctor’s torture. Holford would always be haunted by the spectre of Pascoe, but Tommy shielded him from the recollection in whatever small ways he could.

Holford didn’t have the stomach to help spit-roast the rabbits, but he helped with the herbs and wild-flowers that Tommy gathered; picking apart the leaves and the stems. He had to ask Tommy what they were. Mint, nettles, dandelion, sorrel, yarrow, wild garlic. None of it anything he would’ve considered eating a month ago, but all of it precious. He watched the leaves and petals wilt in the simmering water, imparting flavour to the lean meat, and tried to discern if the steam smelled different.

Finally, there came a morning when the dressings were taken off for the last time. The site was ugly and tender, and it would still need to be washed regularly, but it was no longer an open wound. He would remember the feel of the knife every time he saw it, every time his sleeve dragged over it; but every day, Pascoe’s ghost grew more faint while Holford’s mind grew more clear. More awake. More alive.

Chapter 11: Home

[sizzleissues]

its a heist (1007 words)

Toxinelle and Griffe Noire

Chimneys pile high, sheets of thick smoke billowing out. It reaches the sky, touches the belly of the curtain of clouds that never seem to part and pries its way in. By one stack a dark bird peers down at the maze of narrow streets, tiny beady eyes searching for a glint of light or the quick movement of a rat. It bends to the point of taking off again when a gloved hand grabs it, pulling it back.

The bird struggles in Griffe Noire’s grasp, a strangled cry leaving its slim beak. Griffe Noire grins down at it, his smile bleeding white into the dusty evening.

Toxinelle looks on with her nose scrunched in disgust, averting her gaze as Griffe Noire bites down. 

“Do you really have to do that?”

Griffe Noire drops down off the chimney, tossing the beak aside, and shrugs. “Gotta practice.”

They make their way off the roof, into the patchwork streets. If the citizens of London are alarmed by their sudden appearance, they don’t say anything. Toxinelle takes the lead and Griffe follows, hands crossed behind his back and head up, looking curiously in every direction. His eyes dart to the people who are fancily dressed —adorned with pearls— quietly ushering their children out of their way. He bares his teeth and snarls, watching in delight as they scuttle away like bugs. 

He looks out for homes whose doors are a little cleaner than their neighbours, the plaster and brick better held together. Places with valuables most certainly inside. 

But that isn’t why he’s in stinking London of all places.

“Stick close. We’re keeping a low profile,” Toxinelle calls over her shoulder. Adrien quickens his saunter to a brisk walk, catching up to her side. Their hands intertwine as naturally as putting one foot in front of the other. 

“What’s the plan?” He asks. Then lower, close to her ear. “My lady.”

She shivers beside him, squeezing his hand. He smiles, proud of himself. Her eyes remain firmly fixed ahead as she recounts to him the plan.

It's not often she takes the lead role of things. The way their powers work, he does the damage and she figures out how to get them out of it. Now it's entirely up to her. He will be her tool if she pleases.

“They don’t know we’re coming but we’ve made ourselves rather obvious. We’ll need to blend in.”

“Do we have to though? Can’t I just cataclysm the wall and take it.”

Toxinelle sighs and then gently pats his chest, skipping ahead.

“That defeats the point. They can’t even know what they have is worth stealing.”

-

The shop is cramped; merchandise spilling off shelves, stacks of old outdated tech in unreachable corners while tables in front display a series of vaguely offensive badges and a rack of clothing thick with dust cloaking an entire wall. The room is narrow, with a small loop of space to walk through. Music bleeds out the edges of a few ancient radios, none powerful enough to cover the whole store so multiple play at slightly different times. 

There’s a teenage girl at the counter of the shop. Her dark hair flops over her face, limp with the years of damage done by dye. Her elbows rest on the counter, in the only spare space as the rest is covered by an assortment of oddities and knick-knacks that the owners obviously need to sell off. She uses one hand to prop up her head and the other to flick a toy windmill round and round and round. 

The girl lifts her head to the two global super villains walking through the door, before sinking back down again. Just another Tuesday.

Griffe Noire disappears into the back of the store to poke around the box of used VHS tapes while Toxinelle approaches the counter, her mouth curving into a shark-like smile.

“Hi!” She sticks her head out and startles the  girl. She stumbles back, knocking over a display of e-cigarettes. Toxinelle keels over with laughter, cackling as the girl regains her footing. The girl looks between the two of them, Griffe returning with his VHS tapes, finally realising just who they are. 

“You-.”

“Let's make this simple.” Griffe Noire interrupts, laying the tapes down, bar one. He grips it in his hand. “You let us take a few things, free of charge, and you get to keep your head.”

He crushes the tape and tosses it to the ground. The girl nods.

They fold so easily.

-

Dressed in blue shirts and black slacks, Adrien holds Marinette’s hand, quietly staring at the space between two statues. Behind them a child gasps at the giant stone statue, crying to his mother that it's holding up the sky. From the corner of his eye he watches Marinette glance up. Her jaw sets.

“Are you ready?” She asks.

“I am.”

“Good, it's time.”

They step into the space between and part, walking down opposite pathways. 

-

His hand plays with the lanyard, spinning around the id badge he just swiped off a dozing attendant. His path takes him up to a restricted area of the building, keeping his head low as employees move to go to lunch. 

Adrien slips into the control room and gets to work. Switch off cameras, set off alarms and clear all files and then erase all evidence he did anything. All they can think is someone tripped a fire alarm. Like Marinette said, they can't even know there was anything to steal.

He watches Marinette sneak into the store room from the security cam, reluctantly shutting down the system as planned when she reaches an impassable door. A tape pops out from where it was recording, beeping at him.

Next he places all of the days recordings into a bin, piling stacks of paper on top of them. He lights a match and drops it in.

The alarm wails and he stumbles out the control room, letting himself be swept up by the panicked crowd. People pay no attention to the pre-recorded voice calling them to proceed slowly as not to damage the displays, pushing and shoving to save their own necks.

Adrien laughs.

-

In the night there’s a glint of light at the bottom of an alley. The ground is damp and smells of urine and the churning of over worked heater systems rattles through the walls. Griffe Noire waits, his eyes stalking a rat in the dumpster. He’s interrupted just as he moves to pounce.

Toxinelle walks in, a bag over her shoulder. She pats it, with a gorgeous twisted grin on her face.

“Got it.”

She removes the box from the bag, blowing off the dust. Its made of a wood older than most nations that should have degraded. Its by a miracle it hasn't. Its decorated with gold leafing, intricate concentric circles crossing and looping together. Griffe Noire takes it with shaking hands.

“The lost miracle box.”

“It's ours.”

-

This was me practicing atmosphere and description. Trying to something I guess - let me know if its doing the correct emotions because we could have just circled around to boring XD

It fascinates me to no end that there are multiple miracle boxes of miraculous. Not just our Chinese one and the American one. This is the Hibernian miracle box.

Oh and they were robbing the British museum

ehhehehehehehe

IDK LET MY HAVE THIS

[devastatingdraco]

The End of Everything - Chapter One: The Beginning

SHIP | Dramione [Draco Malfoy x Hermione Granger]

CATEGORY | enemies to lovers, romance, angst, EVENTUAL smut, Hermione never went to Hogwarts

WORD COUNT | 8.7k

WARNINGS | temporary paralysis, swearing, rude!Draco, kidnapping, etc. (more coming soon)

SONG REC | hostage — billie eilish

A/N: Thought I would post this here since it's doing well on a03. Enjoy, angels. <3

Hermione always knew that she was different.

Whether it was because the girls at school told her so, or simply because she could feel it in her heart, Hermione always knew.

Her life had been fairly normal up until this point, and she was okay with that. She was a simple girl with simple dreams. Hermione wanted to be a writer. Work in publishing. She wanted to create worlds and weave words together in a way that touched people; that made them truly feel something.

So, she studied. Got good at it, too. Hermione studied day and night, and not having any friends helped. She never got distracted. Sure, she'd get called loser, know-it-all, priss, but the harsh names never stopped her. Because Hermione had a goal, and she never lost sight of it.

Her hard work got her to where she is now: six months post-university. Building up her CV. Living in a flat on her own. Going out occasionally on the weekends.

This is her life now. And she is happy with it.

Only, that inkling, the one that always told her she was different and that she could do things—feel things—no one else could... it never really went away.

That's why, she supposes, she should have seen it coming.

"Petrificus Totalus."

The voice makes Hermione's eyes fly open. She's in bed, but something is off. Different.

Early morning light shines on a figure adorning all black, and the sight makes Hermione scream—except, nothing comes out at all. She can't scream. She can't even fight back as the figure pulls the blankets off of her and pockets something. It almost looked like a thin stick.

Hermione's body is effectively paralyzed and she is unable to move.

The fear that ripples through her body is painful. It makes her heart pound dangerously fast in her chest and her stomach ache. She is scared and there's nothing she can do about it.

It's at this time that Hermione sees where she is.

It's a large room of sorts. Too big to be hers, and cleaner. More... sterile.

The bedposts have thick, lush curtains tied off on all sides and the walls are dark. Hermione doesn't see much furniture in the room except for a trunk at the end of the bed and a wardrobe on the opposite wall. It's not her bedroom, that's obvious. There's no reading chair, no nightstand with her lotions and diary, nothing.

If she could, Hermione would scream til her vocal cords were atrophied.

The figure leaves the room in a flash of monochrome—black and stark white—and Hermione has to take deep breaths to calm down. She looks out of the large window but it doesn't help. She sees rolling hills tilted blue from the morning light. The grass shines with dew. She sees sharply cut hedges and an entangled maze on the property in the near distance. She's in the country, far, far away from London, and alone.

Completely alone.

Hermione wonders, just for a moment, if she's going to die here.

A single knock on the door has Hermione's heart kicking back up, and she watches as the wood swings open, revealing a tall man with thick brows.

"Hello there, dear," The voice calls out. "My name is Helbert Spleen, I'm here to see if you have any immediate injuries."

Hermione can only whimper.

He gives Hermione a gentle nod before pulling out something like what the man from earlier had—a stick of some sort.

"Don't be afraid, my dear, you'll understand the why of all of this soon enough. I'm just going to do a quick diagnosis."

It's actually not a stick at all.

Hermione realizes this once a pink light slips out of the end and sets her world alight. Her body buzzes and tingles, and Hermione thinks that she might be losing her mind.

The light fades out but her body still feels strange. Her fingers are still vibrating once the man speaks again.

"You're doing well, but I'd watch the heart rate if it keeps up like that. Her Ladyship will be in momentarily."

And then the man slips back through where he came.

Hermione must have been focusing on the foreign feeling in her body for a long time because before she knows it, the door is opening back up again. The person doesn't knock this time, just comes right in and steps up to the edge of the bed, looking down at Hermione.

Another body trails in through the door, but Hermione is entirely focused on the woman looking down at her immobilized figure.

"My name is Narcissa," The woman says, and Hermione can't help but think that that is a strange name.

"Narcissa Malfoy," She continues. "I'm the owner of this manor."

Hermione can feel her eyes drying out. Malfoy. Now, that name is stranger.

"I know you must be very well confused and scared, but I'm going to tell you why you're here."

Hermione keeps eye contact with Narcissa. Maybe, just maybe, if she gets on her good side, she will let Hermione go. She looks nice enough. Hermione doesn't know her, but in time, maybe she could. She thinks that maybe this woman can see reason. Hermione doesn't have to be here. Everything can all go back to normal. They can let her go.

Right as rain.

"As you can see, you're no longer in London," Narcissa sits on the bed. "You're in Wiltshire. That's West of London. You're at a place called Malfoy Manor. Understand?"

Hermione lets out another whimper and Narcissa sighs. She turns to the figure standing in the corner and Hermione's eyes follow.

"Don't ask," He snaps. "We don't know what someone like her will do."

Someone like her?

Hermione studies this man. His hair is so light it almost hurts to look at and he's got this displeased sneer on his face. He's the man from before. The man who paralyzed her.

He has quite light eyes, and Hermione thinks that they might even be pretty if they weren't cutting right through her. This man does not look as nice as the woman.

"Draco," Narcissa says. "She can't speak."

"Good," He spits. "She doesn't deserve to. Filthy little—"

"I don't know what other option we have."

The blond leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his broad chest. Hermione lets out a slow breath.

"She needs to be bound," The man directs. "That way we know she won't try escaping."

Alarm bells go off inside Hermione's head and she watches Narcissa stand. She flicks her wrist while holding a silver and black-looking—thing. Stick wouldn't apply now. It looks too decorative to be a stick.

"Finite."

A white light omits from the end and Hermione feels her body finally relax. She's about to scramble back against the headboard and yell out, but silk threads fly out and find their way around her wrists and ankles, binding her to the bedposts. No one was even touching them.

"What—"

"Pleased to see you're finally with us," Narcissa says. "Can you tell me your name?"

Hermione gulps.

"Why? I don't know you."

Narcissa goes back to sitting on the bed. She looks over Hermione's bound body with a look of... is that pity? Disgust?

Maybe this woman isn't so nice after all.

"I told you my name. Tell me yours."

Hermione stays silent. Narcissa tries again.

"I know that—"

"Oh for fucks sake," The man against the wall growls. Hermione blinks in surprise. Draco crosses the room in three large strides before he whips out his own rod. Hermione still can't place what exactly they are. It doesn't matter, though. She's seen what they can do.

Draco jabs Hermione's throat with the end of it, and her body goes cold.

"Tell us your name or I swear I'll—"

"H-Hermione! Hermione Granger," She chokes out. Draco's eyes flash with something before he looks toward his mother. She looks surprised herself.

"How old are you, Miss Granger?" She asks.

She takes a breath and says, "Twenty-three."

"Can you tell us what you do, Miss Granger?" Narcissa asks.

Hermione is confused, but if there's one thing she knows how to do, it's talk. Maybe talking will save her from this whole debacle.

"I work at a bookstore," She manages. Her voice is coming out in pathetic pants, the kind someone does before they start hyperventilating and crying. "I graduated from university six months ago. I—I just work, that's all I do."

Hermione doesn't know why any of this matters, but the pair share a satisfied look anyway.

"And can you tell us what you studied?"

"English," She coughs. Draco pulls his rod away finally, leaving her with a painful sting on the skin of her throat. She wishes desperately that she could press her hands to it and soothe it right now.

"What did you want to do with your life, Miss Granger?"

The question makes her skin go clammy. Did. Past tense. As in, will not be doing anymore.

Hermione feels tears well up along her waterline.

"I want to be a writer," She grits out.

The blond rolls his eyes and walks back to the wall.

"Muggles and their pathetic career choices."

Narcissa hooks a manicured finger underneath Hermione's chin and pulls her face to look back at her. Then, she pulls out a stack of books, one by one from the floor next to her.

"You're going to be staying here now Miss Granger, by order of Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt of the Ministry of Magic."

These words mean nothing to Hermione.

"We will give you books to read so you can understand our history and this... situation better," Narcissa says. "But what might set your mind at ease right now is knowing that you are not going to die. Not under our watch, at least."

Hermione still feels sick. Maybe death would be better than this.

"You see, Hermione," Narcissa says, leaning in a bit closer. She brushes her black-painted fingernail across Hermione's hairline, moving a strand away from her eye.

"Things in our world are changing. Because of that, you're here with us now."

Narcissa adds to the stack of books with a few newspapers, folders, and leather-bound journals.

"You'll receive a quill later on. We wouldn't want an attempted suicide, now would we?"

Hermione is just working out the logistics of how one would commit suicide with a feather when she hears a snort across the room. Draco. He's shaking his head, giving her another one of those pitiful looks.

"We'll leave you now, Miss Granger. Once we're gone, your wrists and ankles will be freed. You'll be able to acclimate yourself to this bedroom which shall be yours from now on."

"What about my room back home? My life?"

Hermione's broken voice stops Narcissa by the door. She spares a glance back at the girl.

"Everything will be settled, I'm told. It will not do well to dwell on those things now."

Hermione bites her bottom lip roughly. Until she tastes blood.

Narcissa stops at the door one last time as Draco goes, not bothering with Hermione any longer.

"You'll soon find that our world is more important now than yours ever was, Miss Granger. Much more important, indeed."

[tcbefearless]

@kingofthewebxxx

A hotel room was usually where Irene stayed, after all she didn't stay in one spot for too long. It was a rather grey day in London, the autumn had definitely hit and the winds grew more cold everyday. Irene went to the door, although something immediately felt off. She could smell a particular after shave one that she knew none of the male cleaners wore, her footing slowed down and the blonde reached for the gun in the back of her jeans hidden behind her white blouse.

Irene slowly pushed the door open, hearing it creak, finger on the trigger as she pulled off the safety. Blue hues scanned the room, curtains were drawn and the room although not pitch dark had less light drawn into the otherwise bright room. Irene stepped inside closing the door behind her with the sole of her foot, the smell of after shave was stronger. It was only then from the corner of her eye did she see Jim Moriarty, although Irene knew better than to put the gun away though she did lower the weapon slightly.

"you know it's rude, barging in without an invitation?" The New Jersey accent was thick, perhaps a small amount of sarcasm in her tone. Something was wrong, she could feel it in the air and although Irene tried to hide it she couldn't help but feel a little tense at his presence.

[cleanercarpetslondon]

Top Carpet Cleaning City of London Services

Keeping your carpets and upholstery clean is essential for maintaining a healthy and inviting environment in your home or office. Whether you're searching for carpet cleaning in the City of London, need cleaner carpets in London, or are looking for specialized carpet cleaners in West London, finding the right service is crucial. Here’s a guide to help you navigate your options and ensure you choose the best cleaning solutions for your needs.

Carpet Cleaning City of London: Why It Matters

The City of London is known for its historic buildings and high foot traffic. With the bustling lifestyle, carpets in this area can quickly accumulate dirt, dust, and stains. Carpet cleaning in the City of London ensures that your carpets remain fresh and hygienic. Professional cleaners in this area use advanced techniques and equipment to address specific needs, from deep cleaning to stain removal.

Cleaner Carpets London: Achieve a Fresh and Healthy Home

Finding cleaner carpets in London is more than just about aesthetics; it's also about health. Carpets can harbor allergens, dust mites, and bacteria that affect indoor air quality. Opting for professional carpet cleaning services ensures that your carpets are thoroughly cleaned, improving both their appearance and the air quality in your home. Regular cleaning helps extend the life of your carpets, making it a worthwhile investment.

Carpet Cleaners West London: Comprehensive Cleaning Solutions

For residents and businesses in West London, locating reliable carpet cleaners in West London is essential. This area, with its diverse range of properties, requires cleaning services that cater to various needs. Whether you have high-traffic carpets in an office or delicate rugs in a home, professional carpet cleaners in West London offer tailored solutions. They use specialized techniques such as steam cleaning and stain removal to ensure your carpets are spotless.

Rent Rug Cleaners Near Me: A Flexible Cleaning Option

If you prefer to handle carpet cleaning on your own, renting rug cleaners can be a great option. Searching for rent rug cleaners near me provides you with the flexibility to clean your carpets at your convenience. Many rental services offer state-of-the-art equipment that’s easy to use and effective at removing dirt and stains. This option is ideal for those who want to save on professional cleaning costs while still achieving great results.

Upholstery Cleaners: Revitalize Your Furniture

Upholstered furniture often experiences heavy use and can become soiled over time. Upholstery cleaners specialize in refreshing and maintaining your furniture, ensuring it looks and feels like new. These professionals use gentle yet effective cleaning methods that are safe for various types of upholstery fabrics. Regular upholstery cleaning not only enhances the appearance of your furniture but also extends its lifespan.

Conclusion

Whether you need carpet cleaning in the City of London, are looking for cleaner carpets in London, require carpet cleaners in West London, are considering renting rug cleaners, or need expert upholstery cleaners, there are numerous services available to meet your needs. Professional cleaning ensures that your carpets and upholstery are well-maintained, contributing to a healthier and more attractive environment.

By choosing the right cleaning services, you can enjoy the benefits of fresh, clean carpets and upholstery, adding both comfort and style to your living or working space. Explore your local options today to find the best solutions for your carpet and upholstery cleaning needs.

Source Url : https://cleanercarpetslondon.blogspot.com/2024/08/quality-curtain-and-mattress-cleaning.html

[wrcleaning]

Professional Church Cleaning Services in London: Ensuring Sacred Spaces Remain Pristine

Maintaining the cleanliness and sanctity of a church is essential for creating a welcoming and peaceful environment for worshippers. Church Cleaning Services London offer specialized solutions to ensure that these sacred spaces remain pristine and inviting.

Tailored Cleaning Solutions: Each church has unique needs, and professional cleaning services provide tailored solutions to address these specific requirements. From historical cathedrals to modern chapels, these services cater to the distinct architectural and interior features of each church, ensuring comprehensive cleaning without compromising the integrity of the building.

Comprehensive Cleaning: Gym Cleaning Services London offer a wide range of services, including dusting, vacuuming, floor polishing, window cleaning, and upholstery care. They also handle more specialized tasks such as cleaning altars, pews, stained glass windows, and chandeliers. Regular deep cleaning of carpets, curtains, and other fabrics ensures that the church remains free from dust and allergens.

Use of Eco-Friendly Products: Many cleaning services in London prioritize the use of eco-friendly and non-toxic cleaning products. This approach not only ensures a safe environment for worshippers but also protects the historical elements and delicate materials often found in churches.

Experienced and Trained Staff: Professional Cleaners South London teams are composed of experienced and trained individuals who understand the importance of maintaining a respectful and discreet presence while cleaning. They are skilled in handling valuable and delicate items, ensuring that every part of the church is treated with care and respect.

Flexible Scheduling: Understanding the busy schedules of churches, cleaning services offer flexible timing to minimize disruption to regular activities. Whether it’s weekly, bi-weekly, or monthly cleaning, services are scheduled to suit the needs of the church and its congregation.

Enhanced Aesthetic Appeal: A clean and well-maintained church not only enhances the aesthetic appeal of the space but also contributes to a serene and inviting atmosphere. This ensures that worshippers can focus on their spiritual activities in a clean, comfortable, and sacred environment.

In summary, professional Church Cleaning Services London provide essential support in maintaining the cleanliness, beauty, and sanctity of churches, ensuring that these revered spaces remain welcoming and pristine for all who enter.

[kensingtonpark1]

Kensington Park Dry Cleaners: The Best Curtain Cleaning Service | Unbelievable Curtain Washing Service

Curtains are an essential part of home décor, adding elegance and style to any room. However, over time, they can accumulate dust, dirt, and allergens, diminishing their appearance and affecting indoor air quality. For residents in Kensington, finding a reliable curtain cleaning service is crucial. Kensington Park Dry Cleaners stands out as the best curtain cleaning service in the area, offering an unbelievable curtain washing service that ensures your curtains look as good as new.

At Kensington Park Dry Cleaners, we understand the importance of maintaining the beauty and longevity of your curtains. Our team of experts uses advanced cleaning techniques and eco-friendly solutions to remove dirt, stains, and allergens without damaging the fabric. Whether you have delicate lace curtains or heavy drapes, our professional curtain cleaning service caters to all types of materials, ensuring a thorough and gentle clean.

But our expertise doesn’t stop at curtain cleaning. Kensington Park Dry Cleaners offers a wide range of services to meet all your cleaning needs. If you’re looking for Leon’s Victoria dry cleaners, you’ll be pleased to know that we provide top-notch dry cleaning services in the Victoria area. Our team is experienced in handling various fabrics and garments, ensuring that your clothes receive the best care possible.

For those in need of dry cleaners Victoria, Kensington Park Dry Cleaners is the go-to choice. We offer comprehensive dry cleaning services, including leather jacket cleaning service, to keep your wardrobe looking pristine. Leather jackets require special attention and care, and our experts have the skills and knowledge to clean and condition your leather garments, extending their lifespan and maintaining their appearance.

In addition to garment cleaning, we also provide key cutting Kensington services. Whether you need a spare key for your home, office, or car, our skilled technicians can cut keys with precision and accuracy. Our key cutting Victoria service is convenient and reliable, ensuring you never find yourself locked out.

Our services also extend to dry cleaning Victoria and wedding dress dry cleaning. We understand the sentimental value of wedding dresses and use specialized cleaning methods to preserve their beauty and intricate details. Our professional wedding dress dry cleaning service ensures your gown remains a cherished keepsake for years to come.

For those with busy schedules, we offer a same day laundry service London. Drop off your laundry in the morning and pick it up freshly cleaned and folded by the end of the day. This service is perfect for individuals and families needing quick, reliable laundry solutions.

At Kensington Park Dry Cleaners, we also cater to business professionals with our suit dry cleaning London service. We know how important it is to look sharp and presentable, and our meticulous cleaning process ensures your suits are spotless and well-maintained.

With so many options for dry cleaners in London, Kensington Park Dry Cleaners remains a top choice due to our commitment to quality, customer satisfaction, and eco-friendly practices. Our team of experts is dedicated to providing the best cleaning services, from curtain cleaning to key cutting, ensuring all your needs are met under one roof.

In conclusion, whether you need curtain cleaning, garment dry cleaning, leather jacket care, key cutting, or same-day kensington laundry services, Kensington Park Dry Cleaners is your trusted partner. Experience the best curtain cleaning service and unbelievable curtain washing service in Kensington, and let us take care of all your cleaning needs with professionalism and care.

[leonsdrycleaners]

Leons Victoria Dry Cleaners – Professional Household Cleaning Services in Victoria, South West London

At Leons Victoria Dry Cleaners, we are more than just a dry cleaning service. We offer a range of household cleaning services in Victoria to keep your home in pristine condition. Serving the Victoria and South West London areas, our expert team is dedicated to providing top-quality cleaning solutions for your home textiles.

Keep your home fresh, clean, and inviting with Leons Victoria Dry Cleaners' household cleaning services. Whether it’s your curtains, rugs, upholstery, or linens, we provide the care your household fabrics need. Call us or visit our Victoria location to schedule a service today!

Visit Us - https://leonsdrycleaners.com/services/household-cleaning-service/

[localcurtaincleaninglondon]

Looking for reliable curtain cleaning service in london?

Local Curtain Cleaning London has expertise in professional curtain cleaning services. We have a team equipped with the best curtain cleaners and high-tech tools that offers you high-quality curtain cleaning. contact us on 01295 236 715 today.

[goforcleaningservices]

Boosting Property Value with Professional Cleaning in London

Most people lead very busy lives. They don’t always have time to do all the necessary jobs around the home. The same can apply to a business, where the day-to-day activity comes before any cleaning that needs to be done on time.

The professional cleaners know how important time can be to you (home & business owners). That is why Go For Cleaning gathered together some of the best cleaning professionals in London to help you. It means that if you need professional cleaner’s assistance, Go For Cleaning provides the reliable cleaning service you need. Whether you need carpet cleaning, upholstery cleaning or after-building cleaning, they can do it all.

Professional cleaners offer a range of services that assist both home and business owners in London, ensuring cleanliness, hygiene, and a presentable environment. Below are the primary methods by which they provide their support.

For Homeowners

Regular Cleaning: Routine cleaning services of professional cleaners London include dusting, vacuuming, mopping, and bathroom cleaning. Kitchen cleaning, including appliances and countertops.

Deep Cleaning: The professional cleaners in London thoroughly clean all the areas. It includes hard-to-reach spots, behind appliances, and inside cabinets. In addition, they provide services for cleaning carpets and upholstery.

End of Tenancy Cleaning: Specialized cleaners in London assist tenants & landlords in their moving-in & moving-out cleaning service. They ensure the property is in pristine condition that meets the standard of rental agreements. 

Spring Cleaning: Specialized cleaners in London offer spring cleaning which seems to be a great way to reset the home. They remove the yearly chore, winter's accumulated dust and dander before allergy season reaches full swing. Intensive spring cleaning reduces allergens and gets your home refreshed.

Specialized Cleaning:  What will you do when it comes to window cleaning, oven cleaning, mattress cleaning and curtain cleaning? How to handle specific materials or areas, such as leather furniture or hardwood floors. Professional cleaning services in London can handle this task on your behalf.

For Business Owners

Commercial cleaning encompasses the suite of services offered by specialized cleaning firms to business establishments and commercial organizations. These services will foster a healthful and agreeable atmosphere for staff, clientele, and guests.

Office Cleaning: Regular office cleaning, includes desks, common areas, restrooms, and kitchens. The professional cleaners in London aim to uphold the standards of cleanliness and sanitation across diverse commercial settings.

Commercial Property Cleaning: How will you clean your retail spaces, warehouses, and other commercial properties every day? What will you do when it comes to floor cleaning and maintenance? Take the help of professional cleaners in London right away. It will be economical and time-saving.

Post-Construction Cleaning: Specialized cleaners in London offer after-renovations or after-building cleaning to clients. They ensure the property is ready for use.

Event Cleaning: What will you do with the mess created after a long night of fun or a fun-filled birthday or any event?  Professional cleaners in London offer pre and post-event cleaning for corporate events, meetings, and parties.

Specialized Cleaning Services: Cleaning sensitive environments such as healthcare facilities or laboratories requires extensive experience and expertise. Professional cleaners in London provide deep cleaning services for all commercial facilities, including healthcare settings. Equipped with the necessary tools and skills, they ensure a thorough and meticulous cleaning from the ground up.

Additional Advantages of hiring Professional cleaners in London:

Efficiency in Time Management: Professional cleaning services provide significant time savings for both homeowners and business proprietors, freeing them to concentrate on their essential daily tasks or business endeavours.

Specialized Expertise and Tools: These experts possess the necessary skills and state-of-the-art equipment to execute various cleaning operations with efficiency.

Health and Well-being: A well-maintained environment mitigates health hazards and promotes the overall health of those within the space.

Tailored Cleaning Solutions: The cleaning offerings are adaptable, and designed to align with individual preferences and timetables, ensuring client convenience.

Enhanced Appearance and Work Efficiency: Maintaining a pristine environment not only improves the visual appeal of a location but also contributes to heightened productivity within a workplace.

Professional cleaning services offered by Go For Cleaning in London play a crucial role in maintaining clean, healthy, and aesthetically pleasing environments. Both home and business owners should call them to take the benefits of their experience and expertise.