#housekeeping white rock

[casaterracleaning]

Move Out Cleaning Company in Surrey - Casa Terra Cleaning

What defines move out cleaning?

Move-out cleaning, also known as end-of-tenancy cleaning or vacate cleaning, refers to a thorough cleaning process performed when tenants are moving out of a rented property or a homeowner is preparing to sell their home. The primary goal of move-out cleaning is to restore the property to its original condition or as close to it as possible, ensuring that it is clean, well-maintained, and ready for the next occupants. This type of cleaning goes beyond regular cleaning tasks and involves deep cleaning and attention to detail. Here's what defines move-out cleaning:

Comprehensive Cleaning: Move-out cleaning involves cleaning every nook and cranny of the property, including areas that might be neglected during routine cleaning. It covers the entire interior space, including bedrooms, living rooms, bathrooms, kitchens, hallways, and any additional rooms.

Deep Cleaning: The focus of move-out cleaning is on deep cleaning tasks that remove built-up dirt, grime, and stains that might have accumulated over time. This includes cleaning carpets, upholstery, blinds, baseboards, light fixtures, and more.

Appliances: All appliances are thoroughly cleaned, both inside and out. This includes ovens, microwaves, refrigerators, stovetops, and other kitchen appliances. Any residual food, grease, or stains are cleaned to ensure they are in good condition for the next occupants.

Bathrooms: Bathrooms are given special attention. Cleaning includes scrubbing tiles, grout, and fixtures, disinfecting toilets, sinks, and showers, and ensuring all surfaces are free of soap scum and mildew.

Floors: All types of flooring, such as carpets, hardwood, tile, and linoleum, are cleaned appropriately. Carpets are often vacuumed, and hard floors are mopped or polished to remove dirt and stains.

Walls and Surfaces: Walls, baseboards, and other surfaces are wiped down and cleaned to remove any marks, fingerprints, or scuffs. Stains are treated to the best extent possible.

Windows: Interior windows and glass surfaces are cleaned to ensure they are clear and free of streaks. Exterior windows might also be cleaned if accessible.

Cabinets and Storage Spaces: Cabinets, closets, and storage spaces are emptied and cleaned. Shelves, drawers, and surfaces are wiped down, and any lingering odors are addressed.

Fixtures and Hardware: Light fixtures, ceiling fans, doorknobs, faucets, and other hardware are cleaned and polished to remove dust and dirt.

Garage and Outdoor Areas: If applicable, the garage and any outdoor areas, such as patios or decks, might also be cleaned to ensure a clean and welcoming environment.

Trash Removal: All trash, debris, and personal items left behind by the previous occupants are removed and disposed of properly.

Professional Cleaning Supplies: Move-out cleaning often involves the use of professional cleaning products and equipment to ensure thorough and effective cleaning.

Move-out cleaning is usually carried out by professional cleaning companies or individuals experienced in deep cleaning. Landlords and property managers often require tenants to perform a move-out cleaning before their security deposit is returned or before the property is shown to potential new tenants.

[paddockbunny]

list A, #38, toto wolff?

The Arrangement

Summary: Toto and Susie have a rock solid relationship built around pure love, honesty and most importantly trust. So, what happens when you start working as Susie's assistant and a shocking revelation comes to light? Are you willing to be much more trusting and open than you ever thought possible? Rating: 18+. Pairing : Toto Wolff x Reader (+ a little bit of Susie) Word Count : 1,724 (part one of 2) Trigger Warnings : 18+, NSFW, adult material, adult language, discussion of open marriages, polyamory (I think), discussion around sex but nothing too heavy 💞Authors Note : This is a work of pure fiction and is intended to be taken as such. I never usually write about IRL WAG's but there is only a small hint about Susie in this and mainly focuses on Toto. *Please tell me if this comes across as super cheesy? Part 2 is better, promise. I couldn't work out how to get the line in.

Prompt : List A #38 : "Is there a reason you're in my bed?"

“Shit!” You sigh trying to change the ink on the printer but only making your fingers more stained from the cartridge you had just removed. You groaned as you tried to get the new one into place and hear a click to signify your trial had come to an end and you could tell your boss Susie to try hitting print again.  “Come on….” You moaned as you desperately tried to get the damn click. You were new. One singular month under your belt as Susie’s assistant. And while she was lovely you didn’t want to disappoint her. You needed this job. Not for any financial reasons but because it got your parents off your back about wasting your business degree. Working for the Wolff’s (the most powerful couple in motorsport) would look good on your CV, that was for sure. You rattled the cartridge back and forth waiting for it to…*click* “YES!” You cry out gleefully as your task was done. Inky fingers were the product of your hard work.  “Try it now!” You yell out of the stunning masculine office which you hadn’t quite taken in till now. 

You were standing in Toto Wolff’s home office. Alone. It felt strange. Illegal almost. The room was undoubtably manly with its dark royal blue walls, sleek chrome finishings and black and white photography adoring the walls. It was unmistakably Toto (the trophies on the built in shelves really gave it away) even if you barely knew him. You were around almost constantly. 8am till 8pm were your official hours but you were here, in their home so often you became like a permanent feature along with their sons nanny and the housekeepers. Which was why it was a little odd you didn’t actually see more of the famous Toto Wolff. Actually, thinking about it you were sort of glad he worked so hard and was away so much. It would have been awkward with him around. Having a silly school girl crush on your employers husband couldn’t be a good thing could it? He wouldn’t ever stray (that much was very true) but it wouldn’t be good for your mind if you thought too much about what your life would look like if he did. 

“Hey, is it working?” Susie appeared in the doorway smiling as usual. You glanced across at the desk with the printer on it and it was indeed working just perfectly. Only thing was, she had caught you staring at some of her husbands things. You had to try cover it up. “Sorry, I was just admiring some of these uh…keepsakes.”  “Pretty cool huh?” She came fully into the room and eyed up some of the items herself before pointing a few out and giving you the backstory.  “And this…this belonged to Niki. Niki Lauda.” She pointed at the red cap in a clear glass box. “Niki was a very close friend. He was a sort of mentor to Toto. He was Jack’s Godfather.” She explained and although you of course knew this (being a motorsport fan) you couldn’t help but find it touching she was so open to talk about something so personal with you. "He would have liked you. He had a thing for beautiful women." You felt your cheeks begin to blush at her words. You felt so at ease in her presence this news you would have been the type of a racing giant was nothing more than super flattering. So you when you found yourself turning away to stifle a yawn you couldn’t believe how bad it must have looked. 

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” She exclaimed as she looked at her watch after your rather obvious omission of tiredness. “It’s after eleven. You’ve been here since seven thirty this morning. I’m so sorry.” She kept apologising and although you felt like you were going to drop any minute you kept telling her you were fine. “Listen, why don’t you take a rest. Toto can drive you home when he gets back. I can’t believe I lost track of time like that.” 

You were hesitant at first to accept her offer. It was a little strange to catch forty winks in someone else’s home. But she practically ushered you straight toward a bedroom and you felt your body relaxing at the sight of the luxurious looking cotton sheets on the big bed.  “I can’t, I feel so bad…”

“Don’t. Honestly. Toto will drive you home when he gets back.” She smiled and slowly closed the door behind her. The room was illuminated only by the moonlight streaming in through the open window. The room was light coloured, you could tell that much. It had a vibe of an upmarket hotel and smelled absolutely incredible. It reminded you of something. A man’s cologne or something. It was woody, musky, but with an airy lightness you simply loved. You kicked off your plain white trainers and lay down on top of the bed as if it was a welcoming bear hug. You didn’t waste time looking around. Your body shivered out of tiredness so badly you would have dove head first into the big inviting bed if you could have, but instead you lay down on top of it carefully as not to disturb the sheets too much. 

Sound asleep was what you were when you heard the faint clearing of a throat. You barely even stirred as the noise was made again. You were dreaming of being on a tropical island being served a blue cocktail by a cabana boy as he fanned you with one of those old fashioned fans you only ever saw in movies. Your eyes slowly adjusted as you “came too” and immediately wished you hadn’t woken from your slumber at all. Standing there, leaning over you like some big, dark shadow was the figure of Mr Wolff - and not like the one in the fairytale. You were just about to swear when he spoke first. 

“Is there a reason you’re in my bed?” His accent was thick. His voice was low and rough. In different circumstances it would have made your stomach flip. Frantically you wracked your brain for a good reason as to how you came to be in his bed, of all places. You were tired seemed like the surest way to get you fired. But as you’re brain worked overtime suddenly you saw the expression on Toto’s face change as he took in the sight of you still lying on top of the covers. It dawns on you that he’s now smirking at you and you couldn’t put into words how nervous you had become. It was most certainly nerves down to who he was, in motorsport and business, but also because you found him so undeniably hot. There was something about him that you couldn’t help but find sort of irresistible - even though you were literally employed by this man’s wife and that was enough of the lusty talk about him to last a lifetime. Toto just had this presence and aura that commanded a space and right now it was commanding this (his) bedroom. 

Then right in front of your eyes his features start to soften and he began to smirk at you at you. The action makes you nervous.  “Please forgive me…” you rush to get up and be suddenly sits down beside you, so close it was as if he was holding you in place. You went to explain to him his wife had offered me a chance to lay down and rest after I had overworked but he silenced you.  “You don’t need to explain or ask forgiveness.” His voice had lowered and was now so thick with a tone you couldn’t work out. The whole scene must would have looked completely bonkers and bizzare. It would have been even stranger at the fact you didn't even move. Toto took a deep inhale of breath and on the exhale said “fuck it”. 

“You’ve worked for us for….a month now?” He asked and you couldn’t do anything but nervously nod. He was so close to you his body was touching your leg. You tried not to think about it as he continued; “I’m going to tell you something, it’s private and a part of the confidentiality clause we had you sign.” Oh God, what was he going to say? What were you going to have to pretend you had never heard? How would you cope if you were asked about this? He was so confident in his posture you deduced it couldn’t possibly be something bad, illegal or dangerous. 

“My wife and I...” he paused and cast his eyes up and down your face as if he were trying to get a read on you before continuing “We have an open marriage.” OH FUCK! He gave you zero time to process again because he was already following it up with; “Do you know what that means?” Before you could stop yourself from getting whiplash. This was absolutely not what you thought Toto would have come out with when he was stood over you only moments ago. You snapped back to his question and although you sort of did know what that meant you still shook your head as a “no” which he seemed to delight in 

“We get to fuck other people.” That was when you realised Toto’s hand had come to sitting on your thigh. You didn’t say or do anything.  “She’s had a few drivers, none I would worry about, but me? I’ve not really indulge.” Your brain suddenly went completely and utterly blank, trying not to zone in on the word "indulge" as if fucking other women was like a tasty slice of chocolate cake. But your brain swirled as all you could think of was how warm his hand felt on your thigh (even through your smart but tight trousers). You were sure you weren’t reading this right and he actually meant he wanted you to help find him someone one appropriate for him to do, well, whatever he wanted with. 

As you felt the temperature rise a few notches at the X-Rated confession (and revelation) that your employers were in an open relationship was continuing to blow your mind you began to wonder why he was suddenly telling you this all now. Why did you even need to know this in the first place? Besides you figured they were rock solid, as solid as they came in fact. Surely they weren’t “seeing other people”? But then you weren’t stupid, you knew about open relationships, usually that was totally based on love and trust not at all like they were in the break-up sphere. 

“Mr Wolff, I don’t know if I’m reading this right…” you whipped back to your earlier stream of thought so fast it almost gave you whiplash considering you we’re all kinds of stressed now you were being pulled so quickly into their inner sanctum. But Toto was still smirking - somewhat arrogantly now - at you. In that moment, Toto’s eyes flickered down to your lips and back up. It was becoming more obvious to you as to his motives.  

“How are you reading it?” His voice changed and was darker than before but the amusement still remained . “That I want to fuck you?” He asked. You weren’t quite so bold enough to answer him that yes, that was your assumption. 

“Because I do." He said directly "I want to fuck you."

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Love, Law and Laundry

A/N: Teaser from a new Bloodweave fic in the style of a romcom/drama where Astarion is a lawyer and Gale is a grad student who recently started working for him as a housekeeper and they eventually fall in love. Pics courtesy of @papercutstoday (who helped fuel a lot of this and listened to my rambling lol)

Love Law and Laundry

Gale stared at the address he’d written down on a scrap piece of paper then at the large highrise building in front of him. It would be an understatement to say that it didn’t appear daunting, nearly looming over him. He climbed the steps up to the doors and pulled it open, a rush of cold air from the AC slapping him in the face as he stepped inside and made his way towards the elevators. 

He pressed the button for the fifteenth floor and used the elevator’s mirrored walls to double check his appearance. He was trying not to be as nervous as felt and wasn’t exactly failing but he wasn’t exceeding either.  

Twenty six years old. Back home living with his mother. Starting back at square one with his master degree and working a part time job as a home cleaner. Was it his top choice for a part time job? Not in the slightest, but the client that Jaheira had assigned him to was willing to pay a lot for someone to come by a few days a week. 

Apparently this particular one, Astarion Ancunin, which try saying that five times fast, had a reputation among the Harper Cleaning Co. Worked weird hours. Had some weird dietary needs or something. Weird temperament, just weird all around. But for fifty dollars an hour Gale could overlook ‘weird’. 

The elevator doors dinged as they slid open and he stepped onto the floor counting the numbers as he walked past the apartments. 

1501. 

1503.

1505.

1507.

1509.

1511. 

He stopped in front of the door and double checked that it was the right place and pressed the doorbell listening as it rang out through the apartment. Condo? He rocked on his heels as he waited and heard the locks disengage before the door opened and a older man with a pale face, a shock of silver white curls and eyes that made Gale think of bloodstones regarded him coolly. 

“What happened to the other girl? Mayrina or something?” he asked. 

“She…is no longer with the company,” Gale answered. “Uh…sorry is your dad here by chance? I’m Gale. I’m supposed to be her replacement.” 

The man blinked at Gale and eyed him curiously. “My dad…? No he isn’t, he’s been dead a good fifteen years now.” 

Gale winced. Way to put your foot in your mouth Dekarios. “Sorry…I just sort of...ahem...From what Jaheira told me,” and what people said I assumed you were some grumpy 90 year old man… “You are Mr. Ancunin then?” 

“Yes, but Astarion’s fine,” he appeared more amused at Gale’s mistake more than anything. “A voicemail sounds vaguely familiar.” He opened the door wider and motioned Gale inside, shutting the door behind him. 

Gale followed him down the short entryway and holy hells how did this man find anything? There were clothes strewn about, leftover takeout containers, empty bottles of wine. Half drunk cups of coffee, papers and books and notepads strewn about. 

He glanced over and saw the man leaning against the island counter that separated the living room from the kitchen, cell phone to his ear. 

“So they did,” he nodded and set the phone down. “Well, you certainly look…heartier than the last few.” 

Seems like one has to be…Gale just gave a slight smile. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he offered. “Coffee? Water? Tea?” 

“Water’s fine,” Gale answered. “Your requests mentioned that you needed general housekeeping, bit of meal prepping and the like?” 

He watched Astarion fill two glasses with water and walked over handing Gale a cup. “Yes. Housekeeping, meal prepping, grocery shopping. There might be times when I need to go out of town on business so perhaps some apartment sitting from time to time…”

Gale nodded and drank some water. “Sounds reasonable enough.” 

“We haven’t gotten to the fun part yet,” Astarion cleared a space on one of the couches and motioned for Gale to have a seat and sat across from him. “My work as a lawyer has me keeping odd hours depending on the case I’m covering.” 

“What kind of law do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?” Gale asked. 

“Family law, though I have dipped my toe into business law and criminal law, environmental law from time to time,” Astarion answered. “But family law is my main coverage. There will be times when I’ll hold a client meeting in my home office. That and the bedroom are the two hours you don't really need to worry about. I'll leave the sheets and towels in the hamper in the hall and take care of the rest.” 

“Home office and bedroom, off limits, gotcha,” Gale made a mental note. 

“Second, I tend to eat a high protein diet...I have a bit of an iron deficiency hence the interesting dietary needs,” Astarion continued. 

Gale tried not to frown. Why would they say that’s a weird dietary restriction? “I’d say I’m a pretty good cook, my mom taught me everything she knows, still teaches me actually, and that shouldn’t be a problem. Are there certain foods you prefer over others? Or things I should look for at the grocery store?” 

Astarion looked momentarily caught off guard by the question but quickly schooled his features. “I try to leave a list at the beginning of the week…I’m not overly picky in terms of food, but if you’re ever unsure you can send a picture of the item and I can let you know. I’m not expecting you to pay for the groceries with your own money, I have a card for that purpose. I just have money transferred over every week so there shouldn’t be any issues with it getting declined.” 

Gale nodded. ‘“Was there a particular number of days you’d like me to come over? I have morning classes on Tuesdays and Thursday’s, but on Mondays and Wednesdays I have evening classes and my Fridays are pretty much open.” 

“You’re in school?” Astarion asked. 

“I just started the master program at Blackstaff Academy,” Gale nodded. “Anthropology but uh…not exactly sure after that...needed some extra money so here I am.” He winced. Was that an okay thing to say?

“Every little bit helps right?” Astarion replied. “Why don’t we start with Sunday’s, Wednesday morning’s and Thursday afternoon’s?” 

“I can do that,” Gale nodded. “When would you like me to start?” 

“When can you start?” Astarion asked. 

“I could come by this Sunday?” Gale offered.

Continue Reading...

[greycaelum]

I'm dying to know suguru reaction meeting baby kou and sai for the first time 🤧

Kaleidoscope Series—Clouds & Mochi Chapters: { Protect }

—Gojo Satoru X Reader

𑁍 Synopsis:

"I'm gonna protect Cat!" Kouki huffed at him. 

"Uhuh? Be a good big brother." Suguru ruffled with the long hair this little mochi had begged him to comb into a bun like his Uncle's.

"That's right! You're the one to say when you got Mimiko-chan and Nanako-chan to protect. You'd grow white hairs soon." Satoru stuck his tongue out, rocking a fussy Saika from her father's loudness.

𑁍 Genre: fluff, domesticity

𑁍 CW/TW: (1.5k)— where Suguru didn't stray and stayed.

𑁍 A/N: some hot cocoa and a scarf for Christmas. I'm not taking requests, but I just wanna write this one.

The doorbell rang several times. Your hands stopped making the tempura for lunch and turned the stove off. Washing your hand over the faucet and patting it dry in a confused frown plastered your brow.

The housekeeper your husband hired had her day off and you got all the Sunday time as your family time and you're not expecting any guests today.

Topless and with an eight weeks old Kouki in diapers, cradled in his arms, Satoru strolled out of the nursery with a bright look on his face. Your shoulders slowly relaxed with your husband's ease.

"Hi My Love," you cooed and dropped a feathery kiss over your sweet boy's forehead.

Kouki's tiny nose scrunch up, rubbing it with his curled-up hand and snuggling back to his Papa's chest. Why so adorable Baby?! You inhaled, stopping yourself with all the fluffy emotions to smooch your son awake from his little nappy time.

"I thought I was your Love?" Satoru huffed with a pout but leaned Kouki so you could kiss the lil' mochi more. You look so novel with your messy bunned hair falling over your face and neck, dressed in his oversized shirt, still plump and round in your postpartum stage but dang, you got his heart swelling with all the changes in your body.

"Can you get the door please Honey?" On your tiptoes, you kissed Satoru's cheeks and slowly cradled your sleeping son into your bosom. The little mochi barely fussed and just snuggle to you for warmth.

Satoru pouted, wanting a little more skin-to-skin contact with his Kikufuku. But the insistent doorbell is starting to irk him too. Especially the person ringing it.

"I can hear it loud and clear, stop punching the darn thing Suguru. You're going to wake up my son." Satoru grab the nearby towel and draped it over you before unlocking the front door and spilling Suguru, holding a present.

"Suguru-san! Come in." You invited the man in with a wide smile. 

Satoru didn't waste a second to snatch the snack from his friend's hand and took Kouki from you so you could change.

You took one last peek, at the three boys before chuckling and left to change.

"He looks so big from the last picture." Suguru stared in awe at the little thing, so identical to the oversized man holding him. Kouki whined at the sudden shift from his mother's soft bosom but quelled from his father's soft rocking and coos.

"Doesn't he look like me?" Satoru grinned proudly. A grin of genuine joy and pride.

"I hope he'd take off from Y/n-chan." Suguru rubs the chubby milky cheeks. He could smell the creamy scent of milk and almonds. Why do babies smell so comforting? Even his heart and hand can't help but feel that tingling urge to nuzzle the little guy.

"Here, hold him."

"W-what? No, I'm fine!" Suguru withdraws his finger in a millisecond holding it before him in defense.

"C'mon, he's a little chonkier than other babies so hold him like this." Satoru laughed at his hesitance as he position his hand to hold Kouki.

"Like this?" Suguru could feel his arms tighten when the little weight slowly curled up into his biceps. There's something about how fully dependent and safe a tiny little bundle is in his stiff arms that pounds his heart.

"He likes you, see he's nuzzling." Satoru hums, proud of his little mochi being calm despite all the changing of arms.

"D-Does he does this all the time?" Suguru instinctively rocks his arms to lull the little guy.

"Do what?"

"Easily attaching to the one who holds him?"

Satoru shook his head.

"He's quite picky. Only lets Y/n, I, and his babysitter hold him on for a long time."

Suguru is barely listening as he stares at Kouki suckling on his tiny thumb. It's a little hard to wrap his head around that all humans started like this, so vulnerable, so innocent.

"He looks so much like Y/n-san." Suguru chuckled when Kouki nuzzle him at the mention of your name. Seems like the little guy's quite attentive to his momma's name.

"Aww, c'mon! Just wait until he grows up, he's gonna be the spitting image of me." Satoru half-heartedly protested, but cannot hold back the proud smirk.

"You alone are more than enough to handle in this society. Stop spreading your menace bacteria on your son too." Suguru spats in his friend's direction and cooed at Kouki who was growing fussy with the loud banter.

"Oh really? Just wait, we're both gonna throw chaos on you." Satoru stuck his tongue out before rushing to the kitchen at the sound of the microwave's timer.

Suguru on the other hand turned back to Kouki who calmed down easily. Rubbing the chonky cheeks with the back of his finger, a part of Suguru's heart warmed up, slowly spreading to his whole heart. Another reason he found to smile genuinely despite the stain of the world. He kinda understands why Satoru named him his hope and sky.

It's a girl.

The very minute Satoru called him, rubbing on Suguru's face he was gonna have a daughter, Suguru already foreseeing the riot this will make.

"I'd die for my son..." Satoru sighed but his face hardened in split second. "But I would kill for my daughter."

"I see... So?" Suguru sighed as well. He would do the same for his twins. Anything to protect his little girls too. Popping the soda can open that he got from the vending machine while on their little break from work, he drank to quench the thirst of summer while watching the kids in the park nearby a daycare have fun and run around their teacher.

"I need to protect her from danger." Satoru cried.

Suguru can't help but sympathize with the desperation in his friend's voice.

That was when you were still pregnant with the little princess, and now that the little treasure Satoru affectionately named his fortune and moon. 

"And what's the danger against women?" Suguru raised his brow.

"Men!" Satoru wailed. "Dammit, Suguru!" The fucker grabbed his collar and shake the life out of him.

"Stop choking me!"

Suguru is starting to offer incense to the boy who will dare to catch the little Gojo Princess's heart, may the heavens spare him from Gojo Satoru's tribulations.

"Su-chan! Look, look! This is my little sister, isn't Saika so pretty?"

Kouki grabs him and leads him to the little princess's crib. And just like that Suguru stared at the bluest of the blue eyes he has ever seen in his whole life. It perfectly stood out in the snow-white hair of the little princess.

She'll be breaking hearts for sure...

"Isn't she so pretty? She got Mama's nose." Kouki grinned, reaching in the gap of the crib to tickle his little sister's cheek, earning a little grunt and flailing of arms from Saika. Suguru ruffled the little mochi's long hair. 

He knew this little guy will grow just to have a heart like his mother's but still, he inherited the cheekiness of his father that is always present in those eyes Kouki inherited from you.

"Well, hello there Little Princess, did you know your Papa's gonna grow silver hair in that white mane of his from worrying about you?" Saika blinked and scrunch her tiny nose, reaching her hands out for him. Suguru laughed at her attempt for a 'carry me'.

He swears Satoru's kids have a penchant for wanting a carry from him all the time. 

"Up you go," Suguru grunted, carefully supporting the little princess's neck against his arms. A small smile against the pacifier filtered on her cute chubby face. "Grow up like your Mom, 'kay? Don't be a troublemaker like your Dad."

Suguru can't blame Satoru.  A part of him knew he would never hesitate to follow Satoru in beating up some punks who dare to lay fingers on this little princess.

"You have to protect her Kou-chan."

"Of course, I would." Kouki vigorously nodded to him. 

Suguru saw the twins loitering around Shoko's watch, all happy with the sweet you keep piling on their table.

"Isn't she so pretty?" Satoru smirked proudly, picking up Saika who made grabby hands to her Papa to snuggle much to Kouki's pout with his little tickling session cut off. "She looks just like Y/n with my hair and eyes."

Suguru can't help but soften his eyes at the sight of his friend being surrounded by warmth.

"You've got your hands full in the next decades, fending off those boys."

He laughed when Satoru turned pale in split second, dreading the very same day he dreads when his twins also leave the nest.

"I'm gonna protect Cat!" Kouki huffed at him. 

"Uhuh? Be a good big brother." Suguru ruffled with the long hair this little mochi had begged him to comb into a bun like his Uncle's.

"That's right! You're the one to say when you got Mimiko-chan and Nanako-chan to protect. You'd grow white hairs soon." Satoru stuck his tongue out, rocking a fussy Saika from her father's loudness.

Thinking back a few years ago, he'd never imagined the two of them being fathers, much more to be so protective of their daughters.

But one thing's for sure. They'd both raise hell and high waters to protect what they're living for.

—GreyCaelum

[PS: Writing for Suguru is not my forte, but I'd say he's a family man]

PLAGIARISM IS A CRIME

Check out the Masterlist for more

All rights and credits of the Jujutsu Kaisen character(s) mentioned images(s) and songs(s) used, belongs to their respective owner(s)

General/Kaleidoscope Series Taglist: @ice-icebaby @aeanya @gummy-dummy @tender-rosiey

[yemme]

Leave The World Behind... (Spoilers)

This Sam Esmail Netflix movie is a gem... It doesn't just give us insight into what could be if our nation pushes the reset button... To have us become prey as Americans... and who will be ready. It dishes out some characterizations for societies stereotypes for a demographic.

Julia Roberts: Amanda, scene of her listening to R&B in the car (Blackstreet). You can tell she used to ride black dick in college. When George comes to the door the racism sets in... the man is wearing a suit with his daughter as a companion but FEAR sets in. Can't trust, doesn't believe black excellence can achieve this house even the expensive car. Finally that fear dissipates and leads to her wanting to fuck him down while her husband is outside.

Mahershala Ali: George, the docile negro. To acquire in this world one must play by a set of rules. It's evident he's done so. Non combative, don't rock the boat and accommodate. When his daughter talks to him while they're sleeping in the basement after the family returns... it's eye opening to his submissiveness. Are you prepared to stand strong for us because her strength will not tolerate his weakness.

Ethan Hawke: Clay, King Carefree... smoked all his brain cells away since his teenage years that he only functions with a wife assist. Hasn't thought for himself in ages.

Myha'la Herrold: Ruth, the problematic black woman. Her assertiveness is an issue. Dominance makes people uneasy. Honesty and intelligence seen as attitude. The hair wet commentary, can't just exist. Fast, have you ever fucked your students, hyper sexualized.

Charlie Evans: Archie... Grade A little prick with the weakest gene code. Killed the role of a young gamer, horny without a AK-47.

Vanessa Aspillaga: Salvadora, the housekeeper that no one ever listens to when speaking facts because somehow society believes speaking Spanish is a lack of intelligence and/or subhuman.

Kevin Bacon: Danny, straight shooter, military ready... but a big softy.

Farrah Mackenzie: Rose/Rosie... to be seen and not heard. Creating a bubble that you live in with blinders is a happy place. It's not just about technology but a way of life. It leads to selfishness where even a simple thought of caring about an outside entity is foreign, alien. Quintessential white woman.

It's giving...

[the-clay-quarters]

Okay this took me three days bcus I spent Way too long thinking about it but! here's my guys in @t6fs' template!

The only bit of this that was left blank for non character reasons is the dreams- I avoid all the dream cards in game to avoid nightmares, so I don't really know the vibes oops. Oh, and the key items are distinctive things they carry regularly, excluding things they'd own at home. Otherwise, detail bits under the cut! I ended up with a lot of notes and wanted to ramble, it's really fuckin long <3

Silverstein

"His" pet is Pembroke's Half-Wild Mandrake (from bag a legend). They both agree that it is still hers, it's just hard to take care of in the middle of the city so it lives out with him. Otherwise, he keeps no pets.

Apathetic but also opinionated: On most things, he's very apathetic, simply agreeing with other people's decisions. On the other hand, though, he is strongly revolutionary and aiming for a lot of change... Not that he'd tell you that, not that you should know.

Dreams: It's canon that clay men can't dream :( No rights

Habitat: He likes being out and about, he spends most of his day out in the streets. He does a lot of "low skill" but high strength work, like moving services or construction.

Both hot/cold and coffee/tea are Neither for clay man reasons: Very high and cold temperatures cause him issues in different, equally annoying ways, and he can't eat/taste either, so no preference on food or drink.

Items: The gloves are clay stained, actually, and primarily on the inside. He started collecting first city coins for heart's desire and just has a habit of keeping some on him now. Horse head amulet... fear of death and uncertainty about the particulars of clay men :)

Flower, white rose: Did you know all the funky coloured roses (ie blue or rainbow) are made by dying white ones? :)c

Animal, saint bernard: Big but fairly gentle and lazy, would be a guard dog if asked but is mostly content to just sit

Element, rock slide: Change! Upheaval! Rocks :3

Pembroke:

The pet is her hunting dog, lovely lil thing <3 She doesn't keep many pets as she's a very busy person (and wouldn't want to put that on her poor housekeeper) but a good dog is always useful.

Rude-polite range is because she defaults to, and is usually, quite polite but often is also overcome with the need to be an absolute lil shit. Duality of man <3

Lodgings: Rooms above an ex-bookshop, now her tailoring shop!

Enemies: See: habit of being a chaotic lil shit. Apparently people don't like it when you think their party is too boring and try to spice it up smh

Items: A wedding ring with no match. A pocket watch to keep a tight schedule. A weapon of some sort, picked from a diverse collection. A travel sewing kit for rogue buttons and popped stitches. A hat pin, back up weapon :)

Flower, green dahlia: .......This one's mostly a pun off of Delia ngl

Animal, borzoi: Fancy and elegant looking, but still a hunting dog. Pretty but vicious~

Vincent:

The pet listed is a frost-moth but they have so. many. bugs. The phosphorescent scarabs are also pets. They have spiders. They keep any and every type of bug to either study or have as a pet. Please never visit their flat if you don't like bugs.

Gender: Bureaucratic misunderstanding. They filled out various forms wrong when they were first travelling to the neath, rolled with the neutral pronouns, realised they like it more than they probably should, and simply refused to think about that at all

Logic-emotion range is them trying to lead with logic but also having high anxiety

Lawful-chaotic and apathetic-opinionated are also anxiety, honestly. Though, for the latter, they are just quiet about their more out-there opinions, especially in the realm of politics. It's a culture thing kinda sorta, if I get into that here it'll add like 3 paragraphs at least.

Cultural identity: Catalan! Very proud of that! But won't default to that and will usually say they're Spanish. I can't get into that for the exact same reasons as the last point oops

Allies: This guy ☝ is depressed and isolating themself

Remember vs forget: When you're this far from home, your culture comes just from your own memories that you can't afford to lose. But also fuck wouldn't it be nice to simply forget the things causing you anxiety.

Items: Big round glasses to counter their shortsightedness. Bugs. Anti spider goggles that aren't prescription, both because they were originally lent and because they don't usually need to see very far with them on. Catholic rosary, worn under their shirt. Bugs. Surface currency, specifically Spanish pesetas, sent from their parents. Bugs. Bugs. More bugs.

Flower, forget me nots: Blue, anxiety coded, pretty <3

Animal, mantis: Awkward looking, vibes <3 Also, specifically hierodula papua bcus it's blue!

[thehistoriangirl]

The Tides Have Veiled [First Interlude]

What's this? Another update? So quickly? Well, this is a peculiar one. Bear with me 👉👈 it'll make sense soon enough.

Viktor x Fem!Reader------Gothic AU/Spooky Sea AU-----1.8K----SFW

> M A S T E R L I S T &lt; ← Previous // Next →

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say.

Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts.

Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: At the beginning, there was the keeper that built the beacon...

Tags: Strangers to Lovers| Slow Burn| Tragic Love| Dark Magic| Curses| Reincarnation| Sea Monsters & Mermaids| Dual Timelines

Taglist: @local-mr-frog @lunar-monster @bittercyder

This house forgets too quickly to your liking.

Green wallpaper changed into a boring white one, golden portraits of a broken family burned down in a makeshift fire outside the entrance, there where the smoke could fill your eyes with tears.

The clothes your mother used to wear, loose skirts and puffy sleeves to avoid much friction against her sensible skin burned all the same. Acrid smoke replaced the salty, yet sweet cadence of her essence.

Part of you hoped the same would occur to you, as you’re the last thing of your mother that is left. Even if it’s an amorph, broken shadow, one that would have probably horrified her.

Not belonging there, but neither here.  

A voice calls you from the relucent kitchen, pulling you out of the whirlpool of thoughts you'd been growing used to having ever since she came. Ever since she came and your mother left.

You don't feel your numb fingers from knitting all evening, but you have no choice, as there won’t be any trip to the city to buy clothes this year. Autumn is approaching, the days getting shorter as the wind picks up speed, wishing to take parts of the pitched roof as a souvenir to the end of the world.

Lady Luna Stell appears in your vision, and you can see her long fingers getting bruised and dried with the new chores of housekeeping. She hands you a rusty plater with lemon juice on a pitcher and a single, empty glass.

“Go to the lighthouse and give this to the keeper,” she says, cleaning herself into her stained apron. You stay there, frozen, a lump of fear settled in your stomach.

I can’t go, it’ll call me.

It always does.

The incessant, ruthless sway of the waves crashing against the rocks, echoed in the abyss of the cliff. They call you, and it breaks your heart to ignore them.

“What are you waiting for?” Luna says the disgust dripping from her voice makes you jump on your place, the lemon juice almost flowing over the pitcher’s rim. She scowls down at you. “I swear you’re a useless girl. At least you’re pretty enough to fool a man. You must consider yourself lucky.”

Luna knows the reason behind the strange aura surrounding you like a heavy cloak; the way the midwives first cooed happily at you while a baby, now growing with eeriness and a sense of doubt as you turn into an adult.

You look too much like her—like the madwoman who jumped off the cliff.

You turn away from her scrutiny, leaving behind the house that smells like overcooked meat and salty soup that nobody could eat at lunchtime. Perhaps another reason why Luna seems to be so on edge.

Or maybe the reason lies behind another destroyed fishing boat. All left behind with catch rotting in the sun and nobody on board. The words of your father, and you can only trust them, for you are forbidden to go near the sea.

The sky is clear today, a friendly breeze moving your hair against your face, the echo of your worn-out shoes against the rock, still uneven in the steps, still rough without the caress of feet going up and down, morphing it against its natural state to become it human-made.

You look up at the elongated shadow the lighthouse’s tower cast on it, like a giant that momentarily can hide the sun beneath white cement rock, so vibrant against the bright sunlight that its form is glued to behind your eyelids when you blink away.

The gate is open, the odor of oil painting stuck in your nostrils as you slip inside, looking at the tender garden starting to grow in crooked sprouts someone must attach little sticks to the stems to make them grow upward.

Not someone, but the keeper.

A black mouth welcomes you against the green and white of the gate, and you peek through it, looking neatly inside the lighthouse's ground floor.

Newly wallpaper in blue with wildflowers printed on it covering every wall—the same wallpaper your house used to be before becoming white and geometric; the old furniture all moved here. The squeaky chair you used to read fairytales in, the mattress your mother used to tuck all the way against the window to let the marine breeze in, even in winter.

In this space, everything is as it was used to; time stopping in the round walls of the tower, stopping it from slipping through the door as the only way from here is upward.

“Hello?” you say, your voice climbing the stairs before you are resolute to do it. Polished stairs made of red cedar support each of your feet without noisy complaints; the rail is thick enough to let your mind dare to see down once you're midway toward the beacon’s room.

“Hi?” you ask again, not without feeling stupid now that you are up here. A layer of sweat covering your face, sticky lemon juice falling all over the pitcher.

You’re almost expecting another earful from the keeper once he got to take the messy tray when you hear a grunt, the sound of a metallic object slipping, ricocheting over the wood to lay at your feet.

A golden gear the size of a lemon.

You observe the way it makes the sunlight reflect on the smooth surface, before rising your view to see where you could let the tray and pick up the gear.

The lighthouse keeper, however, is faster.

He stands up from his seated position against the beacon’s power wiring, and now it’s his time for the sun to frame him.

Honey-like eyes widen in surprise to see you standing there, some stains of oil against his pale skin that go down his arms that the rolled-up sleeves cannot cover. It could be the orangey hues of the upcoming dusk, but you can almost see his hair becoming aflame with the light pooling from the wide windows of this room that seems to be suspended in the air.

“Um, hi,” you hear yourself saying, cringing at the sound of your shaky voice resonating around the still space. “Hello. My moth… Mrs. Stell told me to bring you this,” you say, rising the plater slightly. “Where can I put it?”

There are no tables in the room.

From next to him, he retrieves a cane, his stance elegant as he walks toward you.

He’s much younger than you first thought he would be. Maybe a couple of years older than you, but no more than that. What is he doing here as a lightkeeper? You could almost picture him in a fancy suit in one of the so-many parties Luna and your father wanted to drag Adara and you.

For some childish reason, you feel your heart picking up a step as he stops close to you, so much so you can see the two tiny moles adorning his sculpted face; one under his left eye and over the right side of his lips.

Staring is rude, you chastise yourself.

The man points to the closed door behind him. “Good evening, Miss. You can leave it inside there,” he answers, his voice soft and with a cadence you’re sure people can hear once and then remember forever. “The door’s unlocked.”

He kneels carefully, and you can’t stop your eyes from following the movement. A hand grasping the cane as the other picks up the missing gear. The man must have felt your gaze because, after a blink, his golden eyes are settled on you.

He looks almost amused, eyebrows quirked.

You move away, heels quickly following each other as you made your way toward the room. The control panel room, you quickly recognize. With a table filled with books and wrinkled notebooks; a sofa cluttered with papers of machines and cursive calligraphy that flows like water, so easily.

You put the tray on the table, hands piling the books nearby to push them further onto the surface. You also accommodate the stray papers aside, not wanting that your mess of lemon juice get on the pages.

When you emerge from the room, Viktor is waiting for you, playing with an oil-stained rag between his hands.

“I apologize for my rude manners,” he says, his cheeks slightly pink as he extends a hand toward you. “I was caught off guard. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, your fingers sticky from the juice and the sudden sweat that accompanies your frantic heartbeat.

He looks awkwardly from his hand to yours, which is tucked against your stomach.

“Eh,” he says with a wry smile. “I’m Viktor.”

Sheepishly, your fingers graze his palm. And if he finds the texture uncomfortable, you can't see the disgust in his eyes. His hands are slightly cold despite being in constant movement, and you can only hope a hole can open under your feet.

You barely squeeze his fingers, even when he does. Your voice comes out like a trembling breath when you tell him your name.

His eyes squint in amused half-moons when his smile deepens. He tilts his head after a moment, letting go of your hand.

The carefree gestures throw you off guard. He doesn’t know about you, about what people in town say about your mother—about yourself. A desperate part of you wants to know if he's just pretending to like you to keep his job.

For your credit, he doesn’t swipe his hand clean on his rag. Instead, he gestures to the beacon.

“I’m afraid I have to resume work, Miss,” he says, his cane thumping against the floor even when he doesn’t move away. “But thank you for the water. I will return the tray and the dishes tomorrow.”

“I can retrieve them myself,” you hear yourself saying. Because that way you can know if he’s willing to tolerate your presence. You signal to the stairs. “I think it’s enough effort to climb up and down those to make you climb the ones toward my house, too.”

Viktor chuckles. “You’re very considerate, Miss,” he says. Just as your mind is already conjugating the way he will avoid you, he adds: “In that case, you can pass around here at any time. I will be here all day.”

You see the amusement in his eyes, and there’s no way your lips don’t curve upward. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow, Viktor.”

You turn around, toward the stairs, in case your face can unveil how flustered you feel—a strange kind of hope. Perhaps there could be someone who could make you company. And who could be more willing, than a man desperate enough to take the lonely job of a lighthouse keeper?

[sassenach77yle]

Samhain💫

Getting up once in the dark to go adventuring is a lark. Twice in two days smacks of masochism.No nice warm car with rugs and thermoses this time, either. I stumbled sleepily up the hill behind Frank, tripping over roots and stubbing my toes on stones. It was cold and misty, and I dug my hands deeper into the pockets of my cardigan.One final push up over the crest of the hill, and the henge was before us, the stones barely visible in the somber light of predawn. Frank stood stock-still, admiring them, while I subsided onto a convenient rock, panting."Beautiful," he murmured. He crept silently to the outer edge of the ring, his shadowy figure disappearing among the larger shadows of the stones. Beautiful they were, and bloody eerie too. I shivered, and not entirely from the cold. If whoever had made them had meant them to impress, they'd known what they were doing.Frank was back in a moment. "No one here yet," he whispered suddenly from behind me, making me jump. "Come on, I've found a place we can watch from."The light was coming up from the east now, just a tinge of paler grey on the horizon, but enough to keep me from stumbling as Frank led me through a gap he had found in some alder bushes near the top of the path. There was a tiny clearing inside the clump of bushes, barely enough for the two of us to stand shoulder to shoulder. The path was clearly visible, though, and so was the interior of the stone circle, no more than twenty feet away. Not for the first time, I wondered just what kind of work Frank had done during the War. He certainly seemed to know a lot about maneuvering soundlessly in the dark.Drowsy as I was, I wanted nothing more than to curl up under a cozy bush and go back to sleep. There wasn't room for that, though, so I continued to stand, peering down the steep path in search of oncoming Druids. I was getting a crick in my back, and my feet ached, but it couldn't take long; the streak of light in the east had turned a pale pink, and I supposed it was less than half an hour 'til dawn.The first one moved almost as silently as Frank. There was only the faintest of rattles as her feet dislodged a pebble near the crest of the hill, and then the neat grey head rose silently into sight. Mrs. Graham. So it was true, then. The vicar's housekeeper was sensibly dressed in tweed skirt and woolly coat, with a white bundle under one arm. She disappeared behind one of the standing stones, quiet as a ghost.They came quite quickly after that, in ones and twos and threes, with subdued giggles and whispers on the path that were quickly shushed as they came into sight of the circle.I recognized a few. Here came Mrs. Buchanan, the village postmistress, blond hair freshly permed and the scent of Evening in Paris wafting strongly from its waves. I suppressed a laugh. So this was a modern-day Druid!There were fifteen in all, and all women, ranging in age from Mrs. Graham's sixty-odd years to a young woman in her early twenties, whom I had seen pushing a pram round the shops two days before. All of them were dressed for rough walking, with bundles beneath their arms. With a minimum of chat, they disappeared behind stones or bushes, emerging empty-handed and bare-armed, completely clad in white. I caught the scent of laundry soap as one brushed by our clump of bushes, and recognized the garments as bedsheets, wrapped about the body and knotted at the shoulder.

They assembled outside the ring of stones, in a line from eldest to youngest, and stood in silence, waiting. The light in the east grew stronger.As the sun edged its way above the horizon, the line of women began to move, walking slowly between two of the stones. The leader took them directly to the center of the circle, and led them round and round, still moving slowly, stately as swans in a circular procession.The leader suddenly stopped, raised her arms, and stepped into the center of the circle. Raising her face toward the pair of easternmost stones, she called out in a high voice. Not loud, but clear enough to be heard throughout the circle. The still mist caught the words and made them echo, as though they came from all around, from the stones themselves.Whatever the call was, it was echoed again by the dancers. For dancers they now became. Not touching, but with arms outstretched toward each other, they bobbed and weaved, stillmoving in a circle. Suddenly the circle split in half. Seven of the dancers moved clockwise, still in a circular motion. The others moved in the opposite direction. The two semicircles passed each other at increasing speeds, sometimes forming a complete circle, sometimes a double line. And in the center, the leader stood stock-still, giving again and again that mournful high-pitched call, in a language long since dead.They should have been ridiculous, and perhaps they were. A collection of women in bedsheets, many of them stout and far from agile, parading in circles on top of a hill. But the hair prickled on the back of my neck at the sound of their call.They stopped as one, and turned to face the rising sun, standing in the form of two semicircles, with a path lying clear between the halves of the circle thus formed. As the sun rose above the horizon, its light flooded between the eastern stones, knifed between the halves of the circle, and struck the great split stone on the opposite side of the henge.The dancers stood for a moment, frozen in the shadows to either side of the beam of light. Then Mrs. Graham said something, in the same strange language, but this time in a speaking voice. She pivoted and walked, back straight, iron-grey waves glinting in the sun, along the path of light. Without a word, the dancers fell in step behind her. They passed one by one through the cleft in the main stone and disappeared in silence.

Cap 2 ~Outlander

[saltiestblkgirlofall]

A Song of the Moon and the Sea [Chapter 1]

Summary: Even amongst her hidden people, there were stories of sirens and seductive creatures, lurking beneath the murky depths of the ocean. She had put little stock in her mother’s tales, until a battle forces her to land near a sea serpent’s domain.

Notes: So. Here I am, simping for the damn fishman. And who is surprised? Absolutely no one, least of all myself. I had to hop on the Namor bandwagon, it's only right. (Although I just wanna talk about that moment, and by talk I mean fry him up and serve him with butter sauce before licking the sauce off AYE) A lil bit of housekeeping: I write OC content. If you don't like that, adhere to the golden rule of fandom: don't like, don't read. And more than that, I write black female OCs exclusively. I, a Afro-Caribbean woman, write for myself first and foremost, I just post in the void. If you would like to be tagged, LMK. This story will (hopefully) have Saturday updates and be less than 10-15 chapters. Takes place in the same continuity as Spark.

Word Count: 1.75k

Warnings: Namor is his own warning and you can see the seeds for an obsession planted in his chapter.

177X

The crash had broken the still of his watch.

Namor had observed from a distance as something plummeted from the skies and crashed into the surf near the small, uninhabited island. Sense told him to leave matters be, to return to his people. He had heard the distant sounds of a battle, beyond the roar of the storms. Even at a distance, he could see flashes of light, hear unfamiliar screams. It had been less than a year since some stinking surfacer had washed up onto the shores of the island. Namor followed, intent on killing then dumping his body in the ocean. 

Only for the man, in the tongue of the hated invaders, to begin babbling about ‘angels’ and ‘demons’. From what he could glean before putting him out of his misery, his ship had been attacked by angels. They had ‘stolen’ the ship’s human cargo, brutally murdered the captain and then sunk the ship. 

He had sneered and stabbed him through the neck, before returning to the sea. Let the beasts of land have this carrion. 

Now…he wondered if that thing hadn’t just been babbling out of fear and pain. 

Through the darkness of the night he spotted something. A person. Small and feminine, wearing black armor and a pale mask which covered their face. A pair of long, silver white wings extended out from their back.

As he drew closer, the figure drifted down from the surface of the water, sinking like a rock towards the tranquil ocean floor. He was able to reach them, extending his arms. The tides gently pushed the body into his grasp.

What was this creature? This thing? Whatever it was, he should drown it. Clearly it did not possess the means to breathe underwater, as he did. 

Yet he rose, bringing them just above the water so that they could breathe. It was a woman, small and solid, based on its shape alone. The black and silver of their clothing, soaked through by the saltwater, glittered in the moonlight. 

After several moments, they choked, spluttered, and he saw water drip from the small gap between mask and face. Curious, he thought to himself. 

From behind the mask, he could see eyes the color of the moon staring back at him. They were bloodshot and confused. When she spoke, it was with a liquid accent, as smooth as seaglass. 

“Who are you?” She breathed. 

“My people call me Ku’Kul’Kan.” Her eyes widened behind the mask, ever so slightly. “But my enemies call me Namor.” He heard her sharply inhale, gasp, and clutch her side. When her hand came away, there was silver blood on her hand. He ignored this, focused on her eyes for a moment. Eyes were windows to the soul and he could see fear in them. Abject terror and flightiness. But something intrigued him. Reaching up, he made to take her mask off.

He grasped, and tried to pull, as she grabbed at his wrist, weakly trying to extract herself from his grasp. She struggled with all her might, and it did not even phase him. He cocked his head curiously and reached down, grabbing the smooth surface of the mask. He pulled. It did not give.

Her soft hands squeezed his wrist and she groused, “It won’t come off, even if you attempt to rip it from my face.” 

“And if I killed you?” Namor purred, a threat woven through the sensually intoned works. “Could I remove it then?” 

—

The woman was silent from the shock. Her heart beat wildly against her ribs, like a bird fighting to be free of a cage. She could see her second’s disapproving expression now, his lips parting to tell her that she should not have sent the others away. Now here she was, in the grip of a man dripping in lunar stone, jade and precious metals. 

“You have nothing to gain from killing me.” 

It was a bluff. Breathless words thrown out by a woman who did not believe them. The man holding her stared silently, watching, waiting with his cruel, deep brown eyes. And then he smiled thinly, baring perfect white teeth with sharp incisors. The winged warrior squirmed in his grasp, but he held her fast and tight.

Would she see Valanca’s gates again? Or had this meeting only sealed her unpleasant fate? Her intent had been for this to be a straightforward raid. To destroy one of the surfacers’ grim, black boats, rescue their victims, and then return through the Moon Gate. Now she was at the mercy of…whoever this mysterious man was.

Her vision swam, body laboring from the numerous injuries she had sustained.

“No.” He finally answered. His smile remained the same, but his gaze grew just a shade warmer. Is he amused by me? She thought. “Although perhaps I may have nothing to gain from your harm, I would lose nothing by killing you.” The smile on his face grew sharp to the point of becoming threatening. Her chest began to ache, and true terror filled her body. He held her tight, preventing her escape. His physical strength far exceeded her own. “What do you think, my lool ujo?”

“Lool ujo?” She tasted the words on her tongue. “What are you talking about?” 

“I have told you of my name.” He said. “What of yours?” 

“…” The woman’s blood crawled. When her mother yet lived, she’d told tales of the surface. Of sirens which dragged even their kind down to the murky depths of the ocean. Never fly too close to the ocean, my child. Her mother had warned her, imploring her with large, dark eyes. 

“Cyrianthe.” She mumbled. His body felt firm and warm against hers. There was power in names and yet here she was giving hers freely, as though under compulsion. “My people call me Cyrianthe.” 

“Cyrianthe.” Her name sounded like sweet blasphemy upon his lips. Sensual in his musical accent. “And tell me, Cyrianthe. Why should I release you?”

“Because I mean you no harm.” Her voice was small, but steady. Firm. “I simply wish to rest and then return to my home.” 

“What makes you think I should let you go, hm?” Her mouth became dry, as though cotton had been stuffed into her throat. In his mind, she had already seen too much. She flailed, and the feeling of her wings smacking him caught him off guard. He dropped her, and Cyri took the opportunity to get away. 

—

Namor watched as, without a glance back, Cyrianthe swam (flailed) to the shore. It was clear she didn’t know how to swim, but he admired her tenacity. Her wings beat loudly against the water, not so graceful now that the feathers were saturated by the sea.

She crawled upon the beach, briefly removing her mask to retch up seawater and bile, but still, he could not see her face. Without bothering to replace it, she promptly collapsed halfway out of the water, wings spread wide. 

If she was left there, the surf would drag her back out to the ocean. And given her exhaustion, she was likely to drown. He watched, he waited, he sighed and swam towards the shore. As he emerged from the water, he took the opportunity to study her. 

She was wearing vibranium, but it felt different from that found in Talokan. Her black clothing felt soft, but when he pulled, it did not give, as though made of steel. Despite her pittance of strength, it was clear that she was a warrior of some sort. Kneeling down, he hefted her gentle weight into his arms, careful with her wings, and walked further up the sands with her. 

When they were clear of the shoreline, he placed her back down upon the white beach and stared. 

A high forehead, hair concealed by a wrap. A broad nose from which blood the color of molten silver dripped and plump lips, with high cheekbones. Her skin the color of freshly turned earth. Her brow was tensed in pain. The rising sun gave her skin an ethereal glow. 

Between her wings lay a sheath, and he pulled forth a sword with grooves etched into the sword. Slashing it downwards, he was shocked when it lengthened, becoming more akin to a bladed whip, blue-white energy crackling and sending a light shock up his arm. He turned the blade this way and that, admiring the craftsmanship. Carefully avoiding stepping her outstretched wings, he stepped around to Cyrithin’s head. 

Carefully, he turned her over onto her front. She didn’t appear to be bleeding there. Her chest rose and fell gently, and she let out what sounded like a moan of pain. He frowned, until his eyes trailed up to her wing. It was bent at a strange angle. Ah, he thought. It must be like sitting strangely on one’s leg or arm. 

He pushed her back onto her stomach, and her wing flopped onto the sand, free once more. 

The light caught on her hand. He leaned over her. And grinned at the sight. He crouched down for several moments, then stood back up and returned to the water—he had what he wanted. 

—

It was hours before she showed even the minimum signs of life. 

Namor watched as, an hour after sunset, she finally sat up. She looked around, as though dazed. 

Slowly, she staggered onto her feet. Her wings spread, silver from tip to tip, the great mass of feathers and bone engulfing her smaller body. The pale and cold light caught on her inhuman appendages, colors dancing against the glossy sheen of the feathers as she flapped once, twice. 

He couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away. 

She launched herself into the air and he dipped back beneath the waves as she flew over the ocean. 

She swooped low over where he hid, as though she could see him—sense him. Circled once. Twice. 

And then as quickly as she had appeared, she vanished into the dark, cloudy night. As though she had never been there at all. He peered at the knitted bracelet he had taken from her wrist—made of some fiber he could not put name to, embedded with pale stone. It looked worn—well loved. A little smirk curled his lips. It was a memento. A treasure of some sort. It must hold some value to her. 

The moon flower will come again, he thought, eyes fixed upon the night’s sentinel rising into the sky. 

And when she did, he would be waiting.

Translations:

lool ujo: Moon Flower

Taglist: @chaneajoyyy @muse-of-mbaku

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Writeblr Positivity Tag

I was not technically tagged by @winterandwords but I'm still grabbing it from the open tag, and leave it as such :)

1. What motivates you to write?

If I don't do it, no one else will write what I want to see.

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

Gonna pick the lines that finished a 300k words project spread over 2 novels and 2 novellas :D

“But are you?” he asked after a moment, a hint of uncertainty on his face. “Happy, I mean. Is this how you imagined it?” Merridy looked from the airy, creme-white curtains to the shimmering rainbow glass shards, and out the window, where in the distance the ocean sparkled in the sun. She raised her gaze to Damien, his eyes fixed on her as if nothing else mattered. “No,” she whispered. “It’s better.”

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

We all know how obsessed I am with Damien, but another char that makes me happy is Riordan. I mean — how could a char I introduced as "fancy boots" not make me smile?

Between all the sad guys and tragic backstories, he's just happy and kind (and a bit naive and rude :D), with a nice family, a good life and some fun quirks. He's absolutely the friend Merry and Damien needed.

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Finishing. Finishing a chapter. Finishing a book with the last little piece fallen into place. Finishing formatting. Just. Being done with something. I am constantly haunted by the fear my interest might vanish before I am done, so being done is... awesome.

Also then I get to make my friends cry then, so that's that.

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Sadness :)

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

Writing can be so very lonely. Spending hours upon hours putting silly little words into a silly little document, no I can't show you anything because I am not done, but listen to me talk about my char you don't know so you don't understand anything about what I am saying.

But here, we all understand the struggle and share the excitement.

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

Uh. Nothing really exists. I used to write in txt files, now I am in google docs so I can share more easily, which means I have at least a basic spell check now (which is nice, but also no google, I'm not talking about his sons.)

I guess InDesign (some shitty version from 2007) and Calibre are closest - I use them to format my books for printing and as ebook. Calibre is a rock star. InDesign is also the only program I've found so far that correctly fixes straight quotation marks in existing text when pasting in.

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I am a sucker for tying all stories together in some way — recurring characters and places through standalone books, stuff like that. A lot of it is conveniently put on the back of the Order of Fire. It's an order dedicated to gathering and preserving knowledge. They have citadels all over the place, they need scientists, scholars, mercenaries and housekeeping staff, they can connect people from different parts of the world when I need it.

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

I don't know. There's so many reasons for a "rough patch", and every single one requires different advice. For example, "take a break" would be the worst thing I could do right now.

Your story is worth it. Only you can write it. Yes, even if it takes time. Yes, even if similar ones exist. Yes, even if it contains unpopular tropes. Yes.

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

I have a list of my fav works here and I appreciate everyone who ever read my stuff and left a like or comment 💜

But as for support, @alittlewhump @verkja and @starlit-hopes-and-dreams are single(triple)handedly keeping my sanity up. I've found my people in more than one way, and I will stick to you like chewing gum you stepped into. I love you.

Template below the cut:

1. What motivates you to write?

2. A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

3. Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

4. What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

5. What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

6. What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

7. A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

8. A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

9. What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

10. Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

[casaterracleaning]

Office Cleaning in Surrey Bc - Casa Terra Cleaning

Office cleaning is the process of maintaining a clean and organized environment within an office or workplace. It involves a range of tasks that are designed to keep the office space neat, hygienic, and conducive to productive work. https://casaterracleaning.ca/services/

[3xm-draconic]

The Jester and The Courier: a wild wasteland love

Chapter 9: The Rambler, The Gambler .

(inside the Lucky 38 Casino)

Cicero awoke to a strange, but DAZZLING sight, the room he was in…it was like a royal palace!

It was painted in rich reds and blacks with a lush emerald green carpet, lights hung from the ceiling on strands and blinked with multitudes of colors, all around decaled on the walls in bold stripes were card suits: red hearts, black spades, white diamonds and golden clubs.

Emblazoned on the wall was the sign: “LUCKY 38: Presidential Suite room 777” and…much to Cicero’s fluster…there were large pictures of scantily clad women…and men too.

There was even a glowing sign above what looked like a shelf full of potions that flashed reading: “24/7 FULL LIQUOR MINIBAR”.

Cicero rubbed his eyes and shook his head, he could swear he could hear music, MUSIC coming from a strange metal box beside the bed he was in. He looked out the MASSIVE windows and saw the entirety of where he was, he must be in the great mage’s tower in new vegas.

“Well good morning there sugar!” greeted a warbly voice, Cicero panicked and whirled around to see a strange metal thing…it reminded him of those dwemer spheres in a way…mixed with a centurion…

In any case he panicked and grabbed the first thing he could from his bedside and hucked it at the metal creature…a weird tray with ash in it.

“Well Hey! Now STOP! Quit!...MA’AM SPADE WE HAVE A SITUATION!” cried the metal creature, “OH SHIT, JANE!?” cried Myrtle.

Myrtle had been doing something she had previously rarely got to do, SHOWER, afterall it was one of the terms she had to abide too with her brain if she wanted to reunite with it. So imagine if you were in her shoes right now…

You just got back from a tough fight, you rescued a lot of people, now you have a new quirky unpredictable roommate and you are covered in dirt, blood and sweat…you’d wanna take a shower too right?

Just a quick dip, wash away all the muck and anxiety while the lunatic is knocked out?

Well that's what she WAS doing…until Jane started screaming.

Myrtle didn’t even bother getting on a towel or a housecoat, she just ran out of the bathroom in full hot wet steamy glory.

“OI!” she snapped “quit harassing my maid!”, Cicero’s jaw hung from his face at the sight of her standing there…in nothing but bubbles of soap, “MA’AM!” Jane shrieked “YOU ARE INDECENT!”, Myrtle sighed and turned to Cicero who was still perplexed and in stunned flustered silence “well…I think my little impromptu peep-show has calmed our guest down”.

“Cicero this is Jane” Myrtle introduced the strange metal creature “she is a securitron MARK II, she’s my housekeeper, maid, bodyguard and she is going to be helping me take care of you…ok? So please…be nice”, “I know you said the poor dear was sick but I didn’t think he would up and ATTACK ME!” Jane huffed, “WELL…YOU SCARED POOR CICERO!” he snapped, he did not like the metal creature-woman...she was creepy.

Myrtle sighed in frustration “Janey dear, could you be a doll and fix me and Cicero something to eat? Something light on the stomach but filling”, Jane nodded, her screen-face flickering in acknowledgement “alrighty Ma’am, how does Deathclaw eggs benedict sound?”, “sounds absolutely delightful, can you make mine extra runny?”, “sure thing sugar!” Jane hummed as she wheeled away “oh, anything to drink with that?”, “I think I’ll have sarsaparilla-and-scotch on the rocks” Myrtle replied.

Cicero averted his eyes “um…miss?”, “hmm?...oh…” Myrtle whent back into her bathroom, finished showering off and got dressed in a very…alluring…black and red dress.

Cicero felt himself grow hot under his shirt collar, Myrtle took notice and smirked, she sat down on the bed “you know what? How about when you’ve recovered, before I take you to Usanagi, I show you around new vegas? Introduce you to the strip”, Cicero pondered “well…what is there to do here?”

Myrtle chuckled “all kinds of things~” she got up from the bed and sauntered over to the window “Over at Gomorrah you can have a night of passion and pleasure and all kinds of carnal delights, as long as you follow the rules and don’t get rough with the performers and escorts. Now that the Omerta’s prostitutes have unionized they pretty much own the place now” 

She pointed to a very fancy and luxurious building “if your hungry or thirsty and want a high-quality meal the Ultra Lux has you covered, now that Gunderson and several of the other ranchers have banded together to supply us with fresh food you can get just about anything tasty and refined…then again I’ve eaten 2 week old beans out of the fridge so what do I know of class and style?”

“Over at the Tops you can catch a show, a musical performance or a comedy routine, Hadrian is pretty funny and can always make a crowd laugh. Vault 21 is a unique experience, if you wanna know what it’s like being in a vault go check it out. Over in freeside is the Atomic Wrangler, check it out if you want some good booze and a fun game of blackjack” she then turned to him “and the best place of all? Right here.”

“The Lucky 38 has everything all the others have…and more~” she grinned.

“You…own?...this place?” Cicero pondered, Myrtle snickered “dollface I OWN all of NEW VEGAS”, “she’s the bee's knees when it comes to the strip!” Jane said as she sat down two plates of food.

“How did you come to be so powerful?” Cicero wondered as he ate, the meal was wonderful as the gigantic eggs were cooked perfectly and smothered in a rich but light sauce. “My father’s grandfather was a clone of the previous ruler of the strip, Mr House” Myrtle said as she dug into her plate as well.

“Mr House knew he could not live forever, he knew there was a chance something could still happen to him so he cloned himself. Now being a man of experiments and science he wanted to see which of these clones would be a successful heir. So he cloned himself 4 times and marked each clone with a card suit on their right hand: Diamond, Heart, Club and Spade.

 Out of the Clones from what he told me Diamond and Club waged war on eachother, one wanting total totalitarian dictatorship over the strip and the other wanting fascistic dominion” she turned to Cicero with a glum look in her eyes…

“Heart and my great-grandfather, Spade, managed to take them out before they could kill the original Mr House, Heart died in the process and Spade left the 38 to seek his own life. Now my old great-great-grandpa thought the experiment a failure when my great-grandpa left”. 

She then smiled a little“man oh man, guess how shocked and surprised he was to find out his clone had continued the lineage of House, if just marked under a different name and his great-great-grand heir was the very courier he had hired to help him secure the strip! ” she chuckled.

Myrtle then sighed forlornly “I had convinced him to work with the NCR when a Legion assassin, Vulpes Inculta, broke in…I still don’t know how he was able to slip passed me but…he managed to open the pod containing my great-great-grandpa and inject him with cazador venom. I tried to save him but gramps told me that due to bacterial contamination just giving him antivenom and popping him back in wouldn’t work…he’d just die in a few days in agony…”

She sighed…

“I wish I had more time with my great-great-grandpa, he sounded like an asshole but he ment well.”

Cicero didn’t understand half of what she said…

“Clone?...” he pondered, feeling a bit stupid for asking, “it’s like a copy of something…in this case, someone” she replied.

As they finished eating, Jane came up to Myrtle “oh miss spade? Your admirers are waiting for you down stairs”, “thankyou Janey” she turned to Cicero “well I gotta go, I’am performing in the lounge tonight, you should rest up and take things easy, if you want you can watch my show on the big monitor in the living room”.

Cicero watched her leave, her hips sashaying as she harmonized and vocalized he way down the hall.

(Lucky 38 Cocktail Lounge)

“Hey King good to see you” Victor smiled as he welcomed the man into the Lucky 38, “good to see ya Victor good to see ya”, “you here to see one of Myrt’s shows?”, the man laughed “See? Brother, I’d never miss one of that little mama’s shows for the world”.

The stage was set and the lights were dimmed…

The King, Pacer and his boys sat in the vip seat with the other leaders of the strip. Hsu and some of the other NCR troopers sat with them, Marcus and Calamity joining them as well.

“Hi King” Myrtle coyly waved, King blushed and waved back.

“This song is a favorite of mine, it was written by a LEGEND of the Mojave and with all that's happening…I think we need a little more Love in this wasteland” she took a deep breath…

“~Hold me close, hold me tight, make me thrill with delight Let me know where I stand from the start I want you, I need you, I-I love you With all my heart Every time that you near, all my cares disappear Darling, you're all that I'm living for I want you, I need you, I-I love you More and more~”

Cicero watched and listened from the huge screen…Sithis her voice was like honey on velvet…

“~I thought I could live without romance

U-u-until you came to me

But now I know that I will go on

Lovin' you eternally

Won't you please be my own? Never leave me alone

'Cause I die every time we're apart

I want you, I need you, I-I love you

With all my heart~”

She began to dance as her voice rose with every lyric…

“~Well, I thought I could live without romance

U-u-u-unti-il you came to me

But now I know that I-I-I will go

On lovin' you eternally

Won't you please be my own? Never leave me alone

'Cause I die every time we're apart

I want you, I need you, I-I love you

With all my heart~”

She smiled as the crowd applauded 

“Thank you, thank you very much” she smirked.

[camchuckforever]

Ask and you shall receive @justdonotaskmewhy

A/N we’ve definitely skipped ahead. To be honest I moved and don’t know where my story notes went for the og story 🥺🥺 also I wrote this on my phone sorry for any grammar errors

But. Here we go

NOT MY EARS MY HEART

September 2023

The twins Dave’s and Charlotte are 16.

Rosalind is 28

“Mills?” Charles called to his wife who stood fixing her hair in the bathroom.

“Yes?” She poked her head out, a curling iron wrapped in her hair.

His face had turned pale, pale white. His eyes to heavy to look up at her.

“Darling? What is it?” She undid the curling iron and ran over to her husband.

“Mummy—we have to go. Now.”

Camilla gulped.

They both knew the day would come. And after the loss of Philip, they all knew Her Majesty wouldn’t be long for the world.

“Do we get the children?” Camilla asked. Would it be too alarming to pull the twins out of school?

“Yes, Anne said we must.”

Her heart raced fasted than a racehorse at the Ascot. This had been the one job that Charles had been trained for his entire life—whether he liked it or not. At least he had that, his mother wasn’t supposed to be queen and Charles’ grandfather wasn’t supposed to be king. None of this should have happened, Camilla thought. But, where would they be had it not actually happened? No thriving love story of C & C and their herd of children. No longest reigning queen that was practically the world’s own gran.

Camilla shook her head like she erased a blackboard.

Now was the time for survival mode. Now she had to be the mother she was made for that Philip and Elizabeth had trained her for. To be a rock, as she always had.

She buzzed her private secretary and her husband’s. With a list in her mind, Camilla asked them to gather ‘the funeral outfits’ and to round up the children.

“Ma’am, shall we tell them the situation?” Charles’ secretary asked, a clipboard in hand.

They both looked up, unsure. The loss of their grandpapa had been rough on all of the children, and only a short time ago. They were so young, the twins not even born yet when her own father passed. Would they be able to be smuggled into Clarence House without having the paparazzi capture their tears?

“No,” Charles answered first, reading her mind. “Just get them, now!”

He stood up, and stretched his neck. His mind spun and Camilla could tell he was bringing to panic, and grow angry. SHe knew that he would have to take the roll of king and while it delighted him that he would be able to being placing environmental saving ideas, it also angered him. He wouldn’t wish the throne upon anyone, especially in this day and age.

Two housekeepers hustled in with two dressing bags that were labeled with their names. One walked over to Charles and draped the bag over the edge of the bed. She began to unzip it while Camilla’s was unzipped as well.

“Charles?” She asked. “Look at me.” It was an order. A soft order, but an order none the less. “We need to be strong for our family. For each other.”

He nodded, slipping back into his zombie phase that he had after his father passed.

Camilla’s mobile began to ring as she stepped into a simple, black dress. She clicked the speaker function.

“Rosey?” She asked as the housekeeper zipped up the dress.

“Mum?” Rosey asked, quiet as a mouse.

“Dear, it will be okay,” she falsely promised. “You’re on your way? Do you have an outfit?”

“Mmmhmm,” Rosey choked out. The four in the room, their royal highnesses and housekeepers included, felt a pang of sorrow. It didn’t take a genius to realize that Rosey tried to hold herself together and that one wrong word would send her into a fit of sobs. She took deep and shakes breaths. “Mummy,” she cried.

And cried.

And cried.

She hiccuped and cried more, harder like the light of her life was being extinguished. Rosey had always been closest to her grandmother—horse women at heart and soul.

“Rosey,” Camilla choked out. She took a deep breath. “Please dear, tell me you’re not driving.”

“No, Carl is. I’m meeting—um, I’m meeting Uncle Eddy and Sophie at the airport. You’ll be flying out directly?”

“Yes.”

“Rosey,” Camilla said once again. Like the name was the only thing holding her together. The name that came from her own mother, the strongest woman she’d had growing up. “You must try to control yourself in front of the cameras. We aren’t telling the twins until we arrive to the heli. You remember how destroyed they were about grandpapa.”

There was near silence at the other end. Rosey breathed deep and gave out a little cough.

“Yes mummy. Tell papa I love him.”

“I love you dear!” He called out across the room as the housekeeper tied his tie. Any other time Charles would shoo them off,f even her, and tie his own tie. This time, they were on autopilot.

They slipped on their shoes just as the secretaries returned.

It had been mere minutes, but they began by announcing that the twins would be arriving in minutes.

Camilla held her husband’s hand and gave him a solid kiss.

“I love you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, we will get through this together.”

“And I you, we will survive as we always have.”

CHAPTER TWO

The twins arrived to Clarence House and ran straight to their parent’s rooms. Charlotte grabbed the dress bag with her name on it and dashed off to the bathroom while Dave’s hid behind a room divider.

“Papa?” Davey asked as he hopped around on one foot, pulling his socks on. “It’s gran isn’t it? She’s sick and we’re being called to say goodbye, aren’t we?”

Camilla and Charles looked at each other.

“We know it is, you wouldn’t pull us out of school and have black clothing set aside for us unless it was.” Charlotte came out, slipping a delicate earring in.

“We didn’t want to upset you,” Charles responded, unsure of what else to say.

“You wanted to save face, the public ‘s in an uproar papa,” Davey said. He zipped through doing up his tie and slipped into his suit coat. “It’s okay, you can tell us. Gran is a monumental woman.”

“And she is still your gran, young man!” Camilla brushed off a piece of lint off of his shoulder. “You’ll still show respect. No matter the historic moment we’re about to be apart of.”

A tear rolled down Camilla’s cheek. Her youngest child reached up and gathered her into a soul-crushing hug. How had he gotten so tall and large?

“Sir? The helicopter is here.” Charles’ private secretary poked in.

“Okay,” Charles clapped. “Clear faces. No smiles.”

Camilla and the twins stepped out after Charles and headed toward the helicopter. They were seated and the helicopter took off. Camilla clutched Charles’ hand nearly the whole way—take off and landing being the worst parts.

No one spoke the whole ride, the sense of dread and sorrow sinking into each of them the closer they got. Part way through, Charlotte reached out to her brother and rested her head on his shoulder.

As they’d grown, each had developed into their own person, but every once in a while, Camilla would catch them being the twins joined at the hip like they were when they were toddlers.

Her nose twitched and she tried to hide her tears. Charlotte then reached out to her.

The helicopter touched down and the four stepped out into the future of the unknown. Camilla prayed Charles and the family would have time to say goodbye before she passed. She knew it would kill Charlotte if she wasn’t able to say goodbye, just like last time.

Inside, Andrew stood waiting, watching them come in. He gave Charles one look and the future king took off sprinting up the stairs. Camilla took a look at her ex-beau and read the exhaustion and sorrow on his face.

“Charlotte, Davey, go. Go now,” she said out loud, not breaking eye contact with Andrew. As soon as the teens were half way up the stairs Camilla sighed. “This is it isn’t it?”

Andrew nodded.

“The doctor said a few hours at the most Mills.”

“God,” she choked out as silent tears streamed down her face. “I’m so terrified Andy.”

“Hush now,” he cooed. He wrapped her into a hug and stroked her hair. “We’ll all get through this together. Beside, you know how lonely she’s been since Phillip passed.”

Camilla nodded and shook her head, again she shook the tears and thoughts from her head.

“You best go, Anne ‘ll need a break for a bit before the rest arrive.”

She forced herself up the stairs.

Camilla was tired of death. One by one people had been taken from her. Her mother in 1994, a mere two months after Rosalind was born. Her father, before the twins were born. Her brother only a handful of years after that. Her father-in-law, and now her mother-in-law. It seemed to come much faster the older she got.

Old.

She was getting old. She trembled as she thought of how young the twins would be when she and Charles passed, even if they lived into their 90’s.

Charles sat on one side and the twins on the other. The mighty Queen Elizabeth lay in the middle, a breathing tube under her nose. Her face had gone pale and the spots on her hands had grown.

Camilla never saw her mother grow old and fragile like Her Majesty. In fact, Camilla had outlived her mothers age three years ago. Every moment felt like stolen time, time that could be taken from her at any second.

Anne walked over, her hands in her pockets. Her hair up in her usual style, but more frazzled.

“She’s unconscious now,” she whispered.

“Andy told me,” she whispered in reply.

Both women reached out and pulled the other into a side hug. They touched their heads together and stood in silence.

“Mummy?” Davey called. He stood and made his way to her. He joined his mother and aunt in a group hug. “Papa needs you mum.”

Camilla nodded and joined Charles on the edge of the bed.

“She looks so at peace darling.” Camilla swept her hand back and forth across her husbands back. She didn’t expect him to respond, he merely nodded.

Noise and rustling came from the foyer. Soon, Charles’ younger brothers, sister-in-laws, and eldest daughter entered the room.

Rosey and Prince Andrew froze in the door. Everyone knew Andrew was the favorite child. He’d always been favored slightly more, even with the past having reared its ugly head.

They grabbed each others hands and stepped in.

All of the children and grandchildren that were there stood around the bed. Camilla, Sophie, and Winny all stood back.

Andrew broke into gut wrenching sobs, which triggered everyone else. Camilla’s children all held onto each other.

Once the first round of tears subsided into telling stories about their matriarch that sent them into fits of giggling, the doctor came in. He checked the queens vitals and then left, telling them she was still holding on.

Everyone was in and out of the room, a few trays of hours dourves was made and they all nibbled throughout the day.

The clock struck 4 in the afternoon and beeping from the machine grew wider apart. Then it seemed to stop, sending alarms through the room and halls. Nurses and doctors rushed in. The beep came back. Then stopped.

The only noise in the room came from the medical staff. Everyone stood still, their breath held.

The doctor held the stethoscope to her chest, then pulled away.

He turned to the family, specifically Charles. He bowed his head.

“Your Majesty, I’m deeply sorry—“ his condolences were drowned out as tears and sobs broke out.

Charles wavered where he stood.

“Darling?” Camilla touched his back.

He turned, his eyes threatened to release a flood of tears. Camilla wrapped her arms tight around him and stroked his hair. He sobbed into her shoulder.

When he broke away from her, Anne came up to him and curtsied. The rest of the family followed suit. When his own children came up, Charles lost it once again. The fear in his eyes growing as each child returned the look.

Camilla stepped back to him and curtsied. She took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

“Your Majesty.”

[cherryliqueurkinks]

cherry lips and candy hearts - part 2

femslash february: valentine's edition

pairing: betty cooper/hermione lodge

READ ON AO3

When Veronica suggested that Betty work under her mother for the summer to build her network, Betty hadn't expected much to come of it. She wants to get into journalism to investigate and deliver hard-hitting truths, and she doubts the tabloid writers and gossiping socialites that Hermione Lodge knows would help her craft that image. Still, it would've been silly to turn down the chance at an easy paycheck as a personal assistant to a woman who barely lifted a finger. With maids and housekeepers and personal shoppers, Betty doubts Hermione Lodge would find much for her to do.

At least, that's what Betty had assumed.

"A-ahh, ah!"

Betty's head tilts back with a mewl as Hermione continues sucking at her nipple, humming indulgently and sending delicious vibrations across Betty's flushed skin as she squirms under the relentless attention of her mouth and her wandering, groping fingers. She doesn't quite know how they keep ending up like this, but it's far from the first time this summer that Betty has ended up straddling Hermione Lodge on top of the velvet chaise in her walk-in closet, and she knows it certainly won't be the last if the woman has anything to say about it.

Hermione may be the one on the bottom at the moment, but they both know that Betty is the one who lives to please.

"Ah!" Betty gasps as Hermione bites down on her nipple before releasing her breast with a wet pop, the obscene sound making the blush deepen across Betty's cheeks.

Then Hermione flattens her tongue against Betty's other nipple and begins lapping at it in slow, broad strokes, making Betty wriggle from the white-hot pleasure that shoots straight between her legs. She tightens her arms around Hermione, tucking herself in closer in a desperate attempt to seek more friction from her tongue, and the shift of her hips has her throbbing clit sliding against one of the buckles holding Hermione's stockings in place.

And Betty's eyes nearly roll back from the sensation as she lets out a wanton whine.

"Did you like that, mija?" Hermione murmurs as she nips at the underside of Betty's breast. "You're such a sensitive little slut that can get off on anything, aren't you?"

"No," Betty pants, starting to shake her head in protest, but Hermione tightens her grip on her hips and grinds Betty against her again, scraping her clit against the garter buckle through the thin, thoroughly soaked lace of her panties, and a moan falls from Betty's lips before she can quite catch it.

Hermione's eyes glitter as Betty blushes harder, if possible.

"My little liar," she coos, digging her perfectly manicured nails into the flesh of Betty's ass. "You're making such a mess on me and yet you think you can say it's not because your cunt is as shameless as you."

Betty whines, squeezing her eyes shut, but Hermione simply chuckles as she grinds Betty against her again and again, making her gasp with every glide of her clit over the garter buckle. Their bodies are pressed so tightly that their tits brush and their nipples rub together as she rocks Betty on top of her, and it doesn't take long before Betty feels her hips grinding down a little faster, a little harder, her body angling to get even more friction on her throbbing bundle of nerves. She's shamelessly riding Hermione's thigh as more wanton whimpers fall from her lips, and Hermione grasps at the waistband of her panties, tangling her fingers in the flimsy lace for more leverage as she helps Betty gyrate her hips.

She hates that she's about to come like this, shamelessly grinding against her best friend's mother's lingerie-clad thigh, but she's so close to coming that she can't bring herself to feel embarrassed.

Not when Hermione bites down on her nipple once more, the slight burst of pain heightening Betty's senses right as her clit grinds down on her thigh, and Betty comes with a keening cry, writhing atop Hermione's lap as her orgasm bursts through her. She tosses her head back and rides Hermione's thigh without abandon, too caught up in the throes of pleasure to do anything else but ride the waves of it as they crash over her, her wetness spilling all over them as she comes and comes.

Hermione coos softly, stroking a hand down Betty's now-untamed ponytail before winding it around her hand and tugging, making Betty gasp as her chin is forced upward.

"You did such a good job at polishing my garter with the dripping little cunt of yours," she muses with her lips against Betty's throat as she nips at the delicate skin there. "Perhaps you should help me polish my boots next."

[the-fiction-witch]

Mr Brown

Media Nanny McPhee 

Character Simon Brown (Age Up)

Couple Simon X Reader

Rating Sweet Af

Concept Inspiration 

I sat on the porch of the little blue house, every so often slightly moving my left leg to push back and forth my rocking chair hearing it creek occasionally against the wooden porch. I pulled the cigarette from my lips ashing it onto the grass and blew the smoke out. Setting the cigarette in my ashtray on the table.

"Afternoon Mr Brown" the charming voice cooed o glanced up seeing on the other side of the porch overlooking the pathway leant on the wooden porch railing was the young Miss y/l/n. She stood on her tall black lace boots, her long elegant light blue skirt, a tight dark blue belt with a Crescent moon buckle, her white blouse well buttoned, a light blue ribbon hanging from her hair, her sweet y/h/c hair pinned up and away with only one long plait noticeable tied with said ribbon, her little white and blue hat on her head well pushed back to allow her to see and work without issues. Her arms leant on the wood, her chin on her arms smiling at me.

"Y/n." I smiled instantly bolting up from my chair nervously fixing my blue waistcoat and fiddling with my sleeves from my nerves "good afternoon" I smiled but as I did the chair rocked back forward and hit me in the ankle "oww"

"You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. Are uhh are you okay?"

"Course" she smiled coming around turning herself by holding the porch support and hopping up the steps like a sweet little bunny "I'm quite alright Mr brown" she smiled fixing my hair for me

"Right uhh that's good then. You uhh you off for the day then?"

"Umm hum" she nods "so long as there isn't anything else you need of me today?" She asks playfully fixing a button on my shirt

"Uhhhhhhh… no. No. You uhh you get on home"

"Alright" she smiled hopping down from the porch and heading down the path "I'll see you in the morning Simon" she waves

"Yeah. I uhh I'll see you in the morning y/n" I smiled watching as she disappeared. And I collapsed on my chair, my head in my hands, "why can't I master this?" I sighed

Y/n works here, keep the house tidy, and the gardens perfect and even cooks meals every so often. In all honesty, she basically came with the house as she was the housekeeper for the previous owner and when I bought it I thought it best to keep her on. That and if it wasn't terribly obvious but… I had a small. Crush on her. Un-noticeable I know. I don't know why I'm like this. Never had issues talking to girls before I met y/n. I talk to every other woman fine. I rubbed my eyes and headed inside the house heading up to my room for an early night. I got up to my room and got changed for bed climbing in with a good book but I couldn't help but notice the light that came from around my curtains. I set my book down and went to the window pulling my curtains back just enough to see the garden, the small fence and the house behind my own. Her little house. The firelight glowing from within the shadows of her moving inside. I couldn't help watching for what felt like an hour, but I forced myself away getting back into bed trying to just lay down and get some sleep.

I wandered down the staircase hearing it creak and crack with my steps, I headed out the front door shutting it behind me heading out onto the porch. I hopped down the steps onto the pathway heading past the sweet grass, roses, lavender flowers and other such sweetness. I followed the path around the house where I saw the chicken pen all of them up and bustling about and within the pen stood miss y/l/n in her little brown skirt tucked up in her hands using the skirt to hold the chicken feed as well as keeping it out of the hay and muck, a little white shirt with the sleeves rolled up a small brown belt tied like a corset around her sweet waist. Her hair clearly styled to be loose for the day but she had thrown up in a small white tie to keep it away from her face for this activity she saw me and looked rather confused as I approached.

"Oh good morning Mr Brown. Your up early" she laughed

"Actually I'm up late" I corrected jumping the fence and taking a handful of feed to help her feed them all

"You didn't get any sleep again did you?"

"I did not."

"Simon" she glared

"I know. I know… just. Trying my best"

"You work yourself too hard"

"I'm a writer. The laziest job there is"

"You're not lazy, it's a hard job to do what you do. You shouldn't overwork yourself only bad things will come of it" she says as she finished with the feed and heads inside the little house taking a basket to collect any eggs so I followed her helping her where I could as it really is a job that needs three or more hands sometimes

"It's just with like getting on at me"

"Of course he does. He's your publisher he wants you to pop out bestselling novels like Milly here" she says holding Milly the chicken up as I gathered her eggs "good writing takes time. Whether Luke likes it or not. Don't let him get to you, Simon. He wouldn't dare drop you any way you're the only one he has on his books making any money"

"True."

"How about you go up, have yourself a nice little nap and I'll wake you in a couple of hours with a nice omelette?"

"Maybe" I shrug

"Chicken soup?" She suggested as she was still holding Milly giving the chicken an inviting shake

"Scrambled egg on toast?"

"Alright, if you go have yourself a nap"

"Fine wake me in a few hours"

"I will do" she smiled, putting Milly back and heading in with the basket of eggs, so I headed in too back up to my room for a nap.

I sat in my study feet against the dusty wooden floor, sat tightly in my small chair, elbows on the old wooden desk, my chin on my hands, staring at my little black typewriter loaded with its beige paper having yet to write a single letter. The fire crackling in its fireplace beside me warming my toes, the grandfather's clock mercilessly ticking reminding me of the time passing and how little time I had left to complete this.

"Tea time Mr Brown" a cheery voice cooed as the door to my study was pushed open by miss y/l/n in her sweet little grey dress with silver glinting flowers across the fabric, her hat gone her hair pinned up in an Edwardian style bun with a white flower tucked into it, the tea tray in her hand which she set on my desk with a fresh pot of tea, milk, sugar, biscuits and my usual cup and saucer.

"Oh? Already?' I asked, a tad surprised, turning to the clock and noticing it was she was in fact slightly late.

"How goes the writing?' she asks dusting her hands on her little white apon

"It doesn't" I answered leaning back in my chair with a sigh

"Oh, dear." She says "well how much more to go?'

"Four chapters. I promised Like I'd get ten to twenty done"

"Ohh goodness. Well perhaps send him over ten to fifteen. That'll give him enough to be getting on with. give you time to finish the rest?" She suggested

"You think he'll like that?"

"He won't like anything you do Simon. But he'll prefer the five good chapters you have done than ten half of which you rushed and forced"

"I suppose you're right y/n"

"Aren't I always?" She smiled going to tend to the fireplace

"Often times yes" I smiled watching her kneel on the rug throwing a log on and a few nuggets of coal from the bucket taking my waste paper basket and holding it close

"May I?"

"Go on. Nothing important"

"Alright" she smiled throwing the paper onto the fire and putting the basket back taking the now empty log basket in her hand and heading to the door spotting my page on her way "when I return with logs I expect at least two paragraphs," she says

"Or else what?'

"Or no strawberry sponge" she warns, giving the top of my head a kiss

"What was that for?" I smiled blushing hard

"Encouragement" she smiled before heading off to fetch more logs having left the little white flower from her hair in the vase on my desk.

I felt my stomach rumble and gurgle again for the second time in as many minutes, so I headed my way down to the kitchen where I saw a very sweet sight. Miss y/l/n stood working hard to make dinner for tonight, her little green dress pushed up and away her hair pinned back in a milkmaid braid, apron around her tied tight with a bow. Her hands working on some dough tossing it about in her hands a little flour across her cheek and nose

"Oh afternoon Mr Brown"

"After Miss y/l/n. What's on the menu?"

"Roasted quail pie," she says

"Ummm sounds delicious" I smiled immediately, feeling my stomach rumble from the mere concept of her roasted quail pie "do you have anything… snackable?" I asked her coming closer to investigate her workstation

"No. I don't. Dinner will be ready at seven Mr brown" she laughed

"I know. But … my stomach is rumbling like a thunderstorm" I told her "please y/n?"

She rolled her eyes getting an apple from the side and shoving it in my mouth "I want to hear no more about it"

I happily took a bite having the rest in my hand "Thank you y/n" I smiled

"You're welcome. This is what happens when you don't have breakfast" she says

"I was tried. I'm sorry I missed breakfast"

"It's alright you where you working late"

"I know but I feel bad when I miss a nice breakfast you make for me"

"It was merely toast and jam, nothing to worry over"

"Still. I never want to miss my time with you" I smiled getting a tea towel from the side and giving her cheek a wipe to remove the flour as well as running it across her nose to clear the flour I blushed hard but gave the tip of her nose a little kiss

"Umm sweetness like that isn't going to get you additional snacks Simon"

"I know" I shrug "I just wanted to"

"Alright, go on get back to writing or Luke will send you more angry letters," she says hitting me with her hip

"I'll be in my study. Call me for dinner"

"I will" she smiled

So I hurried off back to my study apple in hand.

I stood at my window unable to sleep. I admit I was being a little creepy watching her little house and the shadows moving back and forth like dancing demons. I couldn't sleep and honestly just watching her little house wasn't helping. I forced myself away and sat in my bed, the idea of sleep preposterous. I took my notebook in hand and a pencil and started to make notes, and ideas for my writing but I Found her impossible to escape in my mind.

… It's been long enough.

I've waited long enough.

I may not be able to tell her how I feel about her, but this stupid skill I supposedly have has to be good for something.

[nicholasbaudelaire]

Greens, glorious green!

Starter @cass-evans

Where: Nicky's apartment, Descray

When: Any time you like

Having been home for a couple of days, Nick had pretty much smoked his way through the weed he had left, hidden in his safe. His housekeeper's niece had rented his place from him while he had been away, and after strict warning from said housekeeper, Nick had made sure to hide or throw out anything that she might have described as "naughty". His secret stash was not going to last him much longer though, and as such Nick had had to get a number for a new dealer. Usually, the wolf would have purchased off Elora, but since he hadn't managed to see her just yet, he felt rude having her come over to his apartment to drop off. Sure, it might have been a good excuse to get together sooner, but Nick wasn't sure where Elora's head was at, and therefore didn't want to rock the boat if she was trying to stay clean.

The new person Nick did not already saved in his phone, but assumed he would probably know the guy. Opulence was after all, a very small town and it was hard not to at least recognise every face in it. Besides, if the new guy wasn't someone Nick knew, he supposed it didn't matter so long as his business was good - which apparently it was. In a bid to be polite, Nick found himself using up the last of his stash, rolling a couple of blunts for himself and the new guy. He couldn't help it, he enjoyed hosting and besides, a good relationship with a dealer is always useful.

A year ago he would have made sure he had junk food in, but with the new diet and exercise regiment he was on in a desperate but ultimately pointless bid to maintain some of his supernatural physique, all Nick had in was fruit, veg and various legumes and nuts. Still, he threw some roasted chickpeas in a bowl, and began putting together various little tapas bowls of raw vegan appetisers. The large kitchen counter was therefore absolutely covered in various foods, as well as a beautifully carved wooden box filled with weed paraphernalia.

The chore kept Nick busy, something he needed to be right now. The bare apartment was already uncharacteristically tidy and clean as he had spent several hours re-cleaning and re-organising. He had not had too much in the way of reminders of his ex when he returned home, given most of his possessions had been in storage for the last year. Eventually however, Nick had had to deal with the cumulation of their belongings, a painful process that had left his apartment stripped of most of the things that made it feel lived in, or at least like Nick lived there. By design, the loft apartment was made of steal and dark oak woods and possessed a kind of rustic, masculine quality. Nick had initially wanted the renovated space to feel like a bachelor pad, but a homey one. It had changed with the new girlfriend, and now changed back again. The comic books and gaming consoles were now the last few things that gave the place any speck of Nick's character. Now, whenever he was at home alone, Nick found himself prepping food, working out and smoking.

The wolf tossed some of the unkempt dark curls from his face as he squeezed lemon juice over a salad of raw zucchini, quinoa and parsley. Lemon juice squirted over Nick's white shirt, but he wasn't phased. He enjoyed the mess of cooking with fresh ingredients, honestly Nick enjoyed any mess, which was no doubt why he felt so awkward in his own home in its current show room type state. Delving thick, long fingers into the flesh of the fruit, another burst of sour lemon drenched the greens below it and filled the kitchen area with a citrusy, fresh smell. A devilish smirk spreak accross Nick's face, interrupted only by the sound of his doorbell buzzing.