#property consultants london

[properlyhome]

What Questions Should You Ask a Property Consultant in London?

Finding the right property consultant can make your property search easier and less stressful. A good consultant will guide you, answer your questions, and help you make smart choices. To choose the best one, it’s important to ask the right questions. Here are some key things to ask when selecting a property consultant in London.

Do You Know the Local Area Well?

The consultant’s knowledge of the area you’re interested in is very important. If you’re focusing on North London, you need someone familiar with the neighborhoods, market trends, and property prices there. Experienced property consultants in North London can provide valuable insights that help you find the perfect home or investment.

How Do You Search for Properties?

Each consultant has their own way of finding properties. Ask them about their process and how they match properties to your needs. Working with property consultants in London often gives you access to more options, including properties that are not listed publicly. This can save you time and give you more choices.

Can You Help Me Negotiate a Good Deal?

Negotiating a property’s price is one of the most important steps in the buying process. A skilled agent can help you get the best deal while keeping the process smooth and stress-free. Property buying agents in London are experts in negotiation, and they can make sure your interests are protected during this stage.

What Are Your Fees?

Understanding how much you’ll need to pay is essential. Ask about their fees upfront so there are no surprises later. Also, check if their services provide good value for the cost.

How Do You Communicate?

Clear communication is key to a good working relationship. Ask how often they will update you and how they handle urgent matters. This ensures you’re always in the loop during the property search.

Do You Have References?

A consultant’s past work can tell you a lot about their skills. Ask for client references or examples of properties they’ve successfully helped buy.

Conclusion

Choosing the right property consultant is an important step in finding your dream property. By asking these questions, you’ll understand their expertise, process, and commitment. A great consultant will make your journey smoother and help you achieve your property goals with confidence.

At Properly Homes, their team of professionals is always ready to help you with your questions and doubts. They have a friendly nature and years of experience, and they know what to do in what situation; hence, they advise you accordingly. Check their website for more.

[pinnaclegrouplondon]

Your Property, Our Expertise: Sell Indian Estates from the UK

Looking to sell property in India from the UK? At Pinnacle Group London, we specialize in guiding NRIs through the process of selling their Indian estates remotely. With our expertise as an NRI Property Consultant in the UK, we ensure a smooth and hassle-free experience. From legal paperwork to market listings, we handle it all for you. Let us help you maximize your investment—contact us today to get started.

[sathish-1]

Unlocking the Gateway: Navigating the Journey with UK Visit Visa

Embarking on a journey to the United Kingdom, steeped in rich history, cultural diversity, and iconic landmarks, is a dream for many travellers worldwide. With the allure of exploring bustling cities, picturesque countryside, and centuries-old castles, obtaining a UK visit visa is the essential first step for those seeking to immerse themselves in the charm and beauty of this enchanting destination.

The process of securing a UK visit visa may seem daunting at first glance, but with proper guidance and preparation, it can be a straightforward and rewarding experience. Whether you're planning a leisurely holiday, visiting family and friends, or attending business meetings, understanding the intricacies of the visa application process is crucial to ensuring a smooth and successful journey.

One of the key aspects of applying for a UK visit visa is demonstrating the purpose of your trip and your intention to abide by the visa conditions. Whether you're applying for a standard visitor visa, a marriage visitor visa, or a business visitor visa, clearly outlining your travel plans, itinerary, and accommodation arrangements can strengthen your visa application and increase your chances of approval.

Additionally, providing supporting documentation such as proof of financial means, travel itinerary, and accommodation bookings can further bolster your visa application and demonstrate your commitment to complying with UK immigration laws. While the specific requirements may vary depending on the type of visa you're applying for, thorough preparation and attention to detail are essential for a successful outcome.

Navigating the UK visit visa process also involves familiarizing yourself with the visa application form, understanding the visa fees and processing times, and ensuring that you meet the eligibility criteria set forth by the UK Home Office. Seeking guidance from reputable immigration consultants or visa experts can provide valuable insights and assistance in navigating the intricacies of the visa application process with confidence and ease.

Once your UK visit visa is approved, a world of opportunities awaits you in this vibrant and culturally rich destination. Whether you're exploring the historic streets of London, marvelling at the breath-taking landscapes of the Scottish Highlands, or savouring the culinary delights of quaint English villages, the UK offers an unforgettable experience for visitors of all interests and backgrounds.

In conclusion, obtaining a UK visit visa opens the door to a world of exploration, adventure, and discovery in one of the world's most iconic destinations. By understanding the visa requirements, seeking guidance when needed, and approaching the process with thorough preparation and attention to detail, travelers can embark on a memorable journey filled with unforgettable experiences and cherished memories in the United Kingdom.

[mmbaaccountants]

According to the latest figures from Action Fraud the average loss from pension scams has reached £50,949 this year. that is more than double the typical figure of £23, 689 reported last year.

[fkinavocado]

Daddy issues- Masterlist, Author’s Note & Warnings

extra / alternatively, read on wattpad

*timeline: somewhere after the main story

Home (word count: 6.5k)

“Honey, I’m home!”

You heard Harry at the front door and greeted him back, waiting for him to come into the kitchen to see the surprise you had waiting for him.

Home.

After your trip to Italy you decided not to head back to the US. Harry suggested you’d try London on for a fit, and after renting out a place for quite a few months, you finally decided this would be your new home. Harry brought his business back home so to speak, and you began hunting for the perfect place. It hadn’t been easy, but you’d found it finally- a typical Londonese townhouse, full of charm and history. And the fact it had quite the back yard had been a major plus.

The price point had been an absolute shock. Harry assured you it was a good area and that’s why the price was so steep but you couldn’t hurt but argue that he could’ve bought a mansion back in the US for that kind of money. 

Because, of course, Harry wouldn’t even consider debating some sort of arrangement in which you could chip in. The property was in his name, and it’s not like you were married, so it made sense in a way, but you wanted to at least pay the bills if anything. Harry would shut down any such attempts of yours.

Even though you’d finally found the place to call your own, it was still a work in progress. But it was home. Harry had made sure of it. He’d never ceased looking for the place that would be the perfect home for the two of you, for a fresh start together. 

There wasn’t much you had to tackle on, with Harry being the talented interior designer that he was. Not that he didn’t consult with you on every small thing and worked hard to turn your vision into reality. But the garden he’d left to your tending alone. And, well, until you could find your footing again career-wise, you enjoyed playing the housewife quite a bit.

Harry was treating you as such, anyway. He knew better than to rush this kind of thing with you after what the two of you had been through, but you knew he was just aching to pop the question. 

And maybe you were beginning to entertain the idea, too. The mere notion of marriage used to scare you, what with the toxic family you’d grown up in, but Harry was your rock. He was your forever, you just knew it. And you knew it’d make him happy. So you were trying to give him subtle hints that maybe he could be less tentative in his approach.

You were never much of a cook, but you did try, for him, for the two of you. Besides, you were starting to get bored at home. Job hunting wasn’t exactly being very fruitful, especially since you weren’t quite sure what you wanted to do going further, and Harry encouraged you to take all the time you needed and even insisted you could even not go back to work at all. He very much enjoyed having you home all to himself.

Not to mention all his talk of breeding you during sex, a kink of his (and yours) that had revved up quite dramatically ever since you’d been to Italy. You didn’t really discuss it properly outside the bedroom, but you knew deep down this was something Harry was genuinely hoping for. He wanted kids with you, no doubt. And that was something you were still trying to figure out for yourself. 

“Something smells delicious in here.”

Slightly startled, lost in your train of thought, you turned to him. And what a glorious sight it was. Harry had just returned from a football match (the way he insisted soccer was actually called here) with some of his old and newer buddies, and he liked to go all in. He even wore a proper jersey, the whole she-bang, and if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was a proper football player with the way said jersey clung onto his sweaty body, knee high socks and his hair pinned up messily in a small claw clip atop his head. 

“Oh, it’s just a little something.”

“Love, it’s not just a little something. You barely made it all fit on the dinner table!”

“Well, I know you had a long week at work and you’d been looking forward to go kick that ball around with the boys and would get back home famished, so… hope you like it.”

“Damn, I’m a lucky son of a bitch aren’t I?” He grinned and you made your way to him, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him. “Sorry, darling, I should go wash up first. I’m a sweaty mess.”

“No, don’t, the food will get cold. It’s been set on the table for some 10 minutes, the game took longer than I expected. Sorry,” you worried your lower lip between your teeth and watched him look at you endearingly and then even more so taking in everything you’d set out on the table for dinner.

“Don’t be silly, sweetheart. I’m sorry it took so long, had I known what was waiting for me back home I’d have rushed back. But I had to wait for David to drive me back, and that wanker was trying to get us all to go hit a pub. Luckily everyone was feeling beat and he dropped it.”

“David… Beckham?”

Harry laughed, “I’ll tell him you said that. He’ll get a kick out of it.”

“But wait, why did you need him to drive you home? Didn’t you drive there?”

“I did, but I have an ouchie.” He pouted, giving you his best puppy dog eyes and you giggled before it actually hit you.

“What? You’re injured?! Where?”

Harry chuckled. “Hardly an injury. But I did sprain my ankle I’m afraid. Certainly feels like it, I can’t lean on it. It’s my right so I can’t drive.”

You were just now noticing Harry was leaning against the open space arch of the kitchen, resting his whole weight on his good leg.

“What are you standing there for?! Sit down, for god’s sake. And you wanted to take a shower–” you scolded him, which for some reason made him smile all the more as he limped to his seat at the table. “I’ll run you a bath after you eat. Let me get you some hygienic wet wipes at least, those hands look like you’ve been out gardening, I swear to god…” you left for the wipes, mumbling to yourself and could hear Harry’s low chuckle. He found your worry endearing but you lowkey wanted to wring his neck for not being more careful.

After going through all the cabinets in which you could’ve swore you’d stashed some, you returned to the kitchen. “I can’t find them.”

“I’ll wash my hands in the sink–” he made to stand up but you pushed him back into his chair gently, mindful of his injury.

“For god’s sake, sit down you silly man.” You then scooted your own chair next to his and started plating for him. 

“Y/N, this looks amazing. Truly. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

He sounded genuinely impressed and that lifted your spirits somewhat. “Well, it’s the least I can do sitting at home all day doing nothing while you’re out there earning a living.”

Harry gave you a long look, and you felt it so intensely that you looked up at him after you set his place in between the two of you, “what?”

“You know that’s not how it works. You shouldn’t ever feel the need to compensate in any way, my love. You know that. Have I not told you this enough times that it gets through in that pretty head of yours? This is not a barter. I’m not expecting anything of you. Not a single thing. I just want you to be happy doing whatever it is that you want to do.”

“I know?...” you cleared your throat, repeating to sound more convincing. “I know. I happened to like doing this for you. For us. Gives me a sense of accomplishment that I contribute to our home together. Is that so bad?”

Harry wanted to bring his hand to your cheek and then clumsily refrained, remembering he hadn’t had a chance to wash. “Of course not, sweetheart. But I’m just making sure you’re doing it because you genuinely felt like doing it. And just because you did this today, I’m not expecting it tomorrow, or the day after. You don’t need to cook. I enjoy cooking for us too, and we can always go out or order takeout, it’s nothing to stress over. Alright? Promise me?”

You smiled, taking in his genuine words. “I promise, baby. Now shush. It’s getting cold.”

He laughed and when he made to grab the fork you playfully slapped it away. “Nuh-huh. Dirty hands. I’ll feed you.”

Harry really laughed then, throwing his head back a bit. “Excuse you?”

“What? C’mon. Here comes the airplaaaane…”

Harry looked at you incredulously but eventually gave into your little game. He smilingly allowed you to hand feed him two forkfulls, then pushed his chair further away from the table, patting his left thigh. “Hop on.”

“But– your leg…”

“It’s the good one, c’mon. Do it proper if you’re gonna do it, hm?”

You gave him a pointed look and then plopped yourself in his lap, resuming forking food up to feed to him. 

“Baby, this is incredible. I can’t get over it.”

“Yeah? You truly like it?”

“I love it!” He widened his eyes for emphasis which made you giggle. After a few more forkfulls he insisted you ate some as well, and you didn’t bother switching silverware. You shared his plate and then you got up to get some more of your favorites, and Harry didn’t miss the opportunity to swat your bum teasingly. 

“Apron and all. Hmm. You know, this is starting to make sense now that I’m nourished and can properly take this all in: you were trying to seduce me. You little minx…”

“Is that right?” You plopped yourself back into his lap, scooting in closer to him this time around. 

Harry groaned, squeezing your lovehandle with his arm around your waist. “Alright then. I’ll play your little game. See if it works, hm?”

“We shall see.” you shrugged and he couldn’t resist pulling you in for a kiss before you resumed feeding the both of you.

Harry really did gobble down most of what you’d cooked. You enjoyed it as well, to your surprise. Sure, there was definitely room for improvement but all in all you could consider it a success. One of many, if you felt so inclined, as per Harry’s reiteration at the end of the meal.

You did keep your promise and went to run him a bath. He checked some work on his laptop that you’d retrieved for him while he waited, and then you helped him walk to the master bathroom and get into the tub. You realized it was worse than he was letting on, though, with the way he rested so much of his weight on your shoulders and kept wincing all the way. Harry was definitely not the kind to ever complain about any kind of pain unless it was serious, and while he wasn’t complaining he certainly wasn’t trying to hide the fact that he was in pain either. You loved that about him, the fact that he allowed himself to be vulnerable like that in front of you and not let his masculine ego get in the way.

“Shouldn’t you get it x-rayed?” You sat at the edge of the tub as he soaked blissfully, closing his eyes and getting comfy against the headrest. 

“Don’t be silly, darling. It’s just a sprain. I’ve had plenty. Will keep it elevated for a day or two and I’ll be good as new.”

“I’m not so sure, Harry. I’ve had my ankle sprained plenty of times too but you really look like you’re in pain. And I got a good look at it too and it looks really swollen.”

“Hey, I’m a shower not a grower. You know that.”

You splashed some water at him making him laugh, wiping the suds from his face.

"You're a brave little thing when you know I can't make any sudden movements. But just you wait, hm?"

But you were right. As the evening progressed it got worse, the pain was throbbing and although you helped him to bed and elevated his foot on some throw pillows, his grunts were intensifying.

“You’re so damn stubborn. What’s wrong with going to the ER?”

“I’ll see how I feel in the morning. I just need to sleep it off. Could you remove the pillows though? I feel it’s making it worse somehow.”

“Alright… but I’m getting you some painkillers. Be right back.”

You removed the throw pillows as he requested and went searching for something to help with the pain and swelling. Drugs had different names here, and you had to google some of them from the limited kit you’d gathered since you’d moved. Finally you found something that looked promising and decided to give him a double dosage, lord knows he needed it.

After you brought it to Harry and had him gulp them down with a full glass of water, you cuddled to his side and got comfy before you both resumed your reading. Harry had this habit of reading before bedtime and it grew on you too, and now you enjoyed reading before bed snuggled up together.

You were so engrossed in your book that you didn’t notice Harry dozing off. It was only when you heard his faint little snores that you peeked up at him from under his arm that he kept wrapped around your front as you laid into his side, playing with his fingers you hadn’t noticed going limp either. He looked adorable with his reading glasses that had slid down his nose somewhat, mouth parted slightly and book resting on his chest, moving with his deep breaths. 

You had the sudden urge to kiss him all over, but you knew he needed rest. The fact that he had managed to fall asleep meant the painkillers had kicked in, the last thing you wanted was to wake him up. He needed a good night’s rest to recover.

You carefully slid out of his hold, put your book away and turned your lamp off, then fished his book out of his other hand and placed it on his night stand, reaching over him carefully to turn off his lamp.

Just before you could reach for it, you felt his warm embrace engulf you, his hot, pouty lips sponging a wet kiss to your neck. “Leave it on, want to look at you,” he murmured against your skin.

You chuckled quietly, keeping your voice low, “oh no, big boy. We’re calling it a night. You need your rest, go back to sleep.”

“But you seduced me!” He whined and the pitch of his voice almost made you laugh with how genuine it sounded. You then pulled back a bit to look him in the eye when he kept his arms tight around you, refraining you from turning off the lamp, and took in his appearance. His pupils were dilated to the point where the green in his eyes was barely visible anymore, his cheeks flushed, his lips shiny and pouty, you couldn’t help but give in and kiss him. One kiss, is what you told yourself, one good night kiss and then you’d coax him into going back to sleep but as soon as your lips touched he thrust his tongue inside of your mouth without preamble, the kiss turning heated instantly.

His hands slid down your sides until they reached your ass, squeezing it firmly and then spanking you swiftly. “Little minx. Did you think you could seduce daddy and leave him hanging?”

You could physically feel your panties dampen at that. It didn’t take much for him to work you up, his words as effective as they’d always been. 

“We can’t… your ankle–”

“Plenty of things I can do without having to move much, sweetheart. Hm? How about you put in all the work for once. Take the day off from being such a pillow princess.”

You gasped at that and he bit his lower lip in amusement, his eyes sparkling with mischief at the way his words had gotten just the reaction he’d wanted out of you.

“I beg your finest–”

He spanked you again, hard,  effectively silencing you. “Sure, you can beg. Beg, crawl, cry your little eyes out for daddy to fuck you silly. Let’s start with that, why don’t we?”

You gulped, panting heavily just from the dirty talk and the way he was looking at you. “Please, daddy… I don’t want to hurt you.”

You saw endearment flash over his face before he smirked, erasing any trace of it. “That’s cute, darling. You’re only hurting daddy’s feelings by not trusting me. Do you not trust me, Y/N?”

You nodded dumbly, “of course I do, daddy…”

“Then slide out of those flimsy panties of yours that you call pyjamas and crawl up here.”

You furrowed your brows while you did as instructed, but before you could ask him to clarify, he grabbed at you as he scooted lower on the bed, without so much as wincing so you trusted he was being careful with his movements, manhandling you right where he wanted you: hovering over his face.

“Would you look at that, darling. Made a mess of yourself already.” He blew against your wetness, making you shiver. He ran his hands up and down your ass and back of your thighs, and then spanked you once more. It stung particularly hard now that you were half naked. “Tsk. What am I going to do with you, hm? Kiss you once and you get all wet like a filthy slut. Thought you were being the good little housewife, Y/N. What happened to her, hm? Cooked me a nice meal, ran me a bath, tended to me, sat in bed reading with me. What happened that made her turn into such a filthy little slut for me all of a sudden?”

You whined at his degrading words and how he kept you hovering over his mouth, his nose nudging against your clit as he spoke, barely grazing it but making you squirm every time. 

He spanked you again, making you moan. “Asked you a question Y/N, answer me!”

“I was… you said it yourself, I was… seducing you.”

“You were, weren’t you?” He chuckled lowly. “Could see right through your little act. Doting on your daddy when all you want, really, is for me to fuck you silly in return. Didn’t know I was injured at first, of course… bet you were disappointed, going through all that trouble, not getting anything in return for it, hm?”

“No!” You whined, even though you knew he was just teasing to get a reaction out of you. You enjoyed a bit of degradation in the bedroom and Harry knew just how far to push it without hurting your feelings in earnest. “I did it because I love you, daddy… never want anything in return…”

“Oh yeah? So you’d be okay if I just plopped you back onto bed and kissed your forehead goodnight?’

You wiggled on top of him but he wouldn’t allow you to lower yourself, desperate for his mouth. He chuckled, “thought so. Like I said.. Just a desperate little slut for her daddy…”

“Yes… I am! So what?! Been good… I deserve it! Please, daddy, I’m dripping…”

“Not quite, I’d feel it if you did,” he teased, making you whine pitifully. “Maybe you don’t want it bad enough?”

“I do, I do… please, daddy. Please, please? Just one lick, I’ll prove it. I’ll be so good for you, ride your face just like you like. Let you bury your tongue inside me, get you all messy. Please let me.”

Harry groaned, throwing his head further into his pillow, narrowing his eyes at you. His resolve was crumbling and you knew it. Still, you gave him your best dowe eyes, biting your lower lip and bringing a hand to your tit, squeezing it through the thin crop top you were wearing. 

“Okay.” He tried to keep his voice level but you could hear the slight tremble in it. “Just one lick, better make it good, Y/N.”

You nodded your head enthusiastically, and when he finally allowed you to lower yourself a bit more so he could reach you comfortably, and his tongue swiped between your folds you moaned loudly and sank down all the way against his face, still careful to keep much of your weight on your knees but making sure you were flush against him.

His own moan vibrated against you before spanking you once, twice, three times in the exact same spot, making sure he left a visible handprint for you both to admire for the next few days. 

“Lucky you’ve got such a sweet cunt, sweetheart, otherwise I’d punish you on the spot for that little stunt.” He was panting heavily, barely getting the words out before latching his lips to your clit and sucking intently, alternating between long drags and short little pulsating sucks, and you mewled wantonly above him, desperate for more already.

Harry grabbed your asscheeks and guided you against his mouth, making an absolute mess of himself in the process, your fingers digging into his curls for leverage, the slight pull making him groan in pleasure. You glided against his mouth blissfully, all your inhibitions thrown to the wind; he always knew how to get you there, make you lose yourself in the feel of him to the point where you surrendered to your instincts completely. 

When he finally stuck his tongue inside of you, you threw your head back, and he brought his one hand off your ass to deliver a swift slap against your clit, making it throb deliciously. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. Watch while your man devours your pretty pussy.”

You nodded your head, biting hard on your lower lip. “Just like that, daddy. Lap me up, it’s just for you.”

Harry loved it when you got vocal too. It wasn’t very often, a rare treat, and definitely only had its time and place when Harry wasn’t feeling too dominating. You could tell he loved it with the way he rolled his eyes to the back of his head and ate at you like a man starved. Harry ate pussy much like he kissed, he put his all into it. Wet, sloppy, passionate, intense, you wouldn’t have it any other way. He genuinely loved and craved it and it was driving you absolutely feral.

He grabbed at your hips, detaching you off of his face and spitting right against you before delivering another swift slap. “Turn around. Suck me, show me what a good slut you are for daddy.”

You clumsily did as he ordered and scurried down his body as he manoeuvred you right back over his face, wasting no time before he latched his mouth back onto you. You could barely think while he was doing it, let alone coordinate your movements, but you reached for him blindly and pulled his throbbing cock out of his sweats. He’d forgone underwear, as usual. You loved this angle while giving him head, you could slide him down your throat much easier this way. Which is exactly what you did, as soon as you licked all over his length ensuring proper lubrication, making him thrust up in surprise and gagging you.

“Fuck!” He added two fingers into the mix, either to apologise or reward you, you couldn’t tell, curling them right against your g-spot, to which he also had easy access from that angle. You slowed your movements, breathing in deeply through your nose and moaning around him, making him grunt and speed up his fingers, replacing them with his tongue, fucking you with it for a bit as he rubbed at your clit with the same fingers coated in your juices, then pushing them right back inside. He kept alternating between his tongue and his fingers and you were right on the verge of a delicious orgasm, but you tried to stave it off, wanted to get him there too before you gave into the pleasure and you knew you wouldn’t be able to work him as effectively.

You toyed with his balls and you sucked him just the way he liked, and you did notice he was trying his best not to thrust up again, but you weren’t sure if he was doing it to refrain from straining his leg or just for your sake. He loved it when you chocked on him, which is why you did it again, holding him in the back of your throat for longer this time and swallowing around him.

“Fuck, just like that, baby. Take it. Take it all.”

He added a third finger and you knew you couldn’t hold off much longer. Harry could tell too, knowing your telltale signs by heart by now. “Don’t bother coming if you’re not going to drench me, Y/N. I mean it,” he warned. “Either you squirt all over my face or hold it until you do. Gonna be a good girl for daddy and give me what I want?”

He could feel your head bobbing as you tried your best to nod while he stuffed your mouth, and with one final push to the back of your throat you felt him shaking beneath you, his whole body tensing before he shot his cum right down your throat. You pull off a bit and sucked just the tip, his warm release flooding your mouth and making you spill some too as he came violently. 

“Good girl…. Good fucking girl, Y/N…” he regained his composure slowly, resuming his vigorous pumps. “Sucked me dry, now let me have it. Fucking come for me, do it, right into my mouth, right now!”

The dam broke and you swore you were happier not to have disappointed him than to actually finally reach your peak. He groaned and moaned all throughout, sticking his tongue inside you again and licking you up and all around until you collapsed entirely on top of him and he knew you were spent and done for.

He helped you off of him, gentle at first but then he grabbed at you and made you hover over him for a heated kiss before you could plop to his side and fall right asleep like you usually did after he’d make you squirt like this.

“Did so good for me, darling, the best slutty housewife, aren’t you? Complete package, making me so happy. Daddy loves you so much, sweetheart.”

You mumbled something unintelligible against his mouth, as he kept peppering your face with kisses, praising you and caressing you tenderly. 

“Wanted you to ride me, but we’ll save that for another day. Have a feeling I should be resting tomorrow as well, make a full recovery.”

You groaned in protest and he laughed at your cute reaction, knowing full well how much you actually enjoyed riding him. You weren’t a pillow princess at all, and you both knew it. Harry just enjoyed dominating you too much for it to happen that often. 

But little did he know, that’s exactly how you were planning to wake him up in the morning. You were determined to take full advantage of this opportunity to dote on him in every way. He was sure to sleep in after all the physical activity and his body really did need rest. You made sure to bring a damp towel and clean up the both of you before you went to sleep, checked to see if the swelling on his ankle had gone down (it hadn’t), and then cuddled into his side making sure he’d sleep face up and not move around in his sleep much.

You woke up smilingly, realizing it was still early enough and Harry would sleep unperturbed for another hour naturally.

You slid out of bed carefully, tiptoed around the room to gather your phone and then quietly made your way to the kitchen where you googled the recipe for crêpes suzette. You grimaced as you took in how difficult they were to make. They were a favourite of Harry’s, so you willed yourself not to be discouraged. 

You kept glancing at the kitchen clock, time went on and it was taking forever, you hoped Harry would not wake up to the smell of it (it did smell quite amazing to be honest), or to the accidental loud noises you made whenever you dropped an utensil clumsily.

You were no housewife, that was for sure, even after all that experience waitressing, but cooking was Harry’s expertise. You’d made him proud the night before though, waiting for him with homemade dinner, prompting you further to do your best and spoil him a bit, especially now that he was prone to be a bit grouchy. Harry hated feeling incapacitated in any way, he rarely fell ill but when he did he tried to hide it until it was inevitable, never wanting to appear weak in front of you. He allowed himself to be vulnerable and pour his heart out to you entirely, but when it came to his physical capabilities, the man had one big ego.

You smirked to yourself in anticipation of his reaction later on. With still some time to spare, you showered in the guest bathroom, smiling when you returned into the kitchen with Harry nowhere in sight and the fragrant smell of oranges all around. You took his favourite bourbon vanilla icecream out of the freezer, scooping some out and plating it on top of the crêpes. 

You quietly made your way back into the master bedroom, Harry sleeping soundly still. Part of you felt like maybe you should let him sleep in some more, but then your plan would go to waste and sure, he’d still appreciate the crêpes, but your surprise wouldn’t be complete if you did.

You carefully placed the plate on his nightstand and then eyed the way he was tenting the duvet. Harry usually slept in the nude, not all of the time, but certainly always after sex. Removing the duvet as slowly as possible as to not wake him up, you felt your mouth water at the sight of his delicious length just waiting there, ready to fill you up and stretch you just right, in one way or another. You took off your robe you’d worn out of the shower, letting it pool to your feet and leaving you stark naked. You’d made sure to use his favourite body wash, even complete with the body oil from the same set he’d gifted you a while back. Your skin was glowy in the soft morning light, the sun barely peeking through the windows.

Carefully, you straddled him. What you really wanted was to slide right onto him. And you could’ve, you’d both woken the other up like this plenty of times. It was something you both enjoyed, especially in the middle of the night.

But for what you had in mind, you avoided his length that kept twitching tantalisingly in his sleep, and instead straddled his navel right below his butterfly tattoo.

You bent down to kiss him gently, your hands caressing his face and his body softly as you did so. Harry moaned awake, not in the least surprised to feel you on top of him for a split second, almost as though he’d been dreaming of this very scenario.

When he came to his senses fully his eyes widened, and his kiss deepened, his arms coming around you and his cock pushing into your backside.

“Morning, baby.”

Harry beamed at you, placing a strand of your hair behind your ear delicately. “Morning, my little love.” He kissed you again, humming against your lips. He made to flip you over but, flexing his leg muscles he was quickly reminded of his injury and he groaned in pain, tightening his hold on you.

“Fuck! I’d forgotten all about that for a moment there…”

You winced at his pained reaction, wishing you would’ve reminded him about it before he could try and move. “Is it as bad?”

Harry puffed his cheeks, exhaling loudly. “It’s… bad.”

“Oh my baby… I’m so sorry. Here, I have something for you to make it all better, hm?”

Harry relaxed his features at that and pulled back a bit to take you all in. “I’d say… fuck, you gorgeous woman. Want me to have a heart attack to make me forget all about my sprained ankle, huh? Interesting approach.”

You chuckled, biting on your lower lip at the compliment shily. “Even better.” You reached over and grabbed the plate, presenting it to him proudly.

Harry sat up a bit, leaning on his elbows. “Have I actually died and gone to heaven, then? Skipped right through that heart attack.”

You giggled, using your spare hand to prop some pillows behind him so he could sit comfortably back against them. 

“Do you know what it is?”

“My favourites. Crêpes suzette. Bloody hell, did you actually make these yourself?”

You beamed at him, all proud and happy with his genuinely surprised reaction. “Yes I did. Just for you. Know you like them, wanted to pamper you a bit.”

“Smells incredible.” He let his hands roam your body freely, stopping at your breasts and kneading them with just the right amount of pleasure. “You’re incredible. Kiss me.”

You leaned over, the plate to the side and out of the way. “I love you.”

He smiled against your lips and his hands moved down your spine to your waist, deepening the kiss, but you pulled back, straightening.

“Fill me up, daddy.”

Harry groaned, not wasting any time in aiding you sink down his cock. You clenched around him, trying to adjust and Harry squeezed your hips until it hurt a bit with how much he was refraining from thrusting into you until you relaxed around him.

You shifted forward a bit, making him moan and brought the plate back between the two of you, slicing up a bite and bringing the fork to his lips. 

Harry watched between heavy lids as you licked your lips in anticipation as if you were the one about to have a bite. Just as you fed it to him, you grinded against him, making him squeeze your hips even harder as his eyes widened in ecstasy. You did it again, only moving as you fed him a bit more of the crêpes. Harry was losing it. “I’m gonna come so hard. You’re blowing my mind. My senses are in overdrive.”

You hummed proudly. “Good.” You finally had a bite yourself and moaned around the fork. You couldn’t believe how good it turned out and that you’d actually made this from scratch. Well, aside from the ice cream. Speaking of which, Harry scooped some using his finger and painted it all over your tit, then sat up straighter to lick it all up and then suck it into his mouth greedily.

Between the two of you, you managed to finish the crêpes in record timing, orange syrup dripping between the two of you, Harry lapping it all off of you as he worked you over his body. He couldn’t use his legs for this so it was really up to you to pick up the pace, and you didn’t disappoint. You knew your thighs would burn for days afterwards but you rode him like you stole him. Thankfully, you’d both gotten quite worked up and reached your peeks in record timing. Harry didn’t even get to use his dirty mouth all that much, that’s how fast you got there.

“That was… a whole other level of pleasure.” He pulled you flush against him, both of you panting heavily.

“That worked out better than even I imagined,” you giggled.

“You’re full of surprises these days, aren’t you, sweetheart?” He caressed up and down your spine with featherlight touches. “I’m so lucky. Don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

“I’m the lucky one.”

Harry tightened his hold around you. “Sometimes it feels like my heart is gonna burst, that’s how happy you make me, you know that? Just another way to get me to that heart attack, I’m onto you, you know.”

You laughed lightly against his chest. “Oh no, you caught me.” You wanted to make another joke about your age gap but refrained, knowing his ego was already bruised more than his ankle was.

Harry swatted your bum playfully, almost as if reading your mind, the both of you laughing at how his fingers stuck to your skin in doing so. “How about you go run us another bath, love? I can feel us glueing together with that orange syrup.”

You reached to kiss him once more before pulling away. Didn’t bother covering up as you went and ran the bath, then took a good look at yourself in the mirror. You looked thoroughly fucked and radiant. You knew just what Harry was referring to when he said his heart felt like it was going to burst with happiness because you felt the exact same way.

By the time you made your way back into the bedroom, Harry was fast asleep again. You took in the sight of him, deciding to give him an extra hour before you woke him up again for your bath, just another way of pampering him. 

Slipping the bathrobe back on, you made your way back into the kitchen after turning off the tap in the bathroom to make some coffee, already thinking of convincing him to at least let you cockwarm him in the tub later.

Not even the harsh reality of all the dishes you had to clean wasn’t enough to swipe off that smile off your face. You’d never been happier. 

You were home.

Daddy issues- Masterlist

A/N: sooooo. i fully set out to write a subby DI harry based on this request. but in the end, daddy dom harry won. sorry not sorry lol. he won't be tamed😩

💕 like & reblog if you enjoyed this, lovelies, and most importantly, please come share your thoughts on it here💌

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[gardenwalrus]

Malcolm MacAlister Hall interview with Jane Asher, 'Forget Cakes… Jane Asher Talks about being Lazy, Leopard-Skin Boots and Learning to Live with the Darker Side of Life', Good Housekeeping (1 Feb. 2003)

Full article

When you think Jane Asher, you think cool, auburn, alabaster. You also think nice cake-lady. But, as is the case with anyone who has a spotless media record, there’s a great deal more going on. She is deeper, darker, lazier, more passionate than you would ever imagine. The perfect image that she’s acquired obscures this other Jane Asher, who knocks off The Times crossword for relaxation, describes herself as ‘left-leaning’ and discusses the idiocies of politicians with her husband, the cartoonist Gerald Scarfe, as he works on his drawings. ‘If you’re dealing with politics all the time you’ve got to be cynical, haven’t you?’ she says. When we meet, it’s the day after the Commons vote on extending adoption rights to gay and unmarried couples, and Jane is fizzing.

‘The debacle of Duncan Smith telling Tory MPs they had to take the three-line whip [meaning that every member must attend and vote according to the party line] - from a man who must be reasonably intelligent, it’s the stupidity that’s so mind-blowing,’ she says angrily. She speaks with a passion you wouldn’t begin to glean from reading between the lines of her biography: stage and film actress; astoundingly prolific author (18 books on cake design, home entertaining and childcare, plus three well-received novels); shrewd businesswoman (she has her own cake shop in Chelsea and Jane Asher branded goods are sold in Debenhams and supermarkets); mother of three children (Katie, 28, Alexander, 20, and Rory, 18); and wife of 30 years. At 56, she looks mesmerisingly beautiful to a jealousy-inducing degree: slim as a teenager and with an English-rose complexion, she genuinely appears 20 years younger than she really is. So, Jane: lucky genes, cosmetic miracle, or savage health and beauty regime? ‘I put it down to a combination of stress and stairs,’ she says. ‘There’s such an obsession now with reducing stress, but stress is just a natural part of living. And I grew up in a very tall house, and I still live in one now. I’ve had to run up and down stairs all my life.’ The tall house she grew up in was Wimpole Street in central London. Her father was an eminent consultant endocrinologist who identified Munchausen’s syndrome - where the patient feigns an illness to get admitted to hospital - and but for his modesty, it would have been labelled Asher’s syndrome. Her mother was a professor of music and an oboe teacher at the Royal Academy of Music. It was a happy, middle-class childhood. She and her sister Clare, now an Ofsted inspector, learned to curtsey at Miss Lambert’s School in Paddington. At 17, when she was working for the Radio Times, she was sent to cover a pop concert at the Albert Hall and met Paul McCartney in a corridor. He reportedly described her as a ‘rave London bird’. And the heavy-fringed Jane became the most famous girlfriend in Britain. It lasted five years, until she came home unexpectedly one day to find him with another girl. She walked out, and although he wrote And I Love Her and We Can Work It Out for her, she never returned. McCartney was said to be devastated. To this day, she has never spoken about it publicly. She has never spoken, either, about the death of her adored father who, struck by a terminal illness, committed suicide when she was in her early 20s. She has always politely insisted that these two events should not become just more public property. Her novels, surprisingly to some, have addressed serious issues - the traumas of infertility, betrayal and obsession. ‘Everyone gasps: “They’re so dark!”’ she says, ‘but life’s bleak and disturbing, isn’t it, really? We all float along pretending it isn’t, but when you stop to think about what’s going on at any moment, there’s probably a child screaming in pain within 10 miles of wherever you are. I don’t want to sound like a pessimist, but it’s bloody awful.

‘I don’t know why, but my fiction does tend to look at the blacker side. But hopefully with humour as well - as in life. In fiction, although it’s all invented, you probably are letting out more of yourself: your beliefs, your feelings, your attitude to things. I think when I’m writing fiction it’s almost like a bit of the real Jane is speaking to the reader.’ At weekends, the ‘real Jane’ likes to gather the family around her at their large house overlooking the Thames. ‘That’s when I do enjoy cooking for them all,’ she says. ‘Weekday cooking gets a bit boring when you’ve just got to feed everyone every day, but at weekends when I’ve got a bit more time I like experimenting with new things. It’s relaxing.’ Her family and her marriage to Gerald are clearly her foundation. ‘He’s just lovely and funny and we think the same way about things,’ she says. ‘Not that a 30-year marriage is all easy and wonderful, of course. But I’m very lucky I picked such a lovely man. It’s wonderful to have someone who loves you whatever you look like and whatever you do - I always think about that when he sees me in my bath cap, the most unattractive object in the world,’ she says, amid gales of laughter. ‘If you can pass the bath-cap test, I think you’ve got a very strong marriage.’ On most other subjects, she dismisses her achievements. ‘I’ve never been clever enough to plan a career for myself. I just sort of lurch from one thing to another,’ she says. ‘As a writer I have to have a deadline or I would never do it. It’s a combination of being lazy but also not being able to say no to things. But I’m just as happy lying on a sofa watching an old film and doing nothing. I don’t find it difficult to switch off and ignore piles of things I should have done. ‘Obviously I wrote all the books and did all the cake things because of the children. I didn’t want to leave them when they were young, and I could do those things from home.’ She made a conscious decision to put her children before her acting career, and turned down countless roles. ‘It wasn’t always easy. There were things I would have really liked to do, mostly plays. But I don’t regret it for a second. I think it’s made a huge difference, hopefully, to all of them being as happy as they are, that Gerald and I were around all through their childhood.’ And now that her children are grown, she has taken a role so far removed from anything else she’s done that it almost beggars belief. But it’s precisely because her children are now more independent and she fancies doing ‘something that’s terrific fun and in mainstream television again’ that she’s taking the unlikely role of the new proprietor of Crossroads Hotel. The revamped soap, set in a Birmingham hotel, is not in its third incarnation, and Jane will be playing Angel Samson, owner and queen bee of this buzzing hive of sex, intrigue, high-voltage frocks and clashing personalities. The word around the studio corridors is that the new, and hopefully improved, soap is going to be like Dynasty in the Midlands. Angel is described as being a superbitch, but what’s Jane Asher doing in the middle of this cat-fight? Can she even do bitchy?

‘Oh, yes,’ she says. ‘We’ve just done a scene where I’m absolutely horrible to Kate, the hotel manager, who’s played by Jane Gurnett. There’s nothing more fun than having a fight with someone you get one with. And,’ she adds, ‘we’ve got lots of wonderful frocks.’ She jumps up to riffle through her stage wardrobe, pulling out sequinned dresses and sky-high stiletto leopard print boots. ‘These are so tottery,’ she exclaims. ‘They make me feel like the Leaning Tower of Pisa.’ Despite her girlish enthusiasm for the role - and its frocks - she admits that this is the sort of part she might have once turned down. ‘If I’m honest, 20 years ago I probably wouldn’t have wanted to go into a soap, but they’ve changed so much. Now you get every kind of actor popping up in them, and they’re such a big part of our culture. When this came up, I really didn’t hesitate.’ The time was just right, it seems, for Jane Asher to mess with our perception of her again.

[notallsandmen]

for the WIP game: you know I'm obsessed with Hob titty fucking, I think everyone else should be too

It was a sveltering London summer day. Hob nearly passes out on the bus home, and he has to stand in the shower for half an hour to cool down.

It didn’t use to be this fucking hot. So much had changed in just a few centuries, and not for the better.

But something as petty as cataclysmic global warming was apparently not enough to stop Dream from popping by for a cheeky afternoon shag: only giving Hob a salutary little bow and a wry half-smile before practically tackling him into bed. Dream’s clothes had melted away with Hob’s remaining resolve; now, they were naked and panting into each other’s mouths. Dream’s damn smirk was somewhat undermined by the rosy-dawning blush spreading from his cheeks all the way down to his navel. Hob had tried to be pragmatic and suggest that they could take this to the Dreaming instead, but apparently Dream was barred due to similar overheating issues, so they were stuck here now. Quite literally — it feels heretical, the way Hob’s sweaty skin cloys for Dream’s sultrily temperate skin.

Hob presses his entire face into Dream’s cool chest and groans so loudly, he can feel it rattle through Dream’s ribcage.

“Are you well, little darling?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Hob can see the onyx-lacquered nail tracing orbits into the Hob’s furred thigh.

“I know I have had a penchant for hyperbole in the past. But I’m actually dying. The heat, Dream. The fucking heat.”

Dream nods slowly, as if Hob was just randomly listing the physical properties of their environment, like a rambling toddler losing the thread of the story they’re telling.

It would be condescending if it wasn’t so maddeningly arousing. Hob might have a problem.

“Would you prefer not to have sex, so as to not risk your body over-heating?”

“Would I…?”, Hob chuckles exasperatedly.

“No I would obviously not prefer that, because I’ve evidently lost every remaining survival instinct from disuse.”

He pauses to empty the glass of water on his bedside table.

“Oi, Pillow Prince of Stories — you could be on top, for once, seeing as you’re not as affected by the heat as I am.”

The way Dream solemnly nods, resigning himself to his tragic fate, to again be saddled with the crushing duty of “having to do any work in bed except for coming”, was frankly so adorably melodramatic that the end of Hob’s sentence trailed out into a sputter.

“Fine, fine, if you’re going to pout about it, I yield.”

Still straddling Dream, Hob closes his eyes and tries to estimate what he could realistically be able to perform without ruining the afterglow with fainting salts.

Only now does Hob register the way he was unconsciously dragging his cock over Dream’s blessedly cool chest.

Well, that’s a thought.

Hob can’t deny that he descends into a heart-eyed mess every time he witnesses Dream laying eyes on his own chest hair; making a content little hum as his nimble fingers card through the coarse pelt like a homecoming.

But the idea of doing this, to rut against Dream’s silky-smooth chest, to come all over —

”Hob? Are you having a heat-stroke? Should I consult a physician?”

Dream’s brows furrow in concern, and Hob feels a bit high-maintenance with his autonomic nervous system baggage and everything.

��Like this?”

It was meant to be suggestive, but Hob feels himself sheepishly flush when his voice comes out as a dry croak.

It was hardly the most energy-efficient position, given the heat.

But as a bead of sweat falls from Hob’s temple down onto Dream’s throat, trickling down his breastbone, Hob realizes that he wouldn’t be able to get it out of his head, now.

Right — it’s settled. Hob needs to fuck Dream’s tits.

Dream looks down at himself, and then back up at Hob in confusion, pressing two fingers against Hob’s wrist where they grasp his hips, not very discreetly checking his pulse. Dream’s concerns were evidently soothed enough to plummet him back into his ordinary state of perplexed feline imperiousness, scoffing:

”Why would you want that?”

“Why?”, Hob laughs, a little maniacally. As if it would be a hardship. As if he’s not already smearing a drop of pre into the tuft of hair on Dream’s chest.

”Let me show you why.”

Continue to read:

[greenhousethree]

Withered 🪴

April Prompt 25 for @hinnymicrofic. (606 words — sort of micro?)

It’s a housewarming gift for them both, perched on the credenza in their first flat once her rookie contract is up. Neville’s wrapped a bow around the pot, rhapsodizes over its soothing properties: It’s heralded as a rare treasure in the mountains of Ecuador. 

Two spindly stalks, reaching from dark soil like outstretched hands. Colorful, waxy leaves that move as though breathing.

Spring warms to summer amid unpacking, Euro Cup qualifiers blaring from the wireless, family stopping in to share a pint and admire their view from the balcony. The branches dance animatedly among raucous cheers and clinking bottles when England secures third rank. The hum of London presses against the windows. 

She buys a copper watering can. Most days, she remembers to check the soil’s dampness. Fills vases with flowers, burns fewer meals on the stove. Cleans to prepare for Teddy’s first stay, realizes her mistake among sticky handprints and biscuits crushed into the rug.

Ron brings in a Muggle telly amid her peals of laughter. They set it up, and the four watch Notting Hill that night. Later, she leaves the room halfway through Fight Club. The branches shudder.

The leaves tremble with excitement when an owl brings her first full-time contract: three years, better pay. She takes an interview with Quidditch Weekly from their living room while he’s at work.

July brings long days and longer nights, giggling returns from the pubs and a lopsided cake she’s made him. Their party guests file out and then he’s kissing her neck, pressing her against the wall.

The leaves along the street change color. The ones inside are unaffected. It’s quiet most days; he departs before the sun’s fully risen, she rushes off for practice with toast and coffee. A week into preseason, she takes another interview, Witch Weekly this time. He’s away six days. Arrives late, holds her close on the sofa until dawn. 

Late nights, candles burning low on the desk. He brings work home, pores over evidence, accepts mugs of tea. She kisses his forehead, hands find his shoulders. Anxiety undulates from the stem through the branches.

He falls asleep on the sofa. When she wakes him, the curse narrowly misses the plant, singes a hole in the wall.

Time together grows sparse. She travels for matches, he leads his first mission abroad. She loses, he fails. The leaves grow paler, stems yellowing in their absence.

In winter, a week on the sofa with a concussion and the clanging radiator. She grows restless, waters it plenty, buys a bigger pot.

Fireside chats with Luna over glasses of pinot noir, secrets spilled. He’s not sleeping. She’s worried this case is hitting too close. Ron’s thinking of buying a ring.

They forget to put up a tree, and Andromeda chastises them. Next morning he brings one home, wet from sleet, needles everywhere. She sips mulled wine and he lifts Teddy to add the star. Ties a bow around a toy broomstick.

It’s mid-January when they notice. She’s up 3-1 on away matches, he’s back from St. Mungo’s with a case file to close out. Crisp leaves scattered around the pot, withered stems and cracked soil. He suggests they consult Neville. She jokes that she’ll make a terrible mother, and he’s quiet.

Spring brings the chance to have a better year. Playoffs, holidays planned for the summer, an engagement party with the pop of champagne. She makes him dance in the living room one night, a song from Percy’s wedding, pulling him back to the moment, leaving the war behind. 

Outside the window, the tips of branches bud with promises of green.

🌱

[tedwardremus]

Snuffles & Son

Chapter 2: Wizarding Library of London

“It’s not just the Lestrange vault that was finally turned over to us. You should see some of the shit some of the other lowlifes were hoarding. Dolohov apparently had human skulls.”

Sirius grimaced at the thought of Death Eaters stashing human remains in their vaults. “Do we know whose skulls?”

“No one recently deceased, probably a few hundred years old.”

Sirius let out a dark laugh, “Well, you’ve got to admire their commitment to the aesthetic, I suppose.” 

Sirius was sitting in front of the fireplace in his sitting room, talking to the disamdobied head of Mad-eye Moody, whose magical eye swiveled around the room, as if scanning for potential threats. Sirius had called Moody early that morning to discuss the cup found in his cousin’s vault.

It wasn’t unusual for Moody to pass a long cursed items from the Ministry to Srius. According to Moody, too many government members would be more likely to pocket a confiscated valuable than dispose of it properly. Sirius was on Moody’s very short list of trusted consultants. 

According to Moody the deal the Ministry finally struck with Gringotts meant the Ministry could inspect property in imprisoned Death Eater’s vaults that were cursed with dark magic or proven to be acquired through terrorist actions or war proffiterring. Everything else in the vaults was to remain untouched. 

Moody gruffly added that “Even with the dragonshit restrictions, the Aurros managed to turn some of the Lestranges gold into a very sizable donation to the permeant spell damage ward at St. Mungos.”

[properlyhome]

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[angryschnauzer]

I know a lot of people are awaiting an update on As Sweet As Honey, and numerous other stories i’ve said i will continue, but writing at the moment just isn’t happening for me.

Firstly i’ve been told i now have Long Covid. After the NHS telling me i 100% did not have in any way shape or form actual Covid back in January, they’ve since run tests and looked at the ongoing symptoms and side affects i’m still experiencing and have said that ‘maybe it was covid as you’ve now got all the symptoms of Long Covid’... Don’t get me started on their ineptitude of this, but the condition is long the lines of Chronic Fatigue syndrome or M.E, with a side of pneumonia.  Just living my day to day life is exhausting, and any down time i do have i’m asleep.

Unfortunately other aspects of life are also filling my time, firstly my Father In Law has been diagnosed with Dementia (most likely Alzheimer's) but my husband is an only child which means we are having to make the trip from London to Wales about every three weeks at the moment. Its a huge emotional drain on my husband and so i’m picking up a lot of duties we usually share (housework, childcare) and doing them solo so that he isn’t overwhelmed by what is a very rapid decline in his father’s condition. His mum is still living with his Dad in their old family home, but its likely we’ll have to arrange some residential care for FIL soon rather than just visiting carers and nurses.

To add to our stress, our next door neighbours who have been a thorn in our side for the last 13 months are back to their old behaviour; heavy drug use, fighting in the street, and just generally being a pain in the ass. None of our complaints to the owner of the property ever got dealt with properly, so this time we are having to raise a webchat with the police to get a report number, then complain in writing to the rental agency. The continued drug use has had a huge impact on my business as i can no longer have clients come to the house and visit my workshop for Wedding Decoration consultations as i could never guarantee they wouldn’t have to walk through a cloud of pot smoke or worry that their decorations would get to them stinking of it either. I had one client turn up last year as the neighbours were having a full on domestic abuse fight on the driveway we share with them, and understandably even though i explained what was happening, i lost those clients and a £500 job. Come the summer months the smoke means we have to have our windows shut and thus the temperature in our house rises, which in turn affects my 8 year olds Type 1 Diabetes as hot weather increases the rate that insulin is absorbed which means he needs to take more insulin.  I want to make it clear that i fully understand a lot of people use cannabis for medical use, and if people want to use it in their own homes to the point it doesn’t affect other people, go for it. BUT the stuff next door are smoking is not only incredibly potent, its laced with something else. To the point one day last summer i was having a nap on the sofa with the windows open in the middle of the day, and was woken up by smoke pouring in our windows from next door. I’d obviously inhaled some of it, and whatever was with it was making me hallucinate to the point i had to get another parent drive my son home from school as i couldn’t even stand let alone drive... and that’s from passive inhalation. So now whenever we even get the first whiff of drugs from them all our windows are closed. The only plus side is that the two teenagers that may or may not be siblings but are fucking haven’t been seen for weeks. I have no idea where they’ve gone but i also don’t care.

So yeah. That’s what’s keeping me from writing or even stringing a paragraph together. Fun times. Not.

[0hcicero]

Omg ok so I’m at the Simmons grabbing breakfast before my tattoo and this woman behind me keeps on talking about how she ‘lives a champagne lifestyle’ and how ‘the people are so much more genuine here’ than London and omg wow the privilege!

- “Every area of the city has like its own…microculture!” Omg what a genius - perhaps you might even call them, neighbourhoods?

- “Loved mission, even though it’s a little…dangerous…” ma’am, in what world?! (For context, Mission is downtown and eclectic and busy and artsy, it isn’t like some slums - and even our most low income area of the city is totally fine and not too bad! You have some drug users and some homeless people but they’re really not harming anyone)

- Omg “It’s so strange how people use credit here? When we were buying property it was so interesting. In the UK it’s all debit? And like it’s not like I have a bad credit score, I just need to build it up.” 👀

- “I haven’t really looked for work since I graduated. Actually a lot of people are very much like live slow and take life as it comes” - woman in her fourties wearing designer clothes

- “I could see working for the city of Calgary could be quite interesting, but it’s a bit funny, isn’t it? Taking a municipal job?”

“Absolutely so quaint, but it is nice to get to know the real people of the city, you know? And project-based work, so you don’t always have to be there.” - I imagine a nose wrinkle at staying in the peasant realms for too long 🤪

- “I love Canadian culture but there are gaps, for sure. I’m considering becoming a consulting coach, I think I could help a lot of people” — you with your Champagne lifestyle and your fear of Mission District???👀👀👀👀

- “There’s a piece I’m learning - some people are choosing to work, like?”

- “It’s a choice to work, right? And it’s a choice to work that hard.” - Ma’am, it’s late stage capitalism, us with our wine and beer lifestyles do not have the luxury of not

Please enjoy this insanity and remember, eat the rich!

- love your friendly neighbourhood peasant

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson, catching up

Study in Scarlet (the whole rest) Took me a minute here, but we appear to have skipped the bulk of Study in Scarlet, which is, uh. Probably for the best when it comes to retaining American readers for this project. My country-people, I’m afraid we’ve been once again exoticized by a Victorian dude: this will NOT be the last time.  (I find it funny at this point because you can’t argue that we don’t deserve it. It will have weird connotations in later stories though.) Anyway, for those of us who did not continue to reread Study in Scarlet, and especially did not read the LONG confession that makes up half the novel, Study in Scarlet solidifies Holmes and Watson’s friendship and their partnership in crime solving: Watson, like many bored unemployed people before him, (myself included) takes to writing. He starts recording Holmes’ cases after a display of how useful the art of deduction is. He’s also introduced to some long term friends of the consultancy: Lestrade and the Baker Street irregulars.  We also get a first hint of a theme in Sherlock Holmes stories that I’ve seen a lot of people gloss over: the villains are misogyist asshats. Drebber, (the original murder victim) attempted to assault a young woman in London, specifically to kiss her by force (twice!) in addition to his and Stangerson’s crimes against women in the united states. To understand the extent of them you have to remember two things: 

1) Victorians are not going to use the word rape, especially in a family magazine, and they did not have the same legal framework regarding it, (especially when the victim is married to her abuser, however much of a sham that marriage is regarding her actual consent to marry) but that’s what’s implied to be going on after someone is married by force, like Lucy Farrier was. Especially if the victim later “dies of a broken heart.” 2) The fact that marrying a woman also often meant you became the owner of all her property (unless other legal provisions were set up) is also a common motivation for the villains of Holmes’ stories to mistreat women. Glancing through what Letters from Watson has covered so far, this one is going to come up again very soon. So there’s what we skipped. On to the Gloria Scott!

[mmbaaccountants]

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[zealouscanonindeer]

The Rules of Property and Sentiment

Sherlock Holmes:

The only thing I could follow up on was father, so I decided to visit her prior residence and inquire there.  I left in silence but not before reassuring Mrs Croft of my innocence in the whole matter. She begrudgingly trusted me, my earnest nature winning over her distrust of me. Her wary gaze followed me as I hailed a hansom and made my way to the Cartwright estate.

On my arrival, I was greeted by the kindly looking, silver haired butler, Leopold who of course knew me. He greeted me courteously, always the professional and impeccable at his job. 

“Mr Holmes, I did not expect to see you here. How can I be of assistance?” he said.

“I’m here to see Miss Cartwright.” It was a shot in the dark but I did not want to distress her family. 

“Oh, she moved closer to the city.” He tactfully omitted the part where she had grown tired of the continuous lash of suitors her father hurled at her before she decided to get away. Perhaps...

“Was she being courted?” I knew full well the answer to this unless there had been a recent development.

“Quite the contrary”

“Very well. May I speak to Mr Edmund Cartwright then?”

“He is to leave for an important business affair in France. As per his custom, he shall be at the Diogenes club at this hour before he boards the train after dining there.” Leopold informed me evenly.

The Diogenes Club? I must say I was surprised. I didn’t take the man to be one for such stringent silence. 

“And there is no possibility that Emily accompanied him?”

“Miss Cartwright is in London to the best of knowledge. She despised accompanying her father on business ventures. She found it drab.”

I couldn’t escape his rather forceful and pointed emphasis on propriety. Within social boundaries I did not have the right to refer to her by her Christian name.

“Thank you, Leopold,” I bowed slightly before making my way to the Diogenes club, in the hopes of encountering her father. 

 Alas, I was too late to catch the gentleman who after breaking his fast had already made his way to the station. If my calculations were current, his train was well on its way.

I sighed, taking a seat, too anxious to smoke so I settled for a drink. Usually, it was only with considerable ire that I consulted Mycroft. The matters at hand, the precious lady in question and the terror at any harm coming her way pushed me to gather some insight from my brother. 

I walked into the stranger’s room, taking up a spot opposite my brother, who sat with his fingertips together, his watery grey eyes clouded with introspection.

“Yes, brother mine? What agitates you?” 

“What makes you think I am agitated?”

“Really Sherlock, I thought you could see the signs yourself, it’s quite obvious. Firstly...”

“Never mind, let’s get to the matter at hand.” I did not have time for this childish play.  

“Which is?”

“Emily is missing. I was to meet her on Thursday…” I continued filling him up with the details, realising far too late that I had said too much. Mycroft chuckled, smiling amusedly before smugly replying.

“Surely you mean Miss Cartwright. You were to meet her? Is that sentiment I detect on account of her?”

I internally groaned, propriety slipped my mind while addressing her. As for the sentiment, I preferred to keep Mycroft in the dark.

“Pray, how are you acquainted with Miss Cartwright?” I pointedly questioned.

“Her father is a member of the club, I made her acquaintance right here, in this very room. Brilliant I must say, with a knack of getting into quite the scrapes. Something to do with her jumping over the back fence after locking a potential suitor in the wardrobe.”

“That sounds just like her.” The words left my mouth subconsciously.

“So, you know what she is like?” Mycroft quickly picked up on it.

I gritted my teeth in frustration. This girl shall have me humiliated in front of everyone before long.

“Mycroft, just tell me what you think of it.” I answered sternly, dangerously close to losing my nerve.

“I think you are positively swooning and have scared her off. If I’m to guess correctly she shall be back in your arms in no time unless you cease this line of inquiry.”

“I hope so too.”

Again, I realised my folly only too late. Mycroft’s raised eyebrow and amused mirthful expression left me quite red in the face. I quickly got up, trying to regain my composure. 

“Goodbye.” I huffed.

“Give my regards to Emily.” 

I merely ignored his jests, finally making my way to Baker Street after the day’s excursions. I now had to deal with Watson, who I realised could read me better than he let on.