#Egg Chair Garden Furniture

[thehangingegg]

Outdoor Dining Furniture  | The Hanging Egg

Introducing The Hanging Egg, an exquisite piece of Outdoor Dining Furniture that effortlessly combines style and comfort. Crafted with meticulous attention to detail, this trendy addition to your patio or garden will redefine your outdoor dining experience. Designed to provide a cozy and inviting space for lounging and enjoying meals, The Hanging Egg offers a perfect blend of elegance and functionality. Elevate your outdoor decor with this must-have furniture piece and create unforgettable memories with friends and family.

#outdoor porch furniture #Wicker Swing Chair #Egg Chair Garden Furniture #Double Hanging Chair #Outdoor Hanging Egg Chair Australia #Outdoor Dining Table and Chairs

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Cinderella Doesn’t Believe in Fairytales (pt. 8)

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3). (Part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7)

Cinderella wakes to birdsong.

It brings her to tears. She tangles her fingers in the soft bedcovers, pulling them up and over her face. Her tears blur the gentle light seeping through the fabric so that she feels like she might still be dreaming. Her body is pleasantly sore from dancing, but not hurting like it does after a day of chores. Her hair smells of the gentle oils Helga patiently brushed into it rather than fireplace soot. The gnawing loneliness that’s accompanied her for so many years is wonderfully quiet, soothed by the long evening spent in the arms of her friend.

The Prince.

Cinderella huffs a laugh, disbelieving, and pulls the sheets away from her face. Her room is pleasantly cool, the air brisk though the windows aren’t open. She breathes in deeply. Her friend is the Prince. Her impossible, magic-wielding friend who saved her life and listened to her worries and always made her laugh is the prince.

And he’s a hell of a dancer too.

Even the memory of their dances thrills her. Cinderella jumps out of bed , unable to bear the sudden surge of energy coursing through her, and braces for the shock of cold stone against her bare feet. It never comes. Instead, the floor hums with the sort of warmth she’s begun to associate with magic. Cinderella laughs and sways to the window, humming portions of the previous night’s songs under her breath.

The people! The music! The colors! Her memory is a kaleidoscope of everything beautiful she’s ever seen in her entire life. At the center of it all is her friend and his gentle smile, his hand outstretched for hers.

Cinderella eases the window open. She’d been too nervous to take a proper look outside yesterday, but today is a different story. For all the elation she feels, there’s also something settled inside of her. A sort of contentment that sits at the bottom of her stomach where it won’t be easily swayed. So she opens the window without worrying if she’s allowed to do so and takes in a lungful of fresh morning air.

“The late Queen’s gardens,” Helga says from the doorway. Cinderella turns to find Helga with a breakfast tray balanced on one hand and a letter held in the other. Helga’s eyes sparkle. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

They are. Cinderella was listening to the birds and not looking at the garden, but she knows it’s true. The greenery is lush and well-maintained, the flowers blooming big and beautiful along a carefully swept path. She can hear water from beyond a row of hedges. A fountain?

“Everything is beautiful,” Cinderella says. The Prince’s green eyes against the night sky comes to mind and Cinderella’s heart flips. She clears her throat. “The grounds. The castle. It’s all very beautiful.”

Helga hums and closes the door with her foot. “Would you like to sit by the window then?”

“Yes,” Cinderella says. The idea of eating the croissant and eggs Helga brought while listening to the birds and watching the flowers gently sway in the breeze is so wonderful that Cinderella doesn’t see the problem right away. She frowns and looks around the bedroom. Besides the bed and the vanity, there’s not much more furniture in the room. “I can help you with some chairs…?”

Helga laughs and waves the hand holding the letter. “Don’t be silly, dear. It will only take a moment.”

Cinderella has to bite her tongue to keep from yelping when Helga lets go of the tray suddenly. It doesn’t fall. Instead the food hangs in the air as if set on an invisible table. Helga whips out her wand and flicks it at the stone near the window.

A chair and a small garden table rise from the floor, melting in reverse. The table is set with a series of dainty forks and a crystal glass. After a moment’s thought, Helga waves her wand again and a bottle of orange juice appears.

“Wow,” Cinderella says.

Helga is frowning. “Yes, well, it will do. Somehow, I always conjure garden furniture even when I had the loveliest tea table in mind…” She busies herself setting up the breakfast tray. “Come now, sit, sit, sit. Before everything gets cold.”

Cinderella doesn’t move. She’s never noticed it before because of the low lighting at night, but Helga’s magic looks a little like her friend’s magic. There aren’t as many colors and it’s very faint, but when the sunlight catches it just right, the air shines. As she watches, the shine sinks into the floor until the chair and table look as mundane as can be. Cinderella is fascinated. “How does that work?”

“How does what work?” Helga asks absently. She holds the orange juice up to the light, squinting at it. “I swear I meant to conjure peach juice…”

“The conjuring magic,” Cinderella says. She waves her hand to the table and chair. “That looked different than the floating magic you do.”

That gets Helga’s attention. Her gaze snaps from the orange juice to Cinderella. “Looked?”

“The magic came up from the stone,” Cinderella explains. She waves her hands in a vague approximation of it. “Then, when you finished, it went back.”

Helga doesn’t answer right away. She stares at Cinderella very hard, her gaze piercing, as if trying to see if Cinderella is being serious or not. She chews her cheek and finally says, “You’ve seen a lot of magic?”

Deny it. It’s not a voice, not really. It’s an ancient instinct and Cinderella works very hard to make sure that none of it shows on her face. Carefully, Cinderella shrugs. “No. But my friend uses a lot around me. Sometimes I can guess where it is.”

Slowly Helga’s shoulders relax. “…from exposure makes sense,” she murmurs under her breath. Then, louder, “You shouldn’t look at magic, dear. It can hurt your eyes.”

It doesn’t hurt. Cinderella smiles. “I’ll try not to.”

Satisfied, Helga says, “To answer your question, it looked different because that wasn’t a spell. I don’t have magic, remember?” She twirls her wand. “I use this to direct what my Lord lends me. What I did just then was—well. This castle is very old, yes? It’s got magic of its own that I can ask for help from time to time.”

“The castle did this?” Cinderella asks. She studies the table and chair with renewed interest. They look solid and well-made and the food seems edible. She thinks about the way the magic rose from the ground. “I wonder…”

“Pardon?”

But Cinderella is already extending her hand. The single chair next to the window looks lonely. It would be so wonderful if there was another chair for Helga to sit and have breakfast with her… “If you would?” she asks the castle.

Where the magic curled and bent to Helga’s will, it explodes under Cinderella’s. Another chair springs into existence faster than Cinderella expected. The table extends another foot with a pop! and a second bottle of orange juice appears next to a second glass.

“Oh my,” Cinderella says. She flexes her hand. The magic twines around her fingers before slipping back into the stone floor. She grins. “How wonderful!”

Helga blinks very quickly. “Yes…yes, wonderful.” She studies Cinderella, almost speaks, and then seems to reconsider. Finally, she says, “I take it the second chair is an invitation?”

“Yes,” Cinderella says. Perhaps she should have asked Helga before she acted, but she didn’t feel as if she needed to. Like Helga said, the castle was right there to help. “I would enjoy the company.”

They settle at the little table, Helga pouring juice and serving the breakfast pastries she brought. Cinderella’s feet are warm from the magic sitting so close to the surface of the stone and her heart is warm when, unthinking, Helga spreads jam over a croissant for Cinderella.

“Oh,” Helga says when she notices. She’d been staring into space as she prepared Cinderella’s breakfast and, now, jolts back to herself. There’s a light flush on her cheeks when she says, “Excuse me, my mind was elsewhere. Do you like strawberry jam? I can go to the kitchens for fresh pastries—”

“It’s perfect,” Cinderella assures. She remembers her mother’s hands around a crystal jar of jam, a whisper of just a little before dinner. She takes a bite of her croissant and feels a thrill at the sweetness of the jam. Just like she remembers. “Delicious.”

“An invitation came for you at dawn,” Helga says after a few moments of silent eating. Her eyes sparkle as she draws the envelope out from her skirts and holds it so the sunlight reflects off the golden seal. “I wonder who it could be from?”

The second invitation. The Prince told her it was coming, but Cinderella’s heart flips when she sees it anyway. She takes the envelope from Helga as if it were made of butterfly wings and opens it carefully. The faint smell of oranges drifts from the card inside.

The Baron’s Daughter is hereby cordially invited to the Castle on this day for a continuation of festivities…

Then, at the bottom, her friend has written I’ll pick you up in his own handwriting.

Cinderella strokes the letters of her friend’s writing. Each one is elegantly shaped and perfectly placed. She can imagine him as a boy sitting politely during his lessons, quill clutched tightly in hand, and brow furrowed as he practiced each letter.

“What was he like?” Cinderella asks.

“Pardon?”

“I want to know how the Prince was as a boy,” Cinderella says. When the silence stretches, she looks up from her invitation to see unease on Helga’s face. “Helga?”

“That’s…difficult for me to say,” Helga says.

“Were you not with him as a child? I assumed from the way you spoke…”

“No, I was,” Helga says. She tucks her hands under the table and looks out the window. The sunlight falls across the older woman’s face, highlighting the way the wrinkles at the corners of her mouth deepen when she frowns. “The Prince now and the Prince then are two very separate people. I don’t want to scare you away with stories of a person who no longer exists.”

Cinderella waits for Helga to say more. When the silence again goes on for too long, she prompts, “What do you think would scare me away?”

Again, Helga hesitates. There seems to be a war going on behind her pale eyes. Cinderella thinks that she must be twisting her apron under the table.

“He wasn’t kind,” Helga says at last. She busies herself wiping a stray smear of butter from the table. “Anything more, you’d need to ask him.”

Helga means to end the conversation there. Cinderella could let it end – should let it end – but the words echo. He wasn’t kind.

Cinderella’s first thought is good. She’s glad that her friend wasn’t kind. Cinderella has lived her entire life being kind and she’s seen what rewards are at the end of that road. Good that her friend knew better than to let others extract kindness from him like blood, good he didn’t sleep next to an empty hearth praying for the ones who put him there to return kindness with affection, good that he protected himself in a way Cinderella never could.

Cinderella’s second thought is why? Why did Helga sound apologetic? Did she think Cinderella would think less of him?

“When I was a little girl,” Cinderella finds herself saying, “I spent many hours in the garden.” She looks out the window and sees a different garden than the former Queen’s. She sees roses and sprigs of lavender as far as the eye can see. Her mother’s garden. “My mother had quite the green thumb. The things she could grow! I was so young then and didn’t have much reference, but it seemed as if every flower bloomed bigger and every bush grew fuller under her touch.”

“That’s quite the gift,” Helga says.

Cinderella hums. She loved her mother best in the garden. When her mother waited for her father by the window, she seemed colder and more distant. In the garden, her mother smiled. “It was. If we lived anywhere else, we would have had butterflies all year round. But being where the estate is, we only had a few weeks in spring and a little in fall when the butterflies would pass through the garden on their way to the Capital.”

“I didn’t realize you come from so far west,” Helga says.

Cinderella nods. “Near the mountains.” She finds her gaze being pulled toward the west as she talks. How far away is her home? At least a week’s ride by carriage. “I always waited for the butterflies to visit. One day, when I was very young, I woke up to see they’d come during the night. I raced outside to see them up close. There weren’t many of them yet, just a few, and I had the good luck to spot one resting on the ground.” Cinderella’s lip curls. “Only it wasn’t resting any longer. It had the misfortune to land on an anthill. The ants were hungry, I suppose. They were tearing the butterfly apart piece by piece.”

Even now she remembers the sick horror that filled her at the sight. The vicious hold the ants had on the blue wings, pinning the poor thing to the ground. The way the butterfly’s antennae waved in panic. The smell of the ants as they poured from their mound to feast.

“How awful,” Helga says. She’s watching Cinderella carefully, her hands still in her lap. “What happened then?”

“Nature,” Cinderella says. She feels as if her mouth is not her own when she says, “There’s nothing awful about nature. The ants needed food after the harsh winter and the butterfly was unlucky. It wasn’t the ants’ fault that they killed the butterfly. It was simply nature.” Cinderella breathes in through her nose and stiffens like a woman freed from a trance. “That’s what my mother said when she caught me killing the ants.”

A sense memory: her shiny black shoes coming down on the damp, red dirt as she collapsed the ant hill. The flecks of mud that splattered her ankles when she crushed their exoskeletons under her heel. Her mother’s hand hot on her shoulder. The percussive force of her mother’s shout ringing in her ears.

“She told me that I needed to try and understand the ants,” Cinderella continues. Her feet aren’t cold and muddy now. They’re warm from the magic coating them, tucked neatly under her chair. “She understood I was upset about the butterfly, but being upset was no excuse for the violence I responded with. I shouldn’t have punished the ants for what was in their nature to do.”

“A wise woman.”

Cinderella smiles with closed lips. The sun is well and truly risen now and its harsh rays feel hot against Cinderella’s cheek and collarbones. “A kind woman.”

“Ah,” Helga says, understanding.

Cinderella wonders what it is Helga’s understood. “Hm?”

Helga weighs each word carefully. “If I may offer my two cents, my lady?” When Cinderella nods, she says, “Your mother was right that it was in the ants’ nature to kill.”

Why is she disappointed in Helga’s response? Cinderella sips her juice to hide her frown. “That’s true.”

“However,” Helga says, “nature does not protect one from another’s nature. Yes, it was in the ants’ nature to eat the butterfly. But perhaps it is in your nature to kill ants for tormenting butterflies.”

Cinderella sets down her juice and gives Helga her full attention.

“Considering that,” Helga says lightly, “was it so wrong to kill them for hurting something that meant so much to you?”

Oh. Cinderella swallows, desperately willing away the ache in her throat. Her lip trembles. Helga is looking at her with such deep understanding that Cinderella feels shaken to her core.

All these years and she understands now why her mother’s words bothered her so much. Her mother always seemed to think Cinderella should behave as if nothing affected her, not her mother’s absence, not her father absence, and not the violence of the ants against the butterfly. Helga is saying the opposite. Of course, Cinderella acted that way. Of course! Like the ants, Cinderella also had a nature. Cinderella, like the ants, also had a right to act the way she did.

A knot she didn’t know existed unravels in her chest. Cinderella doesn’t need to sit quietly when an injustice is being done to her or others. She doesn’t need to make excuses for the aggressor or understand their motives. She can act. She can defend. She can protect herself.

(It was never about the ants at all.)

Cinderella clears her throat. “Yes.” Thank you. She can’t bring herself to say the words. “I’d like to wear the blue dress tonight.”

“We had to rush getting ready last night,” Helga says. She reaches across the table to place her hand on top of Cinderella’s. It’s cooler than the sunlight but warms Cinderella all the same. “Why don’t we take out time getting ready, hm?”

“I’d like that,” Cinderella says.

--------

Thanks for reading!

If you’d like to read more parts of Cinderella a week earlier, please consider checking out my Patreon (X)! On top of posting all my stories a week earlier there, I also post Patreon Exclusives.

#long post #my writing #Cinderella fan fiction #cinderella retelling

[bugsnax-community-questions]

Bugsnax Community Questions ~ Poll #25

Put filbo, eggabell and the others in one option because there aren't enough slots to fit everyone.

FILBO: Basic Furniture, Dandelion, Cot (secret), Grumpy Baby Mayor, Pawprint rug, Cloudy paws print, painted hut, Group Photo, Streamers, Garden gnome, snaxburg flag, Golden Strabby, Certificate of completion

WAMBUS: Scarecrow, beechwood, Sauce plant seedlings, Sauce rug, Rustic Bed, Mini Cactriffy, Grow light nursery, Wood panel print, cowboy hats, ceiling fan

BEFFICA: Sleeping bag, Ladder Shelf, bestie print, Bestie (exterior), Fuzzy heart rug, Privacy curtains, Bulletin board, glowing stars, purple lupin, befficas journal, Kiddie pool (technically from floofty)

WIGGLE: Hanging lights, Luxury bed (secret), Gilded (Secret), record player, Palm tree, Platinum Award, Beach Chair + Umbrella, Armoire, Music print, Rock club sign, Psychedelic rug

TRIFFANY: Map of Snaktooth, Drafting Table, Prehistoric Floorcloth, Grumpus Skull, Giant skeleton, Barrel cacti, Dig site print, hanging pots, ancient bugsnax statue 1 (pinkle), ancient bugsnax statue 2 (incherito), Bone and Stone (exterior), Bone and stone bed

GRAMBLE: Lantern, Pink oleander, Weather Vane, Knit Sprout Mat, Hay bales, knit bed, Strabby Hat, Doily Table, knitted (exterior), knit baskets, Strabby print, Bunger bed

CROMDO: Tulips, Police tape (Secret), Bug juice dispenser, Big safe, A single hanging bulb, boombox, money print rug, worn mattress, billboard, Motivational poster, Antique print

SNORPY: Loose Newspaper, Conspiracy board, Blueprint print, Protective coat hangers, Metal plating (exterior), Metalworks flower, Satellite dish, deprivation tank, bookshelf, HAM radio, hot tub

CHANDLO: Red Cedar, Framed jersey, Rock climbing holds, Strong trophy, Hammock, Bean bag, Orange bloodroot, Home gym (secret), Sports print (secret), Gym mats, chandlolier,

FLOOFTY: red ti plant, lab bench (secret), Specimen jar, Pirate ship (exterior), Beheading machine, ecience poster, chemistry rug, test tube lights, science print, Chalkboard

SHELDA: Hanging Planter, Herbology station, Primitive grass, Salt crystal, ebony stained wood, zen garden, Meditation cushion, Prairie grass, wind chimes, desert print, torch

EGGABELL: Family Photos, Eggshell print, medical egg rug, Medicine cabinet, Emergency bell, First aid kit, Draped fabrics, igloo (exterior), snow grump, medical bed

OTHER: Cowboy hat roof (Cactriffy), Planted snak (Cactriffy), Snak print (L), Strabby Shelf (L), Snakgoyle (Snaxsquatch), Matilija Poppy (Snaxsquatch), Eyes (exterior ~ B), Legendary snak rug (B), Snak mobile (C), Sodie Fountain (C)

#this is a hard one for me. i really like a lot of the furniture #i really like the grumpy baby mayor and the chandlolier #as well as the beheading machine of course #and pink oleanders from gramble #but honestly... im going with the blueprint print from snorpy 🥰 #bugsnax #bugsnax community questions

[sugahyeon]

/!\ Angst/Hc /!\

Guiding a child down the path to hell is always a heartbreak. Bad knew that. He led Trump, Tilín and Juanaflippa there, holding their little hands, too small for his, short fingers just gripping at his pinkie. He gave them a hug, listened to their fears, their last wishes, their forever unrealized dreams. He whispered sweet little nothings in their ear when they cried in his arms, promised he would look after their parents, their siblings, after everyone they had ever cared for.

And when the moment came, he let them walk towards Her, waving them goodbye until they were out of sight, before turning around and breaking down.

Because a child's death cannot be fair.

And he has no power over it.

Guiding a child down the path to hell is always a heartbreak. Bad knew that better than anyone.

When he had to guide Dapper halfway throught, he couldn't stop his hands from shaking. For the first time, he thought that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't cut out for this job.

And he begged, begged Her to let him take his son back, to not have to let him halfway through this path. He had been a good worker, the best one perhaps, didn't he deserve a chance? A prize for all of his hard work?

But death isn't fair.

And Bad left his son's soul on the flowery path.

His hands were still shaking a week later. His heartbeat had been too erratic for him to run for a few days. His eyes were red and heavy and oh so tired from crying too much.

But Dapper was still here, right? He had one more life after all, they would be fine, wouldn't they? Life was just the same!

And they continued everything they ever started to do, no matter the danger, no matter the eggs' death multiplying day after day, no matter the federation, no matter the code, no matter anything but them.

Bad thought he had escaped his fate, at least for a few years. He ran, as fast as he could, made them move house every now and then, built an entire web of waypoints. They would be fine, they had to be.

He did everything right.

They did everything right.

And he forgot.

Forgot the injustice.

Forgot the shake of his hands.

Forgot the dryness of his eyes.

Forgot the pain.

Forgot the horror.

One day, Bad didn't get up in the morning.

There were no need to anymore.

The house was cold, the machines in the room besides his weren't buzzing as they always used to, the bed next to his was still undone, keeping the shape of Dapper's last morning.

It didn't made sense to get out of bed.

So Bad didn't.

By instinct, he opened the book laying besides his bed. The blank pages smiled at him: there's no more tasks to do.

So when people started sending him messages, asking to talk, or to visit their new house, or to babysit their egg, or to come help in a dungeon or any now meaningless requests, Bad closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Why go outside?

Why talk?

Why look through his window?

Why make his bed?

Why eat?

Why drink?

Why shower?

Why breath?

Why wake up?

Meanwhile, the outside world is in panic.

No one is here to babysit Tallulah when she doesn't wake up in time for Philza.

No one re-fills Chayanne's ingredient stash when he runs out.

No one plays with Ramón when he gets up without his dad.

No one talks Forever out of his panic phases.

No one keeps Baghera up to date with the server's happening.

No one push Foolish off his builds.

No one steals Maximus' chair.

No one tells Mariana he's pretty in his new clothes.

No one sees Dapper's new machines.

There's no new machines.

Outside, the world starts to move again.

There's potato crates on his porch and Venus' sibling is hanging out in his garden.

There's two paintings hanging on the wall besides his waystone.

There's a statue of Dapper in the middle of the farm.

There's some new armour, foods, books filled with love, lore and tears, blue furniture, a new scarf,

And an egg, stopping by every day after his dad is gone, just to look through the window of his best friend.

But Bad doesn't get out of bed so he doesn't know.

He can't bring himself to see Dapper's machines rusting because he doesn't know how to care for them, to see the farm his son planted, to see the animals they searched for for so long.

The eggs look like him, Leo in their long legs, Tallulah in her pointy chin, Chayanne in the way he adjusts his bangs, Pomme in her handwriting, Ramón in his smile.

Dapper's ghost is everywhere he lays his eyes upon.

Guiding a child down the path to hell is always a heartbreak.

Dapper didn't cry when Bad came to finish the travel.

He didn't shake, he didn't run, he hadn't ask for anything.

Maybe that was worse, to see the flick of fatality dancing in your children's eyes. To wonder where you had failed. To see your reflection in their pupils. To not be able to stand the sight of your mere silhouette in their soon-to-be-dull orbits.

She gave them some time to say goodbye.

Death isn't fair but death isn't inherentely evil.

It just exists.

They talked for a little bit, about the future, about their best memories, about the art gallery and the struggle to complete it, about what they would have for dinner tonight. For a few minutes, it didn't matter that Dapper wouldn't go home at the end of the day. That Bad would go to bed and no get out before a long time. That the world was now cold and dark.

In this instant, only them mattered.

And then time was up.

An entire lifetime worth of love had to fit in a few minutes.

Billions of years wouldn't be enough.

Bad would kill dozens of men for one more second.

He ignored the water in his eyes and his trembling chin, just to cup his son's face one last time. He was beautiful, with long and dark hair, his top hat and his big eyes. His hands were small, his knees scratched and he had one tooth missing.

Dapper was a kid. Just a little kid. It wasn't fair. But Bad has no power over death.

So he just let go of his son and guide him gently back onto the path, nodding when his child look at him with doubts.

Dapper looked at Her, glanced at him again, before bursting in tears. He's scared. He wants to go home. He wants his dad, always, forever, not this unknown scary giant lady. But he doesn't say anything, his hands busy gripping at his shirt.

"-It's ok Dapper, you'll be safe. She's really nice, you know? And you'll see Bobby there! It's gonna be tons of fun, alright?"

The small boy nodded, tears still streaming down his face, before getting out of his father's embrace. He didn't look back this time. He wouldn't have been able to get away.

Bad watched his son walk along the path, now on his own. He barely allowed himself to blink, in hope to keep his image imprinted under his eyelids.

He waved goodbye until the horizon swallowed the frail body, until shadows were the only things left for him to wave at.

Until small hands carried one last message.

"I love you dad!"

"I love you, son."

#qsmp #qsmp eggs #q!badboyhalo #qsmp dapper #qsmp fanfiction #q!bbh is a grim reaper and i stand by that #tw child death #tw depressing stuff #qsmp angst #q!bbh

[violetthekiller]

Tom is me. Every furniture item must be tested even if there’s no intent in buying it. Do I need a swinging garden egg chair? No. Will I sit in it anyway and judge the comfort level? Most definitely.

[travellingcircus]

~untitled 19th century au thing ? 1/

Very little seemed to quell Obi-Wan’s boredom. 

He had returned home from boarding school, intent on spending his summer in Sussex, but there had been a fire, just a week shy of his arrival, that demoted him to his uncle’s estate in Devonshire. Smaller of course, than the family’s property in Sussex, though the rooms in Devonshire were certainly spacious, numbering twenty-two, and yet the staff left much to be desired. 

There were five maids in total, a cook, a driver, a footman, and a gardener — though Obi-Wan had yet to see the latter materialise. Not one of them seemed entirely certain what to do with him when he arrived two weeks ago straight from boarding school, still bundled up to the throat in his uniform and coat, sweating under his hat. 

They clearly weren’t expecting him, mistaking him, at first, for a family guest. A phone call had to be made, first to Obi-Wan’s father, then to the housekeeper, who lived out of town, and had, mistakenly, brought the master key home with her. 

Obi-Wan spent an hour in the sitting room, waiting for his room to be aired, another hour for his dinner, another for his bath.  He was appalled by the treatment. It was almost midnight before all of it was seen to, and by then, drained of all good humour, he ordered the maid to leave so he could unpack his luggage himself. In a mood, he phoned his mother while up to his ears in bathwater, complaining about the stuffy room, the moth-ridden blankets, complaining even, about how unwelcome he felt. He wanted to go home. He hated Devonshire. The weather was awful and often unpredictable, prone to temperamental shifts at the drop of a hat. His mother promised him it was only temporary. 

Breakfast was served the next morning at seven thirty, toast with jam, a bowl of watery porridge, overcooked ham. The eggs, at least, were a saving grace: soft and runny, just how he liked them. There was a bowl of fruit by Obi-Wan’s elbow which he purposefully did not touch. He spat his tea and watered it down with half a thimble of gin, a gift from a friend before they parted ways at the train station. He had laughed it off, then, and didn’t think he would need it, as he’d always been a social drinker, but here, now, he was grateful he had accepted. 

There were eight more weeks to this incessant restlessness. He could see himself going quietly mad without the aid of alcohol.

Obi-Wan took to walking around the house barefoot, moving from room to room, under the ever watchful eyes of family portraits hanging from every wall. Some of the rooms in the house were locked, others full of old furniture covered in dusty sheets, some gutted so they could be repaired, the tables and chairs moved to the attic, the lighting fixtures bared, pale shadows on the walls where portraits once hung. The guest rooms had been undisturbed for a time, as had been the study, which Obi-Wan had the maids clean top to bottom after an afternoon in the reading chair gave him the worst sneezing fits. 

Obi-Wan missed home, dearly, the comfort of his four poster bed, his teetering shelf of books, the powder blue curtains framing his windows which overlooked the sweeping lawn outside and the overgrown cherry trees that fringed the crumbling stone driveway. 

The estate was nearly forty years old, squat and obscenely baroque in contrast to home’s more Gothic leanings; there was an artificial lake and island just on very the edge of the property, a tennis court, and a greenhouse tended to by Obi-Wan’s uncle when he was in high spirits. The property was ugly and severe, red sandstone and brick, characterized by high turrets and prickly finials. Holly scratched at the walls cruelly. The bronze fountain in the garden had grown so green with algae that Greek inscriptions were hardly visible through the verdigris. Everything was old, in a state of disrepair.

Obi-Wan had planned to go on a boating trip with his uncle this summer but Qui-Gon had phoned last minute to tell him their plans would have to be put on hold. He was overseas on business and didn’t seem to be coming home anytime soon, so Obi-Wan wrote letters to all his friends in boarding school — Quinlan, Jape, even Dex — inviting them to the estate though he knew most of them would be in Paris, enjoying their summer, as it were, leaving him bored, alone, and friendless in his own house. He had imagined this summer to be full, as it was his last year in boarding school before attending university in September. 

Clearly, he was mistaken. Clearly, all that lay in wait for him was terrible food and even worse company. 

The tedium was most unbearable in the afternoon, when the yawning stillness of summer was at its peak, and Obi-Wan could stand neither his own company nor the company of his uncle’s books. There was nothing to read that he considered worth his time, and the books he had brought from school he had already finished cover to cover. Often times, he craved a cigarette. His need for it deepened in the afternoon after he woke from a thick humid sleep. 

Barely out of his dressing grown, Obi-Wan upturned his luggage, crawling on his hands and knees to search the room vainly for his tin of tobacco. He had learned to roll cigarettes in his fourth year in boarding school, smoking one a day and then three every night he had to study for a final. It was one of the tricks he had been taught by his roommate, whose father worked as an accountant to the Bratva: the first trick was faking a fever in order to skip lessons, second was mixing gin and powdered orange juice. Quinlan, too, taught him the joys of reading Russian pornography, and taught him to say a filthy word in French. 

When his efforts proved futile, Obi-Wan slumped at the dressing table in utter despair, reaching for the flask he kept in several pockets all throughout his room. He lifted it to his lips, and huffed in annoyance once he realised it, too, had been depleted over the course of two weeks. 

Obi-Wan heard a series of soft taps from the window and from the corner of his eye saw that he’d left it ajar this morning, allowing a geometry of light to sliver across the floor, at his feet. The source of the tapping soon revealed itself upon closer scrutiny: a bee was beating its plush body against the glass, frenetically seeking freedom. 

Obi-Wan walked over to the window to free it, and the curtains lapped at his face before whipping the breeze like sails. Outside, he spied the gardener on his knees, weeding the rugosa hedge, his back turned to Obi-Wan. He crouched, then finally stood, to smoke a cigarette pinched between two fingers.

Obi-Wan had only met him once, when the man had caught him asleep in the sitting room. He was sent by the valet to work on some circuitry. The lights in the sitting room had been flickering for some time, making it difficult for Obi-Wan to read in the evening, and of course, he had complained to his mother who assured him it was going to be taken care of, my darling. 

The only one who was remotely useful was the gardener, apparently, or at least her son, as the actual gardener had retired shortly after Obi-Wan’s grandfather had died. Obi-Wan didn’t bother remembering the son’s name — he was half asleep when the man had introduced himself, thrusting out a dirty hand, and Obi-Wan was uninterested besides. What’s more the man didn’t leave a very lasting impression: his unkempt nails spoke of slovenliness as did his untrimmed hair, grown long and unchecked over his eyes. 

Now, Obi-Wan almost regretted it, because he was thinking of asking the man for a smoke. 

Obi-Wan shook his head to wean himself of the urge. He was bored, not stupid, and it didn’t do to fraternise with the staff. 

There were other ways to curb the craving. Obi-Wan decided a walk was in order.

Obi-Wan stepped out into the terrace, his bare feet warmed by the crumbling Yorkshire stone. It was cooler outside, strangely; the grass tickled his feet and ankles as he negotiated the last three steps to the gravel path. He wore his dressing gown over his pyjamas, not caring for propriety, as the staff knew well enough to leave him be. 

He was the master of the house, after all, could wear what he pleased, but as he approached the general direction of where the rugosa hedges hemmed the marble fountains, he felt increasingly ridiculous, like a child. His hair he held away from his face with a ribbon, and he could feel a slight breeze dry the dampness from the back of his neck. 

Obi-Wan contemplated getting a haircut as he tucked an errant curl behind one ear. It wasn’t very masculine to keep one’s hair well beyond chin-level; he disliked how his long hair softened his features considerably, taking away the hard, boyish edges, but his mother liked it, so he grew it long for her. 

The gardener turned just as Obi-Wan approached. He blinked, sucked on his cigarette, before nodding wordlessly in acknowledgement, his face completely blank and unreadable. Obi-Wan didn’t know why he felt suddenly flustered. It must have something to do with the heat, he thought, the way sleeping in the sitting room often made his thoughts lush and dreamy. 

The man had cut his hair, he realised, since he’d last seen him, the fringe shorter, dragged back from a handsome face, and flecked here and there with tiny grey slivers. His shirt was open partway, revealing a column of tan, tawny skin, and a strong chest, built like the hull of a ship.

“Good afternoon,” said the man, drawing Obi-Wan’s attention back to his face.

Obi-Wan had always envied men like him, working class men who were tall and strong and exuded a confident sensuality. Often, he wished he were more like them: a real man who could hold his liquor and swear freely and make bawdy jokes.  

At seventeen, he was of the bookish stock: awkward, gawky, erring on the side of sensitive, lacking an integral component of whatever it was that made men men. He was soft, in more ways than one, his nose perpetually buried in a book. The only sport he indulged in were chess and bridge. He had never even kissed a girl before.

“Anything I might help you with, Master Kenobi?” the gardener asked, not without a touch of sincerity, even though Obi-Wan was, at least a decade younger if not more so. He had an accent, and it rankled Obi-Wan like an itch that he was unable to place it. 

“Mr —” 

“Anakin,” said the man, with a small, private smile. “We met at the —” 

“Yes, yes, you came to fix the lights,” said Obi-Wan irritably. 

Anakin’s brows drew together in confusion though it smoothed away just as quickly, and he smiled again, deepening the crow’s feet wrinkling his eyes. “Ah, yes, of course. Are the lights still giving you trouble? I could come by again if you needed me. I have the afternoon free, I think.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to take you away from your …chores. The hedges seem to require a bit more attention, as of late. ”

Anakin gave him a startled look that morphed into one of slight irritation. It was meant in jest, any fool would realise that, but it appeared that Anakin had missed the joke and Obi-Wan had not yet earned the familiarity to make such comments. 

“Is that right,” said Anakin, sharply. There was an almost mean glint in his eye. “Must be the pesticide then. Switched to a different brand, recently.” He took another puff of his cigarette, then flicked his eyes up and down the length of Obi-Wan, his gaze settling, very briefly, on Obi-Wan’s bare feet. 

Obi-Wan curled his toes in the grass sheepishly. He wondered how he must look to Anakin, with his hair in a disheveled state, his left cheek creased with pillow marks from his afternoon doze, wandering around in his uncle’s shabby dressing gown, with no shoes on. Anakin must think him eccentric; he would, at least, be half-right.

“You’re going to get blisters, running around in your bare feet like that,” said Anakin, finally. “You should head back inside, or at least put some shoes on.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest, but shut it with a click. He fought the urge to roll his eyes, stamp his foot. He lifted his chin, felt the ugly shape of a rude word tickle the back of his throat, but tamped that down too. “Can you roll me one of your cigarettes?” he said instead. It took every ounce of self control not to huff in annoyance when Anakin simply smiled at him in reply.  

“You smoke then, do you?” Anakin said as he raked a mud-stained hand through his hair. “I’ll be dismissed if I roll you a cigarette, you do realise that, right? Besides, you’re only a boy; you shouldn’t be smoking at your age. How old are you? Fifteen? Sixteen?” 

“Eighteen next month,” Obi-Wan said, but Anakin shrugged like it made no difference to him. Perhaps it didn’t. He lifted his cigarette, pinching it between thumb and forefinger like a chronic smoker, and as if to make a point of savouring it, took a long, slow drag. 

Anakin blew smoke out of his mouth and nose without fanfare, and it rose, thick and hazy in the still, drowsy air, making Obi-Wan cough in a sputter. 

He flicked what remained of the filter onto the dirt, grounding it under the heel of his boot, compounding it into the grass. Then Anakin picked up his pruning shears, his gardening gloves and his hat, and nodded at Obi-Wan, just the once, before going on his way.

#obikin #in progress #au #fic

[invisible-brandy]

OC-tober: going about an average day

Using @icannotreadcursive 's prompt list

this one is Angel's average day, featuring me not knowing how ateliers work

Angel uses all pronouns but I'm not entirely used to writing like this - it's the first time I'm writing about them - so it might look a little awkward. Hope not lol

•-------------------------------------------------------•

The mornings have been kind to Angel these past few years. They have been soft and comfortable in temperature – the thermostat really doing wonders for Angel’s cold bones. Almost every breakfast – sunny side up eggs, fresh tiny tomatoes that Seraph grew in their roof garden. She would never admit it, but she liked the peaceful company of plants, and Angel found that her happiness made them feel better too. 

They woke up with their feet sticking out of the blanket, Wagtail purring under their arm. This fluffball of a cat was getting more and more accustomed to their household, which meant that Angel was starting to see some damage. He wasn’t big on knitting, so the untwisted and tattered balls of yarn didn’t bother him too much. They just hoped no delicate lace wouldn’t suffer at kitty’s claws…

He dragged himself out of bed, making sure to cover Wagtail’s head in kisses before leaving, and transferred into his wheelchair to go shower, too sleepy yet to try and move around the house any differently. After that and putting on his prosthetic, he picked an outfit, concluded that it was definitely too much for a regular day, and went downstairs completely satisfied. 

Seraph was nowhere to be found, which bothered Angel a little, but only until they saw a note pinned to the counter with a knife. 

“She’s ruining my furniture again,” Angel tsk-ed, pulling the knife out and trying to make out the messy handwriting. “Really gotta start charging her for staying here, yeah, Wagtail?” 

The cat meowed at their feet, concerned not with the state of the counter, nor with Seraphina’s whereabouts, but with its empty bowl. 

Angel got to it after finally managing to read that his roommate went out to snoop at the newest atelier in the city. Angel wasn’t bothered by other shops opening up, especially as far away as this one, but Seraph was restless all the time and sniffing out information was her definition of fun. And who was Angel, to deny Seraph her play time? 

Angel went on with her day, putting on the music and opening the atelier. They had no appointments for today, so while the sign said “open”, the door stayed firmly locked and Angel stayed in her workshop. 

She barely noticed the passage of time, only made aware of her own rumbling stomach when Wagtail jumped up on her desk unceremoniously, meowing right in Angel’s face. 

Seraph was back too, sitting downstairs with her afternoon tea. Her hearing aids were out, so Angel made sure to move in front of her before waving. 

“I didn’t hear you come back,” they signed when she looked up at them. 

“Does that mean you finished the butterfly dress?” she signed back, tilting her head. Angel sighed and shook their head. “How come you emerged from your cave, then?” 

Angel leaned down and gently grabbed Wagtail, holding him up like Simba. 

Seraph laughed. The day immediately got ranked as “best-day-ever” in Angel’s mind. 

They gossiped over tea, Seraph telling her all about the new atelier. In the middle of a sentence, her hands slowed and trailed off as she stared at Angel, then a soft smile touched her lips. 

“You’ve got glitter all over your hair again.” 

“Ah, shit,” Angel leaned back in his chair to look into one of the mirrors in their living room, and yes, the glitter he was using for fine details on the dress, somehow got into his hair, making the dark brown nest on his head look even more insane than usual. 

“I don’t understand how your projects come out stunning and neat every time, meanwhile you look like you got in a fight with a fairy,” Seraph stood in front of him suddenly, with a brush in her hands. 

This was something they started to do soon after Seraph moved in – brushing each other’s hair. Angel was extremely tense the first few times, but now he practically melted into her touch, closing his eyes. A few more moments of relaxation, and then he’ll go back to tailoring, yes… 

The rest of the day was spent up in his workshop again, stitching and sewing. Angel needed to get the butterfly dress done by tomorrow, and they knew they would. It was nice to have confidence in the mundane. It was even nicer when their mundane meant creating something as unique as this dress. 

In bed again sometime after two a.m., Angel thought that this life was not so bad. 

#my mental dolls #oc: angel #oc: seraph #original character #my writing #creative writing

[love4heejayke]

SYNOPSIS: Born from the full moon's light, Y/N is sent by her witch aunt on a secret mission to Decilis Academy, the purpose of which is to investigate the source of the obscure energy that hovers under the Silver Millennium. However, when she saves her roomate Sooha from the attack of dark creatures with the power to fortify themselves from the energy of nightmares and discovers her secret identity, she promises not to tell her friends, but everything changes once she falls for Lee Heli, one of Decelis' star students and posibily, her past life's lover.

TAGLIST #1: (closed) @enhacolor @amarillyis @ckline35 @fairycheol @jeanbobean @heejakegf @axartia @ineedcoffeeandtherapy @rosie-is-everywhere @prdxinvade @heedeungieluvbot @jungwonnnnnnnnnnnn @bambisgirl @yebin14 @m4r1eluvs (can't tag you bae, sorry)

TAGLIST #2: (open) [comment or send ask] @bluemanifesto @ineedaherosavemeenow @ahnneyong @jiawji @aki1e @yjjungwon @captivq @jaxavance @rikiluvly @dimplewonie @talia02 @cherriegyu @enhastolemyheart

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3 - the new student who wants to learn (3)

Diana woke up early that day, as usual, she got up and walked around, noticing every detail of her room. It is a magnificent, elegant space that reflects the celestial nature of the Lunari. The suite is decorated in shades of silver, white and blue, with hand-carved light wood furniture. The bed, a large silver canopy, sits in the center of the room, with white silk sheets and soft down pillows. Pale blue silk drapes adorn the tall windows, allowing moonlight to softly shine into the room. On the wall opposite the bed, there is a white marble fireplace, which is always lit with blue flames. Above it is a large circular silver mirror, which reflects the light from the fireplace, making the room seem even brighter. Next to the fireplace is a rocking chair, also made of light wood, with a soft white cushion.

In the corner there's a small bookcase, filled with ancient tomes and magical relics that Diana has amassed over the centuries. Next to it, a desk, also made of light wood, with a comfortable leather chair. On the table, a quill and inkpot, as well as several papers and letters sealed with blue wax.

The floor is covered in a soft, fluffy white rug, which extends to the double doors that lead to a balcony overlooking a heavenly garden. The garden is full of flowers and lunar plants, which bloom even during the darkest nights. The view from the balcony is breathtaking, allowing Diana to gaze at the stars and moon whenever she wishes.

She always wakes up after the first hours of dawn, to stretch, meditate, train her combat techniques, develop strategies and new policies for her daughters and her subjects, and attend diplomatic engagements. Soon, the crown will be passed to Selene and she will be the next Coronas Plateadas' mother moon of the, and queen of the Silver Millennium, but as a colonel of this tribe, she knew that she had a great number of responsibilities, and could not afford to luxury of being late for anything, therefore, discipline and diligence are his strongest points, always being in the right place, at the right time, showing elegance in his words and firmness in his actions, as well as is expected of countless bloodlines of the Lunari matriarchy. After ending her meditation in the Chamber of Prayers, she went down to her office, where the first rays of sunlight were just beginning to lighten the sky. At first she greeted her subjects and ate her favorite breakfast: sunny sized fried eggs, pancakes with fire bees' honey and milk from mountain goats.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Selene was sitting in the palace conservatory, admiring with a sad look the radiant sun that bathed the flowers in its warm light. She was worried about her daughter Dalia, who had been reborn in a new body with no memories of her. They were growing further and further apart, and Selene didn't know what to do, so she immediately thought of her mother, to whom she trusted her life and hoped that she could guide her confused mind.  Halfway there, she came across Eugene, wielding his arcane sword, ready for another day of training.

"Good morning, Your Highness."  Eugene bowed

The acting queen, however, did not make eye contact with the paladin.  He glanced at her and questioned why she looked so serious, then he peeked out from behind her and followed her steps to the large silver door carved with the Religious Moon's image, but the door slammed in his face before he could enter, so Eugene stayed outside, listening to the mysterious dialogue between mother and daughter.

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Diana's office is an elegant and regal place, with fine and luxurious furniture that conveys an aura of authority and sophistication. The walls are coated in a dark blue tone, adorned with delicate silver scrolls that reflect the light that enters through the large windows that run along one of the walls. In the center, a large oak table finished in dark varnish takes up most of the space. The table's impeccable surface is covered with an array of papers and open books, while an elegant silver pen rests in a raptor feather holder.

Behind the desk, a chair upholstered in silver leather with a high back and curved arms provides the necessary comfort for the colonel to carry out her administrative tasks with ease.  A silver leather sofa with dark blue velvet cushions is placed next to the window, offering a breathtaking view of the Palácio de Cristal's flower garden and fountains.  Beside the sofa, a small carved light wood coffee table is decorated with a silver vase containing an exuberant bouquet of white diamond azaleas, given to her by members of the military elite, to demonstrate their faithful devotion to her.  On the opposite wall, a large shelf in fine wood houses a collection of books, manuscripts and ancient parchments.

Above her, a crystal chandelier illuminates the office with bright, radiant light, while recessed ceiling lights provide softer, more relaxing lighting. The air is scented with a subtle lavender fragrance, which gives the space a calm and serene atmosphere.  Diana, the Religious Moon, had long silver hair falling in waves down her back.  Her face is chiseled and austere, with high cheekbones and a strong chin. She wears sleek, modern silver armor with intricate details reminiscent of the phases of the moon. Metal plates curve around her body, protecting her shoulders, arms and legs, and a small teal blue flowing cape.  Instead of a helmet, she wears a silver tiara with a glowing moonstone in the center. Her gaze is intense and defiant, her posture firm and confident, like that of someone who is used to leading and fighting on the front lines. This time she's sitting in her chair, reading and reviewing bills for her subjects, when in an instant, she hears the noise of her little communicator. When activating it, she is faced with the image of a representative of the military elite of El Dourado.

"Miss Kynthos." the man bowed 

"How can I be of assistance?" asked Diana

"I have been sent to invite you to attend a meeting in our imperial city."

Diana crossed her arms over her chest, thinking for a moment.  She knew that she couldn't refuse the invitation, but she also didn't want to leave the Silver Millennium unprotected, so she questioned the invitation.

"What is the purpose of this meeting?"

"I beg your pardon, miss, but this is a state secret, I am not allowed to reveal further details until the time of the meeting."

"When and where will it be presided over?"

"This afternoon in Solaria, at 3:45 PM. An escort will be responsible for receiving you."

"Then tell your superiors that my daughter and I will be present."

"Splendid. Have a good day, madam."

Suddenly, Selene appeared beside her, looking seriously worried.

"Mom", Selene elaborated. "I need your advice." 

"What happened, daughter?"

Diana looked at Selene with a sad expression. "Dalia is getting further and further away from me, and I don't know what to do to get us closer again."

"I wish I could help you, my daughter, but unfortunately now isn't the best time. We were summoned to a meeting in El Dorado."

"In the Sun Empire? Are you sure that we aren't being dragged to a trap, mom?

"I'm not sure, that's why you, as the future Corona Plateadas' mother moon, want you to accompany me."

"M-me?" the Righteous Moon stammered "Are you sure? If I do or say something embarrassing? What if I can't think of anything? I don't know if I'm ready to take on such responsibility right now, Mom."

Selene sighed and looked down in disappointment, but Diana, with a gentle touch to her daughter's chin, brought her gaze back to her.

"There's nothing to fear, my dear, I'll be there to support you. Furthermore, if we succeed, this will be the kick-start to restoring peace between the peoples of the Sun and the Moon. Don't you wish to have the honor of being part of this new era?

"Yes, mama." the Righteous Moon grinned 

"Then get yourself ready, we're leaving later this afternoon."

Terrified by the news, Eugene ran desperately, and found Y/N in the training hall. Noticing the panting paladin, Y/N asked:

“Eugene? Is everything alright?”

"Your mom, I mean, Selene, she's...”

Before telling her, Eugene noticed two soldiers from the royal guard passing by, curious, the fairy and the paladin asked:

“Excuse us,” she asked “where are you going?"

“To El Dourado, Your Grace. Your mother summoned us on a mission.”  answered the first

“Permission to offer my escort, sir?”  he asked

“Denied, young paladin!”  the second roared "You must stay in the palace as you were ordered!"

"Also, stay at your posts, as the queen will be summoning you soon.”  The first guard ordered

“Yes, sir.”  They agreed in unison.

They never imagined that two Silver Millennium's leaders would come out on a mission of such importance, even if their purpose was to build a better future for the Moon Kingdom, they couldn't help but be afraid, after all, in the absence of two of the greatest lines of defense, who will be responsible for their protection?

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷☽⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

“In line!” Diana announced

With Viken, Taho, Solon and Avys now present, the 6 were lined up to hear the words of the two matriarchs.

“This afternoon we leave for a diplomatic mission to Solaria, one of El Douradolarian Empire's provinces.

“This soon, Your Highness?” 

“Yes, Solon.” answered Selene

"This appointment is of paramount importance for the Lunari's future, especially for my daughter's coronation."

“Therefore, you will protect the Silver Millennium in our absence.” Selene complemented

"What!? Have you lost your mind, Your Majesty?” Viken raged

“What about Hecate? Where is she?" Taho questioned

“Unfortunately, young mage, my daughter is teaching young Lunaris at her academy. She won't be back here anytime soon.”  Diana replied

Opinions were divided with Selene's order and what looked like a spark lit with an argument, soon became a fire. Viken and Avys kept shouting and arguing between them, Solon paced the hall in circles, repeating in quiet whispers whatever his mind was telling him, Taho was trying his best to keep his composure, but as a matter of fact, he was about to have a mental breakdown and lose control of h emotions, and Eugene celebrated with his heart racing, but in the face of all this chaos, Y/N looked around, lost in this crossfire.

“Moreover, your mission will remain the same. You will protect my daughter and be responsible for her training.”

“Thank you, Your Majesties.” The paladin bowed to the queens. “I promise not to fail and do my duty with excellence.”

As she walked through the silver gate, she cast one last fearful look, sighed, placed her hands in front of her belly and left the hall, escorted by 3 soldiers of the royal guard. She knew that it would be a risky mission, but she trusts the Boys of Destiny and believes that – even for a few hours, the kingdom will be safe and her daughter won't commit any imprudence.

A/N: just a peacekeeping mission between two sworn old enemies! What can go wrong?

#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen smau #enhypen social media au #darkmoon obsidian #dark moon #decelis academy #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fluff #enhypen heeseung #heeseung smau #heeseung au #heeseung social media au

[starofgold]

There were two kinds of mornings at the Magic Manor: the kind where something happened the night before and the kind where nothing happened.

It was often Nero who first found out which kind a morning was.

(No one was aware about this fact since Nero was a tight-lipped wizard).

The reason why Nero became the master of discovering what happened in the previous night was that the kitchen usually bore the marks the incident left behind. That morning, he noticed two things with a simple glance as he put on his apron.

The pile of eggs in the basket and the big loaf of bread had disappeared without a trace.

(The latter must have been Brad’s doing. It seemed that guy had a hankering for bread after returning from wherever his sneezing had sent him. He couldn’t have been satisfied with just the bread. Just look!)

Nero’s lips curled up as he opened the pot, which had been full of the vegetables and chicken soup he made. Only the chicken had vanished. He would have to give that guy a dressing down later.

But what had happened to the eggs then? There were 30 of them. Shino and Cain might get hungry in the middle of the night, but even they wouldn’t eat 30 eggs. Lennox could swallow a whole egg without chewing to get more strength, but 5 eggs would be his limit. If Riquet and His Royal Highness took the eggs for some domestic adventures of theirs, they would have certainly left a note saying “Apologies for the eggs” or something like that.

At that point, Nero had a half-guess. The one behind that night-time unusual incident would be someone who couldn’t sleep at midnight.

Who could that be then? The Southern boys who had once been anxious about staying in an unfamiliar building were early to bed and early to rise. The restless Master Maledictor too had become accustomed to communal life as his friendship with the Sage’s Wizards and the Sage deepened. Nowadays, he would sleep like a baby.  

(If the dangerous guy who couldn’t sleep took the eggs, did he get it in his head to become a midnight vendor?)

Staring at the empty basket, Nero took his gleaming kitchen knife.

At that moment, there was someone behind his back.

“The best thing for when you just wake up is a drink of sugar diluted by oil and milk, isn’t it?”

“That ain’t no drink at all.”

As Owen raised his voice from Nero’s right side, Rustica began to talk from Nero’s left side.

“Did you have a good night, Nero? It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it? A tea party in the garden would be delightful, don’t you think?”

“Fine by me. I’ll set up the table for you once the water is boiled.”

“What about my cream?”

“Let me bake the scones first. The cream will taste better with that.”

“Tea should be a good fit too.”

Owen nodded, already imagining the taste of tea and cream.

They walked into the garden filled with the light of the morning sun. As Rustica recited his spell, a set of outdoor furniture appeared. Owen pulled out a chair and sat down. However, the chair immediately warped and transformed into then a giant cushion, then a bed.

“Hey.”

Owen raised his eyebrow as he was about to voice his complaint. Rustica had fallen asleep on the spot. Perhaps because of whatever dreams he was having, the chair he was sitting on transformed. Once it was a wicker chair. Then it became a throne. Another time it was a rock.

Moving on to the table, Owen rattled the tea cups.

“Wake up! What kind of tea goes well with cream? The thing that will taste good with newly baked scones, you know. I’m not going to brush your hair and warm the cups. Depending on my mood, I’d slather cream all over you and feed you to my dog. Hey!”

When the saucers clashed against each other, Rustica opened his eyes as if disturbed.

“It’s nice to see them so lively, but that isn’t a sound suitable for a fine morning like this.”

“Who cares.”

“*yawns* It’s a pity that I wake up. That was a nice dream.”

“So you had a nice dream.”

For one reason or another, Owen asked, his chin on his hand.

“What was it about?”

He was planning to say something malicious to make Rustica flinch if that was a horrible dream. Owen didn’t have any particular ill will or hatred against Rustica, but the idea got into his head and Owen couldn’t wait to act it out.

He would make the other person scream.

He would make the other person pale with fear.

Unfortunately, Rustica’s dream wasn’t what Owen thought.

“I dreamt that I spread cream on a scone and eat it with tea.”

Rustica sleepily opened the tin of tea. The refreshing scent of morning tea wafted over the garden table.

Owen blurted out something that was pretty uncharacteristic of himself.

“Your dream is about to come true.”

The sweet scent of baked goods was flying out from the kitchen.

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #6 #anni 1 book

[nancypullen]

Monday

It’s Memorial Day. Normally I’d try to post something moving and meaningful but you’ll have to give me a pass this year.  I’m going to pretend that everything is fine for a few hours and avoid thinking about or talking about anything that brings me to tears.  I need a break from the insanity of mankind.  Mercury is in retrograde until June 3rd, so the hippie part of my heart wants to blame everything on that. Just for this afternoon, I’m going to let it. SO... I’ve been out putting cages around the tomato plants because they’re growing like crazy. While I was chatting them up and letting them know that the cages were for their own good I was doing some back yard dreaming.  I picked the spot for my Jane Magnolia, I’m wondering of we want to expand that little patio (it would certainly be cheaper than expanding the tiny deck and I wouldn’t have to stain it), and thinking about a pretty outdoor rug and some chairs.  It’s already looking more like home, at least on the outside.  I’ve got flowers planted, a pretty hanging basket paired with a hummingbird feeder, and I’ve tidied up most of the mess left behind. Most.  It all makes me smile when we drive up to the house.  It’s not perfect, but it’s a start. As far as the inside of the house goes, I have BIG news. We finally have an installation date for the flooring!  Floors will start on June 1st. That meant that we had to push back the furniture delivery a couple of days, but I’m still doing a happy dance.  The dishwasher will be delivered on the same day as the furniture and will complete the kitchen appliances - hallelujah!  As if all of that isn’t a bundle of wonderful, we have a crew coming to paint starting June 8th. Pinch me! I must be dreaming.  I’m nervous about the paint.  I spent a lot of time moving samples around the house, testing them in different types of light, holding swatches up to the flooring...and I think I love my choice.  If I don’t we’re going to have to live with it.  I knew that I wanted a soft, soothing, gray-green-blue sort of color.  I thought it might be Sea Salt, but in bright light, which we have a lot of on the bottom floor, it turns too minty.  I finally settled on Austere Gray.  It was previously named Woody Rosemary (much prettier) but every so often they update the names to appeal to their target audience.  I must not be in that group, I prefer Rosemary over Austere any day.  I’ve decided to call it Austen Gray for Jane Austen, it makes me happy and confuses Mickey.  Anywho, not sure how this will show up on your screen but this is the color that will cover nearly every wall of the house.

Here’s a pic of it in a room with lighting much like our living room, similar furniture, but the floors pictured here are warmer/more orange than what we’ll have.

That space is more grand than what we’re dealing with, but gives a better idea of the color.  Kind of a rain washed, foggy, soft, calm, seaside garden vibe.  Or maybe that’s just what I see.  With those changes on the horizon we can turn our attention to things like kitchen counters, getting the cabinets painted, and just living here.  Things are already back to normal-ish.  Once Mickey was back at work and my days fell into the same old routine - cook, clean, laundry, cook, clean, laundry, repeat-  it started to feel like home.  Some things never change and those things are a comfort at times.  Like meals! My veggie eggs for breakfast, my vegetti and fake crab for lunch...

Even though I’ve got that vegetti smothered in Old Bay I’ll bet if the locals found out I was eating fake crab they’d make me turn in my Maryland driver’s license.  They take their crab very seriously here.

Speaking of my driver’s license.  My photo turned out as I’d imagined.  I look like I smell something bad.

Also delighted that my double chin made a cameo.  I spend so much time goofing off that when I have to take an official photo - passport, employee ID, driver’s license, whatever I don’t know what to do with my face.  It usually goes one of two ways, prison matron or lunatic on the lam.  This one is 100% prison matron. Not the kind that runs off with an inmate, the kind that tells you to pipe down.  Just thought of another food tradition we have - popcorn!  Every night, after the house is tidy, the dishwasher is running, I’ve had my bath and I’m in jammies watching some silly show - Mickey makes popcorn.  It’s my favorite time of day.  Oh, I know that we’re not supposed to snack in the evening and blah, blah, blah - but popcorn is my love language and when Mickey hands me my little bowl it’s as good as this...

Sorry, not sorry. At the end of my days when my life flashes before my eyes I’m pretty sure Mr. Darcy’s lake scene will be part of the highlight reel. This is how I look at popcorn.

Okay, I’ve gone off the rails and I’m sure there are chores that need to be done before dinner.  Heck, I might even do them.  Stay safe, stay well, seek happiness. XOXO, Nancy

[suzieb-fit]

Ok, not long since I had my breakfast, but it's a logistics thing today.

This is the only time I can sit for half an hour before getting back at it.

I have to go meet the boss after my class, to look at some garden furniture.

I really want one of those hanging "egg" chairs 😋

The shop is totally out of my way, so that means I won't be home for lunch til quite a bit later than usual.

Anyway, time to chill before a workout and then my class.

#fitspo #fitspiration #fitblr #fitness #healthy living #health and fitness #fitness-by-suzie #fit #nutrition #health and nutrition #diet and nutrition #healthy nutrition

[royaloak-furniture]

What is the difference between a hanging chair, a hammock chair, and a swing chair?

Sure, here's a pleasant and informative response.

A hanging chair, hammock chair, and swing chair may appear identical at first look, but there are significant variations between them.

Hanging Chair: A hanging chair is often made out of a single seat suspended from above by a chain, rope, or other hanging mechanism. These chairs, which are typically spherical or egg-shaped, give a comfortable and soothing seating alternative. Hanging chairs are versatile and can be used indoors or outdoors, depending on the design and material.

Hammock Chair: A hammock chair, also known as a hammock swing or hammock seat, is a sort of hanging chair that looks like a typical hammock but is intended for sitting rather than lying down. It normally consists of a fabric sling or net suspended from a single point, allowing you to gently swing while seated. Hammock chairs provide a pleasant and ergonomic seating alternative, ideal for resting and relaxing.

Swing Chair: A swing chair, also known as a hanging swing or porch swing, is a seat suspended from a frame or ceiling mount that may be moved back and forth. Swing chairs, unlike hanging chairs and hammock chairs, are often designed with a backrest and armrests. They are commonly used outdoors on porches, patios, and gardens and come in a variety of materials such as wood, metal, or wicker.

Each style of chair provides a distinct seated experience, thus picking the best one is determined by your personal tastes and the chair's intended usage. Our online furniture store, Royaloak, has a large assortment of hanging chairs, hammock chairs, and swing chairs. We offer a wide range of types and patterns to suit any outdoor or indoor location, ensuring everyone's comfort and enjoyment.

#royaloak #buy living room furniture online in india #furniture store near me #buy sofas online #online furniture #online furniture store #furniture #sofas #buy online furniture #chairs online

[masterpromotional]

Luxury Modern Hometrends Garden Wicker Furniture Outdoor Patio Rattan Double Hanging Egg Swing Round Chair with Stand Mail packing: Y Application: Home (https://helixfurniture.com/) Office, Living Room, Outdoor, Hotel, Apartment, Office Building, Mall, Leisure Facilities, Park, Courtyard, Other, Exterior, Hall, Villa, Garden, Patio, Backyard Design Style: Modern Material: Metal Place of Origin: Guangdong, China General Use: Outdoor Furniture Product Name: Hanging Egg Chair General Use: Garden Furniture Egg Chair Material: Rattan and Iron Usage: Garden Patio Outdoor Feature: Commercial, Durable Color: Optional Cushion: Waterproof and UV Resistance Delivery time: 25-30 Days Packing: Standard Packing Warranty: 2-3 Years

[thehangingegg]

Egg Chair Garden Furniture | The Hanging Egg

Are you seeking a good quality Egg Chair for Garden Furniture? The Hanging Egg offers diverse egg chairs that are the perfect epitome of style, functionality, comfort, luxury, and durability. Don't hesitate to shop with us.

#egg chair brisbane #egg chair melbourne #Double Hanging Egg Chair #Outdoor Porch Furniture #hanging egg chair sydney

[incrementgirls]

Part 3 of Castle in the Fog

Part 2 link below

Content inside: all characters are lesbians, no men, fantasy, slime girl, oviposition, breeding, no skin color or hair mentions, pov cuntgirl

As you awake, the large troll woman chuckles happily to see you smile while she finishes wiping the sweat and copious girlcum off of you, she asks if you're doing okay, to which you nod and kiss her calloused blacksmithing hands.

You ask her if many girls come through to join the castle, and she replies not many, but enough to keep the residents of the castle supplied with all they need and happy, they grow their food in the courtyard garden and the variety of women living here supply everything here from clothing to tools. You express joy and ask if they have an apothecary or doctor, to which she responds only a former cleric who can heal their daily bumps and cuts and wounds in an emergency, and you tell her how happy you'd be to help everyone out here. She cups your cheek and gives you a big smooch, telling you that you should be on your way to the tower then, and points out your clothing on a table nearby.

You recloth yourself in what little you were wearing before, step into your slippers and thank the lady before continuing on your path, walking through the halls of the castle and noticing the temperature drop as you leave the smithy behind you. You notice something strange as you walk the hallways, small globs of goo in corners of the halls, on some of the furniture along your path, and a slight chill has you hugging yourself as you approach the next door.

You knock loudly, proclaiming yourself a new aspirant of the castle, but hear no response at the door for a minute, and wonder if the woman inside is sleeping? perhaps she wouldn't be there at all, the residents are free to roam the castle as well afterall. As you reach for the doorknob and enter, you notice there are no lights in the room, and the slight chill seems to rest in here, though there is no breeze.

As you walk into the center of the dark room, you notice various couches and lounge chairs near the walls, and gently ask if anyone is here, looking for the next door, before you hear a wet squelching sound. Surprised, you spin to the far corner of the room to see a large glob of goo squeeze itself in the middle as the top half of it extends into the air above, reforming into the shape of a chubby woman stretching her arms and yawning.

You stammer out a surprised greeting as the slime girl rubs her eyes, and then sleepily looks at you with a dopey smile, letting out a drowsy "hiiii~" while lazily sliding along the floor towards you. She comes right up to you and gives you a squishy, slimy hug while sleepily humming, letting her large boobs squish into yours and her arms wrap around you back as she lays her forehead on your shoulder as she leans on you gently.

"Mmm new girl~... I'm so full..." You ask her why she is so full if she just slept, and joke that you can see right into her tummy and dont see any food in there. "Nnnoo silly... fulll of eggsss..." And you look down below her stomach to see in her round slimeglob below her waist to see what looks surprisingly like slimy fish or frog eggs clumped together inside of her, floating gently. You ask if you can help her in any way and she lifts herself off of your shoulder to smile dopily and tell you you can take care of them for her, as you cock your head in curiousity.

You feel a cold touch on your leg as you look down to see a slimy tentacle snake out from her glob bottom, sliding up your leg and grasping your butt firmly, drawing a surprised moan from you. The slime girl leans forward and kisses you deeply, her tongue gliding around your mouth as you feel yourself lifted off the ground, large slimy tentacles supporting your weight from your legs and back as the slime girl brings you over to a nearby couch and spreads your legs, exposing your damp pussy.

"Mmmm sweet pussyyy~" the slime girl giggles as she leans down to kiss and fill your pussy with her tongue, drawing some moans from you until you feel her tongue incredibly grow in size and length, filling you up and wiggling inside of you, pressing all of your pleasurable spots like fireworks going off one by one. You lose all strength in your limbs, finding yourself squished into the couch as she tonguefucks you while her tentacles grope your breasts and suck on your nipples. She lifts her head from your pussy, her immensly long tongue-tentacle retracting and sliding out of your pussy until you're gasping for air as she pulls herself up on top of you, pressing her breasts into yours as she kisses your neck.

"Time to get filled up, sweet thing~" She whispers into your ear as you feel a thick tentacle fill up your pussy, flowing into you and pulsing, drawing loud moans and twitches from from body. You feel the tentacle continue to pulse rhythmatically until something flowing through it presses against your pussy lips, drawing gasping breaths from you as the slime girl's hand waves over your crotch casting a stretching spell on you, leaving a magic sigil hovering over your womb and letting the egg stretch your pussy until it goes inside, the tentacle thrusting slightly as it pulses to push the egg inside of you.

"Goood girl~ take alllll of mommy's eggs baby~" She lazily whispers to you while fucking you full of slime eggs, each one making your belly bulge a bit more as she casts more spells on your crotch and tummy to keep you safe and help fit more eggs inside of you. Your moans grow incredibly loud as you feel more and more eggs fill your belly until you look heavily pregnant, the slime girls goop has drenched your whole body as your pussy twitches with anticipation of each new egg, until you're just drooling and moaning gently. The slime girl lays her last egg inside of you, kissing you deeply again while setting you in a comfortable position on the long couch, laying her head on your breasts and sighing happily that she has finally gotten rid of her bloated full feeling and given it to you.

After a pleasant nap, you wake up to find your pussy twitching senaitively and a happy slime girl cupping her hands to catch a slime egg slipping out of your still enchanted pussy. They look different than before, the inside has more layers, did the eggs actually change inside your body? "Thanks for taking my eggs, love~ They need another woman's body to grow properly, now I can grow some lil slimeys once I get some girlcum later~" You drool at the feeling of your full belly getting slightly smaller with each egg that slides out into the slimegirl's hands. You ask her if she wants a bunch of kids, only for her to giggle back at you. "Slimeys aren't the same as me, I was made with magic so I can't make another slimegirl naturally like that, but they're handy lil babies to help keep the castle clean and protected."

You spend the next few hours laying all of the eggs she filled you with until your body is completely exhausted, and she leaves to go get you some food while you pull the covers over you and rest, wondering what incredible new things you'll experience here.

I finally came back to this series! I promise I'll finish it eventually lol

#lesbian nsft #trans nsft #my fantasies #my writing

[brookpub]

Garden Party Venue Cambridge | Outdoor Garden Summer Party Venues in Cambridge

A Garden Party is a type of outdoor social event typically hosted in a garden. It's a great way to bond with loved ones or coworkers while taking in nature's splendour. A garden party can be anything from a small, casual get-together to a massive, formal gala. The Brook Pub near Mill Road has the perfect Outdoor Garden Party Venue in Cambridge for hosting any Birthday celebrations, Corporate Parties, Family get together’s, and Events. 

Place: A garden, can be either a home backyard, a public park, or a rented garden location. It is the customary setting for the celebration. The event is set against a picturesque backdrop of abundant vegetation, flowering plants, and quiet surroundings.

Time and occasion: To make the most of the sunshine and the warm temperatures, garden parties are typically conducted in the daytime. Celebrations of life milestones and new family additions alike can be marked with these get-togethers.

Attire: A garden party's dress code should match its outdoor location and the relaxed vibe that's being cultivated. Sundresses, summer suits, and other forms of light, airy apparel may be recommended for the guests.

Decorations: Decorate in a way that complements the garden's existing aesthetic. The garden setting should inspire your choice of floral arrangements, bunting, fairy lights, table linens, and centrepieces. Cushions, throw blankets, and umbrellas can be added for even more cosiness.

Seating: Give visitors a variety of nice places to sit and chat. Garden furniture, park seats, picnic mats, and even rental tables and chairs all qualify. Think about arranging for intimate chat spots to be set up for your visitors.

Food and beverages: What's served during a garden party depends on the event and the guests' tastes in food and drink. Choose from a buffet of salads, finger snacks, and refreshing drinks, or go for the more classic afternoon tea with sandwiches, scones, and pastries. To compliment the outside atmosphere, provide seasonal fruits, light appetisers, and refreshing beverages.

Entertainment: When planning the garden party's entertainment, keep the vibe in mind. Live music, acoustic sets, or a playlist can all serve this purpose. Garden activities like croquet, bocce ball, and lawn bowling can be organised as an additional means of entertaining visitors.

Shade and shelter: Make sure there's somewhere cool and shady for people to hang out if the celebration goes late into the day. You can keep your guests dry and comfy with the help of gazebos, umbrellas, or tents.

Weather considerations: The weather is an important factor, so check the forecast and plan appropriately. Consider employing a marquee or moving the event indoors as a backup in case of inclement weather.

Relaxation and fun: A garden party's ultimate goal is to help visitors unwind and have a good time while they mingle and take in the outdoors. Bring people together to enjoy the garden and one other's company as they mingle, chat, and laugh the afternoon away.

 Menu options for a summer garden party:

In the UK, a garden party's fare can change according on the event's theme, the host's tastes, and the weather. But here are some tried-and-true dishes that are standard fare during British picnics:

Sandwiches: When it comes to making sandwiches or finger sandwiches, classic combinations like cucumber and cream cheese, smoked salmon and cream cheese, egg and cress or gammon and mustard are always crowd pleasers. Cut them into little bite-sized pieces and serve them over white, brown, or wholemeal bread.

Clotted cream and jam on a scone: Garden parties aren't complete without scones, clotted cream, and strawberry jam, the three pillars of traditional British afternoon tea. Make sure to have both plain and fruit scones available.

Scotch eggs: Scotch eggs are hard-boiled eggs that have been wrapped with sausage meat, then dipped in egg and finally breaded and deep-fried till golden. They're great as a savoury snack and can be served at room temperature.

Pimm's Cup: It is a traditional British summertime cocktail that combines Pimm's No. 1, lemonade, and an assortment of fruits and herbs. It is commonly served in jugs or pitchers during British garden parties.

Mini pork pies: Miniature versions of the traditional British party and picnic dish, pork pies are packed with seasoned minced pork. Both cold and room temperature servings are OK.

Quiche: Miniature quiches or bite-sized pieces of larger quiches can be served as an appetiser. Popular filling combinations include classics like cheese and onion, Lorraine (bacon and cheese), and spinach and feta.

Sausage rolls: Rolls of flaky pastry filled with seasoned sausage meat and cooked till golden and crisp are known as sausage rolls. Sausage rolls are a delicious snack that people of all ages love.

Coronation chicken: Coronation chicken is a popular cold salad in the United Kingdom that consists of cooked chicken, mayonnaise, curry powder, and various fruits and nuts. It goes great in salads, on small buns, or as a sandwich filling.

Victoria sponge cake: A Victoria Sponge Cake is a light and airy cake layered with strawberry jam and topped with whipped cream. Powdered sugar and fresh berries make this traditional cake perfect for a summer picnic.

Summer fruits: To make the most of the season's plethora of fresh berries, try your hand at making a pavlova, a meringue-based dessert that's often topped with whipped cream and a wide range of summer fruits.

The foods listed above are just a sampling of what guests may expect to eat at garden parties in the UK. It's important to take into account the tastes and dietary requirements of your visitors when deciding on a menu.

 An outdoor summer party is the perfect way to commemorate a special event or milestone. The Brook Pub's gardens are a great place to host any kind of summer party, whether it's a business gathering, a family reunion, or a wedding reception.

We are only able to provide catering for parties. We'll make sure your day goes off without a hitch, rain or shine. We have a wide selection of gazebos, marquees, and outdoor heaters and furniture to choose from. We can't bring the celebrations inside until the limitations are relaxed.

The Brook Pub's garden is a lovely place to spend a sunny afternoon celebrating any occasion. The gardens offer a relaxed setting where we are open to suggestions for games, activities, and music to round out your day.

We need to undertake in-depth risk assessments for activities and may need to make special preparations, so please keep us apprised of your intentions in advance. We also need to make sure that rigorous sanitary standards can be maintained.

Menu options range from barbeques to finger buffets to afternoon tea, not to mention our wine and best cocktail selection.

#Garden Party Venue Cambridge #Best cocktails selection #Brook pubs garden #Brook garden party #Brook events #Brook Cambridge