#and peace. Ideal for home or office

[apnashowrooms]

Bring harmony and good fortune into your life with the APNA SHOWROOM Feng Shui Crystal Tortoise Kachua. Placed on a crystal plate, this 12x8cm decorative turtle symbolizes long life, prosperity, and peace. Ideal for home or office, it enhances positive energy flow. A perfect Vastu remedy and Feng Shui charm, this crystal tortoise makes a thoughtful spiritual gift.

[starsandsuch]

Libra Through The Houses: Where Do You Appreciate ✨Aesthetics✨ The Most 🍒

🎀 To put it bluntly: where are you superficial af? 😌💅😂

🎀 Libra represents the beautification of something. So where in your life do you prefer things to be beautiful?

🎀 Check the house you have Libra. Can work for sidereal or tropical.

Libra 1H: you want your physical appearance to look good. Always sporting your ideal hair, makeup, clothes, nails etc. You feel most authentic when you look physically beautiful. Since your physical appearance matters a lot to you, you spend a lot of money on ✨beautification✨. No matter what you strive to achieve your “desired appearance”.

Libra 2H: food has to look good for you to eat it. If the food don’t look good you ain’t eating it. This placement reminds me of someone who loves those little perfect looking pastries, cakes, deserts. You like foods that have an aesthetically pleasing look to it like sushi for example 🍣. You like to have a pretty wallet/purse. You may have custom design credit cards that are pink/sparkly/hello kitty. You guys have thee prettiest ID pictures! Your passport picture eats too. You are the person to be full glam and bring a ring light to the DMV to take your ID pic😂. Ok diva📸.

Libra 3H: oop I’m bouta spill your tea rn. You are the person in school with thee most aesthetic pencils, pens, backpacks. Your school supplies had to eat okur💅📚. Lisa Frank notebook girly. Rae Dunn stationary. Gel pens. You also love having pretty friends, in HS you could’ve been part of a clique of pretty girls. In present day you like your tech devices to have aesthetically pleasing phone cases, matching colors of airpod case, MacBook etc. You love cute stationary! You have to have aesthetically appealing social media presence! Even if you have socials where you don’t show ur face directly, whatever you are doing it HAS to look good. Masters of the ✨curated✨ IG feed. Hello Leo risings yes you take the prettiest pictures and have the cutest Instagram feed 🙄😘😂.

Libra 4H: your home has to be aesthetically pleasing. You don’t play about your decor. Even if you don’t have a huge budget, you like to make your space look ✨pretty✨. My libra 4H friends (cancer risings) in college, used to have the cutest dorm rooms. Which a lot of the time it’s hard to make a dorm room look cute LOL. You all have peaceful, clean homes with tasteful aesthetic touches💅. You like having a pretty car too. If your car doesn’t look good you don’t wanna drive it😭.

Libra 5H: you date the most attractive people. Your romantic interests have to be your “type”. What is your type ? PRETTY. They have to look good. You love bad b!tches that’s your f*ckn problem! 😂 . You also have to have your creative projects look aesthetically pleasing as well. You may make beautiful art. Clothes. You have to look pretty during performances etc. It’s likely that your future kids are beautiful.

Libra 6H: first of all I love you guys. Why ? Bc you all do thee BEST beauty services ✨. Alot of y’all are Taurus risings (applies to Taurus sun + moons too!) and every beauty service I’ve gotten from people with this placement have been on point. Facials, lash extensions, waxing, eyebrow micro-blading. You guys OWN the beauty service/procedure industry. You also HAVE to work in an environment that is aesthetically pleasing. A nice salon, wax studio, office etc. Also a lot of you guys have beautiful pets. Your dog, cat, etc are so adorable! You choose your pet based on how cute it is.

Libra 7H: of course your romantic partner has to be good looking. That’s high on your standards list be honest. People will say: “idc about physical appearance only the inside matters😇” and you’re like: “not to ME, y’all be easy though”😂😭. You will likely have a good looking spouse. It also matters that you and your spouse look good TOGETHER. You guys like being the “swaggy” couple. “Fashion Killas”. “Couple goals”etc. First impressions matter to you a lot, you like to look pretty when you first meet people. You also in general love mingling and socializing with beautiful people.

Libra 8H: you all like having a pretty kitty 🐱. It’s possible you do upkeep on it, waxing, bleaching, laser etc. People with this placement are so proud of it too they will brag on it. Ok diva 😂👑 💅. You look pretty even after undergoing challenging or traumatic situations. This is the placement of someone who has the biggest glow up after a breakup! “Post f*ckboy glow” ✨😌. Also how do you look so expensive on a budget?! People assume you wear designer even if it is from fashionnova ?

Libra 9H: the places you travel have to be aesthetically pleasing. You aren’t the type to go on vacay and do it the gritty way, nope. You need pretty accommodations, beautiful views, bringing your good camera to capture everything in an aesthetic way. People with this placement have the best travel photo dumps. You guys make people wanna visit places after you been there! Ok travel influencer.✈️ Also whatever university you attend has to have pleasing campus aesthetics. USC comes to mind✨ they film so many movies there.

Libra 10H: the public thinks you’re so beautiful! I’ll just say it first since we’re all thinking it. You are thee pretty girl, baddie, dollface, all of the above🎀💅. The place that you work has to be aesthetically pleasing. You work somewhere with pretty architecture, near a nice garden, in a pretty part of the city. Your reputation is one where you are perceived as a well put together, well dressed, good looking person.

Libra 11H: oop this one is pretty obvious. You love having pretty friends 🤩. You like being surrounded by baddies. “I love bad b!tches that’s my f*ckn problem!” 😂 . Your life goals and aspirations involve making a beautiful life for yourself, literally. Pretty face, pretty body, pretty home, pretty bank account. Your social media presence has to be aesthetically pleasing. You take the prettiest IG pics probably 😏.

Libra 12H: you are the person to keep all your pretty, valuable items hidden. Collecting pretty clothes, makeup, accessories, jewelry. Do you need it, no?? But it HAS to be in your archive. You have to hoard ✨pretty trickets✨. You also have aesthetically pleasing spiritual tools, the cutest tarot deck, pretty incense holder, gorgeous crystals. When you are participating in spiritual practices you prefer the surroundings to be aesthetically appealing. No you are not meditating on the dirty ground, doing spells in a cave, you’re doing it on the cutest yoga mat money can buy 😌🧘‍♀️. Your altar is aesthetically pleasing. You have to have a pretty bed with pretty bedding 🛏😍.

starsandsuch all rights reserved ®

[mariasont]

ALLERGIES AND OTHER LIES - A.H

trying to downplay your illness at work becomes increasingly complicated, thanks to morgan's teasing and hotch's concern.

pairings: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: illness (mild cold symptoms), implied age gap dynamics, dbf!hotch, chronic people pleasing, mentions of parental disapproval, overworking, power imbalance (mild, but like... still), caretaking, mentions of anxiety/imposter syndrome wc: 1.8k request: here!

In your household, illness had been less about care and more about damage control, specifically, making sure your father never noticed the slightest sniffle or shiver.

Showing weakness of any kind had been about as welcome as bringing home a bad grade (below A) or an unsuitable boyfriend (anyone whose parents weren’t well known in your parents’ circle of friends).

Your mother had a mantra of chin up, honey. So, in turn, you spent most of your childhood mastering silent coughs and hiding tissues like contraband. You become an expert, too, in using makeup as camouflage, plastering concealer beneath tired eyes and an irritated nose.

These were the skills you employed again today, transforming your reflection to something more presentable.

Or at least, you hoped.

One might reasonably expect your workplace, filled with empathetic experts who practically radiate concern and affection for you, to be the ideal environment to relax those defenses. Clearly, reason is not a reliable source.

Old habits die hard, or something like that.

You clear your throat again, trying to make it quieter this time as if to be a peace offering for your body, hoping it might abandon its melodrama and remember that once upon a blue moon, you had shared priorities.

Shared priorities like appearing professional, impressing Hotch, not dying of embarrassment in the middle of the office. At least, ideally not before Hotch realizes he’s secretly in love with you, but beggars can’t be choosers.

And to your credit, you know you’re perfectly functional. You're completely capable of performing basic duties. It's only a paperwork day, and all you need to accomplish is sitting upright for the next six hours without collapsing.

Piece of cake, really.

This holds true despite your head's best efforts to contract this narrative, floating dizzily atop your shoulders like an overinflated balloon, packed with cottony static.

It’s as if someone (you suspect Satan himself at this point, no lesser evil would be quite so cruel) is intent on squeezing, testing just how much strain your overstretched rubber can endure before ultimately popping.

But to deem this a real illness would be the sort of overstatement that would’ve set your mother’s lips into a tight, disapproving line.

No, this is just the polite-stranger-on-the-street level of cold, the type you acknowledge with that polite, no-teeth, slightly awkward smile (the one dads exchange at hardware stores), giving it just enough recognition so it doesn’t engage you further.

Though, this strategy of pointedly ignoring your symptoms seems to be failing, if your rapidly dwindling tissue supply is any indication. Most people would say it is. Spencer, for instance. Rossi. Emily. JJ. Morgan.

Especially Morgan.

You wonder whether anyone would care, or even notice, if you slipped out to restock. It’s tempting to steal someone else’s box outright. Desperate times, desperate measures, etc.

Your hand rises to settle against your cheek, fingers pressing and reshaping fever-warmed skin in a hopeful bid to pacify the throbbing discomfort that has nestled firmly behind your eyes.

“You doing okay over there?” JJ asks, fingers flying over her tablet screen without sparing you more than half a distracted glance. “Sounds like you’re fighting a losing battle over there.”

You force out a laugh, but it comes out strangled, undermining your performance before it even has a chance to succeed. Pathetic.

“Allergies,” you insist weakly.

This finally earns her full attention and a look she probably usually reserves for Henry and Michael.

“If you say so.”

You're still mentally fumbling for a better excuse when Hotch steps through the entrance of the bullpen.

Immediately, your spine goes rigid, snapping into proper alignment designed to fool him into believing you're the very picture of health. It's a level of optimistic delusion typically reserved for thinking you'll actually wake up early to run. Or for ill-advised crushes. (Not that the latter has any relevance to you whatsoever, of course.)

Feigning disinterest, you slide the sad, flattened tissue box toward the outermost corner of your desk, secretly hoping it might vanish into some blind spot and escape his notoriously observant gaze.

Unfortunately, Morgan doesn’t have blind spots. You can feel his curiosity practically burning through you without needing visual confirmation. 

And when you finally cave and glance over, sure enough, he’s exactly as you feared — reclining with that self-assured smirk of this.

You shoot back an imploring, wordless appeal you hope is conveyed properly in the desperate look on your face — Derek if you have any compassion left in your soul, don’t embarrass me in full view of the human epitome of perfection who, by some cosmic injustice, also happens to sign my paychecks.

“Hey, Hotch, you might want to keep a safe distance. Somebody over here sounds ready to keel over.”

You stiffen in an instant, a flush saturating your skin in a wave of flaring skin. So, it's decided then, Morgan is either immune to the nuances of telepathy or human decency. Maybe both.

His comment lands with brutal accuracy to its intended target, Hotch's all-seeing attention, exactly where they're guaranteed to do the most harm.

Against all better judgment, you look toward your boss.

His expression is reliably neutral — an impenetrable facade he’s perfected over countless interrogations and internal crises. But you, in your infinite and perhaps slightly unhealthy fascination, have long since memorized the subtle dialects of his face. The language spoken by small lines that now deepening along his forehead.

Those shadowed creases betray worry, mild irritation, or an even more troubling amalgamation of both. 

You shoot Morgan a pointed glare, but the strength of your conviction fizzles out fast, morphing unwillingly into something you’re sure resembles a wounded pout.

Predictably, his grin expands, and before you can conjure a sufficiently damning curse to smite him into oblivion, Hotch materializes beside your work space.

His eyes skim over your desk — the messy heap of tissues, the scattered remnants of cough drop wrappers, and the cluster of half empty tea cups.

“Something wrong?”

“Me?” 

“Yes, you,” Hotch clarifies patiently. More than you deserve.

“Oh, right — no, I’m completely fine,” you babble quickly, fingers scrambling in vain to conceal the damning evidence. “I’m — this is nothing, really.”

His eyes narrow.

“How about you tell me the truth this time?”

“Seriously. I feel totally —” Your defense promptly collapses as you pivot hastily, barely managing to muffle a sneeze into the crook of your elbow. You sniffle sheepishly, eyes watering, and turn back to him. “— great,” you croak. “Fantastic, even.”

He offers his handkerchief without comment, and you accept it, fingertips hovering just shy of his, keeping distance the way you’d steer clear of a freshly painted wall (tempting, but dangerous). Because, frankly, you don’t trust your fever-addled nerves to cope gracefully with even a microscopic brush of his skin.

You look down at the cloth, starched and clean, just another perfect aspect of him. One more checkmark on an ever-expanding list.

He must have routines for everything — shirts arranged by hue and texture, socks rolled into disciplined bundles. In your mind's eye, you also see a perfectly aligned row of identical handkerchiefs stacked neatly in the top drawer.

You doubt he ever lets himself sprawl out on the sofa with takeout containers littered across the coffee table.

But then again, it’s equally hard to picture him performing mundane domestic things like folding fitted sheets. Maybe he hires someone specifically for that.

Maybe (and here your heart skips a beat), just maybe he could be persuaded to leave those sheets rumpled occasionally. 

Possibly even by someone as hopeless as yourself.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but it’s too late. The images are planted firmly, sending out stubborn roots to your already overstimulated imagination. 

“I’ll wash it,” you mumble hastily, realizing you've been staring wordlessly at him for an inappropriate amount of time. “Sorry. I mean, thank you. And I’ll wash it.”

“I’ve got more.” He watches you for another second. “Do you need to go home?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m good. Really.”

You’re not exactly sure why the words come out so defensive, like admitting you actually might need rest would irrevocably confirm some inadequacy you’ve tried to conceal.

Realistically, you understand he’s simply offering grace, giving you an escape hatch if your pride allows you to take it. You know that. Emotionally, however, your heart has a habit of misinterpreting tenderness, of hearing concern and translating it into criticism.

“I was afraid you’d say that.” He turns, steps back just enough to gesture with a tilt of his head. “Come with me.”

You blink slowly, mind briefly stalling in a fog of congestion and confusion, unsure of what exactly you're agreeing to.

But then you're following him. No questions asked. No explanation needed, destination a secondary detail at best, because you're familiar with the fact that your behavior, apparently, tends to regress to that of a loyal golden retriever when he's around (which doesn't paint you in a particularly flattering light).

He walks. You heel. Once again, pathetic.

It’s only when his hand touches the doorknob to his office, that realization crystallizes into a cold dread.

This, then, is a conversation. And not the easy, casual kind either. It’s one of those conversations, the sort he delivers in velvet tones that mask disappointment beneath layers of practiced compassion. Objectively ten times worse than yelling.

Not that you've personally ever been subjected to Hotch's raised voice. You've watched it happen sparingly, set aside for suspects — and to the one unfortunate officer whose conversational style with you could charitably be called outdated.

For a reckless second, you find yourself imagining what it might feel like to bear the brunt of such restrained anger. Your thighs clench involuntarily.

You make a vow to steer clear of that mental avenue from now on.

“I know I probably seem irresponsible,” you rush out, even as he pushes the door open. “I wasn’t trying to be. It’s just been a long week, and I didn’t think — well, I thought, but clearly not enough, and I wasn’t trying to hide anything —”

You freeze, words hanging unfinished in the air, eyes fixed as he lowers himself to one knee and opens a cabinet. He pulls out a tightly folded blanket accompanied by a pillow still wrapped in crinkling plastic.

“If you’re not going home,” he says, not unkind, just definitive, “then you’re going to sleep.”

“But I —”

“Morgan will cover your responsibilities.”

“That’s not —”

“— fair to him?” he finishes your exact thought, his back already turned as he adjusts the blinds, shutting out distractions along with daylight. “Maybe not. But he’ll be fine. I’m not convinced you will.”

You draw in a breath, ready to say something (though what exactly you're not sure) to prove you’re not completely powerless here, but his eyes cut past you to the couch. And that’s it. The conversation ends before it begins.

You drop to the cushions, limbs too tired to pretend at defiance, and he, unbothered, resumes gathering his files and paperwork.

“I’ll be in the conference room,” he says. “You’re staying here and resting. Two hours minimum. If I see you at your desk before then, I’ll walk you out myself.”

“Yes, sir.” The sarcasm’s there, but it limps, undersold by a renewed stabbing at your temple.

He’s almost through the door before he hesitates, looking back. “Come get me if you need anything.”

It’s softer than the rest. You tuck that away carefully, right alongside the headache.

You made it precisely an hour and forty-seven minutes. You rounded up. You told yourself it was close enough to two to count. You did the math. He undoubtedly would too.

So later, passing Hotch in the hallway, you braced yourself, but he said nothing. Just offered another one of those indecipherable looks that could equally be subtle approval, polite disappointment, or simply proof he had a running tally in his head confirming you cracked right on schedule.

You assume it’s that last one.

When you get back to your desk, there’s a bright yellow sticky note patiently waiting for you.

Hotch didn’t sign it, but he didn’t have to. The handwriting is barely legible, a clear indicator. Doctors everywhere would be proud.

You’ve learned to decode his scrawl purely out of survival, especially when it comes to finding your name hidden somewhere in the mess he leaves on paperwork. It usually takes two tries, a careful squint, and occasionally rotating the page at odd angles before you can definitely confirm that yes, that enigmatic scribble is indeed meant to be you.

You smile to yourself, slipping the words into your drawer, stashing it away like a lucky charm or a secret love letter, safely hidden from prying eyes.

There’s something comforting in the thought that maybe, if you follow Hotch’s instructions well enough, he’ll write another one. Lucky you.

💌 masterlist taglist has been disbanded! if you want to get updates about my writings follow and turn notifications on for my account strictly for reblogging my works! @mariasreblogs

[gloomwitchwrites]

DMs & DNA

Simon "Ghost" Riley x TF141 Reader

Content & Warnings (MDNI): swearing, situationship, possessive behavior, post-coital sweetness, Simon marking his territory, brief threat of violence, teasing, non-explicit sex

Word Count: 1.2k

Simon becomes territorial when a recent recruit tries to steal you out from under him.

ao3 // main masterlist // summer 2024 masterlist

You’re tight and perfect and all fucking his.

Simon moans against your throat with lips pressed to your skin as he does his fucking best to remain in control of himself. He’s failing. Completely falling apart.

Your whimper is too sweet, and the way your body squeezes him has him dizzy. Your orgasm blooms—flows outward, and Simon’s autonomy slips from under him. Somehow, you’re good at seizing all of his control—claiming it for you own. Do you even realize you do it? Do you know how you affect him?

Simon knows. It happens all the time.

Brushing a few strands of hair over your shoulder, Simon leaves a tentative kiss in the curve of your neck. Beneath him, you shiver, head turning toward him as if you’re ticklish from the attention.

“We’ve been away too long,” you murmur, breaking the peacefulness settling over Simon’s senses.

Simon hooks an arm around your waist. “No one is looking for us.”

It’s likely true. Simon made sure that the two of you would be alone—that no one would interrupt. But time flows differently when you’re enjoying yourself.

Glancing at his watch, Simon frowns. You’re right. The two of you have been gone for longer than anticipated. It’s not ideal but it can’t be helped.

Simon doesn’t want to part. He wants to take you home, to linger with you beneath the sheets, to have his way with your body. But this has not happened, and Simon isn’t sure that it ever will. The two of you meet in storage closets, empty offices, and locker room showers for quick fucks.

It’s not a relationship.

It’s not anything.

You’re a member of the team. A friend. A coworker.

And yet it is him that you always turn to.

The desire for more sits hot in his chest. Simon has tried to coax you away to more private venues but you always step around it—avoiding to the point that Simon doesn’t entirely understand your motivations.

It’s fucking confusing, and while Simon longs to press you for answers, he doesn’t want to push you away.

Slowly, Simon eases from your body. Your little moan at his retreat is already making him hard again—wanton. It’s not fucking fair. These small moments are not enough.

There is no condom. There is only slickness. And Simon has to control the urge to slide his fingers between your legs and push the mess back in.

As he steps away, you hastily hoist your pants, securing the front button and zipper. Smoothing the front of your shirt, you begin fussing with your hair. There is a slight sheen of sweat on your brow.

“Do I look okay?” you ask sheepishly.

You look fucking beautiful, love.

“Like I never fucked you at all,” replies Simon.

You grin devilishly and lightly smack his chest. Simon snags your wrist and brings your knuckles to his lips, placing a quick kiss there before dropping your hand. It’s not enough intimacy. Simon craves more.

With an embarrassed nervousness, you tuck some hair behind your ear and brush past him, heading for the shut door. Slowly, you press the handle down, cracking the door slightly. There are no sounds that drift in.

The coast is clear.

You glance over your shoulder at Simon, grinning softly.

“See you later,” you murmur, disappearing like a magic trick.

Simon stands alone in the little room, arms hanging at his sides. Every alternative passes through his mind. How can he coax you to him? How can he make you see that you should belong to him?

He chews on his bottom lip, irritation growing in his stomach. With an annoyed growl, Simon secures his balaclava back into place, storming from the room without caring who sees. There is red beneath his skin. Simon needs to expel this excess energy.

He heads for the training room, and even here he cannot escape you.

One of the new recruits has a hand pressed against the wall as he looms over you. The two of you are chatting as you complete dumbbell reps. While your face is neutral, the man’s is animated. It’s not friendly either. It’s sly—smarmy. The guy is making a move.

Simon tries and fails to recall the new recruit’s name. They arrive, complete some training, and then go elsewhere. That’s how it always is. Simon never cares to learn their names or anything about them. If they aren’t on his team, he could give a fuck.

It’s not you Simon is worried about. He’s looked at your phone. He’s seen your DMs. There are plenty of men here who try. Who reach out in the hopes that you might sprinkle them with some attention. But you’re no barracks bunny. You don’t hop from bed to bed.

The only man you’re fucking is Simon.

And that’s exactly how he wants it.

Simon takes a post near the boxing bags. He puts on gloves, and beats away at the sand until his shoulders ache from the repetitive strikes. Keeping an eye on you is easy. Between reps, Simon observers, watching, noting how you give the man nearly nothing. It please Simon to know that you’re not interested in anyone but him.

When you head for the showers, Simon does not follow even though he’d fucking love to. He keeps his gaze on the recruit who watches you leave. The wanker unabashedly stares at your ass. Simon flings down his towel, and stalks toward his prey. This bastard has no idea Simon is walking up on him. Has no idea that Simon’s about to mark his territory.

The guy selects the bench press and Simon grins menacingly behind the balaclava.

“Need a spotter?” asks Simon casually.

The guy nods. “Sure, man. Thanks.”

You’re fucking death, mate.

Simon glances at the weights on either end of the bar. He rolls his eyes. Simon can bench twice this amount without breaking a sweat. He takes position behind the recruit, standing directly next to his head.

Slipping his hands beneath the bar, Simon helps guide it out of the track. The metal is cool. Simon lets go. The weight drops.

The new recruit wheezes, eye bulging as the combined weight hits his ribcage, rolling upward toward his neck. Simon does not stop it. Doesn’t try to prevent what might be fractured ribs or a crushed esophagus.

Instead, Simon crouches next to the choking man, menace in his tone.

“You might be in her DMs. You might be sweet talking her. But it’s me that drips down her legs when she walks.”

All Simon hears are squeaks of trapped air.

“You fucking go near her. I’ll fucking crush your dick and feed it to you. Understand?”

The man’s reply is all gasping air, and is eyes water. His cheeks are starting to go red—nearly purple.

Simon tilts his head to the side and the recruit makes a hint of a nod.

It’s enough of a confirmation. Simon grabs the bar and lifts without effort, plopping it back into the track.

The recruit’s next inhale is ragged and watery. He coughs. Gasps. Plops down onto the floor and vomits. But he doesn’t get up—doesn’t come after Simon.

Good.

You’re his.

And he’s going to make sure everyone knows.

[zablife]

The Perfect Girl

dark!Tommy x female reader

Summary: In the wake of Grace's abrupt departure, Polly attempts to settle her troubled nephew in the perfect home with the perfect wife. But how will the volatile Tommy react to being told what to do?

A/N: This idea came to me after chatting with @peakysgiri. If there's interest I'll cont, but be warned this will be a dark fic!

Divider credit: @olenvasynyt

The expansion of Shelby Co. Limited was going well, providing enough wealth for every member of the family. The dream of escaping the mud and smoke of Birmingham was finally a reality and the Shelbys were realizing their dream of owning homes in the countryside. John was the first to purchase a sprawling farmhouse and enough land for his children to run and Esme to raise her chickens. Arthur followed suit just after his son Billy was born, wanting to provide the fresh air he'd never had as a child.

Ada and Polly chose homes with manicured gardens full of sweet smelling roses that rivaled the scent of their Parisian perfume. They took enjoyment in furnishing them with expensive antiques and enough staff to ensure they'd never cook a meal or run a bath for themselves again. Life was even improving for young Finn who took a flat close to Ada so his older sister could look in on him from time to time.

The only person yet to be settled properly was Tommy. For some reason, he hesitated to reap the benefits of his success. Perhaps it was because he spent all his time locked away in a lavish office that often doubled as his bedroom. However, Polly suspected he hadn't made a home for other reasons.

It had only been a year since Grace entered his life and swiftly exited on a boat to New York. "Don't you think it's time you forgot about her?" Polly asked, stamping out her cigarette wishing it could be so easy to push Grace from his memory.

"Forgot about who?" Tommy replied, raising a glass to his lips to hide the lie from her hawklike gaze. Half a bottle of whisky down, but no closer to forgetting the woman who betrayed him. He knew his aunt was right when she insisted he move on, but he felt a greater sense of urgency to see his family happy and settled.

"Anyway, I have the family to think of," Tommy insisted.

Polly rolled her eyes at her nephew's penchant for drama, always acting the martyr. She knew as well as Arthur and John that Tommy would expect repayment in the form of perfect loyalty. Until Tommy was tucked away with a wife, they wouldn't have a moment's peace.

"You ought to concern yourself with creating your own family," Polly warned before leaving him to his thoughts.

---------------------

Another six months went by in the same fashion, Tommy insisting he had business occupying his mind. His dedicated soldiers, Arthur and John, felt the pressing burden and begged Polly to intervene once more.

She adamantly declined another conversation with her stubborn nephew, deciding to take matters into her own hands. Efficient, yet ruthless in her approach, she soon secured a large estate for Tommy complete with stables which would surely entice him. She decided not to tell him just how the previous owner came to give it up, swearing Arthur to secrecy about his trips to the opium dens with a young lord who also harbored a gambling addiction.

A redecorated Arrow House and an army of staff now sat in waiting for its new master. The only thing missing was the lady of the house. And while Polly hoped to solve this problem as swiftly as the last, she knew the matter required delicate finesse. She took her time thinking on the subject of Tommy's ideal partner, scouring the city for the perfect girl.

Despite the seemingly simple criteria, Polly was perplexed by the difficulty of her task. After all, she only required Tommy's future wife to be young, pretty and slightly foolish in her notions of love. Without the armor of wisdom or judgement, such a girl could easily be molded into anything Tommy desired. However, naivete was in short supply among the world weary cynics bred in Small Heath. That's why an offhand comment from John about the wholesome sweetness of farm girls changed her approach.

It was in a small village not far from Arrow House that Polly eventually found you, the perfect girl.

--------------

As a young child you watched the family residing in Arrow House arrive in the village, your eyes wide at the beautiful horses that drew their carriage. Peeking out from your mother's skirts, you stared at the brilliantly polished shoes they wore, wishing you had any at all. It was a humbling early memory of your family's poverty which turned you into a hopeless dreamer who read fairy tales long past childhood.

An unabashed optimism in your very own Prince Charming made life more bearable, even though you were often the butt of your sisters' jokes. However, there was nothing to stop you from daydreaming of the day you'd leave them behind to live happily ever after in a castle.

You had no idea that daydream was within reach when a fashionable woman with dark curls approached you at the market. "Aren't you a pretty, young thing," she cooed at you, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear in a way that sent shivers down your spine. Yet you came to look forward to her visits, especially when she slipped you a few extra coins, curling her hand over yours with a sly wink.

With each subsequent visit, you fell under her spell of elegance and poise. She asked you to call her Polly on her third visit, though it took you some time to break the habit of using the more formal sounding Mrs. Gray. When the moniker finally tumbled from your lips, you were rewarded with her glowing smile which shone in her hazel eyes.

In your mind you'd already cast her as your fairy godmother come to rescue you. The notion was solidified the day she first mentioned her handsome nephew who would be moving into the nearby estate.

"Arrow House?" you asked excitedly.

"The very one," she confirmed, registering your enthusiasm instantly.

"Why don't you come to luncheon tomorrow and meet him? I'm sure he'd be pleased to know someone in the village," she explained rather nonchalantly. As you hesitated to answer she added, "He employs the best chef so I'm certain you'll find something there to enjoy."

There was no need for such enticements, however. Without the power of speech, you confirmed your agreement with a vigorous nod. "Then it's decided, you'll join us both at noon," she declared before disappearing into the crowd.

You gulped as you wondered what to wear for such an occasion and ran home to decide with your brilliant future sparkling at you through the sun dappled trees.

[yan-lorkai]

Yandere malleus with darling who wanted to stay with him but Crowley (being a dumb guy and wanting the reputation of nrc being a pure schoo)l sent darling back home against their will (yes this is me, and I'd stay with malleus.)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ a/n: tbh honest mood. I was thinking this just the other day, if presented the chance to isekai myself into any game that I particularly like, would I want to come back? Like, no, if it was obey me, I'd stay without thinking twice, twst too, even if I would have to face the overblot and all. Now... if it were genshin? Hard pass, idk how to fight lmaooo. Anyway hope you enjoy this ♡♡♡♡

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ To love is to let go... right? No, absolutely not. To love is to consume, to touch the essence of another person until they don't know where they begin and you end. At least, in Malleus's conception it is like that. And he is so happy that his feelings are reciprocated, that, somehow, you understand him and love him, and want to be with him forever, just like the fairy tales Lilia told him.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ And yet, like a fairy tale, Malleus finds himself sweeping the world the moment news comes that Crowley - the good-for-nothing, phony headmaster, Crowley has sent you back to your world by force. He separated the two of you for foolish ideals. And now everything is falling apart, heavy rains sweep away trees, fierce winds are capable of throwing people kilometers away, but he doesn't realize it; the only thing in Malleus' heart at this moment is sadness and hatred, not even Lilia, Sebek and Silver can calm him now.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ When Malleus regains consciousness, there is a body and blood in his clutches. Only flashes of memories come to mind as he recovers from the screams and the idiotic excuses he heard. He hopes he feels some remorse, but he feels nothing. Only the absence of you. Malleus searches Crowley's office in order to find the research and documents of the portal that the deceased director used, and when he finds it, he recreates the portal, allowing Crowley's body to pass through to a place where no one can find him.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ Focusing all his attention on finding you, Malleus manages to stabilize the portal enough so that he can see your tear-stained face as you hide in your blankets. He wants to go through and comfort you, but he is afraid of the portal closing; even keeping it open for so long becomes a challenging task for him. Instead, he calls your name, over and over, until you look in his direction and see him there, his hand outstretched, his face serious, the portal open again... It all seems like a dream, but he convinces you that it is not, and that you need to cross to the other side soon. And you do.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ﾟ With you in his arms, Malleus feels at peace, kissing every corner of your face as if it were the first time, with extreme possessiveness, as if he were reclaiming a rare piece of his treasure. He wipes your tears and assures you that Crowley will not separate you two. The blood on his nails, his face and his clothes were cleaned with magic, there is no trace of the massacre that took place in that office and, as Malleus takes you home, back to Diasomnia, he finds himself extremely happy with the sun shining over his head.

[a-b-riddle]

A Simple (Mis) Understanding Chapter One: Location, Location, Location

John

"MacTavish," It had been about three months since the 141 had returned from our last OP. It had been a rough one and, although, we had all come back alive, we didn't come back unscathed. And we all had to thank a pretty little IT 'expert' to thank for that. Stupid fucking Omega...

"Usually I'm the one calling you. To what do I owe the pleasure?" I threw back the amber colored liquor, finishing the last of my latest bottle. It seemed all I had in my free time was drinking myself into an early grave.

Good.

"Care for a hunting trip, Cap'n?" Johnny's tone was playful, which was almost always never a good sign. MacTavish could seek out trouble like a bloody bloodhound. 

"What d'ya have in mind?" I humored. I had come home to a sedentary life style. Any ideals I had about settling down, extinguished. I wasn't as young as I used to be, but I'm still too into the fight to retire now. So whatever Johnny had in mind, surely must be something worth at least entertaining.

"A pretty little flower." He says and I swear I can almost hear the see the smirk on his face. "Stands at about five foot three. Has a knack for stabbing a man in the back right after suckin' 'im dry."

Daisy.

"You got a lead then I take it?" I try to stifle the anger as I feel it beginning to bubble. Every Alpha instinct is telling me to track, hunt, kill. Before, every biological urge I had toward our flower was to protect, keep, and fuck until she forgot her own bloody name. Now, I wasn't so sure I could stand the sight of her long enough to get the answers I wanted-- needed-- before absolutely tearing her to fucking shreds. 

"Aye." He confirmed. "Wanted to see if you were up for it before I called the lads."

"How polite."

"You're still, Cap'n."   "And I know you had more..." There was a shift in his tone. Unease as he tried to find the words, but couldn't. He couldn't. None of us could. Because none of us could describe what had happened with Daisy. Betrayal is too gentle of a word, too short and modest of a word to describe what she had done to us; hell, me. Johnny cleared his throat. Clearly uncomfortable and wanting to retract the beginning of whatever statement he had intended on making.  "Join me to settle an old debt, ye?" 

I didn't need to think twice about Johnny's officer. An opportunity to finish what we started back in Austria. I didn't regret stopping Johnny as much as I did not getting the answers I needed before the little bitch disappeared like a damn thief in the night. Now was the chance. Not only revenge for what we had been through, but the betrayal she had put us through. Jeopardizing not only the 141, but the few loved ones we had. My mum, MacTavish's sisters, Garrick's entire fucking family and the little solace that Simon had. A peace of mind knowing if he wanted to start living again, he could. All of it was almost lost. 

"You got eyes on our-" No. She wasn't ours anymore. Not our girl. Not our flower. Sure as fuck never our Omega. "On her."

"I got an address." If he noticed my pause, he didn't say anything. For that I'm grateful. I can't be weak again because some of doe-eyed little Omega. One who whispered sweet lies about how good my knot felt and all the things she wanted in life. Things we-I- wanted.  "Had an old contact have her name pop up. Hen is too fucking dense to make sure to use an alias especially considering she stayed on our side of the pond."

Don't really plan on going home after this. Not really anything waiting for me back there except some student debt. She had hid the pain of having no family well, but, now after everything, nothing seemed genuine. Every kiss, every touch, every smile and laugh she had thrown my way was now tainted.

Now it was time to bury it all.

"I'll call Garrick." That was all the confirmation Johnny would get out of me. I didn't want to seem too eager to finally get my hands on her. I needed to be collected. Level headed. I was the Alpha. I was the one my team looked to for guidance. I had already failed them once. I damn sure wouldn't be doing it again. "I'll let you convince Riley to come along."

"Lettin' me call in the boogeyman?" Johnny was smiling again. Could fucking hear it in his voice. He was the one who had probably fallen the hardest for the little bitch. Indulging him in soft touches and soothing his temper. Probably the same reason he had put a barrel to her forehead the moment she had admitted to it.

I was going to tell you. She had tried to excuse her delay as if that were the issue. I just didn't know how to tell you. But can you blame me? Yes. We could. And we did. For the shitty last seven months. For the constant worry all of us had for having to pull our mind out of the mission to worry about what was going on back home.

Her tears didn't save her. Only until Laswell came in raising an absolute bloody stink. Claims of how the very audacity to potentially injure an Omega on her team could cost her career. Fuck her career.

"Send me the details." I pulled another bottle off the shelf. Promising myself it would be the last one I had until I finally pulled that weed of a woman out of existence. Killing her meant I could finally move on. Find someone, certainly not a fucking Omega, to settle down with. I could heal from the heartbreak I would never admit to. It would be the ending that we all needed.

"Will do Cap'n." Johnny didn't wait for my dismissal before he hung up. He was just as ready for a hunt as I was.

[mikanotes]

goodbyes are sour

connor x gn!reader — 2.1k words

genre: angst sorta! mutual pining in denial

warnings: mentions of guns and killing, kabedon for the sake of science, connor unreliable narrator LOL u have feelings android man… maybe ooc idk. (wrote this w the idea of connor being deviant since the beginning bcs Yeah!)

synopsis: You meet Connor again. Turns out things are much more complicated when you aren’t working together.

author’s note: hi dbh fic?! i Love connor nd i’ve been writing this for a while (crazy since it’s rly short) but i don’t like it much… anyways whoevers alive in the dbh fandom have this!

“Detective.”

There’s just something about the way Connor speaks. The cadence, the pitch, the enunciation of each word. It’s painfully evident that he isn’t human. Everything about him is so machine-like that even his perfect, human-like exterior could not fool anyone. However it is something you got used to. Hearing the android speak your name and call you ‘Detective’ back a while ago felt somewhat unsettling. Now it’s so easy to recognize that it almost makes you feel at ease.

“Do you seriously think I’m an android? I don’t wanna deal with those fucking machines, either. I’d be glad if you put a bullet through them rather than me.”

Turns out hearing him fake being a human is ten times more terrifying than his android speech patterns could ever hope to be.

This was not part of the plan.

You were sent with a unit to patrol around the streets for any android who still hadn’t been brought back or destroyed. You weren’t a fan of this whole assignment, but felt better than the rookies who were sent out to shoot humanoid robots as their first field mission probably did.

It would be fine, is what you told yourself, because you didn’t feel anything towards Cyberlife’s creations enough to be completely uncomfortable with the idea of their blue blood on your hands, though it wasn’t ideal. You could manage. Until the first person you came across happened to be the one android you genuinely cared about.

“I don’t think he’s one of them…” one of your fellow officers murmurs next to you. You suddenly become very aware of the gun he, too, is holding and pointing towards the target. Fuck. As if the situation wasn’t bad enough.

At least this idiot’s performance seems to be fooling them.

You wait one second, then sigh on the second, and finally lower your gun on the third. “You shouldn’t be here.” you say casually, prompting your colleagues to relax and the atmosphere to lighten a little. Your heart is in your throat, however. “We’ve got orders to round up every android we see around here. You should go home. This isn’t exactly safe.”

“I know, I know.” he sighs, rolling his eyes a little, “I was gonna leave anyways, thanks.”

Your coworkers mumble to themselves about how disagreeable this guy’s attitude is and it’s enough for them to miss the wink the latter sends your way as he leaves. You almost regret not shooting a bullet through his head.

Still, you sigh in relief, setting your gun back at your side and running a hand over your face. You don’t think you can continue patrolling in peace. There’s one too many questions in your mind and the key to answering them is escaping from your grasp.

You take the phone in your pocket and pretend to get a call, moving it to your ear and looking at the members of your team. “I’ll join up with you later.” you say, gesturing towards your phone. They nod and walk away, and you do the same, feeling more relieved than ever that these people see you as a leader of sorts. They won’t question you on anything. You hurry towards the direction your so-called partner left to the moment they’re out of sight.

A rooftop door, stairs, and more stairs. You’re jogging down like you’re chasing a criminal on the run. You’re down to the fifth floor out of eight when someone grabs your arm and pulls you out a door.

“Wha—” you try to yell, but a cold hand settle over your mouth. Your body relaxes but your expression tenses. Connor. “Let me go,” you mumble incoherently, surprisingly succeeding in getting him to let you step away.

You sigh and shake your head, turning around abruptly. His ‘human costume’ (which really just was a grey suit jacket thrown over what should’ve been his Cyberlife uniform, glasses, and a cap to hide his LED) is already gone, replaced by his usual attire, just missing his jacket.

“What the hell was that about?” you ask, annoyed, pointing towards the staircase (back there, on the roof) and the android simply shrugs. “Connor.”

“I was undercover, Detective. I thought someone as smart as you would recognize that much.” he says, his tone back to normal. You’d feel relieved if he wasn’t being so irritating. “Was I wrong?”

Your face drops. “No. I figured as much. But what for?” you sigh, crossing your arms.

“Same mission as always.”

“Who are you chasing? Did you find the place?”

“I have no reason to tell you.”

It only clicks then that while you know about Connor continuing his mission after being laid off the case, you’re not part of it anymore. He had to be sent back to Cyberlife, and you should’ve been forgetting about him entirely. You’re still DPD, and you have orders to shoot Androids on sight— Which you clearly aren’t following. He’s right. He has no reason to tell you.

Still.

You grab his arm when he threatens to walk away. You’re not sure what you want to say, but you’re not done talking. He lets you. “Connor.”

“Detective.” he says. You straighten your back and sigh, not breaking eye contact. He tilts his head to the side and his LED flashes yellow for an instant. “You’re angry.”

Of course you’re angry. He’s infuriating. There’s something about how logical and dead-set on following every single rule he is that makes Connor the most annoying individual you’ve ever talked to. Everything he does has to be for his mission. Every single thing.

“Do threats work with you?” you ask blankly, “If you don’t tell me where it is, I’ll get Cyberlife to bring you back, and all that?”

When he takes a step closer to you again, forcing your back to press against the wall, and his LED does not even threaten to change hues, you’re taken aback. Just a bit. It’s the same kind of frustrated attitude you would’ve expected from a human after saying what you just did. But not Connor.

He doesn’t seem frustrated, though. And you know he can look annoyed. He just doesn’t. So he must not be. And you want to find what it is he’s doing exactly, stepping closer to you without even saying a word, but your brain feels like it’s short-circuiting at the distance between you two. You know he does everything for his work. Does he think you have new information on deviants? Does he really believe you would call Cyberlife on him? Is he using his stupid interrogation module on you? Whatever it is makes you even more annoyed.

The silence feels heavy. It makes things worse. It gives your brain time to process how this is making you feel and it’s no good at all. “What?” you break the silence, tone somewhat irritated.

“I’m trying to understand the reason why you’re so angry at me.” he explains simply, like it makes sense. His eyes narrow a bit and the LED at the side of his head flickers yellow for a moment. “And no, Detective. Threats don’t work on me. Not when I can tell you’re lying so easily.” he adds, quieter.

“Shut up.” you scoff.

“I dont think I will.”

“Connor.”

“— However,” he interrupts, “I can step away from you at any moment if you tell me to.”

“No.”

“No?”

What— No?! You register the word after saying it and sigh, face contorting into a somewhat pained expression. You panicked and said it, your mind processing his offer as him leaving you again— With no information and nothing to ease your stupid worries. Now it just sounds odd.

Is that embarrassment?

“You didn’t finish what you were trying to do, did you? You haven’t told me why I’m angry yet. Since you apparently care so much.” you say, tone sounding much softer than before. Your apparent discomposure took away all the bitterness from your voice. Interesting.

Truth be told, Connor knows why you’re angry. He’s not letting you in on the details of what he’s doing despite the time you spent working as partners a very short while ago. He’s spent enough time with people, and you especially, to know that after forming some kind of bond with a work partner, it would be frustrating not to receive information about their mission the way you used to from them—

Especially considering he was still chasing after something you both knew about. Jericho. But he cannot tell you about that. Not… Right now.

What he really was trying to do was evaluate how much of a threat you really could be to his investigation. He didn’t sense any hostility before and he doesn’t now, and you could’ve shot him but you didn’t. But it’s not enough. He needs more time— More evidence that it’s fine. That’s why he pulled you here in the first place. That’s why he pressured you to talk.

He needs to make sure killing you isn’t necessary.

“Because I posed a threat to the stability of your current mission earlier. You wouldn’t have been able to shoot me had I been discovered, and your reaction to your colleagues shooting me would’ve jeopardized your job itself.” he answers.

This reasoning would make sense.

“That’s not it.” you sigh.

Your heartbeat is slowing down. No good. Connor leans his arm on the wall next to you and moves closer. Your heartbeat picks up in speed. It’s almost alarming. He can tell all the details about your physical condition and deduce what you’re thinking or feeling based off of them, sure. But he’s no human. The way he views and comprehends emotions is registered in his system in a much more clear and logic-based way than it is in humans’ brains.

So maybe he won’t ever know why your heart beats so heavily against your ribcage. So he just has to pressure the right places and demand answers. He unfortunately can’t allow you to relax. He won’t get anything out of you if you’re calm. You’re much too turbulent for that.

Or maybe he’ll just have to ask. In a normal way.

“Detective, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me?” you scoff, eyes widening. Wrong question.

You seem like you want to be angry but something is holding you back from displaying just how much he gets on your nerves. You sigh deeply and look at him, “What’s wrong with you? You’re acting so weird. More than usual. Why’d you pull me here if you didn’t want to tell me anything? And I’m worried. What if you really did get shot? Wasn’t Cyberlife supposed to deactivate you? They wouldn’t have brought in another Connor this time. You’re off the case, you— You would’ve died!”

“Maybe.”

There’s circles under your eyes. There always are, but they’re more defined now than they were the last time he saw you. Now that you’re actually being honest, your whole voice and mannerisms betray any of your usual annoyed and dismissive facade. He didn’t think you cared this much, though he understands that some humans are quick to empathize. To a fault.

Now it’s clear he doesn’t need to eliminate you at all. Part of him seems to have grown fond of your company. He couldn’t risk that getting in the way of his better judgment.

“I only pulled you here so you wouldn’t pointlessly chase down the streets searching for me, since I made sure no one would follow.” he says, stepping back and giving you more space, “You’re a police officer. It doesn’t matter what you say you’ll keep to yourself or not. I can’t compromise. This is too important.”

You’re hurt, it’s visible. He’s saying he can’t risk trusting you. He figures that must not feel nice.

The sound of the radio attached to your side breaks this prolonged silence with the promise of separation. You take it, eyes not leaving Connor’s, and listen to your colleague speak. You tell them you’ll be right there. You’re not one to be late. He knows you’ll really leave this time— Too far away for him to hope to talk to you again, if anything goes awry.

You turn the radio off and put it back where it was. “Hope you succeed, then.” you say, bitter, and push yourself up to start walking away.

“Take care of yourself, Detective.” Connor says. Asks. The words come out before he can really think. Something about your voice and this whole atmosphere made him… Feel uneasy. Like he needed to say something. If this is how your partnership ends, he doesn’t believe it should be on such a sour note. He cares doesn’t dislike you at all, so why should it?

You stagger a little, seemingly stopping in your tracks, but moving again no more than a second later. “You too, Connor.”

Somehow, goodbyes had never seemed so sad.

[snail-day]

Gojos ideal type of partner? In canon verse…

probably a sorcerer who could understand his lifestyle and the dangers/sacrifices he has to make. I don’t think he cares about appearances. Thoughts?

Mmm, I think I’ve mentioned this before, but it’s one of those things I keep circling back to: Gojo’s love life, or, honestly, the lack of it. He probably died a virgin. It’s not even that he couldn’t get someone if he wanted to, he’s hot and knows it, but I just don’t think he ever had the time or space to be vulnerable like that. Between his overwhelming responsibilities, the expectations placed on him, and that constant looming sense of isolation… who would he even open up to? When would he have a moment to breathe, let alone touch himself? I think he was so chronically stressed, emotionally burnt out, and numb that even the idea of intimacy felt out of reach.

Now, ideally? I think his partner could fall into one of two categories.

If they were a sorcerer, they’d have to be strong. Like, stupidly strong. Not just powerful on paper, but resilient. Someone he doesn’t have to fear for every second of the day. He’s already carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders; he doesn’t have it in him to be constantly afraid that the person he loves is going to die on the job. I think he’d also prefer someone who isn’t tied to the toxic traditions of the clans. He’s seen firsthand how twisted that world is. He wouldn’t want to love someone who’s still tangled up in that, still dancing to the same tune he’s been trying to rebel against his whole life. He needs someone who reminds him that he can choose his own path, and that he's not just a cog in a system that never loved him back.

If his partner were a non-sorcerer, I think he’d find that kind of life intoxicating in a totally different way. He’d never tell them what he really does, just some vague story about teaching, maybe something about a “special school.” But he’d live for the normalcy. The soft, mundane things: grocery lists, shared meals, talking about annoying coworkers, hearing you ramble about the most boring office gossip like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. He doesn’t get that in his world. He doesn’t get peace. So to come home to someone who isn’t covered in blood or trauma or responsibility? That would feel like heaven to him. He wouldn’t want to talk about himself. He’d just sit there and listen to you go on about your day like it was magic. Because to him, it is.

I really don’t think he cares about appearances. Like, at all. He’s seen so much horror and loss that looks don’t even register as something that matters anymore. What I do think is that he’s a sucker for comfort. For warmth. I genuinely believe he’s into older women, someone who feels stable, nurturing, someone who can see through his bullshit without him having to explain himself. He acts like a clown, sure, but that’s a defense mechanism. Deep down, he wants to be taken care of. Coddled, even. I will die on the hill that Gojo Satoru is a milf hunter. You can’t convince me otherwise. He wants someone who can pull him into their lap, run fingers through his hair, and make him feel small for once. Someone who isn’t intimidated by him. Someone who makes him feel safe.

[tf-rechargeandrebound]

Ok I redesigned them for the last goddamn time

TFR Autobot designs ^^ (I'm sorry if the colours look fucked up idk how to fix exporting stuff)

Character profiles beneath the cut

Optimus Prime

Allegiance: Autobot

Alt mode: Freightliner semi truck

Occupation: Autobot commander, current Prime

Likes: Cybertronian history, reading, Earth’s general vibe, long drives, peace and quiet

Dislikes: His position as Prime (he’s not very vocal about it though), snakes, icy roads, large social functions, taking breaks from all that gosh darn paperwork

Once a humble dock worker named Orion Pax, Optimus Prime is the leader of the Autobot Resistance, and is being counted on to save his home from the Decepticons. Any Autobot would describe him as wise, kind, stoic, somewhat stern, and a great leader who can sometimes get grumpy when stressed or tired. His most trusted officers and family, such as Elita-1, know that he’s also rather socially awkward and a bit of a bookworm. He cares deeply for every single Autobot under his command, and has grown to care for Earth as well. He generally dislikes needlessly reckless behaviour from those around him, as he can’t bear to see even more lives lost to the war. He often doubts himself, his role as Prime, and his actions, even if they were right. At the end of the day, Optimus wants nothing more than to live a quiet life with his loved ones.

Elita-1

Allegiance: Autobot

Alt mode: F-16 Fighting Falcon fighter jet

Occupation: Autobot commander

Likes: Astronomy, meteorology, flying, Earth rain, stargazing

Dislikes: Megatron (everyone hates him but she hates him on a very personal level), confined spaces, caves, snowstorms

Before she was Elita-1, she was Ariel, and before she was Ariel, she was a miner designated AR-1. After escaping the mines when she was young, she was taken in by an old dock boss named Kup who offered her a job at the docks, where she met a young mech named Orion Pax. Elita and Optimus Prime are both co-commanders and conjunx enduras. She’s much more of a social jokester than he is, and is extremely popular amongst the troops. She’s cunning, loyal, intelligent, and a fierce warrior who always stands up for what’s right and puts others before herself, all while being someone who’s willing to lend an ear to anyone who needs to vent. She’s truly the definition of an Autobot.

Bumblebee

Allegiance: Autobot

Alt mode: 2017 Volkswagen Beetle

Occupation: Special Operations scout

Likes: Earth pop culture (especially video games and 80s music), open roads, making friends, adventure, summertime, stories about pre-war Cybertron, carwashes

Dislikes: Being teased for his height, sharp objects, confinement, failing a task or mission

Bumblebee is one of the youngest and most promising soldiers in the Resistance. Raised by Optimus and Elita, he chose to join the fight against the Decepticons once he came of age, a decision that they respect but don’t fully approve of. His oddly small stature makes him ideal for espionage-based missions, and he’s nearly mastered using his size to his advantage while in direct combat. Bee is an extremely upbeat and friendly bot, and while he may be small, he has a big spark that cares deeply for everyone around him. He often recklessly puts himself in danger to protect others, which usually gets him injured, but the injuries are worth it, in his opinion. Overall, Bumblebee is a dependable, determined, and brave Autobot, just like his caretakers.

Wheeljack

Allegiance: Autobot

Alt mode: 2015 Chevrolet Silverado

Occupation: Autobot Science Division, Chief Engineer

Likes: Science, inventing, researching, stunt driving (he doesn’t do it much anymore, though), lab work, reading scientific reports, explaining things he’s invented or fixed, explosions

Dislikes: Listening to his body when it tells him to take breaks, not knowing about a subject, distractions from his work, long fights

Wheeljack is one of Cybertron’s greatest scientific minds. He’s a brilliant, eccentric engineer and a good-natured bot who others like to be around. He can easily become engrossed in his work, and has little regard for his own personal safety, as he frequently patches himself up and regularly visits the medbay after his daily experiment blows up in his face. He often looks out for the youngsters around him, and ends up fostering a strong paternal affection towards his human ally Sadie. While he’s not on the front lines as much as he once was, he’s still quite a capable fighter and a force to be reckoned with.

Ratchet

Allegiance: Autobot

Alt mode: MXP-170 ambulance

Occupation: Chief Medical Officer

Likes: Peace and quiet, napping, organizing his equipment, Engex, bossing people around

Dislikes: People or bots who annoy him, his equipment being disorganized, comments about his age (unless he makes them), hotshot young bots (except for Bee), busy cities

One of Iacon’s best and most dedicated medical professionals, Ratchet is an elderly, cranky old medic who’s constantly trying to keep his fellow Autobots out of trouble. He’s no stranger to wartime, as he's a veteran of the Quintesson War that took place before the majority of his comrades were even protoformed. Having raised both Optimus and Wheeljack, they’re two of the only bots who know that, despite his prickly exterior, Ratchet is actually quite a softie deep down. Still, Ratchet has a nasty temper, and he often doesn’t work well with others, preferring to do things “his way”. When the situation is dire enough, however, he’ll accept help from those around him. Occasionally, he’ll be relaxed enough to lightheartedly joke around with those he’s closest with, but overall he’s a tough, no-nonsense, hard working old bot.

[apnashowrooms]

Bring prosperity and spiritual energy into your life with the Apna Showroom 24k Gold Plated Shri Kuber Yantra. Ideal for homes, offices, businesses, and puja ghars, this medium-sized 13x13cm yantra symbolizes wealth and abundance. Crafted with precision and plated in pure 24k gold, it not only enhances financial stability but also purifies your environment. Place it in your sacred space to invite Lord Kuber’s blessings for success, peace, and continuous growth in all aspects of life.

[starsandsuch]

Your 4th House Sign And Your Ideal Living Environment 🏡

Aries 4H: living somewhere that is a good launchpad for you to do other things. Only being home for short amounts of time. A place where you can be physically active: home gym, treadmill etc. A place with a good kitchen that’s well equipped: gas oven, microwave, toaster oven, etc.

Taurus 4H: living in a place that is luxurious and comfortable. A home or apartment with amenities. A home that is well built and sturdy, it has good structural integrity. Living in a area surrounded by nature, trees, flowers. Somewhere that is relaxing. Living in countryside or suburbs. Living on a farm.

Gemini 4H: living somewhere with multiples: multiple bathrooms, bedrooms, mirrors etc. somewhere where you can participate in hobbies at home. Having a garden, game room, community room etc. living with a friend or sibling. A place with good WiFi. Living in walkable city, you live walking distance to supermarket etc.

Cancer 4H: living somewhere that is peaceful and serene. Living in a comfortable environment. It is a pleasant sensory experience: quiet, gets great sunlight, prefect size etc. A place with good amount of privacy and security. Living Oceanside, near water or the beach. Living traditionally in a suburb or archetypal home. Living with family.

Leo 4H: living in a place that is like a castle. High rise apartment condo, house in the hills. A home fit for royalty. Living in a gated community. Living in proximity to celebrities. Living like royalty: having house staff. Living in an environment that looks glamorous.

Virgo 4H: living somewhere modern and clean. Everything is new, updated and functioning well. Somewhere efficient, and well organized. Properity is well taken care of. Living somewhere that is easy to keep clean: hardwood floors, marble surfaces. House is pristine and untouched.

Libra 4H: living somewhere peaceful and aesthetically pleasing. A place with good architecture, a home that is artistic in someway. It’s neutral overall: not to big or too small. It is close to city but not to far either. Prefers to live with spouse.

Scorpio 4H: living somewhere that offers privacy and protection. Living somewhere secretive that’s not accessible to public. Private gated community, hidden hills etc. Having security codes, access codes, doorman, front desk person etc. Home that has powerful spiritual energy.

Sagittarius 4H: living in and environment that is flexible. Like a studio. Living abroad or internationally. Living amongst foreigners and immigrants. Living somewhere that gives you freedom: having a month to month lease, renting short term etc. Living in a diverse major city. Metropolitan environment. Living in a big house with alot of space.

Capricorn 4H: living somewhere that is well structured. Building that is antiquated or prestigious. Home looks like office, you have your office in your house. Living in a traditional home or apartment, nothing too unique or out of ordinary. Living near the state capital or government buildings.

Aquarius 4H: living somewhere that is good for environment. Eco conscious living. Living with friends/ having communal living space. Prefers not to live completely alone but having friends, roommates or house staff. Having unique quirks in home, like gadgets, speaker system, solar panels etc. living environment is out of the ordinary for some reason.

Pisces 4H: living somewhere that is like a sanctuary. Home has powerful spiritual energy: good numerology, energetically cleansed etc. home is in isolated place. Living in home where you feel disconnected from world around you. Home seems haunted, spooky or abandoned. Living near the beach or bodies of water. Living in foreign lands. Living somewhere that’s hard to find.

[astroxrion]

Your 4th House l Best Home Environment for you.

————

Aries 4th House

You thrive in an environment that feels dynamic, adventurous, and full of action. Think home gyms, open spaces, or a place that invites spontaneity. Keep it bold and fast-paced—no dull moments allowed! Your personal space needs a fire to keep burning.

Taurus 4th House

You love a cozy, peaceful haven filled with comfort and beauty. Think earthy tones, soft textures, and a garden or space to unwind. Your ideal environment is all about sensory luxury—fabrics you can feel, scents you can savor, and relaxation everywhere.

Gemini 4th House

Your ideal space is a constantly evolving wonderland. You need an environment that invites curiosity and stimulates your mind, like an ever-changing home office, a library, or a place full of conversation starters. Keep it lively, with a touch of chaos.

Cancer 4th House

Your perfect environment is warm, nurturing, and deeply sentimental—think cozy corners, soft lighting, and family heirlooms. A space filled with love and personal memories makes you feel at home. It’s all about deep emotional connections and creating a sanctuary of care.

Leo 4th House

You want your home to feel like a grand stage! Make it dramatic with vibrant colors, royal touches, and a space that screams confidence. A place to entertain, shine, and leave a lasting impression—your home should radiate your regal energy.

Virgo 4th House

You crave a neat, functional space with a touch of practicality. Clean lines, organized spaces, and a place to work (or clean) in peace! Your environment should be efficient and peaceful, with an eye for small, thoughtful details that make life run smoothly.

Libra 4th House

You need a space that’s aesthetically pleasing and balanced. Your home should be a blend of elegance and harmony—soft colors, beautiful artwork, and cozy corners for gathering. Think peaceful, beautiful spaces that invite connection and keep things refined.

Scorpio 4th House

Your ideal environment is intense, private, and transformative. A space that feels mysterious, perhaps with dark hues, deep textures, and hidden corners for reflection. You love a space that helps you recharge emotionally and dive into your inner world.

Sagittarius 4th House

You need a place that’s expansive, adventurous, and full of inspiration. Think a cozy yet open environment, perhaps with travel mementos, books, and room to roam. Your home should give you the freedom to explore both physically and mentally.

Capricorn 4th House

You seek a home that’s structured, timeless, and full of tradition. Think solid foundations, sturdy furniture, and a place to work or build. Your ideal environment reflects ambition, with space to plan and a quiet spot to reflect on long-term goals.

Aquarius 4th House

Your perfect environment is innovative, unconventional, and open-minded. Think minimalist but futuristic—maybe even a bit quirky. Your home should have a unique flair, filled with eccentric decor or tech that makes life easier. You need your space to feel boundary-pushing.

Pisces 4th House

You thrive in a dreamy, artistic, and calming environment. Think soft, flowing curtains, a cozy reading nook, and a splash of spiritual energy. Your ideal space is tranquil and reflective, where you can escape from the world and get lost in creativity.

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Hiiii!!!! I just finished watching black clover and found your account and have been binging all your fics the whole day!! You're so good at writing o ma gawd.

If it's not too much trouble could I please request for a fic (maybe make it a lil long?🥺) where Fuegoleon and y/n are in an arranged marriage situation with eachother and she's really pretty and they have a big age gap like she's like 6 years younger than him?

She's like his complete opposite- he's a soldier she's not, he liked exercise she likes sitting in a corner of the home library- but they still find themselves attracted to eachother?

I know it's a hyper specific ask so if you don't feel comfortable doing it then that's totally okay too!! But I would appreciate it if you let me know if you're not doing it😁

Hiya~!

I'm glad to hear that you've been on a binge! And that you're enjoying the show ^^

I made this to be a kind of a first meeting thing. And I don't think 6 years is that big of an age gap. Like sure, if you're in your early 20s it might seem so, but once you're in your 30s it's nothing. Speaking as something with an irl 5 year age difference with their spouse ANYWHO, I hope you like this ^^

Pairing: Fuegoleon x f!reader Genre: general/fluff Fanfic type: Oneshot Length: ~0.9k Contains: an arranged marriage prompt, 6 year age difference, reader is an educated woman who isn't the fighting type, office first meeting, smiles and careful tender feelings

What am I doing here? Or. Well. I know perfectly well what I’m doing here. I’m here to meet the man I’m, some day, going to marry. And that day will come rather soon. Far too soon for my liking. Because… while I… Perhaps it’s just a foolish wish of a woman who reads far too many books, I would have liked to marry someone I love, rather than be married off. Though my father deems me of fitting age to marry. 24. I don’t think it’s old, but he deems otherwise. If nothing else, he could have chosen a man who’s closer to my own age. Or at the very least, someone with whom I’d have something in common. Damned hells, I don’t mind having someone who is older than myself, as the men of my own age are nothing but silly boys. Much too juvenile. While older ones tend to have a head on their shoulders. And 5-6 years in age difference… It’s not too bad. In 2 years he’ll be 32 and I’ll be 26. And the further along we go, it’ll just become less significant. Something about women growing up sooner than men. I think that’s where this is going. So… if only we had something in common. But what in common would I have with a soldier? I don’t fight. I don’t do reports. I just… read the news and … enjoy my books. A quiet life. A peaceful life. Yeah, I think ‘peaceful’ is a better word for it. So… this man, who I’m about to meet… I wonder… I wonder what he’ll be like. Someone rugged and battered by battle and life? Someone broken? Jagged? Filled with sharp edges? Someone unruly? Only a few more moments… a few steps… And I’ll have… an idea on how happy, or unhappy, I’ll become…

The doors opened into a study. A room filled with bookshelves. A carpet. And a fireplace in the corner.

A cozy little room.

A room where… you didn’t mind spending some time in.

“Good day, miss,” a voice welcomed you in.

And as you turned your gaze, there was a man with auburn hair and a stern gaze. But still, he didn’t seem… unruly or rugged. Strong perhaps, but… not downright uninviting.

“Please forgive me for choosing this place for our first meeting,” he told you. “But I… hoped to meet you first, in private, rather than accompany you out. And while a living room might have been better suited, I… thought them to be cold and … distant,” he seemed unsure of the last word. “I understand you enjoy reading,” he gestured around the room. “Hence, I chose a place where I hoped you might feel… a little more at ease.”

Thoughts.

Being courteous.

He was already thinking about what might make you feel better.

“I understand that… a marriage of convenience isn’t… ideal-“

“Is it not?” You had to ask. Because for most nobility arranged marriages were preferable, actually, as they functioned as business deals. Less complicated than emotions. And as such, it could be run like a business.

More structured.

That’s why hoping to get married out of love, was unorthodox.

“I…” he uttered. “I can’t…” he stumbled. And cleared his throat. “If I may be as frank, my lady, I always thought to marry for love,” he admitted. “But fate hasn’t been as kind.”

A surprised expression rose to you face, as that wasn’t what you had expected. To hear such a personal admission so soon. And him to be quite so honest with his feelings.

But… his honesty would be something you could trust.

“I understand,” you admitted back. “I share your sentiment,” you continued as your gaze averted.

A flash of surprise passed through him.

“Quite frankly I… I intended to treat this like a business deal,” you continued.

“’Intended’?” He repeated.

Which made you pause for a moment.

“I… suppose so,” you admitted with a slight laugh. “But for now, I… can’t say that I’d mind getting to know you.”

“Oh?” There was a hint of amusement in his curious utterance.

“I… Well,” it came out as an exhale. “You have tried to cater to my preferences,” this time it was you who gestured around the room. “From the little you’ve been told. Which tells me that you’re … an attentive man. And a courteous man. Which reflects the… the um… feel of the situation,” you tried to best describe it. “And you’re being honest with me,” you could feel your heart beating. “If you were in this with… anything less than genuine intent of getting to know me, you wouldn’t have admitted preferring to marry for love.”

His chin lowered a little, but he was smiling. He seemed amused by the situation.

“My lady,” he uttered while gesturing towards the chairs in the room. “I think we’ll have a very pleasant discussion, if only you’d entertain it.”

“I don’t see why not,” this time there was an amused smile on your face.

Because… it had only been a few minutes into the meeting, but… you were already getting along.

Yes. It was very likely that you’d have a very pleasant discussion.

[eleadore]

rec list: hannibal/will <5k

none of my recs contain mcd or unhappy endings. everything else is fair game & may not be tagged for.

all our treasures together by fatal_drum (t, 1.2k) breathplay, poetry, post-fall

After the fall, Hannibal and Will share an uneasy truce. Hannibal discovers that Will is still able to surprise him. Inspired by Pablo Neruda's "Ode to Broken Things."

bury your love by lovetincture (nc-17, 1.4k) rough sex, knifeplay, s03e02

That scene in the catacombs beneath the Norman Chapel could have ended much differently. They bring out the worst in each other.

do it and do it again by tei (nc-17, 1.5k) ♥️

There are fewer than twenty questions on this list.

didymus by borevidal (m, 1.9k) seduction, s2

“If I don’t put a stop to this, you’re going to blow me,” Will says. “What response does that possibility evoke?” Hannibal asks. 

whiskey verite by moistdrippings (m, 1.9k) ♥️ first time, drinking, s01e01

Post-Œuf, Will drinks whiskey and turns his analytical and empathetic eye on Dr. Lecter to get his mind off murder.

altruism by tei (m, 2.3k) spanking, fluff, post-fall

Will isn't great at sleeping.

hand in unlovable hand by coloredink (m, 2.4k) codependency, post-fall

Hannibal put his hand over Will's and held it closer to his chest. They had woken up like this more than once. "Do you wish I'd die?" he asked. "It would make your life easier."

songs of experience by borevidal (nc-17, 2.7k) morning after, s2

“Does it trouble you?” Hannibal asks. “That we have been intimate.” “Things were intimate before,” Will says, wry twist of the mouth. “What changed last night, Hannibal, is that we had sex.” “I would consider that a form of intimacy,” Hannibal says. “Wouldn’t you?”

the theatre of death by jimsnose (m, 2.7k) voyeurism, s3

Hannibal and Will put on a play for the Dragon.

home by beatricenius (nc-17, 3.2k) first time, praise kink, post-fall

Will takes a step back and gestures to the bed. “Show me.” “What do you want me to show you?” “How I’d fuck you. How you imagined it.” About idealism and fantasies and first times.

it's only a bargain if you want it by lovetincture (nc-17, 3.2k) getting together, post-fall

Needing someone isn’t the same as loving them, and loving someone isn’t the same as liking them. Will and Hannibal love each other with a dozen small cruelties, stumbling their way toward something approaching peace.

amourette by petronia (nc-17, 3.5k) getting together, s2

"I don't understand," Will said, "how a Yogi ended up in this way. You'd think the enlightened wouldn't be rude."

share your mouthful by bettyboopz (nc-17, 3.5k) fluff and choking, post-fall

He's about to wax poetic about love and loss when his head is slammed into the wall.

variations on a theme by fatal_drum (nc-17, 3.5k) ♥️ hallucinations, dub/non-con, post-fall

Will falls, over and over. A great deal happens before he wakes up. "We have lingered in the chambers of the sea / By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown / Till human voices wake us, and we drown."

mise en place by thehoyden (nc-17, 3.7k) a/b/o, s1

Pre-heat left him short-tempered and irritable, even worse than usual, but Hannibal had lingered in his office doorway and said, “Come along, Will. No reason to grade on an empty stomach.”

hesperides series by petronia (nc-17, 3.7k) ♥️ s2, post-fall

According to Strabo, the garden of the Hesperides is located in Tartessos, on the south coast of Andalusia.

sugar fuel by northern (t, 3.7k) ♥️ first time, drugging, post-fall

Hannibal doesn't actually notice until several minutes into their main course. They're at the dining table as usual in the evening, working their way through a very enjoyable Blanquette de veaux when Hannibal looks up to see Will staring at him, a little too intently.

release by emungere (nc-17, 3.8k) ♥️ getting together, prostate massage, s1

“It’s certainly unwise on a number of levels.” Hannibal pressed a kiss to the crown of Will’s head. He sounded detached, as if he were speaking of someone else’s foolish choices. “But I cannot bring myself either to care or to stop.”

little fish, big fish, swimming in the water by anon (nc-17, 3.8k) first time, unconventional therapy, s1

What happens when Hannibal is finally presented with the perfect opportunity.

your ex by murdertrout (t, 3.8k) ♥️ crack, fluff, s3

We usually assume that Will clammed up about his past when he was with Molly. But what if actually Will tells Molly way, way, way too much about his relationship with Hannibal? Or, the one where Will starts talking about his “ex" and doesn't stop.

chupada by canis_m (nc-17, 3.9k) roleplay, post-fall

Hannibal and Will play doctor. It's not all fun and games. Only partly.

subject to negotiation by murdertrout (nc-17, 4k) first time, sexuality, post-fall

Will shrugs. “I’ve never kissed a man before.” Hannibal watches him lick his lips; it manages to be nervous and suggestive at the same time. “I never wanted to.” “Do you want to kiss me?” Hannibal asks, careful. “The way I -- feel about you isn’t,” Will says, his eyes flicker away, Hannibal knows why he was waiting to do this in the dark, “the way I feel about anything else.”

cacciatore by hollycrowned (m, 4.6k) established relationship, jealousy, post-fall

The view of Florence stretched beyond buildings to mountains that faded blue, seeming to evaporate into the sky. From elsewhere in the garden, a chorus of strings sang an aria. Will gulped his wine and tried to imagine the shallow valley before them empty of anything but the Arno. “I can see why you love it.” “You don’t love it yourself.” “I suppose any love I have for it exists in me because you love it,” Will dared.

the devil behind me by jimsnose (nc-17, 4.8k) ♥️ dub-con, manipulation, s2

“The priest hurt you.” Will nods. “He would find me after the sermon and take me to the narthex where no one could see. Then he would stand behind me and pretend to be the devil.” “Pretend to be the devil? How?” The wind picks up speed enough to rattle the windows in their frames; combined with the incessant spitting of ice, it sounds like the house is on fire. Will takes another sip of wine. “I could show you.” He smiles coyly. “If you like.”

[simhausstudios]

3 New Builds… & 2 400 Member Gift Builds! 💕

About 20 Culpepper Apartment -

The 20 Culpepper Apartment, as depicted in the image, is a well-structured, spacious unit featuring a layout that includes multiple rooms with a mix of wood-style and tiled flooring. The apartment boasts several large windows for ample natural light, and a distinct entry area connected to an open kitchen and dining space. The central hallway connects to what appears to be bedrooms, a living area, and a bathroom. A standout feature is the bay window section in the lower-left corner, likely designed for a living or sitting area, adding character and architectural interest to the space. The layout suggests a blend of functionality and style, ideal for comfortable parisian living.

About 18 Culpepper Apartment -

The 18 Culpepper Apartment features a compact yet efficient layout with a warm-toned wooden floor throughout most rooms, giving it a cozy atmosphere. The unit includes a charming bay-windowed living area that offers street views and abundant natural light. A central hallway connects to multiple rooms, including a modern U-shaped kitchen with light tile flooring for contrast. The apartment also contains a neatly designed bathroom and two additional rooms that can serve as bedrooms or office spaces. The smart division of space and classic interior styling make it ideal for a comfortable old money lifestyle.

How to Place These Apartments:

• To turn the apartment into a whole apartment, the gaps by doors need to be complete (I had to knock down walls to save the lots as rooms)

• There's a way to turn the apartment layout incase it doesn't match up (I don't remember what keybind it is)

About Riverside Retreat -

Nestled in the heart of Granite Falls, Riverside Retreat is a charming woodland getaway perfect for those seeking tranquility and comfort. This cozy cabin-style home features warm wood siding, a welcoming front porch, and lush greenery that blends seamlessly with the surrounding forest. With multiple entryways, elegant French doors, and outdoor seating, it’s an ideal spot for relaxing mornings or evening gatherings. Whether you’re planning a romantic escape or a peaceful solo retreat, Riverside Retreat offers the perfect mix of rustic charm and modern comfort.

Lot Details:

• Size: 30x20

• Price: 59,290 Simoleons

• Lot Type: Vacation Rental

There are different ways you can use this lot for, or leaving it as a vacation rental. You can also make it a residential or use Little Miss Sam's Holiday Home Standalone Mod (Requires XML Injector & Basemental Universal Venue List to use as a holiday home.

Riverside Retreat

18 & 20 Culpepper Apartments