#face clean up price in parlour

[quillandink333]

The Other’s Choice • pt. 3

Credit to @winterxisxcomingx for the beautiful banner ♡︎

SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL ~ Read ahead at your own risk!

Faced with the harsh reality of Heaven's steadfast opposition, the angel of joy is forced to make a drastic decision with gruesome consequences, but luckily she isn't alone for long.

WARNINGS: Abrahamic imagery (obviously), pseudocest, body dysphoria, malnourishment

Part I • Part II • Part III

Emily was alone in Lucifer’s guest suite when, for the first time in over three weeks, she stood up out of bed by herself. Her transformation was finally over with. Her eyes were now a sickly yellow with bright red irises, her teeth were like arrowheads, her fingertips looked as if they’d been burned like charcoal, and her interior feathers looked as if they’d been soaked in the blood of sinners. At least she’d managed to figure out how to conceal her new horns and tail with her host’s gracious guidance. All she wanted was to feel like herself again.

Her pristine royal gown, the one she’d been wearing on the day of her fall, loomed above her, hung from the top of the tall closet door opposite her bed. There it had been since that day, looking down on her. She used her wings to reach it.

When she had it back on, she wandered over to the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. It was the first time she’d lain eyes upon her reflection since she’d run away from home. But instead of finding satisfaction in the mere glimpse of familiarity, she tensed. She looked like Sera. The resemblance made her cheeks flare with anger and her stomach clench with bitterness. She let out a cry as she seized the length of her skirt with both hands, claws out, and tore it clean off.

But when she opened her eyes, they went wide with horror. Her cursed horns and tail were out on full display, and she knew that getting them to go away again would take hours if not the whole rest of the day due to her inexperience. What frightened her most, however, was seeing what she’d done to her once favourite dress. The skirt was now so short that, with the slight upward angle of the standing mirror, it put her unmentionables in full view.

She turned her back to the mirror and changed into the pair of Charlie’s old pyjamas she’d been given as fast as she physically could with a clumsy snap of her fingers. Then her gaze fell to the dress, watching it fall into a heap of fabric with the rest she’d ripped off. Her wings dragged behind her as she picked it up. Perhaps something could be done yet to salvage it.

Word Count: 3k

That afternoon, Lucifer was lounging in the parlour connected to her suite. Charlie had needed him at the hotel in the morning to discuss certain matters regarding the new building. Otherwise he’d have spent the whole day here right where Emily could find him, just in case she needed something. He’d gotten her a new phone to contact him with, but even so, the thought of leaving her alone in this strange and enormous castle left a bad taste in his mouth.

“Lu…cifer, S-Sir?”

He twisted around at the sound of her timid voice coming from the doorway to her room. “Yes, Em?”

She froze in place, her eyes darting around and her arms tucked mysteriously behind her back. Cocking his head at her, he gave her a warm, hopefully inviting look and gestured for her to come join him in the parlour, which she did, her tiny feet shuffling across the rug as she plopped herself on the chaise kitty-corner to him.

“What’s up, buttercup?” he smiled, encouraging her to speak her mind.

She couldn’t help but smile back at the nickname. “Well, uh…I have good news and bad news. Let’s just get the bad news out of the way first.”

He nodded attentively. “I’m all ears.”

“You know that dress I was wearing when I fell?” He gave another nod. “Yeah, so…about that…” How could she even begin to explain what had happened to it? “Well, let’s just say that…I let my emotions get the better of me, and it paid the price.”

“Oh dear. What happened?”

She forced a laugh. “I tore three quarters of the skirt off.”

“What?!” He made her flinch; she wasn’t expecting such an impassioned reaction from him. “But you loved that dress! What—”

“I know, it’s okay!” she cut him off before he could ask what in the seven rings had possessed her to do such a thing. “Don’t worry, okay? The good news is I fixed it. Sort of.” She then brought her hands out from behind her back and let said dress unfold in front of her. It had been magically reimagined to the point where it was all but unrecognisable. The skirt now fell to just above her knees, replaced with all new, crimson fabric. The bodice had stayed the same, except the eight-pointed symbol in the centre had changed colour to match the skirt, and the sleeves were gone completely. “Actually I kinda wanted to try making it better than before, in a way. What do you think?”

Lucifer took his time admiring her handiwork, pulling an impressed pout and making her giggle. “Not bad! Not bad at all,” he praised, standing up to run his fingers along each hem. “To be frank, I never cared much for the traditional Heavenly style so to speak, so this certainly is an improvement if you ask me.”

She lowered her head to hide her embarrassed grin. “Thanks, I’m glad.”

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense. Let me see it on you!”

This made Emily’s expression go blank as she realised she’d failed to think this far ahead.

“What’s wrong?” He raised an eyebrow. “It suits you perfectly, you know. Aren’t you proud of how it turned out?”

“I guess, but…” She turned her head in an attempt to lower her gaze.

At this, he frowned and thwarted her attempt by reaching out and tilting her chin back towards him. “But…?”

She sighed in defeat. “It’s just…I didn’t mean to tear off as much as I did. Or, well, I did, but when I tried it on again even after adding a couple inches to it, I still felt…exposed.” The word that came to mind initially was, ‘indecent,’ but in her head she knew modesty wasn’t worth much down here. “Maybe I’m just not used to showing so much yet.”

“Mh, that could be. I remember feeling like that,” he said, resting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s only natural for us fallen folk, when you think about it. I mean, we were brought into the world being told that our very bodies were something to be ashamed of and hidden, which—I’m gonna say it—is fucking ludicrous.” Though his language caught her off balance, she couldn’t disagree. “But hey, it’s absolutely okay if you need a little more time before you’re ready to start showing more skin. Not that you ever have to! It is your body, after all.”

She would’ve been lying if she said she didn’t feel any pressure at all to dress one way or the other, but the affirmations he offered did help to relieve some of it. Before she could help herself, images of gathered jacquard and pooling chiffon were already cycling through her mind, taking on a myriad of shapes and silhouettes.

“Lucifer…would you mind helping me with something?” she awkwardly asked. “My conjuring skills are nowhere near yours and…well, I’m gonna need some materials and tools and stuff if you don’t mind.”

“Of course, absolutely!” He stood up and held his cane at the ready. “As I’ve mentioned, my power is limitless for all intents and purposes, so don’t be afraid to ask for whatever anytime.”

She smiled to herself, having long since lost count of how many times he’d made her do that, flattered by his eager (albeit quite boastful) generosity. “Thank you. Let’s see, first I’ll need a dress form—” No later than the final syllable had passed her lips did the very object of her request appear next to her just inches away. “Oh—perfect! What else…? Measuring tape for sure, fabric scissors, a bolt of muslin, probably some tailor’s chalk, and a well-stocked pincushion should do it for now.” Each item appeared on the nearby coffee table as she listed them one by one. To her delight, the pincushion he conjured up was shaped like a little toy ducky, which she couldn’t help but adore.

“I’d be happy to help you practice your conjuring some time, if you’d like,” he offered offhandedly as she got to work draping pieces of the muslin here and there upon the dress form. “Seeing as you’re a seraph like myself, you must have a similar amount of potential, wouldn’t you think?”

“Really?” She beamed, though she didn’t look away from what she was doing. “Yes, please, that would be so helpful. I could only manage to make one pin at a time when I was doing the alterations on that,” she tilted her head toward the dress with the shortened skirt where it lay on the sofa, “and it took for-ever, oh my gosh, it was so-o-o tedious.”

“I can imagine,” he sniggered, unable to take his eyes off of her as she danced around the mannequin. “Still, I’m impressed you were able to do that much at your current skill level. Hopefully this will go a bit quicker with my help,” he added, despite not having the first idea what ‘this’ was that she’d suddenly gotten so swept up in. He didn’t even feel the need to ask, content to simply observe her in her state of hyper-focused diligence. She kept draping and pinning, tracing and cutting, as if she’d been doing this since the day she was born. The parlour fell into a comfortable silence except for when she needed him to provide something for her, like a different kind of fabric or some spare bobbins or a new spool of thread. She kept expressing her worries that all this magic was supposedly taking some kind of toll on him, but each time he’d reassure her and wave it off, saying he was more than happy to assist and that it cost him nothing whatsoever. Anything to keep him from decomposing alone in a prison of his own design, as had been the usual until the little angel had tumbled into his life.

Minutes soon accumulated into hours, and before either of them noticed, it was already past supper time. In fact, what finally alerted them both to the hour was a loud and unexpected growl from her stomach, causing her to blush. “Let me just try it on and make some final adjustments really quick,” she excused herself before carrying her armful of lovingly tailored textiles off to her room.

“Alright, take your time!” he called after her, keeping his amusement under wraps. “I’ll have dinner ready for us by the time you’re done!”

For someone with his magical ability, meal prep was something that could be finished with a snap of one’s finger. Despite this, Lucifer had grown rather fond of the muggle’s cooking process. Not only did he enjoy the artistry of concocting new and exciting (though not always pleasant) flavours, but he found it was a great way to kill time. Time that he had far too much of.

Once the stuffed pheasant was in the oven, he returned to the parlour just in time to see Emily emerge from her room in the most breathtaking attire he’d ever lain eyes on.

His eyes started at the cornflower-coloured bodice with its surprisingly striking halter neckline. The sheer sleeves were long and off the shoulders, beginning in a dainty lantern shape before ballooning down to her wrists. And then the skirt—oh, the skirt! It was mostly made of the same fabric as the bodice, but a broad band of beautiful royal-blue damask took up about the lowermost fifth of its length. And that wasn’t even the best part. Though the hem touched the floor, the front of it was suspended with two symmetrically placed silk bows (much like the oversized one hanging from her collar and lying quaintly across her chest) to right around her mid-thigh, the elegant drapes revealing a glimpse of her blackened but still lovely legs.

“Wowwie…” he mumbled under his breath as he took a few strides toward her, almost in a trance.

“Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes!” he gushed, having been so wrapped up in his admiration that he nearly forgot to say something. “It’s gorgeous, you look like a queen.” This comment brought out a bright glow in her cheeks, and as he connected the dots as to why, his face flushed as well. He cleared his throat. “But, uhm, d-do you? Like it, I mean?”

“Wait, you’re asking me if I like what I made?” she questioned, drawing an endeared sigh out of him. It seemed taking pride in anything she did was a foreign concept to the poor girl. “Well…” He waved his cane and conjured a mirror in front of her before she could express her indifference.

“It really suits you, you know,” he noted matter-of-factly. “Are you any more comfortable wearing this than the one you altered?”

She decided to humour him and beheld her reflection from multiple angles with as open a mind as she could have. “I think so,” she admitted, a sheepish smile teasing at the corners of her lips. “I was going for something less revealing than that one is now, but still a little bit more revealing than it was originally.”

As she stood there, taking in her appearance, she didn’t feel anything like the overwhelming shame and self-loathing that had come over her early that morning. She felt like a completely new, and dared she think improved, version of herself. She smiled at her, and she smiled back.

“Emily, dear, don’t you realise what you’re doing?” He came up behind her, their eyes meeting through the mirror as he positioned his hands on her exposed shoulders. She tilted her head. “You love this! Look at you, look at how long you spent on this today all in one sitting; it’s obvious how much you’ve been enjoying yourself,” he chuckled fondly. “I mean, not that I haven’t been…y’know…but anyway, it looks to me like you’ve found yourself a pretty great hobby.”

Emily didn’t know what to say. She was unsure how to even interpret his words, let alone how to respond.

“This is exactly what I wanted for you,” he emphasised, turning her around to face him. “You have no idea—if I hadn’t had my ducks to keep me busy, I’d have lost it ages ago. This is gonna be so, so good for you. For us, now that we have each other! Oh, Em…” While she was still processing his swell of emotion, he threw his arms around her and pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace, making her stumble forward.

The way the hug went on and on, she could feel how truly happy he was to behold her frivolous little creation. He was like a fountain of pure joy. No one, not even Sera, had ever reacted so strongly to her engaging in her own self-centred interests before. She couldn’t make sense of it. This was the first time she’d ever felt so seen, so appreciated, so individual. The feeling was so sweet and so profound, so much warmer and brighter than any sunlight that had ever touched her face in Heaven, it frightened her. Something about his relentlessly doting attention felt wrong. Misplaced, even. But despite this, her own arms wrapped around him in return with a will of their own. Great—now she could hardly bear to let go.

“So, after we’ve eaten, how ’bout finally making your grand entrance at the hotel in your stunning new getup?” he grinned, looking her up an down without letting go of her shoulders. “I think you’re about ready to introduce yourself to everyone, don’t you?”

Somehow that question was all it took for the floodgates to come crashing open. Ironically she couldn’t seem to identify her own emotions, nor could she even tell if what she was feeling was good or bad. Was it fear? Or beauty? Relief, maybe? Or grief? Whatever it was, the tears came, and they wouldn’t be subsiding any time soon.

Lucifer was panicking as he watched her suddenly crumble to pieces. “Wait, what’s wrong? Oh, oh dear.” He immediately gathered her into the shelter of his arms again, running an open hand from the crown of her head to the small of her back. “There, there, it’ll be alright. I got you. We don’t have to go to the hotel yet unless you’re sure you’re totally ready.”

“No, I-I am ready,” she sobbed, very much unready. “I just…” Her life was flashing before her eyes: another experience that was completely and utterly new to her. “I’m… I’m here,” she whimpered. “I’m not…up there anymore, a-and…I don’t even know who I am.”

All of a sudden, the devil felt himself being cast back ten thousand years, reliving the darkest moment of his torturous, never-ending life. He could never forget what it had been like to go from being blinded by celestial light glinting off blades of angelic steel to waking up broken and defiled in a wasteland of fire and brimstone as far as the eye could see. Seeing her blame herself for her so-called sins, it allowed a blazing inferno to come to life within the most forgotten depths of his soul.

No matter what the future held, he knew he couldn’t bear to let this pure, selfless spirit go through the same undue anguish he’d had to endure alone. He wouldn’t.

“C’mon, darling.” He kept an arm snugly around her waist while he began guiding her along toward the kitchen. “I’d venture a guess that you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast,” he sweetly chastised, drying her tears and gently encouraging her to meet his warm, protective gaze. “And hey, if parenthood has taught me anything, it’s that no one can face the world on an empty stomach,” he snorked—a successful attempt to get a smile out of her, albeit a broken one. “You’ll feel all the more ready to go meet the gang once your belly’s full, ’kay? Sound good?”

[buyumeacademy]

Best Men’s Salons in Gurgaon for a Stylish Makeover

Gurgaon, a bustling city known for its fast-paced life, is also a hotspot for fashion-forward men. Whether you're looking for a sharp haircut, beard grooming, or an entire makeover, finding the right salon can make all the difference. Men’s salons in Gurgaon offer top-notch services that cater to modern styling needs. To make things easier for you, we’ve rounded up the best men’s salons in Gurgaon for a stylish makeover.

1. Ali Hair Salon

Ali Hair Salon is a well-known name among men in Gurgaon. From trendy haircuts to precise beard trims, this salon has built its reputation for providing stylish and affordable services. The staff is experienced, ensuring that each client gets personalized attention and walks out with a fresh look.

If you're someone who enjoys experimenting with new hairstyles or grooming styles, Ali Hair Salon is perfect. They stay up-to-date with the latest trends, so whether you want a classic look or something more adventurous, the skilled stylists here have got you covered.

To make the booking process easier, Ali Hair Salon is available on Buyume Salon Finder, a platform where you can conveniently book appointments online.

2. Vishnu Hair Salon

For men who appreciate a no-fuss, quality haircut, Vishnu Hair Salon is a great option. It’s a small, local salon with a dedicated team that knows how to deliver excellent results. Whether it’s a quick trim or a detailed styling session, Vishnu Hair Salon is known for its friendly service and affordable prices.

Their barbers are skilled at giving haircuts that suit your personality, ensuring you leave the salon feeling confident. They also offer beard grooming and hair treatments, making it a one-stop shop for all your grooming needs.

You can book an appointment with Vishnu Hair Salon through Buyume Salon Finder and skip the waiting lines by securing your slot in advance.

3. Babita Beauty Parlour

While the name Babita Beauty Parlour might suggest it caters only to women, this salon is also a great choice for men’s grooming. Their team is skilled in providing haircuts, shaves, and other grooming services for men. The salon is known for its friendly staff, clean environment, and comfortable atmosphere.

Babita Beauty Parlour offers a variety of hair treatments for those dealing with dry or damaged hair. Their team ensures each client receives a style that complements their personality and preferences. Whether you're going for a formal look or something casual, you’ll find the right service here.

To enjoy the convenience of booking your session online, you can schedule an appointment with them through Buyume Salon Finder.

4. Men Zone Salon

When it comes to top salons in Gurgaon for men’s grooming, Men Zone Salon stands out. This salon is designed specifically for men, offering everything from haircuts to full grooming services like beard shaping, facials, and even body treatments. Men Zone Salon is the go-to spot for guys looking to revamp their look.

The stylists at Men Zone Salon are highly trained and focus on giving you a fresh, modern style. Whether you're looking to maintain your current hairstyle or try something new, their experts are ready to help. Plus, their grooming packages are tailored to suit men’s specific needs, including skin care and beard care.

You can avoid the hassle of waiting in line by booking your grooming session online via Buyume Salon Finder.

5. Hilton Hair Cutting Salon

Hilton Hair Cutting Salon is known for its professional services and attention to detail. It’s a favorite among men who seek a neat, stylish look without breaking the bank. The barbers at Hilton Hair Cutting Salon are well-trained in delivering cuts that not only follow the latest trends but also suit your face shape and lifestyle.

In addition to haircuts, Hilton offers beard styling, coloring, and hair treatments. They use high-quality products to ensure the best results, making it a trusted name among locals. The welcoming atmosphere and efficient service have made Hilton a go-to salon for many men in Gurgaon.

And just like the other top salons, you can book your appointment at Hilton Hair Cutting Salon through Buyume Salon Finder to ensure your spot is secured.

Why Use Buyume Salon Finder?

If you're someone who values convenience and efficiency, Buyume Salon Finder is your new best friend. This online platform allows you to easily discover and book appointments at some of the best salons in Gurgaon. Whether you want a haircut, a beard trim, or a complete makeover, you can explore a variety of salons, check out their services, and book a time slot that fits your schedule.

The Buyume Salon Finder platform ensures you don’t have to waste time waiting in long queues or stressing about last-minute appointments. It’s as simple as selecting your preferred salon, choosing the service, and booking your slot. Plus, it helps salons grow their business by offering a seamless way for clients to connect with them.

Why Gurgaon is the Hub for Men’s Grooming

Gurgaon is rapidly becoming a city that blends business with fashion, and men’s grooming is no exception. With more and more men looking to maintain their appearance, the demand for high-quality salons in the city has soared. From young professionals to entrepreneurs, everyone wants to stay sharp, and these top salons in Gurgaon are making sure they meet those needs.

Whether you're preparing for a big meeting, a special event, or just want to treat yourself, having a reliable salon that understands men’s grooming can make all the difference. And with platforms like Buyume Salon Finder, it's never been easier to find and book your ideal salon in Gurgaon.

Conclusion

Gurgaon offers a wide variety of salons catering specifically to men who value style and grooming. From budget-friendly options like Ali Hair Salon and Vishnu Hair Salon to full-service grooming experiences at Men Zone Salon and Hilton Hair Cutting Salon, there’s something for everyone. With the help of Buyume Salon Finder, booking your next stylish makeover has never been easier.

Take the leap and explore these top salons in Gurgaon for your next stylish transformation. You’re just a click away from finding the perfect look!

[perfectmakeover]

Best Parlour in Yamunanagar – Perfect Makeover

When it comes to looking and feeling your best, finding the right beauty parlour is essential. If you are in Yamunanagar and searching for a place that offers top-quality beauty services, Perfect Makeover is the answer. Known as the best parlour in Yamunanagar, Perfect Makeover provides a wide range of beauty treatments that will leave you feeling refreshed and confident.

Why Perfect Makeover is the Best Parlour in Yamunanagar

Perfect Makeover has built a great reputation by offering professional beauty services at affordable prices. Whether you need a simple haircut or a complete makeover, the team at Perfect Makeover is dedicated to making sure you leave with a smile.

Here’s why Perfect Makeover stands out:

1. Skilled and Friendly Staff: The team at Perfect Makeover is made up of experienced professionals who are experts in their field. They are trained in the latest beauty techniques and use high-quality products to ensure the best results. Whether you’re visiting for a facial, hair treatment, or bridal makeup, you’ll be treated with care and professionalism.

Not only are the staff skilled, but they are also friendly and make you feel comfortable throughout your visit. They listen to your needs and offer personalized recommendations to ensure you get the perfect look.

2. Wide Range of Services: Perfect Makeover is truly the best parlour in Yamunanagar because of the wide variety of beauty services it offers. Here are some of the services you can enjoy:

Haircuts and Styling: Get a fresh haircut or a stylish hairdo for any occasion.

Facials: Pamper your skin with nourishing facials that leave your face glowing.

Manicures and Pedicures: Treat your hands and feet to a relaxing manicure and pedicure.

Bridal Makeup: Look stunning on your special day with bridal makeup that enhances your natural beauty.

Hair Coloring and Treatments: Transform your look with beautiful hair color and treatments that make your hair shiny and healthy.

Waxing and Threading: Enjoy smooth skin with expert waxing and threading services.

3. Clean and Comfortable Environment: erfect Makeover maintains a clean and hygienic environment for all its clients. Every tool and product is sanitized, and the parlour is designed to be a comfortable place where you can relax and enjoy your beauty treatment. This attention to cleanliness is one of the reasons why many people consider it the best parlour in Yamunanagar.

4. Affordable Prices: Beauty treatments don’t have to be expensive. At Perfect Makeover, you can enjoy high-quality services at prices that fit your budget. Whether you’re looking for a quick trim or a full makeover, the affordable rates make it easy for everyone to look and feel great.

5. Personalized Beauty Care: What sets Perfect Makeover apart from other beauty parlours is the personalized care you receive. The team takes time to understand your preferences and offers beauty solutions that suit your style. Whether you want a natural look or something bold and trendy, they’ll make sure you leave feeling happy with your new look.

6. Bridal and Special Occasion Services: erfect Makeover is known for its stunning bridal makeup services. If you’re preparing for your wedding day, this is the best parlour in Yamunanagar to visit. The makeup artists at Perfect Makeover are experienced in creating beautiful bridal looks that last throughout the day. Whether you want a traditional bridal look or something more modern, they’ll make sure you look perfect on your big day.

They also offer makeup and styling services for other special occasions like parties, photoshoots, and more. You can trust them to create a look that makes you feel beautiful and confident for any event.

Conclusion

Perfect Makeover truly lives up to its name as the best parlour in Yamunanagar. With skilled staff, a wide range of services, a clean and comfortable environment, and affordable prices, it’s the ideal place for all your beauty needs. Whether you’re looking for a simple haircut, a relaxing facial, or a complete makeover for a special event, Perfect Makeover will ensure you leave looking and feeling your best.

If you want to experience top-quality beauty services in Yamunanagar, visit Perfect Makeover today and enjoy the perfect transformation.

Visit here for more information: https://maps.app.goo.gl/bEu52pkjUZzbX67C6

[spray-tan-aus]

Get Professional Brazilian Waxing in Melbourne for Safe Hairless Private Parts

Trustable beauty salons offer various high quality beauty services such as waxing, eyelash and more at competitive prices.  These beauty clinics provide safe and standard quality Brazilian waxing in Melbourne for women.  These clinics hold that everybody can have flawless, gorgeous skin by waxing. They insist that you feel secure, start your skin care journey with these clinics, and get the best hair removal experience possible. These salons provide waxing for men and women with the advantages of smoother, more radiant skin.  They take great pride in their hygienic and secure salon, which they maintain daily as well as after each client visit. They never double dip, use premium brands of wax, and provide each client with a clean disposable spatula. They go above and above to maintain the highest standards of hygiene in their waxing areas.

These beauty parlours provide full body parts waxing in South Yarra for male as well as females.  They want you to feel comfortable in their salons and with their professional, qualified and thorough staff.  These clinics aim is for you to walk out of their salons feeling better and more comfortable in your own skin than when you walked in.  They provide waxing of face, legs, arms, torso and more body parts whey you want to remove hairs. These clinics ensure that their highly qualified beauticians are experts in hair removal and waxing is a secure, effective, and more lasting method to extract large volumes of hair.  Waxing can be done in one session or over several areas, such as the underarms, stomach, abdomen, back, legs.  They guarantee they only use top quality, thoroughly researched salon grade products suitable for all skin types.

Importance of Professional Brazilian Waxing in Melbourne:

Verified researches indicates that people should always wear a bikini and short underwear if they plan to be outside in the sun. To do this, they have to wax their pubic hair. For this reason, Brazilian waxing is widely recognized among Melbourne's general population. This is a treatment that you may also perform at home. However, it is suggested that one should only attempt this extremely delicate method under the guidance of a professional. Workers with the requisite training to perform Brazilian waxing are employed by reputed beauty salons. Furthermore, because skin is so thin, an attempt at this procedure at home will run in to the risk of becoming lethal if done incorrectly.

To sum up, beauty salons offer various services such waxing, eyelash extension and more.   Someone wants to get waxed should visit a local beauty parlor.

Source

[shilparoy9955876]

PrettyU Experts are ready to provide you all the facial and skin care services with utmost comfort and relaxation at your own home.

[amorgansgal]

Summary:  You've just finished robbing a house in Saint Denis, when who should you bump into but our favourite outlaw? You plan on making your way home, but Mr Morgan wants to treat you first!

Warnings: Flirting, little bit of sexual tension, ice cream drippage, but mostly still fluff. Maybe more steamy fluff. 

Pairing(s): Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur Morgan x You, Arthur Morgan x Y/N Can be read on AO3 too.

It sometimes took you by surprise how easy it was to sneak into these parties and events. But then you knew from experience how easy it was to practically disappear into the wallpaper, when it came to these wealthy families and their never-ending calendar of social events. Saint Denis was no different. With a mop cap to hide your face, a plain grey skirt, clean blouse and the apron tucked around your waist, none of the rich party guests gave you a second look.

A couple of the servants threw odd looks your way, perhaps trying to figure out who you were and why they had never seen you before, but none of them questioned it. Even when you left the garden party, pockets loaded with valuables, your strong, quick pace meant no one questioned where you were going.

Finally, after getting away from the tall red brick building and it’s sprawling gardens, you removed the mop cap and untied the apron. You slipped both into your pockets and began the long walk back to your pony, Pepper.

The hot sun baked the street, but with the marshy swamp around the area it wasn’t a pleasant warmth. The air was humid and heavy, and you felt a trickle of sweat run down your back. You wished you had brought a fan with you, but there hadn’t been any room for it. You decided to cut through one of the city’s parks, so you could splash your face with the water from the fountain there.

The leafy, green trees in the park gave some much needed shade, and you approached the large, marble fountain at the centre with it’s gawkish looking fish spewing water from their mouths. A couple of people were dotted about the park, some sat on the edge of the fountain itself, a few on the benches. You got a few disapproving looks when you splashed the cold water on the back of your neck and then pressed your now cooler hands against your face.

Satisfied that you could at least make it across the city without getting too sweaty during the journey, you wiped your hands on your skirt and began to walk to the other side of the park. Around the pathways and stone wall that marked the outer edge of the public garden, a cluster of shops and businesses lined the street.

You briefly glanced at the tailors, debating whether you could afford a new dress, considering your current one was a little worse for wear. A pretty light blue, summer dress caught your attention in the window. It had three quarter length sleeves, with white lace around the neckline and waist, and tiny daisies dotted the amongst the blue fabric. You pursed your lips on seeing the price. Sure, it wasn’t made of silk, satin or velvet, so you could probably scrape together enough for it, but then doubtless in the weeks that followed it would only get crumpled and dirty.

You sighed and were about to turn around to continue your walk, when a voice behind you made you jump, ‘Would look good on yer.’

Arthur chuckled when he saw your expression change rapidly from one of surprise to fear then to annoyance.

‘You’ve got to stop doing that, Arthur!’ You muttered.

‘You’ve got to stop being so god damn jumpy all the time.’

‘I’ll have you know-’ and you quickly looked around, checking to make sure Arthur was the only one who could hear you. ‘I’ve just robbed a house, so yes, I’m a little jumpy.’

‘Whatcha get?’

You grinned, ‘None of your damn business.’

He smiled and rubbed a hand against his chin, ‘Aw, and there was me going to treat ya, but if you got a good enough prize, guess you can treat yourself.’

‘Treat me? What do you mean?’

‘Oh, yer still interested?’

You rolled your eyes, ‘Well if you’re just going to play games with me, Mr Morgan, I best be on my way. Pepper is waiting for me and he’d probably be better company.’

You moved away from the shop and began walking down the street, but Arthur still fell in step beside you, ‘Don’ know why you like that pony so much, he’s a stubborn, scruffy thing.’

You smiled and arched your eyebrows, ‘Guess you would know a lot about that, Arthur!’

Arthur tried to bite back his smile, and looked down at his boots, ‘I ain’t too scruffy.’

‘He’s a sweetheart really, deep down,’ You replied, then quickly glanced away, warmth rushing to your cheeks when you realised that you very much felt the same way about the man next to you.

After a short walk Arthur came to a sudden halt and gestured to a small shop tucked underneath an archway, ‘Anyway, we’re here now.’

‘Where?’ You asked, looking up at the sign over the business. La Glace Parlour. You frowned, unable to gather why you were here and what Arthur had in mind. He sighed, shook his head, then pressed a hand to the small of your back and guided you to a small sign they had in the window. Though the feeling of his warm palm against the thin material of your dress, meant your mind could barely focus on the words in front of you.

‘Ice cream, pastries and light refreshments,’ you finally read, hoping that Arthur could not feel the slight shake that ran through you as he pulled his hand away from your back. You looked up at him.

He seemed to give up on your cluelessness, and went to open the door, the quiet afternoon interrupted by the bright ring of the bell over the door. ‘You still want raspberry?’

‘Um… Raspberry ice cream?’

‘Sure.’

‘I guess, but wait-’

He didn’t and walked quickly into the shop, leaving you alone on the street and fiddling with the frayed material of your sleeve. He wasn’t long though, soon returning holding a cone topped with a reddish pink swirl of ice cream and offered it to you.

‘Oh, thank you, Arthur.’ You took the cone from him, and licked the edge of the ice cream to stop it dribbling down. You relished the sharp, zingy flavour of the raspberries and the contrast between the cold sweet treat and the warmth of the afternoon sun. You mm-ed softly and smiled at Arthur, who quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening a little.

He shrugged, ‘S’alright, saw it when I was last here, remembered what you said. Figured I’d invite you into town at some point, but as you were already here…’

‘You ain’t getting one?’ you asked.

‘Nah.’

‘Well, you should try some of mine then, it’s really good,’ you offered the cone to him.

‘Nah, that’s all yours.’

‘Feel kind of bad that you’re not having any.’ You took another lick, before glancing at the man beside you. ‘This isn’t just because you’re a big gruff outlaw who can’t have ice cream, is it?’

He choked out a laugh then. ‘What?’

‘Don’t want to ruin your fearsome reputation by enjoying something sweet!’

Arthur managed to force out a strained sounding laugh, then rubbed the back of his head and scratched under the brim of his hat. ‘No, I… no, that’s not… I can enjoy...’ he tailed off, suddenly staring at the road, as though the dust of Saint Denis and the passing coaches were the most interesting things in the world.

Perhaps it was seeing him as equally flustered and speechless, as you were normally, that left you feeling a little bolder. You dipped your thumb into the ice cream and then brushed it over his cheek. You would have almost felt bad, but his startled expression only left you in a fit of giggles.

He tried to look annoyed, but failed miserably. He lifted up his bandana. ‘I could just wipe that off with this.’

‘Oh, but then you’d ruin my fun and my devious plan, Arthur Morgan!’

He smiled, wiped his thumb against the light red stain on his cheek and popped into this mouth. You immediately remembered why you were often speechless and flustered around Arthur. His sharp blue eyes stared into your own, and you knew you were biting your lower lip while a warm flush crept up your cheeks.

He pulled his thumb from his mouth with a pop and you felt your mouth drop open, before you managed to slam it shut. Arthur gave you a slight smirk, but his eyes dropped to your hand and he quickly reached out.

‘Careful, you’ll drop it!’ His hand grabbed your own and pulled it up, so you wouldn’t drop the cone in the dirt of the path. Little dribbles of red ice cream ran down your hand, and you unthinkingly darted your tongue out to lick up the melted cream.

‘Thank you for-’ You looked up at Arthur who was staring at you so fiercely, it almost made you forget the ice cream in your hand again. Even under the shadow of his hat, his eyes were dark and stormy, pupils blown wide. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it or if you had really seen his eyes drop to your pink stained lips.

He cleared his throat, then put his hand on your back once more, and forced you to walk ahead of him, ‘Come on, can’t be late back.’

-

Tilly let out a small ‘hm’ when you unwrapped the brown paper parcel you had found on your bedroll a few days later, and found the blue dress dotted with daisies therein.

‘Wonder who got you that!’ she said sarcastically.

You revelled in the warm feeling that entered the pit of your stomach and pulled the dress up to look at it properly. You’d have to think of a seriously good way of thanking Arthur Morgan for his kindness.

[embodiedchilde]

An Archon's Bargain - Zhongchi fanfic

Hey yall. I started with a new fanfic and wanted to share it here as well. It's not yet completed so expect some delays with the chapter upload. ;D

＊•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚ 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 1 ˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚＊

A month had passed after the whole gnosis stealing and Liyue drowning incident. It seemed like Liyue was once again back on track, being prosperous and even more bustling than ever. True to their words, the Qixing made sure that Liyue was in right hands even without the protection of Rex Lapis. Apart from losing the Jade chamber, Liyuan people hadn’t faced any major setbacks. The biggest drawback there was, was for the Fatui. Not only did they have to pay the price for all the damage they caused in the golden house, but they also had most of their authorities revoked as punishment. Tartaglia, the youngest harbinger who was the cause of all this mess, was tasked to go back to Liyue and resolve the political dispute he had caused during his stay. Fuelled by rage and injustice, the ginger went to visit Zhongli to give him a piece of his mind. He stormed into the funeral parlour demanding to see the manager consultant named Zhongli. The worker led him to where the man was seated and was calmly sipping tea. This made Childe even more angry, seeing how he had to bear the consequences of this man's and his senior, Signora's wicked scheme. While he was suffering, both parties were carefreely relaxing at his cost.

“Hah...” He spat out. “We meet again, old hag.” "Hello Childe." Zhongli took his gaze away from the porcelain teacup he was drinking from and looked directly at Childe with a smile. The archon was already aware of the commotion the young lad caused upon entering the parlour. He was used to his rudeness since he had known the boy for a long time now, but not once had he seen him this bothered. It was rather refreshing to say the least. 

"It has been a while. How can I help you?" That smile... That damned smile of his gets me every time, Childe thinks to himself. It was as if the smile had a charm that could swoon all his frustrations away. Not this time, Childe reminded himself. He looked past his allure and slammed his hands on the table, making a loud thud sound. He posed himself as intimidating as he could, keeping firm eye contact with the seated man across the table. “Cut the crap. You know exactly why I am here. You and Signora screwed me over with your little game and now I have to clean up after you two. Ridiculous. How is that even fair?” Zhongli was usually a calm and reserved man but anyone disrespecting him in his own workplace had to be put in their place. Granted, he had retired and found his place among the mortal folk, but it didn't mean he had lost his title of being a benevolent archon, commanding of respect with just a mere gaze. His smile dropped as he got up from his seat, which frightened the young harbinger as he could feel the stern aura the archon had around him. Seeing Childe flinch when he approached him, gave Zhongli an idea on how he can teach the disrespectful harbinger some manners. 

"Childe, if it hadn't been for your own foolishness, we wouldn't be debating about this." 

══════⊹⊱≼≽⊰⊹══════

[anotherfanficblog]

A Rose By Any Other Name: Chapter 3

Pairing: Loki x Reader Fairytale: Beauty and the Beast Word Count: 815 Warnings: none

Masterlist Enchanted Tales Masterlist If you wanna request: Enchanted Tales Guidelines

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

Several weeks had gone by after my initial imprisonment. Although I wouldn’t really call it an imprisonment anymore, I had my own room and was mostly free to do whatever I pleased. Loki had also eased a bit and I found myself almost enjoying his company. We didn’t speak at great lengths to each other just the occasional small talk in passing.

I still had to clean and make meals and things but I didn’t mind it as much anymore. One thing I couldn’t stand however was how dark the place is. Which had lead me to my current position of standing on a ladder in the parlor trying to pull apart the curtains.

“What are you doing?”

I almost jumped off the ladder at Loki’s sudden appearance.

“Trying to remove these curtains” I explain “it’s so dark in here.” I continue pulling at the fabric but to no avail.

“What did you do? Nail them down?” I ask.

“Yes” Loki responds like it was the most obvious thing in the world. I continue pulling until suddenly the curtains come loose. Due to the unexpected force I go flying off the ladder. I fall from a great height waiting to hit the ground but tit never comes. Instead I am caught by a pair of arms. I look up to see Loki staring back at me.

“Thank you” I say meekly. Loki suddenly drops me onto my feet. We both stand around awkwardly. “I’ll put the curtains back up” I say.

“No don’t bother” Loki says “I’ll get use to it.”

“So...” I trail off.

“So” Loki states.

“I’ve been here several weeks now and I still don’t really know anything about you” I say.

“That’s because I haven’t told you anything”

“Well you don’t have to tell me everything” I smile “I was able to figure somethings out on my own.”

“Like what?” He asks confused sitting down on the sofa.

“Well” I say taking a seat next to him “I know you think you’re uglier than you are. That’s why you’ve covered all the mirrors.”

Loki looks down guiltily. “I didn’t always look like this you know.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“It was a punishment by my father. I made a few bad choices and I now I pay the price” Loki shrugged.

“How bad was it?” I continue prying.

“Quite” he responds “so what about you?”

“What about me?” I ask confused.

“What was your life like before coming here?” He asks.

I ponder for a moment before replying “dull.”

“Oh?”

“There’s only so much a small town can offer you” I say “and when you’ve read about such amazing places in books, you can’t help but wonder what else is out there.”

“And what places have you read about?’ He asks.

“Many” I state “from the lowly towns of Midgaard to the enchanted balls held amongst the stars here on Asgaard.”

“Yes, well trust me those balls aren’t all they’re cracked up to be” he says rolling his eyes.

“You speaking from experience?” I ask raising my eyebrow.

“Yes” he responds flatly. A silence befalls us. “Do you miss it?”

“Hmm?” I hum in question.

“Do you miss your home? Your family? Friends?”

I nod “Yes.” I let out a small chuckle “You know I spent years wishing, dreaming and scheming up ways to leave but as soon as I’m gone, I miss it. Quite ironic really.” I notice Loki’s sadden face “but there are worse places to end up.”

Loki thinks for a moment, and I swear I can practically see the cogs turning in his brain. “You should go back… for a visit of course” Loki clarifies.

I look up at him in astonishment “you mean it? I can see my father again?”

“I should think it awfully selfish of me to impart the same punishment on you as my father did to me especially considering you’ve done nothing wrong” Loki says.

“Thank you” I say almost at a loss for words at his sudden kindness.

“I’m sure there’s a horse in the stable for you” Loki says walking to a large armchair and picking up a nearby book. I nod and turn to leave I reach the threshold of the parlour door before turning and looking back at Loki. He sits and reads but I can tell that he’s not actually reading anything on feigning too.

“Do you expect me to return?” I ask softly. It is not meant as a taunt just a genuine question.

Loki looks back to me and gives me a sad smile. “No,” he states, “in fact I suspect that this will be the last time that I see you.”

I nod before turning to leave being fully aware that this may be the last time I see this ice man that I’ve grown surprisingly quite fond of over the last few weeks.

[lepus-arcticus]

48.

Billy Miles has a voice like an echo, or an epilogue. 

Mulder remembers a whole generation stolen into the sky, a rain-beaten cemetery, the spice of pine needles crunching underfoot. He senses the parabola of their small, searching lives, the clumsy tautology of their strange and lovesick saga. He recalls the first time he touched her, the giddy exhilaration he felt as he first beheld the white slope of her bare shoulder. 

Fate or choice, it hardly matters. There was never a time before her. There is all the time in the world ahead. 

One last look into the blaze outside, before they let the blackout curtains fall. 

-

That frightened, bleeding girl from the diner, her fat-cheeked baby on Scully’s knee. 

Mulder contemplates the implications—he can’t help but see the child as somehow saturated with starlight, knit through with filaments of the otherworld. An inherited radiance, trauma in the blood, the unsteady aura of the reluctant traveller. 

He can’t help but wonder—

The baby sucks noisily on Scully’s knuckle. Her hand is doused in drool. He remembers how she was with Emily; immediately devoted, intensely tender, making a mother of herself without a moment’s hesitation. That secret part of her, unfurling like a corpse flower in its seventh hothouse year. 

For too brief a time, Emily knew what he knows: she is the safest place, the truest north, the candle in the window on a moonless night. 

-

She is pale and cold at his motel door. 

His spread of old photographs and case notes slips to the carpet and scatters as he pulls back the comforter. He pries off her shoes and briefly squeezes her small, chilly feet between his palms. 

She thanks him sheepishly as he tucks her in and folds himself around her. He’s touched that she would even come to him; his proud little stoic, ever loathsome of needing anything or anyone. It is a rare treat to comfort her, and he basks in it, breathing in the clean scent of her hair, holding her close. 

Sometimes, when he thinks about it, he really can’t believe his dumb luck. He remembers the unexpected delight of sifting through her senior thesis: it had been snotty and cocksure, playful, audacious, the most intellectually and creatively stimulating thing he’d read in years. Her first handshake was firm, her first kiss soft and hungry. He’d fallen for her all at once, and then again, very slowly, over years and years. 

It’s time, he thinks, burying his nose into her shoulder. It’s time. 

“It’s not worth it, Scully,” he murmurs.  

“What?” 

“I want you to go home.” 

“Oh, Mulder, I’m going to be fine,” she sniffles, but he senses that she’s only saying it out of habit, only trying to cover for the grievous crime of borrowing a bit of warmth, of craving a bit of comfort. 

“No, no, I’ve been thinking about it,” he continues, hurting for her. “Looking at you tonight, holding that baby… knowing everything that’s been taken away from you. A chance for motherhood, and your health—and that baby…,” he swallows back a fresh swell of emotion. “I think that… I dunno, maybe they’re right.” 

“Who’s right?” 

“The FBI. Maybe what they say is true, though for all the wrong reasons. It’s the personal costs that are too high.” 

She should be restoring health and life with her skilled hands and beautiful mind, receiving tearful declarations of gratitude in hospital waiting rooms, write-ups in medical magazines, plaques at conferences. 

“There’s so much more you need to do with your life,” he whispers. “There’s so much more than this. There has to be an end, Scully.” 

He presses his lips to her cheek. Her hand frets within his. A warm tear slips over one of his knuckles, becoming cold as it travels over his skin. She snuggles closer into him, and he can’t hold himself off any longer—he allows himself that forbidden image, the one he hasn’t indulged since the IVF failed, the one where she’s heavy with his child, well-fed in a way she hasn’t been since her cancer, glowing with the radiant happiness of miracles. 

-

Scully is out sick. 

Her dizzy spells are getting worse. He’s been finding her slumped in corridor chairs with her head in her hands, leaning drunkenly on walls, and, to his violent concern, flat on her back on the forest floor. His covert bursts of research assure him that this is normal for some women, but still, he banishes her to bed, moves the TV to her dresser, leaves her with a kiss and a triple latte in decaf incognito. 

There is no work, and there’s a chance that there won’t be, not ever again. In the office, he slings his feet up onto the desk and spins a basketball, lazily inspecting the homey disorder of their office: their omnium gatherum of weird tchotchkes and bibelots, outdated med school textbooks, a chunk of raw jade, the rolled maps in their wire basket, his intramural track and field trophies besides her marksmanship commendations. The room is their story, written in airport gift-shop magnets and grisly polaroids, redacted reports, the walls fire-scarred, the green chair stained with semen. He’ll have to set up a home office, he thinks, unwilling to imagine a world without their lovingly-curated clutter. 

He’s pulled out of his preoccupation by a knock on the doorframe. Skinner wanders in, and Mulder feels a smack of affection for the old guy—hell, at this point, he’s almost a friend. 

There is no forthcoming letter of termination or notice of reassignment, not even a signature AD verbal ass-whooping. 

There is, however, a twist. 

Krycek, that one-armed bastard, all comely, belligerent grit; behind him, an undead Marita Covarrubias, retaining all of her glacial film noir self-possession. Their intrusion feels like an astonishing violation of his endangered sacred space. 

A flame of rage licks him deep, but it quickly withers to embers. Once the fight goes out of him, he feels like he’s thumbing through a yearbook, or a smudged, yellowed newspaper. They are extraneous threads, those two, fraying brails; Jacks in a card game long discarded in favour of the warmth of the hearthfire across the parlour. 

So this is the swan song, he tells himself—the final pursuit, the terminating inquiry. The price of admission to the great awaiting Eden. Beyond, there is a land of sleepy Vineyard summers, of deck stain and manuscripts, scrubs in the washing machine, sourdough starter thriving in a repurposed jam jar in the fridge. Beyond, there is a new life of making and growing, their wartime days all laid to an uneasy rest in the vegetable garden out back. 

He will pay this last toll. He owes this much to Scully, cancer-scarred and sisterless. He owes it to the brief memory of Emily, their first ill-starred child. To those two unlucky zygotes, and all the foolish and extravagant dreams he harboured for them. 

This time, perhaps he can earn a different fate.

-

Dawn begins to lift the unquiet night. His travel bag is at the door, his hair is still damp from the shower. He sits down on the bed, traces the crook of her elbow, reaches out to move a stray wisp of hair from her face. She awakens softly into his palm, as if from an enchanted slumber.

“Hey,” he says softly. “My flight’s in an hour. Skinner’s outside.” 

She gazes up at him from the shadows, her eyes shining with a love so plain that it knocks the breath right out of him. Through an ache of adoration, he bends to kiss her, and she receives him with desperation, latching onto him and making sweet sounds of protest when he reluctantly pulls away. 

“Don’t go,” she pleads, sitting up. She is Venus in lavender satin, Onuava, a nymph arisen from the lake. She has pillow marks on her cheek. Sometimes, she looks like she does not belong to this world, but has slipped through from the transient dimensions beyond. 

He finds her hand and brings it to his lips. “I won’t be long. And when I’m back...” 

A moment passes. “When you’re back,” she says. “Will you marry me?” 

The fae queen offers him a cup. He knows he will drink, and that he will gladly remain hidden in her realm forevermore. 

“Ah, Scully,” he says. “Thought you’d never ask.”

[honeyhan-123]

The Price of Treason

Summary: Your betrothed is accused of stealing from the palace and so you help him escape, only to be caught red handed by His Royal Highness, Prince Loki. 

Warnings: Dub-con/non-con, exhibitionism, sensory deprivation, authority kink, Dark!Loki being a sneke. 

Word Count: 2.1k

AN: A few weeks ago the incredible @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ gave me a prompt of fucking on a balcony and being blindfolded for a writing game she was hosting. Knowing my procrastination skills, I have only just gotten around to it. Whoops. Please forgive me Roo. Also I would like to submit this to the April writing challenge by the amazing people @mcudarklibrary​ without whom I don’t know what I would do with myself. 

Squares Filled: Voyeurism/Exhibitionism + Sensory Deprivation

My Masterlist

Your sweaty hand gripped Sigyn’s as you scurried through the quiet halls, your servant’s gown brushing along the tiled floor with every step. Moonlight spilled in through the windows and the breeze of fresh air ruffled your braid. You were so close. You just had to get him out of the castle and then he would be safe. 

Your breaths were ragged as you ran and the stitch in your side stung with every step but you had to keep going. This was your only chance. Tomorrow Sigyn would be executed by order of the prince. You knew your betrothed was innocent, you knew it was not he who had stolen from the kitchens, yet the prince did not believe you. 

You thundered down the stone staircase onto the ground floor, pulling your betrothed along behind you. Up ahead you could see the open archway, the one that led out to the lake. From there you had arranged for him to board a ferry which would take him far away from this awful place. It would also take him far away from you but it would be worth it to know he was alive.

You nearly tumbled to the ground as your feet suddenly stopped pounding across the stone floor. Where there had been nothing but the open night sky before, the archway was now blocked. Someone was standing in your way even though you couldn’t see their face, you knew exactly who it was. 

‘Going somewhere?’ His voice was cold and malicious just as it had been when he had sentenced Sigyn to death. You knew the penalty for treason was also death and so with a shaking hand, you slipped the dagger from your belt. You had nothing left to lose after all.

‘Let us pass Prince Loki.’ 

He let out a merciless chuckle, a sinister smile taking over, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. ‘Look at that. The servant girl thinks she can order me around. Me. The Prince of Asgard.’ You dropped Sigyn’s hand as you neared the prince. You knew you had no chance of beating him in battle, but you had to at least try. Plus, this way your deaths would hopefully be swift. 

‘Drop the weapon girl.’ 

You shook your head, trying to fend off tears. ‘No.’ Your voice shook slightly and you hoped he didn’t notice. 

‘I’m not going to ask again. Drop the weapon. Now.’ Again you refused and faster than a snake can strike, he lunged, twisting your arm around. Your dagger fell to the floor with a ping and he held his own against your throat. 

‘You do know the punishment for treason don’t you?’ His breath was hot in your ear and his lips brushed against your skin as he spoke. You shakily nodded your head, your eyes locking with Sigyn’s. Fear was clearly evident on both your faces. ‘You should be thankful that I’m feeling generous tonight.’ 

‘Guards!’ He called out and two soldiers clad in the golden armour of the royal family rounded the corner. ‘Take the escapee back to his quarters. I’ll deal with the servant.’ 

‘No! Sigyn!’ You screamed and thrashed in Loki’s arms as the guards forced your betrothed back down the path you had just taken. 

‘Might I remind you that I have a dagger at your throat? You don’t want to make me mad right now girl.’ Your movements ceased as he hissed into your ear. He was right. You definitely couldn’t help Sigyn in if you were dead. 

‘Now, if I take away my dagger, will you behave?’ You knew better than to try anything, he had already shown you just how fast he was so you nodded. ‘Speak up girl.’

‘Yes Your Royal Highness. I will behave.’

‘That’s a good girl.’ He slipped the dagger from your neck and back into its sheath on his belt. His arm remained curled around your waist as he began leading you down the passageway. 

The twists and turns he took confused you. He wasn’t leading you to the cells down in the basement, nor was he leading you to the tower where Sigyn had been kept. Instead, he led you to his chambers. 

Dread surged through you as you realised his intentions but you dared not try and run away. He would no doubt capture you just as easily again. 

He pushed the large oak door open and pulled you through his reception parlour and into his bed chamber. You had been here before, cleaning the prince’s rooms was a part of your duties but you had never been here so late, or with him. The room looked far more ominous in the candlelight, each shadow looking more sinister than the last. You shivered as he led you past the bed and out onto the terrace balcony. You paled as you looked down at the drop. It was easily fifty meters to the ground. 

‘It’s such a beautiful sight isn’t it?’ He looked at you, quirking an eyebrow, and you tried to force a smile but he clearly saw through it. ‘You don’t agree?’

‘No Your Royal Highness. It’s very beautiful. It's just heights that I just don’t agree with.’ 

‘Oh, that’s a pity.’ He sounded anything but sorry as he pulled a thin piece of emerald silk from his pockets. ‘Perhaps this might make it easier.’ You tried to push back but he captured you between the glass door and his body. His hands made swift work of the blindfold and even swifter work of your woollen dress. 

‘Your Highness, what are you doing?’ You squeaked trying to pry the material from your eyes but his hands caught your wrists and he pinned them above your head. 

‘Don’t act coy girl. You know why I brought you here instead of the dungeons. Please me and I might just forget your little indiscretion.’ You shuddered in his arms and you felt his thin nimble fingers creep underneath your shift and slip your underwear to the side. 

You let out a heavy breath as his fingertips found your pearl, circling it a few times and sending a shiver up your spine. Against your wishes, you could feel yourself start to get wet and he took that as he cue to slip a finger inside your warm heat. 

His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your neck as he worked, causing goosebumps to spring up on your delicate skin. His fingers scissored inside you, curling this way and that as he searched. For what, you were unsure but you knew the moment he found it. You unwillingly let out a moan as he continued to stroke you there and he smiled against your neck. 

‘Yes my little dove. Scream for me, scream for your Prince. Perhaps your betrothed will be able to hear you locked away in his tower.’ You tried to move away from him but it was fruitless. Instead his thumb swirling your clit and his fingers inside made you want to be closer to him. 

You were disgusted by the fire igniting inside and although you tried, you could not stop the moans he plucked from you. ‘You’re close aren’t you my little dove?’ You didn’t know quite what he meant but you assumed he was referring to the anticipation building in your veins. 

‘Yes my Prince.’ Your voice was a little too breathless as you responded. Your body betraying both your mind and Sigyn.

‘Mmm… My Prince, I like that.’  He murmured against your skin, musing mainly to himself. Soon, the feeling of tightness in your belly disappeared and you spasmed in his hold, letting out a shriek of his name as wave after wave of pleasure took ahold of you. Despite your maidenhood, you knew what had just happened. The other female servants spoke very liberally about such matters, you just hadn’t expected it to feel quite so good. 

His fingers disappeared from your womanhood and he trailed them down your thigh, wiping them clean on your skin. You were too dazed to do anything as his grip on your wrists disappeared, and when he stepped away, your knees nearly buckled underneath you. He ushered your trembling form a few paces forwards and pressed your hands against smooth marble as he bent you. ‘Trust me my little dove. You’re going to want to brace yourself for this.’ 

You barely had time to register his words before you felt your shift being pushed up past your hips and your underwear discarded. You tried to move away from him but his grip on your hips was like iron, pinning your ass against the bulge in his breeches. 

‘No my Prince. Please no.’ You tried to squirm once more and let out a gasp as you felt a sting on your ass.

‘Need I remind you that you are not in a position to be giving orders girl?’ 

‘Forgive me my Prince I apologise.’ You forced the words out past your fear. ‘But I am a maiden. I am saving myself for my betrothed.’ 

He laughed derisively as he echoed you. ‘Oh my little dove, so naive, so innocent. Your betrothed will die tomorrow and I will have you tonight and every night from now on. Do you think it was an accident that the stolen goods ended up in his quarters? Or that I just happened to be out in the courtyard tonight? You are mine and any man who thinks otherwise, has to go. He had to go.’ 

Your heart thundered in your ears and shame washed over you. You had known deep down that it had been too easy to rescue Sigyn. This had been his plot all along. Catching you red handed trying to save your fiancé was all he needed to own you. 

You felt his fingers deftly undo the laces of his breeches and his length slapped against you lightly. He poked it along your folds until he found your entrance and sheathed himself inside you. A hiss escaped your lips as he stretched you. The burn, while not as bad as some of the other maids had made you believe, was still painful even as he remained motionless, waiting for you to become accustomed to him.

Slowly and with more gentleness than you had ever seen the Prince demonstrate, he started grinding his hips down onto you as he murmured. ‘Oh my little dove, you fit me like a glove.’ He laughed at himself but kept his movements small, almost teasing. It was only when you tried to rock your own hips back against his that his pace increased. 

As he started pounding into your cunt you understood what he had meant by needing to brace yourself. His thrusts jolted your body so much that you felt as though you were hanging off of the balcony. You were thankful for the blindfold, it made sure you couldn’t see the fatal height at which he held you but it also put you on edge. You couldn’t see anything and you knew better than to trust the god of mischief. 

His pace increased even further and his hand slipped in between your legs to play with your aching clit. You could no longer hold in your moans of pleasure and they tumbled from your lips out into the open air, echoing around the castle grounds. 

‘You’re doing so well my little dove. You take my cock so well. You squeeze me so tightly.’ His dirty words only inspired the tightening of the coil inside you and your hands threatened to slip on the marble as you approached the edge. ‘Tell me little dove, tell me who is making you feel this good.’

‘You are my Prince.’ You struggled to breathe as he hummed in appreciation. 

‘Say it louder little dove. I want all of Asgard to be able to hear you.’

‘You are My Prince!’ 

‘And who owns this body.’

‘You do Prince Loki.’ 

‘That’s right. So be a good girl and cum for me, now.’ Your body obeyed his command and your walls fluttered around him. A wave of pleasure even greater than the first washed over you and you screamed out into the night. Even in your haze you could feel him suddenly pull out from you, his cum spurting out onto your ass. He gave it one last slap and pulled your body up against his own as he took off your blindfold. 

Even in the darkness you could see Sigyn’s outline against the tiny window of the Tower opposite you as Loki captured your lips with his own. 

+

Tags will be added in a reblog

My Masterlist

[literate-lamb]

Man of the House | prologue

Sam Wilson/fem!Reader, future dark!Bucky Barnes/fem!Reader 

Of first meetings with your landlord and being enamoured with the hauntingly beautiful house. A new start.

► warnings(!): none for this chapter, eventual dubcon/noncon, eventual choking in future chapters. this is a dark fic.

a/n: I’m opening a taglist for this series, just hmu with an ask.

When people think of Fall, they can’t help but attribute it to the crispy coldness, the yellowing of leaves, or children in pumpkin patches. Young adults would probably think of the pumpkin spice lattes from cafes, or for the fans of the occult, All Hallow’s Eve’s approach comes to the mind. Just like the changing of leaves, for you, Fall reminds you of new beginnings. A fresh start.

The autumn wind chills as you huddled closer in your coat, trying to retain warmth. Your old car —a Studebaker Lark ‘63— parked on the curb of the road as you approached the house. 

Ahead over you, in its Gothic Revival glory, sat a white wooden house. The drab grey sky made it seem more imposing in stature. The roof was a contrasting grey, steeply pitched with an arched gable. Delicate wooden trims decorated the front; nothing intricate but a simple design. Dirty windows entered your peripheral, the accumulated dust blurring them. 

Taking everything in, the house seemed well-maintained, but the chipping of paint reminded you of its age. 

Nevertheless, for a structure of such grandeur, it was astonishingly inexpensive. After hours of pouring over internet searches, you couldn’t believe your eyes when you stumbled upon it. 

The house was a classic; with its architecture and size, you deemed it perfect. Located in a quieter part of Maryland, bordering DC; not too far from your place of employment, but far from the cacophonies of the city. This, you considered, was your fresh start.

Standing near the driveway was a greying gentleman; grey hair perfectly coiffed, crow’s feet in the corners of twinkling blue eyes. You assumed he’s in his 60’s or 70’s. He greeted you, his weathered face smiling, with a walking stick in hand, although he still seemed strong for his age.

“Good day, Mr Rogers,” you smiled, shaking his offered hand. “Thank you for meeting me today.”

“It’s a pleasure, dear,” he replied. “Let’s go in, shall we?” 

Stepping onto the porch, you observed your surroundings. The rustling of trees by the wind was the most prominent of sound, if anything else, it was dead quiet. You could see other houses scattered in the distance, however no immediate neighbours were within vicinity. 

The click of the front door unlocking pulled you. The inside was dark, the dusty windows permitting little light, while the floor was covered by a thin layer of dust. 

Mr Rogers walked in first, pushing the door and held it open for you. You thanked him, pleased with his gentlemanly ways.

A hiss left you at the sudden switching of lights, attacking your eyes as they readjusted. You blinked a few times to take in the interior. 

The hallway was long; cream coloured wallpaper hugged its sides, ending to a larger room in the distance. The walls were bare except for a few random antique mirrors. To your left, a stairway sits. It contrasts the walls; a rich, sturdy, mahogany. To your right, an entrance way opens up; silhouettes standing in the dim shadows.

“I apologize, it’s a bit dusty,” said Mr Rogers, sheepishly. “I try to clean it up at least once a month.”

“By yourself?” you ask, bewildered.

He chuckled, “No, with a cleaning company, dear.”

Telling you to follow him, Mr Rogers stepped into the entryway to your right, switching the lights on. 

The silhouettes you saw earlier were of the furniture strewn about; chesterfield sofas, armchairs, and antique floor lamps crowding the room. A fireplace stood near another entrance, a large mirror erected over its mantle, reflecting the rays from the porch windows. It looked like a scene out of those classic films you used to love. If tidied properly, this would be the best reading spot, you thought.

“This is the parlour,” he announced, “Great for having guests over.”

“It’s beautiful,” you beamed. 

Moving forward, Mr Rogers walked through the other entryway, leading to a dining room. From your vantage point, you could see this is the room the hallway ends up to. 

Smacked in the middle, a sleek white marble dining table sits. Its length stretches across the room, sets of dining chairs accommodating tens of people. It looked ideal for hosting dinner parties. 

The dining room was connected to the kitchen in the back, easing the transferring of food. When you stepped foot into the kitchen, you didn’t expect it to be extravagantly spacious. You smiled, envisioning  yourself cooking meals in this kitchen.

“There are a few pots and pans under the cupboards if you ever want to use ‘em,” the older man says. “They were my wife’s” 

Curious, you pressed, “Your wife, sir?”

“Yep, my wife, Peggy,” he smiled, eyes distant, lost in a different time, “Actually, she was the one who owned this house, or atleast, her family did. I inherited it after she passed away, felt it was too big to live by myself ya know?”

You hummed in understanding. He must have lived a fulfilling life with his wife, judging by the look. After a few seconds, he snapped out of it, composed himself, and marched on.

“This here leads to the back of the house,” he gestured to a door, the upper half a transparent window. You could see tall blades of grass and the dense trees swaying out back, reacting to the wind. “And this one’s the laundry room, the bathroom’s next to it,” he continued, opening a second door in the kitchen.

You both left the kitchen, entering the hallway through the dining room. As you passed, you noticed a set of stairs obscured under the main staircase. It was smaller, leading down under, ending where a thick black door stood in slight darkness.

“Uhm, Mr Rogers?” you asked, pausing. “What’s that room?”

The older man stopped, turning to look back. 

“Oh, that’s the basement. Nothing exciting down there though, just a furnace and some tools. I’ll show you soon,” he seemed to ramble, before turning his back quickly. Without waiting for you, he started climbing the stairs, slowly, hand gripping the railings tightly, walking stick in the other.

That prompted an eyebrow raise from you, he almost seemed flustered. Shrugging it off, you followed.

“So, tell me, dear,” he started, “What brings you searching for a house in this area? It’s not exactly the most happening of places for youngsters.”

The question surprised you. Usually most landlords don’t bother to know such, especially of potential tenants. Their only concern being prompt payments, or you’re out.

“Um, I’m a vet, and I actually work closer here than if I live in the city,” you replied, “Plus, it beats the DC traffic.” Which was true, harrowing through traffic everyday was exhausting.

Mr Rogers chuckled in response.

The second floor was the same layout as the floor below; a long hallway with doors. You noticed there were even more mirrors on this floor. Come to think of it, there were mirrors in every room you’ve been in so far.

“There are three bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor,” —the man explains, opening a door— “And this is the master bedroom.”

It was spacious and regal, light blue walls with dark furniture occupied the room; a king-sized four poster, a vanity, and a large wardrobe stood next to a closet. On the furthest side, two stained glass doors stood, leading to a balcony overlooking the front yard. The colours from the glass reflected on the walls, giving allusions to crystalline shapes. You imagined how they’d reflect during sunset. It was perfect.

The tour commenced with Mr Rogers showing the other two bedrooms and bathroom. At the end of the hall, he led you to a wooden ladder that stood connected to a latch door in the ceiling. 

“That’s the attic, nothing much but dust and some old furniture,” he pointed, “You can take a look at ‘em and see if they’re to your liking when you decide to move in.”

Heading down the stairs, the basement was the last place on the tour.

“So, how are you liking the place so far?” he asks, walking beside you.

Biting your lip, you chose your words carefully. “It’s beautiful, the furniture, the decor, and such big space as well,” you said, “Although I’m surprised that I’ll be getting all of this, especially with the price.” 

The elder man picked up on your apprehension, “Ah, about that, I’ll discuss the details with you after we finish.” He took the lead, pushing the thick black door with his body. He was stronger than you expected. 

A sense of foreboding was felt at first as the door creaked. After going further down the steps, it wasn’t as dark as you expected. Minimal light shone in through small windows on the upper walls, the glass separating the two worlds.

The dangling chain on the ceiling was pulled, flooding the space in light. Adjusting to the brightness, you could see it was dustier in the basement. Cobwebs hung in corners, entangling corpses with them. Thick dust covered the surface of shelves, as if a blizzard invaded. An even thicker silence settled, deafening to the core.

“Don’t you worry about that thing,” the man’s voice echoed, pointing to a furnace in the back, “Got that serviced this year, if anything happens just let me know.” Turning to the shelves, he seemed to inspect them for a few moments, eyes squinting. “And there’s a lot of tool boxes in here,” he gestured to the heavy shelves, pushed to the walls, “Feel free to use ‘em.”

Not wasting any time, Mr Rogers turned back towards the stairs. You followed suit, pulling the chain, basking the basement in darkness once more. 

As you began to ascend, a sudden strong scent invaded your nostrils, wafting through like an uninvited guest. You gave another whiff. A musky scent, wild, and smoky, further reminding you of Fall. 

Casting one last glance into the darkness, you shrugged it off, and closed the door. Must’ve been Mr Rogers’ faint cologne.

You observed the state of the porch as Mr Rogers locked the front door. The porch needed sweeping, you noted, stepping on a sea of dead leaves, their crunching audible. 

Overlooking the lawn, you noticed a pair of blue eyes at the edge of the porch. A pair of white fluffy ears accompanied, flickering occasionally. You smiled, it seemed like you had a visitor.

Squatting down on the steps of the porch, you chittered, hoping to catch its attention. After a few seconds, a white blur zoomed in, scurrying then stopping abruptly at your feet. It mewled, wide blue eyes staring, demanding attention. You petted and scratched below its jaw, the creature emitting content purrs. 

“Looks like she’s taken a liking to you,” voices Mr Rogers from behind, “She’s a stray, always coming ‘round.”

“I’m surprised, she’s very friendly,” you said, petting snowy fur.

Seconds pass, the cat’s purr the only sound. 

“I’m sure you’ve been wondering regarding the rent,” he breaks the silence, taking a seat on the porch steps. “Why it’s so… well, cheap, for a fully furnished house like this.”

“Well… yeah, I actually almost thought it was a scam,” you replied, sheepish. “I had to actually see it for myself.”

The older gentleman laughed, “I don’t blame you, it sounds too good to be true.”

And indeed, it was. For a classic house like this, dating probably a century back, and fully furnished, something must be up. It was too good of a good bargain.

“Actually, there’s a reason why I put it that way,” he admits after a few beats. “Tell me, do you believe in ghosts, dear?” 

You frowned, wondering where he’s going with this, “Can’t say I do.”

“Let me guess, atheist?” 

“Agnostic.”

He smiles mirthlessly, “Well, I can’t say I believe in them either, but for the past years, I’ve been having trouble getting tenants to stay.” That piqued your curiosity.

“What do you mean, sir?” you pressed, intrigued.

“Past tenants have told me they’ve been… spooked while living in the house, like things disappearing and reappearing, or hearing footsteps and what not,” the man explains, “But I can’t say it’s true since it’s all peaceful whenever I stay here, or check up on maintenance. I’ve even had a friend stay here for a week, and nothing!"

Ah, the classic household haunting you’ve always seen in movies; missing items, heavy footsteps, the feeling of being watched. Sitting on the steps, you felt like a walking cliché; the stupid girl who goes into a large house knowing it’s haunted, wanting a taste of thrill. Yet, you can’t be bothered. You’ve always been a skeptic, a believer that science and logic can debunk these things.

“What I wanted to ask you is, would you still want to move here after all I’ve told you?” the older man asked. “I’d understand if you want to back out.”

His question shows how concerned he is about others, even if it’ll put a damper in his business. You felt lucky to have stumbled upon an honest and understanding landlord, not everyone had that privilege. But something felt off.

“I don’t understand, while I appreciate it, why do you need to disclose this, sir?” you ask, weirded out. “Isn’t it buyers beware?”

“It’s a part of the law to categorize it under ‘stigmatized’ property,” he replied. “Besides, I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if you didn’t know,” he chuckled, you joined him. “So, what about it, dear?”

Stroking the cat, you thought about it. You were never a believer of ghouls nor other other-worldly beings, and you weren’t going to start now. While the presence of ghosts could never be proven or denied, you believed that every occurrence has a logical explanation, even the paranormal. You weren’t about to let go of a wonderful place just because some ghost decided to move in as well. Stigmatized or not, you’ve found yourself a good deal. The perfect start.

“Don’t worry Mr Rogers, ghosts or no, nothing's gonna stop me from living in this house,” you smiled. He returned it.

Later, after much discussion and the exchange of handshakes, you left the house with a sense of relief. Pulling out of the driveway, you waved to the older gentleman, before speeding off. 

A few metres ahead, checking in the rearview mirror, you saw Mr Rogers still standing in the driveway. 

His smile never faltered.

The next day finds you working endlessly at the clinic, meeting furry patients left and right, tending to their dilemmas. The clinic was almost never vacant, the seats occupied always leaving behind fur. To you, it has always been a fulfilling job. Sometimes you’ll get scratched, or hissed at, but at the end of the day it was always worth the care.

Lunch came a bit later. Sighing, your shoulders relaxed. After attending to a cat that decided it needed to throw a hissy fit, you really needed a break. While shovelling food into your mouth, your phone suddenly rang; Sam Wilson flashing on the screen.

“Hi, baby,” you picked up.

“Hello, baby,” came the sultry voice on the other end. “How’s my girl doin’?”

“She’s doing fine, thank you for asking,” you teased. “Why’d you call? Did something happen?”

Muffled chuckles rang through the speakers, “No, nothing happened, just wanted to know how you’re doin’. Hey, how was the house? All good?” 

“It was gorgeous! And fully-furnished too!” you replied, gleefully. “It was all antique, the master bedroom was my favourite,” and you continued telling him of everything, from the fancy parlour to the stained glass doors. Sam listened attentively, humming and responding at appropriate times. And this is why you loved him. He was always the talkative one out of you two, yet he never talked out of turn, always putting you first. “Oh, and I’ve found out why it’s so affordable.”

“Let me guess, someone died in that house?” 

You chuckled, “Close, apparently it’s ‘haunted’, ooh,” you booed. “The landlord said he had never experienced it during all his years there, nor did his friend that apparently stayed there. So it makes you wonder, if it were just stories from people paranoid about living in an old house.”

“Sounds like it,” Sam hummed. “Can’t wait to have sleepovers at your new place now.” 

You laughed, missing his dose of humour and his presence terribly. “I wished you were there with me.”

“I wished I had too, baby,” he murmured, “So when’s the moving date? Gotta put these bad boys into good use.” You heard him grunting, probably flexing his bicep from the other end. Sam’s antics always amused you. He was your happy pill.

“I told Mr Rogers —that’s the landlord— I’ll be moving in two weeks,” you explained. “Do you mind taking a day off to help me? Pretty please?”

“Anything for you, baby.” 

[missorgana]

like a tattoo kiss

pairing: karolina dean/nico minoru

fandom: marvel’s runaways

rating: general

word count: 4228

warning: swearing

summary: Nico doesn't get nervous. Except around pretty people. Especially around pretty people. (tattoo parlor AU)

(it’s been 84 years... Finally, i am writing!! life and uni has been extremely messy, so i’m just so glad to be creating again uwuu. this was meant for the @augustwritingchallenge but alas... i miss my alien and witch girlies!! thank you to my baby @griffinbellamy for beta reading <333 you are Everything. hope you enjoy this mess!!)

read on ao3

Nico doesn’t get nervous.

Or rather, she’s not the type of person to be nervous. Especially while working.

Her parents weren’t over the moon when she told them what line of work she was aiming for, not that she needs their permission or anything, but they’d warmed up to her internship over time.

Many times she had tried to explain why exactly she liked her art to be expressed through ink on skin, but parents just don’t understand some things. All hail rebellious teenagers, or something.

Amy’s always been supportive, because she’s an angel, Nico thinks, and her sister managed to get them along, somehow.

In the end, they were probably just happy to get her out of the house more.

By a string of luck she had found a local tattoo parlour, well, actually, the city’s best, and they were willing to take her on, along with her best friend, coincidentally.

And the boss kept an eye on her and Alex to make sure they didn’t misbehave, but just like herself, he wasn’t the type to mess around with the things he was passionate about.

They had always been excellent lab partners way back, considered each other their partner in crime, no less.

And over time, they both were allowed to work more freely. Even to the point of taking their own clients, albeit only walk-ins, for now.

This week, a little thing about Nico’s inability to get nervous might be changing, but she only knows that when a walk-in comes along late Friday afternoon.

It’s actually an hour and a half before closing time, that is, and they weren’t expecting much more people besides reservations.

But low and behold, when the bell above the door rings, Nico glances up to the sight of two young people, surely the same age as her and Alex.

And while the guy wears a leather jacket, messy brown hair that she isn’t sure which direction it was meant to go, the girl following behind him has her blonde hair in a braid over her shoulder, and is, unlike her companion, more appropriately dressed for the weather which has been abnormally hot this season.

The stranger tugs the cardigan on her shoulders over her white dress just a little. She looks impatient, poking the guy’s shoulder and saying something low and unintelligible.

Did Alex have to pinch her side to get the attention he wanted? Looks like it, yes.

Because holy shit.

Nico sort of feels like a deer in headlights, which is a joke, this is not anywhere near a situation like that, and a stupid metaphor, anyway.

But her previous string of keeping her cool, not letting her nerves overtake her entire being, is getting, well, thrown out of the window at this moment.

Alex likes to call this her “bisexual panic”. He’s a little bit of an asshole.

Well, they both are, but it doesn’t matter, because if Nico has to hear him tease her about “being a wreck around pretty people” one more time, she might just lose it.

It’s fine. She’s a customer, a civilian like herself, keep it together.

Thing is, this might just be the prettiest girl she’s ever laid her eyes upon. Sounds melodramatic, she knows.

This stranger looks like an extreme polar opposite of herself, in terms of fashion sense, anyway, but it wouldn’t be the first time.

She likes tall people, too.

Also, the blonde turns her head, seemingly surveying the parlour with a skepticism in her eyes that Nico’s seen many, many times, but it doesn’t faze her, because those eyes are the clearest blue possible.

She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and Nico notices a small cross hanging around her neck.

Again, not exactly the community she herself hangs around, which might explain why she’s, tragically, never seen this person before now, but Nico’s experienced far too much shit to be judgmental.

“You done staring?” Alex’s voice mumbles on her left side, swiftly passing by to greet the two potential clients.

Guess he’s just earned himself another eyeroll. Or a death stare, maybe.

Her voice of reason gets to her, despite the, ugh, panic, and if she just runs this on their autopilot measure of things, as usual, it’ll all be fine.

Yes, definitely.

This isn’t some fairytale land, Nico tells herself, it’s not like this is your moment finally meeting the love of your life, or whatever, and you’ll live happily ever after.

She’ll most likely never see her again. She’s just very, extremely pretty- no, beautiful. Can’t blame her for being a little dumbfounded, right?

Alex is the kind of person who could make meaningful conversation with a toddler, a parrot, or a brick, if he really wanted to, so Nico’s glad to let him do most of the talking, as always.

He usually explains the basics to the clients, asks them about the design they have in mind (if they have an idea to begin with, that is), and that’s usually when he pulls Nico out from her thoughts, especially in situations like this where there’s more than one customer in the parlour at the time.

Given that their boss has more or less left them in charge of the shop till closing time today, however, she decides to make her way into the conversation herself.

“We’re getting matching tattoos!” the brunette guy tells them eagerly, a smug grin on his face, and judging by the impatience visible on his companion’s face, Nico has a feeling this wasn’t her idea.

She still sports a fond smile, though, despite her still not looking totally convinced of her… friend? partner?’s idea.

Alex nods politely, his customer service smile put on like he owns the place, and makes sure to present her to their soon-to-be canvases, “We’re interns here, Nico and I, but we got plenty of experience, so you’re in safe hands.”

And now, the girl looks directly at her. She might just mentally combust.

Nico has always hated those romantic traditions, and Valentine’s Day, and love at first sight, please, what vomit inducing bullshit.

She has to remember that, especially now, because a way too pretty girl looks at her up and down, very subtle and quick, so much so that it could be missed, but the bright smile she gives her makes her heart jump in her chest.

Nico smiles back, of course. She’s not an asshole.

“This is Chase and Karolina, by the way.” her best friend tells her, because administration, obviously, even though his voice definitely isn’t forgetting her and her panic, but fuck that.

Karolina.

She brushes another lock of hair out of her face, and Nico’s struggling to keep her attention on the transaction. She can’t be like this right now, nope, as sweet as the smile with pink lips staring her in the face is.

“So, you got a design?” Nico then inquires, once the pricing and everything is out in the open, knowing too well Alex will tease her more the longer she stares, and well, doesn’t know what to do with herself, so she might as well get on with it.

“A ‘C+K’ should do it, really, Oh! Can you do a heart?”

And Karolina sticks her tongue out at her companion, but he laughs nonetheless, like he can’t hold it back, bumping her shoulder.

They’re a couple.

Of course.

Nico should’ve seen it coming, she guesses, if she wasn’t so hung up on how pretty this girl was, it should’ve been obvious.

Ugh, it doesn’t even matter, anyway, because there wouldn’t even be a chance.

She’s a customer, she reminds herself, that’s like, the most unprofessional that could be. And even if they weren’t, and even if it was different, Nico could never tell if the girls she liked were into her or not. Or the boys, for that matter.

The partners previously always made the first move on her, which Alex explained by her being the most stubborn person he knows. Whatever.

Without Nico not realising much else conversation, it seems fitting that Alex takes on Chase’s shoulder blade, while her canvas turns out to be Karolina’s upper arm.

Alex and her cleaned the sketch up they brought, their clients both approved, and here they were.

It’s simple, really, a pink heart, with an added arrow through it because Alex likes to turn everything as extravagant as possible. And the initials, of course.

And Nico’s more than used to being close to total strangers like this.

Like, with most areas of the body, even. But those other people weren’t the prettiest girl in the world, so, you know.

And to make matters worse, once Karolina’s seated, and Nico’s sanitized the area, tracing the outline, the too pretty stranger starts talking. She knows this doesn’t sound like a bad thing, but Nico was already nervous, and far from an expert at small talk.

The blonde does seem to know how to lead a conversation.

Because the outline finished, glancing up to make sure the client’s still on it and not chickening out, wouldn’t be the first time, the pretty girl gives her another sweet smile, too sweet, really, and states, “I like the way you work.”

Nico has to blink a few times, because she’s not sure she quite understands what that means. Maybe she’s too used to lewd jokes from her peers that everything turns into an innuendo by now. Fucking hell.

So she opts for a, “You do?” as a reply.

Karolina nods. Gracefully, she has to describe it, not overly excited or eager, though the intention’s definitely there.

“I mean, you looked really concentrated a couple seconds ago. I don’t know. You’re gentle.” and she finishes her sentence with a shrug.

Gentle. Nico has never in her wildest imagination expected someone to associate that term with her. She’s never been called that.

Maybe her insides get a little fluttery. So what?

She’s not a giggling schoolgirl, she can keep her composure, and she does, but hopefully without the coldness she usually goes for when something doesn’t go as expected.

This girl doesn’t deserve that.

And honestly, this is feeling way too intimate way too fast.

The boys are already bantering about whatever video game they’re apparently both into, because, somehow, Alex manages to keep his lines straight while laughing at dumb puns and other ridiculous Alex-things.

Also, can this girl stop staring at her?

If Nico couldn’t control herself as well as she could, she might’ve been blushing. It’s only been ten minutes, come on, now.

Karolina seems a tad more… curious than most of her clients, anyway.

It’s like she’s observing every line she makes, at least, what she can crane her neck enough to follow.

So, inclined to distract herself from the thought of a pretty girl watching her, she asks, without thinking too much, “What are you studying?”

Nico’s got an excuse, cause her wrist is resting on the armrest, fashioned with an university pride bracelet, seriously.

The girl blows a hair away from her nose.

“Philosophy,” she tells her, in a shy, half-embarrassed tone, “Not my parents’ first choice.”

So Nico has to scoff. “Welcome to the club.”

The fact that they can have a laugh at this notion, a proper one, not as loud and bashful as the boys, but fuck them, this is like treading the deep waters of the pool, knowing someone’s holding your hand.

She doesn’t know where that comparison comes from.

…

It’s kind of excruciating, the way the session comes to a both disappointing and long awaited end.

The tattoo’s easy, and Nico’s nonsensical pining, or whatever it is, can’t just last here forever, she knows.

Karolina stayed quiet once they’d established their mutual bond of parents not trusting their decisions, besides the occasional humming, which she probably didn’t even realise she was doing, and offhand remarks to the boys about them being more serious.

The girl had seemed eager to get this thing over with when they came in, but once Nico announced her arm bandaged and in need of rest, she didn’t exactly miss the now anything but eager pout.

It’s not like she said anything, but Nico thinks her reading of people is improving. She’ll convince herself of that, anyway, to support the logic in her head.

The boys had fun, but she didn’t expect any less of Alex.

The fact that he’s made friends with multiple clients, or “established connections”, as he calls it, with the elder ones, seems exhausting to Nico.

She does envy him, though.

At least, she wishes she had that skill set right now, to have gotten a lot more meaningful conversation out of this meeting.

Don’t be fooled, she knows when a crush of hers is off limits, but who knows, maybe they could be friends. Not that they seemed to have much more in common, but, you know.

Karolina just seemed special to her brain, or heart, or whatever.

Doesn’t matter anymore, does it?

Chase proudly shows her their matching marks, which Nico would roll her eyes at if she could, and Karolina laughed with a sigh.

Nico’s got a sense that she’s, still, not all in on this. Too late now, she supposes.

And she’s never understood couple tattoos anyhow, because in Nico’s relatively short life on earth so far, she’s learned that most things come to an end.

It’s not necessarily pessimistic, or at least she tells herself that, because graduating was nice, and then she started an internship, so maybe endings really just mean that you’re ready for beginnings.

Sounds ridiculous when she thinks about it, but maybe they discuss that on Karolina’s philosophy course, who knows.

Besides, seems odd they would do it without mutual approval on both parts.

But of course, Nico doesn’t know these people at all, so who is she to ponder on their relationship?

And so the couple pay their bill, Alex exchanges numbers with Chase, because of course, and Karolina lingers just long enough that Nico suspects she might have something on her mind.

The blonde has a hand on her hip when she says, “He’s ridiculous.”

Nico doesn’t know if it was meant for her ears or the taller girl simply thinks out loud, but none or the less, she’d feel rude not to respond.

“It was nice meeting you guys,” is what’s coming out of her mouth, as casual as possible, emphasis on guys, “and hope you like the tattoo, regardless.”

Karolina scrunches up her nose, which is, um, adorable, like her words were troubling, but she still nods, more than once, “Definitely.”

And the girl looks to the side again, the boys fistbumping and Chase already snapping a picture of his mark. He’s stupidly proud of it, huh.

Nico can’t say he’s unlikable, can she? Maybe that’s part of his charm.

“You coming?”

And Karolina laughs again, sticking her tongue out, but starts moving when he almost bounces out the door, his attention immediately taken by a very important text message, it seems.

“Your art’s gorgeous, Nico.” she says over her shoulder, “See you around, right?”

And it’s said like a matter of fact, a law of nature, as if Karolina had searched for her work on the display walls, carefully eyeing the artist name labels.

She couldn’t have sounded any more sincere.

Nico nods, before she mentally combusts.

And the girl and her flowing dress are out the door in a flash, and if Alex’s laugh is any indication, Nico’s flushing beet red.

Gorgeous.

…

As if she received a small static shock, that’s how the weekend passes by for Nico.

Fast enough that she sits, on Monday, failing to remember anything noteworthy she spent her time with.

Well, she stayed over at Alex’s, since he swore to introduce her to Wolfenstein, whatever that word means. It turned out to be a game about killing nazis, so yeah, her interest was won soon enough.

Not that this is the point or anything. 

The point’s more like in the evening, when the boss has a family emergency and needs them to close up alone, which they are fully capable of, mind you, and a familiar face walks through the door.

It’s not the first time customers have returned, far from it.

Whether it be one of many patrons of the parlour, who they both have been introduced to by now, or the many new friends Alex is so brilliant at making.

Today, though, Alex does show off a knowing smile, but it’s pointed right at Nico, and she kind of wants to pinch him and his ever annoying smugness away.

And he doesn’t even stay to greet their former client or anything. Looks like his plan is to leave her to her own devices, spotting Chase outside and swiftly swinging out the door in one fluid movement.

Asshole.

And well. Nico’s one again faced with this girl, who made her blush too damn much for just one meeting.

Karolina’s wearing blue jeans this time around, and a crop top, damn, she cannot imagine that white leather jacket is giving much warmth on a foggy day like this one.

She waves. Nico has to wave back. It’s not like she was supposed to clean this chair or anything.

Seems like duties are put on hold around the prettiest girl ever.

Her smile comes off shy, but Nico can’t imagine anyone feeling shy around her. Well, she’s come off rather terrifying, more like, to the local school bullies back in primary school.

They made her sick, she had fists, and her all-black wardrobe was certainly helpful in that mission too.

Then, in the thought of punching bullies, Karolina’s in front of her, seemingly, consciously, leaving her some space, which she’s grateful for.

Common decency, Nico supposes, but also, a reminder that this infatuation needs to fade if she wants to remain some form of contact with the blonde.

Her very real, very annoying boyfriend laughs outside. Nico wishes she didn’t sound so bitter.

It’s fine, you know, they’ve met one time.

Nico wants her luck to be different, but since that’s out of the picture, she wants to be her friend. Very badly.

If she could just open her mouth, dammit.

“Hey,” she starts, finally, judging by Karolina’s hesitant silence that she expects her to put out the first word, “Good to see you again. And so soon.”

The last part with a quick laugh, would sound weird, or judgmental, otherwise. Not the perfect second impression.

Is the second impression even a thing?

Karolina chuckles herself, thank god, but squints her eyes a bit and scratches her arm, “The tattoo’s looking nice, I think.”

Nico doesn’t know if there’s a question laced into that statement, but the tall girl shrugs the jacket off just enough for her to view the work, and so she moves a tad closer.

It does look nice. Still needs to heal, extremely fresh, but nice.

Definitely one of the better couple tattoos she’s done, Nico tells herself.

And she nods, and Karolina settles her jacket properly, and that subject is dealt with.

Now what?

Maybe this was all the blonde came to talk to her about. Makes sense, but also, a tiny disappointment settles in Nico’s stomach.

It’s not like she had high expectations though, hell, she didn’t even expect to see her just three days after the meeting.

It seems Karolina meant what she said. See you around.

But that’s just politeness, Nico figures. Artist and client. 

She doesn’t know if she can ever learn from Alex’s mastery of the social art, to be honest. Stupid Alex things.

“So-” the girls find themselves speaking at the same time, and Nico chuckles awkwardly, but the blonde smiles too warmly for it to matter. “You were saying?”

And Nico’s about to answer, only she notices a third person joining Chase and Alex.

A relatively short girl, pushing her glasses up her nose and purple-dyed hair in two small buns.

And she kisses Chase on the cheek. Which, of course, friends do that. Nico and Alex don’t, but then again, they fistbump and shove each other more than anything else.

She can’t help but furrow her brows. It’s probably nothing, she thinks, forget about it.

“I was just thinking, if you wanna see some of my non-tattoo art one day.” Nico shrugs, better make it as casual as possible.

And Karolina’s eyes light up impossibly, and her nose scrunches up again when she smiles. Nico didn’t notice her freckles last time, weirdly.

“I’d love that, Nico!” she says, of course, looking excited and adjusting her ponytail, “I figure Chase wanna show Alex some of his gadgets. Something like that. I don’t know.”

That they can both laugh at. Doesn’t surprise Nico, given that Alex has been honing his coding skills since he was like fifteen.

She wasn’t even surprised when he offered to hack the school system and change her stupid history grades. It’s not like she agreed. But oh, did she consider it.

Nico scratches her neck. She wants to escape the conversation, which she’s experienced too many times to count, but also, she wants to stay there forever. Not that usual.

“Honestly, Alex has been talking about him. A lot.” she tells the blonde with a huff, and she smiles fondly, “Be careful he doesn’t steal your boyfriend.”

Nico’s been organizing the table in front of her during the conversation, it’s natural for her to do something with her hands, especially, well, now that she’s able to be nervous, apparently.

But it’s like something suddenly shifts.

When Karolina doesn’t laugh at her remark, Nico looks up, and the tall girl is frowning.

It looks wrong on her face, even though her nose is still scrunched, just the way it was with that smile a few minutes ago, making her feel these weird flutters somewhere deep in her chest.

So, naturally, Nico’s about to ask if she’s okay, because she’s suddenly terrified she’s said something wrong, or implied what her thoughts, somehow, until, “Chase? My boyfriend?”

Okay, Nico doesn’t really know what to say now.

Given her tone, Karolina’s clearly not comfortable. Maybe she’s ashamed of Chase? But that can’t be it, they got tattoos together, for goodness’ sake.

“Yeah? Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

“Oh, no!” the blonde looks confused, but reaches her arm out, like she’s going to touch Nico’s shoulder, but she doesn’t, “Or I mean, Chase. He isn’t my boyfriend.”

Her tone is stern without being angry. Elegant.

It’s now Nico’s own turn to frown. Shakes her head at herself.

“I’m so sorry.” she says, and tries to form a longer sentence in her head, without sounding desperate, “I didn’t mean to assume anything. I just, well, the tattoo looked like a couples tattoo, is all.”

And she tries a small smile, unsure if this relation’s already gone to hell after a weekend, but luckily, the tall girl’s frown is gone as fast as it appeared, and she’s biting her lip.

Nico’s more relieved than anything that she’s smiling back.

Then Karolina shakes her head, “Chase is an idiot.”

Again, like an unspoken, mutual understanding, they both laugh. Nico cannot for the life of her tell where this conversation is going.

And so the blonde continues, “It was a stupid bet. The tattoo, that is.”

Now, it does take a second, but it clicks in Nico’s brain. This is also new, and she didn’t know she could be more nervous, but here we are.

“I see.” she replies simply, glancing out the glass door, and figuring the bright haired girl out there must be Chase’s girlfriend.

Karolina chuckles. “They’re adorable.”

They’re looking at the same thing, it seems, so Nico can only nod, and wonder, if this is all, and the blonde is going to step out the parlour, and if the misunderstanding will be forgotten or not.

And they stand there for what seems like forever, but Karolina doesn’t leave.

No, she turns back to Nico, licks her lips, and folds her hands in front of her, “I’m sorry. I mean, God, I must be bad at flirting.”

Flirting?

This is going a little too fast for her. And now Karolina looks nervous too, but continues, impressively not stumbling over her words, “I mean, boys aren’t my thing. I-uh, I wasn’t sure if I should come, but Chase insisted I should make a move.”

Nico knows what’s going on. And she can’t say Alex was wrong when he said the blonde was “totally into her”, despite her very concerned, real protests about the very real boyfriend. Or well, very not real, it turns out.

So, instead of thinking of the nerves still sitting right beneath her skin, Nico lifts an eyebrow, trying to make sure what’s happening isn’t some imaginary dream scenario that’ll end in a blink.

“A move?”

The tall girl shrugs, biting her lip again. “Please tell me if this is crossing the line. I just…. you’re very pretty, is all.”

That’s fucking adorable.

“You think I’m pretty?” Nico replies, feeling her smile grow too stupidly bright. It’s not long before the girl in front of her mimics it.

Fuck, Nico, you’re going soft.

Alex is going to tease her for weeks after this. But she’ll worry about that later.

[beyondconfessor]

The Infernal Contract [4/16]

[4/16] Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Lilith/Zelda Spellman

Summary: Ms Wardwell was quiet as she walked beside her, a serene expression over her face as she looked up at night sky, where the half-moon hung amongst the stars. For a moment, Zelda wondered if she'd been right. And then the blue eyes fell to hers again, and Zelda knew she was.

N.B.: Also posted on AO3

The Council had come back from their review and decided that Ambrose was to be executed. Despite everything he did for the coven, despite his involvement in the protection against the witch hunters, the execution was to go ahead.

Zelda felt ill. Although Hilda had been the one to raise him in England when his father had passed, Zelda had regularly dropped in and out of his life as she travelled the world, providing all the gifts are young warlock could want.

Ambrose had been a soulful boy from quite young, and she had always felt in her heart that he would grow to be something great. At the time, Zelda had thought his poetry would impact the world, his thirst for knowledge and understanding, and then he'd stupidly went and attempt an assault on the Vatican, and all of that potential had seemed to be wasted, moping around the Spellman manor.

But he'd cleaned himself up, studied, and held to his loyalties. Even Zelda couldn't fault him that.

And for a few months, she thought maybe he would grow to be the grand warlock she'd once seen.

Zelda stirred her tea, looking over to where her sister tended to the indoor plants.

Faustus had shuffled her out of his office with a quick "you should be with your family in these times," sentiment as he, Prudence, and the Council remained to discuss something further once the sentencing had been passed. He was planning something, and given that he didn't want her present, Zelda could only imagine it had something to do with Sabrina. On top of her fears for Ambrose in the morrow, Zelda now had to worry for her niece.

Not that she'd ever stopped worrying.

"We should bind the house," Zelda said as she lifted the cup of tea to her lips. "Protect it against those who would do us harm."

"We'd need a full moon for that, and it's only half full, now."

Zelda placed the tea to its saucer. It'd been a while since she bound a residence, but she was sure there was another ritual. One that involved the blood of a fawn or something to the effect. She'd search her books for it later.

"Difficult times," Hilda murmured. "Maybe we could-"

"We'd have to keep running for the rest of our lives," Zelda reminded her. "Perhaps Sabrina will find Leviathan, and we can take it to the Council." It would likely indict Faustus, ruin her chances of rising, but so be it. At least this way, they would clean the Spellman name from the act, and Ambrose would live to have a good life.  

"Well, Ambrose was quite certain the poor thing was dead, but who knows, he was so distraught he may have misseen him."

"Unlikely. If it's dead, we'll bring it back. We'll just need the life of another familiar, and I'm sure we could find one strolling around the woods if need be."

Hilda's eyes went wide as she opened her mouth to argue, before thinking better of it and returning to her pruning. Zelda could see her cheeks turning pink at the very idea of killing a so-called innocent familiar. Still, if that's what it took to bring back Leviathan and save Ambrose and Sabrina both, Zelda would happily cut down every familiar she came across.

"Aunties!" Sabrina said as she walked into the room, her hands swinging at her sides. "I found Leviathan."

Zelda felt relief sink through her. "Wonderful news. Do we need a sacrifice to bring him back?"

"I just resurrected him. He's fine and willing to testify against Blackwood."

Hilda spun around, prune clippers in grip as she faced their niece. "And what poor creature did you harm to do that?"

"That's the thing I didn't need to. I just did it," Sabrina shrugged, looking smug with herself.

Zelda felt a coldness trickle down her spine.

"Impossible," she stated. "All magic comes with a price, that's how it's always been."

Sabrina turned and looked at her, a tightness on her face as she stated, "I don't think I'm tapping into that kind of magic, I think this is something new."

"Something new?" Zelda set her tea down, scoffing at the idea of new magic. "Sabrina, you've only recently signed your name away, and right now, all your magic feels new and exciting. Nonetheless, all magic has a price, and if you're not paying it now, then you or someone dear to you will eventually make that payment."

"There's no payment."

"Need I remind you about the last time you tried to skip out of payment?"

A petulant look rose across Sabrina's face that quickly turned to anger, not unlike when she'd been a toddler, "Excuse me, Aunt Zee, but you weren't even there when I was using my newfound power, so I don't think you have any right to talk about it. I died and came back!"

"And you think you're the very first witch to complete such a feat? Magic is magic, Sabrina. I don't need to witness it to know that arcane laws stand."

"This is different, believe me. It doesn't feel like anything else I've done. It feels...easier, simpler. I'm sure that it is a new kind of magic and maybe a better kind that isn't based on cause and effect."

Zelda looked to Hilda, sharing a look with her. Sabrina had never listened to them in the past, so why would she begin here? "Fine, if you want to play with magic, then so be it, but when the debt comes, there will be nothing we can do to stop it from being paid."

"But that's what I'm saying, there is no debt."

"And what if there is? What will you do when the price is Salem's life or one of your mortal friends? What if you unleash a pestilence on Greendale and infect us all?"

Sabrina shook her head, though Zelda could see the tears pricking at her eyes. "There won't be," she said, but the anger was lost. "This is different."

"Is that really a risk you're willing to pay for a few bouts of magic?"

"But what if there is no price?"

"Everything in the world has a price, Sabrina. Even mortals pay the price. Why would you be exempt?"

Sabrina looked away from her, avoiding her gaze, but it was still plainly written on her face. Her niece thought she was the exception, the result of some divine purpose meant to foster forth a new way of thinking. At this rate, there was no way of getting through to her.

Zelda drew her cup of tea to her lips and waited for Sabrina to decide what she wanted to do.

"Tomorrow, we'll go to the council," Sabrina said. "Leviathan's alive now."

"And warded?" Zelda inquired.

"He's upstairs in his box."

"So you left a key witness that you've declared you're going to bring to the Council tomorrow, alone in a room in an unguarded house?"

Sabrina's mouth parted, before she crossed her arms against her chest, "how do I ward him then?"

"It might be easier to hide him with someone who's able to protect him overnight since a warding could take a while. I could reach out to Desmelda or-"

"Ms Wardwell."

Wardwell. Drawing in a breath, Zelda nodded as she pushed down her irritation from the woman's name. Admittedly, the Wardwell woman would be a suitable place to hide the mouse away from whatever Faustus was likely to get up to. Most likely by sending Prudence or another one of his favoured Judas Boys.

"It's late," Zelda reminded.

"I'll call her," Sabrina said, and then without waiting for a reply, skipped off to hall to do just that.

As it was, the school teacher apparently had been awake and had agreed to take the mouse into protection. After finishing the phone call and advising her aunties of the new plan, Sabrina brought Leviathan down and placed his cage on the coffee table in the parlour as they waited for Ms Mary Wardwell to arrive.

Zelda had finished her tea and moved to light a cigarette in anticipation. No doubt, the woman would waltz in like she belonged and offer some surgent advice to the effect of a new spell for Sabrina to complete. Zelda could already feel a headache brewing.

She took another drag of the cigarette as Hilda set out a new pot of tea with a set of fresh cups. "She won't be staying long," Zelda reminded her.

"Oh, I know, but it's nice to have guests over that aren't clients. And we rarely go to the parent-teacher conferences that the school holds."

"Why on earth would we? We knew Sabrina was doing well enough at the mortal school. She can read, write, and do mathematics, the only thing we needed the school to teach her. Everything else she can learn at the Academy."

"I suppose, but still-"

"No buts. Frankly, I'm surprised Sabrina still wants to attend, but I promised I wouldn't interfere further." Zelda flicked the ash into the tray and looked at her cigarette. Half of it was gone already, and she could barely feel its effects. This was going to be a long night.

With that thought, the doorbell rang, and Zelda felt her headache begin to brew.

"Oh! There's the door," Hilda said.

"Yes, we all heard it," Zelda snarked, but it fell on deaf ears as her sister ran off to the foyer.

Zelda adjusted herself, ensuring she looked relaxed and unbothered by the woman's arrival as she eased herself in the armchair and considering pouring a glass of whiskey.

She wouldn't because decorum would dictate offering Wardwell a drink, and she didn't want to do that.

The door opened, and she could hear Sabrina greeting the woman, quickly catching her up with everything as Zelda inhaled the smoke and felt it curl down into her lungs, holding there before she let it exhale again.

"-need you to look after him, if that's okay?" Sabrina finished as she led Ms Wardwell into the room and gestured to the mouse. "Until we bring him to the Council tomorrow, that is. But I'll come over and pick it up."

The Wardwell woman crouched down before the coffee table, smoothing down the back of the navy blue dress before it began to ride up. "What a lovely, little mouse you have here," Ms Wardwell said before her eyes flicked over to Zelda. "You don't mind, do you?"

Zelda was going to answer when the faint smell of perfume wafted over, making her chest tighten with the familiarity of it. Adjusting herself in the chair, so her back was sitting up straighter, she drew in a drag of the cigarette and nodded to the woman.

Ms Wardwell drew her hands over the mouse, whispering to it softly, "be a good girl."

"It's a boy," Sabrina corrected. "I...think."

It didn't matter, Zelda felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle at the term.  

She eyed the woman carefully, watching as Sabrina gave a rundown of what happened as she finally caught and lifted the mouse into her hand. She rose it up to eye level, holding its body carefully in her grip. Her ice-blue eyes narrowed at the mouse before they turned to Zelda, and a slow, red-coloured smirk filled her features.

Zelda felt as if her heartbeat had slowed right down until she could feel every squeezing contraction of the muscle. The woman was watching her now, the lips parting into a wide, mischievous grin.

"Isn't that right, Auntie?" Sabrina asked her.

Zelda flicked her eyes to her niece and smiled at her, giving a small nod. "Of course," she replied, having no idea what she'd agreed to.

Sabrina gave her an odd look but returned to beam at Ms Wardwell anyway, clasping her hands behind her back as she bounced on her feet with brewing excitement. "Once they realise what Father Black– er, his Unholiness has done," Sabrina said, before scrunching up her nose, "then they'll have no choice but to execute him and save Ambrose."

"Quite," Ms Wardwell said, holding the mouse tighter as it began to squirm. "Well, as I said before, I'm happy to look after the familiar. You can pick it up tomorrow from school if you prefer?"

"That should be easy. I imagine the Council would want to see us around midday. Right, Aunties?"

Zelda watched the mouse wiggle in Ms Wardwell's grip, likely knowing what creature was holding it. "Most likely, they did direct twenty-four hours, I would advise producing him before then," she said. The mouse slackened with a soft squeak, apparently giving up on its escape for the moment.

"Of course, I'm sure I can manage to keep him safe for a few hours."

"I'm sure you could," Zelda said, bitterness seeping in her voice. Ms Wardwell looked to her and gave a modest shrug. There was a playful aspect to it in the way she held her eyes. As if she knew what Zelda was thinking.

"Tea?" Hilda asked as she went to lift the pot from the tea tray.

Standing up, Zelda declared, "I believe Ms Wardwell would probably like to return home and get some rest given how late the hour is." Before walking over to pick up the cage in one hand as she met Ms Wardwell's piercing blue eyes. "Shall I walk you out?"

"Of course," she said, in her sweet, school-teacher voice.

Zelda took the familiar, placing it in its cage before snapping the lid shut. She gave a sharp look to Sabrina, warning her not to follow, before walking the so-called Principle of Baxter High out of the parlour, through to the foyer and then outside.

The anxiety of the revelation burrowed through her nerves as she marched her down the stairs. It seemed so evident as she thought over their interactions and all the tidbits Mary Wardwell had provided about her history. There was no way that Edward wouldn't have mentioned this woman. No, she should have known from the exorcism, should have known when she first met her sauntering around their home, under some excuse of wanting a funeral service. What kind of witch wandered around another witch's house?

Around their nightmares?

How dare she!

Ms Wardwell was quiet as she walked beside her, a serene expression over her face as she looked up at night sky, where the half-moon hung amongst the stars. For a moment, Zelda wondered if she'd been right. And then the blue eyes fell to hers again, and Zelda knew she was. That Cheshire grin glowing red in the moonlight.

'Tell me, Zelda, what would you do if I told you it was the Dark Lord's will to extinguish the girl from your life?'

She shivered at the memory of her pre-wedding night. It seemed the woman had been playing with the Spellmans for far too long.

Stalking over to where the woman had parked her car, she pulled open the back door and stuffed the familiar in the backseat before slamming the door shut, her anger boiling over as she turned on her heel to face the woman who was standing far closer than she had a right to.

"Someone's grumpy."

Zelda felt a growl rise in her chest. "You," she spat out.

"Me," Ms Wardwell said, placing an innocent look on her face as she drew her hands before her, tilting her face forward, eyes wide open. She should slap her. "Did I hurt you in some way, Ms Spellman?"

"How long have you been masquerading as-" and she cut herself off, uncertain as to where her lies began, and where the truth did. "How long?" she asked shortly instead.

"Oh, well, now that could have many answers. You'll need to be specific."

Zelda felt her irritation grow, looking over to where the house was. It was dark enough that they would likely have trouble seeing them even if they had their faces pressed to the window. So as long as she kept her voice down, they shouldn't come running out to investigate. "How long have you been watching over Sabrina?"

Ms Wardwell tilted her head, eyes narrowing as if hoping Zelda would have asked another question. "Since it was asked of me," she answered.

"And exactly when did that begin?"

"Not long before her baptism was first to occur. I was meant to...encourage it along, and when that failed, I was to guide her back to the Path of Night."

"Why?"

"It was the Dark Lord's will. Now ask the question you really want to." Ms Wardwell stepped closer, and Zelda walked back a step, before feeling rear car door press against her. It mirrored a similar interaction to Rome, and Zelda felt her thighs press tighter together. "Come now, are you afraid of little old me?"

"I'm not afraid of you," Zelda snapped. "You've lied to my family, masquerading as some excommunicated spinster witch. If anything, I'm furious. I should tell Sabrina what you really are."

"You won't, though," Lilith said, having the audacity to look unconcerned at her threat.

"I would."

"No, you won't. Because the Dark Lord's will is to guide Sabrina to greatness, and you wouldn't dare step in the way of that." Lilith stepped forward again, before reaching out and tucking a curl behind Zelda's ear. "You're many things, Zelda, but you're not a heretic. It's why I chose to visit you on your wedding night."

Zelda shivered at the woman's touch. "You don't know what I would do for my family."

"Don't I? Then why don't you run in there now and tell her?" Lilith paused, waiting for Zelda to move, and when she didn't, she grinned at her. "You won't stand in the way of the Dark Lord's will, not when it could be so beneficial for the Spellman name."

"Sabrina won't be manipulated. She'll see right through you."

"Is that so?" Lilith's fingers stroked down Zelda's cheek, coming to a stop under her chin. "She's going to make the Spellman name remembered through all of history. At her side, you'll be remembered as the woman that brought her there." Lilith leant forward, her lips brushing against Zelda's. "Wouldn't all that power be nice? You'd be an Unholy Saint, Zelda Spellman."

Zelda felt her lips part in response, her eyes fluttering shut as her body keened forward. Lilith was right, she did want that. Zelda wanted Sabrina to be magnificent, wanted it to be the result of her raising. And Sabrina had so far to go, she would still need a hand to guide her.

Their lips brushed again, and Zelda felt Lilith's fingers curl over her throat. In that touch, all her worries slipped away, all her anger melted as desire filled her. She leaned forward and felt the woman's tongue slide over hers.

Zelda moaned and drew her hands to the woman's waist, only to have Lilith step out of them, pulling away from her altogether as she laughed.

"See?" she said as she drew her eyes over Zelda's form. "I know you better than you know yourself."

Zelda clenched her jaw, pressing her lips shut as she looked away from the woman over to the Spellman Manor. She could feel her cheeks going red at the humiliation, but worse, she could feel the absence of the woman, her skin cold and raw where her fingers had been, prickling at the lost. She felt the humiliation rise all the more as Lilith's eyes watched her.

"So all of this was a ploy to get closer to Sabrina," Zelda said.

"Was it?" Lilith enquired. "I don't remember asking you for anything of that sort. In fact, I believe our relationship was built on a physical request," Lilith reached out and intertwined their hands together, and lifted them up, pressing red lips to her knuckles. "Would you like me to demonstrate that for you?"

Zelda snatched her hand back. "You don't really think I'm going to continue after all of this?"

"Why don't I let you think about it?" Lilith asked as she stepped away from Zelda to the front door of the car. As it creaked open, Zelda moved off from the car and walked away, staring as the woman slid into the driver's seat and smiled up at her. "I expect I'll see you soon, mouse."

"Unlikely," she retorted. Lilith only smiled at her as she pulled the door shut. Zelda could feel the warmth in her lower belly as she thought about the woman's lips grazing her own, the touch against her hand and neck that still burnt.

Turning away before Lilith could get another word in, she walked off towards the house. She needed to tell Sabrina. She wouldn't let some woman, Lilith or not, dictate what she would tell her niece.  

The car started as Zelda made her way to the front porch, the sound of the wheels driving on the gravel and dirt, off to the main road echoing around their property. Zelda made the mistake of turning to look over her shoulder and catch the rear lights driving down.

What was she doing?

If she told Sabrina, her niece would turn away from the Dark Lord's will. Actively defy whatever it may be. Would it be so terrible for her to keep this knowledge to herself for a time until she knew what Lilith's goal was? After all, as Mary Wardwell, Lilith had not brought Sabrina harm, she'd even guided her to sign her name in the Book of the Beast. And the Dark Lord hadn't led them wrong before.

Zelda drew a breath and pushed through the front door. No, perhaps it would be better to think about it first and find out what the Dark Lord wanted from Sabrina. There was every chance it was precisely what Sabrina wanted.

Perhaps Sabrina was right, and he did wish to bring about the balance between Mortals and Witches. It seemed unlikely, but who was she to define what the Dark Lord's will was?

[deathsdoorman]

Rose Coloured Spectre-cals || Solo

Hundreds of eyes stared out from the opposite end of the room. They sat where the light couldn’t reach past the small corner where the table lamp sat, giving only the impression of their vague outlines where they clustered themselves in one corner of the room. Crossing the space her gaze locked on the vacant glassy-eyed stare of the one in the forefront as it watched her. Its eyes shone unnaturally where the light glinted against them as it followed her steps while she tried to ignore it and explored the rest of the room’s interior. Unable to shake the feeling of being watched Cassie reached out reluctantly to touch it, her hand brushed against the ageing lace and velvet frills of its dress collar, wincing at the scrape of the porcelain as the doll head twisted sideways to face away from her to the far wall.

“How long have you been collecting this kind of thing?” The whole house was a museum of odd antiques and trinkets scattered over every available space. Cassie stopped and picked up one of the pillar candles cluttering one of the nightstands opposite. She held it up, turning it over and caught the price sticker and felt an eyebrow raise. Apparently, Walmart was the Satanists candle-maker of choice now, judging from the ripped and tattered price sticker still curling under itself at the bottom. At least with the candle they’d gone the extra mile. Etchings covered the wax in various sinister looking shapes dug in deep and filled in with rust coloured paint. They even made the effort to have it studded with cloves pushed into the crevices. Movie prop quality stuff, she was almost impressed.

“About a year now,” Marian, the homeowner, moved closer towards her. Leaning against the doorframe she folded her arms over and shivered, “I don’t even like touching that thing,” she nodded towards the candle. “Bad energy from the moment it came to the house.”

Cassie nodded and made a mental note, straightened up and continued her examination of the upstairs part of the house. Every now and again Marian would walk in front of her, turning backwards to give her an odd expectant look. It wasn’t going to be easy to concentrate with a second shadow and if anything was lurking around, they weren’t going to show face, not with an audience.

“Hey, so this might take a while. Why don’t you take it easy, do whatever you do normally? You know, pretend I wasn’t here,” she offered and hoped she wasn’t dead set on sticking around.

“Oh sure. Sure, sure-sure-sure,” she nodded to Cassie’s relief. “I’ll be down in the parlour, holler if you need anything.” 

As Marion retreated back downstairs, she relaxed a little and opened herself up to anything that either couldn’t or wouldn’t show themselves and left her equipment at the top of the stairs. Six rooms down and nothing. The rooms around her were creepy, but that was by design. Each decorated and stuffed with oddities and clutter like oversized curiosity cabinets. Weird, but not house call worthy. Passing by the window looking out into the well-manicured yard she peered inside the last door and frowned at the normality. A regular pastel pink and Pine bedroom greeted her which was strangely misplaced compared with the contents of the rest of the house. The end of the upstairs hallway ended with a set of ladders leading up to the attic space. 

Drafts and scratching usually had more hallmarks of a squirrel problem than anything paranormal. From experience ghosts were more likely to show up somewhere at a gas station bathroom than an airless, windowless dust trap. Way more people to scare out there per square inch than in here. Putting a hand on the first ladder rung a mental picture crossed her mind of the stairs suddenly drawing up to meet her and the door locking in place, but shook it off and made her way up. The dead didn’t scare her the way they used to; the living on the other hand, they had their moments. 

Throwing in an extra half an hour past what was agreed she did a final sweep of both floors of the house and came to the same conclusion as before; the house was clean. Grabbing her bag back up from beside the top of the stairs she slung it over one shoulder and descended the stairs. “Okay. So, good news,” Cassie called as she made the last few bounds down to the bottom of the stairs. “I’ve looked around and no ghosts here.' She smiled as Marion came into view and made her best Tangina Barrons impression, “this house is clean,” imagining the relief she must be feeling. Which turned out to be the opposite of what she wanted to hear judging from the shift in Marion’s complexion from pale to ashen as she stared at her with a bemused expression.

“But there has to be,” Marion couldn’t keep the agitation from her voice, “I don’t understand,” she darted into the front room and came back with a battered looking cigar box she thrust towards Cassie. “What about this then, you must be able to get something from this. I paid five hundred for it.”

Cassie took a step back, placed her hand on top of the box and gently lowered it and Marion’s hand back down and out of her face. “There’s nothing attached to that, but it doesn’t really work like that. I’m not—I’m not psychic,” she quickly stopped, realising how that sounded. “Well not like that I mean...I can’t just-”

“This is a joke.” 

“You said this used to be a guesthouse back in the day, right?  Old building, a lot of history. A lot of creaks and noises so it's easy to picture-”

“-I’ve seen things. I’ve felt things. There has to be something here,” Marion put a hand over the top of her head and turned on her accusingly, “what good are you to me then?”

Now it was Cassie’s turn to be confused. “I don’t know what to tell you, but there’s nothing in here.” Normally this was a good thing. For the sane at least, “but you don’t want anybody haunting your home anyway,” she reasoned, “they can’t even pay rent.”

“Then what the hell am I paying you for?”

Cassie stifled the urge to remind her this was pro bono and remembered the ‘anonymous benefactor’ she mentioned who had given out her number. “When they told you to contact me what exactly did they tell you? Did they give you a name?” She asked,  already knowing the answer. Marian straightened to stand at full height, arms crossed, “His name was Marvin...or Martin something.” Marsden, Cassie quickly corrected in her dead. Who else. This had his sense of humor all over it. He recommended you,” she let out an indignant huff of breath through her nose. “He said you actually knew what you were doing. Well, let me tell you after this you’ll be lucky if anybody this side of the state so much as breathes near your direction.” 

“You promise?” Cassie murmured, but not quietly enough she quickly realised with a traitorous pang of guilt and winced as she looked up to face the other woman again. 

 “Out, go on, out,” Marion fumbled to get the words out, her eyes livid as she moved to usher her to the door. “Get out of my house!” 

Cassie reached for her cell phone to call a soon to be dead man and made her way towards the door before she had to be told twice. Making her way back to the car she dumped her bag back onto the backseat and sat down inside and fished the tin of mints out from the glove compartment with her free hand while the other scrolled through her contacts until ‘DO NOT ANSWER’ came up and dialled. It connected on the fifth ring. 

“You’re an ass,” she responded before he could say so much as a word.

“Absolutely. What about?” 

“Next time you decide to help do me a favour: don’t.”

“What?” She could practically see the impish look on Marsden’s stupid smug face, “I thought you could use a laugh after last time. I thought she’d be right up your alley. Actual proof people can live without a brain.”

“Where do you get these people?”

“I was just getting rid of some cast-offs. She wanted to take them off my hands and I was happy to oblige. What can I say?”

“That’s the lowest-”

 “A morality lesson? coming from you. I’m honoured. How is that martyr complex coming along?”

That last one stung more than she liked to admit, “bite me.”

“Careful who you say that to. They’ might take it as an invite.”

Biting back a retort she felt a prickle on the back of her neck and turned towards the driver side window to see the lady of the house glaring out from her front window. If looks could kill. She tucked the phone between her shoulder and her ear and pulled the visor down before starting the car. “I gotta go before the mob descends,” she hung up and started the engine as Marion’s eyes continued to bore into the side of the car. She didn’t get paid enough for this. She didn’t get paid at all. Peeling away from the curb she wondered if it was too late to go back to the day job and look into that telepathic waffle maker while she still had the chance. 

[juniperpublishers-sciences]

Risk Factors and Indicators of Reduced Welfare of Grazing Dairy Cows from Selected Smallholder Dairy Farms in Midlands Province-Juniper Publishers

Abstract

Zimbabwe ́s smallholder dairying faces many challenges that affect the welfare of dairy cows; however the status of this welfare has not yet been determined. A cross sectional study was conducted in Midlands Province on 41 active smallholder dairy farms with 86 cows in winter and summer, to determine the risk factors and indicators to impaired cow welfare. These objectives were achieved using farmer questionnaires and direct observations. 11% of the observed cows were severely lame in summer while only five % were severely lame in winter. Lameness was significantly associated with season, absence of shade, breed and low dipping frequency; 58% of the cows had low body condition scores (BC<3) and this low BC was associated with low frequency of protein (p=0.002) and vitamin (p=0.012) supplementation recorded in more than 52% of the farms visited. In winter only 11% of the observed cows were heavily soiled (score 3), whilst in summer 64% of the cows were heavily soiled and this was associated with slurry accumulation in more than 80% of the observed cattle pens as well as the study season (p<0.001). A quarter (26%) of the studied animals had visible teat lesions on the teat skin and this was associated with type of lubricant used (p =0.011). Only 34% of the cows allowed an approaching stockman to touch them and this was associated with shouting (p=0.012) and whipping of cows (p=0.002). The study concluded that welfare of dairy cows was poor in most of the smallholder dairy farms studied.

Keywords:   Risk factors; Indicators; Cow welfare

    Introduction

Bacteriorhodopsin (bR) is an integral membrane protein found in the purple membrane of the Halobacterium halobium. As a light driven proton pump, bRs capture photons in the order of 500nm-650nm. Existing research found that 300mv of electricity generated per purple membrane [1]. Conversely, bacterial reaction center (bRC) is found in Rhodobacter sphaeroides. It generates 800mv of electricity in total, considering the transfer of 4 protons in the membrane. Multiple interventions to denature and modulate the structure of bR should be considered, including pH, temperature, detergent and wavelength of laser light. Bacteriorhodopsin has been known to function between0C to 45C at a pH of 1-11. It tolerates temperature over 80C in water and up to 140C in dry [2]. Conventionally, laser is utilized to precipitate the photoisomerization of bR, consequently shifting all trans-13 to structure. The chromophore which is covalently attached to Lys216 through a Schiff base is modulated through this method. Bacterial Reaction Center (bRC) is a light driven electron transfer reaction that converts solar energy to chemical energy. bRC are integral membrane structured proteins found in the purple membrane of Rhodobacter sphaeroides. It is composed of 3 protein subunits--L, M and H. It has 3 major co-factors composed of 4bacterio-chlorophylls, 2 bacteriopheophytins and 2 quinones [3]. In this interaction, electron transfer occurs through light ejection of electron that passes through them embrane. Conversion of sunlight to chemical energy simultaneously precipitates. Both bR and bRC from Halobacterium halobium and Rhodobacter sphaeroides respectively generate a considerable worth of electricity that can be used in the industry today. Although bRC emits power in a rather limited merit, future research would determine its potential for catalyzing electrically reliant applications such as optics, instrumentation and therapeutic values. bRC can be utilized for solar energy and drive photovoltaic cells. Its usage is ubiquitous at this point and has generated multitude of photovoltaic and solar energy driven applications. Further research will enhance the efficacy of bRC generated solar cells and related interventions.

This high stocking rate has resulted in overgrazing and consequently increased erosion and grass stunting in most Zimbabwean rangelands. Knap sac spraying is used for tick control of the dairy herd; vaccination for Foot and Mouth disease as well as rabies is done by the Government, while vaccination and control of other prevalent diseases like Lumpy Skin Disease, black leg and brucellosis is done by farmers. Studies done in Kenya on the welfare of zero grazing dairy cows showed that poor welfare of dairy cows existed in smallholder dairies [1].

Zimbabwe’s smallholder dairy is also characterized by challenges such as high prices of protein rich commercial concentrates which results in inadequate and inconsistent protein supplementation to dairy cows; frequent outbreaks of diseases [2]; poor husbandry practices and lack of high yielding exotic breeds. These challenges to smallholder dairy systems, results in lowered body condition, which then impacts negatively on cow health, productivity and consequently welfare of the cow. Welfare of grazing cows in both the small holder set up and large-scale dairies in Zimbabwe and Africa as a whole has not been adequately studied and with the growing concern on food quality and safety from consumers, there is compelling need to evaluate welfare of cows in these sectors. Improved cow welfare will not only improve productivity of the dairy cow but the whole milk supply chain will benefit, hence the importance and relevance of this study.

    Materials and Methods

The research was conducted in two selected districts of Midlands Province (Gweru and Gokwe South) targeting active smallholder dairy farmers. Midlands is characterized by colddry winters (5 to12 °C, 0 to 20mm) and hot humid summers (25 °C to 30 °C, 500mm to 700mm). Mature dairy cows (Red Dane, Jersey, and Holstein mainly crossed with either Tuli or Mashona) from each selected household were examined for the study regardless of their lactation status. In those smallholder units that had less than 5 cows; all cows were used for the study whilst in those units that had more than 5 cows, simple random sampling was used to select 5 cows to be used for the study. Each household was then visited once in winter i.e. from 3 August 2015 to 29 September 2015; and once in summer i.e. from 23 December 2016 to 17 February 2017 to determine the indicators and risk factors to reduced cow welfare using a questionnaire administered through face to face interviews and an animal as well as farm observation tool. All the farmers in Midlands Province who were actively supplying milk to the milk collection center or producing milk for sale (organized smallholder dairies) were included in the study i.e. 35 households from Gokwe South (70 cows) and 6 households from Gweru (16 cows).

Questionnaire

Data collected using the questionnaire included: Household (HH) demographics; level of education for HH; agriculture training received by HH; number of people staying at the HH; dairy herd demographics; institutional support; number, structure and breeds; general husbandry and milking practices; dehorning, castration, hair tail; euthanization methods; udder hygiene; teat lubricants; feeding and watering of animals; energy, protein, vitamin and mineral supplementation frequency; source and distance of water source.

Animal observation tool

Lameness- measured when the cow was either going in or out of the milking parlour using the lameness score sheet during both winter and summer. Lameness was measured on a 4 point scale of 0-3 with 0 indicating good mobility and 3 the animal will be severely lame [3].

Cow cleanliness

This was assessed in winter and summer on similar cows by the investigator early in the morning before cows were released for grazing using a cow cleanliness score chart

Body condition

Scored by the investigator on a scale of one to five during feeding times using a body condition score chart during both summer and winter and on similar cows

Hair loss

Recorded in both winter and summer on a scale of one – three using the hair loss score chart

Teat and hind limb lesions

Teat lesions scored in both winter and in summer as either present or absent

Skin and hind limb lesions

Scored as either present or absent. Skin lesions scored once in winter as either present or absent.

Aggressive interactions between cows

Coded as either frequent or not frequent and were observed during feeding times in winter only for at least 10 minutes per each smallholder unit visited

Avoidance distance

Each cow was assessed once in winter during the study period. Avoidance distance was categorized into cows that could be touched, cows that could be approached 50cm but not touched, cows that could be approached as closely as 50 -100cm, and cows that could not approached as closely as 100cm [4].

Farm observation tool

Site and material used for kraal construction; state of kraal floors, presence of shade, foot bath and handling facilities

Data analysis and presentation

Data was entered and cleaned in Microsoft Excel and then exported into IBM Statistics SPSS version 23. Basic descriptive statistics were generated followed by tests association (chi square tests of independence) between risk factors and indicators of reduced cow welfare.

    Results and Discussion

A total of 36 households owning 86 cattle were interviewed from Gweru and Gokwe South districts of Midlands Province, Zimbabwe..

    Lameness

In the dairy sector, lameness is considered an endemic disease that affects health and welfare of dairy cattle and results in production loss [5]. Figure 1 shows percentage lameness scores by season while Table 1 shows factors significantly associated with lameness. Study results revealed that more cattle were lame in summer than in winter. The overall low proportion of lame cows in the study (5% winter and 11% summer) may be attributable to the disease resistant cross breeds that dominate the smallholder dairy sector in Zimbabwe and the fact that the studied cows were not confined but had free access to pasture giving them adequate opportunity to exercise thereby improving claw conformation [6].

These findings were in concordance with the work of other authors [7], who reported herd lameness for grazing cows to be 3.5% in Ethiopia. The association between lameness and absence of shade (p<0.001) on most dairy farms may be attributable to the fact that the presence of shade enhances passive ventilation and lowers body temperature and thus reduce restless behavior, and increases the time spent resting by cows thereby reducing the chances of lamenes. The association between moderate lameness cases and low dipping frequency has not yet been reported and may be attributed to ineffective tick control that promotes the spread of ticks in cattle and dip resistance to ticks. Bond legged ticks were noticed between the claws in some of the lame cows and this resulted in poor gait in some of the infested dairy cows. Holstein crosses had higher locomotion score compared to their counterparts (Red Dane* Tuli crosses and the Jersey crosses). The Red Dane* Tuli cross showed higher lameness resistance compared to the other two breeds and had low locomotion scores; this has been previously recorded [8].

The observation that slurry and cattle manure was not removed from cattle housing on a regular basis in 73% of the observed farms, implies that animal welfare is poor among most smallholder dairy farms. The association between lameness and season was expected and is in concordance with the work by other authors [9]. Most kraals were wet and muddy in summer. Moisture and slurry softens and damages the claw resulting in lameness. The observed foot lameness scores of three were in most cases, a result of direct trauma to the foot most likely by sharp objects like rough edges of toughs and stone bruises (Table 1). There was no significant association between levels of education of the household head as well institutional support farmers received and occurrence of lame cows in studied households (Figure 1).

Cow cleanliness Study results revealed that there were more heavily soiled cows (score 3) during the rain summer season (P<0.001) compared to the dry winter season (Figure 2). Significant association tests were conducted between cow cleanliness and the following factors: Lameness, body condition score, and slurry accumulation in cattle kraals and season. Percentage cleanliness scores of smallholder dairy cows by season, Midlands Province, Zimbabwe.

Cow cleanliness was significantly associated with manure accumulation in cattle kraals (χ2= 33,218, df=1, p<0.001) and season (χ2 =14,234,104, df=1, p<0.001). The good husbandry practice of removing manure and slurry was not done on a regular basis i.e. once per week, by the majority of farmers (80%) which led to the accumulation of manure and slurry in most kraals. Failure by smallholder dairy farmers to remove slurry on a regular basis may predispose cows to environmental mastitis [10]. The claw lesions will result in lameness and consequently impaired cow welfare. Instead of regularly removing slurry from cattle pens famers opted to let the dung accumulate as manure which is then used to fertilize crops at the expense of cow comfort. On those farms that were visited when cows were still in their kraals, dairy cows were observed lying on top of manure, fresh cow dung and sometimes on bare earth.

Body condition Figure 3 illustrates the percentage distribution of various body condition scores from the two study sites by season and Table 2 shows factors significantly associated with good body condition. Cattle condition picked up in summer and severely dropped in winter. The observation that in most of the farms (52%), protein concentrates were not given on a regular basis (Table 2) implies that feeding standards for most of these smallholder units was below the expected average. The association significance observed in this study between a good body condition score and regular feeding of commercial concentrate shows the welfare benefits of including standard levels of protein and energy in diet of dairy cows. Cows in poor body condition have low levels of milk fat and low overall milk yields because of inadequate reserves of protein and energy and may undergo anoestrus up and until the body condition improve [8]. Verbal information from farmers showed that protein concentrates were fed to lactating cows only, an indication that dry cows and heifers were denied access to quality nutrients in these production units. There was no significant association between regular feeding of home mixed concentrates (sunflower cake and crushed maize) and a good body condition. However, though not verified, it could be due to a poor mixing ratio of sunflower and crushed maize as well as failure to quantify properly these supplements when offering them to cows. The observation that farmers who had received formal agriculture training (25%) owned the majority of cattle with an optimum body condition demonstrates the benefits of formal agriculture training in improving cattle welfare and hence productivity. However, no association significance was observed between institutional support received by farmers and observed body condition scores.

Air loss

As shown in Table 3, very few cows (3%) had large patches of hair loss. These observed hair loss scores were in most cases a direct result of prior exposure to skin diseases.

Skin lesions and their implications

These were confined to various body parts like the neck, abdomen, tail head and ribcage. The observed skin lesions reflected poor management and indicated that dairy cows in these smallholder farms were living in harmful environments. Among the 41 farms visited 32% of the observed animal houses had sharp protruding poles and wires on either the entrance or on the side walls. These wires and protruding poles were possible causes of abdomen and rib cage lesions and were statistically tested but had no significant effect. Use of opened up metal drums with rough edges in 26% of the studied farms was put forward as a risk factor to observed neck and mouth lesions but no significant association was found. The unexpected lack of significant association between rib cage lesions and presence of sharp protruding poles in cattle houses, as well as lack of significant association between neck lesions and use of metal drums with rough and sharp edges could be due to the small sample size and other factors which could not be assessed on the farm like thorns from the grazing area which could prick cows as well as use of barbed wire in paddocks. Verbal information from farmers also revealed that some of the observed skin lesions were caused by surgical removal of warts using hot knives and removal of horns in adult cattle although this was not very common. The verbal discussions also revealed that anesthetics were not being used by many farmers.

Hind limb lesions from the 86 animals observed, 36% had lesions on hind limbs. Hind limb lesions were significantly associated (χ2= 6,567, p=0.010) with tying of hind limbs during milking. The practice of tying hind limbs while milking was being practiced on 82% of the farms visited.

Teat lesions from the 86 cows assessed, 26 % had visible teat lesions such as scratches, swellings and cracks on the teat skin. For effective mastitis control and improved dairy cow welfare, there is need to maintain good teat skin through use of teat lubricants and proper milking procedures [11]. Table 4 shows proportion of farmers that used various teat lubricants.

Occurrence of teat lesions was significantly associated with the type of teat lubricant used (χ2=12.982, df= 4, p =0.011). This was anticipated because teat lubricants reduce friction between the teat and the milker’s hands when hand milks and act as insulators to teats thereby reducing chances of teat damage. The use of milk salve was more common in Gokwe South where famers were getting the lubricant from the Milk Collection Centre (MCC) and Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) than in Gweru where no such assistance existed. In Gweru there was use of petroleum jelly as a substitute for milk-salve which was not locally available. The observation that there were fewer cows that had teat lesions belonging to farmers who were using petroleum jelly when compared to those farmers that did not use any teat lubricant, confirms the welfare benefits of teat lubrication to dairy cows. In Zimbabwe petroleum jelly is cheap and locally available lubricant used by people. When used as a lubricant by human beings, petroleum jelly protects: minor cuts, skin scraps, dry and cracked skin by preventing moisture loss from these areas thereby speeding up the natural healing process. These are the same roles that are played by milk salve on cattle teats, making petroleum jelly an effective substitute for milk salve. Factors that were not investigated such as teat pulling could also be held accountable for the unexpected occurrence of teat lesions even on those farms where teat lubricants were frequently used. However, the practice of allowing calves to suckle before and after milking reported in more than 10% of the farms visited, could also be attributable to some of the teat lesions observed in cows belonging to farmers who were using teat lubricant.

Aggressive interactions

Frequent aggressive interactions between cows were recorded in 31% of the 41 farms studied and were significantly associated with an inadequacy of feeding space (χ2= 20.757, df=1 p<0.001). When feeding simultaneously and if feeding space is inadequate cows compete and, in the process, shy and weak cows are bullied away. Aggressive interactions between cows were more common in instances where cows were sharing a single small feeding trough. When cows were feeding simultaneously, feeding space per cow was not adequate (<0.5m per cow) in 72% of the observed farms. On some farms three to four cows were observed sharing feed from an opened up tire or a small wooden feeding trough. In those situations, cows were then observed pushing against each other and the shy feeders moving away from the trough.

Avoidance distance

Only 34% of the cows studied were touched by the approaching stockperson, the rest moved away. The association between avoidance distance and use of whips as well as shouting at cows (Table 5) was attributable to the fact that dairy cows can remember negative interactions and the place where these negative interactions may have occurred as well as the negative handler. Negative interactions such as use of whips, shouting and whistling when handling cows, results in poor growth performance and lowers immune response in dairy cows [12]. The association significance between avoidance distance and frequency of mineral supplementation to dairy cows could be related to regular feeding of nutritious feed to cows which improves the quality of human to cow relationship as the cows get used to and enjoy contact with the stockman who feeds them with quality feed. There was no association between avoidance distance and factors such as institutional support and farmer level of education.

    Conclusion and Recommendations

Poor dairy cattle welfare exists in the smallholder dairy production systems in Zimbabwe. Zimbabwe Agriculture extension departments should promote pasture and forage production among smallholder dairies and should also incorporate lessons on animal welfare in its curriculum. Zimbabwe should enforce implementation of the Prevention of cruelty to animals act of 1960 and where possible come up with a more comprehensive Animal welfare act. To raise childhood awareness on animal welfare issues, it is further recommended that Primary schools education curriculum should include animal welfare lessons and there is need for innovation platforms on animal welfare in Zimbabwe. Further studies can be done to evaluate dairy calf welfare to evaluate the potential of the replacement dairy herd.

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[theimaginesyouneveraskedfor]

Foreigner’s God {Two}

Chapter Two: Restraint

Chapter One

I’ve finally gotten back to this series so here’s part two. So yeah, with how it’s going, Loki is gonna be more of a butt in this series so don’t expect to like him. Comments and feedback are always appreciated, in fact, I am so thirsty for comments so please like, reblog, leave some wordage. Love.

Lightning spattered the afternoon sky; the clouds ominous grey despite the early hour. The rainstorm had carried on since dawn. Ilona didn’t mourn the bad weather for she rarely had the chance to go outside as it was. What she rued was how crowded the palace seemed when the nobles were imprisoned by the endless downpour. And all had the same want in these hours of gloom; tea.

Ilona was waiting for the brass kettle to tremble when Della noisily entered the kitchen, snorting at the line of used tea cups across the counter. She neared the open wood stove where the water began to boil and sneered across the kitchen as if the dozens of servants weren’t flurrying in endless labour. She stopped beside the dark-haired enchantress. Ilona’s bun was kept low to hide the tails of ink the stretched beyond the collar of her gown and her long sleeves helped conceal her blasphemous tattoos from the noble Adgardians. Della had made sure of it.

“The queen summons you,” She said. Her voice was both high and croaky at once. Her pinched nose sat between narrow set blue eyes faded by the years. Wrinkles crawled like spider legs along her lips and around her eyes. She snapped her fingers, signalling another servant to deal with the steaming kettle. “Be quick about it.”

“I’m sure Frigga won’t mind if I excuse myself on your behalf,” Ilona replied, “Why a queen hardly outranks a kitchen maid.”

Della scoffed. “Do not tarry as you have,” She warned but Ilona showed little recognition of her order.

She had not delayed her duties, she had merely been trying to ignore the ongoing subterfuge. Small things like the re-emergence of a pile of dust she had just dusted or a window opening anon whenever she closed it. She had determined that apathy was her only defense but that only brought upon censure from the kitchen maid.

“Vraji bitch,” Della remanded loud enough to be heard as Ilona head for the door. She cared little for the insult; she had grown use to them. She had been called worse.

Ilona’s trek to the queen’s chambers was undisturbed. Her path undisturbed. She walked as she always did; head held high though it added little to her stature. Short as she was, she was easy to miss among the naturally tall Adgardians. She preferred to go unnoticed. She paused just beyond the queen’s doors to glance out the window. The storm had calmed, droplets splashing against the glass pane as the sky was paint in streaks of ash. It was rare that the sun didn’t shine on this land.

She carried on, knowing that her visit was best kept prompt. They always were. Frigga attended to her business without fanfare, turning to more interesting ventures instead. 

Ilona stood before the large door inlaid with golden scenes of lovers. She knocked, waiting for a response from within. Another servant, this one wearing the white sash which marked her as solely loyal to the queen herself, answered the door. Each royal had their personal attendants marked by coloured sashes according to master. Common servants like Ilona wore only plain beige gowns and brown aprons.

“The queen is in her parlour,” The maid indicated as she led Ilona through the receiving hall. The ceiling above was painted with scenes of each season, the forestry turning from lush greens, to rusty oranges, and finally to barren browns draped in ivory. Animals frolicked while others hid in the shadows. It was of the few pieces in Asgard that she admired.

To the left, the parlour doors stood open. Inside, a marble floor of azure and a plain white ceiling capped in a silver dome. The curtains were a deep cerulean, often matching the sky without. Sofas, chaises, and armchair were arranged for her visitors and a table was lined with upholstered chairs for those nights when meals were more formal. Frigga only had one guest this day and the dark head need not turn to face Ilona to be recognized.

Loki sat lazily across a chaise, leaning against the arm as he read from a book. Frigga was sat in the armchair to the right of the prince, sewing and humming peacefully. Her blue eyes flicked to the door as she sensed the servant’s arrival and she set aside her crafting. Her son did not react to her sudden changed and she waved her newest visitor closer.

“Ilona,” She greeted her by name. The servant kept her face placid. This queen who had ensnared her would treat her as a friend. Without this wretched cuff, Ilona would easily out magick the Asgardian. “Please, sit. Loki, do straighten up and give her some room.” She ordered her son, who obeyed but did not remove his eyes from the pages of his book.

Frigga motioned for the servant to sit beside her son and patted the ottoman on which she had formerly rested her feet. Ilona set her foot atop it without a word, the cuff seeming to glow as it was revealed from beneath her skirts. Despite his apparent disinterest, the servant could sense Loki’s intrigue. He was minding her every move though he refused to acknowledge her.

“Ahhh,” Frigga bent over her leg and examined the cuff. She touched it with her finger and pulled back sharply. If she were mortal, it would have burned her flesh. “I was wise to summon you this day.” She commented as she turned to open the small drawer in the side table on the other side of her chair.

She pulled out a small metal rod and waved it around the anklet, ribbons of glittering smoke circling it. Ilona sensed the movement beside her. From the corner of her eye she could see that Loki had lowered his book and was watching the scene before him. Frigga slowly rescinded the small rod and stood, careful as she neared the mantel on the far wall. There, stood a row of jars, each one filled with swirling clouds. She made to insert the metal into the glass when the smoke suddenly dispersed into the air, disappearing into the void.

“Mmm,” She grumbled with the usual disappointment, “One day I shall find a jar which can contain such fine magick.” She lamented, setting aside the rod. Ilona hid her disdain. There was not but her own body that could harbour her powers for they were not solely hers but came to her from the land, the sea, and the stars. Frigga had her illusions, her poached tricks, but she could not divine the secrets of the Vraji.

“Would you like a biscuit? Perhaps some cake?” She offered as she neared the coffee that served as the centerpiece among the cushioned seats.

“No, thank you,” Ilona stood. Loki’s eyes lingered on her. Her sharp eyes caught the green aura which had spread across the room; searching. He was trying to find her magick but it had already returned to whence it came. Back to the universe. “May I return to my work, your grace?”

“You may,” She nodded, turning back to look at the jars with hands on hips.

This goddess was just like her husband. She took all through conquest and yet acted the benevolent seer. A slice of cake was no fair price for the essence of others. Ilona bowed and turned to the door, doing her best to mimic Loki’s initial ambivalence as she left.

The porcelain cups clinked as Ilona pushed the cart along the stone floor. The teacups were kept in a closet on a higher level of the palace to keep them from wearing in the damp chill of the basements. Freshly cleaned and carefully dried, they were ready to be put away after a long day of brunches, lunches, and suppers.

A single red cup flew from the cart without cause; no jostle or bump could explain the sudden movement. Ilona halted and tried to reach the porcelain before it could fall. Instead, she nearly collided with another, stopping herself before her face met the green brocade stretched across Loki’s chest. She stood back as he raised the red cup in his hand and admired the golden rim.

“This is Thor’s favourite,” He mused, “My mother had it made for him. Only he uses it...but I assume you know that considering your position. You must know every cup in the bunch.” Ilona remained silent, watching the prince as he tried to irk her. He smirked and replaced the cup on the cart. “It must take no less than an hour to put all these away. Such tedious work. Especially for one who has tasted the simpleness of magick.”

“I never wasted my magick on such foolishness,” She replaced her hands on the cart, ready to push past him but he stepped in front of it before she could move.

“That cuff,” He raised a brow, “It can barely contain you. My mother has never known a magick she could not tame.”

“Her magick, your magick, is frivolous,” Ilona asserted, “It is easily acquired by those who seek to deceive. Mine is only understood by those it chooses. This realm may own my body, but it can never possess that which belongs to Vrajira.”

Loki tilted his head. “If you can learn to correct that tongue, my offer stands.”

“I am content in the kitchens,” She said, “Your majesty.”

She lightly inched the cart forward, waiting for him to move. He stepped aside to her surprise but stood close enough that her arm brushed against him when she passed. He stilled her with a hand on her elbow, leaning down to whisper in her ear. “For now.”

He backed away, watching her as she went until she turned the corner. She knew he was still there. She sensed him hidden in the shadows. Even as she reached the cupboard where the cups were stored, she felt him observing her. It had come to be a familiar sensation, though no less unwelcome.