#grooming business in chicago

[pawcarebooking]

Dog Grooming Logo Ideas: How To Set Your Business Apart From The Pack

Discover creative ways to distinguish your dog grooming business through compelling logo designs. A distinctive logo not only attracts potential clients but also reinforces your brand identity in the competitive pet care industry. Stand out from the pack with visually striking logos that communicate your commitment to excellence and customer satisfaction.

[floral-force]

Saddle Tramp - Chapter 1

ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST

simon "ghost" riley x f!reader - old west/cowboy/western au

summary: Anything is possible in the American West--unless your destiny is predetermined. When your fate as the heiress of a railroad magnate becomes entangled with that of a drifting bounty hunter, you ride into a world of opportunity. Despite your differences, something blooms between you and the masked man that is truly once in a lifetime. Saddle up for a journey west full of rugged terrain, kisses under the stars, smoky saloons, and finding love when you least expect it. (Loosely based on spaghetti westerns and the myth of Hades and Persephone.)

words: 2.7k+

warnings/tags/disclaimers: my work/blog is always 18+ only. I do not own any of the media I reference. alcohol and tobacco use, VERY brief and mild sexual imagery, cowboy ghost does something to me, bounty hunter/cowboy task force 141, references to westerns/media in western settings

a/n: at last...I RETURN!! and I come with the first chapter of a fic that has been bouncing around in my skull for nearly a year. I listened to saddle tramp and I finally fleshed it out. I hope y'all enjoy the ride <3 series masterlist | read on ao3 | join the tag list

The hiss of steam and excited chatter hit your ears as soon as you stepped off the train. The trip from Chicago to Denver was comfortable, but nothing beat stretching tight muscles on solid ground. You ached at the thought of sitting again soon and considered yourself lucky to have such a problem. This trip had been a long time coming, but now that you were standing in Denver and faced with its new terrain and the prospect of your fate, a pit grew in your stomach where a flower should be. The sun late-morning sky and the crisp air refreshed your eyes and lungs after nearly five days of gas lamps and poor ventilation. A luxurious trip came at a cost greater than money, you thought, wincing while rolling your shoulders.

You heard a man call your name and snapped your head to the right as he approached you with the two bulging leather bags you’d packed. You walked towards him, picking up your skirt so you could increase your pace. Despite the cool spring air, beads of sweat formed on your skin as you hurried towards the end of the train. You wiped your dewy forehead with the back of your hand and huffed, hoping nobody could discern your discomfort. You stopped at the middle of the train to meet the man carrying your bags in his crisp blue uniform. As he came into view, you recognized his short brown hair and lean frame—it was Douglas, your father’s assistant.

“Miss, you didn’t need to meet me here!” 

You politely smiled and smoothed out your skirts. “Well, here I am, sir.”

He cleared his throat and looked to his right at the bustling station. “The stage is waiting for you.”

“Here, let me take these off your hands,” you said, reaching for the luggage.

“No, miss, I couldn’t let you carry them! Your father would murder me if he found out.”

You yanked them out of his hands and met his wide green eyes. “He won’t, Mr. Douglas. Now, I’d really love to get the last leg of my trip over with. Traveling is hell for my head.”

“Right this way,” he sighed, motioning for you to follow him through the throng of people.

This wasn’t your first time in Denver, but it was a one-way trip. Your rigorous education groomed you to take over your family’s business, and your father finally decided it was time to begin the hands-on portion of your training. Responsibility made it slightly easier to pack your bags and leave the bustling city you called home, but the expectations on your shoulders weighed your feet down. The only people waiting for you in Denver were Douglas and your father, and you doubted you’d be allowed to visit your aunts and cousins in Chicago within the next six months.

At least Colorado had scenic views and the scent of opportunity. It helped distract you from the bumpy ride in the stagecoach; the first-class passenger train car spoiled you more than you realized. 

“Only a few hours before we reach town, miss.”

“I don’t know how you stand this, Douglas. This is worse for my nausea than a choppy day on the lake or at sea.”

“You’ll adjust in time.”

“I hope so,” you grumbled, “because this is unbearable.”

Finally, the stagecoach came to a stop. Douglas exited and helped you step out, then gestured to the wooden posts framing a dusty main street. 

“Welcome to Steel Run!”

You forced a smile, then grabbed your bags from the driver. Just ahead of the posts, you saw your father speaking with another man on the shaded porch of what you assumed to be the sheriff’s office. Squinting up at the awning, a large sign confirmed your guess. Douglas snatched your bags before you could protest, then urged you to follow him towards your new life.

“Mr. Clarke!”

Your father turned at Douglas’ call, then beamed when he saw you. He abandoned the conversation and walked towards you with his arms out. You fell into his hug and savored the small comfort despite the conflict in your chest. He said your name and planted a kiss on the top of your head. You looked up at him when he pulled away, hoping that your expression gave nothing away.

 “I’m so happy you made it here safely. I trust the journey here was enjoyable?”

“It was, until the ride in the stage.”

He laughed. “You’ll become accustomed to it.”

“That’s what I told her, Mr. Clarke,” Douglas chirped.

“Good man!” 

Your father’s hearty laugh echoed in your head and bounced off the buildings. You leaned to the left and looked past your father’s shoulder at the man standing awkwardly on the porch. He met your eyes, his hair cut short on his head and his clothes perfectly tailored. A badge pinned on his vest glinted when he shifted towards you. You furrowed your brow and nodded your chin at him.

“Who is he?”

“Oh, that fellow?” Your father twisted to look back, then gestured for the man to join your clump. 

When he finally reached your father’s side, he gave you a slight bow. “I’m Phillip Graves. It’s a pleasure, miss.”

You gave him a weak smile. “How do you know my father?”

“My father used some of the profits from his fur trade to fund much of your father’s railroad company. When he passed a month ago, I took over and I’ve been working closely with Mr. Clarke ever since.”

“Phillip, please call me George. We’ll be closer than business partners soon.”

Closer than business partners? What in the hell was your father implying? Your hands grew clammy.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Graves.”

“Please, call me Phillip.”

Your father clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your duties as deputy. I wouldn’t want you to upset Sherriff Ryan.”

“I will see you later then, George.” He gave you a nod and took your hand, kissing your knuckles. “It was a pleasure. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Phillip turned and marched into the building. Your father watched him, then snapped back to focus his wide grin on you. 

“I apologize for the short notice, but I’m hosting a welcome party for you tonight.”

“Tonight?” Your eyes widened and you groaned. “Father, you cannot be serious. I look a mess and the clothes I packed need to be ironed!”

“I went to the trouble of having the seamstress sew something together for you.”

“You didn’t have to—"

A sudden hug forced the air out of your lungs with an oof. “Consider it a welcome gift.” He pulled back and sighed. “Now, let’s head home.”

As you marched down the road towards your father’s property—no, your new home—Douglas pointed out a few notable storefronts. The seamstress on the right, the general store on the left, the saloon on the corner where a new street intersects the main road—“We named it Providence Street,” your father noted—and the doctor just across the street from it. How convenient, you mused as you passed the door. You peered down the street while you walked through the intersection. Meek dwellings peppered it, the short, small cabins housing hopeful prospectors. The buildings lining the road started to spread apart from each other, only one property claiming the very end of main street. 

Finally, your trio approached the two-story home, its slanted roof and warm brown wood suddenly imposing under high noon. You stopped to stare when your toes reached the brick path leading to a shaded porch, the awning supported by four solemn cedar posts. In the distance, mountains scarred the sky; scattered around the home were the trees you’d watched crawl higher and stretch wider throughout the years. Your eyes flitted over the rope swing you’d abandoned after adolescence as a gentle breeze swayed the wooden seat. Lush green leaves offered shade around the property and wildflowers dotted it with splotches of color—you were glad you’d convinced your father to let nature take its course.

“You’re staring as if you’ve never seen it,” your father chuckled, snapping you out of your daze.

“Just savoring the moment, Papa.”

“There will be plenty of time for that later, my dove. For now, let’s go inside—you’ve had a long journey.”

You nodded and followed him, Douglas trailing behind you. Your father opened the front door and held it open for you with a wide smile. Your knees were weak as you crossed the threshold, the sweat on your skin and soaking into your clothes suddenly overwhelming. Excusing yourself and promising your return soon, you hurried up the plain white staircase with Douglas following in your frantic footsteps.

Immediately to the right at the top of the stairs was the door to your room. You turned to Douglas and held out your hands for your bags; he obliged with a nod and rushed back downstairs.

As soon as you stepped inside your room and shut the creaky door, your bags slipped out of your hands and hit the floor with a thud. Afternoon sun flooded the room through the windows in front of you and to your right, its burning light filtered by sheer white curtains. The chestnut armoire in the middle of the wall on your left faced a matching bed with plush sheets and pillows. A sweet siren song called you over and pulled you onto the mattress, finally relieving the fatigue you’d been fighting since morning. It bounced as you flopped belly-first onto it with a groan and a curse. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed rich purple fabric draped across your reading chair in the corner, and something sparkled on the side table next to it. You decided to investigate later as your eyes fluttered shut, the siren of sleep pulling you into the sea of dreams.

A clang filled Simon’s ears when the bars of the town jail cell closed, the air thick under the bandana hiding half his face. Outside, there was a muffled whinny—probably Johnny’s impatient Pinto, Eejit. On his left stood Price, stroking his beard and watching the sheriff like a hawk as he counted out their reward. Johnny leaned against the doorframe with a hand in his pocket while Gaz looked over the wanted posters nailed into the back wall. The deputy stood over the sheriff’s shoulder across from Simon to observe the transaction. The bounty they’d brought in muttered in the cell, no doubt sending curses their way.

“Eight, nine, one thousand.” The sheriff slid the stack of bills across his desk. He tipped his hat. “Thank you kindly, gentlemen.”

“Happy to help,” Price said, pocketing the money.

“Bastards! My men will kill you!” The bounty yelled, knuckles white as he gripped the cell’s iron bars. The unbothered sheriff lit a cigarillo and offered one to the deputy, who turned it down.

“Not if we get to’em first, mate,” Gaz responded. Simon turned to see him rip a few posters off the wall and hand them to Johnny, his careful hands folding them one by one.

Price turned his back to the sheriff. “Let’s go, lads. Saw a pub down th’road.”

The deputy interrupted their exit with a scoff. “The saloon is at the corner across from the general store.”

Simon turned on his heel and sent a hidden scowl his way, eyebrows pressed together. The deputy withered under the searing gaze but to his credit, he barely showed it. 

“I don’ give a fuck what you Yanks call it. If it serves whiskey and I pay for it, it’s a fuckin’ pub.”

He stormed out of the sheriff’s office and joined his group outside. Gaz and Johnny smirked at him as they untied their horses’ reins from the hitching rail, but Price shook his head. He started to count the money out and met Simon’s eyes under his hat when he gave him his cut. Even though no words were said, Simon could hear the older man scolding him for mouthing off. He smirked under his face cloth; Price knew that even a smack with the butt of his pistol wouldn’t change Simon. They joined the other two at their horses, untying them and urging them up the road single file.

A short walk up the road, and they were tying their horses up and then entering the town saloon. Jaunty music paused when Price parted the swinging doors and led the other three men inside, and it resumed once they swung closed behind Simon. Johnny wasted no time sauntering up to the bar and ordering a bottle of whiskey with four glasses while the others staked their claim on a table along the wall across from it. It was livelier than Simon had expected it to be in the late afternoon; the sun could still cut through the hazy, smoky air and shine on their sins. Gaz waved off a saloon girl and settled into the chair facing the wall, making sure not to block Simon’s view of the street outside.

Johnny arrived and set the whiskey and glasses in the center of the table with a grin. “Drink up lads, firs’ one ‘s’on me.” 

Price poured the amber alcohol, and each man took a glass. He raised his in the air and said, “Cheers to a job well done.”

“May the next one be even easier,” Gaz added.

They shared a chuckle and clinked their glasses. The whiskey burnt Simon’s throat, but it was a welcome change from stale canteen water. The longer he lived in the States, the more he got used to their pathetic excuse for whiskey. Johnny refilled his glass as soon as he set it down. Simon raised his eyebrow, and the Scot only shrugged before taking a sip of his refreshed drink. He supposed this was Johnny’s way of telling him to relax—maybe tonight, he would.

But it would take more than a bottle of whiskey, that was for bloody sure.

“I’ll be right back,” Simon flashed his container of tobacco as he stood up.

Gaz looked up quizzically. “Why won’ya smoke in here, Ghost?”

Simon shook his head and pushed his chair in. “Too many people in here starin’.”

He cut off any protest before it could begin with hurried steps back outside and onto the creaky wooden porch. A deep breath of fresh air instantly calmed his nerves. He turned to the right where there was shade and leaned against a sun-bleached post in front of where their posse’s horses were tied up. After calming his flighty eyes, he tugged his face cloth down and under his chin. Finally, he placed a cigarillo he’d rolled just the night prior by the campfire light between his chapped lips and lit it with the steady hand he used to fire the pistol on his hip. The first drag was smoother than the ride into town, an unexpected treat. He was going to make this last and blame the long smoke break on the distant mountains piercing the sky.

He'd be lying if he said American scenery was blander than boiled potatoes.

Shadows grew longer as the sun descended towards the horizon, late-afternoon light trickling over the land. Another deep inhale numbed his mind, a smoky exhale danced towards the blue sky. Two men in crisp suits walked past and glanced at him, then quickly returned to their lively conversation after noticing the holsters on his hips. This town was perfect for a quick bounty and a drink, but not much more, Simon decided, flicking ash on the ground. He watched the smoke rise as the gray bits fluttered down and landed on the porch, robbed of the chance to meet freedom above, doomed to a fate they couldn’t change. He put the rolled tobacco back in his mouth and looked up. 

Then, he saw her.

She stood in front of the general store fiddling with a piece of paper. The cigarillo nearly fell out of his mouth when the clouds parted and doused her in golden rays. She held her hand over her eyes and turned to her right, briefly scanning her surroundings and stopping on him. She returned his stare and made Simon her captive. If she walked over and demanded that he get on his knees and get under her skirt, he’d happily oblige. He shook his head and got the image out of his head—it was wrong to think of a lass like that, even more so when she looked that damn angelic.

When he opened his eyes, she had vanished, and his cigarillo was burnt out. He dropped it to the ground and snuffed it with the toe of his boot until it was ashy mush. He yanked the cloth back up over his nose and pushed the saloon doors open with a bang. His posse turned where they sat, watching him march to their table. His proposition would be a tough sell, but he had money in his pocket and would waste it all on squeaky beds and shitty whiskey if it meant they’d agree to it.

“We have to stay another night, lads.”

next

taglist: @johfaam0 @johfaam @nickangel13 @oliviagreenaway @sinfulsalutations @dheet @tizylish @sofasoap

[mxmajor]

Alright SydCarmy Mafia AU Premise

There are still chefs, same family restaurant and other businesses, psuedo family, but the businesses are used as a money laundering front.

Richie is still involved with drugs but is a higher ranking lieutenant, Natalie still has that finance degree and background, works at the bank as a cover but is involved.

Just like in canon, cousin Michelle is a restauranteur, something the family doesn't see as viable like real estate had been as a cover, but as things bloom for her, they see the opportunity to move into a larger bracket because a lot of money moves through fine dining establishments each week.

And with that, they invest in the beef a bit more, and when they see the nascent talent of a prodigy, they push for Carmy to be out in the world to become the canon chef we know.

Mikey hopes that being away from the family will keep Carmy on the straight and narrow, clean and unsullied by their bullshit. Mikey failed to make it beyond the Berzattos, but Carmen would be different, if he keeps him at arms distance. Little did he know, the Family was reaching further than he could push his baby brother away.

Syd is tapped after catering for a private party to stage for a CDC position at one of the BZ Group restaurants, an opportunity that could take her 20 year plan to have her own restaurant as a culinary iconoclast and cut it in half. They had inventive and successful establishments in New York, California, and here in Chicago, and if she could lead a program in one of their kitchen's to snag a F&W award, or retain and increase one of their Michelin Star kitchens...This could accelerate her career way more than micro-planing citrus.

The Restaurant group has a reputation in the city, but in the food world, that reputation is a life time opportunity. And one of the reasons for that reputation is successful, famous, nay, legendary hometown hero Carmen Berzatto that might even be her EC if she nails this. It's not like she'll work their forever, right?

Possible routes:

Shy anxious Carmy is a cover to get her to join in and she falls deep into the life before realizing what this is all a front for. he's been in on all of it and groomed to take over, he just needs a partner to expedite by his side.

OR

Carmy is trying to keep her out by being an asshole because he doesn't want her to get sucked into their underworld as he tries to figure out if the story he was told about his brother's death was true.

OR

Sydney witnesses something she Should Not See™, so they have her marry Carmy so she can't testify against him (fake marriage au) but they fall for each other over time as they bond over food in the menu of chaos around them.

BONUS: Mr. Berzatto was taking care of and/or his family was offered up as collateral because he owed folks money. but he is still out there and might come back 👀👀

Or he's the big bad boss behind it all but none of his kids know him or see him "for their safety"

Okay, I am handing off this baton lol.

(when I say pass the baton, i mean i'm tryna crowdsource a mafia au, please add an idea or take an idea and run with it lol.)

[novy2sirius]

questions and answers

— status: open — [ask rules]

western or sidereal astrology

spouse’s appearance | venus/rising moodboards | in-laws

are my posts based on tropical or sidereal | spouses career

is astro seek good for doms | signs/houses for fashion

blog colors | will i meet my spouse in chicago, illinois

does my month numerology matter | trauma bonding

how to achieve my purpose as life path 6 born on 2 day

life path 5, talent number 11 | business success numbers

karmic debt numbers | talents of talent energy number 11

placidus or whole signs | mars in 1h/saturn in 5h composite

jupiter in 12h composite | virgo sun in 3h mc persona chart

high vibration question | is it possible for the nodes to be rx

should i believe my placidus placements or whole signs

expression numbers | astro-seek or astro.com dominants

so sweet | name pronunciation | 9h uranus conjunct mars sr

what are relocation charts and how do i find them

chiron in 4h relocation chart | adjacent sign compatibility

life path 11’s and 8’s together | life path 8 and life path 4

self sabotage | so sweet ily | gemini groom | dancing

what does a 0 degree placement mean | saturn in 2h exp

pluto in 4h solar return | best time to get ur hair cut

planet numerology | 11h sun beauty | numerical similarities

life path 8’s lessons during 2024 | pluto in 11h experience

what happens when someone doesn’t follow their numerical purpose | beauty degrees-where they’re placed

sun conjunct jupiter | mars square uranus cheating men

dynamic number 11 | using astrology as tool to navigate life

[delphinesaintmleux]

FOUNDATIONS MADE OF STONE CAN TURN TO DUST

Name: Delphine Saint Mleux

Nickname: Del

Gender & Pronouns: Cis woman & she/her

Age: 47

Occupation: CEO of Serres Communications, Inc

Origins: Woodside, California

Neighborhood: Oak Gardens

Relationship status: Married

Important note: serres communications, inc is the rp version of hearst communications, inc

SUMMARY: Born to be an heir Delphine was raised and groomed to be the best and brightest. Young life was routined and disciplined from private schools to every hour plotted out for music lessons, art lessons, extra education, etc. When she came out at as a teenager her mother distanced herself from Delphine and her father pushed her even harder and forced her to hide that part of herself. She went onto Yale where she earned top honors with an MBA as well as a PhD in comparative literature. By then she was working her way through the corporate ladder within her own family's company, obviously with a bit of a leg up, but her ideas and savvy business put her in charge. It wasn't until her father passed away 10 years ago that she took over as CEO of Serres Communications, Inc but it has been a role made for her. Living In Chicago and part of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra board Delphine eventually found herself as the Director of Operations. She was dating Valentine Finch, a fabulous cellist within the orchestra, and they eventually married. Things crumbled two years in when Delphine was accused and arrested on embezzlement charges from the orchestra. Her lawyers worked tirelessly to clear her and her spouse's name but it was already too late and Valentine had filed for divorce and fled from the damage and their ruined reputation.

BIOGRAPHY

trigger warnings: homophobia, death, embezzlement

Some generations ago the Serres family emigrated from France to the United States where the opportunity for entrepreneurship was so fresh that a motivated businessman was able to create the beginnings of an empire. What started off as a venture into the newspaper business expanded into a multinational mass media and business information conglomerate over decades (over a century in total) and generations within a family.

Before Delphine had been born the empire had already encompassed newspapers across the country, television and film productions and channels, radio stations, publishing in books and magazines, and several business-information companies. From the start of her life Delphine was groomed into eventually being a part of the family enterprise. She was enrolled into the best private schools and institutions that money could buy, enrolled and involved in music programs with private instructors, a young equestrian, and societies that would only further her social standing and outreach.

Music had a stronger hold and influence on Delphine. Attending symphonies, concerts, and operas impacted her in a way that her other interests and things she was pushed into hadn't. Even with piano and violin lessons she didn't quite have the talent to really pursue music in a way that she quietly dreamed, she was much more like the business minded leads of generations past, she followed music throughout her life. It was her love of literature and language that sent her off to Yale when the time for university came around, in which, during her attendance there, Delphine earned an MBA and a PhD in comparative literature.

For most of her young life Delphine moved through it robotically. There was always a routine and an expectation. While she had time as a child to be just that the older she got the more it came about in means of acting out. Rebelling against the strict structure of her life. When she was just a teenager she lashed out at her mother during a fight, choosing that moment to hurt the woman with an imperfection: Delphine was gay and had no desire to get married and have children within the same societal norms and demands of what a proper life looked like. They, her parents, had invested too much time and money into their daughter to completely write her off despite the lifestyle they couldn't and wouldn't agree with so her father continued to push Delphine for success. Her mother, on the other hand, nearly ignored her existence after the spontaneous coming out.

Fear of rejection and being ostracized within her own family Delphine buried her sexuality. Plus, the social climate for such an outing was vastly different at the time and that only further instilled a fear and solidified her decision to keep that part of herself hidden. Throughout university she remained publicly single and kept her short lived affairs with women deeply secretive. By then she was already working within what was then Serres Corporation and post graduation and with freshly printed higher education degrees Delphine began her ascent up the corporation ladder. It didn't hurt that she had fresh ideas on pushing the company ahead in future business ventures.

Eventually residing in Chicago, Delphine branched out personally into her interests as she became further involved within the city she'd decided to call home. One of those interests was the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and what had started merely as a donation based pledge (along with season tickets) eventually morphed into being on the board and then somehow the Director of Operations. It was fitting in the sense that Delphine was accustomed to involvement in various businesses. The only exception was that this was personal and not under the then Serres Communications, Inc brand.

In that investment into the symphony she'd met the fabulous cellist, Valentine Finch, and had fallen in love with the extraordinarily talented and intriguing musician. Thankfully she'd come out a decade earlier due to being caught on a date with a woman by the media, the relationship, like all the others in her past, had been short lived but the best outcome had come of it. Delphine no longer had to hide that part of herself. Her family be damned. Already CEO and the head of the family empire post her father's death there was no way anyone could keep her from living the life she'd wanted anymore. When she and Valentine began seeing each other it turned into the longest relationship she'd had. They'd gotten married and seemed to enjoy a charmed life with their spouse. But then accusations and an eventual arrest burned that happiness to the ground.

Charged with embezzling funds the media went wild. A billionaire and head of a mass media conglomerate siphoning funds from the orchestra, the very symphony her spouse was a part of, was violently juicy to the tabloids. Every part of her life seemed to be raked over the coals and that included her marriage. It took time but Delphine's team of lawyers were able to clear her of the charges and both her and her wife's names in the process. However, by then, the damage was already done. Marriage in shambles and unable to overcome the shame, Valentine left Delphine and she now sits with an impending divorce.

[hotchs-second-wife]

DON'T BLAME ME || 3 || Jay Halstead x Thea Rhodes

Synopsis: Theodosia Rhodes, the youngest daughter of a big-time Chicago CEO, needs a husband of her own choice before her father makes that decision for her. Jason Halstead, newly-made Intelligence detective, needs a wife to inherit his portion of his mother's inheritance.

Warnings: Allusion to smut, but nothing outright excluding sexual thoughts. Mentions of arson, kidnapping, murder, rape; allusion to childhood trauma, suicide, cancer-related death; descriptions of vehicular accidents including, but not limited to, car-on-car collision, car-on-truck, train; outright familial/parental pressure; portrayal of misogyny and misandry. Read ahead at your own risk.

Jay

The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, aside from Thea's father not actually showing up and my father showing his face in spite of me. My brother showed, almost late, but he arrived. Thea's sister had been in attendance as promised, but her brother had called her last minute to tell her he couldn't leave work.

So despite her brother and father's absences, and the attendance of the media, I could tell Thea actually liked the wedding ceremony.

"So when do we get to actually try the cake?" Ruzek asked, leaning against my shoulder with his elbow as he looked behind Dawson at the wedding cake.

Brooke lightly elbowed him. "You have a five course meal provided by the bride's family, and all you want is the cake? I'd call you a fatass but you'll hit me."

"Not with your brother staring daggers into me, I won't." Ruzek snorted, walking off with Ruzek to talk to Erin and Voight.

I wanted to talk to Erin, to apologise to her. What I did to her wasn't right, but I wasn't going to force her into a marriage within a week.

"Congratulations, kid!" My father shouted, patting my back.

I turned to him, my brother approaching behind our father. "You couldn't wait until after the speeches to let him get drunk?"

"What can I say, Mom was the rule enforcer, and you're the detective." Will shrugged, sipping from his beer.

Before I could say anything that would have very likely caused a scene at my own reception, a hand laced with mine and I caught Thea's dark hair out the corner of my eye.

"You must be Will! I've heard so much about you." She smiled brightly, putting on that mask I've watched her put on all day. "And Pat, hello to you too!"

"It's nice to finally have a sister, congratulations." Will hugged her, and she returned her thanks. They talked while I got my father into a seat to keep him from falling any more than he already was.

Just as I was about to call Brooke over for emergency, she and Kelly beelined from the front door of the bar to our corner.

"He's here."

"What?" I asked, stupidly. I should have known who they were talking about. But as soon as Claire grabbed Thea's hand, the dots came together.

Cornelius Rhodes was here.

My father-in-law was here.

"And here's the bride and groom, Mr. Rhodes." Casey smiled awkwardly, giving Thea a fleeting look of an apology before grabbing Kelly. Brooke quickly introduced herself to Will before getting him and my father across the room.

"Theodosia," Cornelius smiled, raising his arms for a hug. A hug in which he didn't receive. His smile faded. "Now, I hope you're making the right decision. Declining business opportunities, just to marry a detective."

Thea frowned. "Are you doing something illegal that you wouldn't want my husband to find out, Father?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Then get over it. My decision is final. Jay is my husband now, and, for the company's sake—if you will—lets hope he has cousins willing to invest their time and money into your ideas, Father."

Before Cornelius could finish opening his mouth to dispute, Boden made his way over. "Is there a problem, Mr. Rhodes?"

"Of course not." Cornelius smiled. I could see where Thea got her fake smile from. "I only came to congratulate my daughter. I have a business meeting to attend."

When he was gone, Thea muttered a 'rat bastard' under her breath. She let Kelly blindfold her for the final wedding present before the cake would be cut, and Brooke ushered me outside behind them, making sure everyone else stayed inside.

Thea

I almost tripped over my dress three times before I even made it outside, no thanks to Kelly. As great a best friend he was, Kelly was a horrible guide dog.

"I hope you're never reincarnated into a labrador destined to be a guide dog for the blind," I joked, and Kelly only tightened the blindfold. "Better yet, you'll be one in this life."

"Are you ready for my present or should I just take it away?"

"If it's Elli dressed up as me, I'm going to cry."

Kelly made a noise of doubt. "Arguably, this is better."

"Anything can be better than that little girl looking like me." I snapped at Kelly, as he slipped the blindfold off.

Connor stood in front of me. That bright smile I grew up with adorning his face. "Not even your twin brother?"

"I might have to make an exception," I teared up, running to him and holding as right as ever. One minute he said he couldn't make it, and the next, he's right outside the door to the bar I own.

"Your friends said how much it meant to you for me to be with you on your wedding day. They banded together to convince me to at least show up at the reception."

My 51 family stood in the doorway, watching. I stared at them with tears in my eyes, thankful the makeup around and under my eyes was waterproof. Oh how much I loved them.

"I gotta go."

I turned back to Connor in an instant. "What? You just got here. At least see Claire and meet your niece."

"They need me, Thea."

Frustration bubbled in my chest. Yet again, work was more important than his family. "Elizabeth has been dying to meet her Uncle Connor."

"I'm sure she has other uncles." Connor dismissed, placing a kissing on the forehead. "I have to go, I love you."

I grumbled a 'whatever' before storming back inside. It was always the same with the men in this family. Putting work above their blood. I'd never tell Connor she was resembling Father—that was crossing the line—but he was seriously reminding me of him.

Downing the last of the Midori, I felt a hand sit on my back and Kelly sat next to me at the bar. James, the only bartender that wasn't invited as a guest to the reception, worriedly handed me another drink, this time in a glass. "We should've made sure he didn't need to fly back so soon."

"It's not your fault," I grunted. "He's been doing that for 10 years. Nothing's changed with him, and our father does the same thing." Sighing, I finished the cocktail. "I'm used to it."

Kelly squeezed my knee, as Shay walked Elli over. "Is Mommy okay?" She asked Shay, looking up at her aunt.

"Mommy's fine. Just her big brother causing problems." I smiled down at the sweet girl. Getting off the stool, I crouched down to her. "Have you met Aunt Claire yet?"

She shook her head, and I looked up at Kelly to make sure it was okay.

#

Jay and I arrived in Italy for our honeymoon early, given the whole situation with my brother and father, he wanted to get me out of Chicago and relaxed sooner.

I texted Kelly on the drive to the dock for the Mediterranean cruise, wanting to make sure he'd be okay with Elli while I was in Europe.

"They'll be okay," Jay promised, squeezing my thigh. "She did promise to take care of her dad while you're gone."

I laughed. Precious Elli, she'd want to make Kelly pancakes in the mornings like I do for her, but her little arms and legs have no chance of reaching the top of the counter.

"She's adorable."

As our driver stopped at the ship and let us out, I asked, "so you're fine with raising my best friend's kid with him?"

"Yeah, of course." Jay shrugged. "Kids need a mom, and you're good at it. Besides, I think Brooke might kick my ass if I didn't want you to be Elizabeth's mom anymore."

"No she wouldn't." He gave me a look of disbelief. "Okay, but if I didn't tell her not to."

We settled into our room with talks of living arrangements upon return from our honeymoon, Jay resting on the bed as I check out the bathroom.

Jay

"Oh, there's a bidet in here," Thea hummed, before something clattered to the ground. "What's the point of an air conditioner in a bathroom?"

She came back out in a white, bridal lingerie set.

Holy shit.

Fuck my wife's hot.

"What do you say, handsome?" She smiled, running her hand up my leg as she sat on the bed beside me.

No, I couldn't do this. I held her hand under mine. "You don't have to do this, Thea. I'm not going to make you sleep with me because we're on our honeymoon."

"But—"

"I can tell you're uncomfortable," I sighed. I pointed at the redness just above her left breast. "And the lace is irritating you. I'm going to check what amenities we get, so you can change in peace."

She looked at me in silence. Thea nodded slightly as I got up and left the room. She was hot—given, considering she was a Rhodes and a firefighter at that. If we'd dated before we got married, then maybe I would've slept with her.

Maybe I would have entertained the thought of finding out what would make Theodosia Rhodes scream my name. Would a simple stroke to her inner thigh do it for her to beg for more? Would she—

I shut down all inappropriate thoughts about my new wife as I approached the front desk of the cruise ship. With a new flyer in hand, I decided to book a table at the top deck restaurant before I returned to our suite.

Thea sat at the dressing table, fixing up a powder on her face. She looked up and smiled briefly when she noticed I'd come back. "I thought we could get dinner upstairs. Something nice after today, and...this."

The sleeping situation we'd originally discussed went up in flames when we got on the ship. We had planned for me to get my own room in her apartment when we got back from the honeymoon, and get a two single bed room for us to share on the cruise. And of course, the latter wasn't going to work since the staff decided a newly-married couple could share a queen bed, and gave off our single beds to two girl friends on a girls cruise from their partners.

We didn't care all that much, just had to reorganise our plans. Thea said she'd always been a cuddler, but she would suffice with a pillow instead of forcing me to it. I was fine with cuddles, but if she wasn't, I wouldn't push it.

"I had the same idea. They won't start cooking until we've left the dock. But, there's a casino on the floor below it. I thought, maybe, you'd want to—"

She smiled at me. "Spend some time together? I'd like that."

[princessmorgan08]

Cherry Holtzman Headcanons

Intreducing one of my Ghostbusters Oc's with Headcanons:

• had multiple camera's as a Kid (destroyed each one of them)

• met Egon and Elon/Russell at the age of 2, became Elon's/Russell's-honorary Sister/ was a grooms-mate at his Wedding

• was the kid who would get into fights gor her friends and get away with it

• had a paranormal encounter at the age of 5

• in middle-school, Cherry, Egon and Elon/Russell skipped their Junior-Prom, instead they swimming in a near Lake [ Cherry and Elon/Russell dragged Egon into the lake] that was the Day Egon fell for Cherry

• after Cherry moved to Chicago, she kept contact with the Spengler Twins for 2 years before slowly forgeting about them

• after meeting Egon again,Cherry also started to have feelings for her Friend

• in Her Freshman year of College, Cherry dyed her hair

• Her favorite Colour is Red

• Her favorite song is : 'Cherry Bomb!' from the Runaways

•said she will never have kids, but in the end she had one Step-son and a Daughter

• she is Pansexual

• is a few Months older then Egon and Elon/Russell

• in 1989, cherry worked together with Melina and Lydia on their own Business

• She named her and Egon's daughter Jillian after her late-Mother

• Cherry has Nicknames for everyone, for example; Egon= Egie, Elon/Russell= Russ(now)/El[ formerly]

• Her middle name is Lisa

• Designed most of the Ghosthunters Equipment alone

• Is the Inventor of the Proton-whipes ( Jillian's and Morgan's main Weapons)

• she is the God-mother of Melina's and Ray's Daughter

• is the Mother of the group

[the-truest-sentence-i-know]

The Serpent's Tongue - Part One: Tree

Fandom: House of the Dragon

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x Daemon Targaryen

Rating: E (cw dubious consent, implied childhood sexual abuse & grooming)

Summary: Rhaenyra is the only daughter of oil billionaire Viserys Targaryen and loves nothing more than to inspire trashy gossip headlines.

When her beloved uncle returns, she is overjoyed but finds that her father and stepmother (and former best friend) Alicent are reluctant to welcome him home.

Word Count: 4.2k | Part 1 / 3

ao3 | ff.net | wattpad

PRODIGAL BROTHER RETURNS : Daemon Targaryen, the younger and more scandal-prone brother of oil tycoon, Viserys Targaryen, was spotted getting off a private plane in Chicago this morning. Many have speculated that his years-long absence from the United States stems from a rift in his relationship with his brother. Could things be on the mend?

Rhaenyra heard arguing out in the foyer. She tossed her jacket onto the couch and went to see what was going on.

“… of course I’m happy to see you,” her father was saying. “But I will not have you staying in this house.”

“This is the family home,” said a voice she hadn’t heard in years. “We both know you have the space.”

“Uncle Daemon?” Rhaenyra said as she entered the foyer.

Both of them turned to look at her. Daemon was quite a few years younger than her father and looked it too, but that didn’t mean they were incredibly dissimilar in appearance. They were both tall and both had the quintessential Targaryen platinum blond hair which they both wore long, past their shoulders.

Daemon grinned. “Hello, princess.”

Rhaenyra smiled and hurried over to give him a hug. He had been away in Europe for years and apparently was so busy with the company’s business there that he had rarely visited. She was taller now than she had been when he had left but still had to stand on her toes to wrap her arms around his neck.

He hugged her around her waist and lifted her off the ground slightly, which made her laugh. She kissed him on the cheek when he put her down, then turned to her father. “Why can’t he stay here, Dad?” she asked. “It’ll be just like old times.”

“Yeah, Viserys, just like old times,” Daemon said in a tone that Rhaenyra couldn’t quite parse but that made her father scowl at him. She elbowed Daemon in the ribs.

“Please?” she asked, deliberately drawing out the word and knowing it was childish, but also knowing it would work.

Viserys sighed. “Alright,” he said. “But if you make trouble…”

“I’ll be good, I promise,” Daemon said, putting his hands on Rhaenyra’s shoulders, thumbs just above the neckline of her top, cool on her skin. “Wouldn’t want to poison Rhae-Rhae’s innocence.”

Rhaenyra shrugged him off, scowling. “No one calls me that anymore.”

Her father’s jaw clenched slightly, and Daemon grinned at both of them.

“It is good to see you, brother,” Viserys said, finally, relenting. “I’ll have a room made up for you.”

“Wonderful,” Daemon said, then turned to Rhaenyra. “So, has anything changed around here?” he asked, leading her to the living room with a hand to the small of her back.

“I tried to convince father to let me redo the cigar lounge – because who still has a cigar lounge these days? – but he thought my ‘modern’ changes would clash with the ‘classic’ design of the rest of the house,” Rhaenyra said.

Daemon laughed and Rhaenyra felt a not-insignificant burst of pride in her stomach. “Brother, you shouldn’t remain stuck in the past!” he called over his shoulder.

They stepped outside onto the patio, and Daemon breathed deeply. They both looked at the way the wind sent ripples over the pool’s surface.

“I’ve missed this place,” he said.

Rhaenyra smiled. “I hope that means you’re staying, at least for a while,” she said.

He looked at her. “I hope so,” he said.

After her father had gone to bed, Rhaenyra was passing by the large windows in the upstairs hallway when she noticed a figure swimming laps in the pool. She stepped closer to the window to confirm that it was indeed Daemon, long limbs moving him smoothly through the water. The pool lights made his pale skin look almost blue and made his hair shine. Rhaenyra absently wondered how he was not tanner when she knew full well – courtesy of many leaked nude beach photos that gossip sites never tired of publishing (censored, of course) – that he spent quite a lot of time in the sun.

She watched as he climbed out of the pool, realizing suddenly that he had no swim trunks on. He walked casually across the patio, tossing his long hair back, water dripping down his body. Rhaenyra could not help how her eyes raked over the contours of his body, long, lithe, and strong. His cock swung between his legs, and she had to tear her eyes away. He leaned over to grab a towel from a chair, drying his hair and then wrapping it around himself, low on his hips.

As he walked back to the house, his eyes were drawn up to the lit-up hallway windows. Rhaenyra realized too late that he would be able to see her easily.

Before she could step away, he smirked up at her and then winked.

Rhaenyra turned away, hurrying down the hallway to her room. She closed the door and leaned against it, feeling a blush heat up her neck and cheeks. She could not get the image out of her head: Daemon lit by the cool light, the lean muscles, the ease with which he moved. Her heart hammered in her chest. She could feel desire pooling low in her gut and she shook herself.

She was just horny. That’s what this was. It had been a while since she’d had a fun hookup. She sighed. It was too late to go out now. Too late even to drop by Harwin’s cottage at the edge of the property.

Rhaenyra and Harwin, the head groundskeeper, had never hooked up, though not for a lack of trying on her part. Sure, he flirted with her as much as she did with him – as long as her father wasn’t around – but if she ever tried to make it something more, he’d smile softly, eyes dropping to the ground, and then smoothly push the conversation elsewhere. It was always such a gentle rejection that Rhaenyra couldn’t really be upset about it.

It was probably for the best anyway. She had learned the hard way that hooking up with the staff generally didn’t end well. When it ended – and it always did – whether amiably or otherwise, they’d still be there, around the house. And she couldn’t very well ask her father to fire them. Although, in the case of Criston, her former bodyguard, he had agreed to quit – with a fairly substantial severance package.

GOLD-DIGGER? HOMEWRECKER? PAWN? Looking Back at Alicent’s Entrance into the Targaryen Dynasty

Daemon Targaryen’s return to the States might mean he has reconciled with his brother but has us asking – again – what happened six years ago that tore them apart in the first place?

Despite their drastically different public images – Viserys, the successful if a little permissive CEO, and Daemon, the bleach-blond Casanova – the brothers always appeared to have a good relationship. Daemon was Viserys's best man at both his first wedding to Aemma Arryn – who died in a tragic accident in 2010 – and his second to Alicent Hightower – the daughter of his COO, Otto Hightower. And Viserys has always brushed off criticisms of his brother, saying once: “I’m the businessman, Daemon’s the social butterfly. So long as he doesn’t criticize my decisions as CEO to the press, I won’t go after him for partying. He’s a young man for God’s sake. Let him enjoy life for the both of us.”

But in 2018, Daemon left the family home in Chicago, and the country altogether. He has spent the last six years running the company’s European branch, while, of course, going out with a slew of European models and actresses and even a few bluebloods.

It cannot be a coincidence that Daemon’s departure came less than a year after Alicent moved into the Chicago mansion. What kind of pillow talk happened between the twenty-three-year-old Alicent and her fifty-year-old husband that convinced him to kick out his beloved brother? And how much of that was her idea, and how much of it was her power-hungry father’s?

The next day, Alicent knocked on Rhaenyra’s door after breakfast. “I need a dress for a dinner next week,” she said. “Do you wanna come and help me pick it out?”

Rhaenyra hesitated. She had not been planning on avoiding Daemon today per se, but she did appreciate the chance to get out of the house. She wasn’t sure why, but she decided to follow that instinct. “Sure,” she said.

Alicent looked relieved.

Their relationship was not as strained as it had been when Alicent had suddenly gotten with her dad – ‘strained’ was maybe an understatement; Rhaenyra had refused to be in the same room as her for months – but it was still nowhere close to how it used to be.

As the daughter of Viserys’s COO, Alicent had always been at the same dinners and galas as Rhaenyra. And as two of the only people under the age of forty who were not hanging on the arms of older men, they had become fast friends. Alicent was a few years older, but Rhaenyra had never felt like that was a big deal. At least not until Alicent and Viserys had sat her down and told her that they had been seeing each other secretly for months and were getting married. When Alicent responded to her anger with “You wouldn’t understand,” that’s when she felt the difference. And she had hated it. Alicent had been twenty-three, Viserys fifty. Even at fifteen, Rhaenyra had known that there was only one reason those types of marriages happened.

“Did you know Daemon was coming back?” Alicent asked, a rack of dresses between them.

“No,” Rhaenyra said and frowned. “You know that he never so much as sent me a postcard while he was gone.”

Alicent nodded. “But you’re happy he’s back.”

Rhaenyra pushed the dresses aside to look at her.

“I mean, I thought you were angry with him for leaving,” Alicent said quickly.

“What’s this about?” Rhaenyra asked.

Alicent shook her head. “Nevermind, I just–” She hesitated. “I guess I just never really got to know him very well because he moved out so soon after I– after I moved in,” she said. “And I know you two were always… close.”

Rhaenyra sighed. “Yeah, we were.”

“And everyone seems to have this idea that I hate him,” she said. “It’s not great for PR.”

“You need to stop reading trashy gossip sites, Alicent,” Rhaenyra said, looking at the dresses again.

“Why? You do,” Alicent said with a small smile.

“I read them because I have to make sure my reputation as a ‘rich, yet also trashy, party girl that we’re definitely not slutshaming’ is being maintained,” Rhaenyra said, then pulled out a red dress with a plunging neckline. “What about this one?”

Alicent sighed, shaking her head with a fond smile. “I’m going for ‘wife of a philanthropist who’s definitely not running for office soon.’”

Rhaenyra looked back at the dress. “Yeah, maybe red’s a bit too bold, then.”

Alicent laughed and Rhaenyra smiled and for a moment, things were almost as they used to be.

When they returned, Daemon sat in the living room, or, rather, lay sprawled over a couch. “I was wondering where you were,” he said to Rhaenyra, all but ignoring Alicent. “Did you ladies have a good day?”

Rhaenyra nodded and Alicent opened her mouth to say something, but Daemon continued. “I was thinking of going out tonight,” he said. “Would you care to join me?”

“Rhaenyra was going to help me with some arrangements for next month’s dinner,” Alicent said quickly.

Rhaenyra turned to her. This was the first she was hearing of it.

Daemon sat up and looked at Alicent. “I have a feeling that Rhaenyra would be more of a hindrance than a help,” he said, voice light, but eyes sharp.

“He’s right, Ali,” Rhaenyra said. “You know I’m no good at that kind of thing.” She turned to Daemon. “So, where are we going?”

Daemon grinned and, though Rhaenyra didn’t see it, Alicent clenched her jaw tightly, looking away.

Cameras flashed and reporters shouted questions and Daemon’s hand rested low on her waist. Rhaenyra ducked her face into the crook of his neck and then smiled coyly at the cameras as they passed them.

“Showing your niece the nightlife?” someone shouted.

“He’s the one that’s been gone for years,” Rhaenyra called back. “I’m showing him!”

“Why did you come back to the States?” someone else asked.

Daemon’s grip on Rhaenyra’s waist tightened slightly, then he smiled affably. “The comforts of home,” he said. Then he guided Rhaenyra up the steps and into the bar.

They sat at a small table in the corner, knees knocking under the tablecloth.

“I almost feel as though I was in Chicago the whole time, though,” Daemon said. “You were in the tabloids often enough to keep me informed.”

Rhaenyra laughed and sipped on her martini. “I could say the same of you, uncle,” she said.

“Leading the paps on a chase through the 900 Shops Mall?” Daemon asked.

“I needed a dress for the Winter Semiformal,” she said with a small smile. “Cuckolding the husband of that Russian model?”

“Which one?” asked Daemon, making Rhaenyra laugh again. “The ‘leaked’ topless beach pictures?”

“What do you mean, ‘leaked’? I didn’t know those photographers were there.” Rhaenyra grinned. “Ooh, the ‘Yacht Party from Hell’?”

Daemon sighed. “It’s not my fault someone decided to bring shrooms to a yacht party,” he said. “Did you really have a threesome with those football players?”

“Ha, I wish,” Rhaenyra said. “‘Mile-High Orgy’?”

“Greatly exaggerated,” Daemon said. “There were only two Oscar nominees there.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes but smiled. “Guess I take more after you than my dad then.”

Daemon raised his glass. “To the tabloid-friendly Targaryens,” he said.

Rhaenyra clinked her glass against his. “Hear, hear.”

“So,” Daemon said. “You and Alicent are on better terms again?”

Rhaenyra shrugged. “There wasn’t much point in being pissed at her after a while,” she said. “I mean, I still don’t understand why she–” She shook her head and took a breath. “It doesn’t matter anymore. Besides, she still feels guilty about it, so she kinda lets me get away with whatever.”

Daemon looked at her intently. “So, she doesn’t go tattling to your dad if you miss curfew?” he asked.

Rhaenyra snorted. “Like I’ve ever had a curfew,” she said. “But, yeah, my dad could’ve married someone a lot worse.”

Daemon nodded, then leaned back in his chair. “Oh, you know what I’ve been wanting to ask you about,” he said. “The bodyguard.”

“No,” Rhaenyra groaned, covering her face with her hands.

“What was his name? Christopher?” He smiled teasingly.

“Criston,” Rhaenyra said, still muffled by her hands.

“Really, Rhaenyra,” he chastised. “Your bodyguard, can you get more cliché than that?”

“I was eighteen,” Rhaenyra protested, putting her hands down again. “And he was hot.”

“So, what happened?” he asked. “The tabloids oscillated wildly between the theories that he got you pregnant and your dad kicked him out, or that he was overwhelmed by your extreme and kinky tastes and ran off.”

“The truth is so much more boring,” Rhaenyra said.

“It usually is.” Daemon looked at her expectantly.

Rhaenyra sighed. “It was supposed to be a no-strings thing.”

“But?” Daemon prompted.

“He wanted more than that,” she said. “He proposed. He wanted us to run away together.”

Daemon snorted. “Poor fool.”

“And he wasn’t fired,” Rhaenyra said. “He quit after I made it clear I wasn’t gonna elope with him.”

“And how did no publications pick up on this story?”

“He signed an NDA in exchange for a larger severance package.”

“Ah, yes, the rich and powerful’s bread and butter,” Daemon said. “Bribes and contracts.”

“So,” Rhaenyra said, eager to steer the conversation elsewhere. “Did any of the many, many European heiresses fall hard for you?”

“Oh, I never stick around long enough to let that happen,” Daemon said.

“Maybe now you will,” Rhaenyra said.

Daemon looked at her curiously.

“Cause you said you’re staying for a while,” Rhaenyra added quickly. “Should I get you the number of that bartender you checked out earlier?”

“Nah,” Daemon said. “I’ve sworn off bartenders. Besides–” He grinned. “I’m not really into brunettes right now.”

Rhaenyra felt herself blush a little under his gaze and hoped it wasn’t too obvious.

The next morning, Alicent wordlessly dropped a trashy tabloid in front of Rhaenyra at the breakfast table. Splashed over the cover were pictures of her and Daemon, entering the bar arm-in-arm and him whispering into her ear at the bar. Large red letters asked: FAMILY FUN? Daemon and Rhaenyra’s wild night out leaves some asking: Are they too close?

Rhaenyra snorted, immediately flipping through to read the story. She only got through the first line (Daemon Targaryen’s return to Chicago from Europe for the first time in six years was sure to shake up the social scene, but after last night’s outing with his niece, Rhaenyra – the daughter of his older brother, oil billionaire, Viserys Targaryen – that was apparently an underestimation.) when she felt Alicent’s disapproving gaze still on her.

She looked up. “What? It’s funny,” she said. “I go out with Daemon to a bar and people immediately assume we’re fucking. That’s funny.”

“So he’s not being weird with you again?” Alicent asked.

“What do you mean?” Rhaenyra asked. “Daemon has never been ‘weird with me.’”

Alicent still looked concerned.

Rhaenyra took her hand. “Ali, everything’s fine. You need to stop worrying about what trashy magazines write.”

Alicent sighed and squeezed her hand. “I know he’s your uncle and you trust him, but be careful, Rhaenyra. He’s trouble.”

“I will,” Rhaenyra said, if only to reassure her. And as Alicent turned to leave, she called after her, “And I resent the idea that he’s any more trouble than I am. Sweetheart, trouble is my middle name.”

Alicent laughed and shook her head as she left the dining room.

When she was gone, Rhaenyra took a picture of the magazine and sent it to Daemon.

Regretting coming back yet?

Rhaenyra got used to having Daemon around. And by around, it was more like everywhere. When she stepped out onto the patio, there he was lying on a beach chair – with swim trunks this time; and if she went to the basement gym, there he was lifting weights; and if she went to the music room to look through the records, there he was plinking away at the piano. It was kind of comforting, his overwhelming presence. She never worried that he had left in the dead of night – like he had before – because she always knew where he was.

The strangest thing was Alicent, who found every possible excuse to have Rhaenyra help her with things. She dragged her to various committee meetings of the WASPy wives of wealthy men and was suddenly much more interested in her fashion opinions than she had been even when they were friends.

And Rhaenyra couldn’t be upset about it, because she had missed spending time with Alicent. But it did mean that she didn’t go out with Daemon for nearly a week after his arrival. When she returned from whatever Alicent had gotten her to do that day, Daemon had usually already left for the evening. So, she would just go out alone – well, starting alone and ideally ending with someone (or multiple someones).

RHAENYRA’S BUSY WEEK : You Won’t Believe How Many Men She Fooled Around With

One night, when she returned home around two in the morning, she found one of her more skimpy bikinis laid out on her bed. Beside it lay a note reading: Bughīlza? Shall we swim?

Rhaenyra smiled and began to change. It had been Daemon who had taught her High Valyrian. Her father could speak it as well, but rarely did, so it became her and Daemon’s special thing.

She had a distinct memory of sitting on the counter in the kitchen at about age seven, and Daemon telling her to close her eyes and open her mouth. She – being seven – did not want to listen to him.

“C’mon, close your eyes and open your mouth,” Daemon said. “And I’ll teach you more of our secret language.”

This was an enticing prospect. She sighed and did as he asked. She felt a spoon slip into her mouth and tasted the almost overwhelming sweetness.

“Elilla,” said Daemon. Honey.

Rhaenyra tried to swallow and repeat the word, but the honey got stuck in her throat and it came out garbled.

“Elilla,” Daemon said again, sounding like he was smiling.

“Elilla,” Rhaenyra repeated.

“Sȳres riñus,” Daemon said.

Rhaenyra opened her eyes. “Sȳres riñus?”

“It means ‘good girl,’” Daemon said, and Rhaenyra nodded. “Close your eyes and open your mouth.”

The next thing was not a spoon. It was small, round and Rhaenyra closed her mouth and bit into it eagerly, thinking it was a grape. She made a face at the bitter taste, eyes flying open and glaring at Daemon, who laughed.

“Pēko,” he said. Olive.

Rhaenyra frowned at him, refusing to say the word.

“Pēko,” Daemon said patiently.

She shook her head.

“If you say pēko, I’ll give you something dōna,” Daemon said.

“What’s dōna?”

“Dōna means sweet. Like elilla.”

She sighed. “Pēko,” she said, and closed her eyes and opened her mouth expectantly. Daemon’s fingers placed something on her tongue, and she closed her mouth too quickly this time, lips closing around his finger. She pulled back, a little embarrassed, keeping her eyes tightly closed. What was in her mouth felt like a grape, but so had the olive.

“Avero,” Daemon said, and she bit down on it. It was a grape.

She chewed and swallowed and opened her eyes. “Avero,” she said.

“Sȳres riñus,” he said. “And what are both elilla and avero?”

“Dōna.”

He smiled. “Avero dōna issa,” he said. The grape is sweet.

“Avero dōna issa,” Rhaenyra repeated.

“Sȳres riñus!” Daemon praised. “You’ll be speaking High Valyrian in no time!”

Rhaenyra looked at the bag of grapes that sat on the island behind Daemon. “Avero?” she asked.

“Avero…?” Daemon prompted.

“Avero… kirimvose?” Grape… please?

He held a grape up between this thumb and forefinger and Rhaenyra opened her mouth and he placed it delicately inside. Rhaenyra smiled as she chewed, swinging her legs a little. She had always enjoyed it when Daemon spent time with her. It made her feel special.

Rhaenyra slipped out of the house, barefoot, towel in hand, and a little giggly – courtesy of her earlier drinks. She dropped her towel on a beach chair and looked around for Daemon.

Then suddenly she was pushed from behind into the pool. She let out a small scream as she fell and splashed into the water. When she surfaced, Daemon stood at the edge of the pool, laughing down at her. Rhaenyra wanted to be angry with him, crossing her arms and frowning up at him, but was once again struck by his… attractiveness.

There was no other way to put it. He looked down at her, with toned calves and thighs, substantial bulge in his swim trunks, and coarse white hairs forming a trail up to his navel – hopa.

Her eyes slowly traced up to his face and he smirked. She flushed at being caught looking at him like that.

He crouched near the edge of the pool, and she came closer. He reached out a hand and touched her cheek. “You really should invest in more waterproof makeup,” he said when his fingers came away slightly stained.

Rhaenyra took the opportunity to grab his arms and used her whole body to pull him into the pool. He wrestled with her as he went down, almost making her top come off in the process.

When they spluttered to the surface again, they were both laughing. He chased her around the pool while she squealed and splashed him with water – mimicking the monster chase games from when she was younger. Whenever he caught her – a long-fingered hand grasping her leg or his arms around her waist – he would drag her close while she kicked and struggled and would pretend to bite her neck. He would growl exaggeratedly, and she would collapse in a scream of laughter, trying to ignore the slowly growing tingle between her legs.

When they were breathless and tired, they hopped into the hot tub. Daemon pulled Rhaenyra’s legs across his, resting his hands on them, stroking his thumb along her thigh.

Rhaenyra traced circles on the surface of the water, mulling over the question she had wanted to ask for six years. Daemon had his head tipped back, looking up at the stars.

Rhaenyra let the silence hang for a few more minutes before asking, “Why did you leave?”

For a moment, she thought he had not heard her. He did not acknowledge the question for a long minute, then said, “Viserys and I had a disagreement.”

“About what?”

He shook his head. “It’s not important. We’ve reconciled.”

Rhaenyra waited until he continued.

“I had some criticisms about how he was running the company,” he said. “He told me that if I knew so much about it, I could run the European branch as I pleased.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “So why’d you come back?”

He looked over at her. “Like I said, the comforts of home.”

[jbk405]

I started watching Boardwalk Empire last week, and I just finished the first season.  It’s a fascinating look at the growth of organized crime during Prohibition, especially when so many of the recognized-greatest crime movies and TV shows only feature the world After.  They often talk about how they got started during Prohibition, but it’s so rarely the main focus except for the various Al Capone-focused stories.

It’s impossible to not make comparisons to The Sopranos, with so many shared cast and crew.  I’ll say that I think The Sopranos had a stronger first season, but that Boardwalk Empire still made a promising start.

Nucky Thompson presents a different image than Tony Soprano.  I won’t say that Nucky is smarter than Tony, but so far he’s got more self-control so he doesn’t cause extra problems for himself where none existed.  When he burned down his childhood home out of spite against his abusive father, he handed the fireman who was going to move into it a wad of cash to buy himself a better house.  It was still a childish outburst, but at least he didn’t cause a rift in the fire department that would give his enemies political support.  Tony would have just smiled at him and said “tough shit”, or maybe told a realtor to give him a good deal, and then at the end of the season he’d act all surprised and insulted when that guy turned on him.

I enjoy the interweaving of so much true history into the story.  References to real-life politics (Both local New Jersey politics, and national) and the real life criminals that emerged in the era.  Arnold Rothstein, Charles “Lucky” Luciano, and Meyer Lansky are prominent representatives of New York City.  Johnny Torrio runs Chicago, with the help of up-and-comer Al Capone, after the death of Jim Colosimo.

As soon as a friend of Nucky Thompson mentioned investing in International Reply Coupons I knew he was caught in the original Ponzi scheme, and it was confirmed in a later episode.

The biggest weakness I’ll say is the lack of proper interweaving of the storylines, leaving the overall story looking unfocused.  “The Commodore” features in a half-dozen episodes before anybody says who he is or what relationship he has with anybody, and I had half-guessed that he was Jimmy’s father, but there was nothing to gained by slow-playing it.  Officer Nelson Van Alden is frikkin’ weird with his bizarre obsession with Margaret Schroeder, becoming fanatically fixated on her after a single meeting where she didn’t say or do anything to cause his religious fervor to fixate on her.  And if we just dismiss him as being crazy, that makes the show look lazy.

I am also fed up with Jimmy Darmody.  In fact, I was fed up with him in the second episode.  He forced his way into the criminal life while Nucky did everything he could to keep him out of the dirty business, then he has the gall to whine and moan and bitch about the difficulties of his life and the lack of respect he gets and the immorality of the people they do business with.  He keeps getting angry and making stupid decisions that cause more and more problems for the people trying to look out for him.  He’s like Christopher Moltisanti all over again, and he doesn’t even have Chris’s excuse that he was groomed for this life, since Jimmy had a road paved to Princeton University that he could get back on any time he wanted.  When Eli Thompson turns on Nucky I at least sympathize with him because Nucky treated him poorly, and in fact I predicted this earlier in the season when I saw how dissatisfied Eli was.  But Jimmy is just a little shit.

[pawcarebooking]

How Can Pet Groomers Effectively Communicate With Pet Parents?

Discover the Secret to Seamless Pet Grooming Communication!": Pet groomers, unlock the key to effective communication with pet parents. Learn how to convey grooming procedures, concerns, and expectations clearly. Enhance client satisfaction and build trust by mastering the art of transparent communication.

[rockislandadultreads]

New Title Tuesday: Romance Picks

Best Men by Sidney Karger

When two best men in a wedding party fall for each other, they realize love isn't a piece of cake in this hilarious and heartfelt romantic comedy debut by screenwriter Sidney Karger.

Max Moody thought he had everything figured out. He's trying to live his best life in New York City and has the best friend a gay guy could ask for: Paige. She and Max grew up next door to each other in the suburbs of Chicago. She can light up any party. She finishes his sentences. She's always a reliable splunch (they don't like to use the word brunch) partner. But then Max's whole world is turned upside down when Paige suddenly announces some huge news: she's engaged and wants Max to be her man of honor. Max was always the romantic one who imagined he would get married before the unpredictable Paige and is shocked to hear she's ready to settle down. But it turns out there's not just one new man in Paige's life--there are two.

There's the groom, Austin, who's a perfectly nice guy. Then there's his charming, fun and ridiculously handsome gay younger brother, Chasten, who is Austin's best man. As Paige's wedding draws closer, Max, the introverted Midwesterner, and Chasten, the social butterfly East Coaster, realize they're like oil and water. Yet they still have to figure out how to coexist in Paige's life while not making her wedding festivities all about them. But can the tiny romantic spark between these two very different guys transform their best man supporting roles into the leading best men in each other's lives?

Business or Pleasure by Rachel Lynn Solomon

Chandler Cohen has never felt more like the ghost in "ghostwriter" until she attends a signing for a book she wrote—and the author doesn’t even recognize her. The evening turns more promising when she meets a charming man at the bar and immediately connects with him. But when all their sexual tension culminates in a spectacularly awkward hookup, she decides this is one night better off forgotten.

Unfortunately, that’s easier said than done. Her next project is ghostwriting a memoir for Finn Walsh, a C-list actor best known for playing a lovable nerd on a cult classic werewolf show who now makes a living appearing at fan conventions across the country. But Chandler knows him better from their one-night stand of hilarious mishaps.

Chandler’s determined to keep their partnership as professional as possible, but when she admits to Finn their night together wasn’t as mind-blowing as he thought it was, he’s distraught. He intrigues her enough that they strike a deal: when they’re not working on his book, Chandler will school Finn in the art of satisfaction. As they grow closer both in and out of the bedroom, they must figure out which is more important, business or pleasure—or if there's a way for them to have both.

Something Spectacular by Alexis Hall

Peggy Delancey’s not at all ready to move on from her former flame, Arabella Tarleton. But Belle has her own plans for a love match, and she needs Peggy’s help to make those plans a reality. Still hung up on her feelings and unable to deny Belle what she wants, Peggy reluctantly agrees to help her woo the famous and flamboyant opera singer Orfeo.

She certainly doesn’t expect to find common ground with a celebrated soprano, but when Peggy and Orfeo meet, a whole new flame is ignited that she can’t ignore. Peggy finds an immediate kinship with Orfeo, a castrato who’s just as nonconforming as she is—and just as affected by their instant connection.

They’ve never been able to find their place in the world, but as the pair walks the line between friendship, flirtation, and something more, they may just find their place with each other.

This is the second volume in the "Something Fabulous" series.

You've Been Served by Kristen Alicia

It’s the Magic 8 Ball’s fault. All of it. One teeny little question, and suddenly Simone Alexander is chucking her whole life out the window. So long, being a chef in California–it’s time for law school. In Michigan. Where there’s actual winter. And law school’s nothing like the romantic comedies said it was.

Simone is tragically underprepared. Hell, she’s already behind before classes have even begun, and her hard-as-nails Contracts professor is giving her no mercy. Then there’s Silas Whitman, her tall and annoyingly cute neighbor. Off campus, Silas is incredible. Kissable, even. In class, he is one thousand percent the obnoxious kiss-ass.

But Simone’s given up everything to be a lawyer. The competition is fierce and she has a hateful professor gunning for her to fail, but she’s not about to let little things like sleep, or love, stop her from kicking law school ass…

[ectoplasmbender]

Hello! Here's a snippet of one of my chapter drafts from my upcoming fic if anyone is curious 😊

Vlad Masters was not handsome exactly, but he was stately and elegant looking. His long silver hair was tied back in a neat ponytail and his beard was well-groomed. His suit was obviously expensive, but also tasteful and not flashy like one may expect of a billionaire. Sam figured he must have been about fifty, but looked to be in very good shape for a man of his age. His posture was impeccable.

"Ah, what a great honor it is to meet you, Samantha." He smiled, extending a hand. Sam shook it, surprised by how cold it was.

"Just Sam is fine." She corrected politely. "And the real honor is that someone as esteemed as yourself took interest in my paper." Sam added, years of her mother's high society training kicking in.

Vlad waved his hand dismissively, chuckling.

"You don't need to flatter me, dear. I'm just some rich jerk at the end of the day." His grey eyes twinkled with mirth, his smile a touch mischevious. His self-deprecation immediately won some points with her. "And anyway, I've had a keen interest in the Amity Park situation for years."

"Really?" Sam asked, curiosity piqued. "Aren't you from Wisconsin?" She asked, already knowing the answer. She had looked the man up the second he had contacted her about her paper. Apparently he was a huge Cheesehead and had unsuccessfully tried to buy the Green Bay Packers a number of times. She tried unsuccessfully to imagine this polished and distinguished man doing something so kooky.

"I am." He answered immediately. "But I went to school in Illinois." That was true too, Sam remember reading that he had graduated from business school in Chicago.

"DePaul, right?" Sam asked automatically, wincing as she realized her faux pas.

"Ahh so you've done you're research. Clever girl." He said good-naturedly. "Don't worry, I understand completely. And yes I did attend DePaul, but before that I went to University of Illinois Chicago."

"Really? I didn't know that." Sam said. She couldn't recall reading anything about that online.

"Ah, well I didn't finish my schooling there due to some health problems at the time. I ended up changing career interests anyway. " he waved a hand impassively.

"What were you studying originally?" Sam asked, interested in this new information.

"Biology." He answered, picking at a non-existent stain on his jacket. "My real interest though was ecto-biology, but that was obviously fringe at the time. So any research I did in that field was merely my own passion project. That's how I met the Fentons, you know."

Sam's heart stopped at the words.

"You knew the Fentons?" She asked, bewildered. He nodded, taking a sip from his champagne.

"Yes. They were...strange to be sure, but my impression was that they were far more brilliant than their peers and professors ever gave them credit for. Especially Maddie."

"Is that why you're so interested in Amity?" Sam asked. That made a lot of sense, if he had known the Fentons once.

"Yes, of course what happened to your town was a horrible tragedy. But as you know, no one can afford to be so invested in every single tragedy that happens throughout the years. But I feel I owe it to my former colleagues to help...clean up their legacy." He said.

Sam, being an activist with a bleeding heart, disagreed somewhat with that sentiment. But she supposed it was still a noble goal to help redeem his former's classmates reputations.

"Were you close with them?" Sam asked.

Vlad's eyes glinted.

"Once perhaps. But I hadn't talked to them in many, many years before their deaths." He said. "It's one of my regrets that we never reconnected before then."

"Truthfully..." Sam began. "I'm surprised that you miss them so much. They're not exactly remembered very fondly."

Vlad looked distant for a moment, lost in some kind of memory.

"Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes horrible, terrible mistakes. But none of us deserve to be defined by our worst moments." He said.

Sam was surprised by this man. He was not what she had expected at all. Her faith in this project and his intentions had grown signficantly during the conversation. He really seemed to care about Amity Park.

"Mr. Masters, I have to admit I was ready to dislike you." Sam said sheepishly. "I've been around a lot of so-called philanthropists, and most of them have just been men with too much money making empty promises out of boredom." Vlad studied her.

"And I'm not?" He asked slyly. Sam shook her head.

"I don't think you are." She said sincerely. Vlad studied her for a long moment.

"It was a very well-written paper, Sam." He said at long last. "That is not flattery. It really did move me." Sam was speechless at this praise, not knowing how to respond. She had published her paper mostly for herself, but the thought that it had genuinely moved someone was beyond her. Especially this influential, powerful person who had the ability to actually make a difference.

[biotrips]

sometimes i wish i had the time to go to nice cafes and study. even though i live super close to so many (northside chicago is full of awesome coffee) i work full time and am always working so i don't exactly have time to study anywhere that isn't home. once i own this business my employers are looking to sell me, maybe then i will have time to just...exist...maybe my body won't hurt from grooming dogs all day :(

[capturely12]

How to Improve Your Professional Headshots' Photogenic Quality with Capturely

In today's visually-driven world, having good professional headshots is essential for establishing a strong online presence and making a lasting impression. Whether you're a business professional, entrepreneur, or job seeker, your headshot serves as your digital calling card, representing your personal brand and professionalism. However, not everyone feels naturally photogenic in front of the camera. That's where Capturely, a leading team of Chicago headshot photographers, comes in. In this comprehensive guide, we'll explore tips and techniques to help you feel more confident and photogenic in your professional headshots, ensuring you make the best possible impression in your professional endeavors.

1. Your Best Angles and Expressions

One of the first steps to being more photogenic in your professional headshots is to understand your best angles and expressions. Take some time to experiment in front of the mirror or with a camera to discover which angles flatter your face the most and which expressions convey the vibe you want to portray. Practice different smiles, expressions, and poses until you find the ones that work best for you.

2. Relax and Be Yourself

It's natural to feel a bit nervous or self-conscious in front of the camera, but try to relax and be yourself. A genuine smile and relaxed posture will always look more appealing than a forced or tense expression. Take a few deep breaths before the shoot to calm your nerves, and trust that your Chicago headshot photographer will guide you through the process and capture your best self.

3. Dress Appropriately

Your outfit plays a significant role in how you appear in your professional headshots. Choose clothing that reflects your personal style while also aligning with the image you want to convey. Avoid busy patterns or loud colors that can distract from your face, and opt for solid colors or subtle patterns instead. Additionally, make sure your clothing fits well and is free of wrinkles or creases to ensure a polished appearance in your headshots.

4. Pay Attention to Posture and Body Language

Your posture and body language can speak volumes in your professional headshots. Stand or sit up straight with your shoulders back to convey confidence and professionalism. Avoid crossing your arms or slouching, as these gestures can make you appear closed off or disinterested. Instead, maintain an open and engaged posture that exudes warmth and approachability.

5. Trust Your Photographer

Your Chicago headshot photographer is there to help you look your best, so don't hesitate to trust their expertise and guidance. They have the experience and knowledge to capture flattering angles and poses that highlight your best features. Be open to their suggestions and feedback, and communicate any concerns or preferences you may have before the shoot begins.

6. Practice Good Grooming

Good grooming is essential for looking your best in professional headshots. Take the time to groom yourself before the shoot, paying attention to details like hair, makeup, and grooming. Keep your hairstyle simple and polished, and ensure your makeup is natural and enhances your features without being too heavy. For men, a clean shave or well-groomed beard can make a significant difference in your appearance.

7. Choose the Right Background

The background of your headshots can also impact how photogenic you appear in the final images. Work with your Chicago headshot photographer to choose a background that compliments your appearance and reflects the image you want to convey. Whether it's a traditional studio backdrop or a more natural outdoor setting, the right background can enhance your professional headshots and make them more visually appealing.

8. Relax and Have Fun

Above all, remember to relax and have fun during your professional headshot session. A relaxed and confident attitude will shine through in your photos, making them more engaging and appealing to viewers. Trust in the expertise of your Chicago headshot photographer and enjoy the process of capturing your best self in professional business headshots. In conclusion, being more photogenic in your professional headshots is a combination of understanding your best angles and expressions, relaxing and being yourself, dressing appropriately, paying attention to posture and body language, trusting your photographer, practicing good grooming, and choosing the right background. With the help of Capturely, a team of skilled Chicago headshot photographers, you can feel confident and photogenic in your professional headshots, ensuring you make a positive and memorable impression in your professional endeavors.

[mybookplacenet]

Featured Post: Our Cats Are Plotting To Kill Us by Jim Tilberry

About Our Cats Are Plotting To Kill Us: Julie and Darryl are a married couple who discover a way to read the minds of their cats, Oliver and Wendell. By doing so, they find out some amazing stuff about their feline companions. Oliver and Wendell are exceptionally smart. They philosophize about life, understand Spanish, and know history and pop culture. The cats also have hilarious "conversations" about every cat behavior from chasing mice to grooming to using the litter box. However, Julie and Darryl also discover a sinister side to their cats. It appears Oliver and Wendell are secretly scheming to murder their owners. Now the couple faces a crisis. Are the cats really going to murder them, and if so, how do they stop them? This fictional book includes many funny twists and surprises. It also includes many humorous illustrations. If you’re a cat owner and familiar with the unique and interesting ways cats behave, you’ll love this wacky new book. Targeted Age Group: adult Written by: Jim Tilberry Buy the ebook: Buy the Book On Amazon Buy the Print Book: Buy the Book On Amazon Author Bio: Jim Tilberry writes short, funny, and entertaining books on topics as varied as vegetarianism, dating, and business. His latest book, “Our Cats Are Plotting to Kill Us,” is humorous look at that life of cats and what they think about. Tilberry lives and works near Chicago. Read the full article