#vanish stain removers

[coatframe4]

Vanish Stain Remove Liquid 4l

Vanish Gold Oxi Action Powder is a safe and effective stain remover on even the toughest stains. I used to use Vanish years ago but found it wasn't that good. I switched to another brand which I liked but then it stopped being made!

Product works effectively on stains and being in a hand size easy to use. Find plastic brush gets product into fibres of material to get at stain. This is a fantastic safe product and removes stains very well.

Tackle carpet stains and odours on large carpeted areas with our range of carpet powders and foam.

If 14 days has gone by since you received your order, unfortunately we can’t offer you a refund or exchange, but can offer a gift card.

Both of my children seem to be messy eaters and the collection of food covered, stained clothes at the end of each week is often rather ridiculous.

However, when left to dry for 24 hours all of the stains were completely removed, which was a great result.

https://bestreviewstips.co.uk/vanish-stain-removers_176566/ Vanish is a cleaning solution, so if you leave the product on your garment for too long you run the risk of fading your item. To keep your items in pristine condition, always follow the instructions on the back of the packaging. Carpets can start to look tired and dull over time after constant use from you and your family. Tackle carpet stains and odours on large carpeted areas with our range of carpet powders and foam. Say goodbye to stubborn and unwanted stains with the help of our stain removal range. You should always read the actual product label carefully and please do not rely solely on the information provided on the website.

Lincoln Stain Remover

Made the bedroom snell nice though, pain to hoover. I’ve only ever used the powder Vanish but if the other types are as good as the powder then it’s all good! The dog’s danglies at getting stains out in fact and boy do we get some stains having 3 dogs in the house. To allow you to tell your friends about your favourite products we have also added Facebook, Tweet and pin it buttons to make this easier for you. You are also able to create an account which enables you to see the progress of your order. I’m so busy throwing crumbs behind the sofa and hiding dishes in cupboards that I just don’t have the time for soaking my whites. I don’t even separate the whites in my washing. Has used one Disappears in my aim converged partorisca shoe which had been stained after the a lot muddy walk. With which the mine regulates to wash on some powders does not stimulate any stains have purchased this. Now they look better that before I have been in a walk! Mark so only sure partorisca leave your element partorisca drench in a Disappears for advanced. You must have purchased this product to review it. Hubby's white socks are just crying out for this. I know what you mean....I prefer to read reviews from real people too. I never thought about Vanish products with pets as I have none. Please tick if you would like to receive news, offers and information from our trusted and carefully selected partners that we think you might like. Whether you bought the product in store, online or over the phone, most of our products can be returned to aRobert Dyasstores. Please bring your order confirmation as proof of purchase. Please do not attempt to return large or heavy products, including large kitchen appliances, outdoor furniture, indoor furniture etc to your local store. If in doubt of whether you should return a product to your local store, please contact customer services first. A few squeezes of this, along with the Non-bio powder and they are as good as new. Saved me from having to buy some new ones, thanks. I have yet to get the hang of the whole 'having a blogging niche' thing, so expect random musings on everything from my teenage pregnancy experiences to car air fresheners. Do a search now if you like, they're both there.

Household & Cleaning

That’s why we’ve taken the time to narrow the seemingly never-ending list down to the top seven best options for you to choose from. The couple both fell seriously ill within minutes of ingesting the Vanish gold oxi action powder and were taken to hospital. An elderly dementia sufferer died after he mistakenly used poisonous fabric stain remover granules instead of instant coffee, an inquest has found. Vanish Pre-Wash Stain Remover Spray removes the stains and grime that some detergents can leave behind. Penetrating deep into the fibres to break down even the toughest stains, cutting through grime and grease. Designed to effectively pre-treat stains before washing. Seems to do the trick with ds's tomatoey stained clothing. A fast-acting stain remover that lifts stain easily with its powerful formula. This stand-out product is Ace Gentle Stain Remover. For particularly tough stains, you can pre-treat the area by rubbing some of the product into the stain and leaving it for around five minutes. It is not advisable to pre-treat rust stains, don’t leave the product for long enough that it dries, and be sure not to expose it to sunlight.

#vanish stain removers

[gummybearstastelikesadness]

Danny, Jazz, and their parents all go to Gotham for some reason, most likely something sciencey or related to Jazz and college, IDC.

(Danny has only been in Gotham for a single afternoon and he’s already had 4 people attempt to mug him, almost been run over, and walked through what he’s pretty sure was a gang fight. But the weirdest thing that had to have happened to him so far has been the multiple random people keep giving him weird looks and asking if he’s okay way to often for Gotham don’t-trust-people City. It must be his Fenton luck.)

After all the randomness Gotham throws at Danny he like most teenagers exhausted and hungry late at night goes to get fast food. He walks into Batburger (it’s a Gotham staple he wants to know how it compares to the Nasty Burger) and the cashier stares at Danny as he orders like 12 peoples worth of food for him and Jazz.

The cashier, a literal midnight shift customer service worker asks Danny if he’s okay. Danny even more annoyed about people asking that just let’s out an exaggerated sigh and says something about being “just tired and hungry.” The cashier, who is not paid enough for this drops it, rings Danny up, and gives him an order number.

Danny’s order takes a while so he just leans on a wall and surfs the web, maybe messages Jazz or Sam and Tucker. Just vibes, leaning on the Batburger wall.

Eventually some of the bats shows up mid patrol to get something to eat and all pause in the doorway. Causing Danny to look up from his phone and see all of them looking right at him. Danny an annoyed teenager just asks them what they’re looking at.

One of them breaking out of the awkwardness asks Danny if he’s okay. Danny who’s been asked that 15+ times in the last 45 minutes just yells “Why do people keep asking me that?!?”

One of the bats responds with something like “… because you have a knife in your stomach.”

Danny looks down and sees that yes he does have a knife in him and just didn’t notice it. His only response is something along the lines of “Oh, I liked this hoodie.”

The bats are thinking this kids in shock or something and Danny’s just thinking that now he has a free knife because he’ll be healed in a day or so at most.

Danny’s order number gets called, he gets his food, and he just walks away ghosting the concerned bats.

#danny phantom #dp #dp x dc #dc x dp #dp prompt #danny fenton #batfam #Danny now has a free knife :D but has to fix his hoodie :( #after removing the blood (hydrogen peroxide and cold water washing repeated until all stains are removed- only then put in dryer- sets the #stains otherwise) Danny puts NASA patches or patches related to his ghost frenemies to fix his hoodie or embroiders it to repair it. #the bats are concerned of the random stabbed civilian child that vanished into the night and are looking for the kid #meanwhile Danny’s just eating his Batman themed burger after getting patched up listening to Jazz talk about how nice his new knife #but that he should probably start doing regular wound checks so he doesn’t bother customer service workers with biohazards again

[hygieneforall22]

#Vanish Stain Remover Carpet Shampoo

[cheaphousespending]

Vanish Stain Remover Bar Review

We independently select these products—if you buy from one of our links, we may earn a commission. All prices were accurate at the time of publishing. Ask my mom how to get pretty much anything out of a white shirt and I already know that the answer will be: “Have you put some Vanish on it?” My mom swears by this under-$10 stain remover bar to remove blood, tomato, lily pollen, red wine, baby…

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#bar #Remover #Review #Stain #Vanish

[temporaryrose200]

✩Just A Little Accident✩

✟pairing: Yan Claude X Fem Reader

✟genre: Yandere

✟warning: Yandere, mention of murder, reader being drugged.

✟one-short

✟fandom: Who Made Me A Princess

✟summary: After your maid spilled tea all over your lap, Claude knew she had gone…

✟a/n: This I meant to be a side story. Check out my other Yan Claude for this story to make sense if you haven’t. Also sorry I haven't been updated much but a lot has been going on. Going to try and update now.

Hissing in pain as the boiling liquid spilt all over your lap and in the process staining your dress. In the pain, you drop your cup and it landed on the soft glass, breaking its fall “I am so sorry my lady!” Annie your maid exclaimed, snatching up a nearby napkin and tried to remove the stain. Keyword, tried. All the maid was doing was making it worse.

Claude who was sat beside you, watching intensely, glaring dagger at the poor worker. The murderous glint in his diamond eyes sent chills down everyone including yours if you had noticed. You were much more occupied with Annie and the burning pain to even notice the emperor. Oh how Claude wanted to strangle that maid for putting her dirty hands on you, even worse hurt your fragile skin. The woman was a nuisance in the eyes of the emperor, a clumsy and idiotic person to be assigned to serve someone as graceful and perfect as you. The maid needed to go…

Placing a gloved hand over Annie’s hand, you gave the woman a reassuring smile. “If you keep rubbing it in like that, it’s just going to make it worse” you spoke softly. Eyes focusing on the large stain, you noticed how the woman began tearing up. Before you could get a single word out to calm her, apology after apology began spilling from her lips. She bowed her head in shame and her voice trembled. With a sigh, you stood up from your seat, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gently patted it. “I’m fine, calm yourself Annie,” You said, trying to soothe her, but she remained in her apologetic bow, her hands balled into fists and still trembling like leaf. “I’m going to just go change” you explained to the teary-eyed maid. Turning towards Claude you saw the murderous glare focused towards the maid and you felt something deep within you, telling, no yelling at you to stay. But of course, you didn’t listen. “I’ll only be 10 minutes” you timidly told the emperor. Eyes landed on you, the deathly glare that the emperor held had now vanished and had been replaced with a soft loving gaze. It made you sick.

Picking up your cream-coloured dress, you began walking towards the palace leaving poor Annie all alone with Claude. Diamond blue eyes watched you, his gaze not leaving your figure until you were out of sight. Now that his lover had gone, there’s no one to stop him for what he’s about to do next. Placing the half-empty tea cup on the garden table, Claude stood up with a dead expression. He towered over the quivering woman, who knew her life was soon about to end. The only witness to horrid scenes was a young guard, who just stood there watching.

Coming back with a freshly clean dress, you were about to open your mouth to tell Annie a funny story to cheer her up, but when you saw no sign of the maid, you were left confused. E/C eyes darted around the garden, searching for the missing maid. ‘Where is she?’ You question to yourself. “My dear, what seems to be the matter?” a familiar voice asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. Claude sat there, sipping away at his chamomile tea, he held this sickening smirk which was hidden under his cup. Stepping towards the garden table, you griped the top of your seat, feeling uneasy at the missing maid. You had an extremely bad feeling. You questioned to your fiancé to where your maid had gone off to, but there was silence after that. No excuse came from his lips.

It wasn't until you looked over at the other side of the table, a guard. He’s been here all along, maybe he might know! Opening your mouth, you stopped yourself as you finally noticed the frightened expression painted on the young guard’s face. The colour had drained from his face, his eyes widened with fear, his hand gripping tightly at the hilt of his sword, and his breathing unsteady. And that was all you needed to know and the whereabouts of Annie.

Your blood ran cold, you felt yourself shaking like a leaf. A million scenarios ran through your mind at what kind of horrible things Claude had done to her. Falling to the fall, hands covering your face, you sob. Not caring that you were ruining your makeup. The sound of the chair hitting the grass, signalled to you that Claude had gotten up from his seat. Feeling him wrap his strong arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You screamed, kicked and struggled for the blonde to let go of you, yelling insults left and right. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER, YOU BASTARD!? TELL ME!”

Out of nowhere, you felt a piece of cloth be placed over your mouth and noises quickly shutting you up. You breathed in the fumes, feeling your eyelids began closing on their own. To struggled to gain consciousness, but it was futile. The drug was too strong. Before slipping into unconscious you heard Claude’s voice echo in your mind. “You are mine understand. I will not let anyone hurt what is mine, only I can.”

Oh [Name], what did you do wrong to this story…

#who made me a princess #wmmap #wmmap x reader #who made me a princess x reader #yandere claude #yandere claude x reader #yandere manhwa #yandere #yandere x reader #wmmap claude #claude de alger obelia #manhwa #x reader #claude de alger obelia x reader #claude x reader #Claude de alger obelie #wmmap fanfic #yandere manhwa x reader #yandere wmmap #🌸

[florvaine]

lost comfort and found familiarity.

Escaping the prison was a mess, and Carl is devastated when he can only find his girlfriends red jacket, but not her. (afab! reader)

genre: heavy angst to fluff

warnings: death, blood, gore, panic/anxiety attack, !carls’ SA scene!, kissing.

-— DREAD BEGAN TO FILL THE PIT OF CARL’S STOMACH WHEN THE HEAVY REALISATION SET IN. That realisation was that the prison was overrun, the Governor and his goons having broken down the wired fencing with a tank and brought in dozens upon dozens of brain-deteriorated, famished walkers into the previously safe confines of the prison.

They had killed Hershel in cold blood using Michonne's katana, leaving his severed head to pool a red sheen on the grass. Somewhere in the time of his beheading bullets began to ring out around the borders of the prison.

Cars, trucks and military-grade vehicles began to fill the courtyard, Rick and the Governor are beating each other bloody with their bare hands by the overturned bus.

“Holy shit.” He hears you say, and once he looks to his left to find you, his heart hurts a little more.

You’re typically comforting smile has vanished like the peace had just a few hours ago, instead pulled in an open-mouthed look of pure shock and horror. Your eyes are blown wide, brimming with a small collection of tears. There’s dust and debris flying everywhere, staining your cheeks. A shotgun is tight in your grip, ammo stacked in your pockets and an army knife clinging on your belt.

He’s only ever seen you this devastated when the farm got set up in flames, and when you had been told that your brother had been bit.

Carl gulps, pulling you closer to him via the strong grip he has on your hand. Both of your palms are sweaty, but it was barely even registered as the tank that the Governor had hijacked shot another bomb into the crumbling, brick walls of the prison.

“We gotta go!” He says, running in the opposite direction of the explosion. You follow behind him, still holding his hand as an anchor to keep you aware of reality.

Your eyes drift around the series of events around you. The obliteration of your home, the snapping jaws of the decaying walkers that drooled and reached to take a chunk of flesh from either of your bodies. Bullets rain hell on everything that moves, sparks of orange and yellow shining from all directions, the scent of blood, gunpowder and dust is heavy as it clings to your clothes and hair.

You stumble, tugging on Carl's hand, "We have to get your Dad!" You point to where Michonne is helping him up, and the blue-eyed boy falters.

A loud bang followed by the sound of debris hitting the floor, a flash of heat passed over each of your skins. Between the flash, he sees his dad covered in splatters of blood, bruises and cuts stumbling towards a break in the metal fence.

Every sense in his body is muddled, an annoying, high-pitched ring in his ears makes his clammy hands raise upwards to press against them, sounds muffled as dust coats his tongue like thick, chalky medicine. His eyes flutter as the light passes, debris clinging to his lashes and dirtying his freckled face. Carl sniffs, his head turning around rapidly to see you again.

Except you were gone.

Just like the flash of orange light and thermal blast, you had seemingly dissipated into thin air. His first reaction is panic, in a form that roots his body into the concrete floor at the thought of you being hit by the bomb, therefore disintegrating instantly.

Carl feels sick to his stomach and he removes his hands from his ears, picking up his gun that clattered to the ground and spinning in circles to catch even a glimpse of you.

"Y/n?" He shouts even if his throat was aching from the particles in the muggy air.

There's no response, "Y/n!" He calls out with more urgency, his feet moving quick against the ground as another round of bullets pass beside him.

The shaggy, brown-haired teen dashes through a gap between the cell blocks, keeping as low as he could whilst running, pressing the sheriff's hat his father gave him just a few days prior against him skull.

Then everything stops. It's practically silent if you ignore the echoes of the snarling walkers that invaded the space. His eyes brim with salty tears, scrambling to pick up a too familiar red cloth discarded on the floor.

His heart is put on pause for a few seconds as he kneels down to claw at the jacket. Your favourite jacket. Bright red stained with black smudges and bloody hand smears, an open hole passes cleanly through both sides of the left sleeve, encircled in a deeper scarlet that dripped in a sickening curve of an open wound.

Time passes slowly, as if God himself was providing him time to grieve. You had slipped through the cracks of his callousing hands, the blood trapped under his fingernails suddenly more obvious as he scratched at the drying liquid on the jacket. His heart hurts. So does his head, a throbbing pulse that matched the pants and trembling breaths that exited his chapped lips. His body washes out any adrenaline or happy emotion an refills it with dread and mourning.

He feels like crying. Sobbing, screaming your name until his lungs collapsed and his throat was raw. Vocal cords torn, shattered like his heart that would no longer beat with the same life he had with you. His thoughts turned from joyous hope of a future with you and Judith outside the crackling prison to disbelieving hurt at the realisation you were not near him anymore.

With no body, their could be no funeral. Nobody in the limited black attire they collected throughout their time in the apocalypse. With no grave to bury you under, you could not rest.

But without a funeral or a tattered corpse of your being, Carl refused to believe you were dead.

The sound of bullets restart his heart again like a defibrillator, and he's back in the moment. There's shots in the courtyard, the boy scrambles up, clinging onto your jacket with harsh breathing.

There's two walkers further along the cell block. Carl ties the jacket around his waist. Rage slowly drips into the building acceptance in his mind, and the shotgun that he held previously was snagged up off the floor.

The gun is raised, aimed perfectly for the decaying heads of what used to be morally guided people. His breathing picks up slightly.

One shot rings out, bullet shells hitting the ground. Chunks of skin, bone and rotting organs spills over the floor and the walker hits the ground with a dull thud. He steps over the remains with what could only be described as a bitter mixture of anger and sadness on his face.

The second shot is fired, and the first victim is joined by the other. A mess of liquid ruby changes the grey hue of the floor, the sound of blood spilling like tossed water would usually sicken him.

His gaze drifts towards the bodies, and he is repulsed at the image of you, your hair splayed against the concrete and your eyes wide open yet unseeing, glossed over in grey as your plump lips turn blue, skin cold. Your chest does not rise. You are still, graceful and dead.

He blinks, and yet again you were gone. Carl looks up from the meaningless corpses.

His own dad looks back at him.

"Carl," It doesn't sound like him, there's a hint of liquid that gurgled in his throat as he spoke, and Rick gulps it down. He's breathing heavily. A collection of red patches adorn his beaten face, curls from his hair and stubbly beard pressed against the sweat gathered on his skin.

The two of them limp away from the remains of the prison, trauma and sorrow tossing and churning in their minds and stomachs. They had lost not only you, but Judith as well.

One of the only memories of his mother that he had. And the only hope that Rick had of raising one of his children without any fear even in the apocalypse.

That night the two of them exchanged no words.

-—-

1 month, 27 days and 17 hours.

That's how long it had been since Carl had last heard your voice. Him, Rick and now Michonne occupy a two story house in a leafy road surrounded by woods. They visit the neighbouring homes further down, once he even found a 112 ounces worth of chocolate pudding, and ate it in one sitting. Alone.

The words 'alone' has never been in the forefront of his mind this much before. He wonders if you would've enjoyed the pudding with him, or comforted him on his worst nights as his dad slept on the sofa barricading the front door. Maybe you would've stopped him shouting at his unconscious body.

He was terrified, that night. Because the sleeping body of his dad would sometimes look like you - except there's a bite on your shoulder and a bullet wound punctured between your closed eyes.

Now there was no resting body on the sofa as his dad was awake, alive and moving whilst Michonne helps the two of them work with their slightly tense familial relationship.

Sometimes he'd get bombarded with questions about you. He'd still answer with one phrase.

"She's alive."

The same tone, the same memory starting to form before his ocean eyes whenever he blinked. After a while it went from being a quivering statement of hope to an exclamation of law.

Every time you were brought up negativily, it ended in him storming out of the house and sleeping in a different one for the night, and coming back in the morning to his anxious dad who was very close to vomiting and a worried Michonne.

Carl knew you wouldn't just leave or give in that easily. It wasn't in your blood that stained the jacket he kept folded upstairs in one of the rooms.

He had washed it, any trace of what happened at the prison left in a stream of water; the hole from your bullet wound was sewn together as best as he could. No more smudges of soot and crumbling brick smeared down the hood and arms, no more scarlet hand prints that grabbed and tainted your clothing.

Carl had one mission that he would complete - he had to complete it before anything else.

And you were going to get your jacket back - alive.

-—-

Terminus was a horrible idea. It had been advertised as a safe haven for anyone in need of it, offering sickingly sweet luxuries that no other place had before.

Who knew it was run by cannibals that captured, disarmed and intended to eventually eat them? Not Carl, that's for sure.

They had barely escaped with their lives, and Carl could only wonder how many more times he could dodge death until it inevitably caught up with him.

But in the back of his mind, he knew he would avoid it for as long as he possibly could, because if he kicked the bucket then he wouldn’t see you again.

At least they found everyone else - including Judith. That was one miracle that Carl dreamed of, and it was accepted, so the last one was you.

Many nights and days he had spent wondering where you were, if you were thinking about him too, some other days passed with tears and muffled screams of your name; those days he’d be comforted by the tight arms of his dad or Michonne wrapped around him.

Carl would sometimes have nightmares of that grimey, old man that pinned him against the floor, Michonne and Rick having to see him at his most vulnerable in that moment. That was the one time he was grateful you weren’t there. Not because he didn’t want you to see him so shattered and broken, no.

He knew that whatever was going to happen to him, would happen to you too. And with the predator pinning him down, the company of his equally as vile creatures that held Michonne and Rick as captives. Nobody would be able to save you in time.

Part of his innocence was picked up and snapped that night. He fell asleep with your jacket over his torso, and he let his quivering frame curl into yours.

He wanted to see you again, in real life. Not a part of the fractured, twisted part of his imagination. He wished to hold you close against him, kiss you under the stars like you had done too many days ago. Everything Carl found that he thought you’d like was in a small pouch at the bottom on his bag.

A thin-chained necklace, a gossip magazine, a comic book. A small heart shaped rock that he had found. Most importantly, your jacket.

Carl was intelligent, observant. He could tell everyone had already grieved for you, mentioned your name in speeches of motivation saying ‘do it for her’. He hated it.

Another argument happened whilst they were all moving down the abandoned road, towards a new hope of life.

*

His father brought you up again when he saw Carl wearing your jacket. They had stopped for a break, sitting in the middle of the road whilst Daryl went hunting for anything they could eat.

“Carl,” He spoke, voice slow and gentle as if he was a ticking time bomb, “I think it’s time you let go of her jacket.”

Everyone’s eyes moved from his father to his son, eyes slightly widened and mouths clamped shut. The air becomes tense as the blue-eyed teen looks up at his father through the corner of his eyes.

Carl swipes his tongue over his lips, “Why’s that?” He spoke, Judith coo’s in his arms, pulling at the strings that tightened the hood.

Rick adjusts his stance, placing his hands on his hips and thinking of what to say to his son. His mouth opens and closes a few times before he speaks.

“I just think, well we just think that,” The curly-haired dad gestures to everyone with one hand, “It’s time to let go, son.”

Carl lifts his head fully, eyebrows knitted together in scrutising disbelief, “You all think she’s dead?” His tone is harsh, accusing and targeted to pierce their racing hearts.

Everyone knew that the mention of you being dead was something that the boy didn’t agree with. Stubborn as ever, Carl points his gaze towards his dad. His gaze as sharp as daggers and Rick knows hes in for the long run.

“She disappeared, Carl. We can only guess what happened to her.”

Carl hands Judith to Carol next to him and she takes her without looking at the boy, “You can guess, but I’m not guessing. I know she’s alive.”

“She’s got lost, nobody saw where she went. She’s alone.” Rick argued, his voice louder.

“She has a gun and a knife!” Carl replies, shouting over his father. Michonne stands up and removes her gun from her holster, as did Abraham and Tara when a branch snaps behind the wooded trees.

Daryl shows himself, empty handed. Everyone internally groans, but they give him a look to tell him to be quiet and point at the arguing boys.

Rick places his hands on his sons shoulder, looking down on him, “People have still died with a gun, kid.”

Carl pushes his dad away from him, face contorting into pure anger and vemon lacing his features, “Don’t touch me.”

“I’m just tellin’ you the truth, Carl.” Rick points at him, eyebrows raised and his voice returning to the soft, almost patronising tone from before.

“But it’s not the truth!” Carl argues, his anger put into lashing out against his own blood, “She’s alive, I know it! I see her, Dad!”

Michonne places a hand on Rick’s shoulder when she hears him sigh and prepare himself, “Don’t-”

“She’s dead! Trust me. She. Is. Dead. If you’re seeing her like I see your mother, then she is not alive anymore!”

It goes silent, a few birds fly overhead with calls of their scratchy language. Even in the open surrounded by trees it has never felt more claustrophobic than ever for the Grimes family.

Carl stiffens at the mention of his mother, the woman that birthed and nutured him through his pre-teen years. The woman he eventually ended up killing.

Rick takes his silence as an opportunity, “Let her go, Carl. That’s my only advice.”

Tears form in his lashline as he stares back at him dad, and the sheriff’s hat against his head has never felt more heavy than in this moment.

“But everyone saw Mum’s body.”

Rick has never turned around quicker than in that moment. The mention of his lovers lifeless body, deep cut in her lower stomach flashes under the glaze in his eyes and Rick swears he can see a white dress move through the treeline.

Carl continues, “We saw Mum’s body,” His voice trembles and he sniffs, “I knew she was dead more than anyone else here.”

It’s deathly silent. Everyone knows what he’s referring to, and everyone is scared shitless to say anything to either of them. Rick takes a deep breath, but doesn’t speak.

A droplet rolls down Carl’s pale cheek, and he looks down to ensure no one saw him wipe it away, “We haven’t seen hers. Until we see her body, I’m keeping her jacket. But when we find her, she’s gonna have it back.”

Rick only nods lightly, picking up the supplies he agreed to carry.

Nobody makes any objections to continuing to move further up the road - towards Alexandria.

-—-

You have never felt so close before. Yes, they were extremely suspicious and afraid of Aaron and his husband, Eric. Having been tricked into a cannibal house just a week ago does that to a group of people.

But walking up yet another road, littered with lifeless corpses of walkers with bullets making their brains paint the pavement. Carl knows only one thing.

He has never been this sure that he was going to find you.

Aaron is rattling on about what facilities they had. Running water, heating, electricity. Promises of necessaries they haven’t heard of for years now.

His dad is on edge, not particularly fond of the idea, but he knew that everyone was so tired and burnt out that they needed just the idea of a safe place to be just to bring more motivation to themselves.

So far, Aaron’s words of a 15 foot, metal wall that bordered Alexandria and protected the insiders was true, and Carl begins to feel more energetic and hopeful than before.

Carol notices this, and questions the boy, “What’s up, Carl?” She looks at him, and he looks back.

“She’s here, I know it.” He replies and then looks forward again, walking ahead of her.

Carol furrows her brows and decides to take harder and longer looks at the walkers on the floor.

The group arrive at the large, metal gate. The journey felt like hours for each of them, but extra long for Carl. He was antsy, and fully compliant to anything any of them told them to do. If Aaron or Eric told them to stop, he would. If they told him to go find a bird, kill it and bring it back, he would.

The gates finally screech open, Carl feels as if his heart is going to burst open. An alarm sounds in the back of his head but not one of worry, but one of intuition that told him she was here.

He looked into the gated community as the gate opened fully, and felt alienated as soon as he entered with his group. They were dirty, hair knotty and unclean against the pristine and organised residents of Alexandria.

People poke their heads out of houses and stare, smiling or looking upon them with apathy. Every face Carl doesn’t recognise.

They get told to hand over their weapons. Their refusal is argued, and eventually they give in. It’s hesitated and unsettling seeing all their guns and knifes piled onto a trolley.

Carl is the second to last person to place anything on the trolley, his handgun is held in his hands tightly as he walks over to the collection, placing it down and reaching for his knife-

“Carl?”

It’s a voice further along the pathway into Alexandria, and he looks up in slight confusion.

His blue eyes meet hers, they’re as recognisable as ever. Finally.

His body is practically overflowing with emotion - relief, joy, sadness and the most overpowering feeling of love.

The knife clatters to the floor, there are hands reaching for him, tugging on his clothes to hold him back and the leaders that he didn’t care to remember the names of tell him to stay put.

Instead he runs. It’s a run of desperation. He’s afraid that if he doesn’t run fast enough, you’ll disappear again in the aftermath of an explosion. You’re running too, a hand against your mouth to cover sobs.

The two of you meet halfway, arms wrapping around eachother as a form of physical touch to ensure that the other that this is real.

“You’re alive,” Carl whispers, breathing heavily and clutching the back of your head that was pressed against his chest, “I knew it.”

You’re both crying, holding eachother in a tight, cathartic embrace that released any inkling of doubt that the others heart wasn’t beating.

Carl’s hands clamber to hold you face in his hands again. You let him, raising your head to look into his eyes. He runs his thumbs against your soft skin, scanning your face.

His head lowers, yours lifts, and your lips meet in a greeting that was way past it’s due date. Eyes closed, experiencing something that has only been a dream for so long. You didn’t care that his lips were chapped, he didn’t care that yours were slightly cut up from you biting at the dead skin there.

It’s messy, teeth clashing and your noses bump one or two times, but all that you care about is that he’s here, and that he finally found you.

You pull apart, and your eyes fly open to witness his still closed like he was still in shock. His lashes flutter, and you make eye contact once again.

There’s a sense of melancholy realisation that slowly ebbs through him. The fact he hadn’t been there to witness you grow up alongside him during the time you were apart. He admires the change in your facial structure, features from before stronger and more prominent to show that you had grown up.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remembered,” His thumb wipes away a few of your tears and rolls over a small scar that streches up from your jawline to your cheekbone and his eyebrows furrowed in slight worry, “What happened?”

You press yourself further against his palms, relishing in the feeling of him again, “I survived, Carl.”

His name has never sounded so good before. His brain feels funny, his heart floating as he pulls you in for another kiss. It’s less messy this time, not that either of you care.

Carl pulls away again as he’s reminded of his mission, his forehead against yours, “Your jacket,” He gives you peck, and departs again, “I have your jacket.”

His hands leave your face to pull the rucksack of his back, and in panting breaths you gasp softly as he pulls the red fabric out of the bottom of the brown bag, holding it out to you.

“I cleaned it, sewed up the bullet hole,” He holds it up, showing the messy threading, “It’s not the best-”

He’s cut off by you taking it from him with a sniffle, pressing it against your heart and clutching it.

“I love you, Carl.” Your voice trembles, and he smiles, pressing a kiss against your forehead, brushing a few loose strands of your hair from your face.

“I love you too.”

You unzipped the red jacket, struggling to get it on; Carl moves forwards to help you slide it on over your arms again.

Where it rightfully belongs.

-—-

#*{ ‘. florawrites<3 #carl grimes x reader #the walking dead #carl grimes #twd #angst #the walking dead x reader #fluff #twd fluff #twd angst

[sumaneun-stars]

'Usual White Sheets'

Pairing. Bf!Jay x fem!reader

Genre. Established relationship, fluff 

Warnings. Mentions of blood, reader is on her periods

Even with your eyes closed, half dead, your body searched for Jay's. When your arms reached out to every corner of the bed and found nothing, no one, you opened your eyes.

“What the…'' you mumbled, looking at a probably new bed sheet, by the looks of it. Not the usual white sheets of his bed.

Adjusting to the morning light that shone through your window, you slowly sat up.

New pajama shorts.

A cloth under your lower half

No- It can't be.

Your hand searched under your pillow to grab your phone. Hurriedly opening your calendar, you groaned in frustration.

You were early this month.

You buried your face in your hands. Jay had probably woken up to a messy stain you caused, and he had changed your shorts too. You're such a wreck, y/n. 

Ignoring the pain in your lower stomach, you slowly got out of bed. While brushing your teeth, you wondered how you could ever show your face to Jay again. This wasn't the first time your boyfriend took care of you on your period, but it was never this bad. Never a stain.

You didn't know if it was your stupid hormones acting up, but you had the urge to punch something.

Careful not to fall, you made your way downstairs, whatever urge you had before vanished when you saw your beloved boyfriend making breakfast. He had his airpods on so he didn't notice when you stood behind him. He flinched a little when you wrapped your arms around his waist, but relaxed almost immediately. 

“Baby, how are you feeling? Do you need any painkillers? Hm?” Jay spoke, removing his airpods.

When he felt you shaking your head from side to side, he realized you were embarrassed,cute. Jay would be lying if he said he wasn't shocked to see blood first thing in the morning, he was mad at his phone for not notifying him about your week. He always took pride in knowing when your period came, he knew how to care for you in those terrible days. 

“Angel, there's nothing wrong in a little accident” he caressed your hand on his waist. He knew you were too embarrassed to face him. And he found that adorable.

“Little? How was that little, Jay? I literally let my disgusting blood soak your bed” you mumbled into his back.

Jay chuckled at your embarrassed state, there were times in his life where he just wanted to wrap you in his arms, squeeze your cheeks, cuddle you and never let go of you, like right now.

“Hmm you're right, so when are you gonna buy me a new bed, love?” he smiled when you laughed at his teasing. He knew how painful these days were going to be for you. He made up his mind to make you smile more. Laughter is the best medicine 

Jay took that opportunity and turned around, engulfing you in a warm hug. Sometimes Jay's warmth and scent was the only meditation you needed. 

“How is it early this time, baby?” Jay spoke while he combed your hair with his fingers. You closed your eyes at the feeling of his cold fingers run through your scalp.

“I have no idea” you cuddled into his chest. He smiled to himself looking down at you when you nuzzled your nose into his chest. Jay loved how clingy you got during your period,one of the many things he loved about you.

“Should we go see a doctor?” He kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there nuzzling into your hair. Your limbs almost melted at the feeling.

“I used to get irregular periods when I was in high school baby, it's nothing serious” you looked up at him, kissing his chin you gave him a reassuring smile.

You both swayed slowly from side to side, enjoying nothing but each other's presence. Occasionally you felt Jay plant butterfly kisses on your head, shoulder and neck. It amazed you how he knew how to ease your internal pain. No scented candle could beat Jay's natural scent. 

“Honey, I think my curry is burning” he spoke into your hair. Chuckling, you detach yourself from Jay- but he thought otherwise.

You felt his hands under your thighs. He lifted you up and gently placed you on the island of the kitchen. He looked at you with the most ‘husband-material’ eyes, your arms still wrapped around his neck. Jay leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips trailing down your nose and pecking the tip. You felt a million butterflies awaken in your body to his actions.

He moved back and placed his palm to the side of your face, caressing your cheek.

“I think your curry needs saving, Jay” you raised a playful brow at him.

“Oh my god-” he hurriedly switched the stove off. “No!” he whined when he looked at his now black curry. 

“I made this for you especially” he pouted when you stood beside him examining the ruined matter. Your heart sank when you noticed his disappointed look, his hand still scraping the burnt parts of the food with a spoon.

“Looks like I have to buy new groceries too” you moved closer to him and pecked his pouty lips.

“And a new pan,” 

End.

#enhypen #enha scenarios #enha x reader #enha #enhypen drabbles #enha fluff #enhypen jay #enhypen fluff #enhypen scenarios #enhypen oneshots #jay fluff #jay imagines #jay x reader #jay #jay enhypen #park jongseong #enha imagines #enha jay

[utterlyotterlyx]

The Fox and The Fawn

High Lord Eris x Rhys!Sister!Reader x Azriel

Part Eight

Summary - Eris and your court grapple with the realisation that you left in order to protect them, whilst in Velaris, it becomes clear that you aren't as clueless as you seem.

Warnings - angst, depression, slight fluff, mentions of wing clipping, manipulation, slightly possessive Eris, unhinged Rhys, soft Az and Cass.

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

The morning light drifting through the pulled back curtains was the catalyst of Eris' groan, he threw an arm over his face to shield himself from the pale yellow light fluttering through the room, a room that felt off somehow.

Frowning, Eris removed his arm from his face, squinting through his sleep-ridden eyes to peer at the person who was supposed to be curled into his side, head resting on his chest, and palms idly drifting over his skin. No one was there.

Had the night before been a dream?

Had he not basically confessed his love for you whilst you confessed that despite the distance that separated you, that you had knowingly chosen to soothe him Under The Mountain despite your own pain?

Eris tugged on that golden thread in his chest, wincing as it withered back to him, shivering in pain within his soul. Rubbing the spot over his heart, Eris realised that the bond hadn't snapped for you like it should have, like he thought it had.

Throwing the sheets from his frame, Eris' gaze darted about his former chambers, searching for any sign of you. He inhaled deeply, expecting your scent to flood him, but found his heart in his hands when only the faintest of trances of you lingered in the air.

Before Eris could truly lose his mind, he glanced toward the vanity, to where a singed square of parchment lay propped up against a bottle of perfume with his name delicately inscribed on the face.

He didn't need to read it to know what it said, but he had to, he had to see it for himself.

I can't let him hurt you. I'm sorry.

The page had wrinkled and darkened in places, and droplets of your tears stained the parchment in his fingers. The words on the page told him the answer to his previous thought, that the bond hadn't fallen into place for you, which in a way was better, it meant that everything you had felt and admitted was because you wanted it, not because you felt like you had to accept something.

Shuffling sounded from below, a smash of glass and a screech for Nesta, he moved to the noise, quickly fixing his briefs from the night before around his waist, his bare feet padding against the wood as he headed toward the commotion.

He heard Elain's words, he heard her mutter something about her vision, about snow-capped mountains and the dress that had vanished from its place draped over the mirror in your room. Red shrouded his vision like thick mist, his entire soul was threatening to rip itself apart, hating itself for not only letting you get away, but for also for not being able to feel you.

Every single fibre of his essence was searching for you, holding onto any speck of your scent that lingered in the air. He didn't even see Lucien through his haze, he only focused on the one person who knew for certain where you had gone.

Eris knew, but he needed to hear someone else say it.

The fox prowled ahead, fists clenched and eyes low, his molten bronze pools swimming with tamed fury as his soul remembered the touch of your lips against his, how you tasted of midnight skies and honey, it was peaceful. It was perfectly you. Dark but beautiful.

Nesta had frozen in place, the eldest Archeron surprisingly void of any words. Apparently you hadn't told a soul, that much was clear from the shock and hurt on their faces.

“Where is my mate?”

Eris’ palms lay flat against the countertop, the same one where he had held you only hours before, kissing you and telling you how badly he wanted to be worthy of you. It dawned on him that throughout that entire conversation, from your joint confessions to the kiss that confirmed everything he already knew, to sleeping in the same bed, you had already known that you were leaving.

Pain and sadness radiated on Elain’s features, her bottom lids pooled with unshed tears, and she fell back into Lucien who had crossed the room after Eris had brushed past him, “Wait, your mate?” Nesta took a step forward, her eyes growing wider as her mind span with the news.

Eris hummed softly, his eyes still cold and stoic, “I thought it had snapped for her last night, after we spoke, after the kiss,” his gaze softened slightly, “She’s gone back, hasn’t she?”

Nodding, Elain answered, “Yes. In the night,” after Eris had fallen asleep with you wrapped up in his arms, leaving him to wake up alone with a spot beside him void of life.

"Hold up. Your mate? Since when?"

Eris rolled his eyes at Nesta, running his hand over his face, "I think I've always known, but it was Under The Mountain when I accepted it. When she was walking the halls singing to herself," when in actuality you had been singing to him.

None of them could be angry or upset with you, you had done it to protect them, to make sure that they stayed alive and safe, away from any form of war or conflict.

“I can invoke the Blood Duel.”

It wasn’t an act that was taken lightly. The Blood Duel was a rarity, but it was also made for situations just like the one they found themselves in. Rhys thought that you were unmated, it was his main argument of focus, but he had no idea that your mate was itching to tear him apart. Eris could invoke it, and maybe, just maybe, Rhys would have no choice but to honour the bond and set you free before it was too late.

Lucien inhaled sharply, “She wouldn’t want that.”

“I can’t leave her there, Lucien.”

“We won’t,” Nesta moved to stand before the arched window, peering out at the pond which was shimmering in the sunlight, glittering even, “If I know her well, which I do, she wouldn’t have gone back without some kind of plan in place. That woman is the best tactician that Prythian has ever seen.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell us?”

Nesta turned to Elain who was equally as confused, they had left Velaris to follow you blindly, they were devoted to you, “She didn’t want us to get caught up in it,” a guess, but probably true. Nesta turned to Eris, “Don’t invoke the Blood Duel yet. I know it’s not ideal but maybe she knows what she’s doing.”

They could only hope that Rhys’ greed would glamour his senses, “And if she doesn’t?”

Eris couldn’t imagine it, what they’d do to you in that prison of a city. That other part of you had retreated each day, the darkness bowing to the warmth and light of him.

Nesta felt Ataraxia call to her and she flexed her digits in return as if she was holding it, “Then we go to war.”

“It’s for your own good, y/n.”

Rhys was waiting with open arms the moment you had stepped up to where Autumn met Winter, Azriel must have told him of your movements.

Your heart ached in your chest, everything was screaming at you to turn back and find another way, but you had to protect them from the monster stood before you.

The winter chill caused you to shiver, the skirt of your dress tugging you backward, willing you to move away, to go back to where you were safe and loved, “Promise me that you won’t hurt them.”

Smiling, Rhys extended a hand toward you, “If you cross that line, they will be spared.”

“Promise me. Promise me that you won’t hurt them, and if you do, the price will be your life.”

Rhys wasn’t stupid, he knew what you were doing, “I promise,” a familiar burning coiled up your right forearm and you glanced down to see a fresh tattoo inked on your skin, “Now, come.”

A shuddering breath moved through you, you stepped over the threshold into Winter and his hands were on you immediately. They were cold and calloused, there was no softness or love in his touch, just pride to have won.

“I apologise,” you frowned slightly, “I had to take some precautions.” Before you could ask about what he had done, you felt cold rings lock around your wrists and neck, you felt the power evaporate from your body, and you fell to your knees.

Clawing at the collar moulding with your flesh, you whimpered, “What is this?”

“A gift from a friend,” Rhys crouched down to your level, taking your chin on his fingers, “I told you that your power was unnatural, now you can’t use it at all.”

The voices in your mind had wailed, they screamed in protest as the power of the collar consumed them, the air fell still and you felt weak, almost mundane as Rhys’ power pulsed around you, relishing in being the strongest thing to now walk the earth.

“It’s a blessing,” he cooed to you, ignoring the cries coming from your lips, you tried to hook your fingers under it, to rip it off of you, but you had no strength, and the collar was already embedded into your flesh, “We can be happy,” his eyes shimmered and yours dimmed, “No more fighting.”

Drowning. You were drowning and no amount of air that you were gulping down was saving you. You were lifted from the ground and cradled to a cold chest, and all you could do was glance backward at the border, at where Autumn called to you before the world before your eyes vanished in a swirl of colour and you found yourself looking upward at a sky full of stars.

Nothing felt real.

Every step he took filled you with dread, you recognised the incline of the path, you’d know it with your eyes screwed shut. Shuffling entered your ear shot as well as the sound of gasps, you were sure you must have looked tiny in his arms, your face was stained with tears, your skin had gone pale, your eyes had darkened and stared blankly downward to your hands bundled in your lap.

Black veins snaked from the stone cuffs melted into your wrists, angry and poisonous, devouring you with each passing moment.

“Az. Take her will you?”

The room stiffened, but the Shadowsinger moved to you, he slid you from Rhys’ grip and held you delicately. The change of your scent was undeniable, and Azriel was sure that Rhys commanded that he take you so that he didn’t have to smell Eris for one moment longer than he had to.

Velaris could do nothing to soothe you, the looming mountains could only watch sadly as Azriel carried you to your room at the River House, the stars blinkered away entirely at the solemn atmosphere that coated the city in your silent fury. The princess had returned, but she was powerless, a lone bunny stalked by wolves.

Cedar used to be your favourite smell, but all it did was make your stomach churn and twist in agony, everything inside of you wanted that scent to be one of pine and cinnamon, they wanted it to belong to the person who had never been afraid of you even when you had given him every reason to be.

The knots in your shoulders writhed, your scars screamed as your power depleted, but you couldn’t bare to soothe it, it was the only thing you could feel aside from nothing.

“It’s alright, y/n. Everything is going to be okay,” Azriel kicked your door open as softly as he could, and his heart shattered into a million pieces when a single look inside sent you struggling against his embrace.

Nothing had changed, it looked the exact same as it had the night you had left, like it was waiting to you.

“Please, don’t do this. Take me back to him. Please.”

You knew that he couldn’t defy Rhys so openly, so foolishly. Azriel set you down on the comforter and knelt before you, his fingers drifted along the edge of the black stone collar, where the stone met the newly marred flesh beneath it, “I didn’t know that he was going to do this, I swear.”

So that explained the gasps. It wasn’t due to just seeing you in the flesh again, it was because of the collar and cuffs burnt into your skin. None of them knew of what Rhys had planned to do, that being to drain the life from you bit by bit, starting with your power, until you bent to his will and became his submissive monster.

Hazel connected with your own, and Azriel saw nothing but a wilting rose inside of you, broken with no chance of springing back to full bloom. Sat before him was a shell of the woman he used to know, and he had dealt a hand in your state, contributed to it, and it disgusted him.

“Get away from me,” your words struck him like Truthteller had become lodged in his heart, you had never asked Azriel to go away, you had always welcomed him with open arms and soothing words.

But the captured animal in front of him wasn’t y/n anymore, it was the frightened creature that Rhys had plucked from the forest and condemned to a life of solitude.

“Please, y/n-“

“Don’t say my name,” your eyes welled, “You don’t ever get to say my name. You’re not him, you don’t get to call me that.”

Hold on.

A shudder flew up your spine, the first bit of comfort you had experienced in what felt like a millennia, “Get out.”

Sighing, Azriel rose to his feet, he knew that there was no consoling you, no words that he could muster to make the situation better. As soon as Azriel left the room, closing the door with a soundless click, you found yourself staring out of the window at the stars that used to lull you to sleep but were now glowering in warning.

The valley sang with golden light, it drifted along the streets where childish laughter blossomed, it should have been comforting, but nothing about the moment was good. Nothing about Velaris felt safe. Gone were the days where you would stroll along the Sidra with Azriel by your side, gone were the days of harmony.

Hugging your knees to your chest, your mind floated elsewhere, wondering how Nesta, Elain, and Lucien would react once they realised that you had left. How hurt they would be by your abandonment. And Eris, you were sure that he would be feeling the worst out of them all, wondering why his words and admissions weren't able to convince you to stay.

All that mattered was that they were safe, protected by the bargain inked upon your flesh.

The reflection in the window wasn't of anyone that you recognised, she was pale, her eyes a shade of almost onyx bar the circle of wildfire in the irises, black veins protruded from the collar embedded into the flesh of her neck, her hair was loosely strewn over her shoulder. The life had been sucked from her soul and she had been left empty.

"Don't think about it," a shaky whisper racked through your body and you hugged yourself tighter. You couldn't allow yourself to crumble at the pain and grief, "You can do this. They're safe. You can do this, for them."

For Eris and the Autumn Court, for your friends, for the continent, you could confine yourself to Velaris if it meant sparing them all.

Time passed, time where the world beyond the window darkened and the golden hue of the valley evaporated into the night air, and it was during that time when another soul deemed itself worthy enough to find you.

You didn't feel him at first, for you were too dumb to feel anything, all of your fae senses had depleted, you couldn't feel anything. It was as though Rhys had locked you in a prison of darkness, where no feeling resided, where there was no knowing of who was coming to see you or what was coming next. A prison of solitude that even the fire couldn't touch.

Cassian sucked in a harsh beath as he stepped into the room, the entire space was freezing, soft whisps of air flew from your lips, and you shivered on the bed as you held yourself tightly in your arms. The Lord of Bloodshed crossed the room, perching on the edge of the bed, wincing when you angled your body away from him.

In that moment, Cassian knew that Rhys had lost his gods damned mind.

"I'm sorry," he wasn't looking to you, no, he was peering out of the window, wondering at what point life had gotten so fucked up. Anger bubbled inside of him as the stone collar around your neck sang with the power it had trapped inside of it. A monumental act that proved exactly how far Rhys would go to contain you.

"Is this how it's going to go? Rhys sends you in one by one to apologise, do you think that's going to wash away everything that's happened?"

Heavy eyelids greeted him just as the scent of you mixed with another had the moment he had stepped foot into the room. "Rhys doesn't know that I'm here."

Interest piqued, you glanced to him, noting the slouch in his shoulders, the messily thrown together low bun on his head, how his wings drooped lower than they had before, you noted the paled hue to his skin and how he sat with his elbows resting on his knees and staring at the floor, "Nesta misses you. She says she doesn't but I know that she does."

"Is she alright?"

"She's safe. I made sure of that."

Unlike you, you seemed to say, and your eyes confirmed the message.

"If it helps, none of us knew that Rhys was going to do this. Feyre is horrified."

"It doesn't help me at all actually, but thank you for wasting your breath."

It was astounding how a voice could be so vacant, like the last of the autumn breeze before the winter pierced through it. Cassian wanted to know more, he wanted you to tell him about Nesta, about everything you had found, but he knew that you wouldn't tell him, because you no longer trusted him or saw him as anything but one of your captors.

"Did you know that he threatened to kill her? All of them?"

A low growl emitted from him, "He told me of the others," and left out the threat on his own mates life, "That's why you came back. To protect them from him."

"When are you going to realise that the real monster is the one that lurks under your own roof and not the one who ran away to be free of it?"

The silence was enough, Cassian wasn't blind to the information, his hard gaze softened and he tentatively placed a hand on yours, his rough fingers coiling around trembling bone. You wouldn't survive whatever Rhys had planned for you, you were going to die in Velaris and Cassian would have to stand there as Rhys explained to the world how the darkness had consumed you.

It would be Cassian who would have to stand across from his mate and the people you had come to recognise as your true family whilst Rhys told them of your demise. He could see their faces in the forefront of his mind.

"I think I already am," no one could deny how the ways of the Night Court had shifted since you had chosen to leave. Rhys had become a feral beast prowling in the night on his hind legs, obsessing over the thing that had run away from him. "I'll find a way to get you out of this."

Cassian rose from his perch without another word, his calloused fingers slid from your own, and he left. Silence fell on you, but you looked back to the reflection in the window, to the woman that was undeniably you, and smirked.

Playing too many games might get you in trouble, Fawn.

Rising from the comforter, you drifted over to the glass, lifting the latch and opening it a few inches, allowing the songs of crickets and rippling waters to flow to you.

The rich tone of the voice made you shudder, and you could have sobbed at the sound, at how close it felt to the shell of your ear, so close that the ghost of his breath fanned over your shoulder.

I wondered how long it was going to take you to figure it out.

You could hear his smirk through his words, Nesta. A pause. Are you alright?

Swallowing hard, you replied, I'm holding on.

You're not going to tell me what he's done, are you?

No.

The stone of the collar shone in the moonlight, the shrillness of the night air brushed along it and cowered at the ward placed on its surface.

Has he hurt you?

Finding your reflection, you exhaled shakily, struggling to find the mask you had become so accustomed to wearing, Yes.

The place that you had folded Eris into began to unwind, Y/N.

I can do this, Eris. I can survive one last performance.

Eris was no doubt pacing the length of his bedroom, hair wild and eyes simmering with leashed violence. It was a blessing that Rhys was clueless to the carranam bond between you and Eris, a bond that not even his collars could touch or absorb, it was other-worldly and transcendent, something moulded to your very soul, not your power.

Pushing the rumbling pain back inside of you, channelling it to be something much more monstrous, you felt the talons of your other mind rise from the well inside of you, water sloshing over the edges and flowing through your veins like a disease.

It was the only way to do what you needed to do, what had been so masterfully done before. The mask settled onto your features and you rolled your shoulders, welcoming the monster back to the forefront of your essence, grinning at the demon that had come to say hello once again.

The kindred spirit. The one who pitied you enough to instead harmonise with you rather than take over entirely. The one who gave her power to you to wield, who was now shaking angrily inside of you by the mere act of having such power stripped away.

You have set the stage so well, my pure thing. The talons scraped against your mind, breaking through the cracks and seeping into the emptiness inside of you. Let me take it from here, let me tuck you away into the brightest part of us where no one can hurt you.

Did they really believe that you had no idea what Amarantha had done to you all those years ago Under The Mountain?

It had been your greatest kept secret.

Smiling, you let the Queen take control, you let her guide you to the warmest place of you, where the people you loved most rested and you watched on as a bystander as she got to work.

The monster wasn't just you and never had been. You shared your body and consciousness with a queen of sorts, a demon contained in a small onyx stone that had been sewn into you whilst your body had tried to heal itself from the clipping of your wings. And instead of taking over completely like it should have, instead of devouring you, the demon sought to mould with you, it sought to become one with you, and you had let it.

And all you could do was hope that there would be enough of you left to bring back once you were both done.

Authors Note

Also realised that I really need to update my master list oops xo

Enjoy! Love you all 🫶🏻

Taglist

@mybestfriendmademe @jesskidding3 @rosewood-cafe @fandomarchiveilyd @brujitafantomatico @crazylokonugget @mai-adaptive-dreams@magicstrengthandcourage @acourtofmoonlightandstars @ysmttty @lilah-asteria @circe143 @xyzmeh @paleidiot @namelesssav @amberlynn98 @acourtofbatboydreams @azrielsmate3 @ivy-34 @mp-littlebit @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @ifonlyiwerefiction @pirana10 @donttellthecats @padbaeamidla @oucereeng @andreperez11 @demonicbusiness @megscabinetofcurios @superspideyparker @usernamesarelies

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar imagine #maasverse #fanfiction #imagine #azriel x reader #rhysand #cassian #azriel x you #eris imagine #eris vanserra #eris acotar #eris x reader #eris x y/n #eris x you #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger #acotar azriel #azriel acotar #azriel x y/n #feyre x rhysand #rhys acotar #nesta #nesta archeron #lucien acotar #lucien vanserra #acotar x reader #acotar x you #acotar x y/n

[lightwing-s]

𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏𝐒

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ; 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧

pairing: jason todd x fem! reader

summary: sometimes you couldn't help yourself from hating everything, sometimes you couldn't help bumping into people, sometimes certain stains were hard to remove

word count: 1,2k

links: next ; series masterlist ; general masterlist

You hated this. The loud music. The crowded rooms. The sweaty bodies hitting against each other, devouring each other with no sense of modesty, dancing to the sound of whatever horrid electronic beat sounded from the many music boxes, scattered around the unnecessarily large house.

You hated the guys, eyeing you up and down like a meal to a starved man, undressing you in their minds and having thoughts you prayed you’d never get to hear. You hated the girls judging you with their unkind eyes. And most of all, tonight you hated your neighbor more than anyone in this entire world.

“C’mon, Yn.” She tugged at the sleeve of your jacket, trying to pull you to the dance floor along with her. “Let’s have some fun!”

“I’m fine, Nessie,” you uttered through gritted teeth. “Just do you.”

Your neighbor and, pending revision, friend rolled her eyes at you, dropping her shoulder before pulling you with her towards a corner. “You can’t let that call stop you from having fun,” she stated, boring her chocolate browns into you e/c ones.

After sighing deeply, you replied. “I’ll be fine.”

You didn’t think so, but you weren’t going to ruin your only friend’s night, even if you so wished to. She had been patient with you all the time since that damned phone call, even though if you were in her place, you’d have certainly snapped at your own stubbornness.

After much insisting, she gave up and let go of your hand to move into the crowd, going to dance or make out with anyone she could find close by. You stood still in the same corner, mopping under the blinking blue, red and purple lights, arms crossed on your chest and pushing away every guy that attempted to approach you with a single hostile glare.

One hour, then two hours had passed, your patience vanishing along with the late hours of the night. You couldn’t stand it anymore, too stressed, too pissed off, to be anywhere but home.

“Nessie!” you screamed after your friend, finding her dancing in the middle of two other people. She clearly didn’t hear you, and you had to take a deep breath before fighting your way through the warzone that was the dance floor.

Pushed from both sides, you had to literally dig your way between the waves of people throwing their sweaty bodies around, receiving one and another elbows to the face and giving some back in return. 

Almost approaching your friend’s spot, she noticed you making your way towards her and proceeded to walk to you, a smile spreading on her lips.

“Yn, you came!” she joyfully declared, throwing her arms in the air in celebration, instigating her new companions to join her excitement.

“I wanna go home,” you voiced out and her face instantly fell.

“No!” was her reply. “I’m having fun,” she stood firm.

Widening your eyes and puffing your cheeks with air, you wanted to turn into a five year old just to be able to throw a tantrum and dissipate all the anger you had in yourself without looking crazy. However, you were 22, a college graduate, and thankfully too mature to do so.

“Fine!” you let out instead. “I’m going alone.”

“Go sulk into your boring ass hell hole,” Nessie insulted, clearly intoxicated, and you flipped your middle finger at her before pushing your way through the crowd once more.

Your steps were heavy, weighed down and filled to the brim with your own rage. You pushed people aside, who looked back at you in displeasure, but you were not in the mood to fake an apology to any of them. Or anyone at all. You weren’t going to see them ever again anyways.

When turning a corner, about to step into the foyer as you approach the front door, a great wall bumped into you, sending you a few steps backwards, and the group around you let out shocked gasps. His drink poured over your chest, leaving you soaked in cheap alcohol and stained in red.

“FUCK!” you screamed out, rubbing furiously at your shirt with your jacket’s sleeve, tears slowly forming on your eyes. Your anger, if possible, grew by the minute, and you both wanted to punch the idiot that had done this to you and curl down in a corner and cry.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” said the male voice, apologizing with a little bit too much excitement. Drunk, awesome. “I did not see you there.”

He was kneeling down, picking up his cup and the ice cubes that had fallen to the floor. Gross.

“Obviously,” you whispered, hoping to flee this place as quickly as possible, but the tall man crouched down stopped you from taking any step further.

“Someone is angry,” he joked while standing up, mere inches in front of you. “Would you want to go somewhere where I could calm you down a little?”

He jiggled his thick eyebrows at you, other intentions evident in his offer. Finally getting the chance to stare properly at the clumsy douche that turned your white t-shirt red, you found his bright blue eyes that annoyed you just as much as his eyebrow move did.

“Why the hell would I ever want to go anywhere with someone like you?” Eyeing him up and down, you caught a glimpse at the tattoos decorating his arms, hands and neck. He smelled and looked like trouble, the kind of guy your p… You were always warned about.

“Ooh,” he blew. “Little Miss Stuck Up is angry angry.”

“Fuck off,” you swore, trying to push him away from you, but he didn’t even flinch.

“What? Don’t think we’d make cute babies?” he teased out of nowhere, stepping aside to let you pass.

“Why would I ever want to have a baby with you?” you asked over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Why would I ever want to have my dick inside you in the first place?” he asked back, forgetting his early offer, before you both rolled your eyes and walked in different directions.

You tried to dry the stain on your shirt as you walked away, continuously rubbing your chest as you left the house and on your entire Uber ride. You tried to wash it off when you got home, but the red stain wouldn’t disappear, not in the first, second or third tries of your washing machine, and neither the ones of  your desperate hands.

The stranger, whoever he was, made sure he’d leave his mark on you and that pissed you off even more, not because it was your favorite white t-shirt, not because it was new and expensive. But because it wasn’t just the stain he had left you with, as his bright blue eyes stuck to your head the entire weekend, as you sulked on your boring hell hole of an apartment.

As the weekend came to an end and the early morning sun announced the arrival of Monday, you stepped inside your regular gym. Freshly showered, headphones stuck to your ears, as you wished to relieve all your accumulated rage on every machine you could touch.

The gym was your haven, your place to find peace on stressful days and distract yourself from the world around you. You were ready to leave the place feeling refreshed and powered up for a new week of hard work and hustle.

You were gonna be fine, it was all gonna be perfect. If it wasn’t for you crashing into a large back, a water bottle splashing liquid on your face, and the same pair of blue eyes turning around and meeting yours again.

“Fuck!” you two said in unison.

This was going to be one hard stain to get rid of.

.

.

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[daisysliv]

don’t you dare | eddie munson

word count: 1581

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: you and eddie have a private moment before going into the final battle against vecna

warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of death, light swearing, possible s4 spoilers

notes: vol 2 absolutely broke me so i spent all night writing this and i am insanely proud of it! this has got to be one of my favorite fics that i ever written so i hope you like it as well. as always, not edited so all my mistakes are my own 

library 

stranger things bookshelf

Resting your forehead against his, you gripped his hands tightly between the two of your bodies and lifted them to your lips. Your eyes were screwed shut, scared that if you opened them he would vanish and be replaced with darkness. Because that would mean everything was for nothing. It would mean that Vecna figured out the plan before you could even execute it. It would mean everyone you love dies and you couldn't imagine that; And you didn't want to. 

He released a puff of air, the smell of nicotine on his breath wafting into your nose causing it to scrunch up in disgust. You didn't mind that he smoked but you always demanded he brush his teeth, wash his hands, and spray cologne before going near you. Today, however, you didn't give a damn. 

The possibility of losing him during the battle is too high and you hated it because you couldn't imagine life without him. He’s been your best friend since you were both in your last year of Middle school, seven years he has been by your side, even when you left Hawkins after you graduated to go off to see parts of the world for a year while he stayed behind to redo his Senior year. But only within the last year did you two admit your feelings and start to date. 

“I'm scared.” You admitted, your voice cracking from the lump welling up in your throat. His hands gripped yours tighter as he nodded against your head, signaling that he’s listening. “What if it doesn't work? What if he figures it out and kills all of you? I can't- Eddie, I can't lose you too.” 

Sighing, he removed his left hand from your interlaced hands and held your face gently, the warmth of his skin sending chills down your spine. You nuzzled into the palm of his hand, a soft smile painting your face. His thumb traced over the skin under your eye, and with a similar voice crack to yours he spoke, “I'm not going anywhere, princess.” 

You could tell he was just as scared as you, if not more. The last few days haven't been easy on him and you wished none of it happened. You wished he didn't have to be dragged into this mess but here he was, terrified out of his mind and confused. You kept all this a secret from him for a reason. You didn't want to lose him like you lost your parents to the Mind Flayer last year. You couldn't go through that again. The Upside Down had taken enough from you. 

Opening your eyes, you meet his own, lined with unshed tears, big brown eyes. “You hear me? I'm not going anywhere.” He repeats, his eyes searching yours for something but you don't know what. 

Nodding, you release his hand from your grip and let your hands run through his long, and messy, dark brown curly hair. His eyes close in relief at your touch, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

Tongue darting out to wet your dry and chapped lips, you lifted your forehead off of his and drew your hands back into lap, his hand falling from your face to his knee. Staring at the man in front of you, you hope to whatever God there is that Eddie won't be taken away from you. 

“I love you. So much.” You wipe your eyes, the sleeves of your shirt absorbing the fallen tears that stained your cheek. You watch as Eddie’s face switches from terror and worry to shocked and his eyes wide with adoration. While you have been dating for nearly ten months, you have yet to say the three little words that mean so much to you. Saying those words has never been easy for you since your parents never said it to each other, or you much for that matter. It made saying it so much harder because you didn't want to be rejected or found weird for saying them.

When too much time passed between the two of you without a single word being uttered from Eddie, you feel your nerves skyrocket. He was taking too long to answer you and while you could see the love he held for you in his everyday actions towards you and his eyes, you were still scared of possible rejection. By this point, you could feel your heart beating against your ribs so fast you thought it would break through.

You part your lips with the intention to try and backtrack when his hands are cupping your cheeks between them, his cold rings soothing your warm skin.

He laughs softly, his eyes seeming brighter than they have ever been. He’s wanted nothing more than to hear those words from you for as long as he could remember. 

“You have no idea how long I have been waiting to hear those words.” His smile was wide, it reached his eyes and you could feel your heart soar. You don't think you've ever seen it so big in the last seven years. He pressed his lips to yours, the taste of cigarettes and the spearmint gum you gave him earlier, floods into your mouth. Giggling against his lips, you can't fight the smile spreading across your own making it difficult to kiss him back. His hands move from your face to your waist, holding your hips gently and pulling you onto his lap, disconnecting his lips from yours. “I love you more than you could imagine. My heart beats for you and you only.” He finally tells you. 

You hands tangle themselves in his hair and you lean in for another kiss when a sharp knock on the bedroom door breaks you two apart. Climbing off his lap, much to both of your dismay, you pull open the door and your heart drops to your feet when you realize it must be time to go. 

You wanted more time. 

“Nancy says you two have five minutes before we need to begin.” He informs you, a solemn look spreading across his features. You can only handle nodding before pushing the closed and leaning your forehead against it, wishing you had more than five minutes. 

You hear the bed frame creak and assume Eddie was adjusting the way he sat until you felt his long arms circle your waist from behind and pull you into his chest. Laying your head back against his chest, you closed your eyes and let your unshed tears fall freely. You hated to be vulnerable but in this moment, with such limited time with the man you loved, you couldn't help it. 

Eddie rested his chin on the crook of your neck, his breath fanning your cheek and you wrap your hands around his, holding him closer to you. 

“Don't you dare die on me tonight, Munson, or I swear to God–” You started off but he cut you off quickly. 

“Stop. I'm not going anywhere, baby.” He whispers into your neck, pressing a kiss just underneath your jaw on your pulse. The feeling of his lips there sent a chill down your back and you let out a quiet giggle. “I will meet you right back here in a couple of hours, I promise you.” 

“Good because I can't do this again. I can't lose someone I love to the Upside Down again. It hurts too much.” You turned his arms but can't bring yourself to look up at him. 

He removes an arm from around your waist to trap your chin between his thumb and pointer finger and lifts your head so you look at him. Eddie looks at you with so much love swirling in his eyes that normally would have you swooning but right now it just made your heart break in two. “Stop talkin’ like that, princess, please. I'm not going anywhere and neither are you. Just… hide from him for as long as you can while we do our jobs and save you.” 

“And Hawkins.” 

He chuckled. “Mainly you.” 

“I love you.” You whispered and stood up on your toes to press your lips against his. He responded immediately, his hand on your hip tightening while his other one held your cheek. Your lips moved together with a sense of urgency, speaking all the words you didn't have the time to say. 

Eddie pulled away first, rested his forehead against yours, and closed his eyes. You did the same. 

“It's time.” He murmured. “I wish I could come with you.” 

“Me too, but you're the only one that can play Master of Puppets. I’ll be with Lucas, Max, and Erica, they’ll keep me safe.” 

“They better or I'm kicking their asses.” Laughing, you slapped his chest. 

Seconds pass before reality sets in and you're forced to let each other go, your hands falling to your sides and the smiles fading from your faces. You turn and pull the door open to see Lucas raising his fist to knock. 

“Keep her safe and alive, you hear me Sinclair?” Eddie demands, pointing a finger at the boy. 

“Promise.” 

Turning back to look at your boyfriend, you press one last kiss on his lips. “If you see danger, don't be a hero. I’ll see you in a few hours,” You whispered and disappeared from the room with Lucas so everyone could finish getting ready to fight off Vecna. 

You hoped everyone made it out alive.

notes: if you would like to request something from the prompt list, you can find it here, just be sure to add the numbers, and if it’s angst or fluff! if you want to request something that is not on the list, go right ahead and send in the ask!

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[mcntsee]

Fires of Passion, Ashes of Hate III

Previous part Next part

Summary: Lovers (mentioned) to enemies.

Warnings: Hate (?), blood, injuries, and cursing.

notes: Kaz’s pov. Flashbacks are in italics (and separated so it’s not as confusing!) This is also not my fave, but definitely not the end. I think I will add two more parts.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

He was taken aback upon returning to his office. He anticipated she would clean up, but the speed at which she did it surprised him, especially considering her current condition.

He hoped she suffered while cleaning.

The room greeted him with a transformed aura, and the absence of his bedsheets caught his attention first. Emitting a frustrated groan, he headed to the bathroom, half-expecting to find the missing sheets adrift in the sink.

The diluted acrid aroma, a blend of faint metallic and medicinal notes intermingled with the scent of blood, assaulted him. It teased his nostrils, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake—a unique freshness saturated with chemical nuances.

He didn't have to play the guessing game; that unmistakable scent was her customary "solution" for banishing bloodstains from fabric or similar items.

She had given him the recipe- if you could even call it that, for this solution a few years ago.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

They had been on a job, interrogating a member of an emerging gang that took pleasure in causing havoc for The Dregs, and it had gotten ugly very quickly.

Upon returning to Kaz's room, he swiftly approached the sink, eager to salvage his dress shirt from the stubborn stains of dried blood.

Futile attempts at scrubbing failed to free the shirt from the stubborn bloodstains. Turning to him, she asked if he had any hydrogen peroxide in his office.

She quickly retrieved the bottle from where he directed her, “Got it!” she said as she returned to the bathroom. Once back to his side, she outstretched her arm, wordlessly requesting his blood-stained shirt.

She poured a small amount over the stains on the shirt, and they both observed the peroxide fizz as it reacted with the blood.

As they waited for the blood to vanish, she explained that hydrogen peroxide is effective in removing bloodstains from clothes because it breaks down the proteins in the blood upon contact, aiding in lifting the stain.

Ever since that day, he made sure to always have a bottle in his office.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

The realization struck him like a lightning bolt. He always had a bottle tucked away in his office, especifically, in his desk. He hastily released the bedsheets he had been holding, allowing them to sink back into the solution. He walked out of the bathroom and headed straight for his desk, the loud thumping of his heart echoing in his ears.

“Fuck.” He didn’t have to reach his desk to spot the portrait and the note that now rested on it.

In her gracefully hurried, all caps handwriting that he had grown accustomed to, the note conveyed a simple message: ‘Thought you hated this.’ The letters maintaining their characteristic slight tilt to the right.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“You can’t know that just from my handwriting, Kaz.”

“But I can, love.”

Kaz constantly sought new methods to read people better. Recently, he had come across a book dedicated to deciphering a person's personality through their handwriting in a bookstore.

Initially, he dismissed the idea, but considering the contracts he dealt with—agreements on distribution, territory allocation, sales, ownership of buildings, quit claims, and more—he decided to delve into the book. To his surprise, the insights proved to be quite valuable.

"Alright then, Kaz, what secrets does my handwriting unveil?"

His gaze lowered to the note in his grasp, scrutinizing each nuance of her penmanship with thoughtful precision.

"Your handwriting slants to the right, suggesting you're friendly, social, and impulsive."

He pointed at the note, feeling her body shift closer to him. Her warmth and scent enveloped him as she peeked over to try and see her own handwriting.

He cleared his throat before continuing, "Block letters can indicate that you repress your feelings, often due to a sense of suspicion or defensiveness."

His eyes lifted to meet hers, and for a moment, he found himself captivated. She focused on the note, her hair cascading down, framing her face, while a few strands on the other side were gently tucked behind her ear. Her brows furrowed in concentration, and her tongue peeked out to wet her lips as she rested her chin on one hand, absorbed in studying her own handwriting.

Her lips moved, but he paid them no mind. He felt like he was seeing her again for the first time, his gaze lingering on the details that had become familiar yet felt new in that moment.

“Kaz?”

“Yes?”

Her laughter resonated like a sweet melody, drowning out the surrounding noise and captivating his senses in its enchanting rhythm.

“Go on. Tell me more about my handwriting.”

“Right.” he mumbled, before returning his gaze to the note. He pointed to a particular word, noticing her I’s adorned with dots snugly placed near the stem. “Dotting your I’s closer to the stem means that you are organized and methodical.”

They had spent the majority of the afternoon delving into the intricacies of her handwriting, dissecting each detail he could uncover and telling her the meanings behind them.

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

He had loved her handwriting as much as he loved her, but seeing it now, mocking him, only intensified his resentment towards it.

With a grunt, he leaned forward, his hand snatching the letter from his table, and then crumpling it. "Ungrateful brat," he muttered.

He then looked down at the portrait, and a softness crept into his eyes.

The portrait was meant to be erased from existence. He thought about setting it on fire, ripping it to shreds, throwing it in the trash—anything to obliterate it. Yet, he hadn't been able to take any of those drastic measures. Instead, he found himself spending countless hours gazing at it, tracing her features repeatedly until he believed he had them memorized.

Just like he was doing now.

Her face bore fading bruises from previous days, with her hair elegantly braided, allowing a few loose strands to frame her features. The colors of her clothes harmonized flawlessly with the hues of her eyes. She looked lovely and he… well, he looked in love.

The artist had assured them not to worry about staying still, so they hadn’t. They had been chatting and whatever it was that he had said, had made her laugh, a moment perfectly frozen in time by the artist.

With a sigh, he turned the paper around. On the back, the worn-out handwriting, identical to the note’s, said: "My boy and I." The heart she had drawn next to the message now half-covered by a coffee stain.

He slowly tore his eyes away from it, gently folding the picture he hated so much and putting it back in its rightful place—hidden away from everyone, hidden away from him.

It had been a couple of weeks since he last saw her. Usually, he would spot her down by the market, trying on whatever items she liked, laughing with people. Sometimes, he'd catch a glimpse of her at the café closest to the harbor, looking out the window and sipping on whatever drink she craved that day. But the absence of her familiar presence began to stir a concern in him, raising questions about the uncertainty of her well-being.

The hasty patch-up he attempted on her wounds was far from ideal, and the risk of infections lingered in his thoughts, and if she had caught one, he doubted she had survived it.

Or maybe, she hadn’t faced an infection but encountered the person who initially injured her.

These lingering fears were the reason why he was hiding in the shadows of her home.

"Came here to return my portrait, Brekker?"

He emerged from the shadows, the rhythmic tapping of his cane against the floor marking each deliberate step as he approached her.

“I burnt it.”

The smirk on her face gradually faded, the subtle shift in her expression nearly escaping his notice.

As he studied her face, he couldn’t help but compare it to the mental image of the portrait he had in his mind.

He noticed the changes in her face, the presence of dark circles beneath her eyes, and the new scars- a horizontal one on her left cheekbone, another by her temple, and one near her lower lip.

Still, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Then, what are you doing here, Brekker?”

What was he doing here? It was a valid question, one he held the answer to but was unwilling to reveal. After all, what could he possibly say? "I just wanted to make sure you were alright"? Truthfully, he wasn't concerned about her well-being; he simply needed to figure out whether he should revel in her demise or begrudge the fact that she was still breathing.

At least, that's what he told himself.

Her laughter echoed, surprising him with the sound, and their eyes locked once more. "I'm alright." Fuck, was he that easy to read?

"And you think I care because…?"

"Why else would you be lurking around?"

With a resigned exhale, he cast his gaze downward, surrendering to the persistence of her smirk. His thoughts raced, attempting to conjure a more convincing alibi, almost expecting the effort to result in visible steam rising from his head.

“You owe me new bedsheets.”

She didn't. The blood had vanished flawlessly, leaving the sheets looking as pristine as they always had.

She hummed, playfully tapping her chin with her index finger, deep in thought. After seconds of silence, she finally asked, “Is green still your favorite color?”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Why does it matter?” Kaz asked, a solid hour ticking away as he tossed out every color he could think of. “It matters because it’s my favorite, handsome.” Y/N playfully responded, a teasing glint in her eye.

“It’s just a color!” Kaz insisted, his tone growing louder and sharper—a shift not lost on Y/N. Yet, her composure remained unscathed. Others might’ve balked, made a swift exit, but not her.

But then again, no one would be asking Kaz Brekker to guess their favorite color.

“How can you say you love me-“ Her hands. Saints, her hands speak louder than her words, Kaz thought as he observed their rapid movement. “-when you can’t even tackle the basics about me?”

That had hit a nerve. Not too long ago, he had mustered the courage to tell her that he loved her, and now, she was making assumptions based on color preference.

“Alright. What is my favorite color then?” asked Kaz. As y/n paused for a second, Kaz wished she would let it go, recognizing that she, much like him, didn’t know his favorite— “Forest green.”

Oh. Kaz wanted nothing more than to erase that smirk from her lips. "Impressed?" she taunted, her tone rubbing salt in the wound.

For a moment, Kaz entertained a barrage of biting retorts, but the truth lingered in her ever-growing smile, making any counterattack futile. Instead, he drew a deep breath, revisiting their conversation from months ago— which’s point had been to know the answers to these simple questions. “I didn’t think of you as someone who could be left speechless, Brekker” she remarked, her words hanging in the air. “I must say-“

“Burgundy.” and just like that, her smirk was replaced by a softer smile. “It compliments your eyes.” He added as he looked up to meet her face. “That’s your favorite color.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

“Not just any green-“

“I know, I know. Forest green.”

She then motioned with her head for him to follow her. Reluctantly, he complied, feeling trapped in the situation he had created for himself.

They strolled through the market for a while, his pace frequently interrupted as she got distracted by various trinkets along the way. He sighed, the repetitive interruptions making it feel like the hundredth time, until they finally reached their destination and entered.

“Oh me, oh my.”

“Hello, Lenire.”

Y/n offered a greeting as they entered the store. Kaz recognized both the shop and its annoying owner, having frequented it with her about a thousand times to purchase various pieces of furniture. Kaz struggled to recall why he had deemed the owner annoying at some point in his life.

That is, until she started making foolish comments, “Now, this is a surprise I wasn’t expecting.”

With a resigned sigh, he asked, "What is?" only to regret it as soon as she provided her answer.

“I never expected to see this-“Lenire rapidly pointed from him to her and back to him, “- couple back.”

Rolling his eyes at the store owner's foolish assumption, Kaz heard y/n let out a humorless laugh before assuring her they weren't back together.

The more time they spent in the store browsing for new bedsheets, the more annoyed Kaz got by Lenire. It reached a point where he quickly scanned the section they were in, pointed at a random bed set, and said, "That one."

“Then get it.”

They approached the cashier, Kaz holding the bed set and placing it on the counter, waiting for the owner to announce the price.

Kaz had fought back a laugh as Lenire exaggerated the quality of the bed set, claiming it was one of their finest, before telling them the price, which made him turn to y/n with a smirk, ready for the anticipated flush of embarrassment as she realized she lacked the funds. However, to his surprise, no such reaction occurred. Instead, she nodded calmly, effortlessly retrieving the required cash from her bag to settle the payment.

The only reaction he received from her, after the owner concluded the transaction, was a cheeky wink as she turned to face him.

"Thanks, Lenire," she said with a nod before turning around and exiting the store, leaving him and the bed sheets behind.

"Where did you get the money?" he asked as he approached her outside the store.

She remained silent for a moment as she began to walk, her steps deliberate and measured, leaving him to catch up as he trailed behind her, waiting for her to say something “Lehos’s house.”

And just as he had started to catch up to her, he stopped in his tracks, watching her move further away.

Her ability to infiltrate the house undetected, especially while injured, left him stunned, questioning how she managed such a feat, let alone pilfer from the premises without notice. That is, of course, unless she had done it before getting injured.

He harbored no doubt in her ability to accomplish such thing if she were so inclined. After all, they had spent numerous years engaging in similar activities, repeatedly slipping in and out unnoticed, whether for jobs or merely for amusement, without ever facing repercussions.

But without him?

He couldn't shake the notion that she had likely executed similar jobs in the past. In fact, he had been driven by the urgent need to infiltrate Lehos' house under the assumption that she might beat him to it if he didn't act swiftly enough. Yet, the undeniable confirmation of her solo endeavor left him with a lingering sensation in his chest. Was it betrayal? Or perhaps a tinge of hurt?

“Is that how you got hurt?”

As if she had just realized his absence from her side, she too came to a halt, her feet firmly planted in place. Her gaze fixed straight ahead, as her shoulder dropped, “Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

She turned to face him, her gaze piercing as one eyebrow arched inquisitively. “Why?”

“Because if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be here.”

"I'd consider it a win-win. I survive, and you end up with new bedsheets."

He despised her habit of responding with unrelated quips, deflecting from the original question. It was one of the few things about her that had always bothered him —a trait he’d detested from the start.

“Well?”

“Well what, Kaz?”

“How did you get hurt?”

He watched her as she rolled her eyes and slightly shook her head, ignoring his question once again and turning around to resume her walking.

Before she could move away, he seized her forearm, yanking her forcefully towards him, letting the bedsheets fall as he pinned her against the wall with a swift, aggressive motion.

“I should’ve let you die.” He leaned in close, his breath hot against her skin as he spat out his words.

Her own bruised face inched closer to him, her eyes lifting to meet his, “Why didn’t you?”

“Your demise will be at my hand.”

He staggered backward as she pushed him away, her teeth gritted in pain as she clutched her side. With a low hiss, she countered, "We'll see about that."

“You are just as broken as the day I left you.”

“Last time I checked, you were just as messed up as me.”

* ੈ✩‧₊˚

taglist!: @moonstruck-poet @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @littleshadow17 @izzyisstuff @amybonehouse @justvibbinghere @circus-of-thoughts @anonymous-creep hope you guys enjoyed it! <3

#six of crows #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows x reader #fanfiction #kaz brekker #angst #fluff #oneshot

[sitp-recs]

considering is close to halloween now (ok it’s october 1st but lmao) do you have any spooky / halloween related recs? it can be drarry or femslash or wolfstar or whatever. i’ve never read any fic in the hp fandom with halloween in mind before :0

Happy Halloween season! 🎃 Absolutely, I don’t have the stomach for gore but I do love myself some spooky reads. Here are some of my faves - they’re all Drarry but I’d suggest checking the 2022 HP Fear Fest masterlist. Enjoy! 👻

I Demand a Soft Epilogue by @the-starryknight (M, 1k)

James didn't arrive on the Hogwarts Express, and so Harry hasn't slept in a week. Something has brought him back to the stoop outside a building marked "Library" in gold letters. He's going to go inside. Maybe the Librarian can help.

The Heart of the Manor by kedavranox (M, 4k)

In his efforts to remove the taint Voldemort left on the Manor, Draco hires a team of Curse-Breakers. But what will happen when they stumble upon something older and more insidious than simple Dark magic?

The Other Cottage by @corvuscrowned (T, 6.5k)

If Pansy wasn’t shagging Ginny Weasley, Draco would never have been dragged to Luna’s ridiculous Halloween party in the first place - meaning he wouldn't be sitting in the corner of the room with Harry Potter all night. But when a strange comet passes overhead, things start to get even weirder than usual.

Doppelganger by @writcraft (M, 7k)

It was just a silly dare, but one ill-advised trip into the Forbidden Forest changes Harry’s life forever.

Saltwater Stain by @the-starryknight (M, 9k)

Seven days stuck on a boat investigating a rogue ghost wouldn't be so bad if Harry didn't want Draco so much. Draco has his rules and Harry's content to follow them, but the air feels different away from the shore. Is it possible that the sea could offer Harry something impossible on land?

And So Death Took by @icmezzo (E, 25k)

Fairy tales may soothe small children into slumber, but some stories themselves refuse to sleep. The Tale of Three Brothers, retold.

In Our Blood by secretsalex (E, 38k)

Draco is an accomplished pure-blood curse breaker, and Harry is tasked with accompanying him on his latest job—cleaning up the Van Boer mansion, which has been under a devastating fertility curse for seven generations.

Yours is the Earth (Hold On, Hold On) by chickenlivesinpumpkin (E, 127k)

After a serious accident in the Forbidden Forest, Draco's personality begins to undergo subtle changes. At first, Harry credits this to a new enthusiasm for life. But as the days pass and Draco's behavior becomes more and more mysterious, Harry begins to suspect that something bigger--and darker--is at work.

Forgive Those Who Trespass by Lomonaaeren (E, 135k)

Harry Potter was convinced he had an ordinary, if inconvenient, life. Then Ron and Hermione vanished in the Department of Mysteries. And the only person who may know where they are is a mute Draco Malfoy.

#asks #anon #Drarry reclist #spooky fics

[lucid-ivory]

ex Anam Cara

Anam Cara is a phrase that refers to the Celtic concept of the "soul friend" in religion and spirituality.

summary: reader was betrayed by a friend who somehow ended up leading the cartel you were "hunting". you showed no mercy.

characters: ghost, soap, price, gaz & alejandro x fem reader

genre: angst-ish with comfort

cw: typical violence, gore, implied SA attempt

note: reader is young, again. "he" is just an imaginary villain aaand there's a long introduction.

you've known him for long enough, maybe there was a spark between you two.

you barely had alone time for yourselves, but maybe that was better.

the other friends in your group never said anything, at least in front of you.

he was...

gentle, caring.

lovely.

but he vanished.

Your teammates, including you, were tied to different chairs in an eerie room. Walls were covered in dry blood and you all could see cut limbs from people that don't exist anymore scattered all over the floor.

You knew for a while already he was in charge. All the clues you've found just reaffirmated this.

Fortunately for you, the adrenaline in your brain wasn't letting you feel. Why would you care now about all the memories you had together along with the other friends? Your mission was to make it out alive before he sold your organs for a simple gram of any drug he could find.

The rest of your teammates knew how hard this case was for you: betrayal was nothing unknown for them, though you were kind of new to this.

You had him in front of you, almost wanting to make you submit; you felt his punches and harsh words, you heard him admit everything he's done, you've heard him whispering all the cruel things he'd do to you. In his eyes, you were the traitor for exposing his business.

You expected the worse: he knew your fears, your triggers. He knew how much splitting your arms open would make you cringe, he knew how humiliated and dirty you would feel if he just did filthy and profane things to you in front of the other men, your so called "teammates". He convinced you they would enjoy it.

All of you were tied , but only you were threatened. It's like he didn't see the rest.

You felt irritated, your arm was shaking though not in fear precisely; you felt the need to punch, cut, split open, harm, hurt, kill. You felt responsible and almost guilty for leading your team to this place, for bringing up this cartel.

What about the rest of your friends?

They weren't clueless.

You still remember this girl that suddenly vanished too. She was close to you. You remember the police saying how she simply ran away. And now you remember his words from some seconds ago, explaining how he tortured her, how he ate her alive, how he "made her a woman" only to finally kill her and pick her organs like anyone would pick cherries from a tree.

To sell them later.

"What did you expect me to do?"

His words only made you want to bite him and spit his skin far away like a savage animal would.

"Hm. You'd be expensive".

Your wrists were burnt from all the friction with the goddamn rope that was holding you in place, but you weren't even able to feel it. You just needed to free your hands, and then you'll think what goes next.

His fingers started undoing your hair that you usually kept in different hairstyles to not bother you. It was almost loving, he did it carefully.

You did not want his hands on you, you did not want him near you or anyone else. You could only use your teeth, and so you did.

A hiss of agony was heard, as if he was still trying to play tough in front of you. He tried to remove his hand from you, but you kept biting through only to free yourself from his threatening aura.

Your teeth were now stained crimson, and he stared almost in horror at his hand as he finally removed it. You groaned and spat the blood.

Ghost was the only one who felt almost proud at seeing you in such a violent and primal state. He knew he didn't have to worry, at least for now. He was convincing himself you could handle this.

Price was worried, though. He wasn't fond of the way he was "caressing" you after so casually explaining how he would "physically corrupt" you.

Soap was almost as angry as you, about to go feral. He appreciated your emotional and physical strength to just bite him as if you were some sort of dog; using the last resources you had.

Gaz didn't do or say anything. He was just constantly looking at Price. Maybe that's why Price tried to act rough in front of him. If the leader is scared, everyone will get scared.

"Leave her alone, cabrón!"

His words were ignored.

"I always wanted it to be you".

You almost froze, eyes sharp staring at him as if you were about to snap at any moment.

"But she was always hanging out with us. She won it".

"You fucker! You killed her!"

A different type of hate and disgust could be heard in your voice.

"She was your friend, I know. Mine too."

You let out a heavy breath along with a shaky groan.

"..you killed her..."

You could simply repeat your words all over again. She wasn't missing, she wasn't kidnapped, she was killed. By *him*.

If it wasn't for the situation, your reaction would almost be fascinating and mesmerizing. Strong.

You felt the blood on your wrists, and a kick on your stomach. You were now laying down on the floor, you don't even know when it happened.

He grabbed you by the shirt, he screamed in your face, he punched your stomach again. You couldn't breathe.

The rest of the team could only sit and watch you in agony, watch you being dragged by him almost as if you were...

...dead?

You struggled, but you still managed to move around and kick. They knew you were still alive, but probably on the verge of passing out.

But everything went for the better when you got rid of the rope holding your wrists and you managed to punch him in specific parts of his legs that would make him see stars for a while. Your wrists ached and stung, burned by the friction with the rope. You didn't care, you went for it, for everything, for the sharpest tool you could find to cut his ankles and legs. You threw him on the ground, you opened his throat. The men swore they could see you almost trying to drink his blood. You stabbed his chest and stomach several times, enough to make him unrecognizable.

Soap looked at you amazed, almost with some sort of psychotic smile on his face, he never expected to see you in such a state of pure rage. Ghost calmly watched you do your job. Gaz was surprised, almost... terrified.

When you were done with your massacre, your whole body was covered in blood and you were breathing heavily. You were sure you probably hurt yourself too in the process, but the fear and shock in your brain wasn't letting you realize. You stopped, and stared at the mutilated body below you. Nothing felt real anymore. You killed lots of people already but... it was never that bloody and violent. It was never someone close to you.

You slowly got up, your hands weren't dirty with blood; they felt stained.

"Good job, mi chula".

You faked a smile at Alejandro and proceeded to use the same knife to cut the other ropes that were tying the rest of your teammates to their chairs. Your hands were shaky and everyone noticed, you simply said it was the adrenaline.

Price could almost hear your heart crushing, it was like he read your mind: you didn't want to be there anymore. You wanted to cry your eyes out. You killed him in the most disturbing way possible.

Maybe your mission was already done. The cartel would not work with all the people and their leader being dead.

[...]

"It's okay, you're okay".

Ghost wanted to comfort you. Your eyes were watery, your leg was non-stop bouncing and your hands were still shaking yet you would never show your panic.

"You did great, Sergeant".

You turned around to look at Soap on your other side, crouching on the floor next to you, holding onto the chair in which you were sitting.

Price was in front of you with his arms crossed. This type of violence wasn't anything new for them, but this kind of reaction, especially coming from you, was.

You were surrounded by the entire team, and you didn't quite know if it was comforting or overwhelming.

"It could've been worse, trust me. I thought he was going to kill you right there".

Gaz still looked terrified; terrified of you, and terrified of the entire situation they just survived thanks to her.

"You saved yourself, and us too." Price said. "Maybe you deserve a higher rank."

"You were badass back there, querida" Alejandro continued. "No need to cry".

It almost felt unreal how everyone was trying to cheer you up. Their words still didn't help that much as you simply stared at some empty point of the room with your eyes wide open and your entire body still shaking.

"Betrayal hurts, Sergeant. But by the way you're still trying to keep your tears inside I can guarantee you were made for us".

You let out a shaky breath.

"Thanks, Ghost..."

You barely finished your sentence when you were immersed in warm, tight hugs and friendly pats.

shorter than i expected it to actually be and it's a bit shit but hope there's someone out there who likes it 😭 also this is my first time writing an actual story instead of just headcanons so i'm not sure if it's fine. ALSO my requests are open !!

#call of duty #cod #cod modern warfare 2 #simon ghost riley #ghost #soap #john soap mactavish #soap mactavish #cod headcanons #cod fanfics #call of duty headcanons #call of duty fanfics #simon ghost riley headcanons #simon ghost riley fanfics #soap x reader #ghost x reader #gaz #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick headcanons #kyle garrick x reader #captain price #price call of duty #price x reader #john price #john price headcanons #john price fanfics #tf 141 x reader #alejandro #alejandro varga #alejandro vargas

[hygieneforall22]

#Vanish Gold Oxi Action Powder Stain Remover Abu Dhabi

[petrichorramen]

moth to a flame [1]

main lead(s): n.brown, black fem!reader

character(s): w.archangelo, a.bendetto, christianos, monroes, pauklees, corsicans, georgiana, nina, dr. theo, original character(s) & more.

content warning(s): age-gap relationships, explicit language, sex & sexual acts, nudity, drugs & drug use, prostitution, misogyny, human trafficking, slight mentions of sexual assault, mental disorders, suicidal ideation & suicide, organized crime, death & murder, violence & gore, corruption, discrimination & more.

author notes: the reader is a burlesque dancer and is very sure of herself and her skills.

You hadn't expected him to be here. You really hadn't.

You breathe, straddling the sheened, stygian vinyl floors and rocking your hips with smooth vigor, your fingers running across your thighs and torso freckled with your signature golden flecks. The apricot-led lights of Bastard’s insignia hanging from the prop behind capture the bejeweled pieces of costume scattered across the stage and the copious boa scarf dangling around your neck, veiling your breasts. There are praises and whistles from the showgoers— all you can see are shadows of faces, the burnished uplighting obscuring your sight, but you honestly don't care and nothing matters except for your stage, your dance, and you.

You turn your back and stand with the boa scarf in your hands, swaying your embellished cage panty-clad ass and twirling your hands toward the Arcadia as if allotting worship because tonight, well— you chuckle through your nose— you were all. Tonight, you were everything.

You sit with your legs crossed at the edge of the stage, an arm propped behind, and the other pulling at the shawl around your neck powdered with sweat. The jazz band drags the note of their instruments to inflate the anticipation, the ache— the wait. And still, when the article of clothing nearly plunges from you, both hands bunch feathers toward your breasts, feigning a look of innocence that earns a parade of laughter.

You carefully remove your grip with the muffler sliding down your back and down to the crook of your elbows, slithering them over your stomach once again and then over the contour of your waist and hips, the musicians belting the final interval of the song. Then, the uplighting dissipates and you nearly miss him.

He leans against the PA speakers in the far back, arms crossed and eyes riveting into yours, the alloyed tags around his neck amongst the sea of them sending taunting glares. Your gaze trails down to the brandished sheathed blade laced to his side with a red ribbon you had flung in his direction during one of your enactments years ago.

After they resigned from the Monroe Family, your latest semi-encounter with the neutral power known as Benriya, or otherwise, the Handymen was amid your debut burlesque rendition. During that encounter, you barely had enough time to evade the wine bottle that soared toward your head as an altercation broke out in the cabaret that evening, the fermented beverage spattering the jeweled corset you had upcycled yourself and the matching garter stockings. Seated on your broken suitcase in the backroom while an EMT nursed your foot after you stepped on the broken glass attempting to make your retreat, you weren't sure who you had been infuriated with on your unsuccessful opening night. When you limped your way toward the exit, using the blood-soiled walls as leverage, blue lights pulsated across your face and he saw you before you could, he and Worick under fire for another vicious scolding from Inspector Chad Adkins. His cheeks were stained and the wideness in his eyes from the thrill of combat had vanished, ushering him back to reality, and yet some of that vigilance remained in the wake, lurking, snarling, and darting. 

Your coat slunk down your shoulders when stiffness left them when you met his aloof gaze, the brisk air nipping at your melanin skin. You breathed, and the grip on the defective telescopic handle of your suitcase tightened. That night would have cost you working electricity and water had it not been for the senior caregiver work you did in the early mornings to mid-afternoons. Still, when you opened the door of your townhome, there was a redi-seal packet brimmed with crumpled cash and a scrawled message which stated, “For your performance and the dry cleaners.”

You swore you spotted a figure disappearing on the rooftops after you received the parcel.

Now, in present day, waitpersons cross your vision as they gather your tip envelopes with written amounts and your mind is back in Bastard once more, the applause battering the air reaching you. You fumble, sending a glance toward the framed portrait in memory of Sherry. You could almost hear her teasing as you make a rather gauche departure and strut down the polished, marble stairs backstage. Your stilettos clack against the floor and you shift your body to the side to bypass a group of entertainers waiting for Galahad to complete his introduction. 

It shouldn't come to me as a surprise. Benriya had become the hot topic of Ergastulum, hired by everyone and anyone who desired their expertise whether that be to replace the old, dusty filters of a venting system in your home or to get rid of another sleazy jackass exploiting your claimed territories to get rich quick. Perhaps the pair were the hired guns for tonight's soirée as a fill-in.

You head to the restroom since the green rooms are crowded. As you study your reflection in the mirror, you relish in the fruits of your labor for a while, almost feeling remorseful when you have to remove the rhinestones and false lashes. You wash the tacky residue from your eyelids and cheeks and peel off the colored full lace wig, undoing the cornrows for tomorrow morning—or today since it's a quarter past midnight.

You eventually decide to acknowledge the shadow you caught in the mirror leaning by the restroom door as you wipe at your stubborn lipstick.

“Not allowed backstage,” you sing, pulling your suitcase from the out-of-order stall to find a coat to throw over your corseted frame. “Disrupts and puts the performers at risk.”

It happened a few years or so ago. Some deadbeat motherfucker beneath the guise of someone’s boyfriend helping performers with their luggage of costumes and makeup lured an exhausted woman to an abandoned greenroom under renovations at that time and attempted to assault her. It was you and a few others who heard her muffled cries and restrained him until security arrived and dealt out the rest with a strenuous beating while you all stayed to console the woman, offering some water and airing her with your Marabou fans. Since then, Mr. Cristiano prohibited anyone from backstage besides the entertainers and bouncers, doubling the safety tenfold and offering his apologies, and taking accountability.

The creases in between your brows soften at the faint memory of the mob boss. He’d always joked he’d only see you around Bastard when you were there to run his pocket dry for your burlesque performances. How could you ever forget the grin on his scarred lip and his eyes smiling along with him?

Nicolas signs curtly as he does, tugging you from your brief remembrance. “I’m working security.”

Guessed right. You hadn't seen Aldo all evening, an old churlish but giant teddy bear of a bouncer.

You turn to Nicolas, a hand stuffed in your coat, face damp and fresh, taking strides until you're only inches apart, the scent of ginger taffy, Paradise mints, Perrier lime, and copper overtaking you. He breathes you in too, chest caving into his sternum, never missing the way his eyes line the shape of yours. You roll them, scoffing with a caustic smile. It was so like him to dance around and to create hurdle after hurdle, denying himself. After all, what audacity did he have, he'd say. He was just some dog.

“You need to be careful,” Nicolas begins, tearing his orbs away and gazing into the crevices of the tiled walls.

You were a neutral employee yourself. You perform in most territories which include Corsican domains and, though you weren't particularly well-liked by other performers and the occasional club owner, you were undoubtedly well-received. You never were there to make nice with their intolerant faces, to make friends. The only thing that mattered to you was yourself. You were there to dance, to act, to display. To do what you adored, to be a tease, and to get paid—and believe it, you were worth every damn rack and no insufferable asshole could negate that.

It's funny though. The bigoted public of Corsicans hold themselves in such high regard and yet the most respect and human decency thereof you’ve gotten were in Twilight-safe zones. Remarks like “Twilight-fucker” or “Twilights favorite pussy” (while still being able to spur the crowds on, mind you) as you brushed past scowling groups after another performance, weren't exactly polite. 

But, hell, Uranos Corsica— as much as he abhorred even the vaguest whisper of Twights— didn't bat an eye on your works in his territory. You did increase the popularity and revenue at his businesses he must confess and you were “a Normal”—you roll those eyes of yours hard— Thus, you continued your job. 

Besides, Worick, who tells people that you belonged to the sword-wielding Twilight as he does with every woman he comes to appreciate, must’ve put the fear of God in people when he paraded this around at Big Mamas. And though his habit was originally intended to protect his work as a Gigolo, with that alarming piece of information, most people were talking out of their asses when they made their threats.

You are casual-spirited and pert, not stupid. Never that. You never walking late hours alone was standing proof you were prudent and conscious about the scorn carbonating in the abdomen of Ergastulum. That hatred was why you frequently found the small number of acquaintances and colleagues you had six feet under at funerals, rather than six hundred feet under the luminous explosions of fireworks in the night sky on New Year's Eve.

There's a honk coming from Bastard’s exterior and he blinks when you vanish after you eye him again, tilting your head slightly and cooing, “Oh, thank you, baby, but I can take care of myself.”

It's the way you sigh every syllable like it's a sweet, rich glaze— practiced. It’s only a force of habit, but the gouge is prevalent in his chest.

He’d become clientele.

He rushes after you and young Marco Adriano scrambles for the mop he places on the wall, you laugh incredulously, “Naughty lil boy, don't let me catch you doing that again,” as he attempts to look productive after eavesdropping. Nicolas sees the sleek, vintage ivory limousine and there's a titled, well-groomed man in his senior kissing the apple of your cheek as you sit in the backseat beside him with your hands on his chest while the chauffeur handles your luggage. The gouge widens, gushing in the air and onto the ground when a salt and pepper-haired face and head feathers you. You smile a smile so authentic with your hand draped over his chest, Nicolas nearly staggers from the significance and weight you carry behind it.

You’re chattering about your performance as the elderly man asks you about it exuberantly and if you’re supposed to notice Nicolas, you don’t. Not until “Dear, Old” Mogavero clashes his eyes against his. Brown doesn't move to hide, neither does he falter in his stance. And as he stares at one of the most influential men in Ergastulum, his eyes narrow. 

“Benriya,” He smiles, eyes crinkling and Nico hopes to find a semblance of malice or dishonesty. “I'll have to place a request for work to be done at my place sometime.”

“Do you even want to keep that house?” You say. You hadn't experienced their exploits personally but Chad Adkins's complaints and the gossip of others in the city made you well aware of the collateral damages they’ve caused at times.

He throws his head back with crinkled hazel brown eyes, a gums-and-all laughter booming through the alleyways. Some passing heads turn to look at him like he's a madman, but he doesn't care and doesn't offer a sheepish little apology.

“Just need a hand with the water heater.” He says and nudges his head toward Brown. “Can't have this little lady and the others hauling ass to heat some water for a bath, eh? What do you say? Wouldn't be too much trouble for you boys, right?”

“None, Mr. Mogavero,” Nicolas replies, his voice rumbles when he does. “But I’ll have to take it up with my contractor.”

There's a nippy silence and he sees the way your jaw clenches at the word, the way you swallow. You hadn't heard that in a while, but he hadn't forgotten the way it made you twitch.

“Ah, no, that's okay.” The elderly man clears his throat with a cough. “I'll call you when I don't have company, yeah?”

 He nods in understanding and you gaze at him over your shoulder before the chauffeur closes the door. The vehicle spurs away from the cobblestone forefront of Bastard with fumes, the lights of the club radiating his shoulders and casting shadows over his dark eyes. His hand instinctively grips the red thread draped across his sword at his hips. He lets the thread slide through his fingers until it softly caresses the sides of his thighs and when he looks, the rear lights of the limousine flash when it stops at the end of the road before fading into the night at the next street.

Nicolas turns and enters Bastard once more, eyeing Worick who makes himself, leaning against the entrance with crossed arms.

Nothing but a dog, Nicolas looks away and thinks, feeling content. It's no use for any of it. Don't try to act human—

—monster.

#nicolas brown x reader #gangsta nicolas brown #gangsta nicolas #nicolas brown #worick arcangelo #gangsta anime #gangsta #gangsta worick #gangsta x reader #kohske

[feralbutfluffy]

58: Muriel

Chapter 58 of Too Wise to Woo Peaceably

******

Muriel slid the key into the lock and turned it with a satisfying click that they rather enjoyed.

They nudged the door open with their knee and wiggled their way inside, arms aching under the weight of a heavy crate of alcohol.

Things had got rather a bit out of hand at the off-license… 

But they didn’t think Crowley would mind! They gingerly placed the crate down just inside the door, setting off a jangle of clinking as the bottles settled themselves. Pulling on a bottle neck at random, Muriel tugged one loose and tucked it under their arm before moving deeper into the flat. It was curiously quiet.

They found the angel and the demon standing just inside the bedroom, Crowley leaning heavily on Aziraphale, the two of them silently taking in Muriel’s attempt at interior design. At the sound of their footsteps, Crowley turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Your handiwork, I take it?”

Muriel felt their face get very hot, like it might catch fire, and at the same time they felt-

nervous 

scared 

worried 

anxious

eager

excited

They placed the bottle just inside the doorframe and looked around, trying to see the bedroom through their eyes.

♢♢♢

Muriel had sent Aziraphale away earlier, hoping to give him time to talk to Crowley, and then they had sat on the bed, contemplating the dark, sleek angles, the emptiness of the room, everything cool and sophisticated and impersonal.

They had looked at the blood stains.

If they miracled them away, and replaced the sheets with similar, new ones, would that be enough? They thought of how Crowley had sounded when he had told her about sleeping, the way he had talked of it as if it were sanctuary.

'Great plan for a dreary month. Or a boring decade. Or a particularly rough century.'

Muriel tried to imagine Crowley wearily falling into this same bed with any amount of relief.

It seemed impossible.

Muriel thought of the way he had eyed the plants.

‘If plants have memories they’re unlikely to thrive in a room where some lunatic angel…’

Muriel wasn’t sure about plants, but Crowley certainly had a memory, and they suspected that what held true for plants might also hold true for demons.

Each time he lay in bed, he would probably be reminded of the stains. Even if Muriel removed them, he would still know. Every time he turned his head to the wall, he would be looking at the spot where his skull had cracked against concrete. Every time he swung his feet out of bed and placed them on the floor, he would be standing where he had been knocked to the floor, before he had been taken away. 

And it had only got worse from there.

Muriel felt their breath catch. Grief. Their heart felt swollen with it.

They stood and stepped away from the bed, trying to think of everything they had learned to love since being on Earth, so much of it from - or at least around - Crowley himself: from the simple loveliness of casual touch, to the way dust floated in sunlight, to almost-friendship, to the greenery of St. James’ Park, to fuzzy socks, to the padded booths at the coffee shop, to books, to reading books, to sugar crystals… 

They filled their mind with calmness, with warmth, and pulled at ideas, flicking their fingers down in the subtle gesture that drew power from Heaven.

The stain on the wall vanished, as did the black and gilt table that had careened into the wall.

The bare grey walls blanched to white, and then a sage and lavender haze crept over them, a fog made of watercolour splashes that had slowly cleared to reveal a dappled wood. Sunshine filtered through indistinct leaves, scattering impossible rays of golden light against the floor where it met the wall.

A walk in the woods, they thought, trying to infuse it with all the relaxation of a forest on a warm day.

They thought of Anne of Green Gables and the dust in the bookshop. A window appeared in the forest wall where there was no business being a window, and just outside it, the branches of an impossible tree swayed softly in an impossible breeze while inside the room dust motes twirled lazily, illuminated by the light. Muriel smiled, delighted. 

More gestures, more miracles. 

Muriel made short work of the concrete platform and the flat, stylish bed, banishing them elsewhere in favour of an enormous bed on a frame so low it almost looked like it rested on the floor. An ornate headboard of gilded mahogany dominated the space, borrowing details from Muriel’s recently departed chair and Crowley’s throne. 

An outrageously puffy duvet sheathed in golden velvet was heaped high with cushions and pillows and blankets in autumnal colours, each one with a different texture that invited the sleeper to touch, to hug the chenille and linen and silk and stonewashed cotton and cashmere to their body, to sink into the softness and drift into dreams. 

Crowley could burrow into it, if he wanted to. He could get lost in it, if he needed to.

Muriel’s hand patted thin air, and they looked up at the ceiling as clouds rolled in, thick and white. They narrowed their eyes and at the twitch of a finger, the clouds dissipated until they were nothing but pale painterly strands stretched across a pale blue sky.

They’d trotted down the hallway then, searching until they had found what they were looking for, and returned to the room looking extremely pleased with themselves. Their index finger moved, and suddenly there was a small, sleek bookcase made of polished wood, a matching end table, and a dark, soft, inviting wingback armchair. After a moment’s thought, they added a floor cushion.

They got to work stacking the published works of G.K. Chesterton on the bookshelf before adding the novels of Jane Austen. 

They placed The Extremely Big Book Of Astronomy on the end table.

Muriel banished the stain from the floor with a grim nod and buried the polished concrete under a layer of soft, plush carpet, dense enough to make it feel like walking on a cloud, 

They made a space for Benedick and Beatrice, and then looked around, enjoying the peace of the room. 

They loved it!

But would Crowley? They worried at their lower lip, thinking about Aziraphale’s aversion to dust, and Crowley's clothes, and Crowley's car... They looked around, thinking about Aziraphale telling them about the first time he had met Crowley, about the stars-

They could see it in their mind’s eye, then, and it was so precise that one sharp flick of their hand made the entire room change so quickly it made Muriel stumble.

The bed, its contents, and the wingback armchair were unchanged. 

The forest was gone, as was the window. The clouds rolled back and disappeared. 

In their place, silk velvet coated the walls and ceiling in a seductively deep navy. It was studded all over with constellations and errant stars picked out in gold thread. The carpet darkened considerably to match.

The bookcase became something sturdy and old with gilded whorls carved into the corners. The end table turned into an antique, and the floor cushion softened and sagged. Great swathes of material - some thick and heavy, some chiffon-thin - draped loosely from one corner of the room across the bed to the wall, creating an asymmetrical canopy in analogous tones. Muriel hid filament bulbs in the folds, and the enveloping darkness of the room made their soft warm light look ethereal.

Muriel added tiny string lights somewhere near the ceiling, then threw themselves backwards onto the bed, lying in the pile of blankets and pillows and cushions as if it were a nest. They looked up at the fabric. It twinkled with tiny pinpricks of light that looked like distant stars, the larger filament bulbs gently illuminating the bed, their light diffusing through the layers of the canopy. It was perfect. Dark and moody, yes, but also lovely and comfy and relaxing. It was perfect. Or at least they hoped it was perfect!

They thought of Anne of Green Gables again.  

‘And you know one can dream so much better in a room where there are pretty things.’

Muriel had never dreamed before but it sounded lovely!

A flick of a finger placed Crowley’s decorative coiled snake on the bookshelf alongside a rubber duck made of brass. They crafted a tiny bowl of sugar crystals out of nothing and placed it on top of The Extremely Big Book of Astronomy. They placed three pairs of fuzzy socks on the end of the bed. They sighed contentedly.

Of Muriel’s many revelations from their time on Earth, touch had been one of her favourites.

Shoulder bumps and friendly nudges and high fives and handshakes delighted them, the spark of connection they could feel from the most casual brush of skin against human skin a shock to their system after thousands of years of barely even speaking to a soul. As a nod to that, everything in the bedroom yearned to be touched; the carvings, the contrast of texture between the smooth velvet and the hard gold thread, the cosy happiness of too many pillows and blankets made from too many fine things. 

The other favourite revelation had been friendship.

Crowley was dear to them now, filling so many roles. He was like a teacher, but also like family. He was a mentor, and also maybe a reluctant friend? He was mean sometimes, only not really, only in a funny haha way, and he liked sleeping, and being seen as dark and grumpy, and liquor, and ducks, and plants, and Aziraphale. Not in that order.

And he didn’t like being woken at six thirty.

They had tried their best to make the room something he would feel comfortable in, something utterly different to what it was before while still hewing to his general style.

They had gone back to Crowley and Aziraphale then, feeling nervous, and taken themselves off on a needless errand hoping they would have processed the redecoration in their absence, but now here they were, and it appeared Muriel might have arrived at exactly the wrong time, because despite Crowley’s raised eyebrow they both looked slightly slack-jawed with shock.

“Y- Yes?” Muriel stuttered. Crowley looked back at the room, his eyes roving over the bed before meeting Aziraphale’s in what Muriel understood to be a meaningful look.

What the meaning was, however… well, that was completely lost on them.

Aziraphale stiffened and pointedly pivoted away from both Crowley and Muriel, which they took to be a bad sign.

“Do you hate it?” Muriel asked. “I can change it back if you hate it!”

Crowley smiled then, a proper smile, one that slightly split his lip where it had been healing (ouch), but he didn’t seem to notice. 

“Don’t you dare. This is great!” He looked excited in a way that Muriel had never seen, and for a moment, even with the bruises and the wounds, they could - if they tried very, very, very hard - imagine Crowley squealing with delight.

He beckoned them over, and when Muriel got close enough he reached out and took their hand, making them jump. He was still smiling, his face bright with joy - which was quite unnerving but also lovely - and Muriel watched him with wide eyes, wondering if he was quite alright.

“Thanks. I mean it, Muriel. This room- Well, I was afraid... I was dreading coming in here. And this- Well, it's- It’s so bloody gorgeous it’s distracting...!" He meant it, Muriel could tell, but his smile faltered, and it was lopsided as he finished the sentence. "... And I needed distracting.”

There was fondness written all over his face, and Muriel thought they probably were friends now, actually.

“Have a gold star,” Crowley said softly, and suddenly there was a small, hard, heavy object between their hands. He pulled away, and Muriel uncurled their fingers.

In the palm of their hand was a solid gold ingot stamped with an M in the shape of a star.

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