#Instant Freshness Kit

[blessorganics]

Instant Freshness Kit: Experience Freshness in a Snap

In our fast-paced world, where time is of the essence, the demand for convenient solutions to everyday problems has never been higher. Whether you're rushing to work, traveling, or simply looking to refresh after a long day, the Instant Freshness Kit is your ultimate companion. Designed to deliver a burst of cleanliness and rejuvenation, this innovative kit ensures you stay fresh and confident no matter where life takes you.

What is the Instant Freshness Kit?

The Instant Freshness Kit is a thoughtfully curated collection of essential products designed to provide immediate freshness and hygiene on the go. Compact and lightweight, it fits seamlessly into your bag, purse, or car, making it an indispensable accessory for anyone with an active lifestyle. Whether you're heading to the gym, attending a meeting, or embarking on an adventure, this kit has got you covered.

Key Components of the Instant Freshness Kit

Refreshing Wipes: Perfect for cleansing your face and hands, these wipes are infused with natural ingredients like aloe vera and chamomile. They gently remove dirt, sweat, and makeup, leaving your skin feeling clean and revitalized.

Compact Deodorant: A travel-sized deodorant stick or spray ensures you stay odor-free and confident throughout the day. Many kits feature eco-friendly options that are free from harsh chemicals.

Mini Breath Freshener: A quick spray or strip for instant fresh breath is a lifesaver before an important meeting or date. Look for options that include natural mint or herbal extracts.

Hand Sanitizer: Keeping germs at bay is crucial, and a pocket-sized hand sanitizer with a pleasant fragrance does the trick without drying out your skin.

Dry Shampoo: For those moments when your hair needs a quick pick-me-up, dry shampoo absorbs excess oil and adds volume, making your hair look freshly washed.

Moisturizing Lotion: A small tube of hydrating lotion keeps your skin soft and nourished, especially during harsh weather conditions.

Fragrance Roll-On or Mist: A subtle, portable fragrance is the perfect finishing touch to ensure you feel refreshed and smell delightful.

Benefits of the Instant Freshness Kit

Convenience: The compact size and portability of the kit make it easy to carry anywhere. It’s designed for modern lifestyles where time is limited, but self-care remains a priority.

Hygiene on the Go: Public spaces, travel, and busy schedules often mean limited access to washrooms or facilities. The Instant Freshness Kit ensures you maintain personal hygiene wherever you are.

Confidence Booster: Feeling fresh and clean significantly impacts your confidence. With this kit, you’re always prepared to make a great impression.

Eco-Friendly Options: Many kits now include sustainable products, such as biodegradable wipes and refillable deodorants, catering to environmentally conscious consumers.

Customizable: The kit can be tailored to your specific needs, with additional items like sunscreen, lip balm, or even a sewing kit for emergencies.

Who Can Benefit from the Instant Freshness Kit?

Travelers: Whether you’re on a long flight or a road trip, staying fresh can be challenging. The kit is a travel essential that ensures you arrive at your destination feeling rejuvenated.

Busy Professionals: For those balancing hectic schedules, the kit provides quick solutions for maintaining a polished and professional appearance.

Fitness Enthusiasts: After a workout, a quick freshen-up is necessary. The kit’s combination of wipes, deodorant, and dry shampoo is perfect for post-gym sessions.

Parents: Managing kids while staying fresh can be tough. The kit offers practical tools to keep parents prepared for any messes or mishaps.

Students: From attending lectures to socializing, students can rely on the kit to stay fresh throughout their busy days.

How to Choose the Perfect Instant Freshness Kit

When selecting an Instant Freshness Kit, consider the following factors:

Contents: Look for a kit that includes all the essentials you need. Prioritize products that suit your skin type and preferences.

Size and Portability: Ensure the kit is compact and lightweight, making it easy to carry in your bag or pocket.

Quality: Opt for high-quality products from reputable brands to avoid skin irritation or allergies.

Eco-Friendliness: Choose kits with biodegradable, reusable, or sustainably sourced components to minimize your environmental impact.

Price: Compare different kits to find one that offers good value for money without compromising on quality.

DIY Instant Freshness Kit

If you prefer a personalized touch, you can create your own Instant Freshness Kit at home. Here’s how:

Choose a Compact Bag: Select a small, durable pouch to hold all your items.

Gather Essentials: Include items like wipes, deodorant, sanitizer, lotion, and any other products you regularly use.

Add a Personal Touch: Include items that cater to your unique needs, such as a mini comb, lip balm, or essential oils.

Organize Smartly: Arrange the items neatly to maximize space and ensure easy access.

Test and Adjust: Use the kit for a week to see if it meets your needs, then make adjustments as necessary.

Conclusion

The Instant Freshness Kit is more than just a convenience—it’s a lifestyle upgrade. In a world where first impressions matter and time is precious, having a reliable tool to maintain your hygiene and confidence is invaluable. Whether you purchase a pre-made kit or assemble your own, embracing the concept of instant freshness will revolutionize the way you navigate your daily life. So, why wait? Experience freshness in a snap and step into every moment feeling your absolute best.

[leahsgf]

MEETING – leah williamson

leah williamson x child!reader

based on this request | bubba masterlist

love love love writing for this lil universe so please keep the requests coming

the first few weeks of your life were spent in complete bliss, leah happily soaking up every single moment between the two of you in your own little bubble - before she'd have to introduce you to the chaos that was the rest of the world.

despite the eagerness of those around her to meet you, she had strictly said no visitors until she was ready, bar her own mother, who had moved in temporarily as you both settled into this new life.

-

you had just hit three weeks old when leah had finally felt ready to allow a few more people into your space, having settled a little more into the swing of things and also not having the energy to turn offers down any longer.

it started off small - with her nearest and dearest, her dad, brother, grandma, and friends, of course including keira, and then gradually branched out to perhaps the most impatient of the lot, your rather large flock of aunties - also known as her teammates.

due to you being born mid season, the arsenal girls were going to be the first ones to meet you, much to the dismay of some of the lionesses especially georgia, keira obviously not helping the cause whatsoever by endlessly boasting about the fact she'd met you before any of them.

(leah would never tell a soul that keira was so nervous when she met you that she had barely held you, and instead timidly patted your head, and said it was 'nice to meet you' whilst shaking your tiny hand)

she had originally planned on hosting the weekly team night at her apartment and letting the girls all meet you there, but then went against it when she realised just how cramped her living room actually was when it held an entire very eager football team inside, alongside the fact that going out and getting some fresh air was something she desperately needed, and an escape from the newborn chaos that had taken over her home.

so, she had instead settled for arranging with jonas a day where there wasn't an awful lot of training to do and only the odd meeting or two, where she'd bring you into the training ground and introduce them to you there as a mini surprise.

-

after what had felt like a year of trying to get ready to leave the house, leah still adjusting to just how much stuff and preparation was needed for such a tiny little human, she finally pulled into the car park and got you both out, praising her parking job and getting you both there alive before having what felt like the battle of her life with the pram whilst getting it out.

kim, the only one of the girls who knew she was coming, and the unofficial mother figure of the team- met her outside, marvelling over you in an instant, before leading the way to the meeting room where the rest of the team were.

-

a collective gasp travelled across the meeting room as leah entered, with you bundled into her arms, the focus immediately off jonas’ attempted distraction ramble and all on you.

“is she seriously in an arsenal kit lee” alessia giggled, letting you clasp one of her fingers in your hand, as the rest of the team gathered around the pair of you in absolute awe.

“of course she is less! gotta teach her young haven’t i, my little gooner! especially when she’s got an uncle and grandad who are dead set on making her a spurs fan - so who wants a hold first?” the blonde replied, switching the conversation and ignoring the laughter and the teasing remarks about her passion for her club, instead letting them fight over who got to hold you first.

-

you had been pretty fussy in everyone’s arms apart from your mother’s, not being a huge fan of the unfamiliarity and all of the sudden movement when being passed around the room, until beth had insisted on viv holding you despite how nervous she had been, and your grizzles had settled almost instantly, and your frown which was the carbon copy of your mother’s faded.

“hi schatje, i’m your auntie viv, we love you so much already.” she murmured, stroking your cheeks ever so softly as you stared back up at her, still in the phase where you were fascinated by the world around you.

you beamed as she tickled your nose, your first official, non wind related smile that leah had been desperate to coax out of you for weeks now.

“looks like vivi is a natural! even baby williamson can sense that she’s a goat!” katie grinned, forever the leader of the ‘miedema fan club’, leaning on the dutch woman’s shoulder and poking her tongue out at you.

-

“welcome to the one of your forever homes my girl. you’re so so loved already.” leah whispered to you, cradling you and embracing the moment of peace she had after stepping away from the chaos in order to settle you down in your pram - allowing kyra and vic, who you’d undoubtedly overtake in maturity at some point, to take you on a walk around with steph’s supervision for your nap.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Tattoo Artist Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, discussion of past trauma, psychological torture, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: Part Twenty-Seven of Ink & Needle

Walsh invites Simon to dinner. Task Force 141 lays in wait. A rivalry finally comes to a close.

Chapter Twenty-Six // Chapter Twenty-Eight

ao3 // main masterlist // ink & needle masterlist

A flood. A river.

Water rushing—swallowing Simon whole. Drowning.

He is cold. So...cold.

Dunked. Forced. Reaching and clawing for fresh air as his lungs fill to bursting.

Bravo whines, tapping Simon's leg with his paw, trying to capture his attention. Simon absently scratches under the dog's chin, his gaze distant and unfocused.

Around him in a circle are sketches. Charcoal on white paper.

They were meant for you—for you to browse and enjoy. Only a few months ago, Simon believed that you would eventually pick one, and from that selection, he'd design the perfect tattoo, and you'd do him the honor of inking your skin with his art.

Fuck, how things have changed. Shifted.

The stars are no longer aligned. Everything is off—and all the planets, moons, and comets are close to colliding.

Shattering. Simon is shattering.

Bravo whines again, this time with a hint of a growl in it, as if his patience is thin. That one change clicks something into place, pushing Simon toward the present moment.

"Need out of my head," mutters Simon. Leaning to the side, Simon playfully scratches at Bravo's belly until the German Shepherd collapses onto his back, tongue lolling out in contented bliss. "Up for a jog?"

Bravo is up in an instant, his claws tap tap tapping against the wood floor as he fetches his leash. Simon's gaze lingers on the sketches. A buzzing numbness begins to creep in, chilling his blood.

Two weeks since Kit Walsh walked through the door of 141 Ink. Two weeks and no letter in the post. No word. Not from him. Not from Price or Gaz or Johnny. A brief spark of shame ignites in Simon's chest. He hasn't spoken to Amelia or Evie either. They've reached out. They try all the time. Amelia even convinced Ben from Dancing Faun and a few older patrons to come check in on him.

But not bringing you back is a failure.

Simon can't face them. Can’t face fucking anyone. Can't begin to explain how all of this is entirely his fault. Kit doesn't care about you. He cares about Simon—about making him suffer.

And it's working. It's bloody fucking working.

Bravo dumps the leash in Simon's lap. A bit of drool bleeds into Simon's joggers, and he can't help but chuckle.

"Let's go," groans Simon, his bad leg acting up as he stands.

Warming up and heading out for a mile helps with the soreness in Simon's limbs but not his heart. Before heading home, Simon stops for a coffee and croissant at the bakery, giving Bravo the drier portions.

As Simon slips the key into the lock of the exterior door, he almost doesn't notice the small white envelope on the floor. Bravo steps right over it, charging upstairs to the flat as Simon releases his hold on the leash.

The buttery, flakey piece of croissant becomes ash in Simon’s mouth.

He knows that handwriting. That familiar scrawl.

And it’s Sunday. The post is never delivered on Sunday. But of course, it wouldn’t arrive in the actual fucking mail.

Walsh likes to hand deliver.

Makes it more personal. Especially when Walsh believes that someone has personally wronged him.

Simon has seen it before, back when Walsh believed Simon was on his side. Sometimes it was Simon who pulled the trigger on Walsh’s order. Not that any of those wankers were good people, but Walsh takes great joy in the one-on-one.

Simon bends at the knees, lifting the small white envelope off the ground. His greasy fingers leave behind a blemish. Bravo whines and Simon ascends the stairs, clutching the envelope tightly as if it will melt away like snow under a blazing sun.

Even as Simon enters his flat, he does not open it. He places his coffee and half-eaten croissant on the kitchen table, unlatching Bravo's leash and returning it to the holder by the front door. It isn't until Simon has the phone in his hand—the one he’s only ever used twice—while dialing the one person he knows will answer, that he flips the envelop over with shaking fingers, breaking the seal.

"Lt."

"Johnny."

Simon almost doesn't recognize himself. He sounds...broken. Rotten like forgotten food in a hoarder’s fridge. Johnny immediately notices the distress in Simon’s voice.

“What’s wrong? Did that fucker come into your shop again?"

"No," says Simon quickly, because it’s true. Walsh didn’t enter his shop. Didn’t even enter his home this time. "Not exactly."

“Simon. What’s happened?”

Slowly, Simon slides the flimsy bit of paper out of the envelope. It’s not folded. Just a once crisp piece of plain paper that Simon scrunched in his fist.

“It’s happening, Johnny. The end. I think this is it.”

“The end?” asks Soap.

Flipping it over, letters and numbers are revealed. And then words.

An address.

"Johnny,” he exhales, almost gasping as the air is ripped right out of his lungs. Simon’s thundering heart becomes silent.

"What do you need from me, Lt?"

There are words below the address. A quote, perhaps. A message.

Do this in remembrance of me.

Tears form in Simon’s eyes. "I'm not doing this alone."

"You won't be."

"You shouldn't go in alone."

Captain Price's voice crackles through the earpiece. It's a small thing, no larger than a pea pod. It sits snugly in Simon's right ear.

"I have to,” replies Simon, determined to fucking end this.

This isn't for them to decide, and it certainly isn't their responsibility. Walsh's death belongs to Simon.

He craves it. Needs it.

Lifeblood for lifeblood.

A soft static comes over the earpiece followed by Price’s voice. “We’re in position. Give the word. And we’ll enter.”

"Thank you, Captain."

Simon is dressed for dinner. It’s no suit and tie, but Walsh doesn’t really deserve the curtesy. Simon carries a pistol and a blade, but it’ll likely be confiscated. Walsh might enjoy a good game but he doesn't play fair.

What Simon did not expect, was for Walsh to bring him home. To bring him here. Of all places.

He knows this street, though it’s changed a bit over the years. He would walk home from school and stop two doors down to pet the neighbor’s dog before heading home. His mum would spend her weekends lingering out front tending her flowers. This home flourished when he was small and his little brother was nothing more but cells in his mother's womb.

It's different now. Dark.

Simon hasn't touched his childhood home in years. Not since their deaths. He couldn't bring himself to sell it, and he sure as shit couldn't bring himself to get rid of anything. He's owned it since then, and it simply exists. Empty.

But there's a light on. A small one.

The table lamp beside the window is illuminated, the one his mum liked to turn on after she put Simon and his brother to bed. The one she’d read her book by before heading to bed herself.

But that was before everything happened. Back when they were a happy family and his father was sober.

"I can come with you, Lt."

Johnny this time.

"No,” replies Simon. “It needs to be me."

It takes all of ten steps to approach the front door. Simon tries the doorknob, and finds it unlocked.

Slowly, Simon eases the door open, revealing a home that hasn’t changed. Everything is in its place, and as he steps inside, he notices the dust. Glancing down at the floor, he is greeted with the bloodstains that never came out of the carpet no matter how hard he scrubbed.

While the hall is dark, the door to his left stands open, revealing the living room. Simon can see the lit lamp and his mother’s favorite chair from where he stands in the hall. As he shifts in that direction, moving toward the light, the rest of the room comes into view.

Just inside, all the furniture has been pushed against the walls, opening up the middle of the room. There is a table, or what appears to be a table. It’s low to the ground with a bulky base that’s longer that it is wide. There are no chairs but it wouldn’t work with the table. Simon and Walsh will have to sit on the floor.

On the tabletop is a feast. An entire Sunday roast dinner. It sends Simon right back to those early days of his youth when he’d look forward to this meal. Nothing is unaccounted for. There’s the carved roast meat, roasted potatoes, an array of vegetables, Yorkshire pudding, stuffing, gravy, and all sorts of sauces. It is far fancier than anything Simon’s mum ever prepared.

It’s fresh, too. Small wafts of steam drift upward. Not only that, but the table is set for two.

“You came.”

Simon’s head snaps around, only to find Kit Walsh standing in front of the kitchen door. Simon didn’t even hear him.

“Didn’t have much of an option.”

Walsh shrugs. “True.”

“Where is she, Kit?” asks Simon.

This is Walsh’s only chance. He’ll ask nicely—politely, even. But that’s fucking it. Fuck this dinner. Fuck talking.

Walsh extends a hand, gesturing at the makeshift table. “Have a seat.”

“Kit,” growls Simon, taking a step toward the man. “Where is she?”

The corner of Walsh’s mouth twitches but his demeanor reveals nothing. He’s completely calm, and that scares Simon. Walsh is at his worse when he appears perfectly apathetic.

“Food is going cold,” replies Walsh, and the chilly blandness in his voice sends Simon over the edge. “Never known you to pass up a Sunday roast.”

The pistol is in Simon’s hand, the firing end of the barrel pressed to Walsh’s forward in a matter of seconds.

“I won’t ask again, Kit. Where is she?”

Walsh’s sigh is like that of an annoyed parent. “Sit down, Simon. Eat.”

Simon adds pressure behind his grip, pushing the barrel harder against Walsh’s skin, forcing his head backward. The man doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look away either. Walsh stares Simon in face, unblinking.

“You fucking done?” he asks.

“No,” snaps Simon. His fingers curls around the trigger. “You tell me where she is, Kit. I’m not fucking around.”

“Then be done with it, mate. Put some lead in me. Make me bleed.” His smile is slightly off, like he’s begging for Simon to do it.

And Simon wants to. Badly.

“I won’t hesitate.”

“I know you won’t, Riley. You’ve always been a great shot.”

Slowly, Simon eases the gun away from Walsh’s head. It leaves behind a round mark in the middle of Walsh’s forehead.

“Have a seat,” coaxes Walsh. “Let’s talk.”

Simon is sick of talking. It’s all they ever do. Back and forth and back again until everything is twisted and torn and wrong.

“You’ll talk out of your ass the whole time,” says Simon, backing away from Walsh. The gun is still clutched in his hand, but it’s lowered.

“You can keep the gun,” sighs Walsh, heading for the nearest table setting. He takes a seat at the makeshift table, crossing his legs.

It reminds Simon of primary school. And that only makes it hurt all the more.

He wants to resist, but instead, Simon goes to the opposite end of the table, taking a seat. Playing Walsh’s game is his only chance, even if Simon doesn’t want to participate. He prefers things clean. Recon. A quick shot to the head.

But all that old violence didn’t involve someone Simon cares about. Killing Walsh now may end any chance of you returning to him.

Simon places the gun on the table next to his plate. He stares out at the feast, not wanting to take anything.

“It’s not poisoned,” says Walsh, already reaching for the food. He grabs a large slice of roast before dishing himself up one of everything else. When Simon doesn’t move to put food on his plate, Walsh chuckles. “Do I need to eat some first? Would that convince you?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Walsh shrugs. “Shame.” He cuts off a piece of the roast and dunks it in the gravy before popping it into his mouth. He points at the roast with his fork. “Missing out.”

With each bite Walsh takes, Simon continually grows uneasy. There’s no quickness in the way Walsh eats. He savors everything, complimenting the flavor, attempting to make small talk with Simon whose plate remains empty.

“I just want to know where she is, Kit. I don’t fucking care about anything else.”

Walsh shakes his head. “That’s a bloody lie. You fucking hate me.”

“Didn’t say that I didn’t.”

“You should really try this, Simon.” Walsh slowly chews a potato. “Banging meal. Missing out.”

“Fucking shut up.”

Walsh glances up, the middle of his brow curved in. “Fucking eat it, Simon. I’m not asking.” When Simon doesn’t move, Walsh sets down his silverware. “You want your woman back? Then fucking eat.”

Simon’s fists are clenched in his lap. It takes everything in him to unfold those fingers—to relax the muscles enough to move. Like a robot with a singular purpose, Simon starts filling his plate. He can smell it all. The food is fragrant and luscious. His stomach growls yet there is no meal that could fill that hole that sits in Simon’s stomach.

As Simon returns his plate to the table, Walsh returns to his own meal.

“This is our last supper,” sighs Walsh. “Sad to end it here.”

Simon stares down at his plate. Part of him wants to eat it, to remember the nostalgia of sitting at the dining table on Sunday afternoons. “One of us isn’t leaving here.”

Walsh frowns. “Suppose that’s true.”

Simon answers immediately. “It’ll be you.”

“Will it?” Walsh glances around. “This is your childhood home. Your mum died just out there.” Walsh gestures toward the entrance. “Didn’t your father bash her head in?”

He asks the question like the death of his family is polite dinner conversation.

“Don’t talk about my mum, Kit.”

Walsh tuts. “And then to off your baby brother like he did?” He pauses to chew a piece of roast. “All while you were on your first deployment? Fucking mental that one. Bet you’re glad he’s dead.”

“They’re all dead. You know that.”

Simon remembers that night like it was yesterday. He came home from his first deployment expecting to be greeted by his mum and baby brother. They weren’t there in London. Simon didn’t understand why until he made his way back to Manchester and walked through the front door.

“How’d it feel killing your father? You enjoy it?”

“Fuck off.” Simon’s voice is cold. Distant.

Taking his plate, Walsh piles on another helping of potatoes and meat. “And for Captain Price to get those charges wiped? Bloody lucky you are, Simon.” He snags another Yorkshire pudding. Adds more gravy to his plate. “I mean—he made you his fucking patsy on that,” Walsh gestures vaguely in the air, “fucking task force. Had you murdering everyone the government deemed a ‘threat.’”

“Should look at yourself, Kit.”

“Why? Because I played the same game?” Walsh shakes his head. “I took their money. I spent it. I made them happy, and then I tossed them in the fucking rubbish when I was done with them.”

“And yet, they all still have their heads. For someone who hates the government, you’ve hardly fucking touched them.”

Walsh shrugs. “Most. But not all.”

Simon’s jaw clenches. “Just tell me where she is, Kit. Tell me and let’s be fucking done with this.”

“I don’t think I’m done. And you haven’t touched your food.”

Simon scoffs. This wanker is unbelievable. “You fucking think—”

There’s a thump. It immediately silences Simon and gives Walsh pause. That can’t be the boys. Simon didn’t give them the go ahead.

A lull of silence follows.

“Kit—”

“Don’t fucking start.”

Another thump. This one rattles the table. Coming from—

Simon flattens his hands on the tabletop, starting to rise.

“Don’t fucking move, Simon.” Walsh’s voice is deathly cold. He’s bent forward, hand poised like he’s ready to draw a weapon.

“Where the fuck is she?” growls Simon.

Another thump. This one is louder. Stronger. Shaking the entire table.

Simon is up and raising his gun just as Walsh draws his. The pistol fires, the sound loud. Walsh jerks, his shoulder hitching to the side. Simon keeps his finger on the trigger, each round leaving the chamber a melody to his ears.

Charging forward, Simon lungers for the man.

In is ear, Price’s voice is a pulsing thing, calling his name. Simon is hardly paying attention. Walsh is right there. Within reach.

There is already blood. Bright. Bold. Spreading over the floor.

Simon falls to his knees, uncaring of the pain. “Where is she, Kit?” He fists the front of Kit’s shirt, lifting the man from off the ground.

"Did you not enjoy the meal?" asks Kit, his eyes glassy and distant. "Spent months on it."

A sour dread floods Simon’s stomach. He never took a bite of the food. But the roast…

“Where is she!” screams Simon, shaking him.

Walsh’s head flops about even as he laughs.

"A feast," chuckles Walsh. "Over flesh."

With a raging cry, Simon slams Walsh's head against the wood floor. There's a loud crack, and Walsh's laughter cuts off.

But Simon doesn't notice. He is elsewhere—drifting in blood hunger, wanting only vengeance.

Only wanting marrow. Only wanting dirt.

Simon grasps Walsh by the neck, smashing the back of his head against the floor again.

"You."

Smash.

"Fucking."

Walsh's skull cracks.

Opens up.

"Wanker!"

Busted brain matter mixes with the red, spreading outward.

"Simon!" It's Johnny's voice but it's not in his ear this time. It's just over his shoulder. It is present. It is loud. "Simon!"

Hands are on him. Strong ones. They tug at his shoulders, drawing him away from the gore. From the mess. Simon does not relent. Like a boulder, he collapses, pressing his forehead against the wood floor, sinking further into darkness.

You have to be here. You have to be.

A feast over flesh.

Simon turns his head to the right, staring at the large, makeshift table. It's boxy. Big. More like a storage bin rather than a table.

More like—

Simon flattens his hands, pushing up enough to half-crawl, half-drag himself toward the table. There's something odd about it, the shape. And the thudding. The fucking thudding.

"Simon. Don't—”

Simon knocks Johnny's hands away. With one wide swing of his arm, Simon knocks away the food and tableware. It crashes to the ground.

At first, Simon tries to lift the flattened top, but it doesn't budge. It's been nailed on. This isn't a commercial build. This is custom made. Not a table at all.

"Johnny,” breathes Simon. “Get a crowbar. And a hammer. In the garage."

Johnny doesn’t question. He just goes, disappearing into the house. Distantly, Simon hears the banging of doors and heavy footfalls.

Simon bends forward, examining the underside.

The tabletop is just a piece of large, finished wood nailed onto an open box. When he was standing, he couldn’t tell, but now he sees that it’s not just a box.

It’s a bloody coffin. A nice one. One you’d bury a family member in.

"Johnny!" yells Simon, his voice breaking at the end.

He appears with the crowbar, presenting it to Simon, clutching the hammer in his other hand. The two of them work together, removing nails and breaking away pieces of the wood.

Captain Price enters seconds later with Kyle on his heel. They kick away plates, discarded food, and broken pieces of wood. The rest of the team moves through the rest of the house. Simon can’t see them but he can hear them overhead, shouting from other rooms.

Simon hooks the crowbar under a corner, pulling hard. The wood groans, creaking loudly as it starts to pull away.

"Get those bloody nails up!”

Walsh’s lifeless body is ignored. Left where Simon released him.

Johnny pops out the final nail, the wood bending under Simon’s weighted leverage, lifting away from the base. All four them grab on, guiding it off and away.

“Fucking hell,” mutters Price, staring down at what’s inside.

Simon drops to his knees, hands dipping into the coffin. It's soft, black velvet on the inside. Your head is turned, resting on a small pillow. There is a sickly quality to your skin, but you otherwise appear completely unharmed.

Your eyes are closed. You appear peaceful. You appear...dead.

How long have you been in here? How long have you been trapped?

Simon's hands cradle your face. Though your skin is a bit cold, there is still plenty of warmth. There is no stiffness, just an easy loll that speaks to unconsciousness. Did you hear Simon’s voice? Did you manage enough strength to alert him of your presence?

“He has her fucking drugged.”

Price gently lifts a bag out of the coffin.

“It’s just saline,” says Gaz. “Look at the label.”

It’s marked as such—something standard in every hospital for hydration. But that doesn’t mean Walsh didn’t tamper with it.

“Saline doesn’t do this,” says Price, gesturing at your limp body.

Simon whispers your name, thumb stroking over your cheek.

Price turns into his walkie. “I need medical in here. Now.”

Simon whispers your name again. There's a twitch in your jaw. A quiver in your brow. You're not aware. Not yet. But you're alive, and as far as Simon can tell, you're whole.

But even then, it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't matter if Walsh had taken fingers and toes. If he'd taken an arm. If he'd scarred your body or blinded you. All Simon wants, all he's ever wanted these last three months, is to hold you in arms again.

Your eyelids twitch. Flutter.

As Price holds the bag, Simon slides his arms under your body, lifting you from the coffin and onto the floor beside it. Gaz kneels beside Price, examining the arm where the IV is inserted.

Simon leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, both hands on either side of your face.

"Come back to me," he murmurs, as the others rush and move around him. "Come back to me."

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[moodymisty]

Author's note: Inspired by this anon along with the amazing snippet @kit-williams wrote for it

Relationships: Vulkan/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Pred/Prey, Rough sex, Blood

You fall again, and the jagged rocks bite at your knees and palms. Little speckles of blood dot across your palms as you look at him, before quickly getting up and trying to run again.

A stupid mistake- now he'll be able to smell exactly where you are. He already can, you know the scent of your sweat lingers in the air like smoke, but fresh blood is like a beacon you can't get away from fast enough.

You lost him for a short while, slipping through a tunnel that wasn't large enough for him to get through. Your smaller stature remains your single advantage you have against him.

But the tunnels echo sound incredibly well, and you can sometimes hear his footsteps ringing through the system of caves. He can hear yours as well, tracking you down and gaining on you.

"Did you cut yourself? I can smell the blood,"

Entering one of the wider, huge main tunnels you look around quickly for a little rat hole to take next, trying to avoid standing like prey in the middle of such a huge area. You think you see a few options, but the one farthest down seems the smallest, and your best bet.

Rushing towards it you're almost there when you suddenly hear the sound of his footsteps thundering through the system of caves; Rocks crumbling underneath his feet.

"There you are,"

He appears at the far end of the tunnel blocking off your exit, and you nearly fall attempting to scramble backwards.

You know he's just playing, that this is just a fun game you had propositioned, but when he starts running towards you every primal, instinctual animal part of your brain tells you he's a predator- to run- you let out a bloodcurdling scream that rips through your throat and puts spittle on your lips.

Quickly you scramble towards the closest tunnel that you think can't fit him, but only by a few feet. Dug by the astartes you assume.

Vulkan however laughs at your screams, like a wolf driven by the squeaks of an limping, injured rabbit.

He's being slow on purpose, letting you run into your safe tunnel out of his reach. He's trying to extend the game on purpose and enjoy it. He could catch you in an instant if he truly wanted to, but half the fun is stalking you; Cornering you.

In a less stressful time you might find it interesting how despite him being so much softer than his fellow primarchs, there is still that latent, apex predator instinct in him that loves this. You aren't supposed to run from predators, it triggers that prey drive in them, and that's exactly what you think Vulkan is feeling when you scurry away from him. There's something in his eyes that's changed the few times you've caught sight of him since the hunt started.

"I can hear you're getting tired. How much longer do you think you can keep this up?"

Your heart hammers against your ribcage as you hide, seeing him walk past the entrance you just went into.

You try to watch and listen as his footsteps trail farther and farther away, and you assume he's going to the other side of the tunnel you're in. Cautiously peeking out the way you went in you don't see him, or hear him, and quickly you scurry out to try another way.

Down the large main tunnel you run and try to ignore the burning in your throat; You're so thirsty, you'd almost consider letting him catch you to just get some water.

You don't know how long it's been- It could only have been an hour for all you know. But you're so tired, stopping in front of a step in your path.

For an astartes it would be a steep step up, but for you, it's a small climb. You jump and with a grunt manage to fold yourself onto it, legs dangling. Your feet kick trying to dig your shoe in to get purchase on the rocks, trying to wiggle higher and get the rest of your body up.

suddenly you feel the ground begin to shake, the sound of his footsteps quickly begins to close in.

You gather all the strength you can to try and clamber for more purchase on the rocks, feeling your heart begin to race as you panic. Despite everything telling you not to you turn around and see him come into view, right towards you. Once he realizes that you're partly stuck he quickens, and you let out another scream as you quickly try and pull up your other leg. But each rock you get a toe on crumbles, causing your heart and your breathing to quicken as he approaches.

You manage to get to your hands and knees on the stone only for him to suddenly grab you by the legs, and you let another another scream. Your hands dig into the dust and dirt and rocks to try and clamber away, kicking your legs at his arms. For a moment you almost don't even remember this is Vulkan- your mind is just saying run.

"You thought you could sneak around me?"

Dragging you across the stone floor to him he lets you dangle off the step, lying on your stomach while your legs hang of the edge. He's tearing at your clothes, your bottoms torn to shreds and you gasp as you feel the weight of his cock against you. The thick head of his cock slips between your outer lips and pushes against your entrance, and you feel the burn of your muscles trying to stretch while the dirt and stone scratches your skin. Your dry throat can only manage to let out a pathetic cry, one that hiccups as your parched mouth can't keep the noise smooth.

"The hunt is over, now I can enjoy the reward."

The light in he room is dim, the candles mostly melted. You watch the little flames flicker as Vulkan puts a bandage on your torn knee, patting it gently.

"You should try to fall less down there, I wouldn't want you breaking any bones."

You puff out your cheeks full of air before blowing them at him. The warmth of his palms radiates over your skin, feeling good almost as if using a heatpack on sore muscles.

"I try not to, but it's a bit hard to keep upright when a massive primarch is running at you. You're lucky I didn't crumple to the ground and let my heart give out."

Vulkan chuckles, a soft smile on his face that makes your face grow warm.

"You know I would never truly hurt you," He says, and you nod.

"I know, but it's still terrifying," You say. Vulkan moves to bandage your other knee. "I think I could go for longer next time, though." The way he looks up at you is amused but dark, implying that you want more.

"You want to do this again?" You nod, an eagerness held within it that had you embarrassingly warm.

"Of course; I know the layout of the tunnels better now, I think I could avoid you for longer." Vulkan finishes bandaging your other knee and puts his hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him.

"You assume I would bring you to the same tunnels?" Quickly you loose your smile.

"Yes! This is your home and you dug many of these tunnels, let me have a bit of an advantage!" Vulkan laughs, hands squeezing your hips with a comfortable pressure. You swing your legs a bit and one bumps into his stomach by accident.

"That is fair." He looks at you. "You should try not to exert yourself so soon though, I knew right away you would tire yourself out and I could corner you." You look at him curiously, holding your arms.

"You want to make it more difficult for you?"

Vulkan leans in to give you a kiss. His eyes have a bit of that darkness you saw down in the tunnels.

"No true hunter enjoys easy prey. We want a real chase."

[derww]

DEVOTIONS WEEK DAY 1: OBSESSION/HUNTING

This time he sleeps for too long – not because he gave up and not because he was not afraid, but because his too mortal body is so exhausted that he lies in oblivion for almost a day. When he finally opens his infinitely heavy eyes, Mapicc is already here. He is a shadow melted into the corner of the house, burning gaze and still posture. He's silent. His hand clutches an axe.

The situation could have been considered ridiculous, even funny, if he hadn't been so horrified.

It's not that you can't talk to Mapicc, but talking to him is a minefield: he can hear, but he doesn't want to listen. He doesn't need any apologies. He doesn't need a compromise. He needs to put an axe between Zam's eyes, and again, and again, until the weak body gives up, peeling, crumbling, bubbling and crunching. And again. And again. And again.

He doesn't have a chance. Mapicc slowly and methodically chastises him for his weaknesses and mistakes, for his unworthiness and for his pity. He imputes him for betrayal, and Zam, really, has nothing to say, because Mapicc is right.

At this stage, the only realistic option was to give up, but what remained true about Zam was that he refused to give up. And he takes up the sword and collects a parody of a battle kit from his remains, and everything falls apart in an instant. Mapicc attacks once, twice, thrice, and very soon Zam is cornered, and Mapicc mauls him, hitting again and again, even when he stops moving, letting the splashing blood stain himself and everything around him, breaking bones and severing arteries and tearing muscles and splitting his belly open. There is not even sadism in this, there is no joy and pleasure – Mapicc is silent, keeping an unperturbed expression on his face, and just hits, and hits, and hits, and hits.

At some point, Zam starts screaming. At some point, he stops. At some point, when there seems to be nothing working left in his inhuman body, he finally dies. It's excruciating. It's a relief.

This time he wakes up instantly. His whole body is giving off phantom pains. There is inky darkness outside the window, simultaneously frightening and sheltering. He sits down on the bed, breathing heavily, and clutches his head.

To come up with. He needs to come up with something. Solution. The way out of this.

***

The castle is as beautiful as ever: only completed, solidly built, and cleaned. Brand new brewing setup, clean bed, fresh dandelions on the windowsill. The quiet idyll of a man who has run from problems, but he sees blood stains here and there – when you refuse to leave space, there are only so many places to die.

He fought Mapicc every new time. Prepared and not, sooner or later, but this is how it all was ending: Mapicc wins. Mapicc kills him. It starts all over again. No matter what he did, it was useless: nothing could equal their skill difference. He could have been prepared as much as he wanted – once he spent all his remaining time on grinding a full battle kit, and the other time – on mining the area around the castle, and in the end everything turned out to be useless anyway. Mapicc went ahead, took the blows as if they were worthless, threw venomous words and hit, and hit, and hit. This was not a battle that Zam could win. He tried, and tried, and tried – even after he realized that he was stuck in a time loop, he died over and over again, but he only had more splashes of phantom pain on his body. A couple of times he calls people for help, but they always die before him, and he stops.

It's an endless loop. He gets up, he prepares, he fights, he dies. Even if something changes, the outcome remains the same. Mapicc still looks at him terrifyingly, and his axe still easily crumbles the ridge. And then Zam wakes up choking on blood.

This is the first time he decides to run away.

And: don't get me wrong, he loves this place, truly loves and appreciates it. But even his pride is worthless if everything stays as it is. And he says to himself: I'll let him destroy the Sanctuary. That doesn't mean I'm giving up.

It's terrible, it's monstrous, it will break his heart, but if time continues to flow on, then he can – he can do at least something. Restore it. Turn it into a memorial. Anything.

He hides all his pets a hundred blocks away from the castle. He takes the horn from Walter's grave. He prepares – to the best of his ability. And when his time runs out, when Mapicc will soon find this place even with the turned-off beacon, he runs.

It's almost absurdly easy – almost the entire vast world is in front of him, and he gets lost in endless forests thousands of blocks from the Sanctuary, mourning his fate, but promising that he will do... Something. He stays away from known places, spending long hours alone and never ceasing to think about what he left behind.

And then Mapicc finds him.

Mapicc is a furious hellhound, blinded by the chase. This time he doesn't give him time – he rushes at him, barely preserving his humanity, and hits, hits, hits. Zam, of course, defends himself, but he is scared, he is terrified, he – how could this happen, he thinks in despair, realizing that he sacrificed the most important place for nothing. Mapicc is so out of his mind that he doesn't say a word. And then Zam wakes up.

He does a lot of things: he fights, he hides, he runs. In the end, he betrays all his principles, because they are worthless in a frozen world, but nothing ever justifies his hopes. Mapicc finds him even at the edge of the world, and the longer the chase, the worse he gets. Sometimes Zam remembers the second season. Was he like that then, he thinks, and starts to feel sick.

He hates it, but mostly he's scared. His ex-partner became his worst nightmare. He killed Zam so many times that he stopped counting long ago. He dragged his corpse all over the server and smeared the entire Sanctuary, a place of peace and tranquility, in blood. Zam had no hope, but he couldn't afford to give up. He never gives up, and maybe he couldn't.

The pain does not go away, and at one point, after a particularly crushing blow, which eventually hit right on his wrists, his hands begin to shake. He manages to suppress it – one cycle, another, third, fifth, tenth, but one day it becomes unstoppable.

– Look at you, – Mapicc says with disgust, – how far have you fallen.

He puts him down. Zam barely resists. For him, this is the closest thing possible to giving up.

He sleeps late, and every joint in his body responds with excruciating pain. He gets up, makes himself a cup of coffee, and drinks it. He writes goodbyes to those he values – even if they are erased the next day, something in this makes it better. he braids his hair and plays with Friend. When Mapicc bursts into the castle, bringing snow and wind from the outside, he does not even flinch.

– I miss you, – he says almost softly. He didn't give up. He didn't give up. He didn't give up. He didn't give up.

Talking doesn't solve anything, and he knows it from the very beginning. Mapicc answers him, but he is still bitter, and when he asks if Zam is ready to accept death for the betrayal, he agrees. This death, at least, comes quickly.

He wakes up and looks at the window, behind which a blizzard is sweeping. He notices that the dandelions on the windowsill seem to have wilted.

[meazalykov]

avoidance

lena oberdorf (romantic) x lea schūller (platonic) x reader

warnings: angst (but there's a hopeful ending)

the crisp air of the training center fills your lungs as you take in the familiar sight of the pitch for the first time since june. its now august and since you’ve won silver in the olympics last month for your country, you’re feeling confident about coming back onto the pitch.

you've been a striker for bayern munich since 2022, and with ewa’s recent departure from wolfsburg to barcelona, you're now recognized as the best forward in the Bundesliga. your teammates look up to you and respect you as much as you love and respect them .

today is different, though. you’ve been through the new season routine once so far, so this is the second. there are new faces joining the team, and this is where you’re the most tense. you love to welcome new players onto the team, but your social anxiety makes you overthink every little detail.

one person who's joining bayern stands out in particular: lena oberdorf, the talented midfielder whos coming from wolfsburg. you know lena well from her reputation on the field, and the amount of times she nearly broke your ankles on the field— which lead to you yelling at her angrily— but she’s also well-acquainted with most of your teammates from the german national team.  so, you hope that you guys can start off on a nice path.

you walk out from the dressing room onto the grassy pitch to see most of your teammates gathered around lena, whos dressed in the red training kits— odd. you’re used to seeing the taller girl in green. however, you push that thought to the back of your mind as you approach lena and the rest of the group, offering a warm smile as the group acknowledges your presence. 

“sorry i’m late, what's going onnnn?” you speak up. at first, you look over to one of your closest friend at bayern, lea. you cross your arms in a natural stance as some of the other girls are relieved at seeing you, wondering if you’d be late. 

“oh nothing much. we have some fresh meat on the team though–” lea says as she lightly punches lena on the shoulders, the ex-wolfsburg player punches her back. this caused a giggle to come out of you awkwardly, as you didn’t introduce yourself to her yet. 

“hey! i’m y/n” you smile as you reach your arms out to hug lena. she smirks at you as you both share an embrace. you felt warm in her arms and she smelled good, like a nice scent of coconut. 

“oh i know you– i’m lena.” she says before pulling away from the hug, which you do the same. all of the other girls have their eyebrows knitted with curious looks as they’re noticing your interactions. 

“welcome to bayern– i’m sorry for the amount of times i’ve started fights with you on the pitch.” you cross your arms again. lena and you laughed at the old memories. 

in one particular game last season— you went to shoot the ball into the goal before you felt a cleat smack into your left ankle. the same left ankle you’ve sprained during international break months before the incident. you fell to the ground in anger, not because of the missed goal but your fear towards a possible ankle injury. after figuring out– from the absence of pain–  that you were okay, you stood up and confronted lena in her face. 

the ref already gave her a yellow card for side tackling your body— but you felt as if you needed to get words in yourself. your teammates pulled you back– with sydney reminding you that everything is alright– but you were still angry. sometimes lena had provoked you in other games against wolfsburg, which made it worse. 

that's why your bayern teammates look at you guys in shock, noticing that there is an instant connection between the two of you. none of them expected this. some expected the air to be filled with awkwardness as you arrived, standing just 2 feet beside lena. 

“its all good– theres no worries.” lena says, even though she is aware that she started some of the fights between you guys too. 

over time, the simple interactions turned into something more. 

during training, lena’s looks towards you lingered for longer than it had to. she’s found you attractive since the first time you guys clashed together, sometimes provoking you so you’d give her more (individual) attention, but now you are both on the same team. 

during the first game against juventus, you scored from outside the box which excited the crowd and your teammates. after running towards the corner with your arms out wide– in your typical celebration— you turned around and noticed that lena is the first one on your arms. you hugged her tightly and put your head on her shoulders as the other girls circled around to congratulate you. 

after the game, you asked lena if she wanted to grab coffee the morning after. at first, you thought about inviting her to your apartment to watch a movie– which is what you always do to wind down after a game and taking a long shower after– but you figured that taking her to your apartment might imply something different. so, you went with something easier.

the coffee dat- hang out lasted for about four hours. lena and you talking to each other felt natural, and easy. lena's presence becomes a comforting part of your routine overtime, and soon, she's more than just the wolfsburg player you had tension with– now she's a teammate; and a friend.

one evening, after a recovery session, you both decide to grab dinner at a nearby café in munich. you introduced lena to this cafe, which is funny because she's the german one and not you. the conversation flows effortlessly, as per usual.

"you know, i was nervous about joining bayern due to the amount of hate i received," lena admits, taking a sip of her drink. "but you guys made the process so easy."

"i’m glad that you’re here lena," you reply, sincerity in your voice. 

however, the bond between lena and you doesn’t go unnoticed with the team. georgia and sydney, pull you aside one december afternoon in the locker room. they had enough with you ditching their weekly plans to go spend time with lena instead. 

their expressions are serious, tinged with concern. this scared you at first because you’ve never seen them in this way. 

"y/n, listen," georgia starts, her eyes searching yours as you looked at her with nervousness. "you’re ditching us for lena because we think you have feelings for her."

the words hit you. internally, you start to panic. it's true, of course. you've known for a while now, but admitting it to others, and even to yourself, has been a struggle. your last relationship was an abusive nightmare. this causes you to shut yourself out and build walls around your heart. 

vulnerability is a luxury you can't afford, not after everything you've been through.

"ha-ha.. you're imagining things," you deflect, trying to sound casual. "lena and I are just friends."

sydney crosses her arms, giving you a knowing look as her eyes widened. "don’t lie! we see the way you look at her. it's okay to have feelings, you know."

you swallow hard, your mind racing. "i don’t–ugh– i just can’t, guys. I just... I can't go through that again." you stutter, not knowing what to say exactly. you hoped that nobody would confront you on this.

"you can't let what happened with that ex of yours control you," georgia says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. "lena's different. she would never do that to you– i’d kill her if she did– we all know that you’d treat each other so good."

after that conversation in the dressing room– you start to distance yourself from lena–withdrawing into the mental shell you've built for self-preservation. 

at first, lena seems confused, her attempts to reach out to you becoming more frequent and insistent. at first, she thought you were sick. until she noticed that you’d go hang out with other players on the team– like sydney, georgia, ana, and giulia.

"y/n, what's going on?" lena asks you one day at practice, her voice a mixture of concern and frustration. it was the last training before the quarterfinals of the champion’s league against PSG, which was the topic on everyone's minds lately– except for lena and y/n’s of course. 

"did I do something wrong?"

you shake your head, avoiding her gaze as you bury yourself into the red puffer jacket provided by the club. "no, lena, it's not you. I just– I just need some space."

"space?" she echoes, hurt flashing in her eyes as she knitted her eyebrows. "we were fine, and now you're shutting me out. why?"

you can't bring yourself to answer, so you walk away towards most of the team who is ready to train– you left her standing there, looking lost and confused.

as the days pass, her confusion turns to hurt. you can see it in her eyes, in the way her smile doesn’t reach them anymore, and it tears you apart. you put on a great poker face, going through practices and scoring twice in the second-leg quarterfinal game– giving bayern the ticket to go to the semi-finals– but in your apartment you were heartbroken. the way your face would be burying into your couch pillow as you frowned with a tear coming out of your eye– you wished that being vulnerable– in love and happy– would be much easier.  

your teammates notice the growing rift. the atmosphere in the locker room becomes tense. eventually, an international break happens and you left to play for your country. 

during this time period, lena opened up to the german bayern teammates about her feelings towards you. she fell in love with you over the last six months– but she didn’t understand why you pulled away. it was harsh. 

some of the girls on the team were upset, they knew why you were pulling yourself away from lena. 

finally, lea confronts you at your apartment on the first day you’re back in munich. you open up the door to see the look of frustration and anger on her face. you have never seen the calm woman so upset.

you came back from a win in the gold cup tournament with your national team so your spirits were high, but lea might have you come back to your reality in germany.

"y/n, whatever you’re trying to do– you need to stop it!” she snaps. you’re frozen as lea comes into your apartment without the need for invitation.

you find the movement to shut your door before following lea into your living room. she stands right by your couch as you stand awkwardly 5 feet away with your hands shaky by your side. 

“what?” you mumbled.

“you’re hurting lena with your avoidance and its pissing me off!" she snaps again, her eyes blazing. "you caught feelings for her and you’re scarred– rightfully so– but there's a limit with leading her on just for you to pull away.”  

“i’m sorry-.” you mumbled again, tears filling your eyes.

 

“no! stop letting your past control you. you're sabotaging yourself and it’s affecting everyone."

"lea, you don't understand," you begin to speak, but she cuts you off again.

"no, YOU don't understand," she retorts. "we all know about your past, lena does now too– and you didn’t deserve any of that– but lena is not your ex. she's in love with you y/n! she's not going to hurt you like that. you're pushing her away for no reason."

her words are harsh, but they strike a chord. lea's right, and you know it. the fear of getting hurt again has been holding you back, but in pushing Lena away, you’re only hurting yourself more. you stand there as tears pour down your cheeks. you didn’t bother wiping them, ashamed at what you thought was a safe option, but it was stupid. 

lea walks up to you and wipes your tears off of your face- you flinch– but eventually she hugs you as you let the rest of your tears flow. 

“i am not mad at you y/n, none of us are. we just need you to make the right decision.” lea calmly speaks. she finger-brushes your hair as you relax into the warm of your friend. 

“i love lena, lea, so much.” you say your thoughts out loud. 

“we know.” lea replies. 

“you need to make things right though. things aren’t over between you both. please let lena in, let you two feel the love that you both deserve.” lea continues as you mentally start to open yourself up again. 

the next practice– you start to reach out to lena again, trying to rebuild the bridge you nearly burned. 

remembering how lena loved your protein brownies one time back in january– you made a big patch and gave the full pan for her to keep. there was a note inside of the tinfoil, apologizing for trying to push lena away– but she understood. 

it's a slow process, but you’d take all of the time in the world just for lena to forgive you. 

there were awkward conversations...

your hesitant attempts at rekindling the bon you've missed. 

still.. lena was wary towards you sometimes, her responses guarded.

you muster the courage to approach her a few nights before the semi-final against chelsea. maybe, having this talk at this time could help you both be on your best game– mentally– for the match. 

"obi, can we talk?" you ask, your voice hesitant.

she looks at you, a mix of hope and caution in her eyes. "sure."

her cold tone bothered you, but you can only blame yourself. 

you sit down together in a lounge room on the training grounds, the silence heavy between you as you can both look out of the windows to see the pitch. before speaking, you look out at some of the girls on the pitch passing the ball with their heads. practice ended over half-an-hour ago so you’re surprised that some girls are still here.

taking a deep breath, looking at lena, you begin. "i'm sorry for how i've acted throughout the winter. it was not fair to you. i just... something happened– and i realized something which scared me– i've been through a lot, and I got scared." 

you realized you were jumping corners, away from confessing your true feelings and thoughts, but you wanted the conversation to go one step at a time.

lena listens, her expression softening as she remembered what some of the girls told her during the last international camp. "i get that you're scared, but i would never put you in harms way, which is what hurt me the most"

you nod, tears pricking at your eyes as you look down at your white colored cleats with grass stains. "i know. i promise you i'm trying to get over this fear through the therapy i’ve been doing here. i really like you, lena—-- more than just a teammate— and a friend” you mumble.

lena's eyes widened, her breath catching as what their teammates told her were confirmed with y/n’s words. "honey..."

"i know it's a lot to ask right now," you continue, your voice trembling. "but can we try? can we see where this goes?"

for a moment, lena is silent, processing your words. then, she reaches out, moving her chair closer to yours and taking your hands in hers. "i have feelings for you too, y/n. in fact, i think i am in love with you— but I can't be in this alone. i need to know that you’ll be here and you won’t pull away at any moment of struggle.” lena says, noting that all relationships do have mini-struggles, including healthy ones.

you’re scared, more than you’ve ever been, but your heart slows down from its rapid beating after hearing that lena loves you. you look into lena’s eyes, they’re beautiful and you smile with hope.

taking a deep breath, you nod. "i’m willing to try, lena. for you, and for me, and for us."

lena smiles, a genuine, bright smile that warms your heart as she squeezes your hands. "that's all I needed to hear."

It’s not a perfect resolution-- not at all-- and you know there will be challenges ahead. however, you start to see the hope that you thought you wouldn’t have for a very long time.

--

had this in my drafts for a few weeks lol, wasn't planning on posting this originally <3

[nowimjustastranger]

Was talking to my friends in our Discord group chat about how Lee got his facial scars and this happened. Idk what to tell you, I blacked out, lol.

Part 2

“That uh… that looks bad, pal.” Stan said haltingly, glancing between the bloodied cloth pressed to Lee’s face and the road in an anxious fashion, his equally bloody hands white-knuckle tight on the steering wheel. Stan had gotten covered in the stuff when he’d tackled the thug with the knife, the two grappling for the blade.

As soon as the knife was in Stan’s hand, he buried it into the thug’s chest with an efficient brutality that had the four other men sluggishly picking themselves up off the ground and bolting. Probably to regroup. Stan yanked the knife out and rushed to Lee, setting the blade aside before he knelt down to look him over, helping him to his feet so they could stumble to the Stanleymobile.

“We both know I’ve had worse.” Lee grunted, grimacing at the persistent burn of split skin. He hadn’t gotten himself this fucked up since before he was nabbed by Ford almost two years ago; and the serum that Ford had slipped him a few weeks back had healed the damage that his body had taken during the decade that he’d spent on the streets. Lee had never felt so good in his life, the various aches and pains that he had long grown accustomed to gone in an instant.

“Wish I could say I got a first aid kit, but you’re gonna hafta settle for a pitstop at the nearest drug store.” Stan announced, one of his hands leaving the wheel to tap Lee’s arm in a wordless bid to see the wound again. Lee hissed as he moved the relatively clean shirt that Stan had sacrificed away from the two deep slashes marring the left side of his face, fresh blood slithering down his cheek and chin to drip onto his ruined jeans.

“I got cash.” Lee tentatively divulged, his free hand awkwardly digging the clip of bills that Ford had given him before they parted ways out of his front pocket. He passed it to Stan, who pinched it between two fingers like it would come to life and maul him. Lee would find it funny if he didn’t know all too well why Stan was acting that way. Lee had ever been good at accepting handouts either.

“Cash or no cash, you were gettin’ patched up.” Stan said gruffly, stuffing the money clip into the pocket of his ragged red coat. Lee pressed the shirt back to his face to stanch the bleeding, breathing through the pain with practiced ease. Thankfully, they were only three hours away from Gravity Falls. They just had to get to the Shack before their entourage caught up with them, then Ford would handle the rest.

“Huh. Thanks.” Lee murmured, feeling tired and drained yet unable to drift off because his face hurt like a bitch. Stan’s spare hand didn’t return to the wheel, settling on the back of Lee’s neck instead. The touch was grounding, giving him something else to focus on other than the viciously throbbing wounds. Lee leaned into the touch, his eyes falling closed as he basked in the offered warmth.

“It’s nothin’, really.” Stan said dismissively, but his tone had gentled a considerable amount, his soft core peeking through that hard exterior that he constructed to protect himself. Lee had to fight a smile, mostly because it would hurt but also because he couldn’t be sure that Stan wouldn’t get the wrong impression and punch him square in the jaw. “Least I can do. You kept that knife outta my neck back there.”

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Playboy || PG10 {3}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader Summary: Pierre proves himself and makes promises. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut WC: 2.2k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

Wind whipped through the gaping hole in the back of the Ferrari and you shivered from the cold, curling your knees up to your chest as Pierre drove back to the city. You expected him to take you home but he pulled into a far nicer apartment block and spiralled down the ramp to the underground carpark. 

Slipping out of the car and into the well-lit carpark you saw the full extent of the damage and shook your head at the new paint job that was needed. “I’m sorry,” you murmured as you ran your fingers over the worst chips and dents. 

A pair of hands came to rest on your hips and Pierre rested his chin on your shoulder as he looked at his car. “Don’t worry about it, insurance will cover it.”

“I was apologising to the car,” you said with a smirk but the move only served to split the cut on your cheek and fresh blood welled to the surface as you winced. “Do you have a first aid kit I can borrow?”

Pierre laced his fingers with yours and nodded as he led the way to his apartment. The elevator ride was quiet and you felt the tension rising as you idly played with the thick ring on his thumb. Looking away from the jewellery, you realised it was a mistake as you met his eyes and knew the feeling wasn’t one way, but the elevator was not the place to start what you had in mind.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Pierre all but groaned as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Like what?” you asked innocently, tilting your head to the side and peeking up through your lashes.

“Like I’m a playboy who will fuck you on the first date.” There was a sinkhole in the ocean of his irises and it was stealing all the colour from them the longer that he looked at you. He reached out and hit the button for the 12th floor again as if it would magically make the ride go faster. “I’m trying to prove a point and you’re making it hard.”

“Is there a rooftop here?” you asked as you thought of a solution.

“Yeah, for maintenance I think. Why?”

“Take me there first,” you urged and he frowned as he hit the button for the level above his. The elevator opened to a short hallway and you saw the stairs that led to a metal door so you tugged his hand and made your way outside, sticking a brick in the door to keep it from locking you out. “Lay down.”

“You can be quite bossy,” he chuckled but humoured you as he did as he was told, joining you on the cold concrete roof top. “What are we doing?”

“Stargazing,” you said as you turned to him, propping your head up on your hand. “It seems like a reasonable second date.”

“A second date already, hmm,” he smirked as you sat up and leaned over him with a matching smile.

“I think that officially means you aren’t a playboy.” You dipped your head down and he met you halfway, his large hands grabbing your waist to pull you onto his lap as he sat up and kissed you. 

“Very clever,” he murmured against your lips, making you smile more. 

“I’ve been known to have a few good ideas on occasion.”

He chuckled as his hands roamed your body, brushing along the hem of your dress and edging it up. “Any others you can think of?”

“One or two,” you breathed as his fingers slipped beneath the material. “But not here.”

There was a new urgency as you rose on unsteady feet and Pierre’s arm curled around your waist as if the distance to walk at your side was too far for his liking. After three quick presses of the elevator button and no instant result, he growled and you looked at the stairwell before kicking off your heels.

His laugh echoed off the concrete walls and he was quick to make chase as you raced ahead of him down the next floor where his keys were already in his hands and rushing to unlock the door. It crashed open as he turned and pulled you with him, your bodies sealing close together while your lips collided with a deep hunger. 

He blindly kicked the door shut behind and his large hands splayed across your ass before gripping tightly and using his strength to pick you up. A moan escaped you as your legs wrapped around his hips and you felt just how bad he wanted you.

“Wait.” Your eyebrows lifted at the order he gave as he sat you on his kitchen countertop, his chest rising and falling with quick pants.

“Wait?” you echoed in disbelief, the needy sound making him smirk. 

“You’re still hurt,” he reminded softly as he reached under the sink for his first aid kit before nudging your knees apart so he could step into the space. “Let me take care of you first.” He was gentle as he cleaned your cheek, the gauze turning pink with your blood, and he apologised when he opened the antiseptic wipe. “This might sting a bit.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve had worse.”

Curiosity filled his eyes as he dabbed the skin dry before putting a little butterfly stitch over the cut. “What happened?” he asked as he cradled your jaw in his hand to keep you from looking away.

“That’s something that would need to wait until at least the third date,” you said with a shake of your head. “I thought you were going to take care of me.”

A cocky smile played at his lips as you challenged him and his hands brushed your dress up over your hips as he dropped to his knees. “Oh, I’ll take care of you, Beautiful.”

The first aid kit was scattered across the kitchen floor where you had knocked it off the bench in the throes of your first orgasm. He had enjoyed taking his time with you laid out, writhing under the talent of his lips, his tongue, his teeth. 

The next victim was your dress, his impatience and strength breaking the zip in the frenzied need to remove all barriers between your bodies. Your hands had tugged his sweater over his head before pulling his shirt open, little white buttons popping off in all directions.

“Jesus,” you moaned as you ran your fingers down his body, feeling every hard ridge of muscle until you reached his jeans. “I knew you were going to be fit but fuck…”

He grinned proudly at the remark and took over removing him of the denim keeping you from reaching what you wanted. The thin pair of boxers did little to hide the length of him begging for freedom from the constricting material but before you could tug them down he was tugging you back into his arms and leading you to his bedroom.

“I’ll lose all my common sense if you touch me, beautiful, and then we will be in trouble,” he admitted as he laid you on his bed, kissing you before pulling back and rifling through his drawers for a condom.

You weren’t sure you were going to be able to feel your legs again anytime soon. The man was obsessed with making sure you were in a constant state of bliss and you were almost relieved when he couldn’t hold back his own release any longer. He had collapsed beside you with a deeply satisfied sigh before disposing of the condom so he could recover with you in his arms, your head on his chest. 

His fingers danced lazily across your hip, tracing invisible letters and shapes on your skin until he noticed the changes in texture, the slight bumps on an otherwise smooth surface. Lifting his head, he pushed the sheet away and spied the scars in the dim light. “What happened?” He had seen the scars that littered your knuckles and palms, victims of the job you did - but these were different. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, pulling the sheet back around your body as you sat up. “I should get going.”

“Stay,” he urged, but you were already leaving the room to find your underwear on the messy kitchen floor. “It was just a question.”

It was a question that there was no easy answer to. It was a question that opened the door for more questions, and they would surely lead to memories that were better off left in the recesses of your mind.

“It was just sex, Pierre,” you said as you felt him following you, “that doesn’t mean I have to bare my soul to you.”

You pulled your dress on but it hung open at the back so you grabbed his shirt and shoved your arms inside before he pulled you back into his arms and his lips pressed to your neck.

“It wasn’t just sex to me.” The quiet admission had your eyes closing and your head tipping back onto his shoulder. “Please, stay.”

“I can’t give you the answers you are after.”

“You already have.” He turned you in his arms and you could see the sadness swimming in the ocean of his eyes. “I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.”

“Men make promises they can’t keep.”

“Not real men,” he said with a little laugh. “You’re probably thinking of those playboys.”

You rose on your toes and brushed your lips softly over his. “I don’t trust people very easily, but I’m trusting you. Please don't make me regret it.”

His smile made your heart skip a beat and when he pressed a sweet kiss to your forehead you knew you weren’t going anywhere. You let his shirt fall back to the floor before brushing your dress straps off your shoulder, taking his hand and leading him right back where you started.

“So sex in your car is out of the question,” you giggled as you watched the playback of the dashcam. The man had a camera on the front, at the back and, more crucially, facing the driver so everyone could see exactly who it was that won the race. They would also see the heated kiss you shared after coming to a halt at the lookout. “A shame really, we look pretty good together.”

“I’m adventurous but not that adventurous,” Pierre admitted with an amused shake of his head. “You ready?”

Your finger hovered over the button to post the video, tagging D as well as the other Street Kings. “Long live the King,” you muttered as you hit it, uploading the file almost instantly. “No going back now.” Closing the laptop, you spun around in his gaming chair and looked up at Pierre. “Now what do we do?”

He glanced at his watch and saw it wasn’t even noon. “I know a place where we can kill a few hours.”

“The bedroom?”

He smirked and caged you in his chair, nudging your legs open with his knee. His oversized shirt you wore rode high up your thighs and his eyes lingered on the bare skin before he dragged them up your body to your face. “You don’t need to convince me, but I was thinking about something outside of the apartment.”

Less than an hour later you were pulling up at a racetrack on the outskirts of Nice, half a dozen cars already there.

“Hey Pretty Boy, how’s your girl running?” you greeted Charles as he stepped out of his Pista.

“Very well, thank you.” He looked between you and Pierre, his smile growing as when he saw the possessive arm curl around your waist. “Now you can finally stop calling me that.”

“Why would I do that? Pierre would have seen your mid-teen-crisis too. Plus, I have a better name for him now.”

“This should be good, let’s hear it,” Charles chuckled until you pressed your forefinger to your lips.

“Sorry, it’s not for innocent ears.”

Charles’ nose wrinkled with an idea of where it was heading and shook his head before leading the group inside. “Whose team are you going to race on?”

“What are we racing?” you asked as you walked past a line of Porsches but continued along to a few garages open.

“Not this time,” Pierre teased as he pointed to a smaller track you hadn’t noticed to the side. At the start line, Joris, Ilies and Arthur were already picking up their race suits and you cocked an eyebrow at the mode of racing chosen.

“Karts?”

“I thought you could race anything?” he challenged playfully. “It has an engine and four wheels.”

You cracked your knuckles and accepted the helmet and race suit he grabbed for you. “I suppose I could do with a warm up before the big race.”

“What race?” Charles asked with concern before looking at his friend. “You’re not getting yourself into trouble are you?”

Pierre couldn’t help sending a wink your way before he clapped Charles on the shoulder. “Relax, mate. I’ve got this.”

Click here for chapter four.

[acapelladitty]

caught a saint, while he was sinning

Pairing: Cooper Howard/Lucy Maclean

Summary: His insides more outside than he would like due to a deathclaw attack, Cooper is fixed up by Lucy until a wicked nightmare sparks disaster between the pair. (5k words)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Hissing in discomfort while Lucy diligently threaded the needle through the torn flesh of his lower stomach, Cooper grit his teeth against the pain as he let his mouth run to compensate for the sharp sting.

"That goddamn hurts, vaultie."

Lucy paused at his exclamation, her hands stuttering in their work as she glanced up as his drawn face. He hid it well but she could see the dullness in his eyes as he refused to flinch away from the needle which pulled his skin neatly back together.

"Sorry. I'm trying to be gentle. I haven't sewn someone up before, only my clothes."

A rogue deathclaw had got the better of Cooper, its sharpened talons ripping a solid line through his stomach and tearing the hell outta his shirt as it ambushed them from behind an old billboard they were attempting to pass by. Quicker with his reflexes, Cooper had knocked the oblivious Lucy down to the ground as the beast charged but the slight delay cost him the kill shot and the pained shock of having his skin torn open had dropped him just as quickly.

Lucy had been the one to put it down, recovering with surprising speed as a scream wrenched free of her throat at his injury. Her hands had been quick to pull her gun free and blow a chunk clean out of the beasts head, a lucky kill which felled it in an instant. Immediately returning to drop to his side to check the damage, her hands had been everywhere, tugging at the ripped shirt to expose the wound as he lay there, gasping and grunting as he valiantly fought the urge to scream.

It had hurt like fresh hell in a handbasket.

Sure he could heal, but something like this took time and that vulnerability was almost worse than the wound itself.

Luckily, a nearby house - the four walls barely standing due to weathering and age - had been close enough to be jerkily hobbled to as Lucy supported him with his arm locked around her shoulders.

She had never seen him hurt like this before and it showed in how her fingers trembled and her eyes refused to leave him as she administered what little help she could. It was a level of attention that struck a hot discomfort which ghosted across his skin as he endured her ministrations while propped against one of the filthy walls within the kitchen.

"Will you be okay?" Lucy asked, again, and as much some part of him acknowledged that the question came from a place of genuine concern, Cooper couldn't help the irritation it ignited within him as his jaw twitched.

"I'm damn fine, quit your fucking yappin'."

Lucy winced at the aggression but didn't stop her work as she sewed up the last of the wound and tied off the end of the twine. Her fingers were coated crimson and the glossiness of them made her feel queasy as she inhaled and exhaled careful breaths to keep her composure. Watching Cooper drop following the fleshy squelch of his abdomen being carved through had made her own heart cease beating for a solid moment and the adrenaline from that fright refused to leave her as it spilled across her actions.

"Do you need anything?" Her shaking hands reaching for the small backpack which housed her kit, Lucy wasn't sure what the hell she was supposed to do now. The blow should have killed him, it would have killed her stone dead as her body was much softer than his own, but Cooper was still here, suffering yet as much of a grumpy bastard as ever. "What about some chem?"

"Best idea you've had today, sweetheart." Cooper hissed through gritted teeth, his hand unfurling from his duster to hold out and await his beloved drug. "Hand it over."

Lucy didn't hesitate, uncorking the small vial and placing it within his hand, holding it there until she was certain that he had a good grip of it. In response, Cooper didn't hesitate to slam it down his throat - a few errant drops dripping free of his lips as a satisfied shudder rolled through his damaged frame.

"Sweet as honey." He mumbled, wiping off his mouth with his wrist. "Apple pie and ice cream ain't got shit on whatever the fuck they lace this with. Makes me miss cocaine."

With no idea what that was, Lucy smiled indulgently regardless before her face turned somber once again and her nose pinched with concern.

"But will you be okay?"

"Relax, princess. Don Pedro used to carve more than this off me for fun and you don't see me sobbing like a bitch about it."

"Wh-what does that mean?" She frowned, the little wrinkle that always appeared between her brows when she was confused quickly making itself known.

"Oh yeah. Just before our little causal disagreement over that one scientist, I spent the last thirty years six feet under with nothing but the maggots for company." Cooper said, his face tilting to meet her own as he confessed a bit more of his history to her. "Except for being dug up, hauled out like a mule, and made lighter to the tune of a few fingers and toes here and there every year."

Looking thoroughly repulsed, Lucy allowed her upset to shine on her features as her fingers upped their tremble on the edges of his duster.

He wasn't kidding.

Unable to fathom just how terrible that would have been as her mind raced with questions about things like food and air, the expression on Lucy's face was open as she worked through that revelation.

"Cooper," clearly unsure how to respond, Lucy went with her gut reaction, "that's awful."

Not quite able to argue that point, Cooper simply grunted in acknowledgement.

"Could have been worse. He threatened to take my cock once. Bastard." Cooper spat on the floor, tilting his head away from his body.

Again offset by the casualness of the violence he had been subjected to, Lucy couldn't tell if he was now joking or not as his stoic expression held her own without flinching. But hold her gaze he did, his eyes flashing as she stared him out with something almost like pity.

Revolted at the thought of being seen in such a light, Cooper felt a wave of weariness pass through his frame with such a pressing determination that he audibly shuddered and adjusted his upper body against the kitchen wall - sensing that if he didn't take a small nap that his body would make the choice for him anyway as it fought to start the healing process.

"Take this." Handing off his gun to her, Cooper remained reclined against the wall but Lucy could tell that he was ready to pass out as she sat back from him and held his gun in her hands. "And shoot anything that walks through those doors. Don't hesitate, vaultie, or we're both fucked."

Accepting his instructions with a nod, Lucy took the hint and backed further off his position, allowing him the space he was unspokenly asking for.

x-x-x-x-x

Blinking at his reflection in the mirror, the sinking feeling which Cooper felt within his gut as he observed the familiar bathroom around him told him he was dreaming. This bathroom had been lost before the bombs, taken by Barb in the divorce as he had been forcibly ejected from his own home by Vault Tec lawyers who were more prepared than his own sleazeball lawyer could ever hope to be.

Feet treading a familiar path as hell settled in his gut, a cruel mixture of nostalgia and pain making his legs feel weighted, Cooper turned to leave the bathroom and trudge down the stairs to his sitting room. His own steeled gaze meeting him from the posters which littered the walls, he caught his reflection in one of the panes and the textured leather of his skin felt hot under the sudden scrutiny.

The ghosts of laughter, the faint footfalls of Janey sprinting across the hallways as he chased her, assaulted him and the ache in Cooper's heart grew so intense for a moment that he pressed his wrist over his chest. Stairs creaked under his weight as he descended and his every instinct knew what he would find in the sitting room before he even turned the corner.

Inhaling steadily, he faced his demons.

And there she was.

"Barb." A gut punch as ever, the sight of her sparked a wretched feeling in Cooper's chest; shattered love and primal hate making his heart uptick in tempo once more as he curled his roughened hands into fists.

"Cooper." Barb replied in kind, her dark skin standing out beautifully against the light sundress which cinched around her waist before flowing out to her knees. "You still here looking for me, sweetie? After all this time?"

"Not looking." Cooper snarled, immediately firing off on the offense. "Hunting you down." Unwilling to allow himself any weakness he steeled his spine and drew to fullest height. "To get what's mine and punish all of you for the shit you pulled and the hell you wrought. And that includes you, Barb. What you did."

"What I did?" Laughing breezily as her beautiful white teeth flashed in her mouth, Barb shook her head at him. "You mean, what we did? You knew what was going to happen, Coop. You knew what they were going to do and you did nothing to stop us."

Cooper spat on the floor.

"Horseshit. I couldn't do an-"

"You took the easy way out. Stayed quiet for Janey and look where that got you. A horrible monster, all alone in the world because he was too afraid to speak up and try to help anyone."

"The mighty jerk-offs of Vault-Tec vs one washed-up acting son of a bitch. What the fuck else was gonna happen? I spoke out, I got taken out. Best thing I ever did was leave that den of fucking vipers."

Unbothered by the vitriol, Barb smiled at him with obvious placation as she made her points.

"You left her as well."

Flinching as though struck, Cooper denied the accusation hotly.

"No, you took her. From me. The one person who didn't want her locked up and hidden away in your perfect fucking utopia world that never existed."

"And look where she is now."

It was a cruel tease and Cooper couldn't stop his body from leaping at his ex-wife, determined to exact some kind of revenge, to feel her flesh beneath his fingers, before his brain caught up with his actions. Regardless, he found his hands grasping at nothing as Barb's voice shifted to speak from somewhere behind him.

"Not going to work, Coop."

Cooper whirled towards the source of her new position and found her lounging against the large bay windows which led out to their garden.

"It's your fault as much as mine. This was our dream."

As Barb indicated a sweeping hand out the window, Cooper watched with horror as the plush garden fell away into ruin; trees withering in an instant to rotten, gnarled bark as the greenery shredded itself into reddened dust. In a blink, his garden was gone and replaced by the vastness of the wastelands.

His new home.

"We did it to build a better life for Janey."

"Fuck you, Barb. This wasn't our dream. You wouldn't even let me bring the fucking dog."

Still bitter about that despite the relentless hell which his life had dissolved into since, Cooper held his ground as he stared Barb down and continued.

"You took Janey away from me. From me. She was all- all I had left, Barb. All that you left me after I kept your cruel fucking secret."

"Our secret. That's why you see me, Coop. All that guilt and all that rage but you still love me-"

"Don't. Don't love you no more." Pain gnawing at his nerves, Cooper felt almost light-headed as he denied her accusations once more. "That feeling died when the first bomb hit the ground and I had to scoop up our daughter and run."

"So why are you still chasing me then? Two hundred years and you've never stopped. Not even with this new, pretty little thing by your side."

Barb dissolved in a blink before materialising before him and Cooper found his hands locked around her throat before he could think too much about it. Her mention of Lucy was strange. In all his decades of nightmares, his demons had never shifted from their focus and the off-hand comment unsettled him greatly as he squeezed his fingers into Barb's neck - rage and pain making his arms tremble in place as her smile never shifted once.

"Are you going to kill me, Coop?"

"For Janey. For what you took from her."

"I did it for her."

"For taking ME from her."

Barb's smirking face melted away to be replaced by an encroaching darkness and Cooper felt a childish fear seize his heart as he realised he could barely move as his wrists and feet struck out against solid wood.

The coffin.

Stale air filled his lungs as his breathing quickly grew erratic, his throat feeling hot with a shocking speed due to the quick inhales of trapped dirt and terror, and his hands moved of their own accord as they slammed against the heavy wood which trapped him in place with a frantic desperation.

Unable to articulate his words, something raw and guttural tore free of his lips as his blows did nothing but dislodge some of the dirt which had settled in the cracks of the wood and it fell to his face as he spluttered and twisted away from it as much as possible.

Panic clawed at his chest. Memories and nightmares. The constant shifting of the darkness as it swallowed him making him writhe and kick out against the wood despite the pain in sparked in his toes. A sharp pain in his hand alerted him to the IV which steadily pumped chem into his trapped body - a cruel insurance that he would remain conscious and aware of his fate as his stomach cramped from the hunger and his lips withered to cracked lines, desperate for water.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Can't fuckin- won't do this again."

His hat feeling claustrophobic against his head, Cooper tilted his head back enough to knock it free of his scalp as his lips continued to spill panicked pleas and hot tears threatened the very corners of his eyes.

"No. Fuck. C'mon. Not again. Let me the fuck outta here you sons of bitches. Fucking cocksuckers!"

But as much as he screamed, he was met with only silence as his frenzied hysteria refused to let up.

x-x-x-x-x

Awoken from her own disturbed nap by a sharp noise which jerked her eyes open, Lucy was quick to snap into alertness as she felt the gun in her hand and remembered her duty to keep threats at bay. She raised the gun to the door, ready to take the shot, but found nothing, only an empty space. The same noise startled her again and she glanced around to realise that it was coming from her travelling companion.

Cooper's body was still propped up where she had left it but whatever peace had found him in his initial sleep had abandoned him, leaving something much more distressing in its wake.

A nightmare.

In the vaults, nightmares were common even though no one dared to mention them. Some of the older members would dream of the famines, of the struggle to survive as others dropped dead around them with paper thin skin and jutting bones marking them for death.

Rarely did anyone share what haunted them in their sleep and rarer still did anyone ask.

But still, Lucy felt something in her chest clench as she took in the genuine upset which lined Cooper's face as his breath came in short pants and his mouth twisted with each whimper. Dropping to her haunches, Lucy gently placed her hand on his shoulder as she attempted to jostle him into consciousness.

"Cooper, hey. Get up. You're having a nightmare."

A horrid noise escaped him, something animalistic, and Lucy recoiled for a moment before steeling herself and shaking him with a little more vigour.

"Cooper!"

His eyes snapped open in a flash and Lucy barely had time to crack her lips into a soothing smile before the shit hit the fan.

Cooper's hand moved even more quickly than she could have anticipated as sharp pain exploded across Lucy's jaw - the sudden blow forcing her from her feet and back onto her ass. Falling awkwardly due to the unexpectedness of the assault, her elbow collided with the floor and she yelped as hot pain blossomed from the site. Cooper's attack continued without mercy as he followed her fallen frame like a predatory animal, his body pressing down atop her as his unseeing eyes were still haunted by whatever terrors had disturbed his sleep.

Hands jerking up to lock around her throat, the strength in the digits truly frightened her and Lucy kicked her legs against the floor as she fought valiantly for breath. Tears sprang into her eyes as her vision blurred. Her hair trapped beneath her head, the strands burned as they pulled free and she swung her face from side to side in a vain attempt to escape his hands.

His strength was incredible, she knew that from the way he so easily handled her from her use as gulper bait to the way he threw her around and adjusted her during sex. But this, this was terrifying in its aggression.

He was going to kill her.

The pressure of his thumbs on his windpipe made it impossible for her to do anything but wheeze and struggle to pull in air; not to mention that the pain of his fingertips digging in to her neck felt like fire as his unkempt nails locked into the skin at the back of her neck to keep her pinned.

Thrashing, Lucy was able to free her hand enough to sink her own nails viciously into the fingers choking her and tear off a good chunk of the skin there as it peeled back from his roughened hide. Grunting, the pain seemed to bring some kind of awareness back into Cooper's thoughts and his eyes widened in open shock as his hands went slack around her throat in an instant.

Lucy coughed and spluttered as her windpipe was released, a fat tear rolling down her heated cheek as the pressure build up in her head from the lack of oxygen made her vision darken dangerously for a moment. Her abused throat felt like hell, every grateful gulp of air feeling like acid as it burned its way down to her lungs.

Atop her, Cooper appeared frozen in place - his hands hanging in the air as he stared between them and Lucy, an open look of distress making his expressive eyes widen as clarity sparked a cruel combination of guilt and rage.

"Lucy."

Even through her struggle, Lucy startled as Cooper used her name. Her real name. Not her surname and not some stupid nickname he had whipped up to make fun of her.

Her name.

Still unable to truly speak, the weight of Cooper rolling off her body drew a fresh wheeze from Lucy's lungs as she quickly raised up to her elbows - a sharp pain jolting in the elbow she had fallen on as she quickly switched to sitting up fully to take the pressure off.

Cooper stood, his leather duster whirling out around his legs as a vague flinch overtook him, his stomach wound making itself known once more with a flare of pain.

Silence hung between them, only broken by the odd, rattling cough from Lucy as she continued to try and settle her racing thoughts. The look which Cooper fixed her with, guilt and anger laced with a sorrow which made her heart feel tight, made her want to say something but no words would come.

Thankfully, Cooper broke the lull.

"This was a mistake."

His voice so low that Lucy had to strain her hearing to pick him up, Cooper gestured to their individual packs as they sat off to the side. Nothing existed in his tone, the empty huskiness of it refusing to be hidden behind his accent.

"Take what you need to make it to your daddy in one piece. Hell, take what the fuck you want and don't think twice about what you're leaving. When I come back and you're gone, I won't look for you. Better to try and make it yourself, Lucy Maclean."

And with that, Cooper stumbled towards the door - his injury making him slower than he would have liked - and he left, his exit leaving Lucy on the floor with a crestfallen expression.

x-x-x-x-x

Sleep eluded Lucy as she paced the kitchen, her feet wearing a thin track through some of the accumulated dust in the floor.

Cooper had been gone for over an hour and in that time her mind had went through every possible situation and explanation of what the hell had just happened.

He didn't mean to hurt her, that much she was sure of.

His eyes, so bright and vivid against his reddened skin, had been as shocked as her own as awareness of his assault dawned in them. And then the guilt which pooled within them left her no doubt that he wasn't fully aware of his actions. But still, her throat ached and if it weren't for the luck of her injuring his hand, he would have probably killed her, and that would be the end to her story.

No finding her dad again.

No revenge.

No changing the world.

Just a broken girl who left the world she knew to do nothing but kill her own mother and be left to rot on a kitchen floor.

Scolding herself at the depressive thought, Lucy pinched her own wrist as she tutted aloud.

"I think he would at bury me." She muttered to no one, the words carrying across the kitchen.

Cooper may have been a son of a bitch when it suited him but he did have a code of honour that she consistently saw leak through his merciless actions. He would have at least buried her and that thought didn't bring as much comfort as she hoped it would.

He didn't mean to hurt me.

A traitorous voice and one that she clung to with a selfishness that surprised her. Cooper had hurt her, really hurt her this time, but that didn't take away from the moments of softness which she shielded her mind with. The gentle touches of his calloused hands as they stroked along her softer skin. The way his weight enveloped her and protected her from the worst of the world around them as they fucked. The comfort he had given her after her brief kidnapping by those traffickers.

Why are you protecting him?

With just as much ferocity, the less savoury moments assaulted her. The burn of the toxic water in her lungs as he dropped her repeatedly into the lake as bait. The searing, white-hot pain of her hand as he carved her finger from her and took it for himself. The fear which made her feel like a little girl again as he sold her off into what she assumed was sexual slavery.

We would be better without him.

The thought curled in her mind but it was rejected with a harshness which caught her breath in her lungs as the reality of her situation presented itself in a stunning moment of clarity.

She didn't want to be alone again.

Even with his bad traits, her travels with Cooper were heaven compared to the pressing pain and anxiety at the thought of having to traverse the wastelands alone.

Cooper's wicked comments, his ability to rile her unmatched by anyone else she had ever met, gave her a companionship that allowed her to push back and express thoughts and aggression which her vault family would have recoiled at.

Cooper's lessons, as unnecessarily cruel and upsetting as they could be, had made her a better survivor and someone much more prepared to succeed in her goals as she hunted down her father.

Cooper's body, hot and textured against her own as they fought off the loneliness of their world with some physical pleasures, gave her something solid to focus on as the guilt of her choices - of killing her mother - threatened to swallow her whole in her darkest moments.

No.

She wouldn't be alone again.

Even if that meant having to be more careful when waking Cooper up from his nightmares.

As though sensing that Lucy's thoughts were encased by him, a click of an opening door announced Cooper's return as Lucy paused in her pacing and stood to face the entrance to the kitchen which she knew he would have to pass through. His footfalls heavy, Cooper's approach was marked by the thud of his boots and, as he turned the corner into the kitchen, his breath audibly hitched as he hesitated within the doorway for only a moment before striding through.

He stood away from her, a long-suffering sigh making his chest visibly sag as he took in her standing position - his hat tilted back while his bright eyes flicked between Lucy's face and the red markings which littered her neck, the bruising not quite beginning to show.

"Still here?"

Despite the audible disappointment, Lucy swore she saw the vaguest flash of relief pass through Cooper's features and it steeled her spine as she smiled softly at him - her recent revelation bolstered by his appearance as it sparked a fondness in her chest which she refused to question.

"Cooper, I don't blam-"

In an instant, he was up in her face again and Lucy hated herself for flinching as the smell of leather and copper assaulted her nose - his scent as familiar and alluring as ever as he spoke to her harshly.

"Hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me." Cooper grabbed at her hand and curled her fingers into a fist with an almost desperate pressure. "Beat my ass to the ground. I won't fight you back. Not this time."

"I don't und-"

That same desperation flashed in his eyes for a blink before being shut off and hidden away as all of his emotions quickly were.

"Knock me down until your hands are as bloodied as mine, vaultie."

"Cooper, I don't want t-"

"An eye for an eye. Do unto others, thats your golden rule, eh? So fucking hit me. Don't make me ask again."

His voice taking on an even more aggressive edge, Cooper's grip on her fist lessened when Lucy placed her other hand atop his.

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Everyone wants to hurt everyone up here. One way or another."

Lucy raised her hand and relief flooded Cooper's chest as he steeled his body against the blow. She deserved to even the score and he would take whatever she wanted to throw at him.

The smack wasn't to come though, as Lucy stroked her fingers along his jaw instead - her motion almost experimental as she trailed the roughened skin with a determined gentleness.

"I saw you. Heard the nightmare. I saw that you didn't mean to hurt me like that." Lucy soothed, pressing her chest against his own as she gazed up at him with her big, dark eyes. "I don't want to hurt you. I could- but I am choosing not to. Not everything is about coming out on top of other people."

Stunned into silence as something in her words struck a part of him that hadn't been questioned in far too long. Cooper fell back onto his heels as he stared her out. She was serious in her meaning, earnestness dripping for her features as she fought to prove the honest of her words.

He should have known better.

Lucy Maclean wouldn't take the opportunity that other people would kill for; a chance to put the infamous ghoul to the floor and do to him some of the terrible things which he had enacted on others.

This woman didn't choose violence as a reflex.

This woman had taken his unwilling brutality and chosen to forgive him rather than even the score.

This woman saw the wastelands for what they were and wanted to save everyone she could, regardless of how foolish that was.

This woman would have never dropped a bomb on this world.

That knowledge stabbing something in his chest that his recent nightmare had exposed, Cooper's slackened mouth pulled into a tight line to soothe the fear that he would do or say something personal that he would later regret opening up. Instead, he reached up his hand and trailed his ungloved fingers across the nasty marks which he had left on her throat.

"Then accept my apologies, Lucy Maclean. I don't make a habit of strangling pretty young things."

"I don't think you've ever apologised to me before." Lucy replied, allowing him to touch her neck - to see that she was okay and willing to move on as she kept her voice even.

Curiosity about his nightmare nipped at her thoughts, but this wouldn't be the right time to ask about it.

She knew that much.

But she filed the questions away for later.

Much like she filed away how softly his lips had wrapped around her name as he breathed it with repentance.

Lucy.

"I ain't had much to apologise for." Cooper answered in kind.

Frowning as her own hands trailed across his abdomen to ghost across the stitches she had sewn into his wound, Lucy was pleased to find that his messy movements hadn't torn any of them free.

"Mmm, I'm not sure about that one, Mr Ghoul."

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

[avatarmerida]

@soldrawss : thinks of a huntlow AU

Me: instant brainrot

Sol posted a lounge singer/bartender AU on twitter like less than 48 hours ago and it instantly consumed me. I know nothing about lounge singers or what time period this is but I just went with it tbh here ya go. Part 2

———

She’s not coming over here, the voice in his head repeated as Willow lingered in the doorway of the backroom. No way, now way. Hunter had nearly jumped out of his skin when she came out, assuming she had left by now. The club had been closed for over an hour now, and he was always the last one out. But no, there she stood in the harsh light of the cheap light bulbs that seemed to favor her and her alone. 

She was a vision but she was no illusion.

Maybe there’s some creepy fan waiting outside for her, he thought. The very idea made him shudder. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Willow was the one the other girls called on to take care of these things. He remembered once Eda had kicked out some heckler who had been stealing drinks from other patrons and quickly over served himself. As he was unceremoniously escorted out, he declared that he’d be waiting outside all night. The singer finishing her set came up to the bar to get a drink and Hunter offered to call the police to at least have someone walk her home, but she said she wasn’t worried. Before he could ask why, Willow walked up and asked him for some ice. He saw her knuckles were bruised and had a few tiny fresh cuts, obviously from a recent altercation. Hunter quickly wrapped some ice in a clean rag and began rambling about getting the first aid kit but Willow just chuckled and said it was fine as  though it happened all the time (which Hunter later found out it did). 

“But…. But your hand,” he sputtered, amazed at how calm she was. 

“Oh, it’s fine,” she said, unbothered by the purple hue it had adopted. The ice had prevented the swelling, which seemed to be her biggest concern. “That’s why we wear gloves, right?” She gave him a wink and any chance that a Hunter had of being normal around her was gone. Hunter already knew she had the voice of an angel, but turns out she had the ruthlessness of one too. 

He was hooked.

So every night he sat at the bar, waiting for a glimpse of her. The regulars knew not to order a drink during her set because Hunter’s attention was rightfully elsewhere the moment she walked on stage. It wasn’t just her voice either, her sets were smart and funny too. She’d talk between songs, sometimes telling a story when she was introducing a number. Hunter wasn’t totally sure if they were true stories or just things she made up to help with transitions but any possibility at a glimpse into her life was too tempting to pass up.

Don’t stare, don’t be creepy, he thought, trying to steady his breath.  She had unpinned her hair but that only made her look more stunning in Hunter’s opinion. Her emerald green dress clung to her like it was aware of what an honor it was, making the room feel like it was bland and beige when she wasn’t occupying it. Without her signature white feather boa, he could see her bare arms, covered in freckles like a collection of constellations waiting to be discovered. He had never seen her so close before, he felt objectively starstruck. It was like his eyes didn’t know how to look anywhere else. It felt like being too close to sun.

Usually he could only see her face through a sea of people, the spotlight helped but it paled in comparison to her natural glow. It was like she was destined to always be across the room from him. He held his breath as though this was a sighting the slightest wrong move could ruin, as though she could be startled. But she rummaged through her bag and when she found what she was looking for, she reapplied her ruby lipstick in her handheld mirror shaped like a white rose. She was effortlessly elegant. As she blew a kiss at her reflection, he felt his pulse stop.

 She must be on her way somewhere, he thought. Of course she has a life outside this place, duh. He tried not to look like he was staring as he pretended to write something down, unaware he was holding the pen upside down.

From the corner of her eye, Willow scanned the room and saw they were alone. Perfect, she thought as she snapped her compact closed and made her way over to the bar. 

Be cool, be cool, he begged. He expected her to walk by him, maybe give him a small wave or a smile to acknowledge him and say goodnight. He was mustering up the courage to give her a nonchalant nod, like she was just another person in the bar and not the unknowing keeper of his heart. 

Oh Titan that’s so corny, he thought. There’s no way she even knows my name, I need to get over this-

“Hey Hunter,” she said, leaning on the counter like she was just anyone and not the most angelic thing to ever grace his bar.

“Oh, h-hey,” he attempted to respond casually, pretending to wipe the counter to look busy. He hadn’t exited her to stop. He cursed himself for not using her name as she had said his. He didn’t feel worthy of it. “Why are you here so late?”

 “Skara had a date so we all moved our schedules around to help her out and I ended up with the short straw,” she said. Hunter recalled she had gone on later than she usually did. “But I don't mind, it’s kinda cool seeing this place empty.”

“Eh, you get used to it,” he shrugged.

“That’s right, you always close, don’t you?” she said, knowing Hunter was a famous workaholic. “Oh wow, with the crowds you get I bet you like the peace and quiet at the end of the night.”

“It’s nice,” he admitted. “Gives me time to organize things and do inventory.”

“Oh shoot,  I’m probably interrupting your routine huh? Sorry, I can-.” she leaned back as though to leave but Hunter cut her off.

“No! Uh, I mean no… you’re not,” he tried to cover. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, actually. Someone who's not slurring their words, that is.”

“Well then, if you don’t mind the company,” she said, setting her bag down and making herself more comfortable. “I don’t mind being it.”

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked, hoping she’d say yes.

She had been hoping he would ask. “You sure? Wasn’t last call over an hour ago?”

“Well that was yesterday,” he said, preparing a glass for her. “According to the clock, it’s technically a new day.”

“Well whaddya know?” she said as she watched him add ice to the shaker as he proceeded to mix her drink. He thought about doing the tricks he and Luz had practiced to get extra tips on nights when they worked together, but the risk of dropping something and looking foolish was too great so he played it safe. In record time, she had a  drink in front of her.

“How did you know my drink order?” she asked, impressed. 

“I memorize everyone’s,” he half-lied.

“Wow,” she cooed, stirring her drink as she watched him move behind the bar. “You know every drink by heart?”

“I mean, pretty much,” he said. “Just makes things easier, really. Sometimes I make up drinks when it’s slow.”

“Really? Do you give them fun names?”

“Huh? Oh, kinda? I-I mostly name them after birds.” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I uh, I like birds.”

“Oh?” she said, tapping the glass with her nail. Do you like songbirds? She wanted desperately to ask, but instead she said: “Really? What’s your favorite one?”

“Um, well I have the cardinal which is just cranberry juice and bourbon and but I add some garnishes on the side that make it look cool,”

“I’ll take one,” she smiled and Hunter went to work. The moment she set her empty glass back on the counter, he had another one ready in hand for her. She knew he was famous around the club for his attention to detail but she selfishly hoped the gesture was based in special attention to her.

She took a sip and her eyes widened in delight. “Oh! I love this!” She said and Hunter beamed as though it was the only drink he had ever made. “Eda said you were the one who made custom drinks for her and Raine’s wedding.”

“Well, it wasn’t too hard,” he said. “They have very distinct personalities, Raine wanted their drink to be something easy on the stomach but with a hint of apple while Eda cared more about her drink ‘weeding out the weak.’”

“Oh I remember those,” laughed Willow. The wedding had been the first time Willow saw Hunter, it was when she found out he would be working at the club. She had maybe had one too many ‘Eda’s Elixirs’ (some kind of apple moonshine mixed with red wine and whiskey and some secret fourth thing that made it work somehow) and thought she had imagined the stoic blonde she had dubbed ‘Prince Jawline.’ But he turned out to be real, a friend of a friend, a future coworker, a kindred spirit even. A man she still referred to as Prince Jawline when he came up in conversation. He didn’t remember meeting her there, but memory loss was a common theme that night.

But luckily Willow was just slightly better at holding her liquor.

“What about me?” she said, trying to sound as though she hadn’t been dying to ask. “If you had to make a drink named after me, what would it be?”

“Hmmm,” he thought for only a moment. “Probably sparkling white wine and kiwi. It would be bubbly and sweet and green, just like you. And I’d add a pink flower garnish, like the one you sometimes wear in your hair.”

Willow blushed, having thought her question would adorably stump him so she could make a joke about him being a tall drink of water. But this was much better.

 “Well, looks like I have a new usual then, huh?” She said with a smile as he went to give her a sample of his apparently improvised creation. He made sure to select the most elegant glass. 

“So, what’s your secret?” she asked and he froze for a moment before she continued. “How do you make these taste so good?”

“Oh, that! Oh it’s uh it’s the cherries,” he said. “I always put extra cherries in just about everything to make it sweeter.”

“Tsk tsk tsk, you can’t give up your secret so easily, bar boy,” she teased, picking out one of the aforementioned cherries. 

“Usually as a bartender, I’m the one people tell their secrets to,” he joked, trying to focus on counting the limes and lemons. But he hadn’t retained anything except the way Willow’s voice danced, the way it got slow and sneaky when she made a joke. It was the way she talked between her sets when she was introducing a love song.

“Ohh, you’ve got a stash of secrets, huh?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “Anything good?”

“Well, I knew about the Blight divorce I think before even Odalia did,” he said in a low voice, fully aware no one else was there or would be there. But he liked how Willow leaned in closer to hear him when he did.

“No!” she gasped.

“Yeah!” he said. He had never been one for gossip, but that was no longer a secret so it didn’t count, right?

“Oh, what else?” she asked, sipping her drink in anticipation. 

“Oh, wow I can hardly keep it sorted,” he said. “I get people telling me about how they hate their jobs, how they’re afraid of getting older. Oh man, you can’t imagine how many confessions of love I get in a night.”

“I dunno, I bet I probably can,” she said with a smirk he thought he imagined. “Can I tell you a secret?” 

“Anything,” Hunter said, hoping his smile was as charming as he was manifesting it to be. She paused for a moment to create suspense before a smile overtook her face.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” she said before erupting into a sea of giggles. She laughed with her whole body, her whole self present in the silliness and Hunter was so captivated that he almost didn’t notice she was about to fall off her stool. Hunter reached out and grabbed her hand to steady her and she looked at him in awe as he pulled her forward.

He gulped. “W-what do you mean?”

“I can’t wear my glasses onstage because of the glare from the uh light,” she explained breathlessly, not removing herself from his grasp. “So the whole time I’m up there I can’t see anything.”

“Nothing?”

She slowly shook her head, her eyes still locked on him. “Nope, nothing,” she said, biting her lip. “Not unless they’re real close.”

Hunter then realized he was still holding her hand as he leaped backward as though she was on fire. She giggled again, it was like every sound she made was music. He pretended to be invested in the bottles near him.

“Oh uh wow I had no idea,” he chuckled.

“Well I guess that’s a good thing,” she said, sitting back. “It helps get rid of the stage fright when you can’t tell the difference between a packed house and an empty one.”

“You hardly seem like the type to have stage fright,” he said, cleaning out another glass that definitely was not dirty. Or an empty house, he wanted to add.

“Thanks,” she smiled, stirring the remaining ice cubes in her cup with her straw. “You’re sweet.”

“So uh, if you’re not looking at anyone what do you think about up there?” asked Hunter nervously. “Just because you always seem like you’re singing to someone, but that’s probably just because you’re a good performer.”

She smiled. “Skara taught me this trick for how to tilt my head so people think I’m singing to just them,” said Willow. “But I’m actually just looking at the back wall. Or would be, if I could see it. Huh, I guess I’m technically looking at you when I sing.”

He nearly dropped the glass on the counter. “Huh uh yeah well uh but it's not like you can see me or uh anything,” he said, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah,” she said, swirling the lingering ice in the cup in her hand. “Shame.”

“Did you want another?”

“I should probably slow down,” she chuckled. “I’ve already had three. Think I’ll work on some of these cherries.”

“Oh yeah you’re probably starving,” said Hunter, feeling stupid “Nothing’s gonna be open now, do you want me to get you like some pretzels or something? I could see if-,”

“No, no, no,” she insisted. “I already made you wash three extra glasses, I am not gonna let you go to any more trouble for me.”

He’d go to all kinds of trouble for her.  

“Fair enough,” he said as he went back to his usual duties.

“Hmm, ya ever try to tie a cherry stem into a knot with your tongue?” she asked, starting to feel the alcohol warm her chest and make her feel cheeky.. 

“What? Uh, no I don’t think I have?” he chuckled, having never heard of such a thing.

“Here,” she said, tapping the glass nearly full of them as she took one for herself. “Try it.”

He indulged her, taking a cherry and popping it in his mouth as Willow did the same. She watched in delight as he focused on trying to maneuver the stem in his mouth, holding back the giggles as she tried not to win their unofficial race by too much. At last, a look of surprise showed in his eyes as he went to carefully pull out his creation.

“You did it!’ she exclaimed, taking out her matching knot to compare.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “That’s so weird, is that like a party trick or something?”

“Hmm, something like that,” she said, making circles on the counter with her finger. “If you can do it, it’s supposed to mean you’re a good kisser.” She added her latest knot to a glass filling up with stems before giving him a wink. 

“Oh,” he said, nearly choking on nothing. Had he known, he would’ve tried to be cooler about it. Her reveal got exactly the reaction she had been hoping for. She loved the way his blush reached his ears. “I uh I didn’t well I don’t even-,”

“What do I owe ya, bar keep?” She said, resting her chin in her fist, having no intention of leaving but knowing he’d be caught in that loop for awhile.

“It’s on the house,” he said, shaking himself out of his trance before deciding to put a single glass away just to seem busy. He wanted to just talk to her, but was worried that focusing on that without a task to keep him busy would make saying something stupid easier. This way he didn’t need to worry about what to do with his hands or if he was staring. He was so used to staring at her freely from across a crowded room, seeing her so close felt almost forbidden.

“Oh no I know how badly this place pays,” she said. “Gimme the damage.”

“Oh no no, you misunderstand,” he said, leaning down with his elbows on the counter to see her better, feeling a burst of confidence for some reason. “When I say it’s ‘on the house’ I mean it’s on Odalia’s tab.”

“Oh, well in that case,” she leaned forward and reached over the bar to grab another bottle from underneath as she quickly unscrewed the top. “Pour yourself a glass then too.”

“Heh, I’d love to but I’m not supposed to drink on the job,” he said, his heart racing at the effortless way she had secured the bottle. He had never been so jealous of a bottle before.

“Awh, you sure? I hate to drink alone,” she teased. She examined his face to see if the phrase sparked a locked memory, but no. He didn’t remember saying that to her at the wedding. Nevertheless, she knew he was ever the professional, only he would consider being the empty bar so far after closing time as still being on the job. “What about a Shirley Temple? Extra cherries?”

He chuckled. “Well, now how did you know my drink of choice?” he said with charisma he hadn’t seen in years, preparing two of them, somehow knowing she’d also want one.

“Guess you’re rubbing off on me,” she said with a grin, As he passed her drink to her, she reached out and purposely placed her hand over his. She could feel his hand lean into the touch as the tips of their fingers fought the urge to interlace. “Thanks.” She made her voice light and airy. 

“Oh yeah, sure,” sputtered Hunter, slipping his hand away as he mentally cursed himself for not being able to match her energy. He wasn’t entirely sure what the energy was, but he was not hating it. “T-thank you too.”

“‘Thank me?’ For what?” she chuckled.

“For… being here, I guess,” he said, not sure what he had meant either. He cleared his throat as he tried to compose a better explanation. “It’s nice having you here. Not just now, either. All the time. I’m kind of a big fan of yours.”

“Really?” she asked. She hiccupped, her hand darted to her mouth to cover it in embarrassment. She shook her head, hoping to shake them and continue to appear cool and collected.

Hunter smiled. “Yeah, I mean, you’re amazing,” he said. “T-the songs you pick are amazing. The way you… I mean, it’s all amazing.”

“Aww,” Hiccup. Darn it, why now??? She thought. But she tried to embrace it, hopefully he would think it was cute. 

He did.

“What’s the sweetest drink you got?” She asked, failing to suppress another hiccup. “Cause that should be the one named after you.” She held her glass to her lips and gave him a wink. 

There were many drinks she could name after Hunter.

One night, she had a sore throat which made her singing sound raspy and deeper. It was a nice sound, but by the end of the night she could barely speak. When she got off stage, Hunter had sent Luz with a special mixture of honey and lemon that had her back to normal the next day. She hadn’t told anyone she was sick or asked for a remedy, but he just knew. 

When she had to work on her birthday, he added a sparkler to her drink. She didn’t know how he knew, she must’ve mentioned once in passing long ago, but he remembered. Luz said he had special ordered the sparklers, so it definitely wasn’t a last minute thing. 

Dang it, that would’ve been a great time for the tall drink of water thing, she thought. The alcohol was making her a little spacy and she missed the way Hunter stopped functioning at her sweetness remark. She let out another hiccup, nearly spilling the drink she held to her lips. Hunter snapped out of his trance as he tried in vain to hide his chuckle and Willow pretended to be offended. “Hey!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” he laughed in spite of himself. “It’s not bad I swear it’s really… endearing.”

“‘Endearing?’” she repeated, raising her eyebrow. He didn't want to say ‘cute.’ He thought it was cute, but he didn’t want to say that. She hiccupped again and he couldn't help but offer her a guilty smile and she gave him a faux vicious stare. “Well, they may be endearing to you but they’re getting on my nerves.”

“Here,” he said, reaching down to grab something from the fridge. “Biting on a lemon is supposed to help them go away.” He presented her with a recently cut lemon wedge.

She looked at him skeptically. “You’re joking.”

“No, no I swear,” he insisted. 

“Okay then,” she said, reaching down to grab another lemon from the tray. “I’ll do it if you do.”

He was going to protest, saying he didn’t have the hiccups. But instead, he took the slice from her and allowed their finger to brush once more. “Deal.”

She smiled as they both looked at each other and felt something shift. Willow was insanely competitive, and she heard Hunter was too. Mentally, they decided to enter a match to see who could endure the sour taste the longest. They both brought forth their best poker face as they tried to seem casual about the sharp acidity. They stared at each other with cutthroat intensity as their eyes began to water. 

They surrendered at the same time, each discarding their lemons in a napkin  as they exclaimed their remorse.

“Hey, I think it worked,” laughed Willow, waiting another moment to see if a hiccup would interrupt. When he didn’t she refocused on the tart taste lingering in her lips. “Oof, I guess that’s why I don’t sing ‘Life is just a bowl of lemons.’”

Hunter laughed, debating if he should mention her rendition of the song had been his inspiration for adding extra cherries (he had ordered extra, thinking about her while filling out the order form). 

“I’m sure you could make even that sound lovely,” he said softly.

She giggled, before taking a deep breath and sliding closer to him. “Liiife,” she sang sweetly and quietly, as though wanting to lure him closer. “Is just a bowl of… lemons.”

Hunter hadn’t had a sip of alcohol but he might as well have been drunk. Her voice seemed to surround him in an embrace, pulling and pushing him forward as it guided it toward her peridot eyes. 

“I-I like it,” he said, trying to remember how to breathe normally. He gulped as she prolonged her gaze on him and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’ll dedicate it to you,” she decided, sucking her teeth as she suddenly felt inspired. “Hey you want a sneak peek at something I’ve been working on?”

“Really?” he said, eyes widened before he caught himself. “I-I mean uh, really?” He tried to downplay his interest, but she could see through him. 

“Yeah,” she said, twirling the end of her hair. “You up for a private concert?”

“You don’t have to,” it hurt him to say, He didn’t want to impose. “I mean, you’re off the clock and I don’t wanna-.”

“Oh hush,” she said, flicking the loose strand of hair in the front of his hair, like she just needed an excuse to be closer to him. “You won’t let me pay you for the drinks, consider it a tip.”

“Okay,” he said, not trying too hard to summon an argument. She clapped her hands in excitement as though she didn’t do this practically every day. 

“The mic’s not on, but with no one in here the acoustics are really great,” she said, hopping off the stool. She took her long skirt in her hand as she ran back to the stage, tapping the microphone as she often did before her sets, though nothing happened. She giggled and ran over to the piano to find her starting note as she prepared to sing acapella.

“Okay, well this one isn’t on the set, so lemme know what you think, okay?” She called as she smoothed her dress. “I’ve been saving it for a special occasion.”

She took a deep breath and suddenly the alluring sound of her voice flooded the empty room. She knew how to perfectly adjust her pacing to the echoes the emptiness caused. It was haunting and enchanting and Hunter felt as though he could melt into the floor as it swept over him. 

“Some day, when I’m awfully low

When the world is cold

I will feel a glow just thinking of you

And the way you look tonight…”

As Hunter stood behind the bar feeling a familiar lightheadedness her voice inspired, he couldn't help but notice she had put her glasses on before she started singing. There was no one else here, but she wanted to make it absolutely certain that she saw him.

Inventory could wait until the morning.

[angrygirlromero]

OCEAN EYES PT. 4

Summary: In which the son of the God of thieves, is head over heels in love with the daughter of the sea God.

Warnings: possible grammar mistakes.

Pairing: Luke x daughter of Poseidon x Little brother Percy

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

"Did you pack enough clothes?" "Yes ma'am" "Did you pack the first aid kit I left on your camping bag?" "Yes Ella-" "Did you-" "Take it easy princess I’m pretty sure Percy has everything he needs, I was there when he was packing" said Luke placing a comforting hand on Marella's lower back.

"I am only making sure, love" said the sea princess offering Pecy a soft smile as they stood by the border near Thalia's tree, "Well I am assuming Dionysus gave you your allowance" asked the older girl.

"Yeah he did, two hundred cash and a few drakmas?" said Percy with an unsure look, causing Annabeth to roll her eyes at his words, "They're called Golden Drachmas, get it right" said the Athena girl with an annoyed expression, erupting giggles from the couple before them as grover simply shook his head in disapproval.

"Don't be too hard on him Beth, remember to have patients, I ask you" said the daughter of Poseidon to the daughter of Athena, the younger girl nodded in agreement, "Please Grover watch over them, and bring them back alive" "Of course Ella, I promise"

-

Since the departure of the trio from Camp Ella had found herself feeling rather anxious, even the fish could sense it, she did not wish to pass her worry onto her beloved aquatic friends, but they too were worried about a war, about their homes and kingdom.

Marella found herself seated at the edge of dock once again this time the sun had already gone down, this was the place where she had first opened up to Percy about herself, the very day they had discovered that they were siblings, being close to the water always made Marella feel closer to her home, to her father.

Moving her feet in the deep fresh water Ella's eyes focused on the water her body soon stiffening at the sight of a glowing figure, a nereid, she sat at the bottom of lake staring up at the girl with eager eyes.

Ella wasted no time on pushing herself from the dock and into the water her body making instant contact with the water causing her senses to be awoken, by being in it's rightful place, water.

"State your business here" demanded the princess as she floated with her head held high a bright glowing tiara taking shape upon her head, Marella knew it was wrong for her to interact with nereid she was most likely sent by her father, and this interaction could get them both in big trouble.

"A message from you father, princess" said the woman calmly lowering her head in respect, "If your brother is not successfully with his quest by the time of summer solstice Zeus will officially declare war upon us, if that time comes your father wishes to have you at the ready to fight along side him in battle" said the Mythical woman.

"What of my brother?" asked Marella with a hard look in her sea blue eyes, "If he does not succeed what will happen to him?" asked the princess, "No harm shall come to your brother if he does not succeed, he shall be released from his quest and returned safely to camp" said the woman offering the princess a reassuring look.

"You on the other hand shall be returned to Atlantis" continued the woman, at her words Ella nodded in agreement, she would loose her place at camp her friends, Luke and Little Percy, but if that meant they would be safe Ella was willing to leave them all behind.

"I am aware, if that is all you are dismissed, I shall wish for your safe return home, tell my father that I am at the ready" said Marella not wasting another moment before making her way to the shore.

Marella made her way way out of the water calmly as her mind raced, she belonged here at camp, but her duty demanded her return home, "Ella?" called out a familiar voice, Marella's gaze snapped to Luke who stood by the shore, his lips parted in amazement at the sight of his girl, she was glowing in the water, and a tiara on her head, her form displaying a true ocean princess.

Ella took a few steps more finally coming out of the water to stand before Luke, Luke watched intently as the tiara before her head faded away into thin air as her glow soon decreased leaving just, Marella, his Ella.

"I- I was looking for you all over, you missed dinner, I took you a sandwich to your cabin but you weren't there so-" Luke stopped his rambling as Ella reached her hand up to his face, her soft fingers trailing over his rough scar, "You mean the world to me Luke" said Ella quietly, only loud enough for him to hear.

Luke's heart was beating out of his chest, his face flushed hot and red, as he let out unstable breaths, "I- I- y- you" the Hermes boy stuttered out, "you don't have to say anything my love" said Ella with a soft smile.

"My Love" her love, he was her love? she had never called him that before surely she called him only love, but Ella called even Clarisse love, despite the Ares girl's protests at the nickname, she called everyone love but never "My love", Luke could've died right there and then, he would pass a happy man for eternity.

Marella stared up into his dark brown eyes pure love and adoration evident in them, she bravely stood to the tips of her toes her arms snaking around his neck, and her hands tangling themselves into his soft curly hair, as she pressed her lips to his.

Luke froze for a mere second before he dipped down deepening the kiss, his hands arms wrapping themselves around her small waist, she bit his lip causing him to groan out, with a smile at her sneaky action.

This felt unreal, he had been dreaming of this moment since the moment he met her and finally it had become reality, he no longer felt as if he walked on the ground, fireworks seemed to be erupting inside him, she tasted of sea water and blueberries, just like he imagined she would.

Marella soon broke the kiss her eyes on Luke's as they both stood there breathlessly, "You have no idea how long ive been wanting to do that" breathed out the Hermes boy contently as he held his girl, "Believe me my love the feeling is very mutual" said Marella contently.

"I love you" Ella froze at Luke's words, she had not been expecting those words to come from his mouth, she was left startuck, “Luke, I-" "You don't have to say it back, at least not now, I just wanted you to know."

-

Two day had passed since since Ella and Luke had confessed their feelings for one another, two days since she had been informed what was to happen if Percy failed, and for the two days Marella had been contented, Luke had not left her alone not for a second, the Hermes boy unable to keep his wondering hand off of her.

The sea princess had not heard word from her brother, not since she had hear that he had a confrontation with Ares himself on the road, it was as if he had disappeared off the face of the earth since then.

But today was the day she would finally know her stance, Ella laid on the soft mattress of her bed her gaze focused on the ceiling of the room where wooden models of sea creatures hung from the ceiling, hand painted by Ella herself, her hands once more tangled in Luke's soft curls's.

Luke's head was resting in the crook of her neck his handsome face contoured into a peaceful expression as he slept, his steady breaths fanning Ella's neck and the sounds of soft snores welcomed themselves into her ears.

His strong arm's wrapped around her wait lovingly, holding onto her tightly as if he let go she’d disappear into thin air, certainly she would not, right? they were happy, for once despite Ella's rushing mind she had been happy the past days, sure her and Luke had broken the rules having him here but that did not matter.

They were both soon interrupted by the sound of loud trumpets blasting through the camp ground, because of course nothing so sweet and pure ever lasts, the loud sound jolting Luke awake, the Hermes boy quickly standing to his feet with ease, instantly reaching for the dagger that laid in his boots at the bed's feet.

"Be calm, my love" said Marella with a sad smile, his beautiful girl stood from the bed slipping on her slippers, Luke frowned as he watched his girl, why was she sad? what was that noise? he watched Marella make her way to the cabin door a stern look taking upon her beautiful face, no Luke did not like that look, he wanted to sooth the crease between her eyes brown away, he wanted to kiss her lips until they turned into her bright and beautfile smile, the same one that made his heart race.

Marella stopped at the door as if contemplating something in her head, but that only lasted a moment before she pushed the large doors open, she walked out, "Ella!" called Luke after her as he waisted no time in following her.

Luke watched as all the campers poured out of their cabins everyone rushing to Lake, the same direction Marella had rushed off to, Luke quickly jogged to the lake his eyes searching for her small figure in the group of teens.

He soon stopped as he reached the edge of the Lake where other couplers stood attempting to calm their kids, in the water stood a man, Poseidon, with him were several other men who looked unreal but they had tails, and weapons standing protectively in front of their God.

Luke's gaze soon found Ella in the crowd, Luke watching as the campers around her parted like a sea for her to pass, Poseidon held a proud look on his face as he watched his daughter emerge from the crowd, he dark curls held neatly in two braids framing her matured face beautifully.

Luke stepped forward as Ella began to take take small step into the water, had she known all this time? he asked himself how could she just leave him so easily? they had just found each other, and she was leaving him? to war to get herself killed by Zeus and Hades' monsters? Luke was selfish, yes this was her destiny, but couldn't allow it.

Luke rushed forward to her, grabbing at her hand softly, causing her eyes to snap back to him, her face softening for a second but soon retiring to it’s hard expression, "Don't do this ella, please" he pleaded, "You know better than anyone that I have no choice" she mumbled under her breath, her eyes pleading him to let her go, "No I finally got you after all this time and you're leaving me, you can't do this to me, princess" Luke said his voice breaking every so slightly.

Marella glanced back at her father who seemed to be glaring daggers at Luke, her father, her beloved father, who had taught her everything she knew, the god of the sea, he had raised her to be everything she was, now he asked a favor of her, she could not decline it, even if it would lead to her death.

Luke's head snapped to his side as he felt Mr. D's hand on his shoulder, "Let go kid" he muttered to the Hermes boy, "No- I-" "You have to let go Luke" said the god sternly.

Luke's gaze returning to Ella's he watched her eyes water, "Please" she said, Luke's heart broke, she didn't want this just as much as him, but it was her destiny, he remembered his own words "it's because your dad has bigger plans for Ella" he told Percy.

Luke let go, Ella's hand falling to her side as he stared at her with a longing gaze, "Come back to me, alive" he mumbled for her to hear, "I will" she said, before making her way to her father's side.

The entire camp held their berths as they watched a tiara take form on Marells's head, her PJ's turing into a deep blue gown fit for a princess, her true form.

Poseidon smiled slightly at his daughter, offering her his arm, which she gracefully took, Ella turned back her gaze meeting Luke's "I love you" she mouthed to him before she disappeared into the water with her father.

A tear slipped down Luke's cheek, the tear trailing down his scar, a heart broken look on his face, Marella had his heart and she had taken it with her, this wasn't her fault, his sweet Ella who loved the ocean more than anything, this was Percy's doing, Poseidon's doing, Zeus’ doing.

For this they would pay, Percy Jackson had failed and for his mistakes his beloved sister would pay the price, for his foolishness Percy Jackson would pay the price Luke promised himself.

Tag list:

@yummytootybutt 🎀 @mxtokko @poppyflower-22 @starryhiraeth @trashmouthsahra @purplerose291 @iloveneilperry @onlyreadz @mahidahi @stevenknightmarc @loveryoushouldcomeoverr @leopard-skin-pillbox-hat-ok @dracoslovergirl @pussyslayerhd @sparklybearcheesecake @moonz33 @skwangmbyul

A/N: So before anyone comes for me, here's chapter four, I am so sorry I completely forgot I even wrote this series for a spit second, but seeing the new Percy Jackson teaser brought back my inspiration, I do plan on continuing with this series because I love Marella sm, I can't let her go, if you wish to be apart of the tag list don't be shy message me or comment <333

[cleolinda]

My nephew reviews perfume

I'm not sure how my sister heard about Noteworthy Scents, but the concept is, you take a quiz, and they'll send you four Scientifically Chosen samples ($25 USD) based on your answers.

Noteworthy is a new, exciting way to discover your signature scent. Rather than relying on flashy celebrity branding or overblown marketing promises, we want our customers to be in control of deciding which Noteworthy fragrance is right for them. We’re excited that you’re joining us on this journey - we can’t wait to help you find your signature scent.

I have looked at all the fragrances on offer, and I can tell you, they don't happen to have the notes I would want in my One Perfume to Rule Them All (if there's no peach or ylang ylang, I’m not forsaking the rest of my collection). But more to the point, I don't want just one. I've been writing up the things I've been trying for a few months now, and I enjoy the experimenting. But I appreciate what Noteworthy's trying to do, especially for wearers who want something straightforward, and I was perfectly happy to let my sister be the one to try them.

(I did take the quiz, though, and after telling them I don’t like aquatic scents, they said they would send me one that smells like the beach. I closed the tab. My sister told the quiz that she does not like florals and she does not like amber. You’ll never guess what happened next!)

So her Discovery Kit arrived yesterday. She announced this by texting me,

I’m gonna give you feedback from [Nephew] smelling the perfume

Me: Yeah?

As you may recall from one of my music posts, my nephew is six.

(My sister gave me permission to post this.)

n,841

Lemon, tarragon, cedar wood. A powerful, understated blend of citrus and woods. Drawing from poetry’s ability to spark joy and inspiration, this bright lemon and bergamot blend leaves an instant impression before mellowing out into a rich amber and leather base.

My sister: [Nephew] said

smells like raspberries or being in a dungeon like down in a well

Me: ……..I do not see any of those things on the card

n,551

Lily of the valley, amber, sandalwood. A sensual, comforting, woody scent that cocoons the wearer in notes of warm, glowing sandalwood and cozy, soft cashmere—freshened up with Lily of the Valley.

smells like lime juice or being inside a pumpkin

n,307

Mandarin, basil, sandalwood. Inspired by nostalgic childhood trips to lemon groves, fresh flowers swirling together in the summer breeze, and the radiant colors of perfectly ripe citrus, this energizing fragrance stars juicy mandarin and soft sandalwood, plus light notes of basil.

green grape juice or being on top of an umbrella at the beach

Me: that’s very specific

n,057

Passionfruit, vanilla, tonka bean. Let n,057 become your signature: remarkable, evocative and distinctly yours. Keep your fragrance at home or take our travel spray with you. Fitting snugly in your purse, pocket, or suitcase, it's the perfect on-the-go perfume.

My sister: I think he’s losing his focus on this last one. He said

lemon juice at the lemon store

My perfume sample budget got used up on, like, ugh, actual necessities this month, or I'd give Noteworthy a try for science. On a second try, my quiz results were (very likely overlapping with my sister's):

A captivating blend of warm woods and zesty citrus, like strolling through a sun-drenched forest grove. An intriguing fusion of exotic spices and earthy notes, evoking the vibrant energy of a bustling cityscape. A delightful combination of tropical fruits and delicate florals, reminiscent of a refreshing breeze in a lush garden. And for an unexpected wild card fragrance, a scent that defies expectations because science cannot always predict desire.

Currently, my sister says that she can tell that the Noteworthy fragrances are well-made, but they're not "her"; apparently she's in the 11% algorithm failure group—or maybe she just needs time for them to grow on her! Who knows! She'll bring over her samples for Sunday dinner, and I'll report back if they do, in fact, smell like being inside a pumpkin.

Perfume discussion masterpost

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hii, I was the anon from the makeup request, the one with the bachelors

I love it! thanks for your answer, but now that I read my ask I realized I wrote it all wrong 🤡

What I wanted to ask is what you think would be their reaction if the farmer asked to put make up on them. Like, it may be something basic or some of that "turning my bf into a kpop idol" type of makeup

I hope you don't mind me asking again 😅

Ooooh, you mean that.

Of course, I don't mind writing about this scenario at all! Let's consider it a continuation of that headcanon. Thanks for the question 💕🫰

Stardew Valley:

Alex:

"Hon, why don't you ask someone else? Haley, for example?"

Alex isn't particularly happy about the very idea of make-up, thinking it's a 'girly things'.

"Honey, you sat with a face mask for two hours yesterday." "That's different!"

Still agreeing to Farmer's request.

Alex didn't like the make-up. No, Farmer did it all right, it's just the sheer feel of make-up... The athlete wants to wash it all off.

"Sorry, love, not for me."

Shane:

"Sure, why not."

Shane had already tried make-up on himself when he was in Emily's clothes therapy, so this wasn't new to him.

True, he'll grumble if the make-up takes longer than an hour.

But the results! Shane looks like a cool metal star!

The Farmer is happy with his work. Shane is happy as well.

Elliott:

Elliott sure spends a lot of time and money caring for his gorgeous hair.

Face cosmetics, on the other hand....

Sure, scrubs and face masks are in his kit too, but he's not really a fan of foundation and eyeliner.

"My soul, I just try to look naturally beautiful!" ("Nothing against the make-up itself, though.")

If Farmer wants the most minimal make-up, however, the writer will go along with it.

Sam:

"Sure, baby! Make me a rock star!"

Easier said than done, because Sam keeps fidgeting as Farmer tries to apply his rock band make-up.

"That tickles!" "Sam, don't move!"

Very pleased with his cool make-up.

Sam will take a hundred selfies of himself and Farmer and brag about how talented his partner is and how cool he is.

Will wear make-up all the time (until Jodi makes him wash it off).

Sebastian:

As I said earlier, Sebastian uses eyeliner (I'll fight with everyone for that headcanon).

So he'll always be happy to have Farmer help him.

Sebby hasn't really tried the other facial cosmetics, but he won't refuse Farmer when they ask.

Stands as steadfast as a statue.

Super ultra emo make-up done! Everyone's happy.

Harvey:

"Oh, no, darling. I shouldn't."

In fact, Harvey had once considered it to disguise skin imperfections on his face.

However, the finicky doctor would take a long time to go through the cosmetics.

"How, in the Yoba's name, do they even sell these things? They're bad for the skin. And this foundation has been the cause of allergies in many of my patients!"

To be honest, Harvey would be more against make-up than for it. His skin health is more important to him.

Stardew Valley Expanded:

Magnus Rasmodius:

Heh. Good luck to them, with his thick beard....

"Should I shave it off-" "No."

Magnus finds it unnecessary, so he politely declines the idea.

"Then how do you know the instant make-up spell?" "A talented wizard is talented at everything."

Farmer can try to do his make-up in his sleep, but if he wakes up, Farmer will levitate the rest of the night.

Victor:

On the one hand, Victor does not consider make-up as something important for him.

On the other hand, the Farmer looks at him with puppy eyes...

"Well, okay..." A rather strange feeling for him. But the result amazed him.

Victor looks quite fresh now, and yet the make-up is unnoticeable. It's like it's not even there!

"Okay, I take it back, honey. It was a good idea."

Lance:

Oh, Lance does care about his appearance, that's undeniable. But he devotes more time to his hair and scrubs than to his facial cosmetics.

The adventurer will politely decline heavy makeup. Especially - in this heat on Ginger Island.

However, if it's something as inconspicuous and light as possible, he'll let the Farmer work on his face.

"Why do you need a makeup spell then?" "A talented wizard is talented at everything, my love."

We've heard that somewhere before...

[ritualofcirice]

🐑 ♡ Here's one letter fresh from Sup-port, addressed to a very fantasic fox ♡ 🐑

Dear @redfoxwritesstuff,

Nobody can deny the hard work you put into your stories, as well as your efforts to make a safe, welcoming community alongside your fellow co-owners in the Voxtek Discord Server. Now it's time to share the love to Tumblr!

The way you write captures the reader's attention in an instant to take them into the heart of the story you have created. Your writing style is just that beautiful, and the emotions linger long after that ao3 tab is closed. The first chapter of Misdemeanor, wow.

For this reason, you are one of the first creative souls to be recommended to all the lovelies that will see this post! Thank you for all that you share, and thank you for continuing to be a positive force in fandom.

Wishing all the best, and sending all of our love,

The Sup-port Team xo

Let's see what other letters arrived for you!

From @redvexillum ♡

"She's a kind soul uwu"

From @crackrodent ♡

"Kit and Red are both amazing people and writers. And even though theres a lot of things i admire about both of them individually id like to start by saying how amazing of a team they are. Whether its on the voxtek discord server or on tumblr while bickering over Adam and doorknobs.

Kit has been my biggest supporter as i learned to cook this year. She's almost always the first person i tag when i need help with anything from anxiety kicking my ass to well... anything. I even asked her to explain credit scores to me and she did without any judgment. She's the most kind and understanding person i know.

My life is infinitely better knowing Red and Kit."

From @nyx-umbrakinesis ♡

"Kit is one of my favourite people in the entire world she's my wonderful quirky, kind, little traumatised, beautiful, funny, salty, shy, anxious, force of nature, occasionally sad and silly at self caring and self deprecating, lovely adorable little flower, loving, kind, hugely talented and an amazing internet wifey and I'm so grateful to the depths of my soul that I met her."

Kit's Advice To You

"Have goals. Write daily. Have a set writing time- even if it's just 15 minutes. Growing as a writer is a process and if you want to grow, it takes work (and if you don't want to grow, that's fine too!). Things like making the decision to start outlining when writing longer fics, editing for more than just grammar correction and paying attention to what you change or what you don't like while rereading your work, what you think you can do better all can go a long way. And of course, reading. Both 'real' books, old books, new books and fanfic all help too but not just for enjoyment. Paying attention to how dialog is written, how the scenes are structured, how the story moves, what you think is well done and what you don't think is well done and why you feel that way are all as important as the simple act of writing.

And having some writing buddies helps too. I am a better writer for having Vexi as my writing buddy, to encourage me to step out of my comfort zone, to (playfully) shame me when my writing gets lazy and to (annoyingly) remind me to self care and take breaks. A writing buddy with the same writing goals as you is a great tool to have too."

Want To Write A Personal Letter?

Kit's official Sup-port tag is #fromsup-port2redfoxwritesstuff

♡ Is it your first time picking up mail at Sup-port? Find out what we're about here ♡

[theblackfemininesociety]

🚨 BESTIES, Stop Sleeping on Luxury Non-Damaging Press Ons Nails ‼️💅🏿😍

🎥 tiktok from: tatianamorrisss

Besties, I’ve recently became a Press On Girl.

I can attest to the fact that the press on game has evolved ! I am saving so much money by doing this little self care activity… I only go to salon for my pedicures now 🩷

My Fav Luxury Press On Nail Companies:

✨TIPS✨

**remember with acrylics or press ons nails, they are jewels not tools & Quality is key. Choose your length according to your lifestyle and use them as a way to remember you are a on your feminine journey so you need to move as such**

…for applying nails:

- always do your nails AFTER you shower before bed.

- avoid water for atleast 2 hours after applying; this is why before best is the best time so nails can completely dry by the morning )

- nail prepping is a crucial step for long lasting nails (3 weeks+)

• always make sure nails are dry

• be sure too clip, push back your cuticles & buff out your nails.

• use alcohol pad to clean and dry out nail so press on can lay flat on your nails.

• lay all your press ons out and line up each press on for each finger. Make sure they fit perfectly above not on your nail bed. This makes applying easier so you don’t have to try to find and file each nail to fit.

- use good glue! Both company’s listed has amazing glue but here’s my top glue recommendation list.

• Sally’s beauty: Bestie Secrets Drip & Clog Proof Nail Glue

• Luxxi: Brush On Nail Glue

• Amazon: Nail Bond Nail Glue

- always do the sandwich method when applying glue: apply a little in the center of your own nail and some on the press on nail.

- press down on each nail after applying for 30 secs.

- use a blow dryer for a few secs when finished to make nails stay on !

…for maintenance:

• always keep glue in your purse ! I didn’t run into nails falling off constantly but if it does stay prepared !

• down time at home. When washing hands do apply blow dryer after washing and drying hands with towel for extra protection.

…for removal:

• if you can get a press on removal kit ! Luxxie has a good inexpensive one here.

• If you don’t want to use kit.

- soak nails in warm soap and water and oil for 10 mins.

- use cuticle nails to gently lift the nail off.

- Use acetone and cotton pad to get any extra glue off your nails.

😍 BFS I will never tell you things I don’t also do in real life! I am currently rocking this set and I’m going on week 2 oh and yes I do work with my hands daily!

$14.99 beats my $60+ refill / $95 fresh set at the Salon. (link here)

Ps. There is No GATEKEEPING over here sis ! How has your experience been with press on nails? If you have any good press on nail companies or tips please share them in the comments!

[troutfur]

I got the image in my head of Bluestar, as her mental state declines after Tigers betrayal, seeks comfort in a remnant of someone she knew.

With almost all the cats she loved gone from her life, and are in distant Starclanin. Blue is increasingly is drawn the thickets at the edge of the territory (Which have grown out quite a bit) because of the sense of lingering familiarity to them.

Not necessarily a pleasant or good familiarity, but the nostalgia and memories of happier times are there nonetheless.

Just taking a long walk and resting for a minute around the tendrils of the thistle for a moment

So, this mental image inspired a whole ficlet out of me, so, enjoy!

The half-moon hung on the starry night sky as Bluefur walked towards the RiverClan border. She'd just had an argument with Cinderpelt, having forbidden her from making the trip to the Moonstone. And after that and so many moons cooped up in her den she just needed some fresh air.

She felt a tug on her paws, leading her to the RiverClan border. Right at the point where the ThunderClan forest gave way to the sandy banks of the river there was a tangle of thistles, standing tall and proud. She sat about a fox-length away from it and simply dwelt in the silence.

The stubborn plant was the most peculiar thing. Any enemy warrior that tried to cross invariably left with nasty cuts in their pelt, but most ThunderClan warriors could pass through it unharmed. Bluefur was different, though; although never a major injury, the plant had a knack for getting tangled in her pelt or leaving little scratches on her if she tried to go through.

"I never thought I'd be seeking your company, you know?" she meowed eventually. "Seems you are doing well for yourself. I remember a season or two ago I had hope you were finally going to wither."

There was a pause.

Bluefur was unsure what she was expecting before continuing. Could he reply in his current state? Could he even hear her?

"I've been thinking about you a lot more lately," she continued. "I presume you are aware of what your apprentice tried to do."

Out of the corner of her eye, Bluefur noticed a very slight hint of movement in the thistles. Without taking a moment to consider that it could have been the wind or her imagination or something else of the sort, she took that as a response.

"I just..." Bluestar gave a long sigh. "I didn't think you taught him like that. You were many things. Aggressive, rash, sharp-tongued... But would have you killed me to become leader?"

There was another pause. The thistles seemed to remain still this time.

"Did I soften too much?" she meowed. "Was that my problem? Was that that made him think he had to do it?"

Bluefur looked at the ground between her front paws as she went over her memories of these last few years she'd spent as leader. After a few moments she stood up to walk closer to the thistles and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I'd just... taken your offer back when I could."

The thistes rustled vigorously in that instant, and Bluefur flinched. After a couple heartbeats she took a step closer to the thistles once again. "I wonder if you could have come to love them too," she said with a wistful sigh. "Much as raising Whitestorm alongside you made me want to pull my fur out, we didn't do a bad job at all as a team."

The thistles seemed to part slightly, giving her a look the the other bank of the river through its branches. Snowkit... Moonkit... Mosskit... In a sense all three of them had died that night, even if two grown warriors now wore the pelts of the former two.

That pregnancy had come at the most inconvenient time. They had only agreed to remain as empf that long for the Whitepaw's sake. The moment he had his warrior ceremony they had been planning to break up the nest.

But of course he knew immediately that he could have never sired her kits. As much as the idea of half-clanners being associated with him disgusted him, however, he was willing to not denounce them under one condition: step out of the running for deputy. Giving them up had been the only way to get out of check.

As she was lost in thought, the thistles reached out to caress her face. Bluefur immediately raised a paw to her cheek where she felt the thistle connect to her. She held it there for a moment then looked at it. There was no blood drawn.

Bluefur relaxed, letting out her first genuine laugh in many moons. "The things I put up with for Snowclaw..." she meowed. "You really were named well, you know? I still remember how itchy your fur felt back when we were all in the same pfurr. Not having to put up with it any longer is enough to make all those freezing nights in my nest worth it."

Bluefur stayed there for a few more moments, dwelling in the peaceful quiet of the night, before standing up and returning the way she came. The thistles rustled one more time as she left, and she turned to look over her shoulder. "Goodbye, Thistleclaw."