#tumblers bundle

[gooddaylife]

3D Sunset Summer Beach Landscape Tumbler Wrap Bundle, 3D sublimation design, 20oz Skinny Tumbler Wrap PNG Straight/Tapered Digital Download

[colordoxx]

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[justtumblerdesigns]

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[straussgraphic]

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[honeylullaby]

“There’s just something about ya’.”

(Rivals) Declan O’Hara x Reader

Suggestion by a sweet anon 🫶🏽 Despite his dislike of the upper class, Declan cannot help but fall for Rupert’s daughter.

18+ FANFIC / Romantic angst, smut mention ? Reader character aged at 21. Hope you enjoy!🩷

Taggie flounced down the winding staircase of The Priory, adorned in a blush pink taffeta dress with sparkling white kitten heels, a radiant grin painted across her face. “Where did ya’ get that? Looks fuckin’ expensive.” Declan growled as he watched her, puffing on a cigarette. Even her father’s pessimism couldn’t deflate her mood right now. “It’s my friends. Do you like it?” She asked, running her hand across the silk hem. “Yes. What friend?” Declan asked, now scratching mercilessly at his stubbled beard. “Rupert’s daughter. I met her the other day, she’s wonderful.” Taggie beamed. Declan let out a raucous scoff and tied beige loafers to his feet. “Jesus Christ, there’s two of them? God help us all.” He snapped, letting out an exasperated exhale. “Well, I need to go up and see him, so ya’ can come along and see the second devil incarnate.” Declan joked, chuckling to himself.

-

Stuffing themselves into the rusted old Mini, Declan and Taggie drove across the valley, speeding up to Penscombe Court, mud careering from the car’s wheel arches. The Mini seemed awfully out of place beside Rupert’s Porsche. A large wicker hamper was propped onto Taggie’s lap, a picnic basket laden with sandwiches, homemade jam and cakes. “Do you have ta’ bring them food every time?” Declan questioned, glancing over at the brimming basket. “Yes, I do. It’s nice to bring gifts.” Taggie replied, her smile unwavering. As they bundled out of the car, they were greeted by you, out in the field — dressed elegantly in a chiffon white floral summer dress, barefoot and with golden-hair arranged across your shoulders in loose waves. Beside you, the most magnificent Friesian horse, its mane braided tightly with pink ribbons. “What on Earth?” Declan muttered in disbelief, his eyebrows furrowing as Taggie’s already ecstatic grin grew.

“Darling! Hello!” You yelled over, giving the Friesian horse a prompt kiss on the nose and sprinting over, your bare feet crunching underneath the gravelled driveway. Taggie passed Declan the hamper and subsequently threw her arms around you, squeezing tightly. She had never met someone with as much positivity as her in all her life. “Hello, Mr O’Hara.” You chime, curtseying jokingly. “Hello. Rupert’s daughter, I take it?” He asked, his lip curled in irritation. “Yes, I’ll take you in.” You reply, unfazed by Declan’s reaction and leading them both into the grand home.

Awkwardly shuffling after you into the living room, it could be observed that Rupert was reading The Scorpion in his arm chair, sipping from a crystal tumbler of whiskey. His nonchalant expression brightened at the sight of company. “Hello, darling. Come and sit down.” Rupert mumbled to you, patting the chaise lounge beside him. You obliged, and collapsed down, spreading your limbs across the plush crimson velvet. Taggie and Declan opted for the chocolate brown leather sofa across from you. “So, Declan, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked, reaching for three more glasses and filling them to the top with his best whiskey. “I left my programming schedules the other day. Need them.” He grunted, sparking a cigarette and taking an elongated drag. “Angel, go and grab them, please.” Rupert nodded towards you. With an exasperated groan, you pulled yourself upwards and sauntered out of the room, Declan unable to stop his eyes from following your rounded behind. Rupert’s tilted his head in confusion, his eyes almost glowing amber like a hawk.

Returning moments later with a mountain of paperwork, you dropped them onto the leather sofa beside Declan. “Thank you.” He smiled softly, his hand meeting yours as he reached across for them. “That dress looks spectacular on you, Tag. I found loads more this morning! I have an amazing ivory silk dress, backless and drop dead gorgeous.” You rattle, reclining back beside your father. “Isn’t that the one I bought you for your 18th? You’re getting rid of it already?” Rupert quizzed through a wide smile. “I’m not getting rid of it! It will look gorgeous on Tag. Declan, I’m sure I can find you something good from Daddy’s old closet.” You joke, narrowing your cerulean eyes. “I’m okay for Rupert’s handouts, thanks.” He snapped.

- - -

The following day, Declan was rudely awakened from his hungover stupor by a deafening knock on the door. Barely managing to pull on his grey dressing gown, he hauled the door open. “What?” He thundered. “Good morning! Daddy was incredibly hungover this morning, so I can only imagine you are too. I bought you some pink lemonade, and a Victoria sponge.” You twinkled, pushing your way through the front door. “I don’t want it.” He barked, attempting to block your way. “Oh, nonsense. Of course you do. I’m a star baker.” Your golden hair was hooked together in a tight fishtail braid, cascading down your shoulder. Your makeup was clean, light and fresh, exactly how Declan likes. Even better, you had swapped your mud-stained summer dress for a tight pair of blue jeans, a turquoise linen blouse and a pair of black canvas shoes. “Ya’ look… normal.” He remarked, secretly admiring the way your jeans stretched tightly over your arse. “By normal, you mean you like the way my arse looks?” You giggled, setting the sponge down on the kitchen counter. Not so secretly then.

“No. Yes. But no.” Declan couldn’t help but chuckle with you. “Don’t tell your Dad I said that.” He added. “I won’t. I’m glad you like it.” You mutter, smacking your behind swiftly. Declan growled in approval, closing the gap between you two — so close that you could feel the heat of his breath raining down over your chest. “Don’t tease me.” He purred.

[onekeii]

'Cause it's Christmas!

Day 8: Touch starved Stray Kids: Lee Know x GN!Reader Warnings/Genre: hurt to comfort, fluff, alcohol consumption, reader drinks irresponsibly, reader wears makeup (lipstick), just a tad depressing but in a good way, not proof read Word count: 1,006 AN: for those of us who don’t want to go home for the holidays, lots of love <3

Read on AO3

Christmas sucks.

Christmas wasn’t about giving presents, eating good food, or smiling with family and friends. For you, it was about faking smiles, navigating shouting matches, and forgetting to breathe.

Well, you’d had enough.

This was your first year spending Christmas alone. All your friends had gone home to their warm and loving families, while you… sat. The white walls of your apartment, barren from fairy lights or tinsel, were your company for tonight. If you squinted, you might believe you weren’t drinking on your own.

Your hand held, rather carelessly, a whisky tumbler. Filled to the brim with the remainder of a nice spirit a friend left you with, the glass’ rim was stained red from how many times you brought it to your lips that night. Why did you even put on lipstick? There was no one to impress, no mistletoe to kiss under - just a burn in your throat, and another dish to scrub at tomorrow. 

One more gulp, one more greasy red stain on the glass, and you downed the rest of the drink. “I should set an alarm for tomorrow,” you’ve started thinking out loud. But you don’t set the alarm. Your phone was- somewhere, and probably dead. “I’ll only check it when Christmas is over,” you promised yourself while still sober. If you received just one message, notification, photo, of someone enjoying their time, you’d break your phone for sure. 

Still, this was better than being at home.

You put the fragile glass down on the floor with a not-so-fragile bang. Then you bundled your blankets around you, over your head and around your shoulders, until you were completely covered. It was definitely warm, but the soft fleece was just a reminder of how utterly cold you felt; no blanket could fix you. 

Knock knock.

Blinking, like an owl, you swivel your head round to face the door. It’s Christmas Eve, what could anyone possibly want? Maybe your neighbours were just being loud, or you were finally starting to hear things. You turn back to face the wall.

Knock knock knock. With more urgency this time.

“Okay! Fine, wait!” You yell. You’re trapped in your prison of blankets, sluggishly fighting your way through the soft mess. Every movement rattles your brain in your skull like a violent child with a snowglobe. It hurts, pounding behind your eyes and pulling your scalp tight. The whisky glass comes into view, in threes, when you finally break free. You curse it.

Your hands find purchase on any nearby surface - the couch, the doorframe, the coat rack (it nearly topples over), and finally, the door handle. With all your strength - a little too much - you yank the door open, “It’s Christmas Eve,” you slur with little pride, “what- Minho?”

It takes two blinks to be sure. At first, you’re not surprised he’s there, you’re just unsure whether it’s actually him. Yes, that’s the stern expression you know so well, cutting through you. Well, now there’s two of him.

“Yeah, it’s Christmas Eve,” he scoffs, inviting himself inside, “so why,” he stops when you wobble and plant your hands on his arm for support, “are you like this?”

“‘Cause it’s Christmas!” you cheer. You’re too dizzy to feel any shame. 

Minho’s eyebrows snap together at your state. What would have happened to you if he didn’t come? 

“When I told my parents you were spending Christmas alone, they asked for you to come over, but…” he sighed, looking you up and down as you pawed at his jumper, “I can’t bring you over like this.”

One arm wraps around his torso, then another, then he’s being squeezed. Tight. You knock the air out of Minho for a moment, but your face shows no sign of any evil deeds. You’re burrowing your head into the space between his neck and shoulder, the fabric of his red Christmas jumper is horrible and scratchy but he’s warm, in a way much more fulfilling than any blanket or hard liquor. 

“Then don’t,” your voice is muffled into his neck. Minho’s more taken aback by, more than anything else, the fact that you managed to hear what he said, “Huh?”

You shoot your head up to look him in the eyes. It takes a minute, they finally sink into your vision without you seeing doubles, but they’re definitely there - he’s definitely there. His face is so close to yours, you’re sure he can smell the alcohol in your breath. Hot, you think, snapping your mouth shut. “Stay here? For a bit?” you plead, “I don’t wanna be alone for Christmas after all- it’s awful,” your eyes are welling up now, tears separating Minho from your sight once more.

But he wasn’t going to say no - you didn’t even need to start crying for that. “I wasn’t gonna leave you,” there’s the tiniest bit of venom in his voice, as if he were offended you would even think otherwise, “You need to go to bed.”

“No-” your voice catches, a hiccup stops you from finishing your sentence. “Maybe,” you giggle. Minho just shakes his head, but he winds one arm around your shoulders, the other snaking behind your knees. Your stomach drops for a second as he lifts you up without a struggle or grunt of effort. You swing your legs back and forth a little, testing his balance, but he doesn’t falter. 

Then you’re in bed, and he’s pulling the covers up to your chin. Despite sitting on the edge with you, Minho makes no move to get in until you wrap your hand around his wrist and pull, hard. “Okay, okay, fine,” he wraps the blankets around the both of you. He lets you curl into his chest, your head tucked under his chin, fitting together perfectly like puzzle pieces. 

His smell, the steady rise and fall of his chest, his shallow breaths against your head, the heat from his palms pressed into your back - finally, you feel warm. Actually warm. 

For the first time ever, Christmas doesn’t suck. 

@12daysofchristmas

If you enjoyed, please consider helping out by dropping a reblog or follow ✩

[nelapanela94]

“Levi?”

You push the door open with your back and the weathered hinges creak. It’s dark and quiet inside, Levi’s leather jacket hangs over the chair backrest. The window behind his desk is closed, the quill stands in the holder.

The plate and tumbler clatter on the tray as you inch toward the door that connects his office to the room. It is ajar and you, uninvitedly, slip inside.

“Levi?”

A faint glow flickers from the nightstand, and Levi is tucked in bed, like a bundle, covered from head to toe.

Your eyes squint, lines mar the space between your brows. Something doesn’t seem right. You set the tray on the side table and pad gingerly to the bed, lay a hand on the quilt where his shoulder should be.

“Levi? Are you ok?”

What is someone kidnapped him and left the corpse of an animal behind? Panic rises in your chest.

“Y/N?”

His gravelly voice tames the drama snakes in your head. He rolls onto the opposite side. “What are you doing here?”

“You missed dinner. I thought you’d be hungry, so I saved some leftovers…”

“Not hungry.” His voice is shaky, like the rest of his body.

“What’s wrong then? Why are you in bed?”

“Why couldn't I be in bed?” He coughs. “I’m not a child. Get out of here.”

You frown, tap tapping the floor. “You’re acting like one now. And I’m not leaving until I make sure you’re fine.”

He flings the covers off and reveals himself. “I’m fine.”

His eyes are glassy, his lips dry, cheeks red, his hair glued to his face in sweat. He wriggles up against the headboard to a sitting position. You sit next to him, making him curse under his breath, and bring the back of your hand to his forehead. “You’re far from fine. Why don’t you go to the infirmary?”

“I don't want to waste their time. Besides, there are others who need it more.”

“You could’ve asked for help at least.”

“I don’t want shitty glasses entering my room.”

“You could’ve asked me.” You jab a finger to your chest, pouting.

His cheeks sizzle with a deeper blush. What a shame it is that you see him in this deplorable state. He is the one who should be protecting you and not the other way around.

You peel from bed and scuff to the washbasin. In the shelf next to it, Levi keeps towels and linens. You take a lavender-imbued cloth, soak it and wring the excess. “Lay down, Levi.”

“Leave me alone.” He grunts and reluctantly complies. You brush his hair off his face and place the cloth on his forehead.

“Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No, it’s just the fever. Thanks. Now, you can leave.”

“Are you kidding me? What if you get worse?” You plonk on the wing chair, arms folded on your chest.

“You’re worse than lice.”

“Just let me know if you need anything.” You stretch out your legs, and your ass sinks into the cotton canvas.

Thirty minutes later, your soft snores swarm the room. Your chest rises and falls steadily in your peaceful slumber. Levi sighs. And you were the one who was supposed to take care of him? His lips curve in a half smile. The ache in his bones and muscles is ebbing, the trembling in his limbs is easing. It's not of him to catch a seasonal flu, but a little attention from you doesn't hurt, does it?

He throws a cushion at you, and you jerk awake.

"Water."

[caesariawritesstuff]

I would like a story on the topic "jealousy" with .... of course Scarecrow :3

A Flicker in the Dark

Summary: After his encounter with you, Jonathan realizes he might just want you for his own. A slight continuation of Damaged Goods.

Content Warning: Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Minor spoilers for Cat & Mouse.

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: A slight continuation of Damaged Goods. Not canon to the official Cat&Mouse!Verse, but it might be one day? My brain is a mess now that I've got the Detective x Jon brain rot. Someone send help.

The GCPD was still. An odd thing, for this time of night, but there was an eerie silence cast over the entire precinct. Jonathan Crane was quiet as he packed up his things, stuffing his work papers into his briefcase: documents all on the latest case that he had been pouring over for hours, trying to figure out the chemical compound this new criminal was using. He was getting closer to discovering it, but still; pain throbbed behind his eyes, a dull ache in his damaged retina. His entire face often ached from the numerous surgeries he’d had, and from the brutal assaults from Batman. He frowned at the thought of the Dark Knight, and yet, there was still a sick sense of satisfaction bundling in his stomach at knowing he’d won three years ago.

It felt like so long ago now, but Jonathan shook the thoughts from his mind, finished gathering his things, and quickly headed out of the GCPD. A dozen eyes averted from him, and numerous people leaned to whisper things to one another, but he ignored their stares. Not like he cared much about what people thought of him. He had far too much on his mind, anyways – but as he came into the lobby and headed towards the front door, something caught his eye.

He lifted his head slightly, gazing through narrowed eyes as he watched you and Edward wander down the hall, arm in arm, whispering to one another as his footsteps came to a slow stop. He couldn’t help but notice the way you clung to Edward, so tightly, as if you needed him to ground you to the very stone underneath your feet. Edward leaned down, whispering something into your ear, that made you laugh. Even from here, Jonathan could see the flush that crept across your cheeks, a rosy hue. He knew you were involved with Edward – well, the whole precinct knew – and Jonathan couldn’t deny his fascination and curiosity as to why someone like you would be involved with someone like Edward. Of course, the little incident he’d had with you down in the forensics lab had answered some of his question, but it didn’t quite fill the void he was seeking. A void, which Jonathan discovered, he could not quite explain.

You and Edward disappeared out of the GCPD and into the night. Jonathan tightened his grip around his briefcase and continued on his way, his thoughts once more straying back to the case at hand he’d been recruited to help with. But as he called a cab and made his way back to his court mandated apartment, he found his thoughts once more straying back to you. He could not deny that you were an attractive woman; even someone like him could see that. Not that he paid attention to such things, but he couldn’t deny that you’d caught his eye.

As he arrived at his apartment and made his way inside, he shut and locked the door behind him, taking a look at his bare, empty apartment. A cold chill clung to the air, and he sighed, shrugging out of his coat and hanging it on the coat hook beside the door. He rolled up his sleeves and headed into the kitchen to pour himself a stiff drink. He filled a tumbler with ice, and some top shelf whiskey, taking a slow sip, letting the flavor linger on his tongue. Glass in hand, he wandered over to the window and took a long look out at the city, a city he’d once bathed in his fear toxin, desperate to show them all how ruled by their own fears they really were. He’d wanted this city to be his domain, their King of Fear. Interesting how things had changed so drastically in the last three years, and he found himself picking apart the events in which they’d happened – and how he’d come to be here.

Taking another sip of his drink, he found his thoughts straying to you once more. It’d been an interesting conversation he’d had with you, and a part of him found himself curious to pick apart your fears once again, to get to know you better, to understand just what made you tick. He wanted to study you, and if it was up to him, he’d slip you a nice little injection of his toxin and relish in just what your nightmares might show him. But the more he began to think on it, the more Jonathan began to question these strange feelings stirring in his stomach, awakening something foreign within him he had not felt in a very long time, something even he was struggling to understand. But what was it?

He turned away from the window and sat down in the nearby recliner, bathing himself in the darkness as he swirled his drink around in his glass. The clinking of ice filled the silence. And yet, no matter how hard he tried to vanish you from his mind, he found he could not keep his thoughts from straying back to you. You’d stared at him with such defiance in your eyes, a fire that burned brightly – a fire, he suddenly realized, that he wanted to consume for his own.

And that was the moment Jonathan suddenly understood what he was feeling.

Jealousy.

It was jealousy stirring in his stomach. An emotion he had not felt in years. Jonathan was not a jealous man; in fact, it was an emotion that often alluded him entirely. Jealousy was simply a symptom of someone’s fears, and he had mastered his long ago.

So why was he feeling it now?

He had not experienced such an emotion in so long that it was hard to pinpoint where it was stemming from – but the more he pondered it, the clearer the issue became: he had come to see why someone like you would capture Edward’s attention, but he could not understand why someone like you would give him your attention at all. Was it the simple fact that you feared no one else would give you attention like Edward did? Or was it rooted in something else, some deep-rooted trauma you tried to suppress? And what was it about Edward that held you so tightly in his grasp? Jonathan knew the man was egotistical, full of bravado, something which annoyed him more often than not, but he’d learned how to navigate Edward’s ego long ago.

But…Jonathan knew Edward would not let you go so easily. The man was possessive, and he would not share you. But if Jonathan wanted to understand you for himself, if he wanted to come to consume your fire and study it under his own gaze, he’d need Edward out of the way.

Another bolt of jealousy stirred within his stomach, spreading through his veins, blossoming in his stomach like a balloon. Your fire was enough to bring a man like Edward Nigma to his knees, and Jonathan wanted to exploit that for himself: your vulnerability, your fears, your fire, the things that he knew he could bring to the surface and exploit for his own. It was simply too bad Edward had gotten to you first – and another sliver of jealousy rippled through Jonathan’s veins, wondering what it would have been like if he’d have met you before Edward, if he’d been approached about this silly reform first.

He took another slow sip of his drink, and when he lowered it back to his lap, a smirk touched the corners of his lips. His jealousy was like a flicker in the dark, a match lightning gasoline, a small flame being stoked to life.

And that was the moment Jonathan realized he wanted you for himself.

Everything about you – he wanted for his own. To consume. To nurture. To help you master. To take and exploit, to mold you into the image he wanted you to be.

His own Mistress of Fear.

All it would take were a few words, a few whispers, a few thoughts planted in your head. He wanted to watch you squirm, to watch those fears rise from the depths of your soul, and when he finally hade you where he wanted you…

He would take you for his own.

[dyslexic-batman]

hello!! I make templates!(mainly for discord) And gather F2U decor! Take a look! this gives me something to do and gives you (hopefully) what you're looking for! (Byi/dni & template boundaries below the cut)

Here's the request template

#📋;; — template | #📋;; — txt

Template requests are open

Png requests are open

SimplyPlural/Rentry flag requests are open

───────────────────────────────

𐔌 PK ｡ Display Names, Group Display Names, Alter desc, System desc, Subsystem desc, keep proxy, ideas for proxy emoji(s)

𐔌 SP ｡ Display names for alters, Folder display names, alter bio, system bio, subsystem bio, folder bio, folder organization ideas, pronoun slot, custom fields dn, custom fields format, notes format

𐔌 Misc ｡ About me, general ("singlet") intro, Nickname ideas, display name/nick name layouts, prn layouts, commission prices layout, server rules, roles, channel/category layouts, welcome/leave message, boost message, auto responder ideas, links to helpful sites, Name/prn ideas, oc intro layout

[I WILL NOT MAKE AN ENTIRE SERVER FOR FREE]

(Unfortunately i will not make full bundle packs for free either. ie. entire layouts for SP: custom fields, profiles, groups, custom front, channels, privacy buckets etc. This takes a LOT of time for me to make, and even longer to fix little details.)

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𐔌 BASIC INFO ｡ You can call me joker! (they/ask) 👥, 🏳️‍⚧️, 🏳‍🌈. I'm dyslexic batman/ij. “pk;s lumks” for less important but general info. Alters will (sometimes) sign off in the tags w/ “emoji、name”. I write poetry too! I'm not always online and I hyperfocus on a lot of different things, I sometimes forget about this blog unless i get a tumbler notification but I usually am working on templates or classwork.

𐔌 TEMP BNDRYS ｡ Don't repost my templates anywhere. Do not remove credits, ever, regardless of the reason. If decor i post isn't mine, i will explicitly say it and provide credits to the person who made it if i can find them. ASSUME ANY TEMPLATE POSTED BY ME WAS MADE BY ME UNLESS STATED OTHERWISE.

𐔌 DNI ｡ TransID/Transabled users & supporters, Made-up disorder users & supporters, queerphobes, people who steal templates and artwork, Zoos, MAPs, basic dni, xenophobes, proship/radqueer.

[felassan]

Now in the BioWare Gear Store:

Tali tee

Tali statue

Wrex statue

Normandy tumbler

Tali companion bundle

Tali womens' silhouette tee

Tali silhouette tee

Garrus tee

You can get 20% off in the BioWare Gear Store until July 3rd using my latest discount code BWROOKN7. After that date check back here for a new code. alternatively, you can use my tracking link.

✧d(•̀ v•̀ )~~♪

[justtumblerdesigns]

Explore the unique beauty of our 'Gym Themed Tumbler Wraps Bundle | 6 Motivational Fitness Straight Tumbler Sublimation Designs | Design Gym Sublimates | PNG Digital Download' available now at JustTumblerDesigns. This design is perfect for anyone who wants to stand out with a custom tumbler that reflects their personal style. Whether you're gifting a loved one or treating yourself, this design is sure to turn heads! Each tumbler wrap is created with attention to detail and quality, ensuring that your purchase brings joy for years to come. Check out more unique designs like this in our shop and find the perfect one for you!

[jumbosvg]

25 Retro Christmas Bundle Png

[bluewolfangel]

Darkstache Soda Cans!

Darkstache Soda Can Tumblers are now up for preorder! Link down below to order a can of your own! Or if you’d like there is also a special Valentine’s Day bundle that includes two special pins and two special acrylic keychains as well 😊

[angelsdiaury]

Queen Genevieve’s screams tore through the royal wing of the castle, a haunting symphony of agony that froze every servant in their tracks. Beyond the heavy oak doors of the birthing chamber, the handmaidens stood in tense silence, their faces pale and drawn. Their traditional gowns—long, flowing garments of soft blue and white, adorned with delicate lace and silver embroidery—seemed to dull under the oppressive weight of the night. Each intricate stitch, symbolizing their sacred duty to the royal family, now felt like a futile adornment in the face of such despair. 

    Among them, Anna, the senior.   chambermaid, stood at the forefront. Her gown, a deeper shade of blue, bore a subtle gold trim—a mark of her experience and trusted station. Yet, even her seasoned composure wavered, her hands trembling as she clutched her rosary tightly, murmuring prayers under her breath. Her mind raced with fears, though she dared not voice them aloud.

In the corridor outside, King Edward paced relentlessly. His boots struck the polished marble floor in uneven, thunderous beats, the sound echoing through the stone halls. His royal attire, typically pristine, was in disarray. His coat hung loosely from his shoulders, his cravat undone, and his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his chest. His fingers raked through his graying hair as he muttered fragments of prayers and curses. The torches lining the corridor flickered, casting wavering shadows across his strained face.

When Queen Genevieve’s cries suddenly ceased, a chilling stillness fell over the corridor. The handmaidens exchanged wide-eyed glances, their breaths caught in their throats. The silence pressed down like a physical weight, broken only by the creak of the chamber door as it slowly opened. A young handmaiden stepped out, her face streaked with tears. She curtsied shakily before addressing the king.

“Your Majesty,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper, “the queen... she has passed.”

The words hit King Edward like a blade to the chest. He froze mid-step, his face turning ashen. For a moment, he stood motionless, his lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came. His shoulders sagged under the crushing weight of grief, and he stumbled to the wall for support. His hand gripped the cold stone, the tremor in his fingers betraying his anguish.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse, almost unrecognizable. “And the child?”

“The prince is healthy and strong, Your Majesty,” the handmaiden replied, her tone trembling.

Relief flickered briefly in Edward’s eyes before they clouded with another, unspoken dread. “And the other child?” he demanded, his voice low and strained.

Anna stepped forward, cradling a bundle wrapped in soft, white linen. Her expression was a mixture of sorrow and resolve as she met the king’s gaze. “The princess, Anastasia, is also healthy, Your Majesty,” she said softly.

King Edward’s eyes flicked toward the bundle but lingered for only a moment. His expression hardened, his grief now buried beneath a mask of cold detachment. Without acknowledging the infant further, he turned away. “See to the queen’s burial preparations,” he commanded, his voice sharp and unyielding. “I will attend to my son.”

The handmaidens curtsied as the king strode down the corridor, his steps heavy with sorrow. Anna watched him disappear into the shadows, her arms tightening protectively around the tiny princess. The other handmaidens gathered around her, their faces etched with concern, but none dared to speak.

From the far end of the hallway came the soft rustle of silk skirts and the distinct click of jeweled heels against stone. Vivian, the king’s mistress, emerged from the shadows. Draped in a gown of crimson velvet that clung to her slender frame, she exuded an aura of authority that was both commanding and unsettling. Her golden hair, piled high and adorned with a glittering ruby comb, caught the torchlight, casting her in an almost ethereal glow. But it was her eyes—sharp, calculating, and brimming with malice—that drew attention.

Anna stiffened as Vivian approached, her grip on Anastasia tightening instinctively.

“What business do you have here, Vivian?” Anna asked, her voice steady but wary. “This is a time of mourning. The queen—”

“The queen,” Vivian interrupted, her lips curling into a sly smile, “is dead.” She glanced at the bundle in Anna’s arms, her expression shifting to one of disdain. “And what have we here? The king’s spare child? A girl, no less.”

Anna bristled but held her ground. “Her name is Anastasia, and she is the daughter of the king and queen. She is no ‘spare.’”

Vivian let out a low, mocking laugh. “Such loyalty, Anna. But tell me, do you truly believe the king cares for this child? Or for the memory of his wife?” She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. “The king is a man of ambition, not sentiment. And you—a mere servant—have no place to speak of matters above your station.”

“I serve the royal family,” Anna replied firmly, her voice steady despite the fear twisting in her chest. “And I will protect Princess Anastasia with my life, if need be.”

Vivian’s smile faltered, her gaze darkening. Rumors of her dealings with forbidden magics swirled in Anna’s mind—rumors that now seemed all too believable. For a moment, Vivian’s fingers twitched as if she might reach for the child, but she stopped herself.

“Careful, Anna,” Vivian said softly, her voice dripping with menace. “Loyalty can be a dangerous thing in a place like this. Protect the girl if you wish—but do not expect gratitude or mercy from the court. The palace is no place for the weak.”

With that, she swept past, her skirts brushing against Anna’s as she disappeared into the shadows.

The infant stirred in Anna’s arms, her soft cries breaking the tense silence. Anna soothed her with gentle whispers, her heart heavy

So I don't really know how to use tumbler or make it look pretty but I worked really hard writing this so please give it a chance .

[bazzpop]

Tied Up In Knots

@flashfictionfridayofficial

Aziraphale’s first indication that something was wrong was the loud thump of something—or someone—very heavy slamming onto the ancient floorboards. His second was the wince-inducing crash of porcelain shattering as it, too, hit the floor. And, lastly, his third was the hissed out obscenities that soon followed, no doubt coming from a very grumpy, and likely pained, snake.

“Crowley, dear?” Azirpahale asked towards the backroom, though he didn’t get up to check just yet. If Crowley was well enough to move on to cursing his way through every dead language they knew in history, he probably wasn’t in any real danger. “Everything all right?”

“Yesss,” Crowley hissed irritably, “jussst peachy.”

“I highly doubt that whatever you’re doing back there has anything to do with peaches.” Aziraphale set his book aside and primly took off his nifty reading glasses that were more for form than function. “You know I’d be awfully cross if it does and you didn’t share any.”

“No peachesss,” Crowley promised. The rasp of scales sliding furiously against the floors loud in the otherwise quiet shop. “If anything, I’d sssay ‘s more like a pretzel.”

Intrigued by that tiny admission, Aziraphale rose from his cushy armchair and mentally prepared himself for whatever Crowley could have possibly gotten himself into while he began the short walk into the backroom.

The sight that met him upon entry was not at all what he’d expected.

Crowley was in serpent form, sprawled out on the floor, littered remnants of an unfortunate mug of cold cocoa scattered around him, and absolutely tangled in the blanket Aziraphale had carefully laid over him while he had been dozing off in the sunbeams earlier. But, from the look of things, he had also managed to get a bit tangled up in himself too—if the giant mess of a knot in his middle, spine up in a rather nasty twist because of it, was anything to go by.

“Uh,” Crowley’s thin tongue poked out to lick his non-existent lips, strongly resisting the urge to hide his snout somewhere deep amongst his coils in embarrassment, “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can,” Azirpahale desperately tried not to laugh for Crowley’s sake, “and I’d very much love to hear it, but how about I get you unraveled first? That can’t be very comfortable.”

“Oh, yeah, that’d be great.”

Gently, Aziraphale picked up the bundle of snake and went about inspecting the knot. Oh dear, Crowley had done quite a number on himself with this one, he tsked. It took him a couple minutes of poking and prodding for the knot to finally give way.

Inspecting his handiwork, Aziraphale stroked a hand down the smooth scales in a soothing manner. “There we are, good as new.”

“Thanksss,” Crowley slipped through the angel’s hands, collapsing onto the floor and back into his favorite human shape. But as soon as he materialized, he grabbed at his back with a grimace, leaning into the arms Aziraphale had brought up when his knees almost buckled under him. “Ow, that smarts.”

“Something wrong?”

“Think I pulled something in my back,” the demon explained with a wince before it turned into a disbelieving laugh, “didn’t know I could do that as a snake.”

“Neither did I,” Aziraphale chucked along with an undercurrent of concern, raising a hand to snap, “is it something I could help with?”

“Nah, don’t trouble yourself—I’m fine, really. Nothing a bit of sitting down for a while, stretching it out, and maybe having something to drink can’t fix.”

“Oh,” Azirpahale wiggled, though a more controlled wiggle as to not jostle the poor demon’s aching back too much, “I do believe I can help with that!” Together they hobbled their way over to the sofa so the demon could sit himself down, and then moved on to pour them some drinks from an ornate crystal decanter of Crowley’s favorite scotch. “Now then, I believe I was promised an explanation on how that happened?” He asked, offering a tumbler of amber colored liquor to a crooked sitting demon.

“Right.” Crowley accepted it, tongue flicking out to better catch the scent. Oooh this was the good stuff, leave it to Aziraphale to know him so well. “Let’s just say I couldn’t get comfortable, tied myself up in knots without something warm to wrap myself around in such a drafty old bookshop.”

“Well then,” Azirpahale smiled down into his glass, feeling brave, “perhaps I’ll just have to offer myself the next time you feel the need to cuddle something warm, shouldn’t I?”

Crowley sputtered into his drink, alcohol burning his nose, and tried to hold onto his cool attitude, even after the indignity of today’s events. “Sure, if you like.”

“I would.”

[breakdownsbuttlights]

that post you reblogged... thinking about the time you said prowl bringing tumbler coffee before they started dating was practically a marriage proposal from him. if they hook up after 'divorcing', i bet prowl silently gets him coffee the morning after

CD is curled in a miserable bundle of blankets and regret, but at least the coffee is good. Prowl knows.