#along with a new needle kit ;w; | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lildevyl · 1 year

Text

FebuWhump Day 5: “That’s gonna scar”/Secrets Revealed

DSMP Superhero AU Tommy Innit’s Secret Clinic

Summary: After coming home from his “Date” with Alien, Tommy finds both his roommates passed out from injuries in their apartment.

TW: Mentions of Blood, Injuries, Characters Injured, Medical Supplies

The relationship between Alien (Purpled) and Tommy is strictly PLATONIC! Will have more of the background and plan "fleshed" out in future chapters!

Leapfrog and Alien are names inspired by Tommy's Ultra Important Keychain by SeriouslyCalamitous

(The Bench Trio’s Apartment)

Tommy came home later than he planned on, from his “date” with Alien. Tommy shook his head and smiled at the thought. The two of them weren’t really "dating." Unfortunately for them, when Tommy reconnected with Alien and the two of them were just hanging out after Tommy got off of work. Alien took Tommy home and that was right when a reporter spotted the two of them giving each other a hug. The rest was history! Everyone thought the two of them were dating and the way the “Rumor Mill” worked in L’Manburg. You could be telling the fucking truth with Alethia's Kiss and people still wouldn’t believe you!

Alien’s solution to all of this? Fake Dating! The two of them would platonically date one another for a while. Alien admitted that he didn’t mind if L’Manburg thought they were dating. It's publicity, clout, a way to finally get some attention to be in the limelight. But it also gave Alien an excuse to actually be here in Eastside to help bring the Crime Rate down. The Hero Committee will finally have to take a look and admit that Eastside needs a Hero or two there. And this will be the perfect way to do so. Okay, it was way more complicated than that but after Alien explained his entire plan, Tommy decided to go along with it.

However, Tommy’s happy mood quickly plummeted when he stepped into his apartment. There lying on the floor bleeding out was Nuke and Ender. There on the floor passed out and bleeding out on the floor was Tubbo and Ranboo! Tubbo and Ranboo were the new Vigilantes Nuke and Ender?! What the fuck?

Okay, okay, okay! No need to panic here! Pull yourself together Tommy! This is what you were trained for. Tommy quickly got his breathing under control and grabbed the first aid kit from underneath the bathroom sink. Ignoring the fact that there were bandages already missing and that he would have to restock them later. Why didn’t they come to me? I could have healed them?! Another time, right now, he has to focus.

Grabbing disposable gloves and stripping his two best friends/brothers outfits off of them. Tommy quickly began to wipe the blood away with disinfectant wipes and started to clean the wounds. Trying to see what was the worst ones. Tubbo was the worst so far. A nasty gash along his arm and what looked like a stab wound on the side. But what confused and concerned Tommy was what appeared to be mild burn marks as well. Tubbo had explosion-like powers that made him fire resistant. How hot had it had to be for Tubbo to get burned? When everything was cleaned and disinfected, Tommy rubbed his hands together to warm them up and began the healing process. Orange light glowed from his hands and in Tommy’s mind, he could see the wounds stitching themselves back up. Tommy wouldn’t be able to heal Tubbo completely without passing out and he still had to have enough energy to heal Ranboo.

The gash and the stab wound have stopped bleeding and healed enough that Tommy would need to stitch and banaged them. The burns were completely healed but did leave a nasty scar. Tommy grabbed the needle and thread and began the process of stitching the stab wound and the gash up and put the healing salve on the gaze. Then he wrapped the wounds up.

Tommy then went over to Ranboo. Ranboo was a lot better than Tubbo. Cuts and bruises littered Ranboo’s arms and torso. Whoever did this did on purpose. Did they get in a fight with a gang? Oh please tell him it wasn’t a Hero! Tommy rubbed his hands together to warm them up and began the same healing process he did with Tubbo. Ranboo didn’t take that much to heal and from the looks of it, Ranboo only passed out due to overexertion of his teleporting powers.

Tommy quickly deposited the two on the couch and then went to grab their uniforms. He put them in the bathtub and when Tommy got up to wash his hands in the sink. That’s when he noticed the white hair dye gel on the sink slightly opened.

A low moan caught Tommy’s attention. Tommy came out of the bathroom with Tubbo and Ranboo began waking up and looking around. Tubbo then looked down and noticed the bandages around his torso and arm.

“If you’re looking for your outfits there in the bathtub soaking. It’s going to take a few washes to get the blood stains out.” Tommy said from the hallway. Both Tubbo and Ranboo jumped at that and turned to look at Tommy wide eyed.

“T-Tommy! It’s not what it looks like, Big Man!” Tubbo tried to play it off. “We - we were just cosplaying and someone mistook us for the real thing!”

“No, you weren’t,” Tommy said, noticing the way Ranboo flinched. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

“We were! Honestly, Tommy. It’s just that - it’s just that,” Tubbo tried to come up with some kind of excuse. “We didn’t know how to tell you! And when we were about to tell you that’s when you Alien became a thing and we weren’t sure on where he stood with Vigilantes!”

“You’re taking this a lot easier than we thought,” Ranboo noted. “Did you know?”

Did Tommy know? Did he actually already subconsciously know that his two roommate/best friends were Nuke and Ender?

Ender could teleport just like Ranboo could. Ender was an Enderman Hybrid. Ranboo was an Enderman Hybrid. Ender had white streaks in his black hair. Ranboo bought white dye hair gel a few months before Nuke and Ender made their debut. The same hair dye gel that he just saw on the bathroom sink. Ender was wearing the same suit jacket and suit pants that Tommy made Ranboo for his Senior Prom. The exact same shoes that Ranboo saved up for months as well. The goggles were when Ranboo dressed up as the Demon when they were twelve.

Nuke has explosion-like powers just like Tubbo did. Nuke wore the exact same jacket that Tommy made Tubbo when he went as the Warden when they were twelve. And later on reconverted it into a trench coat since Tubbo loved it so much. Nuke wears a mask similar to the one that Tubbo wore as the Warden. The goggles Tommy has seen Nuke wear are the exact same goggles that Tubbo wore every time he was doing some kind of crazy invention.

Tubbo and Ranboo were never around the exact same time as Nuke and Ender were out making appearances. Tommy always made sure to save clips, download the videos and even made sure to record and download the records whenever the two were on the news stations. Knowing that Tubbo and Ranboo were fans of them. Yeah, Tommy knew. Somehow, Tommy subconsciously always knew.

“I knew,” Tommy admitted seeing the shocked expressions. “Too many things were adding up between you two and Nuke and Ender. But I just didn’t know if I was right or not. So, I was waiting for you guys to either come clean and confirm my theory. Or to prove me wrong and I could go on knowing that I was overthinking things.”

“Tommy, we really did wanted to tell you,” Tubbo said. “It’s just that -”

“You didn’t know how because I’m currently dating a Hero and you're literally going to school that basically works with Heroes, Vigilantes and Villains?” Tommy supplied.

Tubbo nodded. It’s no secret that Esempi Tech School was the number one recruiting center for the Hero Committee. Several people have been applying to get an internship or apprenticeship with the Warden or Mumbo Jumbo. However, when the Esempi Tech School was founded both Xiamia Void and Mumbo made it perfectly clear that all Tech Students have the right to sell their projects to whomever they deem worthy of it. Whether it be a Vigilante, Villain or a Hero. The L’Manburg Hero Committee was surprised to hear that coming from a fellow Hero such as Xiamia that even the well known former Villain TinFoil had a lot of respect for.

“Alien, actually like Vigilantes. He used to be one before he got caught and it was either ten years in Pandora or become a Hero. He chose to be a Hero. But from what I heard, Leapfrog’s pretty neutral.” Tommy explained.

Tubbo nodded. “I’m guessing this is going to scar?” Gesturing to the bandages.

“Yeah, I couldn’t heal you fully with the stab wound and gash. But I was able to heal you enough to stop the bleeding and to stitch you up. I didn’t know at the time how bad Ranboo was, so I had to save enough energy to heal him if he needed it.”

“I understand.”

“So, no patrolling for at least a week, until that’s fully healed,” Tommy said. “And when I wake up tomorrow I want the full story on what happened.”

*****

Characters:

Nuke - Tubbo

Ender - Ranboo

Alien - Purpled

Leapfrog - Boomer

****

Tagging: @febuwhump, @a-humble-narcissus, @weirdmixofweirdness, @m4delin, @septic-dr-schneep, @ashedflower, @tracobuttons, @iamliteraltrash1, @luna-moonblood, @ghostsknewmynights

4 notes · View notes

alyandval · 5 months

Text

DIY Crop Top Makeover Transforming Old Tees into Trendy Tops

The world of fashion is constantly evolving, and the resurgence of crop tops for women has taken the style scene by storm. If you're eager to revamp your wardrobe without breaking the bank, there's a fantastic solution right in your closet—old tees waiting for a new life as trendy crop tops.

In this DIY guide, we'll explore creative ways to transform your worn-out favorites into fashionable wear crop top creations that not only breathe new life into your clothes but also make a statement.

1. Unleashing Creativity: The Art of Cutting

The first step in your DIY crop top adventure is unlocking your inner designer. Take out those old tees you've been contemplating discarding and envision the possibilities.

Whether it's a vintage band tee or a plain white shirt, the canvas is yours to transform. Channel your creativity by sketching out the design you want or dive straight into freehand cutting.

Use a pair of sharp scissors for precision, cutting along the hemline or opting for a stylish asymmetrical look. Experimenting with different necklines and sleeve lengths can add a personal touch to your wear crop top collection.

Don't forget to wear crop top creations are all about showcasing your unique style, so feel free to experiment with cuts that resonate with your personality.

2. Embrace the Power of Tie-Dye: Adding a Splash of Color

Once you've mastered the art of cutting, it's time to infuse some color into your DIY crop tops. Tie-dye has made a triumphant return to the fashion scene, and what better way to incorporate this trend than with your revamped tees? Grab a tie-dye kit and follow the instructions to create vibrant patterns on your crop tops.

Whether you opt for a classic swirl or a trendy ombre effect, tie-dyeing adds an extra dimension to your wear crop top repertoire, making each piece a unique work of art.

Transforming your old tees into tie-dye crop tops not only breathes new life into your wardrobe but also keeps you on-trend with the latest fashion crazes.

3. Embellishments and Embroidery: Elevating the Ordinary

For those seeking an extra touch of glamour, consider adding embellishments or embroidery to your DIY crop tops.

Raid your craft supplies or local fabric store for sequins, beads, or patches that speak to your style. Use fabric glue or a needle and thread to attach these elements to your wear crop top, creating a customized and eye-catching design.

Whether it's a subtle detail near the neckline or a bold statement across the front, these additions elevate your crop tops from casual to chic.

Embellishing your crop tops allows you to express your individuality and create wearable art that stands out in a crowd.

4. Upcycling with Accessories: From Drab to Fab

Take your DIY crop tops to the next level by upcycling with accessories. Raid your jewelry box for old necklaces, bracelets, or even earrings that can be repurposed as stunning embellishments for your wear crop top creations.

Sew or glue these accessories strategically onto your tops, turning plain tees into fashion-forward pieces. This not only adds an extra layer of sophistication but also ensures that no two crop tops are the same.

Upcycling with accessories is a sustainable way to breathe new life into your wardrobe, creating unique and fashionable pieces without contributing to fashion waste.

Conclusion

In conclusion, the DIY journey of transforming old tees into trendy crop tops is not only a creative endeavor but also an eco-friendly way to revamp your wardrobe.

Embrace the power of cutting, tie-dye, embellishments, and upcycling with accessories to create wear crop top masterpieces that reflect your personal style.

The beauty of this DIY project lies in its versatility—each crop top is a canvas waiting for your unique touch. Share your own DIY crop top transformations in the comments below, and let's inspire each other to create fashion magic from the comfort of our closets. Wear crop tops proudly, and let your creativity shine!

Don't forget to share your thoughts and experiences with DIY crop tops in the comments. What's your favorite technique, and how has it transformed your wardrobe? We'd love to hear from you!

#crop tops for women #wear crop tops #crop tops #trendy crop tops

0 notes

corruptedconfessions · 3 years

Note

Hi hi!! Could we please see Yandere Mirio spanking his s/o for trying to escape?

Sure thing! Tw: Spanking, daddy kink, very very slight hints at infantilism

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You know I don’t like to have to do this, sweetheart.”

Another loud thwap echoed through the room, followed by a strangled sob from your throat. Your ass ached horribly from where it was draped across the blonde’s lap, the soothing strokes over bruised and raw skin only hurting worse instead of rubbing the sting away. You weren’t sure how long you had been stuck here, wrists and ankles bound, mouth gagged as you were settled across his lap for your punishment. It felt like hours, long enough that pain shot through your ass every moment now, even in the brief pauses between hits. Mirio wasn’t holding back this time, either. Every smack that left you jolting and sobbing in agony was a painful reminder of how strong the hero was, and how much he had held himself back before.

You had tried to escape one time too many.

Clearly he was done waiting patiently with a sweet smile and soft touches for you to adjust to your new life, for you to stop fighting him tooth and nail. Sure, you had been punished before, this wasn’t your first escape attempt, but before it had been so...different. Tv privileges revoked, sent to bed without dessert, denied your daily free time. Never bent over his knee and smacked until you were sobbing like a toddler. You had never felt so much pain in your life. It was almost enough to make you reconsider your actions...almost.

Another smack landed down on your ass, bringing white hot pain along with it as you bit back the scream that clogged your throat. You writhed on his lap, trying desperately to escape the pain, to escape this situation, but you were trapped, held roughly in place. “Please stop!”

You sobbed harder, voice shaking, cracking at the end as you reached back to grab his thigh, your face falling deeper into the couch as you blindly groped for him. It only took a moment before your hands were lightly smacked away.

“Hands back in position, princess.”

You sobbed harder, moving your shaking hands back above your head, elbows resting on the couch as your wrists crossed. You couldn’t stop the full body trembles that took over you now, snot dripping down your face along with your tears as you babbled weak desperate pleas, unable to stop the begging once you stopped. It hurt so bad. You didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“You know what to say to end all this, baby.”

You supposed the hands cupping your ass, lightly rubbing over and massaging the bruised and tender flesh was suppose to be soothing, to rub away the pain like it had before. But this time it just sent jolts searing hot pain through your entire body, leaving you jerking helplessly on his lap. Still, you hesitated for just a moment, the slightest heat of anger boiling in your belly. It was humiliating, you didn’t want to do it. Reasons like...that were the very reason you had tried to run so hard, tried to break up with him in the first place, leading to being locked down in this childproofed basement.

You were ready to fight back, you really were. Ready to spit in his face and tell him where he can shove it all. The second you felt one of his hands pull back, ready to deal another strike, cold terror replaced any pride you had left.

“I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please!” You felt your vocal chords ache from the strain as you screamed, voice raw and guttural. He wouldn’t like that, wouldn’t like you raising your voice at him, but you couldn’t stop yourself. You were pushed too far, left too raw, strung up too high to come down. Ready to snap.

Even over your own loud desperate sobbing you could hear the soft tsk of disapproval as that calloused hand that had caused so much pain instead moved to gently pet your head. You could feel him twirling it in his fingers, clicking softly in disapproval down at you like one would a misbehaving toddler.

“You know thats not how you say sorry. Proper apology, baby. Do you need a reminder?”

Your breath caught in your throat, stuttered little gasps coming from you now. You shook your head rapidly whimpering up at him, knowing exactly what would come along with that little reminder. You were sure he could come up with a way to...make sure it stuck this time.

“No…” “Well, then, im waiting.”

You could hear the pleased grin in his voice, could feel the way the air around the two of you lightened. No longer did his presence feel like a heavy weight, suffocating you as his anger filled your every pore. You didn’t want to go back...you just wanted to go to sleep. You didn’t want to hurt anymore.

“I-im sorry, daddy! I w-wont do it again!”

The sobs that had just started to settle picked up again, your body shook with the force of them. You could feel something inside of you break. Your pride, maybe? The last of your will to fight? You didn’t know, and you didn’t care.

“There’s my good girl.”

Your head ached as you were finally pulled up, settled on his lap ever so carefully so your ass wasn’t even brushed. Tears still blurred your vision, streaming down your cheeks as you tried to breath in through your stuffy nose. Still, you saw no hint of pity in his eyes, if anything the grin on his face grew more condescending as he reached out to rub away one of the tears with his thumb, cooing softly. “It’s okay, princess~ We’re all done now. You did so well!”

Your face was peppered in kisses and for once you leaned into them instead of squirming away. You'd take these over being hit again any day. Strong arms wrapped around your waist and under your thighs, gently lifting you from the couch as you leaned into his chest, burying your face into his neck.

“There you go, I knew you’d come around.”

You felt the kiss being pressed against your head as he carried you back to your room, ever so gently being lowered down onto your bed onto your stomach. Even the soft silky sheets felt like needles against your overstimulated skin, but you sunk into them, desperate for their comfort. You could hear Mirio fiddling around the room, grabbing a first aid kit and giving soft reassurances and praises in a sweet tone. You found yourself staring at the pink bedazzled wall sitting across from you as exhaustion weighed on you. You didn’t even last letting your daddy dress your wounds and tuck you in before you were asleep, finally letting yourself go under.

#yandere mirio #reader insert #yandere #tw:spanking #tw: daddy kink

322 notes · View notes

mediocre--writing · 3 years

Note

this hc is sad but whenever neil gets too rough and billy’s injuries are too severe to heal on their own, neil will do his own version of “first aid” since he can’t risk a hospital. stuff like holding billy down while doing stitches, stuffing a belt in his mouth and telling him to shut up and stop crying like a pussy. maybe billy views it as a form of love in some warped way, all “he wouldn’t patch me up himself if he didn’t love me, right? he could have left me or had me do it myself but he didn’t” and he doesn’t realise for a long time how not OK it is until he either causally mentions it to someone or someone witnesses it and tells him how fucked up it is

the first time it happens is when neil yanks on billy’s arm when he tries to walk away. dislodges his shoulder from its socket.

billy is already crying and neil huffs like it’s some inconvenience. grabs two wash clothes from a kitchen drawer and tells billy to bite down.

has him lay on the floor and shoves his arm back in (it took three tries). billy swears that he’s never felt pain that bad.

neil goes to the corner store and grabs a cheap sling for billy, just so the shoulder heals right and doesn’t get overextended or anything.

billy’s grateful that neil cared to help him. even gave him ice packs to make sure it didn’t ache too bad.

billy was 11.

it gets worse after that, if you can believe it.

neils a mans man. he expects billy to be as well.

neil knows when a cut is just a scrape and when a cut needs stitches.

he’s neared the line many times, but it’s never reached the stitches level yet.

but it does now.

neil had shoved billy into a wall, right under a cross that was hanging there (can you sense the irony?) and the cross fell and slammed onto billy’s face.

didn’t break his nose or anything, but there’s a deep deep deep cut right by his eye.

there’s blood in his face, but what freaks out billy the most is that there’s blood in his eye, and he fears that’s where the edge of the cross hit him.

neil, again, grabs two wash clothes and tells billy to hush, grabbing an ice cube to ‘numb’ the area (though it does nothing) and sticks the needle into billy’s cheek.

once too scared to open his eyes, billy is now writhing away because there’s a needle in his face and neil looks way too calm to be doing this. shouldn’t a parent be worried?

but neil forces billy back where he was before, holding down on his arm. says something along the lines of “do you wanna bleed out? i’m trying to help you, boy.” and billy just waits it out.

he cries like a baby.

neil let’s him take the day off of school the next day. let’s billy lay with an ice pack on his swollen face and bruised eye for most of the day. even apologizes, in his own, twisted way.

billy was 13.

once, when billy’s being whipped with neils belt for whatever godforsaken reason neil pulled out of his ass, he hits the same spot too much.

then the belt buckle grabs the skin and pulls.

billy’s screaming in pain. can’t describe how unbearable it was to have the raw skin of his back yanked by a dull belt buckle.

but, it turns out, he needs stitches. not wasting a clean washcloth, neil just shoves the belt into billy’s mouth, going to grab the first aid kit.

billy is laying on his stomach, holding his hands in front of his face so he doesn’t lash out and he bites onto the belt as neil stitches the skin back.

but neil doesn’t reprimand billy for leaving teethmarks on his nice leather belt, so billy thinks it could have been worse.

billy was 15.

the first time susan has to witness one of their bad arguments, billy had snuck a boy into his room.

they weren’t even doing anything. barely even flirting. and they were alone.

billy leaned in, but so did the boy, and they met in the middle and billy felt like an inexperienced virgin while kissing his first boy.

it was a life altering experience.

on many levels.

neil comes home early. or maybe not, maybe billy wasn’t watching the clock. either way, billy’s got a boy in top of him, though fully clothed, but making out nonetheless, when neil slams in.

billy’s life flashes before his eyes that night.

he barely even remembers what neil did. what he said.

billy knows at one point he thought about how much he missed his mom. and, apparently, he said it out loud. spurring his dad on with maximum fury.

it was past 3am when billy woke up from his unconscious state to unbearable pain. neil was stitching him up, had already done so on his face and neck. had moved on to his leg (a line of stitches worked all the way up the back of his calf).

billy could feel the bruising on his torso (from numerous kicks and pushes that rolled him into furniture and walls) and around the crown of his head (the result of a plate being smashed over his head).

he didn’t move. he didn’t have the energy.

but he could hear susan. she was yelling at neil, whispering, but scolding him.

“the hell is wrong with you!? he could have died? this is too far, neil, he’s your son! you should love hi—“

“i’m doing this because i love him, su, you know that! you want a faggot in this house? huh? no, you don’t! and do you really think i’d let my son bleed out on the floor? you think that little of me?”

and billy gets it. gets his dads side. because neil could just leave him to bleed all over the carpet. but he didn’t. he helped.

he had good intentions and only did what was best for billy. who was billy to say what his life should be when he wasn’t even smart enough to learn from his mistakes?

that was the reason for their move to hawkins.

billy, during their first week there, didn’t attend school on behalf of all the still healing stitches and bruises, though he was spotted around town a time or two (already instilling his bad reputation)

and once he gets there rumors fly around the school.

apparently, billy had to move from cali because he beat up a biker gang and they kicked him out of the state.

but, then, the night happens. the one where billy beats up steve and comes out looking pretty clean.

hopper drives his half unconscious body home, along with max, so he can ‘explain the situation.’

that night, for many reasons, is a night max will never forget. ever.

she’s seen demo dogs and tunnels from other dimensions, a possessed kid, and a girl who can move things with her mind.

but she also got her first taste of what it looks like when billy gets beat by his father.

it’s like a car crash, you know you should look away, but you just can’t.

and billy, still drowsy from the sedative, is getting in thrown around the living room and kitchen like a rag doll, being shoved into shelves and cabinets, even dislocated his left elbow and there was a loud crack from billy’s ankle.

and, though she’d wanted billy dead mere hours before, this seemed more torturous.

at least when it was billy and steve, they were both conscious. this was just twisted.

neil, for whatever strange reason his mind came up with, made max and susan watch the lesson: this is what happens when you don’t follow rules.

max could barely make out the rising and falling of billy’s chest at the end.

there was blood splattered on billy’s chest and neck, on his jeans and in his hair, on neils hands.

“grab me the first aid kit and a towel, su,” she scurried to the bathroom and back and max wanted to bolt. run. sprint. just get away from whatever was happening.

neil bent down and used the towel to press down on billy’s bleeding wounds, stopping the blood flow. he then disinfected and wrapped what he could, bandaged everything else.

then he rolled billy on his side, grabbed his forearm and upper arm then snapped them together, fixing the dislocation with practiced ease.

this was also when billy woke up. screaming.

“hush,” is was quiet, but stern, and billy knew to listen.

the towel, one side inked in blood splatters, had the other side shoved into billy’s mouth before neil got out the needle and thread, stitching billy’s larger wounds.

if max thought the most scarring part of her night was going to be anything that happened before this, she was wrong.

she knew. she knew that billy got smacked around sometimes. and he kinda deserved it. he was a jackass.

but this. this was a whole new thing. this was downright madness and max didn’t think she’d ever be able to sleep peacefully in her own bed again.

the tears were rolling down her face when she made eye contact with billy, who had equally red and teary eyes, but his held more pain. more suffering. more knowledge.

“see what you did? you made your sister cry,” neil told billy as he pulled especially hard on a stitch on billy’s tender stomach, making billy scream in agony, in more pain than before.

after that night, max listens to billy more. blames herself for being out and getting billy into trouble.

billy is just glad he was able to find the old sling he had years ago and that it still fit. he’s grateful that his dad stitched him up and made sure nothing would get infected.

knew he should have kept a closer eye on max and this is what needed to happen for him to see that. he knew that now.

a week later, the boys were talking about how some guy named (ronnie? maybe lonnie?) had called the byers asking about will. they talked about how joyce chased him out of the house with his own shotgun.

will told her, when they were leaving lunch, that joyce was so mad because lonnie, his dad, had hit his bother, jonathan.

max thinks about that. thinks about how susan would never, not in a million years, chase neil off with his shotgun for hitting billy.

she stood and watched when neil almost killed billy.

she didn’t know what to think. she wondered if billy knew what was happening wasn’t right. wondered if he’d ever tried to run away or was too scared of getting found if he did.

wondered if there was any scenario in which billy would take her harsh criticism of his dad well.

and it takes years.

billy moves out for college, somewhere good where he can focus on being smart, like he’s always been, and gets out from under neils thumb.

he discovers who he is a little better and still comes to hawkins every holiday and break, gets closer with jonathan and steve and robin and even nancy.

the first person he tells about it is jonathan. he hears the lonnie stories for himself and chimes in with his own anecdote. apparently, it’s not as light hearted as jonathan’s.

but he opens up. it takes the night and a little alcohol and weed, but billy has successfully told jonathan everything his dad has done to him. every stitch and relocation.

jonathan tells nancy and nancy tells steve. steve coddles billy and (because they were already close and in that ‘talking stage’) eventually gets some of the truth out.

jonathan, even though he told people, never exposed everything. there’s some things steve will never know about because they’re just too much and billy found comfort and a commonality in jon that he didn’t know he needed.

(joyce would also totally from that point on have adopted billy, doesn’t matter if he’s already like 22, he’s now her child)

#idk i like the idea of jon and billy being friends #but like not close/hang out every day friends #more like know too much about each other and bonded on accident friends #also their characters are very similar #they just had different types of parental situations #tw abuse #tw child abuse #tw blood #tw injury #tw stitches #tw abusive parent #stranger things #billy hargrove #neil hargrove #harringrove #mediocre—writing

47 notes · View notes

deascheck · 3 years

Text

A Better Release

Summary: After Sam and Dean save you from a Wendigo, you hide in your bathroom and release your overwhelming panic and fear in the only way you know how- hurting yourself. Sam and Dean follow up and find you bloody, and decide to show you a better way to release your emotions.

Word count: 2749

Warnings: self harm!!

THIS COULD BE VERY TRIGGERING. HEED THE WARNINGS IF THIS IS A SENSITIVE TOPIC FOR YOU.

A/N: Inspired by @samdeancass ‘s story Panic Attack, which you can find under Sam Winchester on the pinned Masterlist. As someone who has struggled with self harm in the past, I know all too well the addiction of the release it offers. I wanted to write a fic that simultaneously offers alternatives to that action, and helps people who struggle with it realize they aren’t alone in going through the struggle of self harm.

@waywardimpalawriter @that-one-gay-girl @winchest09 I thought you guys might be interested in reading this!

You couldn’t believe your eyes. A monster that had all but killed you was burning, shot by a flare gun. The two men who had saved you had come out of nowhere. They must have been tracking the thing that had you trapped and bound.

“Are you alright?” The taller one asked.

Still in shock, you nodded. The monster, a Wendigo you’d heard them say, hadn’t had a chance to seriously hurt you.

“Let’s get you home then….?” The shorter one trailed off, clearly inquiring your name.

“Y/N,” you managed to get out. “My name is Y/N.”

“Sorry to meet under these circumstances, Y/N. My name is Sam, and that’s my brother Dean,” said the taller man. His hair was much longer than his brother’s, you observed.

You shook their hands, still trembling, and accepted the ride home. You gave Dean your address and sat back in your seat, staring into nothing as you tried to process what had happened.

Sam and Dean didn’t say much as Dean drove. You were clearly in shock and they didn’t want to press you, which you appreciated.

When they pulled into your driveway, you got out and numbly thanked them for saving you and for the ride. You then walked up to the front door and went inside.

Once inside, it was like your dam broke. You sank against the closed door and sobbed. The fear, the panic, the shock, all washed over you like a massive wave, drowning you as it surged. You felt overwhelmed and almost felt like you didn’t know what to physically do with yourself. Then the thought entered your head. Almost like it came in the back door of your mind, it slunk in. A dark thought.

You stood up and walked to the bathroom, needing a release. You opened the medicine cabinet and pulled out a knife. You knew you had a problem if you were keeping your knife in the damn bathroom, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It’s what long sleeves and long pants were for.

Sitting against the bathtub, you crossed your legs Indian style and stretched out your arm across your knee, a couple paper towels under your arm. You took the knife in your hand and slowly dragged it across your forearm, a thick line of blood following the blade. The sharp pain was a sweet release. You threw your head back in relief as the pain washed over you and the blood dribbled down your arm. Your fear and shock began to fade. Eager for another release, you drew another, deeper line. This time blood easily flowed from the cut, soaking the paper towels underneath your arm and dripping down your leg. You sighed at the feel of the physical pain overtaking your emotional pain. You drew the blade across your arm one more time, the deepest cut yet. A steady stream of blood started pooling on the floor.

You realized you had gone too deep, but you didn’t care. All you wanted to feel was the sharp, throbbing pain of your new lacerations. Your vision started going fuzzy, and your brain knew it was from blood loss.

All of a sudden, almost as if in the distance, you heard your front door bang open and the sounds of heavy, hurried footsteps rang through the house. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. You had no idea who would have barged through your locked front door but you were too weak to do anything about it.

“Y/N!! Oh my god. Sam!” Dean crouched down beside you and wrapped his handkerchief around your deepest cut. His hands and his handkerchief quickly became slick with blood. Dean patted your face quickly, trying to keep you alert. “Y/N! Stay with me, ya hear? We’ve got you.” But it was no use. You had passed out.

By then Sam had gotten to the bathroom and looked down in shock at the amount of blood his brother was crouching in.

“Dammit. My handkerchief is too thin! Sam! Go grab the first aid kit from the car. We’ve gotta stitch her up,” Dean snapped.

Sam disappeared for a couple minutes before returning with the kit tucked in his arm. He set it on the sink’s counter and opened it quickly. Sam pulled out a needle and some thread and crouched next to Dean. “Let me do it,” he said. “I’m better at this than you are.”

Dean shifted so that Sam had full access. Dean lifted your arm to set it on his knee so that it was elevated and Sam could reach it easier. Sam started with the third cut, working as quickly and effectively as he could. Once the cut was stitched, he moved to the other two cuts. In minutes, he’d finished and they both sighed in relief. You’d remained out of it for the duration of the experience, but you were slowly starting to come to.

Your eyes opened and your vision started coming back. Your eyes came into focus and saw the two brothers crouched in front of you, worry etched on their faces.

“Umm. What are you guys doing? Why are you in my house?” You asked weakly.

Dean answered first. “Well, you were so out of it in the car, we were worried about you going into full shock. So after we left, we decided to turn around and check on you to make sure you were going to be ok before we left for good.” He looked at you with an unreadable look on his face. “I’m glad we turned around.”

Sam continued, “When you didn’t answer the door, we figured something was wrong. I mean, we hadn’t dropped you off that long ago, and we were worried maybe you were having shock symptoms.”

You smiled weakly. “Nope, no shock symptoms.”

Dean rolled his eyes so hard his whole head moved. “Look, sweetheart, this?” he motioned at the mess and at your arm. “This is not healthy. If we hadn’t shown up when we did, you could be dead right now. We saved you! You know why? So you could LIVE! Not so you could live, then kill yourself!” His voice was growing heated, though you could tell he was trying to keep his cool.

“Clearly you need a way to release negative emotions,” Sam said softly. “Am I right?”

You nodded, somewhat sheepishly. “I know this isn’t healthy. I know it’s dangerous. And clearly I went too far with it this time. But you don’t understand,” you replied, keeping your voice low. “This erases all the emotions I don’t want to deal with. Even if it’s just for a few minutes. The physical pain takes over and for those short, sweet moments, it’s all I know.”

Dean tilted his head, getting an idea. “You say it’s physical pain you want? I have an idea. Come on,” he stood and lifted you with him, grunting as he did. “You’re gonna come with us. But first, we’re gonna clean you up, and then we’ll go.”

He released you and you swayed on your feet, unsteady from the blood loss. “Woah there,” he said quickly. “On second thought, why don’t you sit, and we’ll take care of this.” Dean scooped you up, blood and all, and took you to the kitchen and sat you down.

Sam followed with the first aid kit, and asked, “Where are your washcloths and towels?”

“In the linen closet to the right of the bathroom,” you responded with what little strength you had.

Sam returned with a couple wet washcloths and a towel. Dean took the wet washcloths from him and gently started wiping your arm clean of the blood. Once it was cleaned to Dean’s satisfaction, he took the other washcloth and gingerly started wiping the blood from your legs. Sam looked at his brother with surprise on his face. He rarely saw this side of Dean.

You watched Dean as he wiped your legs clean, and quietly said, “Thank you, Dean.”

He merely nodded as he worked, but you could tell he was relaxing because his shoulders started to look less tense.

When the blood was all but gone, Dean told you to go get into a fresh set of clothes while he and Sam got everything cleaned up in the bathroom. Your eyes filled with tears at their kindness but you did as Dean asked.

You went to your room, tears running down your face. You pulled out a pair of loose, gray sweatpants and a baggy long-sleeved t-shirt and put them on, carefully putting your injured arm through the sleeve. Curiosity at what Dean had planned for you kept your thoughts busy as you dressed. You almost found yourself hurrying, interested to know where the brothers would take you.

Once the boys had cleaned up the bathroom for you, the three of you met back in the kitchen.

“Ready to go?” asked Dean with his eyebrows raised.

“I guess so,” you responded honestly.

“Good. Let’s head out,” said Dean. He opened the front door for you and Sam and followed you out, locking the door on his way out.

Sam opened the Impala’s backseat door for you, and you thanked him as you got in. Sam and Dean piled in and you were off.

They didn’t say much as they drove, only that it was going to be a solid four hour drive. You listened to the music playing, which you found amazing. It was a beautiful collection of classic rock. You knew a few of the songs, and found yourself humming along. One song, “Night Moves” by Bob Seger and the Silver Bullet Band, had you singing out loud, with the boys looking pleased as they sang with you. As you sang, you found yourself releasing all the pent up emotion you had and channeling it through your voice into the song. It almost felt passionate. You realized this was a good release. This was healthy. And effective. This was something that could replace your blade. You finished the song with gusto, pleased with yourself for having found something that you enjoyed enough to be able to use as a coping strategy. You wished you’d thought of it years ago.

Dean smiled as he listened to you sing. You had a pretty voice, and you weren’t afraid to belt it out. Sam also had a grin on his face as he thought about how much better of a headspace you were already in.

The drive went by in a blurred mix of singing and sleeping. When it came to an end, Sam and Dean found you slumped over sideways, sound asleep against the leather of the backseat.

Dean opened your door and gently shook you awake, mindful of your arm. “Y/N? We’re here. You gotta wake up now,” he said tenderly.

You slowly woke up, blinking blearily up at him. “Already? Wow. Ok,” you said sleepily.

You hopped out of the car and stretched. You were in a massive garage with multiple old fashioned cars and a couple motorcycles. Your eyes went wide as you took it all in.

Sam and Dean laughed at your expression. “Welcome to our home, Y/N,” said Sam proudly.

They led you to the main area of what turned out to be a bunker. Dean said, “Y/N, follow me. I’m going to show you a good way to release some emotions.”

You blushed faintly but followed him meekly down the stairs. He led you to a gym area and over to a punching bag. “Now,” he stated, “I’m no pro at releasing emotions in a healthy way. I tend to shove them down and pretend they don’t exist by punching walls and drinking whiskey for breakfast. But your response to negative emotions? That could kill you, and we aren’t having none of that. So, put these on.” Dean handed you a pair of gloves. Obediently, you put them on.

“Ok, now put your hands up in front of your face like this.” He demonstrated. “Good! Now, punch the bag using your good arm. Don’t want to be ripping none of Sam’s stitches now.”

You punched the bag as hard as you could with your non-injured arm and instantly felt better. You looked at him with a smile as he steadied the bag. “Good punch, Y/N,” he praised. “Now, do it again.” You punched the bag once more. This was something you could get used to.

“I like this,” you told Dean. “A lot. It feels good. Like, a release just rushes out of me when my fist impacts the bag.”

He smiled. “Sweetheart, that’s exactly what it’s supposed to feel like.”

You smiled back demurely and said, “I’m going to get myself one of these.”

Dean nodded in approval and quietly guided you back up to the main room of the bunker. Sam was waiting for you there with something in his hand.

“My turn,” he said.

Dean smirked. “I leave you in my brother’s capable hands, Y/N. I’ll be in the kitchen with a beer when you’re done.”

You acknowledged his comment and turned to Sam, waiting.

Sam put a journal on the table. “This,” he said. “Is one way I release my emotions.”

You looked at him. “You write?” “I do,” he said

You looked at him inquisitively. “Ok,” you replied hesitantly. “What do I write about?”

He smiled broadly. “Anything and everything,” he answered honestly. “I tend to write about our hunts. I write about the lore I learn about, the situation we find ourselves in… I write a bit more informatively, but it’s still a release for me. It acknowledges everything I’m feeling by creating a place of information. I don’t know if that makes sense,” he ducked his head shyly.

“No,” you said. “I like that idea.” With that, Sam handed you a pen and pushed the journal towards you. “It’s yours,” he said. “Give it a try.”

You nodded and sat down. You opened the journal to the first page and wrote “Y/N Y/L/N” and flipped the page. Thinking as you wrote, you started to write about your experience with the Wendigo, and about how the boys saved you. You wrote about everything you felt and what went through your mind. You wrote about your response to your emotions and about how Sam and Dean were offering you other methods of releasing your emotions. You wrote about how you discovered one on your own; singing. You wrote for the better part of two hours before you stopped.

Sighing, you put your pen down, feeling immensely better. You felt like you’d acknowledged everything you’d been feeling, and that by putting it down on paper, it was real but not necessarily defining you.

Sam looked up from the book that he was reading and smiled. “Done?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly. “That was fantastic.”

“I’m so glad you liked it. Do you feel better?” he asked with concern.

“I really do. Between the singing, the punching, and the writing, I feel completely in control and balanced.” And it was true. You felt validated and whole.

“Excellent,” he praised. “Let’s go find Dean and we can talk about next steps.”

You thought about what he said as he led you to the kitchen. Next steps? What could that mean?

Dean lifted his head up when the two of you entered the kitchen. He smiled at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “How’re you feelin’, sweetheart?”

“Much better,” you said softly. “Thank you, Sam, Dean. I mean it. I wouldn’t be here, let alone alive, if it weren’t for you two.”

“About being here,” said Sam. He looked at Dean who nodded at him. “I think you should stay here, with us, Y/N. You can use us as your support system, and you can help us prepare for hunts with research and stuff.”

Your jaw dropped. “What?”

Dean chuckled. “What do you say, kiddo?”

You nodded vigorously, trying not to cry. You pulled Dean up by his hand, and grabbed Sam and pulled him over to you. You wrapped your arms around their waists and hugged them together, unable to formulate words of gratitude. They put their arms around your shoulders and squeezed you gently, letting you know they had your back.

You could tell already, they were your new family. You were going to be alright.

#supernatural #supernatural writing #supernatural fan fic #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester #dean winchester #reader insert #deascheck

21 notes · View notes

cottoncandyjester · 3 years

Note

Your OCs are so cute! How would they handle a darling that counters them i.e. theo w/ someone who can see through his manipulation, hikari w/ someone who refuses to be belittled, prince w/ a prudish or nonsexual darling?

Oh such a good question! thank you very much for the praise they are my babies ✨

This story contains: talk of sex, talk of abuse,drugs, mutilation, manipulation yandere behavior

Theodore

You don't fall for his bullshit

His emotional manipulation doesn't work on you

This both frustrated and amazed him

You were much stronger than he thinks

But it annoys him that he can't go the simple and painless route for this

Everytime he tries to manipulate you it usually ends with you shutting him down

"darling, my sweet angel won't it be much smarter if you stayed with me..listen to me"

"nope. I do what I want"

Wait you can't say that! That's illegal!

He immediately panicked and used force to knock you out

If his words won't work then it seems he has to keep you heavily sedated

Being a med student has beautiful benefits

He doesn't want to keep you like this but it's just until you comply

"angel? Sweetie..? Can you tell me what day it is?"

Silence.

A sigh escaped him as he watched your dull glazed eyes stare back into his, you definitely were too out of it to respond back. He unbuckled the straps he had put on the wheelchair before scooping you up and walking to the bedroom to place you into bed.

"maybe when the drugs wear off you'll be better yeah? I really hate seeing you like this..I miss our conversations and I miss your adorable fiery behavior even if it was a tad bit frustrating"

As he slid his jacket off he crawled into the bed with you hugging you close with a happy sigh inhaling the smell of your hair now

"we can try again tomorrow"

Hikaru

You brush off his insults and he hates it

His temper explodes and so he reacts in violence

Pure rage and violence

He'll put a permanent scar or mark on you that everyone could see

You will definitely have to deal with his feral side

He wants to be sweet and loving to you but he will also do what it takes to have you

You make things such a challenge

If fear of death makes you stay than damn it that's what he has to do

"come to me cutie, don't you want to cuddle?"

"I rather chew nails"

"the hell did you say, pig?"

His sharp tone made you huff lightly, his degrading was nothing new to you if anything you would just throw it right back at him

"you're th pig not me. You are as ugly as one"

Uh oh.

Hikaru tensed up and scowled before walking over to you and gripping you by your hair, giving it a harsh tug and pulling you on your knees in front of him

"listen here bitch, watch your damn mouth before I cut your tongue off! You stupid selfish disgusting-"

Hikaru Inhaled deeply letting out a shaky breath as he let go and cupped your face in his hands his blue eyes swirling with a devilish idea

"you know..you don't need fingers and a tongue to be adorable darling. I'll love you either way, so maybe it's time to make some changes"

Axis

No matter how helpless and pathetic he looks you won't fall for it

He could have been sobbing into your lap begging you to stay and you'll just push him off

This wasn't good

His method didn't work

He had to come up with something new

He restored to desperate measures

If you were handicapped as well you would have no choice but to stay

Doesn't want to hurt you

Sobs while doing it

Will only do it if all other choices fail

"p-please stay-"

"no, I'm leaving for good. Nothing you say will change that"

Axis was on his knees begging you to stay, he was crying so hard now knowing what had to be done. He leaned his head against your stomach with a gentle sigh as he slipped a hand into his pocket

"I understand, after all you can walk out if you wish just know that i love you"

"thank you for being understanding axis now please le-"

You winced and screamed when the male stabbed a needle into your thigh looking up at you his eyes pouring with tears, he looked like it hurt him more than it did you

"i-its okay honey! I'll treat you well, I'll just do something quick and easy like break your legs or maybe paralyze you from the waist down, we can be broken together"

He stood up as you were becoming limp in his arms and he peppered kisses lovingly along your face and neck with a happy hum

"I love you my sweetie"

Prince

Okay...no sex on the first day got it he can wait a day

A week later. No sex..okay?

Two weeks went by and now he was getting worried

You cringed at the utter mention of sex

He was going through a withdrawal

It was driving him crazy how much of a prude you were

Poor boy was being blueballed and he didn't like it

Pleasuring himself was totally not enough

He wanted to feel you

This was how he showed his love and the fact that he couldn't made him pissed

Hell your clothes covered your entire body

You even wore wet suits at the beach

WHO DOES THAT?!

by two months he had snapped

He couldn't take it anymore

He restored to drugging your drink with several aphrodisiacs

He kinda went crazy and mixed a bunch of different ones together

After that it doesn't take long til you are panting and writhing from the feeling

He was only being a sweetheart and decided to help

"what's wrong baby?"

Prince smirks against his beer can as he watched you press your legs together whining and whimpering as your body felt like it would melt.

"i-i feel hot..so hot"

Prince made sure to strike during a cuddle session, he put his can down and held you close tightly looking at you curiously, his smirk only getting wider when he saw just how adorable you looked

"should I help you!"

"i-we shouldn't-"

"do you want to suffer?"

That statement made you whine as he trailed his hands along your body watching you squirm around wildly

"calm down, I'll be gentle I'm just trying to help baby cUse this feeling won't go away on its own"

He will have to use drugs more often

Yuki

Blackmail doesn't work on you

You have nothing to lose it seems

This annoyed him

He just wants to love you why are you being so mean

He just wants to love you

He is normally too lazy for force but if he has to he will

His use of force will just be tying you up and holding you close

If he has to gag you he will

He will make sure you won't leave

Every escape you try is only met with disappointment

He always stays calm

Until you decide to break his fantasy

"leave me alone!"

"be kinder to your boyfriend..."

"oh my fucking God! You aren't my boyfriend! We aren't anything you are just a sicko who is obsessed with me! Go away!"

"but-"

I DONT WANT YOU! I NEVER WILL!"

There was silence after that and a soft sniffle escaped him before he simply reached out fast gripping your wrist while using his free hand to wipe his tears.

"that's not true- not true not true. You just forgot I'll have to remind you just how much I love you"

With that he threw you over his shoulder while tears rolled down his cheeks, he needed a good nap to sleep the depression away and if course you will be at his side so he can cuddle but first he has to take care of you.

You were so mean so he figured he can use his piercing kit to do something about that mouth, he's never pierced someone's mouth shut but maybe he can do that

#yandere imagines #yandere ocs #yandere #yandere oc x reader #oc imagines #ocs #oc x reader

59 notes · View notes

mama-ivy · 3 years

Text

The Roommate

2217 Words

The television was blaring the news of a burning government building on the other side of town while Jason changed the bandage on his bicep for the second time that day. If that cut didn’t stop bleeding soon, he was definitely going to need stitches.

“Need help with that?” Lin asked, passing behind the worn couch that sat in the middle of the living area the two of them shared.

“If you don’t mind.” Jason smiled at her. “I’m thinking stitches, but I don’t have time to go to see a doctor.”

“Let me get my med kit. I’ll stitch it up for you.” Lin disappeared into her room only to reappear seconds later with a leather case.

“You know how to do stitches?” Jason looked at her surprised.

“Doctor, remember?” Lin sat down on the couch beside him with a small groan and twisted her long black hair into a bun that seemed to magically stay without any clips. How do Asian women do that? Jason thought to himself.

“Technically, you’re a vet.”

“Jesus, Jason.” Lin laughed. “Animals, humans, they all stitch up the same.”

“Speaking of, how was your emergency surgery this morning?” Jason watched as Lin prepared her needle and thread.

“Bite down on something if you have to. This is going to hurt.” Lin slowly slid the needle through Jason’s skin directly adjacent to the deep gash that took up most of his upper left arm. He hissed at the pain. “Smoother than I thought it would be. Mission successful.”

“Mission successful?”

“The dog lived.” Lin smiled at him while tying off the ends of the thread. “Done. Keep it clean and get something to drink to dull the pain. I think there’s still some whiskey in the cabinet from our move-in party.”

“Did you have to go to that mess this morning?” Lin nodded at the television. “I figured the police department would have all hands on deck for that fiasco.”

“Nah.” Jason stood and walked over to the kitchen looking for the whiskey that Lin had mentioned. “My shift was over. Doesn’t seem like it’s really a PD kind of thing. The FD has got it under control.”

“Bet you look good in that uniform.” Lin teased him. “How come I’ve never seen you in it?”

Jason’s cheeks turned almost as red as the Irish curls on the top of his head. “You’re always at work when I’m getting ready for my shifts.”

Jason had answered an ad online for a roommate just a couple of weeks ago. Lin was looking for company and someone to help out around the house. She didn’t really need the money that much, which was great for Jason because being a cop wasn’t a fortune filled profession. He’d do some dishes in exchange for the cheapest rent of his life. As it turned out, the arrangement worked out better than both of them thought it would. Neither roommate seemed to be home much. Emergency veterinary medicine held long and weird hours and Jason picked up every shift he could at the department.

“How’d you get that gash anyway?” Lin asked, watching Jason rifle through the cabinets in the tiny kitchen.

“Piece of rebar. I was rescuing kittens.”

“Awww. What a sweet thing to say to a vet.”

“I try.” Jason smiled while pouring the whiskey into a glass. “Want some?”

“No thanks.” Lin replied. “I’m headed back to work in a bit.”

“More for me.” Jason shrugged and poured himself another drink. “Hey, are you ok?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Lin stood up slowly and took a deep breath.

“You’re moving a little slow today.”

“Got kicked in the ribs by a pig. Some animals should not be kept as pets.”

The Crane crept silently along the exterior wall of Pinewood Industries expertly avoiding the search lights that flashed across the building in timed increments which she had already mapped out in her plan to break into the lab. This place may be researching various cures for multiple diseases, but they were sacrificing animals in the process, and that was something The Crane couldn’t allow. Her plan was a simple B&E. Get in, open all the cages, and get out with the test subjects. This should be the easiest job she’s done in a while as long as he didn’t show up.

Her white and black costume covered her entire body tightly except for her jet-black eyes. She liked to think of herself as a modern ninja with a twist. Her extensive karate training allowed her to climb into the window easily enough, and she knew that she’d have twenty minutes before the alarm on the building was done rebooting from its monthly maintenance. She crouched down in the corner of the office below the window she had just entered and closed her eyes. She had to concentrate on clearing her mind in order to hear them. Slowly and softly the voices came. First the monkeys. They must be the closest to her location. They were very worried about one of their troop. He was in pain. Then the voices of the rabbits started becoming louder. Mice, birds, and beetles? Really? They were experimenting on insects. That was the first time she’d seen that.

She slowly made her way to the monkey cages. Maybe there would be a couple of them that were well enough to help her release everybody else. She sent them telepathic messages to remain calm and quiet. She was coming.

Takedown watched carefully from his prone position in the bushes outside of the lab. Yup, she was here. He knew she would be. He had mixed feelings about fighting her all the time, but that craziness at the mayor’s office yesterday morning was the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back. She set the whole building on fire to relay a message. Sure, the message was to quit harming animals, but harming humans in the process was unacceptable. He watched as she climbed in a window on the east side of the building. The mayor had given him the layout. He knew she’d be cutting it close to the alarm reset. He considered just waiting it out and seeing if she didn’t make it, but knowing her – and he did know her well – she had a plan for that. Better follow her in.

Careful to not let her see his shadow, Takedown followed her through the open window. From here, she’d be headed to the monkey cages. They were the closest. He thought about closing the window so the freed animals couldn’t escape, but decided that maybe the animals would prefer to be free anyway. He could always tell the mayor that he wasn’t aware that she was trying to free them all. His black lycra body suit and MMA training allowed him to move almost silently down the hallway behind her. He made sure to keep his distance. He wanted to catch her in the act. After she slipped through his fingers at the mayor’s office, he needed this win.

He slowly approached the lab where the monkeys were housed. He could hear her talking softly to them through the cracked door. The monkeys chittered back to her and she froze. She knew. “Crane.” He called out. “Don’t make this difficult.”

Dammit. He was here. She had truly hoped that he wouldn’t show and this could all go so easily. Now there was going to be a fight. Fights meant property damage, bodily damage, ego damage. “Hello, Takedown.” She answered. “I was hoping you’d sit this one out, but I suppose your ego wouldn’t let you.”

“Put them back in their cages and we can leave quietly.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

He knew she couldn’t, but that didn’t stop him from hoping she would. Takedown peered around the door frame. “Nice and easy, Crane.”

“Just get in here already so we can fight this out. I have places to go.”

Takedown entered the room and immediately had to duck out of the way of a surgical instrument tray that Crane threw at his head. “Hey, hey.” He scolded. “I’m only doing as asked.”

“No, you’re not. If you were, you wouldn’t be here.” Crane threw a three-ring binder next. Takedown easily dodged.

“I don’t recall you asking me to stay away.”

“Touché.” The Crane took a running start in his direction. The monkeys took off out of the room. Takedown knew they were headed to release the rest of the animals. Let them. All living things deserved freedom.

Takedown took the defensive stance. He knew how The Crane fought. She always like the first word. He easily blocked the first couple of kicks, but then she caught him in the side. He grunted and fell back onto an examining table. Instantly she pounced and punched him in the left shoulder. Pain shot down his arm and up into his neck. Damn. She nearly hit that nasty gash he got at the mayor’s office explosion. He wrapped his arms around her waist and squeezed. She quit punching and started flailing. At least now he had a minute to get up off the table.

The Crane wriggled violently trying to slither out of Takedown’s grasp. Super strength was no joke. He probably wasn’t even trying that hard and she was completely out of breath. He set her down on the floor, but that wasn’t what she was going to tell people. She escaped his grasp. Immediately, she took the kōkutsu-dachi stance in a defensive position. “Why do we keep doing this to ourselves, Crane?” Takedown asked.

“I was perfectly fine tonight without your help. I wasn’t even planning on killing anyone.”

“How sweet of you.”

“I don’t like to kill people, y’know. That bitch makes me.”

“Hey, now, Crane, be nice. The mayor does what she can and sometimes that means making the hard decision.”

The Crane took a running leap at Takedown. He lifted her up and over the examining table where she backflipped mid flight and landed on her feet facing away from him. He vaulted himself over the table and landed directly behind her. She swung her right leg around in a circular motion and swept him to his feet knocking the table to its side and scattering equipment everywhere. The Crane pulled two small daggers out of the back of her belt and stood erect over him.

“Weapons? Really?” Takedown sighed. “We both have enough martial arts training to skip the weapons.”

“I need this over quickly. The rats are screaming my name.”

“Fine.” Takedown reached around to the table and broke off one of the legs before standing to his feet. “Weapons it is.”

The daggers clinked loudly against the hollow metal tube that used to be a table leg. Takedown blocked all of her jabs easily. They had fought enough for him to learn her routine. Any minute now she would pirouette around to get more distance between them. Aaannndd…. Yup. There she went. Takedown took advantage and slashed the broken end of the table leg across her back with just enough strength to break skin but not do too much damage.

“Ow! Dammit, Jason!” The Crane crouched down, blood seeping through her white suit.

Takedown froze. Did she just…? Oh. My. God. She did just.

“I can’t reach that.” She continued. “You’re going to have to stitch me up this time. Hope you were paying attention, asshole.”

“Lin?” Jason whispered. “What the fuck?”

“Can you get something to put on that to stop the bleeding at least?” Lin grumbled seemingly unaware of the battle going through Jason’s mind.

Jason fumbled around the lab looking for gauze. “How did you know?”

“You don’t wear a mask, Jason. I knew the second you answered my ad.”

Jason found a towel that looked clean and bent over her applying pressure to her wound. She grunted in pain. “Are you even a cop?”

Jason shook his head. “The mayor gives me a small stipend. Are you really a veterinarian?”

“You know that I am, dumbass. You’ve been to my clinic.”

“I’m not going to be able to stitch this up.” Jason lifted the towel to examine the damage. “I’m sorry, Lin.”

“Fine,” she sighed. “Then you have to help me.”

“Anything, what?”

“Help me finish freeing the animals and then drive me to my clinic. My partner is on call tonight. He’ll stitch me up.”

“Yeah.” Jason knew the mayor would be mad about the missing animals, but considering the minimal damage done to the lab and the lack of human casualties, he could pass this off as a win. “Let’s get out of here before the alarm alerts security.”

The pair raced through the halls opening all the cages and a few more windows to aide in the great escape. When everyone was free, Jason helped Lin back through the window they had left open. “Am I going to have to find another place to crash?” he asked hesitantly.

“Can we worry about that later? My back hurts.”

“Right.” Jason replied. “Clinic. Let’s go.”

Masterlist

#the collection #writing promt #short story #villains and heroes

2 notes · View notes

imagines-to-quench-thirst · 4 years

Text

Dating a tattoo artist

Imagine: being a tattoo artist and your boyfriend being part of it

This was a fun idea I had. I hope you like it. Enjoy ❤️

Victor Creed

-he is here for it

-since his loooooonnnnggg life is well long he loves to tells stories of tattoo artists he met Japan, Brazil, New York, New Zeland...

-and you can bet that he will have the most elaborate tattoo you can think of since he said so

'You want a tattoo? From me?'

'Yes, I trust you.'

'That's the problem, Vic, you could end up with a dolphin tattoo on your arm.'

'.... Well... I still trust you?'

-after that, he was a little bug just to be on your good side which you took full advantage of

Being on top, commanding him? Sure

Handing you the remote even though it's next to you? Of course

Helping you choose an outfit even though you are indecisive and he has a short fuse? Hell yeah.

-when the day came you tattooed him a small quote that described him

"Tough times never last but tough people do"

(Robert H. Shuller)

'I love it. Thank you kitten.'

Loki Laufeyson

-Since he was in the cell for most of his life (in my universe that's the worst thing happening for him, he didn't die nor his mother) he doesn't know what a tattoo artist is he thinks that's an alternative art form he is supportive

-after you talk to him describing the definition of tattoos and the art behind it he is very much perplexed

'So mortals pay you to pierce their skin with black ink to paint...something????'

'Tattoo something on their skin and yes.'

'With pain in mind?????'

'Yes, and it looks awesome.'

-when he heard the story of your tattoo shop he decided to tag along to see the magic

-he saw how men and women tattooed others while they squirmed in their seats he chuckled at the sight of it

'Darling you could have told me.'

'What?'

'You torture people with the needle machines and coax them into paying you. Brilliant.'

'Suree~~~~'

-he stayed with you to help you with the pain giving without a medical license

'I'm a God. I'm above it.'

'No one is above the Inspection.'

Thor Odinson

-since his depression and weight gain he is very much informed of the world of MTV tattoo show "How far is tattoo far?"

-so he very much thinks that tattoos are a stamp of disgrace

-and keeping that in mind he is frazzled why are you doing a job like that

'You are a shame barer?'

'Shame-what...? Thor! I'm not. The show is a disgrace to the tattoo world.'

'Shame~~barer~~~'

'Just come with me and spend one day and see it for yourself.'

-Thor is reluctant much to his words but still, you sat him down in the waiting lobby he chats up the customers a.k.a big muscular dudes that are already tattooed from the neck down

'So... what is your shame? What horrible deed have you done to come here?'

'Excuse me!?'

'You must be here to condemn your shame by immortalizing it with a flesh sticker.'

-at this point, the muscle dude stood up ready to attack Thor but you intervene quickly

'Marc, stop!'

-the man turned around hiding his tight fist behind his back

'Y/n, already done? That's fast.'

'Marc, you know that you were released 7 months ago and you are still on parole. Come on. Stop it.'

'He insulted me and-and my tattoos. Your tattoos. You know how am about your work.'

-Thor hears that as stands up grabbing Marc's arm examining the tattoos in amazement

'My darling, I want that felsh sticker as he has.'

'.......... Sure........ Wait here. Let's go, Marc. I need to vent.'

Steve Rogers

-Steve knows what tattoos are since he has seen the stick and poke of his fellow soldiers but never a photorealistic tattoo in your portfolio

-he is very much intrigued how you made that look like a real person on someone's skin knowing very well there is no eraser

-loves to ask how do you achieve such colors that simply jump out or how you make a fabric that of a shirt or some patterns, he is armed with questions

-and since he is an art wizard himself he loves to have a painting duel with you, you paint on his skin with watercolors and he paints on the canvas

-that's one of his favorite moments

'What did you draw?'

'A dolphin kissing a penguin.'

'What?!'

'Just kidding I painted the building in Brooklyn where you lived.'

'Did I tell you how much I love you?'

Bucky Barnes

-this man thrives to see you fulfill your dream and passion

-especially when he picks you up, he parks the car exiting it and walking in seeing you talk to your employees and customers exchanging stories and laughs even though in the near distance is the buzzing sounds of the machine guns

-you see him and grab his hand giving him a peck on his lips as a cheeky grin is stuck on his face

-as you talk about your day he always asks the question

'Were there any wusses?'

-alluding to men who cried out form the stinging pain, eventually tapping out to take a break

'Yes, a big dude Marc. Ordered a neck tattoo with details. Tapped out in 15 minutes.'

'I knew it!'

-he enjoys in the hilarious stories you can make up... I mean tell

Bruce Wayne

-you already know the drill he has money he will give it to you but politely delined

-he tried to help with purest of heart but still, the answer was no

-he loved to see your shop filled with many customers as he walked incognito, sunglasses and a cap saying he wasn't a private appointment with the head tattooer

-Let's just say you were pretty much in tears of laughter as he reveled his face

'At least you tried, Bruce.'

-he loves to talk about tattoos and the process of healing if it's on top of a scar

-you are hooked on the conversation and even make him some sketches

'A huge dragon on your back with black and gold lining.'

'Okay but how about initials of my parents?'

'That sounds... Better much much better.'

-so the day of his tattooing comes you tattoo in his inner arm putting the letter T. & M. W.

'Thank you Princess.'

Clark Kent

-Clark loves to see the vast tattoos so much that he wants one but he knows that his body will "absorb" the tattoo too fast making it disappear in a few months maybe weeks

-but still, he loves to see how your gaze is sharp focused on the tattooing even when HE walks that is how much you are focused

'Alrighty, Marc you are done.'

'Thanks, Y/n, you are the best.'

-Clark also loves to hear the influx of comments of your artistry even if he's a little jealous

-he loves to see just how much you are happier to follow this insane passion

'You are an inspiration Y/n.'

'Why?'

'Because... You just are.'

Arthur Curry

-you already know that Fishman is tatted to perfection and he is here for a tattoo lover as well

-if you ever have someone asking for a Maori style tattoo Arthur will be a fair judge, that's what he says

Case#1

'Why do you want a Maori tattoo?'

'Um, sir beca-'

'It's Mr. Aquaman. Continue.'

'Oh, sorry. Mr. Aquaman, I want it because I find them cool.'

'Just cool? Do you think that the abundant culture of Maori people is cool? Go home boy.

Case #2

'You want a Ta Moko? Do you what that is?'

'Sur-sure, it's a tattoo of the Maori people.'

'Ufff... Do you know how much of a meaning Ta Moko carries? Why don't you go to the Yakuzas and get a tebori.'

'They would kill me.'

'Of course, and I'll whoop your uncultured ass with my two hands.'

-you turned to the now pale boy

'Run.'

-the man ran like the wind as the Aquaman caught him easily giving him a cultural lesson of Ta Moko

Orm Marius

-he kinda has a small soft spot for tattoos especially those with a loving meaning lover, family...

-and he likes to "inform himself" about it so he asks a ton of questions even asking what kind of tattoo would suit him

'I think a small red tattoo would suit your taste.'

'I like the tattoos who can hold audios.'

-with that sentence, he left you frazzled as you google and got the special ink kit gifting it to Orm as a present for being a nice guy and not killing anyone

-he immediately records his audio in secrecy and handing you the ink

-after you tattoo the ink you hand him your phone with the app to scan the audio

'Hey, Orm. I'm just reminding you that I love you. So much. It's Y/n if you forget... Somehow.'

-later that day you doused him with kisses

Joker

-that man oozes with tattoos *cough*damaged*cough*

-and you can bet that he wants more of them he brings into your home the whole tattoo parlor just so he can have a private session with sex mixed in

-you gladly tattoo him patching up some of his tattoos he has outgrown them

'Why did you tattoo Kick Me on your back?'

'I won a bet.'

'Are you sure you won?'

'For sake of this question I did.'

-you cover the kick me tattoo with a large red dragon with green eyes

-he stands up looking at the tattoo in the mirror

'Sweets, you just got a huge tip.'

Duncan Vizla

-for him, tattoo nowadays are dumb in his time tattoos were means of solidarity with people who are bounded by the same ink and gun

-but keeps his mouth shut about it not to offend your dream even if it's tattooing dancing hotdogs

-he loves to pass your parlor when he finishes grocery shopping just to see you in action

-he loves to arrive at the parlor if you are doing a night shift just to keep you safe and in good company

-he loves to bring you lunch and watch you eat it with such content and happiness

-it melts his heart and just wants to make you more food

-but as he is present for the good he is here for the bad

-if he is somewhere anywhere you just need to call him and he is there in a minute be it a drunken person not wanting to exit or an aggressive man trying to grope someone in the shop

-he is ready to kill them if you say so

'You okay sweetheart?'

'Um-yeah...Thank you Donut.'

'Nonsense. That's my duty.'

748 notes · View notes

alyssawritesssfics · 3 years

Text

Hounded [7] 7. Contents Under Pressure

Pairings: Bellamy x OC // Kane x daughter!OC

Word Count: 3.5K

Warnings: violence, mentions of blood, series spoilers

Summary: Athena, Clarke and Raven work to save Finn’s life after finally making contact with the Ark.

Author’s Note: Hii, here is chapter/episode seven! Next chapter is all Bellamy and Athena (Day Trip) and I can’t wait to post that one. I hope you enjoy it anyways! Please remember to note and reblog! It really helps me see interest and therefore update the story more often. Thank you!

Tag List: @topazy (DM or send an ask to be added)

previous chapter // series masterlist

Raven’s voice was faint, repeating the same exact thing over and over again on the bottom level of the dropship. She begged for the Ark to hear her, pleading for their help. All we had gotten so far was static.

Octavia winced, grabbing my attention. “Can you please not space out while you’re stitching my forehead? I’d really like to avoid a scar.”

I smiled slightly. “Trust me, a scar is the least of your worries these days.”

She frowned, her eyes shifting to the floor. “Do you think Finn will be alright?”

“I hope so.” I responded, tying off the stitch and cutting the end with the small scissors that came in the pack. “Clarke will figure it out. She always does.”

“You know her better than I do.”

I noticed Octavia shift in place as I reached over to grab some gauze. Placing it over the wound on her head, I used the little bit of tape Clarke had offered up to stick it on. “You’re good to go.”

Octavia sighed, running her fingers along the bandage. “Thank you.”

“No sleeping for another few hours, alright? Just in case.” I said, as thunder grumbled outside.

“I don’t think anyone is sleeping anytime soon.”

“Probably not.” I sighed.

“Athena!” Clarke’s voice boomed through the dropship.

Octavia stiffened. “You should go, I’ll be alright.”

“Athena!”

I stood from my spot on the floor, grabbing the suture kit before looking down at Octavia. “If you need me at all, call for me, alright? If you feel dizzy or anything-”

“I’ll call for you, I promise.”

I gave her one last smile before opening the hatch and climbing down to the bottom floor. Clarke quickly spotted me across the room, waving me over with her free hand.

“How’s Finn doing?” I asked, placing the suture kit at Finn’s feet.

Clarke averted her eyes. “He’s still alive, for now.”

I noticed Raven’s eyes shift towards us, before focusing back in on the radio. “Calling Ark Station. Please come in. The hundred are alive.”

Suddenly, the radio crackled, a voice coming through. “This is a restricted station. Who is this? Please identify yourself.”

Everyone fell silent, staring at Raven. Her face was pale, her eyes wider than usual. Finally, she responded. “This is Raven Reyes. I’m from Mecha Station. I’m transmitting from the ground. The hundred are alive. Please, you need to get Doctor Abby Griffin, now.”

“Hang on, Raven. We’re trying to boost your signal.”

I blinked. “You did it? That’s really the Ark?”

Raven turned her head, smiling, though her eyes were still laced with tears. “It’s really the Ark.”

“Raven? Are you there?” I recognized Abby’s voice instantly.

Clarke’s eyes darted back the radio, a frown forming across her face. After a few moments she took a deep breath, heading over and taking the radio from Raven.

“Mom? Mom, it’s me.”

“Clarke?”

Clarke smiled for just a moment, though it quickly faded. “Mom, I need your help. One of our people was stabbed by a Grounder.”

A new voice emerged. “Clarke, this is the Chancellor. Are you saying there are survivors on the ground?”

“Yes, the Earth is survivable. We’re not alone.” Clarke said. “Mom, he’s dying. The knife is still in his chest.”

“Okay, just give us two minutes.”

“Clarke,” Jaha’s voice emerged again. “Is my son with you?”

Clarke looked at me, her eyes swelling with tears. I gave her a reassuring look and she turned her attention back to the radio. “I’m so sorry. W-Wells is dead.”

Everything fell silent once more, only the static of the radio coming through. Finally, Abby’s voice came through once again. “Okay, Clarke… I’m going to talk you through this step-by-step. Just find-”

The radio cut out for a moment, coming back through in mumbles.

“Raven, what’s going on?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It’s not the radio, it’s the storm.”

“Clarke, we need to hurry.” Abby’s voice was clear again.

“Clarke!” I turned around, noticing Octavia rushing into the dropship. I hadn’t even noticed her climb down after me. “Here, this should help.”

Clarke headed over, grabbing one of the canisters from Octavia. She screwed open the lid, breathing it in. “Monty’s moonshine?”

“Pretty sure no germ could survive this.”

The dropship began to shake, lightning striking off in the distance.

“The storm is getting worse. Monroe, close the doors.” Clarke commanded.

“We still have people out there.”

Octavia nodded. “Monty and Jasper still aren’t back. Neither is Bellamy.”

“It’s okay, they’ll find somewhere to hide out.”

Before Octavia could argue, Clarke turned back to me. “The suture kit?”

I nodded my head towards Finn’s feet. “Right there.”

Clarke grabbed the kit, pulling out the needle. She then poured the moonshine over it, rotating it to cover every inch of the needle.

“Tell me you can do this.” Raven spoke, moving closer to Clarke.

Clarke looked up at me. “We can do this.”

“We?” I asked.

She nodded. “I need your help. Our mothers work together, you and I used to spend hours together in medical reading those journals.”

“Clarke, I’ve had zero training. Sewing Octavia’s head was hard enough.”

“My mother will give us instructions. I just need your extra set of hands, alright?” I averted my eyes, hoping she’d give up. “Athena, please. I need you.”

I looked back up, noticing her pleading eyes. “Alright.”

“Hey, they’re back!” Monroe called out.

Octavia turned to the door, rushing over. “Bellamy!”

Bellamy entered the dropship first, Monty and Jasper lagging behind, carrying the Grounder from the cave. They dropped his unconscious body to the floor, him handing at Octavia’s feet.

She looked up at her brother, her face red. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s time to get some answers.”

“You mean revenge?”

“I mean intel,” Bellamy responded, turning back to the boys. “Get him upstairs.”

I marched over to Bellamy, a frown across my face. “Bellamy, you know she’s right.”

“Clarke, we’re ready.” Abby’s voice came through again. “Can you hear me?”

“Athena, I need you.”

Bellamy’s eyes landed on the radio, his face going pale. I placed my hand on his shoulder, my eyes fixed on his. “Bellamy, this is not who we are.”

I watched as his eyes shifted back to the radio, before landing on me once more. “It is now.” He said, pulling himself away from me and headed up the ladder after Monty and Jasper.

Shaking my head, I turned to Octavia. “Please, just sit down somewhere, alright? I can’t worry about Finn, the Grounder and you all at the same time.” Octavia nodded, heading up to the second level of the dropship.

I walked over to Clarke, standing next to her. “The blade is at a sharp, upward angle. Between the sixth and seventh rib.”

“How deep?” Abby asked.

“I can’t tell.”

“That’s alright, just don’t remove the knife yet.”

Clarke grabbed the canister of moonshine, pouring some into her right hand. She then handed it to me, rubbing her hands together. I did the same, and then Raven.

Abby’s voice came through again, though we were distracted by the fighting of two delinquents behind us.

“Damn it!” Clarke yelled. “Raven, clear the room.”

Raven nodded. “Everyone upstairs. Now! Let’s go!”

Clarke placed her hand on Finn’s body. “He feels warm.”

Raven spun around, rushing back to his side.

“That’s alright, fever sometimes accompanies a trauma.” Abby responded. “Clarke, I need you to tell me if there’s any fluid leaking from the wound.”

Clarke examined the wound. “No.”

“That’s good! That’s really good. You got lucky.”

Raven crouched down, her face close to Finn’s. “Do you hear that? You’re lucky.” She smiled.

“Okay, Clarke… You need to have a firm grip on the knife.” Abby started. “You’re gonna need to angle it upward to the left, very slightly to the left, as it exits the ribcage.”

“How very slightly?” Clarke asked, her voice now shaking.

“Three millimeters. Any more would be bad, any less too.”

“Okay, three milimeters. Got it.”

“You can do this, Clarke.” Abby encouraged her. “You’ve assisted me on trickier procedures than this. Once that knife is out, the hard part is over.”

Clarke nodded, taking a deep breath. “Extracting now.”

Placing her hands around the knife, Clarke began to pull slowly.

“Clarke, he’s waking up!”

My eyes landed on Finn’s face, his body beginning to move.

“Finn, I’m going to get the knife out of you, okay?” Clarke spoke before looking between Raven and I. “I need you two to hold him still.”

While Raven and I held Finn down, Finn strained, trying to keep his body from moving. As Clarke neared the end of the knife, the dropship began to shake again, throwing us all across the room. I watched as the knife tore out of Finn, him falling to the floor in the other direction.

“Clarke! Clarke, what’s going on?”

I lifted my head, noticing Clarke standing with the knife in her hand, her eyes fixated on Finn. He was awake, staring right back at her.

“She did it,” Raven mumbled, looking between the two. “She did it.”

…

The three of us had managed to get Finn back on the cot and Clarke was now finishing up her stitches. “Okay, I’m done.”

“Good,” Abby responded. “Do you have anything to cover the wound?”

“We still have one bandage left,” I spoke up, handing it to Clarke.

“Athena?”

My eyes darted to the radio, my shaky legs rushing over. “Mom? Is that you?”

“Oh, thank God.” My mother cried. “When your wristband went black I-”

“I’m okay, I promise.” I smiled through teary eyes. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, sweetheart.”

“Guys,” Raven spoke, grabbing my attention. “Should he be this pale?”

“He’s lost a lot of blood, Raven.” Abby spoke. “If he’s anywhere near as tough as you though, I’m sure he’ll be fine.”

Clarke placed her hand on his forehead. “Mom, she’s right. He’s feverish and his breathing is uneven.”

“You need to give him some time to recover. Let me know if he gets any worse, but I think he might just be out of the woods.”

“There’s nothing but woods down here.” Clarke rolled her eyes. “I need a break.”

“Clarke, wait!” Abby pleaded. “Raven, Athena… Can you please give us a few minutes?”

“Of course-”

“No, no. Raven, stay with Finn.” Clarke responded, rubbing her temples. “Athena, come with me.”

I followed Clarke up the dropship ladder, reaching the top level. Bellamy stared at the Grounder, who was tied up using seat belts we’d salvaged. Clarke pulled herself through the opening, a boy I didn’t recognize stepping in front of her.

“Get hell hell out of my way.”

Bellamy sighed. “It’s alright. Let them through.”

The boy stepped aside, allowing us to pass. I stood next to Bellamy, Clarke approaching the Grounder, who left out a hardy groan.

“Well,” Clarke turned back to look at Bellamy. “If he didn’t hate us before, he sure as hell does now.”

“Who cares?” Bellamy asked. “How is Finn?”

“Alive,” Clarke responded, glaring. “His people will care. How long until they find out where we’re keeping him? What happens when they do? I mean, when they come looking for him.”

“Relax, Princess. No one saw us take him. Thanks to the storm, you couldn’t see a soul out there.” He reached out, Miller handing him a journal. “In case you missed it, his people are already killing us. How many more of our people need to die before you realize we’re fighting a war?”

“We’re not soldiers, Bellamy.” I spoke up. “There’s no way we can win.”

“You’re right. If we don’t fight.”

Clarke went to speak, being cut off by Raven’s cries. “Clarke! He’s seizing!”

“I’m on my way!” Clarke called out, rushing back down the ladder.

I ran down after her, rushing to Finn��s side.

“Get my mom on the radio.” Clarke said.

“The radio is dead. Interference from the storm.” Raven responded, staring at Clarke. “Please don’t let him die.”

…

Finn soon stopped seizing, his body settling in Raven’s arms.

“It’s stopped.” Clarke spoke. “Quick, help me get him on his side.”

I moved into position, noticing Raven remained holding Finn, staring off into the distance. “Raven? Raven, please.”

“There’s fluid in his lungs, he could choke.” Clarke added. Raven snapped back into focus, nodding as she stepped away. Clarke and I then rolled him over, fluids spilling out of his mouth. “He’s burning up!”

“Fluid in his lungs? Does that mean the knife-

“No, this isn’t blood. It’s something else.” I responded, looking at Clarke.

Clarke stared at Finn. “I-I did everything she told me to.”

“Wait, we’ve seen this before.” I said. “Shortness of breath, fever, seizing.”

“Poison.” Clarke spoke, her eyes lighting up.

Raven shook her head. “You sterilized everything, I watched you do it.”

“Not everything.”

Clarke reached over, grabbing the knife. “Raven, stay here.”

I followed Clarke back up the ladder. “They locked the damn door!” Clarke hissed, banging on the hatch. “Open the door, now! Bellamy!”

Finally, Miller opened the hatch, allowing Clarke to pull herself through. I followed close behind, watching as she marched over to the Grounder.

“What’s on this?” She waved the knife in the air. “Answer me!”

Bellamy looked at me. “What is she talking about?”

“He poisoned the blade!” Clarke snapped her head back. “All this time he knew Finn was going to die no matter what we did.”

“What is it?” I asked, moving closer. “Is there an antidote?”

“Athena, he doesn’t understand you.” Octavia spoke, poking her head through the hatch.

“The vials.” Bellamy mumbled, turning around and picking up a small pack. “It’s gotta be here.” He laid them all out on the floor in front of the Grounder.

“You’d have to be stupid to have a poison around for this long without an antidote.” Clarke mumbled, getting on her knees. “Which one is it?”

The Grounder just stared at Clarke, his face never changing.

“Answer the question!” Bellamy yelled.

Octavia pushed her way through the small crowd. “Please, just tell us.”

“Which one?” Clarke asked again. “Our friend is dying down there, and you can stop it!”

My eyes shot to Bellamy, silently pleading for him to do something. He rubbed the back of his neck, moving closer to the Grounder. “I’ll get him to talk.”

He lifted his fist, Octavia jumping in front of him. “Bellamy, no!”

“He wants Finn to die! Why can’t you see that?” His eyes drifted to Clarke. “Do you want Finn to live or not?”

“Athena, please!” Octavia begged. “You said it yourself, this is not who we are. He was protecting me, he saved my life!”

Bellamy shook his head. “We’re talking about Finn’s life!”

“Do it.”

I looked at Clarke, shame written all over her face.

“Clarke, please…” Octavia begged before turning back to the Grounder. “Please, just tell us which one it is.”

Bellamy picked up a knife, using it to rip open the Grounder’s shirt. “Tell us which one it is, or you’ll wish you had.”

“Bellamy,” Octavia pleaded. “Please don’t do this.”

Bellamy grabbed a seat belt, taking a deep breath before swinging it. As it hit the Grounder’s skin, he let out a small yelp, causing me to turn away.

“Please!” Clarke begged, still on her knees. “Which one is it?”

“Just tell them.” Octavia begged again.

Bellamy placed his hand on Clarke’s shoulder, a tear falling from her eye as she eventually stood up. As Clarke moved away, Bellamy hit the Grounder with the seatbelt once again.

Each time he’d hit the Grounder, we would plead for answers. Finally, Octavia had had enough.

“Stop it! He’s not going to tell us anything.” She yelled.

“Clarke!” Raven yelled. “He’s getting worse!”

“We’re running out of time,” I spoke, kneeling in front of the vials. “If you tell us, they’ll stop. Please. We just want to save our friend.”

The Grounder simply stared back at me, and I knew reasoning was never going to work. Bellamy sighed, kneeling down next to me.

“Hey, you don’t have to be here for this, alright?” He whispered.

I shook my head, looking him in the eyes. “I’m not leaving until we get that antidote.”

Bellamy stared back for a moment before finally nodding. “Alright.” He stood up. “Maybe this will work.”

I watched as he retrieved a metal pick from the makeshift table. He adjusted it in his hand, looking back at Clarke who nodded. Bellamy took a deep breath, driving the pick into the Grounder’s right hand, causing him to groan once more.

“What’s taking so long?” Raven asked, poking her head through the hatch. “He stopped breathing.”

“What?” Clarke asked, getting ready to run downstairs.

Raven grabbed her hand. “He started again, but next time he might not.”

“He won’t tell us anything.” I said, standing up. “We’ve tried.”

“Wanna bet?” Raven asked, marching over the cables next to Grounder.

Bellamy eyed her. “What are you doing?”

Raven ripped the cables out of the wall, touching them to each other, causing sparks to shoot off of them. “Showing him something new.”

The Grounder began to panic, attempting to move himself away as much as he could while tied up. Raven took the cables, placing the ends of them against the Grounder’s chest as he screamed out in pain.

“Which one is it?” She yelled, shocking him again. “He’s all I have!”

“Stop it!” Octavia yelled.

Raven turned back to look at her. “He’s letting Finn die!”

Octavia looked to Clarke’s hand, grabbing the knife from her. Without hesitating, she placed the knife against her wrist, pulling it back along her arm.

“Octavia!” Bellamy called out.

I watched as the Grounder’s unwavering calmness turned to panic, him attempting to lunge forward. Octavia stared at him, her eyes filled with tears. “He won’t let me die.”

Bellamy attempted to grab Octavia, her shoving him off before falling to her knees.

“Which one is it?” She asked, using the knife to point at each one. The Grounder nodded his head towards the last one. “This one?” She asked, earning a final nod.

Clarke reached down, grabbing the antidote. “Thank you.” she said before running back downstairs, Raven and I following close behind.

…

After giving Finn the antidote, I went back upstairs to check on the Grounder, a bucket of water in my hand. I placed my hand on his, grabbing the handle of the pick. I looked back up at him, his head turned away from me.

“I’m so sorry.” I mumbled, yanking the pick from his hand.

He hardly made a sound, nothing probably compared to Raven shocking him. I tossed the pick on the floor, grabbing the wet rag from the bucket and attempting to clean his hand, him shutting his fist.

“I need to clean your hand, please.” I begged, trying to pry it open.

Footsteps came from behind me, Octavia appearing in my peripheral. “Here, let me try.”

I nodded, handing her the cloth and watching as he opened his hand again. Taking a deep breath, I spoke again. “I’m so sorry, Octavia. We had to save Finn.”

Octavia turned her head, looking me in the eyes. “For the record, I saved Finn. Nobody else.”

I nodded, stepping back slightly. “You’re right. We should’ve listened to you.”

“Nobody ever does.”

Not knowing what else I could say to possibly make things any better, I grabbed the pick from the floor, heading back down the ladder and out of the dropship. Looking around, I noticed everyone setting up camp again, repairing any damage from the storm. It was as if Finn almost dying and the Grounder never happened.

“We’ll get it cleaned up.” Bellamy spoke, standing next to me.

I scoffed, walking past him. “I wish this was the only mess we had to deal with.”

“Athena,” Bellamy spoke, grabbing my hand with the pick in it. I spun back around, our eyes meeting. “Who we are and who we need to be to survive are very different things.”

We remained staring at each other for a few more moments. I noticed Clarke approaching, slowly, her eyes falling to our still touching hands. I pulled mine away, clearing my throat.

“What are we going to do about him?” Clarke asked, nodding to the dropship. “We can’t keep him locked up in there forever.”

“If we let him go, he’ll come back. Not alone next time.” Bellamy sighed. “Not easy being in charge, is it?”

Clarke sighed, looking away.

Bellamy gave me one last look before heading off to help the others. I placed my free hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “Hey, everything is going to be alright. Our people will be here soon.”

“Not soon enough.”

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 fanfiction #bellamy blake #bellamy blake fanfiction #bellamy blake x oc

15 notes · View notes

demonofthechili · 3 years

Text

Adler x OC - First Meeting

A/N: How Adler and Tex met, a 6,000+ word thing...which is basically Adler being a concerned Captain and manhandling her across camp! Gotta love it!

T/W: Vietnam, Adler swearing!

---

Adler jumped from the helicopter before it touched the ground, shielding his hat from the blades as they turned; he gestured sharply for his men to move before hurrying into camp, scouting ahead.

Truth be told, a mild panic had settled in. A mild panic that threatened to switch to anger at a moments notice.

Coming to a brief stop, only to ensure his wounded comrade was being lifted after him, his brows furrowed with determination. He turned, certain, heavy steps pounding the dirt as he went along.

Eyes behind his glasses surveyed every passing soldier, finally homing in onto the familiar medic patch he had become accustomed to. Knelt on the floor, doing something or other with their back to him, was a medic... and the deciding factor between if his man lived or died.

"Hey!" He barked, an urgency and gruffness to his voice that had even the wounded man behind him staring. "Medic! Get your ass over here!"

"I'm doing something," Dismissive words were met with a taken back stare, as if he was struggling to process such a thing.

"I don't give a fuck if you're busy!" He approached, shoulders stiff, "Get your ass up!"

He reached down and placed a hand to their shoulder, grabbing a fistful of their fatigues to give a rough yank and walk a good few steps - - a hand harshly shoved his away, another planting to his chest to give a hearty push.

"What the fuck is your problem, asshole?!"

To say that Adler was metaphorically winded would be an understatement; stood before him was a rather short woman, who's accent was strange, in full uniform. A medic uniform. A uniform that appeared to have seen some form of active duty. A uniform that came accompanied with a standard issue M16.

He could easily say that this was the most curious thing he had ever seen serving in Vietnam. Thus far, of course.

"What the fuck do you want, other than to stare at me?"

"I want you to do your fucking job and not to talk back to me!"

The brief silence was accompanied by a stare off before she relented, his urgent and harsh tone not something she wanted to argue with, "What do you need, sir?"

"I have a wounded man," He gestured to the groaning man on the floor some feet behind him, "He'll die if he doesn't get medical attention now."

Upon spotting the man, the woman eased considerably, feeling the abrupt urgency she earlier lacked. She hurried for the man, practically sliding to a knee beside him.

"Joker!" She yelled as she placed a hand to the wounded soldier's cheek, "Joker!"

"What, Tex?! Christ!"

"Get my kit!"

"Why?!"

"Do it!" Adler ordered, prepared to square up to the soldier should he continue to have an attitude.

Instead, however, Joker hurried to retrieve her kit, tossing it to her as soon as he was close enough to do so.

"Hey, buddy, my name is Tex. I'm going to be saving your life today," She began, voice low and steady so that the wounded man could follow.

"Where'd you-" The wounded man began, pausing to give a pained breath, "-get this asshole, Adler?"

"She was the first medic I saw, Connor. I wasn't exactly spoiled for choice."

"Who the fuck lets a woman in the war?"

"Do you want to fix yourself up, Connor?" Tex asked, stilling for emphasis, "No? Then keep your fucking mouth shut and tell your CO to give me a smoke!"

"I was kiddin'," Connor defended, suddenly very concerned with being left to bleed out.

Satisfied, she continued cleaning the wound as quickly and efficiently as she could, offering the odd conversation to Connor and the surrounding soldiers. Tensions lowered, until they were eventually null. All past offenses were temporarily forgiven.

Yet, despite that, Adler round himself being Somewhat cautious of their new found calmness. She could be an important ally while they were stationed at this base, especially if she was able to patch Connor up and show reliability.

"Hey," Adler called, much softer now, as he would in a friendly manner. In his extended hand was a cigarette, one that Tex plucked and placed between her lips with a thankful nod.

It was a solid ten minutes later before Tex cut the sewing thread and sat back on her haunches, digging the bandages and a flask from her kit to offer to the nearest soldier of Adler's unit.

"It'll be more comfortable if he knows you," She explained in response to the man's confused stare. "And for the pain."

"No painkillers?" The soldier, who she'd come to know was Sims, asked skeptically.

"We're waiting for a resupply, if you have any complaints, go to Uncle Sam."

A low groan below them made Sims finally comply, taking the bandages from her to begin wrapping securely around the sutured wound. As he did so, Tex stood, rolled her feet at the ankles to fight off the growing numbness, and then took a few steps away to stop at some crates.

Adler glanced between his men and the medic, waiting until the bandages were on and, presumably, hard liquor to be successfully drunken before approaching her. He came to a stop in front of her, watching briefly as she cleaned off her hands and packed her needle and thread away.

"Will he be alright?"

"Yes, he'll live," She nodded in validation, "I'll make sure the bandages are changed daily and it stays clean. He should be up and talking in a week. Maybe over if he's a particularly weak bastard."

A small smile crossed Adler's face as she spoke. It wasn't just because she confirmed that she'd look after Connor, but because she didn't seem to be all too pissed about earlier.

"Thanks," He began, followed by a pause. "I'm Captain Russell Adler, with the MACV-SOG unit," He extended a hand in formal introduction.

"Third Sergeant Jessie Gibbs, currently stationed with the 2nd Field Force regiment. Everyone around calls me Tex," She accepted his hand, giving it a surprisingly firm shake.

"I'm sorry about earlier-"

"-don't be. You were actually quite kind compared to others I've met," A hand was placed to his arm in assurance, removed as quickly as it came as she slid her kit onto her belt, "I'd hate to inconvenience you and your men, Captain, so I'll show myself off."

"'inconvenience'?" Adler repeated, as if the notion was far fetched. "You saved Connor's life, that deserves a beer at least."

She peered at his men for a moment, considering them before smiling up at Adler. Clearly, she was hesitant to do so.

"C'mon," Spoken before she could get anything in, gesturing his men's way with a nod of the head. He began walking, "I'll introduce you."

#Adler.#Tex.#ocs.#Cold War.#call of duty #Call of Duty.#I love how this turned out #Sets up the rest of their years together perfectly #He trusts her so much PEOPLE

14 notes · View notes

wienerbarnes · 4 years

Text

Injury

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Cheek to Cheek)

Word Count: 3,127

Warnings: Mentions of injuries, self-deprecation, Bucky cooking

A/N: yall wanted some extended stories of cheek to cheek so i will deliver as long as the ideas come :) also the gif has absolutely no correlation to the oneshot im just obsessed with the new content we got today LOL anywayyyy if yall have any requests for this pair lmk!

MAIN MASTERLIST | CHEEK TO CHEEK MASTERLIST

Bubbles and foam stick to the curves of his palms, both flesh and metal, as Bucky finishes washing his dishes from dinner. He’s gotten closer and closer to perfecting his bao buns; he only tore open one dumpling when twisting them closed and he remembered to oil the parchment paper that lined the bamboo steamer Sharon got him for his birthday.

He shuts the water off and moves to the left side of his sink to begin drying his now clean china. It’s been a peaceful night in his apartment. Alpine shared the seat with him on the couch while Bucky ate his dinner, hoping some pork would slip out of Bucky’s mouth so he could catch the treat. He started watching some cheesy rom-com before getting bored and just shutting off the television altogether, opting to play some music while he completed his chores instead.

Ella Fitzgerald’s voice fades out and Bucky waits for the small silence in between songs to end. The towel pauses on the plate for a moment as the beginning tunes of Cheek to Cheek echo in his apartment.

“Heaven, I’m in heaven…”

Bucky continues drying off his glass and remaining silverware as you flash in his mind. He hasn’t seen anything about you nor have you left him any other notes or clues since that day he saw you at the fresh market. He hopes you’re okay. Truly. You were thrown into a life you surely weren’t meant to live at such a young age, barely an adult, and then almost put to death for acting out due to trauma that was out of your control.

Almost immediately after Bucky puts the final dry glass in the cupboard, his ears perk up. He’s not entirely sure what the sound was; he pokes head out from the doorway of his kitchen to see a ball of white fluff still unmoving on his couch, the same position as he was ten minutes ago except tiny ears are standing tall and proud now.

Bucky glances at the windows that are visible and they all still have the lock in tact, the door is still locked as well. Bucky quickly examines the mental map in his head and realizes the only other spot having access to the alleyway next to the apartment building besides his living room windows is the large window in his bedroom. He steps back to the kitchen to grab ahold of one of the knives in the drawer.

As he slowly and silently creeps towards his slightly ajar bedroom door, his ears pick up another heartbeat. Quick, stressed beats hit his ears as he draws closer and closer to the door. He pushes the door open quickly to see his window still half open, lock broken and hanging on the sill, and his eyes meet your heaving frame on his carpeted bedroom floor.

Bucky lets out a sigh and tosses the knife onto his bed before crouching down to help you up.

“Geez, you couldn’t have left some sort of ominous note or another friendship bracelet before breaking into my place?” Bucky scolds as he rests his hands on the tops of your shoulders.

You flinch roughly and cough out a “Help,” that quickly catches Bucky’s attention. He’s able to twist your body slightly so your weight is on your bottom instead of your legs and his eyes immediately catch onto the deep gash along your ribs and the blood pouring around your hands. The blood is coming out of the cut so fast, Bucky can almost hear the gushes. Squirts of blood make there way out from in between your fingers and Bucky notices then just how pale you are.

He stands and runs to his bathroom to grab his spare bath towels along with a first aid kit. You blood ruins his fluffy white towels and soaks them almost instantly as he pops open the first aid kid and grabs the bottle to sterilize your wound along with a needle and surgical thread to stitch you up. It won’t be the best, but it’ll be enough until he can get you to a hospital.

“N-no hospital.” You whimper. Did I say that out loud?

“Stop talking. Ignore me, just-just stop talking and don’t move.” Bucky stutters and soaks the other towel in alcohol to replace the now blood soaked one.

This back and forth continues until the blood slows down enough for Bucky to get in there and cut away at your shirt to expose your rib area.

“Christ, were you mauled by a fucking bear?” Bucky mumbles. The cut is bad. Really bad. He’s sorry for the nasty scar that the combination of this cut and his horrible stitching skills are about to leave on your smooth skin.

“I-I saw it coming, too. I saw it, and I-I still c-came over here…” You trail off, voice ragged and wet. He spares a glance at your face; your skin is wet with a mixture of sweat and tears and your brows are turned upwards in both exhaustion and defeat.

“And-and then I noticed this was your building,” A deep breath, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I couldn’t go to a, to a hospital, I’m sorry,” You voice gets more and more panicked with what little energy you have left.

“Hey, relax, alright? I’m gonna fix it, I just need you to relax, okay? Just relax for me, doll.” Bucky reassures you as he threads the needle. This is gonna fucking suck, I’m so sorry.

Bucky plunges the needle through your skin at one end of the cut and you merely tense; he can tell you’re using everything within you to stay as still as possible.

The torture continues as Bucky tries to sew you up as quickly and delicately as possible. He finally finishes and goes to grab another towel to clean up any leftover blood that’s glued itself dry to your soft skin.

Bucky dabs gently at your skin and the color slowly comes back to your face. You’re staring straight at his ceiling, face seemingly emotionless, but he can sense the anger radiating off your body.

“You gonna tell me what happened?”

“Stupid Hydra cunts; what the fuck do you think happened?” You snap. The emotion finally comes out in your voice and he glances at you once more. Your eyes are more wet than usual and his heart breaks for you. God, let this fucking girl rest.

“They get away?”

“Fucking assholes.” You mumble to yourself, as though you didn’t hear him. Bucky watches a small tear exit through the corner of your eyes and he doesn’t need to ask you again to know that they did.

Bucky grabs your hands and pulls you up slowly as to not let you get lightheaded and his metal hand rises to push stray hairs out of your face. You flinch a little bit, but he continues anyway. Now that you’re sitting up on your own, he reaches his arms behind your head and pulls your hair into a loose ponytail with the hair-tie that’s stayed on his wrist even after his haircut.

He can feel you watching him with wide eyes, probably confused as to why he’s treating you with such caution and care when you’re a serial murderer and kidnapper wanted by the entire planet and you’ve just ruined his window and his carpet.

“I’ll give you some clothes to change into. When was the last time you ate?” Bucky whispers to you, voice remaining sweet and so, so, so gentle.

“What?” You ask, mouth twisting into a small, confused frown. Bucky scoffs and pulls you up by the tops of your arms and helps walk with you towards his bathroom. You lean against the wall and he disappears back into his bedroom and returns with a giant long sleeve shirt and soft pajama pants, a pair of socks rolled into a tight ball resting atop the stack of clothes. He rests the stack on the counter and says, “Holler if you need anything.” before closing the door behind him as he exits.

Bucky likes the modern look, that’s for sure. Simple, grey and white tones with pops of gold to highlight different spots of the bathroom.You don’t even know when it was the last time you were in a bathroom this nice looking. Definitely before Hydra, but everything good in your life was before Hydra.

You take a deep breath and remove your clothes before staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your hair, that you’ve dyed a muted purple since the last time you saw Bucky, is faded towards the tips and your dark brown roots have grown out to your ears. You observe the scars and dark freckles that decorate your skin, spending a few extra seconds the new one you’ve collected tonight.

You did this on purpose. You didn’t see you getting stabbed, but you saw Bucky getting stabbed tonight in his apartment. You don’t know why you traveled two hours into this part of New York to rescue him, or whatever it is you think you did tonight.

That was fucking stupid. You could’ve gotten yourself killed, or worse, caught. All for what, some fucking Avenger who showed you a little kindness while you were on death row? You’re so fucking dumb, you know that? You think you’re some big hero now or something? That this makes up for everything you’ve done? You’re no hero, you’re the farthest thing away from a hero. Who would even-

“Hey, you alright in there? You didn’t pass out on me did you?” Your self-deprecation is interrupted by a certain soldier’s deep voice coming through the door.

“Yea, I’m fine.” You reassure as you grab the clothes and begin pulling them on one by one.

When you exit the bathroom, you come face to face with the soldier himself. Noses are almost touching and you can smell the sweet and tangy scent of whatever he was cooking on his body. You can’t help but lick your lips at the delicious thought of something to eat and you notice his eyes flicker down to see your tongue poke out between your lips. His eyes meet yours again and he clears his throat before turning and returning back to the kitchen. You don’t waste time in following quickly behind.

…

Bucky slowly stirs the sweet and spicy sauce with the leftover pork from his bao. He didn’t have the patience to sit for an hour twist small dumpling balls, but the least he could do was warm up what remains of the meat. He also threw in a small bag of frozen vegetables in the microwave, which have about three more minutes to them. Sure, definitely not as good as fresh vegetables, but he doubts you’ll care, or even notice for that matter.

It’s when the microwave beeps that he realizes you’ve been in his bathroom for too long. Maybe your stitches popped. Maybe you passed out from what a shitty job he did on your cut. Maybe you’ve been bleeding out on his bathroom floor this entire time and he’s been too busy stirring pork to notice. Maybe you snuck back out the window. Maybe you snuck back out the window but didn’t jump right and now you’re more hurt on the ground of a dirty alleyway.

Bucky switches the heat off and goes to the bathroom to check on you.

As he nears the door he softly presses his ear against the wood and he relaxes when he can hear the rapid thump of your heart on the other side. He lifts his right middle finger knuckle to tap on the door, “Hey, you alright in there? You didn’t pass out on me did you?” Bucky teases, hoping to God that you didn’t.

“Yea, I’m fine.” Comes your voice through the door and Bucky lets out a breath of relief.

The door opens and he feels a bit of heat on the back of his neck at the sight of his oversized clothes on you. He sees the stretch of your collarbones above the large head hole of the shirt he gave you and he sees the tips of your now bright yellow painted toes poking out from the sweatpants you’re wearing, which can confidently assume have the waistband string tied incredibly tight to keep from slipping down. His eyes catch your tongue slip out to wet your lips and his throat is suddenly very dry. He clears it and looks back up at your eyes. Jesus, you’ve just been blatantly staring and checking her out for who knows how long, you creep. Bucky turns and returns back to the kitchen to prepare your bowl of pork and vegetables.

He’s never seen someone eat so much so fast. Shoveling food into your mouth, small dribbles of saliva leaking out of the corners every once in a while, your tastebuds overwhelmed by the amount of flavor. You’re on your third serving already, glass of water barely touched and you continue to eat and eat and eat.

When you finally put the last forkful of pork and vegetables in your mouth is when you finally reach for the water and gulp down almost the entire thing. Bucky would be lying if he said he wasn’t impressed. Reminds him of himself when he had his first real meal after Hydra.

Bucky smiles as you let out a loud burp and he reaches to take your bowl and silverware.

“Thanks, uh, for everything.” You say. Bucky looks over his shoulder from where he stands at the sink to see you looking at the ground.

“Don’t mention it. I, of all people, know what it’s like after, well, you know.” Bucky stumbles on his words.

“Yeah, well, it’s what I got to do, so,” You stand and he notices you look for anything you might’ve brought, even though you both know you had nothing on you.

“You goin’ somewhere? Got a place you’re staying at?” Bucky asks, shutting off the water and follows you as you pass through the living room and back into his bedroom.

“Is that a joke?”

You step back into the bathroom to grab your bloody clothes from the ground and you go back near the window to grab your shoes that you’re pretty sure flew off your feet when you flung yourself through Bucky’s window. Bucky’s hand stops your movement as it rests on your shoulder. He gently spins you around to face him.

“You nearly got yourself cut in half. With all the blood you lost, you should spend the night here.”

“Don’t you think it’s kinda dangerous to have two of America’s Most Wanted in the same apartment building?” You question, trying to find any excuse to get yourself out of here. You did what you wanted to here, even if it was stupid. Don’t go from stupid to moronic by getting comfortable. No matter how inviting those blue eyes are.

“Technically, I was pardoned by the government, so I'm no longer wanted. I can’t speak on your behalf though. But I’m sure two military trained killers can take care of themselves and each other.”

“You take the guest room and I’ll take the couch. I’ll lock up the bedroom in case those baddies come back ‘round here and I’ll fix up the lock tomorrow.” Bucky walks over to his closet door and slides it open to grab two fluffy blankets from the very top shelf above his rack of clothes.

He turns back to face you and stares at you until you finally drop your shoes back on the ground. He gives you a small smile before walking out of his bedroom. You hear him lock his bedroom door after you exit and stand awkwardly until he can show you where his guest bedroom is.

Bucky can’t help the grin that spreads across his face when he turns around to see you, looking so small in his oversized clothes, folding your hands together, looking around the room, waiting for him to finish up. He chews on his lip hard to make the smile go away as he steps forward and down the hall to the guest bedroom door. He opens it for you and lets you step inside and glance around the room.

He notices the way you look around the room, making a mental note of everything in it, what can be used as a weapon, what can’t, as well as your eyebrow twitch at the realization that there’s no windows and no other means of emergency escape except through the main door. He doesn’t say anything about it, though.

“I’ll, uh, be out in the living room, if you need anything. Uh, goodnight.” Bucky says awkwardly as you give him an equally awkward smile in return.

Sleep comes easy to you that night, but you’re sure it has nothing to do with the supersoldier cuddled up with a little white kitten in the living room outside your door.

…

Bucky wakes up later than usual the next morning. Small claws stretch across his large chest as a very hungry kitten is awake and upset that there’s no food automatically in his bowl that morning. Bucky rubs his hands roughly against his face before swinging his feet over the edge of the couch and standing up.

After peeling open a can of cat tuna and plopping it in Alpine’s cat dish, he leaves the now satisfied kitty to go see how you’re doing.

He gently knocks on the door and opts to slowly move it open when there’s no response. He opens it completely when he realizes the room is completely unoccupied. The bed is completely made and Bucky feels the sheets to feel them cold. He walks back across the apartment to his bedroom to see your shoes gone as well.

Bucky won’t lie and say he’s not at least a little bummed out. He was hoping you’d stay a bit longer. So that your wound can heal up, of course. He’s not sure if Hydra experimented on you to make you super but everyone needs some good rest every once in a while.

Bucky lets out a sigh before moving back into the kitchen to begin preparing his own breakfast.

“Hey, uh, Alexa? Can you shuffle my music library, please?” Bucky asks politely.

He watches the blue circle shift around before familiar trumpets begin to fill the room. Bucky rolls his eyes and breathes out a humorless laugh as he reaches into the cabinet by his legs to take out a pan.

“Heaven, I’m in heaven,”

“And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak…” Bucky sings along softly.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #marvel #marvel fanfiction #mcu

275 notes · View notes

and-it-freezes-me · 3 years

Text

Schemes Of Mice - Part 1

Schemes Of Mice is the first part of the What Happened In Lichmai series.

Title is from the poem To A Mouse by Robert Burns.

{Part 2} {Part 3}

Summary: Virgil Insmyre’s carefully planned road trip takes an unexpected turn for the worse, and he falls back on getting help from a strange pair of travellers.

Content: car trouble, hitchhiking, very loud music

Word count: 7,007

It was dark.

It was always dark. The light of the moon never made it down here, the stars never shone across his face.

It was dark, and it had been dark for longer than he wished to know.

Just because he didn’t like it when plans went wrong didn’t mean that it was the end of the world.

Those were the words that Virgil repeated to himself as the needle on the fuel gauge dipped ever so slowly below the red line, and still no petrol station came into sight.

He had thought he had planned this whole trip out down to the last detail. It was supposed to be easy: leave his hometown with his camera and the other essential things he couldn’t be without in his car, and have everything else sent by post to meet him when he arrived on the other side of the country to start his new life. He had spent hours upon hours planning the route he would take, carefully avoiding any cities with higher-than-average crime rates, selecting a few choice parks and monuments that he had always wanted to visit and photograph and sketching his route around that. He had checked the laws for every state he needed to drive through and made sure his old, navy blue car had been checked over at the garage no less than three times before he had left. Virgil had packed enough bottles of water to survive getting caught in a snowstorm and having to stay put for up to a week; he had packed enough dried food to sustain him just as long in an emergency; he had packed not only his weighted blanket but also a fluffy one he had impulse bought a few months back, a patchwork one his grandmother had made him when he was seven, and his sleeping bag, just in case he had to spend the night in the car. None of these things should be necessary, though, because he had made sure to check the weather forecasts for every town along his route, made sure that there were diners and motels and hotels and restaurants everywhere he planned to stop for the night.

He had made sure that he had his route entered not only into the GPS he had bought for the sole purpose of not getting lost when he had to go slightly outside of his comfort zone to get specific photos, but also into his phone, and drawn it out across several maps with a full notebook of times and directions. He had scheduled in an hour’s break for every four he spent driving to stretch his legs.

And he had definitely scheduled in petrol stations.

They were pencilled in at regular, carefully calculated intervals: he should never have gotten below three-quarters full.

And now he was coasting to a stop at the side of a dark road, the screen of his GPS filled with static.

“Stupid, overpriced, worthless junk,” he snarled, engaging the handbrake and tossing the useless system on top of the bag on the passenger seat. His phone was in the drinks holder, next to a very large, very empty coffee cup, but when he grabbed it to call… Anyone, really, he found that he had no signal.

Virgil very nearly punched his steering wheel in frustration, then reminded himself that he still had another two days of driving to do and that the first aid kit in his glovebox, whilst expansive, would not magically fix his fingers when he inevitably broke them. Instead, he shook his phone roughly, hoping that by some miracle that would help it pick up a network.

It didn’t.

Instead, it completely.

“Fuck,” he commented eloquently. That was okay, though. Virgil made certain never to travel without a portable charger, and he made sure it was fully charged before he left whichever motel he stayed at in the mornings. Pulling it out of the top of the bag beside him, he plugged his phone into it and closed his eyes slowly.

He would count to five, open his eyes, wait for his phone to charge a little, and then call the nearest breakdown service he could.

One. Two. Deep breath in. Three, four, deep breath out. Five.

“Fuck!” The portable charger was out of juice - and Virgil had been certain he had charged it that morning. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

Okay, okay. This wasn’t the end of the world. The world wasn’t ending, he was just going to have to…

Okay, maybe it was the end of the world.

Virgil took another deep breath, and then another, and then a fourth just to make sure he still could. Reaching into his bag, he rooted around until he found his notebook and a pen, and flipped through to an empty page.

“Okay, okay… What’s happening, what’ve I got…” He muttered.

The problem, Virgil wrote.

Out of petrol on side of unfamiliar road at night 8pm

Should have passed petrol station > 1 hour ago - didn’t

Should be an hour from next motel

GPS broken + phone w/out battery or signal

Can’t figure out position on map

Individually, any of these seemed bad. Put together, Virgil was pretty sure he was going to get murdered by a roving serial killer. He jerked his hand through his purple bangs, then lowered his pen back to the paper.

Inventory

My camera set

Useless phone, map, GPS, laptop

Enough water + dried food for the week

Six clean changes of clothes

Two dirty changes of clothes

Three blankets + sleeping bag

Misc. house items including coffee machine + cactus

Okay, so he wouldn’t starve to death. Or freeze, especially given that the weather was supposed to be clement at the very least.

Solutions

Backtrack until civilisation found + get help

Haven’t seen a building in nearly 2hrs, would take all night

Walk along road until civilisation found + get help

Don’t know how long that’ll take

Don’t know what the road does / could get lost

Night - dangerous, unfamiliar place

He definitely didn’t want to be wandering around at night.

Wait until morning + follow road + get help

Means staying in car overnight

Less likely to get lost/murdered inside car than outside

It looked as though he was going to be sleeping in the car tonight. Chewing thoughtfully at the end of his pen, Virgil added one more bullet to his list.

Somebody might drive past + could help

Hitchhiking, of course, was a spectacularly horrible idea, and there was no way Virgil was going to attempt anything remotely like that - not with his phone out of action, and no friends to know where he was or report him missing, and in a strange place.

Virgil would really rather he didn’t get murdered today. Or any day, really. Getting brutally murdered was not how he would choose to go.

Hopefully, if somebody passed, they would be more inclined to help him than kill him. If he were really lucky, they might be the kind of person to carry extra petrol (why didn’t he do that? He should start doing that), or at least be willing to give him some of theirs if he paid them back. Maybe they could tell him where he was - or maybe they’d have a spare portable charger that he could buy off of them.

Virgil tried to ignore the fact that in the time that he had been driving down this long, seemingly unending road, he hadn’t seen a single other vehicle. There was no point in working himself up to a panic attack, not when he had a clear course of action now.

The fact that that course of action was to do nothing was beside the point.

Groaning, Virgil stretched his arms above his head and heard a series of pops as his back flexed (driving non-stop for almost a week wasn’t exactly doing him many favours, even with the breaks he had scheduled in). As he reached for the bag on the seat behind him, where he had stored a few of the water bottles and rations along with his blankets and sleeping bag, a wide yawn stretched his jaw. If there was a silver lining to this whole mess of a situation, it was the fact that he was being forced to get some rest now.

Well, what passed for rest. Virgil doubted he would sleep particularly soundly, even with his weighted blanket wrapped around his shoulders and his seat reclined back as far as it would go. Aside from the discomfort and the nagging worry that he was going to wake up to find a knife in his guts and somebody making off with his camera (both of which were good reasons to sleep fitfully), he needed to stay at least awake enough to be aware of any cars passing.

He could get out, could stand by the side of the road or sit on the bonnet. He’d be more awake that way, more aware, more responsive if anybody did drive past - but he’d also be more vulnerable to passing murderers and (he was reminded by a faint howl in the distance) whatever predators roamed the area.

Turning off the lights (he didn’t want to waste any more of the car’s battery than he already had), Virgil shifted briefly before turning on his side so that he was facing out of the car’s window, watching the road for headlights.

The clouds covering the sky shifted, and stars twinkled down at the quiet stretch of countryside. The moon rose.

It was peaceful. It could almost be considered pretty, if he weren’t one-hundred-percent aware that he was going to have to spend hours hiking tomorrow to find help.

The glow-in-the-dark hands of Virgil’s watch moved slowly around its face, and seconds dripped into minutes dripped into hours.

At least he was warm. At least he wasn’t hungry, at least he was free and safe and alone.

This would push his schedule back by at least a day, of course - but he should still arrive at his new flat sixteen days before his first day at his new job. That would give him plenty of time to get used to his surroundings, to make the walk between apartment and office several times over to make sure he wouldn’t get lost on the way, and to find a good place to get coffee when he didn’t want to be completely isolated.

Virgil still couldn’t quite believe that he had landed an entry-level position at Mary-Lee, Lee, and Co.. They were a fashion agency, one of the big ones, and there was no way they should have been looking at a twenty-year-old, only a year out of highschool (he had been held back a year before anyone had realised that his reluctance to participate in English classes had been dyslexia rather than laziness), with only a year’s crash-course in semi-professional photography to his name.

Of course, it wasn’t as though he wouldn’t get more training on the job - a lot more training - and he would probably be staying on the lowest rung on the company ladder for a very long time.

Virgil was thrilled.

It was the chance to be the one in charge of his own life, a chance to do what he loved rather than serving popcorn in a tacky movie theatre to pay for his photography course and his stupidly high rent, a chance to be free, a chance to disappear.

Virgil was jerked out of a light doze by what could only be described as the sound one would get if they gave a cat a chainsaw and told it to sing while it cut down a lamppost.

It was faint at first, faint enough that he wasn’t sure what had woken him. Then the small plastic spider he had taped to his dashboard started bobbing, and Virgil realised that the horrific noise must be something approaching. A car? Maybe? A car with the most horrible taste in music imaginable, and willing to play it at a stupid volume in the middle of - what time was it? He glanced at his watch - at two in the morning.

Well, if whoever it was was happy to announce their presence for miles around, they were probably going to be easy to track. He scribbled trying to attract attention of loud music people in his notebook (he was tired, it was the best he could come up with in a rush) and scrambled out of the car, turning on the headlights as he did. Anything to be seen, right? If he could just borrow somebody’s phone…

By the time the minivan was close enough to see, Virgil wanted to put his fingers in his ears: he had to ask how whoever was driving it wasn’t deaf already, or how they hadn’t been arrested yet. Instead, he took another long breath before sticking out an arm and waving it frantically, hoping that would be enough to get the driver’s attention.

It was.

There was a horrific screech that felt akin to a metal spike being driven into his brain, and Virgil almost crawled back into his car when the man driving leaned out of the open window to grin at him. His smile was so wide it seemed to split his face open like something out of a horror movie. There was a streak of white in his otherwise brown curls, he was waving at Virgil with both hands (one of which had a bandage wrapped around the palm, both of which looked smudgy with… ink?), and his wide eyes made him look ever so slightly unhinged. He had to be wearing contact lenses, because his irises were the kind of bright, acidic green that typically comes in bottles marked with skulls and crossbones. In cartoons.

“HEY!”

He had to shout to be heard over the ‘music’ that was still pulsing from the car and flattening all of the plants for miles around, and even then Virgil probably wouldn’t have figured out what he had said if he hadn’t been looking directly at him.

This was a bad idea. He was going to get murdered by a guy that probably had pure caffeine running through his veins and bats in his belfry. Lifting one hand in a weak surrendering motion, Virgil groped around behind him for the handle to let himself back into the car.

“HEY! ARE YOU IN TROUBLE? CAN WE HELP AT-” The ‘music’ cut off suddenly, and the guy glanced briefly at whoever was in the car with him before turning back to Virgil. “All?”

The sudden silence made Virgil’s ears ring, and the hand that had been waving awkwardly moved to rub the back of his head, where a dull throbbing had started up. “Uh… No. You know what? It’s cool, I’m all fine here, I’m just gonna…”

“Did your car break down?” The guy was still shouting. It was amazing that he could hear anything, really - or maybe he couldn’t, given how he had just ignored Virgil’s questions. “I know about cars! Anything I can help with!”

Then Virgil blinked, and the guy was standing right next to him, offering him his bandaged hand to shake. He seemed to be constantly in motion, shifting from foot to foot, picking at a scab on his neck with his other hand, tapping his fingers against his hip. If it hadn’t been for the constant motion and the overly wide cartoon eyes, he would have looked almost normal in a slightly tatty band t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans - oh, maybe not. He was wearing slippers. Not just any slippers, either: they were fluffy, and when Virgil squinted at them he realised that they had long ears.

Wild-Eyes-Guy must have noticed him looking. “Vampire bunny slippers! Do you like them? I made them myself!”

“... What?” Maybe he was dreaming right now. That was the only sensible explanation for this. Virgil’s hand had found the car door, but for some reason he hadn’t scrambled back inside just yet - and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why.

“Vampire bunny slippers! Made them! What do you think?!” The guy repeated, and Virgil blinked again.

“Uh…”

“Roman, what are you doing to this poor kid?” A second guy had gotten out of the van, an eye-mask pushed into his hair like an alice-band. He was wearing slacks, a sweater, and (thankfully) regular trainers on his feet. He seemed a little less… Manic, than Wild-Eyes-Guy (Roman?) - although maybe that was because he had only just woken up, if the sleep mask and the way he was rubbing his eyes was any indication.

They both looked to be no more than a few years older than Virgil, but being called a kid seemed to be the least of his issues right now.

“He was asking about my slippers! I told you they’d be popular!” Virgil had no idea what he was supposed to say to that. His absolute bewilderment must have shown on his face, because the calmer guy moved closer and rested a hand on Wild-Eyes-Guy/Roman’s shoulder. Roman seemed to calm down a little. He stopped bouncing, at least.

“Are you sure about that one? He looks terrified.” There was a dry note in Calm-Guy’s voice - and Virgil suddenly noticed that his eyes were yellow as butter. Acidic butter. Was there some kind of convention for people with a thing for weird contact lenses?

Had he been sleeping in contact lenses? Virgil’s foster brother had worn contact lenses sometimes, and Virgil was pretty sure that you weren’t supposed to sleep in them.

“He flagged us down! Why would he be terrified?”

There was silence for a second, Virgil still trying to figure out whether he was about to be murdered by a guy in vampire rabbit slippers and his sleepy accomplice. Calm-Guy seemed to be waiting for Roman to answer that question himself; after a second, Roman’s shoulders slumped and his smile dropped back to regular proportions, becoming almost sheepish.

“It’s super late and you’re alone on an empty road, of course you’re terrified!” At least he had stopped shouting, but Virgil wished he didn’t sound so excited about that fact. Calm-Guy rolled his eyes, then held out a neatly manicured hand. Virgil shook it. It wasn’t as though there was much else he could do now, right?

“I apologise for my boyfriend, he gets… Energetic, when he drinks coffee. I’m-”

“Hey! I haven’t had any coffee since ereyesterday!”

“Energy drinks, then?”

“Yep.” Roman popped the ‘p’, looking immensely satisfied with himself, then moved over to the hood of Virgil’s car and lifted the bonnet. Without asking. What the hell?

“Uh… What are you…”

“Engine looks fine! Flat tire? No, the tires look fine, the suspension looks fine -” He was under the car now, jabbering away at the greasy machine above him.

Calm-Guy groaned and ran both hands through his hair, but not so roughly that he dislodged the eye mask or ended up looking even remotely ruffled. “As I was saying, I am known as Ethan Anguis -” He pronounced it ‘on-guie’. “- and the delight currently trying to figure out why you’re sitting on the side of the road without asking you is my boyfriend, known as Roman Pulpos. I assume you flagged us down as opposed to us gatecrashing your private camp-out?”

“Uh…” Virgil blinked, then nodded. “I, uh… Ran out of petrol. Was hoping I could… Borrow your phone, or… Something.”

Ethan nodded slowly - and Virgil realised that he didn’t seem to have blinked in the whole time he had been standing before him. No, that couldn’t be right. It was just a trick of the light.

“I’ve got it! You’re out of petrol!” Roman had stood - and if his hands had been grubby before, that was nothing to the grease and grime that now stretched from fingertip to elbow. There was even dirt on his face. Ethan groaned beside him.

“Did it occur to you, dearest, that you could simply have asked him? It would have been far more polite than simply poking around his car…”

“He didn’t seem very talkative.”

A snort left Virgil, and he clapped his hand over his mouth as they both turned to look at him. Then Roman’s face split back into that wide grin, and he came back to stand beside Ethan, who took a pointed step away. “You’re not getting back in the car until you’ve washed some of that off, you know.”

“But it’s my turn to choose the vehicle!”

“Yes! You chose it! But we’re still keeping it clean! Water bottle, cloth, go!” Ethan flapped his hands a few times in a ‘shoo’-ing motion, and Roman rolled his eyes - and his head with them - before stalking around to the passenger side and opening the door. The yellow-eyed man turned his attention back to Virgil, a fond smile on his sharp features. “So, you said you were hoping to…”

“Borrow your phone, yes,” Virgil nodded, eyes snapping back to the man before him rather than the now-shirtless Roman, who seemed to have decided that his t-shirt would work better than a cloth for getting rid of the grease.

Ethan clucked his tongue sympathetically. “You won’t get any signal out here. The nearest town is an hour’s drive away - I’d assume that walking was going to be your next plan if you couldn’t flag us down?”

“Uh… Yeah.” Virgil shifted awkwardly. “Do you… Know the area well?”

“Used to live here!” Called Roman, and Virgil forced himself not to stare at the muscles rippling under the dark skin of his back.

“A long time ago, yes. We return every few years,” Ethan added. “I wouldn’t try walking at night. The landscape gets a little… Treacherous. We can give you a lift if you want - there’s a repair shop in town, you can get someone to drive out and pick up your car tomorrow.”

“I… I really couldn’t.” Virgil shifted from foot to foot. “I’m perfectly fine waiting until morning and walking in. Got plenty of blankets ‘n’ food. I’ll be fine. Thank you for offering, though.”

Ethan blinked - but still not as though he needed to. More as though he was processing the words Virgil had just said, and wanted to show that he was paying attention. Maybe Virgil’s mind was playing tricks on him. It was very late, and he was very tired. “Understandable. I wouldn’t want to push you into anything you’re not comfortable with, so-”

“We’re not gonna kill you, y’know,” Roman added helpfully, and Virgil almost jumped out of his skin because he was suddenly right next to him. Virgil had been so caught up in not staring at him and talking to Ethan instead that he had completely missed his returning to their side - still shirtless, because the world was actively working to make his life difficult. “That would just be rude.”

“Roman! We’re trying not to push the kid into-”

“I’m not that much younger than you, you know.” Yes, because that was the important point to argue just then. Really, it was a miracle Virgil wasn’t already dead in a ditch somewhere, what with his brain constantly seeming to do the opposite of what he wanted it to.

Ethan looked mildly amused. “Really? How old are you, kid?”

“Twenty. And it’s Virgil, not kid.” If they were going to murder him, they probably would have done it by now. Telling them his name wasn’t going to make any difference at this point.

Roman snorted and ran his hand across the top of Virgil’s car, inspecting a large scratch in the paintwork below the rear door. “Virgil? Like virgin?” Virgil winced.

“No, you dick -” Ethan punched his boyfriend lightly on the shoulder, and Roman rubbed a hand over the spot with exaggerated remorse. “- like the poet. And if Virgil doesn’t want a lift from us, we should get going.”

“We could keep him company! It’s gonna be a long night out here on his own - unless you plan on walking, which is a really stupid idea!” There was the soft popping noise of the petrol flap being opened, and then the click of it closing. Then Roman opened it again. And closed it again.

Virgil lasted until the third pop-click before turning and batting Roman’s grubby hands away from the side of his car. “Stop that.”

“Feisty,” Roman commented, but clasped his hands obediently in front of him, the picture of angelic innocence. Not. Virgil had a feeling that Ethan was scowling at him from over his shoulder. “You sure you wanna be left alone? I heard there are monsters prowling out here…”

He practically sang the words, as though nothing could delight him more than the idea of terrifying creatures ranging the countryside. Virgil made himself chuckle in spite of the shiver that ran down his spine, and nodded. “I’ll be fine. Thanks for the tip about town, Ethan. Thanks for… Whatever you did, Roman. I guess.”

“Nothing,” Ethan said, at the same time as Roman said, “Introduced you to the idea of vampire bunny slippers and made sure your car wasn’t broken.”

“Yeah. That.” Shrugging, Virgil tugged open his car door and slipped inside, then waved a hand at the pair of them. They were still staring at him with their bizarre, bright eyes.

He closed the door behind him, and the sound seemed to snap action into the pair of them. Ethan rolled his shoulders back and jerked a thumb at their minivan - the side of which Virgil now realised was covered in what looked like a mural of a pirate ship being crushed by a very large sea monster - before walking back toward it.

“See ya around, Virgil-Not-Virgin!” Roman yelled (why was he yelling again?) and followed, climbing back into the driver’s side of the van. The ‘music’ clicked back on, sound obliterating all rational thought (how was Ethan still sane, driving around with that cacophony all the time?), and after a second the van’s engine started up.

That was when Virgil filled up his stupid quota for the rest of the year.

It had suddenly occurred to him that he really, really didn’t want to be left alone in the dark and the quiet now - maybe Roman’s talk of monsters had gotten to him, maybe it was the contrast between the stillness of his cold car and the aliveness of the two people that had just stopped to try to help him, weird though they might be.

They probably weren’t serial killers. If they were, there was nothing to stop them from killing him as soon as he had flagged them down, or being a lot more pushy about giving him a lift. He had already told them his phone wasn’t working (why had he told them that? What had he been thinking?) and they knew he was alone.

Making the decision in a split second, he threw his door open again and started waving his arms, running after the van as it gradually picked up speed, as though that would make him more noticable.

Virgil only had to move a couple of steps before it screeched to a halt again. For somebody so clearly enthusiastic about cars, Roman should probably get his own brakes checked out sometime. The ‘music’ cut off once more, which was a relief, and after a moment the minivan reversed until Roman was level with him again. “Hey again! Change your mind?”

“I - yeah,” Virgil nodded. “Realised I’d rather not be alone. Promise not to murder me if I catch a lift?”

“Oh, don’t give me ideas!” Virgil raised an eyebrow at the toothy smile, and Roman had the decency to look a little less thrilled at the idea of murder. Why had he said anything? “Already said we wouldn’t - a gentleman’s word is his bond, ‘n’ all that!”

“Nobody’s going to believe you’re a gentleman, R.” Virgil had been planning on saying something similar, but Ethan seemed to have beaten him to the punch. “I, on the other hand, actually behave like a member of the gentry - in any case, you’ll be fine.” Ethan had gotten out of the van again, walking around the front to open the side door. Roman flipped him off lazily. “Is there anything you’ll need overnight? I doubt anyone will come across your car, but if you’ve got anything you’d rather not leave unattended, we have space for a bag or two in this… Contraption.”

There was a note of distaste in his voice - clearly, Ethan regretted whatever turn of events had led to him agreeing to allow his boyfriend to choose their transportation.

Virgil nodded, already turning back to his car. There was no way he was leaving his camera alone overnight - and he should probably grab a water bottle, maybe some food, a change of clothes - he would only need one change of clothes, right? Ethan followed him quietly, and after a second Virgil heard the slamming of a door and realised that Roman had come to join them.

The pair of them stayed quiet as Virgil pulled his bag from the passenger seat - his camera, laptop, and phone were already in there - and tossed in a water bottle and his weighted blanket, but when he opened the small boot to retrieve a clean change of clothes, Roman let out a low whistle.

“Fuck me, that’s a lot of stuff. You moving somewhere? Ow, watch your elbows, j-eez!”

“I’d have thought you’d have gotten better at respecting other people’s boundaries over the last few years, Roman.”

“I’ll respect your boundaries in a minute,” Roman grumbled, and Ethan snorted at the nonsensical threat. Virgil put his bag down by his feet and used both hands to close the boot (it had been a second-hand car even before he had purchased it, and the boot was stiff), then turned back to find the two of them nose to nose, locked in some sort of staring contest.

He cleared his throat. “Um. Are we…”

“Going? Yes, just dump your shit on one of the seats.” Roman waved a hand at the van without breaking eye contact with Ethan. Weird, Virgil thought, but whatever. They had been nice enough so far.

It looked as though the minivan had once held eleven seats, arranged in four sets of two down one side and three individual ones down the other. Now, though? The three individual seats had been ripped out, and the second pair back from the driver’s seat had gone the same way. Of the remaining seats, the two pairs at the back looked as though they had been converted into a makeshift bed: the backs of the seats had been bent down until they were almost horizontal, forming one large, mostly flat expanse. It was partially covered in rumpled blankets. A row of beanbags ran down the van’s wall, and blankets had been pinned over the windows like curtains; what looked like an icebox was strapped to the back of the vehicle.

It looked as though Ethan and Roman were used to travelling together.

Placing his bag carefully on one of the two remaining seats (the one with the brown stain that was probably barbecue sauce and not blood, because these people probably weren’t serial killers) and strapping the seatbelt down over it, Virgil sat down. One hand rose automatically for him to gnaw at the cuticle of his thumb; turning to look out of the still-open door, he watched Roman and Ethan finally break off their staring contest. Roman looked frustrated - he had probably lost, then. The taller of the two dropped a kiss on his forehead, and the green-eyed man stalked back around to the driver’s seat. Virgil couldn’t hear the words, but he was grumbling under his breath as he passed the still open door.

“All good in here?” Ethan was leaning against the open door, smiling at him.

Virgil nodded slowly. “I… Yeah, I guess so. I’ll be able to find my car again tomorrow, right?”

An answering nod. “The repair shop in town will do just fine. Tell ‘em it’s on the main road, about an hour out - no trouble finding it.”

“Thanks.”

Ethan nodded again, closing the door, and then climbed back into the passenger seat. Roman flicked the music on. Somehow, it wasn’t quite so deafening on the inside of the car. Frowning, Virgil leaned forward - he hadn’t seen Roman fiddle with the volume dial, although he hadn’t been watching… It still looked to be pointing at the maximum, though.

“Rigged it,” Roman said. Looking up, Virgil found his unsettling eyes watching him in the rearview mirror. “Plays super loud outside, isn’t so bad in here. Spent hours getting the soundproofing right. Ended up deaf for nearly a week!”

He started the engine as Ethan twisted around in his seat to look at Virgil again. “Roman,” he commented dryly, “enjoys being a deliberate nuisance. There was practically a mob chasing us out of Milan.”

“It was a literal mob, Eth. And you know you love me really.” For a vehicle that looked dirty and slightly battered on the outside and sounded as though there were monsters living in the braking system, the minivan drove smoothly - more smoothly than Virgil’s third-hand car, anyway.

“Milan, Illinois? Or Ohio?” If he was in this van, Virgil might as well make conversation.

“Milan, Italy. Nice place. Nice language. Good food. Sunny.” Roman waved a hand around his head, then turned to look at him as well - something that was not reassuring, given that Virgil could just about see that the needle on the speedometer had ticked past sixty. “Ever been, Virgil-Not-Virgin?”

“The road!” He should not have gotten into this van. Virgil was going to die because this idiot had decided not to watch the road and Ethan didn’t seem to have noticed. “Watch the road!”

“The road?” Roman glanced back at the windscreen and shrugged. The van swerved, and Virgil grabbed his bag to stop it from sliding forward off of the seat despite being strapped in. “Oh, the road! Yeah, okay… Wrecking the van would be a pain now I’ve got it almost perfect. Ever been to Milan?”

He didn’t sound at all concerned about the possibility of fiery death. Brilliant. Virgil was in a car with a lunatic. Well done, me, he thought sarcastically, don’t want to be alone in the middle of the road at night. Now I’ll be sharing a grave with these guys. Just brilliant.

“No,” he said, because why not keep the conversation going? It might help to keep his mind away from the apparently high chance of death. “Never left Washington before. Are you guys Italian now, then?” They didn’t have a trace of an accent, but that didn’t mean much.

“Nope! We’re from here - just going home for a few days!” Unconcerned with the fact that he had already told Virgil this, Roman yanked on the wheel, and the van skidded around a corner. Virgil grabbed for the side of his seat with one hand and his bag with the other.

“Ma viaggiamo molto, bambino,” Ethan added - because of course he would speak flawless Italian. Why not?

Roman jerked the wheel the other way, and Virgil winced as his shoulder hit against the wall of the van. “Non è un bambino, occhi di serpente, è Virgil.” Ethan blew a kiss at his boyfriend.

Great. Now they were talking about him in a foreign language. Maybe this was all just a really, really stupid dream, Virgil decided. He was probably sat back in his car, still dozing and waiting for the sun to rise so that he could make the walk into town. Assuming that there was a town, and that wasn’t just something else his subconscious had come up with.

At least he had the presence of mind to remember his camera and laptop even in a dream. They were his most precious possessions, both in terms of monetary value and in what they meant for him. Losing these would be like… Losing a limb, maybe. Or his head.

“-long way from Washington for somebody that’s never left it before, Virgil. Going anywhere nice?” Ethan had twisted around once more, and Virgil realised he had missed the point at which the conversation had switched back into English again.

Shaking himself, he patted his camera once. “Got a job on the other side of the country, took it as a chance to move somewhere new. Thought I might as well make a road trip out of it - still cheaper than flying, which is absolutely criminal.”

Ethan made a sympathetic… Hissing noise (?) as their driver bobbed his head, although whether that was agreement or simply in time with the ‘music’ that they were only just able to talk over without shouting, Virgil didn’t know. “Tell me about it! The faster humans learn how to travel, the more they try to suck every penny from you! Like money leeches!” Roman laughed, the idea apparently delightful to him.

“There’s definitely a strong correlation,” Ethan mused, turning to gaze thoughtfully out of the window. His sleep mask was still propped up in his wavy hair, though he had shown no inclination to use it again - maybe it was obvious how much Roman’s loud energy unsettled Virgil, and he was trying to make sure he wasn’t alone. Or maybe he had decided that they were close enough to town that there wasn’t much point in trying to sleep again. “Speed makes humans greedy… Sounds like the kind of claim - oh, Virgil, you might want to close your eyes for a couple of minutes. We’re almost at the Edge. Sounds like the kind of claim somebody could spend years trying to back up.”

“We should do that. Might kill some time, you know?”

“Are you telling me you’re already bored of-”

“Woah, wait.” Virgil held up both hands, remembered neither of his companions were looking at him, and let them drop again. “Why do I need to close my - holy shit! Sweet Frank Iero, fuck!"

Virgil squeezed his eyes tight shut a second too late. Light exploded around them, seemingly out of nowhere and leaving bright streaks across the insides of his eyelids. He could hear Roman cackling in front of him, the music still playing, an exasperated “I did try to warn you…” - whatever had happened, neither of his companions seemed at all surprised.

Maybe they had just driven past a football stadium, and Virgil hadn’t noticed the floodlights until just then? No, that didn’t make sense: he would have seen the lights when they had first appeared on the horizon. Unless they had been dark until somebody had just turned them on - at two in the morning? And Ethan had known that it was going to happen?

Automatic lights, then. Or - Or police vehicles, apprehending the two of them for whatever reason. But wouldn’t they have stopped, or sped up, or something? And if Ethan had known that there were police waiting for them, why would they have travelled this route anyway? It had to be automatic lights.

Then Virgil opened his eyes again, and realised that he couldn’t pinpoint its source.They were still driving through open countryside, on a road with no street lamps or buildings, grass stretching out on either side of them. To their left and stretching out in front, Virgil could make out a forest. The only difference between now and a few minutes ago was the fact that it seemed to be the middle of the day.

He looked out of his window, then out of the front of the van, neck craned toward the sky. It was a blank, pale colour somewhere between orange and yellow. He couldn’t see the sun at all.

Twisting in his seat, Virgil tried to see some line where the night ended and the day began. There was nothing. Just… Grass, and trees, and road, and light. Obviously. Night magically turning to day at three in the morning was slightly more likely than a magic line separating the two.

Of course, given that this was all obviously a dream, there was nothing to say that there couldn’t be a magic line like that. It wouldn’t be any more out of place than people with acid eyes and a soundproofed car who spoke flawless Italian, after all. Maybe Virgil should stop eating directly before going to sleep.

Both Ethan and Roman had turned to look at him, Ethan appearing to be somewhere between smug and sympathetic and Roman wearing a shit-eating grin that stretched from ear to ear. Virgil just stared at the pair of them for a moment. “... Road?” He asked finally, and Roman nodded before turning away again. Virgil cleared his throat briefly. “What the fuck was that?”

“That’s what I said the first time I saw it!” Roman crowed, and Ethan slapped his arm gently. Virgil grabbed the side of his seat as the van swerved before straightening again.

“One of the quirks of home.” Ethan gestured out of the front windscreen, and Virgil leaned forward to see houses racing toward them (how fast was Roman driving? Was this legal?) (Who cared? It was all a dream). “Never gets dark.”

“Ever?” How would a place function if it never got dark? “How does that… Doesn’t it… Drive people mad?” Of course, Virgil would understand if it didn’t. This was all in his head, after all, and his head didn’t always make sense.

“Of course!” Virgil wished Roman didn’t sound quite so cheerful about it.

Ethan sighed and shook his head. “Most people just learn to live with it. You’ll forget about it in the next day or so, don’t worry. That’s Lichmai for you.”

“Leesh May?” If he was going to be inventing names, they could at least be names that sounded real.

“Lichmai. Welcome to our hometown, Virgil.” Ethan didn’t sound particularly pleased to be back.

#remus sanders #janus sanders #virgil sanders #WhatHappendInLichmai #SchemesOfMice

2 notes · View notes

voidselfshipp · 3 years

Text

Youre the warmth of this cold world

Cw: blood, injury mention, hurt comfort.

Ok to rb

Rorschach drags himself into the bathroom, he sighed heavily seeing the bathtub with warm water already.

He heard steps, he didnt even turn around knowing full well who that was-- get into the bathtub,now--jerico said, then going to Grab towels, the first Aid kit and her phone.

He takes off his clothes entering the tub, the water stings against his bruised up body.

--leave em by the sink...--Walter said,thinking jerico would leave him alone to bathe.

He was wrong however as she pulled a stool and sat besides him on the tub.

--W what are you doing?-- he asked, hearing music come through the phone,thing she used to do while bathing.

--helping you clean up, you got so much blood on you youll take hours...--she grabs the sponge from his bands.

He looks away cheeks flushed red.

He feels the sponge against his arm,and jumps splashing water all over jeri.

He looks at her with Open eyes.

--sorry-- he whispers looking away, flinching when the sponge makes contact with his skin.

Her touch is soft and tender, washing away the blood, he wasnt expecting such care, If he was honest.

--whose blood is this?--She asked concerned.

--mine or theirs...I cant tell-- he answered.

Hearing her sigh she kept washing him, the sponge felt soft, just like her touch.

It makes his mind calm down enough to recognize the song that was playing,he smiles a bit.

It was their song.

Jer smiles, the freckles alongside his chest, shoulders and arms finally showing up again.

Then it comes to his hair,rorschach almost falls asleep feeling how her fingers comb trough his bloodied hair.

The smell...it was her own shampoo, leaning back his head, he feels a kiss against his forehead, helping her wash his hair.

Jerico handed Walter the sponge so he could Keep washing himself,the water starting to get tainted by the dirt and blood in It.

So he drained the tub as she waited outside giving him some privacy.

When he said it was alright for her to come in he sat there, they just talked about unralated things that didnt really matter.

Her fingers caressing his curly hair, he could almost fall asleep like that, he leaned into his touch, her hand was warm and caring, her touch felt safe , it felt comforting and tender.

He eventually gets out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist.

He sits in bed as his girlfriend patched him up, the needle Stiching the cuts felt numb,hed gotten used to it.

The bandages wrap around his bicep,side and forearm, laying carefully on the matress as jerico drew Patters connecting Walters freckles togheter.

Her gaze filled with love and admiration,he knew what was to follow...,a kiss to his lips,a hand caressing his hair.

--youre so handsome rory...--she whispered-- those eyes...youre pretty little face--the hand being used to draw on his skin now held his chin, caressing his Lower lip-- and look at that hair...those freckles..--her hand traveled down to his chest-- youre so pretty...

His face heats up and hes turns his head away, Rolling on his side,trying to compose himself from what just happened.

He wasnt used to this affection, he hides his face on the pillow like a kid.

Waltwr heard jeri laugh,she kisses the back of his neck--come on...look at me rory

He shakes his head and she sighs sitting on the bed--did I go too far?-- she asked looking at him.

He shook his head, scared of making his s/o feel bad,truth is that he loved the way she treated him. That tenderness of her touch that he didnt feel before.

He rolls back on his back and grabs her hands, one to his chest and the other on his hair.

He doesnt say anything as he does so, just signalling her to come closer, and so she does.

--im not used to this-- he whispers against her cheek--its so New.. and scary I...I dont know how to react, all I know is that I want you to Keep doing it...please...

She nodds kissing his jaw,caressing his hair laying her head on the pillow.

A content sigh leaves his lips as he turns to face her, with the biggest smile ever, his arms pulls her closer to his chest and hugs her tightly.

--Dont stop-- he says Gently stroking her Lower back with his thumb.

She nodds and hides her face on the crook of his neck.

He then felt exhaustation from all the things he had done, and sleepily murmurs something along the lines of "I love you", before he passes out. She followed shortly after.

She was his warmth and kindness in this cold cruel world.

#🖤⬜you dont have to hide with me ⬜🖤#f/o fic #tw blood #cw blood #tw injury #cw injury #cw injury mention #tw injury mention

2 notes · View notes

handmadecp · 4 years

Text

Dopp Kit Bag: Finished...finally.

Hi guys, as promised here’s the other little project I was doing recently, unfortunately I had to wait quite some time for delivery of some items to finish it, all covid related problems with the couriers, but we got there at last..with a funny ( if slightly annoying ) lesson learned. So..lets get on.

I wanted some high quality leather so purchased a half shoulder from ‘BuyLeatheronline’ (Tuscany, Italy.).I got a small piece for now because of Cost, and Brexit negotiations...or lack of at the moment. I mention it only incase anyone in the UK is thinking of buying their first piece from abroad and you are not aware that the value of something you buy from abroad needs to be no more than a certain amount or else you will incurr customs charges. check it out first. I bought a lovely factory dyed ‘Black’ veg tanned shoulder 1.5 - 2mm thick which I find is a nice thickness for bags and book covers etc. Then I purchased the pattern from ‘Dieselpunkro (Spain) who make great patterns at reasonable prices and you can buy them on PDF download.

Pic 1 : Taping.

Pic 1 and Pic 1A : After printing off the Pattern you’ll need to tape some of the pieces together to make the ‘whole’ of certain pieces as I’m seen doing here. I use Decoraters Tape as it doesn’t mark the leather when peeled off, the only down side it that sometimes it doesn’t stick very well and can ‘slip’ when attached to the leather that you want to cut out and it’s a C*w to line up again so a little easy tip..once it’s all stuck..take a small piece of tape and wrap it over the edges here and there to help it stay in position.

Pic 2 : Here you seehow the patterns should be looking when done correctly.

Pic 3 : Then it’s time to cut the pattern pieces out

Pic 4 : Be careful to cut along the black lines rather than outside of or inside of.

Pic 5 :make sure you have good lighting..I turned my bench light on just after this pic was taken, I have a light behind me and one in front , that helps to cancel ‘some’ of the shadows created helping you to see the lines better...especially if you wear glasses when ‘staring’ can make your eyes ‘wobble’ just when you are cutting an important bit. ( Yeah...I said ‘eye wobble’...it’s a real thing.....it is hahahaha )

Pic 6 : So just keep cutting until all the patterns are cut out and have all of the required holes punched. I used a round punch 1-1.5mm I find it makes a hole big enough to pass two needles across each other but small enough to close with a hammer tap when done to make a neat finish.

Pic 7 :

Pic 8 :

Pic 9 : You see here how I’ve taped it down to the leather to transfer the patter to it, at this point the tape was holding so I just ‘cracked on’ with it but if you think it’s going to come loose...put small pieces over the edges to hold it in position. Here I’m punching holes with my stitch awl as I was waiting on the delivery that had my smaller round punch in it, this did the job but was a lot slower.

Pic 10 : Lay the patterns on the leather as seen here.

Pic 11 : stick it down. another good thing about decorators tape it that you can see the hole marks through it.

Pic 12 : If you don’t have any patience..pick another hobby, there are hundreds of holes to punch and it takes time and you should line the punch up with each hole mark carefully, the better you do here the straighter yours titching will be later, ( however..you are going to ‘wobble’ from time to time..it is Handmade after all, but try not to at least. You can use a stitch punch as long as the teeth gaps are the same measurements as the holes on the patterns or else it won’t line up.

Pic 13 : Then carefull cut out the middle hole for the Zipper, I do find that the zips only barely sit on the edge when glued so unless you can find really wide zippers try to cut the hole a bit narrower than the pattern, I found it helped.

Pic 14 : Cutting out the zipper hole.

Pic 15 : Using the stitch awl to make the holes a bit wider. ( This issue was resolved once my new punch arrived as it made the hole in one shot. )

Pic 16 :same process to transfer the smaller sections, be careful if there are two of something that you don’t cut two ‘right or left pieces’ ( yup, done that too )

Pic 17 : We now have all the pieces cut from leather and all the holes punched, time to build it.

Pic 18 : The zippers finally arrived, I decided on a double zip for this one but it’s your project so your choice, they fit as easily as any other zips.

Pic 19 : I layed a line of 528 contact cement to fix the zipper in place ready for stitching. The 528 is really good..so good that if you use it as instructed..once it touches it is a sure bet it’s not coming apart, so until you are confident I’d choose a glue with a longer setting time incase you need to adjust position.

Pic 20 : Next I used a saddle stitch to attach it more permanently.

Pic 21 : I usually use a Stitch horse but this thing flopped around too much so had to do this ‘Old School’. So many projects on the go all at the same time.

Pic 22: Nearly there, takes a while so you need a lot of patience.

Pic 23 : Done.

Pic 24 : I bent the zipper section back on itself as shown and used a clip to hold in place whilst I stitched it

Pic 25 : other view.

Pic 26 : attaching the outer ‘skirt’ that the actual side piece will later be attached to, here I’m just aligning the holes to mark them where I need them. The actual mis-alignement came later.

Pic 26A : a closer look at a ‘skirt’ being attached.

Pic 27 : close up. You can also see here the strap section which has been riveted to the side piece ..at one end using silver double cap rivets. I always use double cap unless the back will be hidden from view, It’s a personal thing I just think it looks better ir when you look inside the rivets look as good as on the outside. Again..if you are making one yourself, it’s your choice.

Pic 28 Here’s a view of the side section that I’m about to attach.

Pic 29 : You can see I am using the stitch awl as well as the clip to keep the holes lined up...or so I thought.

Pic 30 : Saddle stitched all the way round.

Pic 31 : First side on now side two, a repeat of the same.

Pic 32 : almost there, if you are thinking of trying some leather craft for the first time, be warned, the thread can cut right into your hand after a few hours, at the very least your fingers will be sore, you never see it on my pics but I ususally have plasters everywhere just to prevent it, after almost six years I have grown more used to it but it can still get sore after a few hundred stitches.

Pic 33 : Oops. it looks like I took my eye off the ball and mis-aligned a couple of holes at the beginning causing a twist in the body as seen here, nothing else for it but to carefully pick the stitches and re do it being a bit more precise. As I said earlier..an annoying Lesson but a good reminder to check twice before stitching. But..these things happen and even after a few hours of stitching it can go wrong. If you can take it as a lesson and just move ahead...go for it, because it’s going to happen at some point.

Pic 34 : It’s all feeling a bit ‘De ja vous’ at this point as I begin to correct the mistake.

Pic 34A : After unpicking the whole side and skirt, I first did the skirt again and then I realigned the side using half tooth picks to go around the edge and kept doing this until it aligned perfectly and ‘sat’ nice and flat. Then I started the stitching all over again. Lesson learned.

Pic 35 : from another angle.

Pic 36: continuing the stitch but being careful that each hole I marked after aligning meets up exactly as before.

Pic 37 : using the clip until it’s got enough stitch to hold it in place the rest of the way.

Pic 38 Anotherangle as I proceeded to adjust.:

Pic 39 : Almost there. ( Thank god hahahaha )

Pic 40 : And Voila..all straightened out, no more twist and looking the complete business. A beautiful Handmade Dopp kit bag. But I guess it can be used for many things. I’ll sell this on to someone that will appreciate the hard work that went into it and who also appreciates real 100% Leather goods. This can be found on my Etsy shop as from tomorrow. ( Please understand if any of my projects are not on Etsy when you look, it may be that they have been sold already and that this post has aged a bit.) Well guys I hope this has inspired some of you to give it a go yourself, this particular project is a little more advanced, I wouldn’t recommend a beginner to try this as this Leather is expensive and shouldn’t really be used to ‘learn’ on. But if you bought a cheaper quality leather to practice on then I guess you could make this..if you take it slow and follow Dieselpunkro’s instructional video which can be found on their website by the same name. Thanks for following my little projects I appreciate it, please tell your friends. There will be more projects to come this year, so as always, Watch this space ‘Stay Crafty’ and Stay safe everyone.

#wash kit #wash gear #mens wash #possibles bag #leather goods #just for him #just for her #unisex bag #handmade bag

3 notes · View notes