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d-targaryenshoe · 11 months ago

Text

Affectionate Travels - Benedict Bridgerton

Word count: 1469

Summary: Newlyweds may find it hard to keep their hands to themselves, i'm not wrong am I not?

Warnings: S M U T

As the carriage rumbled along the muddy country road, you gazed out the window, lost in thought.

The honeymoon had been lovely, of course, a whirlwind of devotion and pleasure, as you and Benedict had explored the lush vineyards of Burgundy and the cobblestone streets of Paris.

But now that you were on your way back home to England, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension.

You wondered what life would be like now that you were truly married, and if your love would be able to withstand the trials and tribulations that were sure to come your way.

A gust of wind swept through the open window, carrying with it the scent of damp soil and the distant sound of laughter.

You turned your head to glance at your husband, who was buried deep in conversation with your coachman.

He looked handsome, even with his hair disheveled and his jacket unbuttoned.

A small smile played at the corners of your lips as you remembered your wedding day, when he'd first seen you in your wedding dress, his eyes widening with surprise and admiration.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, the leather upholstery creaking beneath you.

The ride back home was going to be long and arduous, but you were determined to make the best of it.

Maybe you could simply lean back against the squabs and close your eyes, relishing the gentle sway of the carriage and the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms.

You let out a contented sigh as you snuggled closer to your husband, your cheek resting against his broad shoulder.

You could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, and his muscles tensed as you ran your fingers through his hair.

The rhythmic clickety-clack of the horse's hooves on the road soon lulled you into a peaceful sleep, and you didn't stir even when the carriage came to a stop.

It wasn't until you felt Benedict's lips pressed against your neck that you awoke with a start.

"What are you doing?" you murmured, your voice hoarse from sleep.

"Just making sure you're pleased," he replied with a chuckle, his breath warm against your skin.

You let out a small laugh, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "I am now."

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Good. Because I was thinking we could pass the time more...entertainingly."

You felt a shiver of anticipation run down your spine.

"Oh?" you breathed, your heart racing.

Benedict slipped his hand beneath your dress, his fingers tracing a path up your thigh. "Yes. Why don't we relish our last few moments to ourselves, in this carriage?"

You gasped, your body responding instinctively to his touch.

You arched your back, pressing yourself against his hand.

"Here?" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. "Now?"

Benedict smiled, his eyes darkening as he gazed down at you. "Yes, my love. Right here."

With practiced ease, he shifted your positions, maneuvering you so that you were straddling his lap.

His other hand found its way to your breast, cupping it through your chemise.

You moaned, your hips moving in time with his thrusts as he guided his erection to your entrance.

The carriage rocked and swayed with the movement, but neither of you cared.

You were lost in the heat of the moment, the thrill of being caught in the act.

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your back arching as you felt the familiar pressure building within you.

As your lovemaking intensified, the sounds of the horses and the creaking of the carriage seemed to fade away, leaving you in a world of your own.

The leather upholstery beneath you groaned in protest, the carriage rocking wildly with each thrust.

Benedict buried his face in your neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to control his desire.

Your body trembled with each thrust, your muscles tensing as you neared the point.

The carriage rocked wildly, the horses whinnied in protest, but you were oblivious to anything but your own need.

Your movements became more frantic, more urgent, as the pleasure built within you.

You threw your head back, letting out a shuddering cry of release, your body arching tight against your husband's.

He followed soon after, his breath hot on your ear as he groaned out his release.

Your hearts pounded wildly, your skin flushed as you clung to each other, trying to catch your breath.

The carriage finally came to a halt, the horses' harnesses creaking and groaning from their exertion.

The air inside was thick with the scent of your sweat and the tang of your lovemaking.

You leaned back against the squabs, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.

You looked up at your husband, your eyes locked, and felt a rush of affection and contentment wash over you.

"I think," you whispered, "we should do that more often."

Benedict smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"Yes," he agreed, "I think you're correct."

He reached up to straighten your hair, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"Perhaps," he continued, his voice low and husky, "when we get home, we could find a more comfortable spot to continue our celebration."

You felt a shiver of anticipation run down your spine.

"I think that's a wonderful idea." you glanced out the window, taking in the familiar scenery as you pulled into the driveway.

"It's good to be married to you, Benedict."

He smiled, leaning in to kiss you. "Likewise, my love."

As the carriage came to a halt, the driver opened the door and stepped down, coming around to help you descend.

You took Benedict's hand, allowing him to help you down from the carriage.

The air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the scent of autumn leaves and wood smoke.

You made your way up the steps to the front door, your hands still clasped together.

The butler, Mr. Jenkins, opened the door at your approach, bowing slightly. "Welcome home, my lord, my lady."

Benedict nodded in reply, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Thank you, Jenkins." He glanced around, taking in the grand entrance hall with its marble floors and ornate ceiling. "I trust all is in order?"

"Yes, my lord. Everything is just as you left it."

You continued through the hall, the servants falling into step behind you.

You felt a sense of contentment wash over you as you walked hand-in-hand with your husband, the warmth from your lovemaking still lingering between them.

You couldn't help but wonder what other adventures you would share, what other memories you would create together.

As you entered the grand sitting room, you were struck by its cozy atmosphere.

A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the rich wood paneling and softly lit sconces.

A plush rug covered the floor, the furniture arranged invitingly around it.

You could almost imagine curling up on the sofa with a book and a cup of tea, spending the afternoon lost in the pages.

"Would you like something to drink, my lady?" Mr. Jenkins asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"Perhaps some tea or a glass of wine?"

"Wine sounds lovely, thank you, Jenkins," you replied.

You glanced at Benedict, who nodded in agreement.

You exchanged a smile before the servants withdrew, giving you a moment of privacy.

You moved closer to the fireplace, warming your hands by the dancing flames.

The room was beautiful, but it was the feeling of being with Benedict that truly made it special.

You looked up at him as he stood at the window, gazing out at the garden beyond.

There was a distant look in his eyes as if he were lost in thought.

"Are you alright, dearest?" you asked softly.

He turned to you, a small smile on his lips.

"I was just thinking about the future, my dear. All the possibilities that lie before us." He walked over to you, taking your hands in his.

"I can't wait to see what we'll accomplish together."

You felt a surge of affection for your husband. Despite your differences, you complemented each other perfectly.

You knew that your partnership would only continue to grow stronger with time.

"I'm looking forward to finding out, Mr. Bridgerton," you said, leaning into him.

"And I think we should start by finding that comfortable spot we were talking about earlier." you winked, your lips curving into a mischievous grin.

Benedict chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I believe I remember what you had in mind. Very well, my lady. Lead the way." He took your hand, entwining your fingers as you began to wander through the sitting room, searching for the perfect spot to continue your celebration.

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thisapplepielife · 6 months ago

Text

Written for @steddie-week.

Not Enough to Not Know Better

"Is the room spinning, or just my brain?"

Eddie lulls his head to the side, trying to keep his eyes open as he looks at Steve, who is all but passed out on the couch. Sprawled out, comfortable, and for some reason, now missing his shirt.

Eddie allows his gaze to linger, taking in Steve's stomach, and especially the thick thatch of chest hair creeping all the way up towards his neck. It's gorgeous, and lush, just like the hair on Steve's head. Eddie wants to run his fingers through both. Wants to pull, stroke, lick.

When it peeks out of his collar, sometimes Eddie fears that he'll do something stupid without thinking it through.

"I think we're stationary," Eddie says, and Steve giggles like he's said the funniest bit of a stand-up routine. The best punchline, saved for last. But, it wasn't that funny, Steve's just drunk. Eddie knows that. Is absolutely sure of it.

"Stationary. Station. Airy," Steve mumbles, still laughing to himself.

"You're drunk, Harrington," Eddie says, not totally sure that he isn't right behind Steve on that.

"A little bit," Steve answers, moving to roll over onto his stomach, and it's the most awkward maneuver Eddie's ever seen anyone, or anything, ever make.

Steve finally gets settled in, wallering a spot into the couch, and Eddie hopes he doesn't suffocate with his face pressed into the cushion like it is. Finally Steve turns his head, laying his cheek on the upholstery.

His flushed cheek. Probably from the alcohol, or maybe he just got a little sun outside today. Usually Steve's tans right up, though. It's Eddie that has to worry about becoming a lobster.

Eddie looks at him. At Steve's chest, arms, back. It's all golden, and covered in freckles and moles that Eddie would love to count, to map.

Bite.

Eddie just takes in his body, looking down, down, down. Trying not to linger on the place where his jeans have ridden down, just a little. As tight as Steve wears them, that seems impossible, but he's seeing the waistband of Steve's underwear. Briefs, he thinks, not boxers.

His eyes are roaming too hard, and he needs to get himself under control. He starts to move them away, when Steve rolls his hips, keeping his attention. Grinding right against the fabric of the couch, and now Eddie can't look away. No way in hell, not as Steve rolls his hips in a slow, deliberate grind.

Eddie reaches down to adjust himself in his own jeans, and Steve meets his eyes. Eddie knows he's been caught, but Steve started this first. Eddie's just fighting horny with horny. He can't be blamed. Not for this.

"Sometimes," Steve says, just above a whisper, eyes still locked on Eddie's, "sometimes I do this and think about you."

"Jesus H. Christ, Harrington. How drunk are you?"

"Enough to not care what I'm saying. Not enough to not know better," Steve says, smiling. It's lazy, and beautiful.

"You've lost your mind," Eddie whispers, maybe just as much to himself as to Steve, but he shifts his hand, covers his own now-hard dick, and grinds against the heel of his hand.

"Maybe," Steve says, hips still moving, still chasing that little bit of death, "but it's still true."

"Goddamn," Eddie whines under his breath, and Steve keeps moving, keeps grinding, keeps looking right into his eyes, except for when he's flicking glances down towards Eddie's hand. Towards his dick.

Eddie wishes Steve was grinding on him that way. Maybe he would. If Eddie could only bring himself to ask.

Steve beats him to the punch.

"Show me. Let me see," Steve says, "I want to. It's all I think about. You. Me. Us."

That's almost enough for it to all be over before it even gets started. There's not an us, not that Eddie is aware of anyway, and only in his wildest fucking dreams, could that ever be true.

And right now. Apparently.

Eddie leans back, sprawling out on the floor, and keeps working his cock through his jeans. Now he can't see Steve, but he can feel his eyes. The heat from them.

"Well, c'mere if you're coming," Eddie says, and he hears the couch move, shift.

Eddie kicks his legs out wider, and Steve crawls on top of him, laying down, slotting himself between Eddie's thighs. Pressing flush against him. Grinding against Eddie, now. Not the couch.

It's better. It's so much better.

Eddie runs his hands up and down Steve's bare back, finally getting to touch all that warm skin he's fantasized about.

"Goddamn, Harrington," Eddie breathes out, pressing upwards against Steve, hard cock against hard cock, and even through his jeans it's the best thing he's ever felt. Steve Harrington can dry hump him any fucking day of the week and twice on Sunday. Eddie doesn't even need to see anything.

He wants to see, obviously, but this would be a god's plenty. He grabs at Steve's jean-clad ass, and pulls their bodies closer and closer together.

He's gonna come.

And he hopes Steve will, too.

Steve shifts, and Eddie hopes this isn't over, and it's not. Steve just shoves upwards, hard, catching Eddie's lips with his own. Sliding his tongue right into Eddie's mouth, and he tastes like beer, and pizza, and fucking heaven. Eddie doesn't care. Beer, onion, garlic, whatever. Bring it on.

Steve keeps rolling, and shifting, and grinding and Eddie wishes they were full-on fucking, because he feels like he's getting a pretty fucking awesome preview to what that might look like. He's memorizing Steve's movements, how fluid they are, how fucking hot.

Top, bottom, Eddie doesn't care. He's versatile, open to anything, so long as they get to do this together, do everything. He wants Steve, and now he thinks he might get to have him.

Steve hitches, his breath, his body, and then lets out a groan that will live in Eddie's bones for the rest of his days, as he comes in his jeans, on top of Eddie.

Eddie follows, clutching at Steve's ass, holding them together, coming. Steve's breathing into Eddie's open mouth in short, desperate bursts as he tries to come back to himself from this.

Eddie gets that. He definitely gets that.

He feels wrung out.

Then Steve laughs.

Giggles, really, flopping down on Eddie, making the mess worse for the both of them, surely, but Eddie doesn't let go. He wraps his arms around Steve's back, squeezing him, holding him close, for as long as Steve will allow it.

Eventually, Steve pushes himself upwards, and off Eddie. Standing, and offering Eddie both of his hands, pulling him to his feet.

"I need a shower. You wanna take a shower with me?" Steve asks, yanking Eddie right into his chest, catching him. He no longer looks as drunken and unsteady as he did.

Maybe Steve was drunk on horniness as much, if not more so, than on the actual alcohol. Either way, Eddie just nods.

Because, yes. Yes, he'd like to do that very much.

Steve winks, and grabs Eddie's hand, tugging him towards the staircase.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddie-week and follow along with the fun!

#steddieweek2024 #day six #dizzy #druken confessions #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steddieweek #corroded coffin #thisapplepielife: steddieweek #thisapplepielife: short fic #steddie

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quadrantadvisor · 11 days ago

Text

DP x DC, revenant!Jason Todd

Shortly after meeting, Danny and Jason have a late night conversation about what it means to come back. 1281 words

On AO3

Danny woke groggily, in a dark place that he didn't recognize, and took a moment to get his bearings.

He felt the warning ache in his neck that came from being propped up against an arm rest. There were two sources of dim light in the room—the glow of city street lights, muffled behind a curtain, and the green eyes of the man whose lap Danny's feet were propped on.

Right. Danny hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the revenant’s—on Jason’s—couch, but they’d been talking for so long, he must’ve dozed off.

Jason had had so many questions, about ectoplasm, about the zone, about Danny’s own experiences. Danny had done his best to clear up everything he could. A revenant may not be quite the same as he was, but still, it made Danny happy to be able to pass on his hard won knowledge and maybe save someone else a bit of the hurt and confusion that he’d gone through. It was what he’d always wished someone would do for him.

Jason was slumped into the couch, but he didn’t look relaxed. Danny examined his still profile, cast in strange shadows by its own green glow, and wondered how long it had been since he’d moved.

Danny shifted slightly, purposefully producing the fabric sounds of a body against upholstery, to make sure Jason knew he was awake. No reaction. Danny gave him one more moment, then asked, “You okay?”

Jason didn’t look at him when he answered, “You told me I’m basically possessing my own corpse, and I’m supposed to not be upset about that?”

Really, Danny should’ve predicted something like that. How long had he spent, trying to pretend that death hadn’t really touched him? It wasn’t an easy thing to accept.

“What’s the difference between a body and a corpse?” Danny asked.

Jason’s eyes snapped to Danny, their glow intensifying. “I am not dealing with riddle bullshit right now, I swear to-”

“No, I’m being serious,” Danny interrupted, pulling his feet from Jason’s lap and sitting himself up. “There’s one difference between a corpse and a living body, and that’s that someone is living in it. Jason—” he reached out, gripping one of Jason’s hands in his “—you’re alive. That’s what matters. The rest is details.”

Jason’s shoulders bent inwards, his other hand raising to rub at his chest. “You don’t get it,” he said, quiet. “People don’t just come back from what they did to me. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“However you died, it’s not-”

Jason huffed an ugly sound, a short and bitter laugh that Danny hurt to hear. “Is it crazy that that isn’t even what I was talking about? I meant after.” The motion on his chest was repetitive, like he was tracing something underneath his shirt, and Danny got the sinking feeling that he knew just what sort of scar it might be. “I was gone, okay? I was gone, and this body was still here. And they took it, and they cut it open and rummaged around inside to figure out what happened. Which is—” he cut off, sniffed, and Danny gripped his hand tighter “—which is stupid, right? It’s not like it wasn’t obvious.” His fingers twitched, and he continued, haltingly, “I mean, I’ve read the report. Pulled it off his stupid files. The smoke inhalation did me in. After everything that happened, it was the smoke.”

Jasons’ hand pulled out of Danny’s, and they both rose to cover his face, cutting off the glow while he curled in on himself even tighter. His voice was slightly muffled when he said, “And then they had to ship me home, right? So they bled me dry and pumped me full of formaldehyde, and they prettied me up so they could pretend I wasn’t just some empty thing, and Bruce held the tiniest most depressing little funeral known to man and put my ass in the ground, and I had to wake up down there.” His words and his breaths were coming too quick, and Danny didn’t know how to help. He didn’t want Jason to stop, not when it seemed like he needed to say all of this, but he could see just how badly the revenant was hurting.

“But you did wake up,” he whispered.

“Woke up in my own mutilated corpse!” Jason snarled. “Everything I’ve forgotten, and that memory is still crystal fucking clear! It stank in there, like death and vinegar and mud, and it was so small, and I couldn’t even try to scream for help because they sewed my fucking mouth shut—!” He broke off into a sob, and Danny couldn’t stand it anymore, had to lean into Jason’s side and wrap an arm around him as he shook with all the emotion he couldn’t reign in.

“Okay,” Danny said. Not you’re okay, just okay. “Okay, so that’s the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard, and I regularly hang out with a guy who wants to skin me.”

Jason sniffed. “What?”

“Nevermind. It’s just-”

“No, I think we should go back to the skinning thing-”

“I just don’t want you to let it define you,” Danny interrupted. “I did that. I got into my head about it, the whole ‘being dead’ thing, feeling like I was…” Danny gave himself a second, swallowed, “like some sort of freak. A thing that didn’t belong anywhere. But I’m still alive, and you’re alive, and even if we weren’t, it wouldn’t matter, because we’re still here, and as long as you’re here you can find something that’s worth staying for.” Danny rubbed what he hoped was a soothing pattern into Jason’s admittedly impressive bicep.

Jason let out a sigh. “I must really be pathetic if you’ve gotta pep talk me like that, huh?” he said, and Danny pretended not to see him wiping at his eyes. “Sorry,” he added, “about all this. I’ve got some shit I haven’t dealt with, and this ‘revenant’ stuff brought it up pretty bad.”

“I get it,” Danny said, and hoped Jason could tell how much he meant it.

Jason sighed again, heavy, like he was trying to release something else with his breath, and said, “It still doesn’t make any sense. Logically, I can’t be alive. Where did my blood come from?”

Danny shrugged. “Do you have blood?”

“I definitely have blood. I’ve seen a lot of it.”

That gave Danny pause. “Just like, around?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jason said, deadpan. “I’ve got a surplus, so I like to leave some here and there, make sure everyone gets a chance to appreciate it.”

“I have no idea how much you’re joking and it frightens me,” Danny told him.

“Weak,” Jason replied.

“Anyways, you gotta not think about it too much. The interdimensional goop is already logic-defying, and you’re mixing magic with it with your special soul willpower or something. Your brain will explode if you try to make it make sense.”

Jason huffed a little laugh, bouncing Danny on his shoulder, and this time it made him feel lighter. “Can I just say that I hate that I’m full of interdimensional goop?”

“Valid,” Danny said.

Even without looking at Jason, Danny could tell that he just rolled his eyes by the way the soft green light moved.

Danny had his ear pressed to Jason’s shoulder, feeling his warmth, and if he focused, he could just make out the revenant’s pulse. Personally, Danny thought it was pretty cool to be full of magic and goop and blood. Much cooler than Danny, who was way more science goop than magic goop. They’d have to compare notes on that sometime.

Maybe Jason would come around to it.

#not me writing a short piece that heavily relies on my own headcanons and never explaining them #it wasn't supposed to be like this guys it was gonna be a little easily digestible text post but they just kept talking #i just wanted the 'what's the difference between a body and a corpse' bit and then next thing you know i'm googling embalming practices #bit that I didn't manage to fit in: 'Jason you're allowed to be mad that somebody stole your blood.'#'Like. They didn't know you were gonna need it. But you get to be mad anyway.'#don't worry about that stuff about jason's soul being magic. it is though. that's why he can get swords out of it.#pit rage is technically not mentioned in this fic but also Jason's eyes are doing the thing the whole time #so make of that what you will #dpxdc #dp x dc #dc #batfam #jason todd #danny phantom #danny fenton #revenant jason todd #my writing #could be friendship could be preslash I think it's legitimately ambiguous #i just really like gentle little intimacies i guess #okay maybe i will tag the ship #dead on main

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unholyhelbig · 5 months ago

Note

Obsessed obsessed obsessed with Firecrest 🥺

Title: Firecrest (Part 2/???)

Read Part One

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Parental abandonment, horrible parenting, slight mentions of blood, reader has villain tendencies, and horrible grammar because I never proofread!

[A/n: I'm so glad you enjoyed it! I'm honestly really digging writing it. If this is something you guys would like me to keep going, I'll do my best. Just let me know!]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

A sting worked its way through your knuckles before dissolving into a dull ache at your wrist. Sweat had started at your hairline and the small of your back before soaking through the wicked fabric of your tank-top. You could feel your shoulders cramping up. But, you’d stopped crying an hour ago. You feared that if you stopped assaulting the punching bag, then the tears would spill over again.

Lance had told you to take it easy. Your ribs had been bruised after the situation you’d left the benefit for. While you were grateful, said distraction packed a punch and you’d taken a swift kick to the gut and the side of a fire escape digging painfully into your side. It took everything in you not to throw the low-level criminal onto the pavement below.

Instead, you’d cuffed him and left him there until morning, or until law enforcement showed up. You were projecting, you were sure. But if your mother looked at you with pity one more time, you would have shoved him to his certain death.

You’d gotten out of the house and came to the boxing gym. The owner had given you your own key and it gave you enough privacy. If you had any tears left, you’d be able to shed them freely. You clenched your eyes shut and threw a solid round of punches, a scream of anguish ripping through your throat.

Two more hits and the bag became stagnant. Not the same, rocking defense that you’d been punching. You were used to the rhythmic sway and your eyes sprung open at the change in density. You’d ripped a bag before, sand spilling onto the floor.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You shouted, taking a step back. Kate Bishop was on the other side of the bag, holding onto it with a concerned stare on her features. Her annoying perfect features, despite the late time of night. You panted. “Shit.”

“I called out, but you didn’t answer. I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m sorry.”

She released the bag and it swung back and fourth between you both. The chain that attached it to the ceiling squeaked in a rusted effort. Her stormy eyes flicked up nervously and then back to you. You knew that Kate used to come here with her father, her biological father, but you weren’t aware that she had the same key privileges as you.

You worked a hand through sweat-soaked hair and closed the distance to the side of the boxing ring. You used your teeth to pull open the plastic nib on your water bottle, soothed by the cool swallows. Kate watched you carefully. Her eyes roamed over your form, coated in sweat and toned from years of physical exertion.

You couldn’t stop your shoulders from trembling. Violent attempts from your body to assert it’s emotions. You could give in, and you could do so easily. But you would not. Not with Kate Bishop relinquishing her hold on the punching bag that you’d nearly turned to a pulp of sand and shredded upholstery. This wasn’t your dynamic. This wasn’t how things worked.

It was easy to take a lot of things that Kate was willing to give; a ride home from the gym, a doll that matched hers when the two of you were young, soft touches and harder thrusts. But one thing you refused to take was her pity. It leaked from her expression like a broken faucet and for some reason, that angered you.

“What are you doing here, Kate?”

“I came here to work off some extra energy. What are you doing here? I figured I wouldn’t see you for a few more months after you left the benefit early like that.”

“There was no reason for me to stick around.”

The answer fell from your lips in a deadened, emotionless tone. She clenched her jaw and then unclenched it, mulling her thoughts. There was an apprehension to her stance, even as she closed the distance between you both. She stopped just short of your fingers twitching to press against her hip, holding her in place. You lifted an unimpressed eyebrow.

Another swallow of now-warm water seemed to stop the uncertainty of your movements. You hoisted yourself onto the edge of the ring with a sigh, pressing your fingertips to your temples. Kate moved silently and leaned next to you. The quiet she offered was something you took, just like everything else.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Kate asked softly. You looked at her in confusion, lilting your head to the side. “You watched me fawn over Clint Barton for years. I had his posters in my room, and replica’s of his bows, and every news story ever written about him cut out and saved in a shoebox.”

“Because he’s important to you, Katie.”

“He’s your father.”

“He’s not.” You snapped. It was harsh. You forced yourself to relax, softening your voice. “He’s not. Lance is my father, and Clint Barton is far more important to you then he is to me.”

Kate swallowed thickly and hoisted herself up next to you. Her heat was overwhelming you with comfort. You didn’t have it in you to figure out what that meant, past your petty rivalry. She smelled of fresh detergent, of the winter air that clung to her so heavenly.

Her hand tentatively moved to your knee, and you didn’t stop her. You were still trembling and stilled at her closeness. “I’m not going to see him anymore.”

“Kate,” you chuckled sadly. “He’s your hero, and he trusts you enough to take over the Hawkeye name. You can’t throw that out because of his choices, and you certainly can’t throw that out because of me. We hate each other, remember?”

A look of sadness flickered momentarily against her features. The two of you had been in a constant head to head race to prove yourselves since you were young. Kate always came in first, and you had settled with second place; in school, in sports, in forced family outings. It used to end in toe to toe screaming matches.

But, the two of you were older now, and all that built up tension was easily released with stripped clothes and thrown around insults that did nothing but stir the excitement in your gut.

Being a hero was the only thing you were better at, than Katherine Elizabeth Bishop and you were sure that was about to change with Hawkeyes diligent teaching. Lance and Bobbi didn’t need the glory that came with being an Avenger- no, they kept the secret in the term secret agent.

“Right, of course.” She sounded out, nudged you with her shoulder. “But… you can still talk to me.”

You leveled her with an unimpressed stare. Despite her suave playboy attitude that infuriated you, Kate Bishop was not subtle when she wanted something. She chewed her bottom lip, both of her eyebrows raised in an adorable attempt to ease your nerves.

“Right, you’re right, sorry.” She moved to push herself off of the mat, but you wrapped your fingers around her wrist and gave it a tender squeeze. Kate froze in place before scooting back up, even closer this time. Her words reduced to a whisper, as if trying not to scare you off. “Okay.”

“Do you know what Terrigen crystals are?”

“We learned about them last semester, inhuman history. It’s a catalyst chemical that binds with red blood cells that are receptive to change.”

“Impressive.” You gave her a wolfish smile. “When I was growing up, my mom gave up her solo-agent status and conceded to joining a team, and one of their first missions together was to find, and retrieve these Terrigen crystals, the only ones in the entire world. They were meant to contain them, and nothing else, but things rarely go as planned.”

You were sure that Kate knew about the broken crystals that had leaked into the push and pull of the ocean. Fish naturally consumed the microscopic agent and soon, the Terrigen properties were distributed throughout the world commercially. Coulson had called it untamable. You remembered the fear in his eyes, and you had squirmed uncomfortably in the same Inhuman History class a year back.

“The day that things changed, my Aunt Daisy was in solitary confinement in the team’s underground bunker. My mom was busy running tests on her blood after she’d been exposed to the chemical agent. I knew how to stay out of the way, but happened to be in the lab with her when everything started to shake.”

“Shake?” Kate quirked a brow.

You nodded “The Terrigen crystal gave Daisy control of vibrational forces, but none of us knew that at the time. We just knew that something was wrong. The shaking startled everyone and my mom, she grabbed every Terrigen crystal but one.”

If not for Jemma, if not for her quick reflexes and wrapping her arms around Bobbi, sending them both from the lab before activating the safety seal, then neither of them would have made it. Indigo mist rushed from the shattered crystal and you remember the acrid floral taste that coated your lungs. It suffocated you.

“The last thing I remember about that day is my mother sobbing. She had both of her hands pressed against the glass surrounding the lab. She wailed like I wasn’t coming back, like she had failed me.”

Kate whimpered your name “Y/n,”

A tear drop hit the collar of your shirt and wicked nicely with the drying sweat. You used the base of hand to delicately wipe the rest away and came to the startling realization that Kate Bishop was one of the only people who had ever seen you cry.

“Everything went dark, then. I remember this hot, prickling feeling and it was hard to move. And then there was nothing. I know now that it was some… some type of cocoon of dirt and stone, but it crumbled away easily when the Terrigen had taken it’s effect.”

“That must have been scary.”

“Terrifying,” You let out a watery chuckle. “But in the end, I was in the best place possible for something like that to happen. I was surrounded by people who cared about me, who loved me, and who could teach me how to control the fire that’s always just below the surface.”

You pulled one knee to your chest and leaned your cheek against it, keeping a steady eye on Kate. She was already watching you. Fingers toying with the small brass zipper of her sweatshirt. She looked beautiful in the dimmed lights, and being this close, stopping to talk to her, had given you an even view of her freckles.

“Clint was on a mission in the Baltic Sea with Natasha, or at least, that’s how my mom tells it. Point is, he wasn’t there and even when he did return he took one look at me in solitary confinement and packed a duffel bag. There were arguments, I’m sure, but I wasn’t privy to them.”

The last time you had seen your biological father was when he knelt down at the sealed doors of the lab. His hand was massive compared to yours, it looked unnatural and alien when he pressed it against the glass. There was a finality in his stare. He’d called you Sparky, and you’d giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world.

You could see the turmoil in her stormy gaze. There was the sense of betrayal there, and the quiet contemplation of someone who had just found out the reality of their hero. Clint was her everything, her mentor, her teacher. He was the father figure she needed, and that was a clear line drawn in the sand.

Kate’s cold touch against your cheek, hot and tinted red from your earlier exertion, pulled you from your thoughts. Pity had replaced any semblance of anger she held onto. A whine moving involuntarily past your lips. You hadn’t realized how desperate you were for someone to touch you. For Kate to touch you.

Your relationship with the archer had never been any more than a succession of first and second place. A deadly dance that had culminated in open mouthed kisses and wandering fingers. This was one of the few times you’d had a serious conversation with her, a raw one that exposed wounds.

“I’ll do it,”

“Do what?”

You were hopelessly and pathetically lost. She smiled at that, an animalistic grin that often fell over her when she knew she was winning. You’d seen in countless times and couldn’t quite remember when it stopped annoying you and started turning you on.

“Pretend that we’re a couple,” She said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, dropping her hand and hopping off the edge of the ring. You missed her warmth, but it didn’t last for long. Kate was suddenly posted up between your legs, her arms draped over your shoulders. She was so close you could smell the mint on her breath. “To piss off Clint.”

Your hands naturally found her hips, not daring to squeeze them, “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“First of all, you didn’t ask. You saw the way Clint reacted to us sleeping together and your instincts to make him angry kicked in. Secondly, I already told him we’re dating. I have way too much talent for him to drop me as a protégé just because I’m banging his estranged daughter.”

“Wow, you have such a way with words, Kate. Really, I’m just fawning over you here.”

She rolled her eyes, but you couldn’t stifle the phantom of a smile on your face. No one had ever offered to do something like this for you before. Especially not someone this close to the playing field. People had called you a freak for most of your life, an inhuman disaster that had a hot temper.

The anger you could control. It was the intensity in which you loved that got you into the most trouble.

Footfalls echoed against the rain-soaked streets of the city. A deep burn resonated within your chest, sweat forming against your collarbone and dripping down the small of your back. You’d never seen the benefit to tactical suits in the summer. They kept heat in like no other and by the time the night was over, your entire body ached.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You’d lost one of the targets. It wasn’t something you’ve done in years, but your mind was admittedly somewhere else. You hadn’t gotten much sleep in the past week and it was showing in your sloppy work. Your mother had given you a worried look that only lasted half a second before you’d taken off.

The man you were pursuing was faster than you anticipated, but it wasn’t hard for you to catch up. You never understood why people ran into alleyways. They’d most likely lived in the city for their entire lives and knew that most of them ended in construction zones, or the end of a brownstone.

His chest heaved as he felt the wall behind him, turning and pressing his back against the wall. If he was desperate enough to run, you knew that he didn’t have a plan past this.

The tactical suit came with a few benefits that staved off the discomfort. While your mother preferred her staves, you had always leaned more towards a quarterstaff, a hot, reactive, type of metal that would glow a dangerous neon orange at just your touch.

It extended with a mechanical whir, your head tilting to the side. “Dude, really?”

“Look, I’ll never do it again!” His voice cracked like he was adolescent, but the beard that splattered the bottom half of his face betrayed the effects of his fear. “Just let me go, please.”

You closed the distance that lingered between you both, using the end of your staff to push up his chin. Your voice leaked with mock sympathy “Really? You promise?”

Half of his face was dripping with the blue dye from an exploding pack in a bundle of bills. His hands were coated entirely, the lapels of his shirt smeared from his lackluster attempt to wipe away the pigment. The man nodded vigorously.

“Oh, thank God, that’s a relief. I really thought I was going to have to take you in. The nearest station is eight blocks south and that would be a load of paperwork.”

“Yeah, yes, a lot of red tape” He shakily replied.

You slammed the quarterstaff into his gut. His breath left him, curling into himself as he fell to his knees. In the same moment, an arrow whizzed past you and lodged into his shoulder. His exhale of air turned into a scream of pain.

You groaned and pinched the bridge of your nose. The fletching was a dark purple, almost black under the light of the moon. Telling the difference between Clint’s arrows and Kate’s hadn’t become an issue until now. Knowing that he was in the same city as you made you feel ill.

“I had that!”

The staff retracted and you attached it back in place on your belt. So, what if you liked to play around with the perpetrators every once and awhile? You did good work, but there were long and deep lulls of footwork in the hero business.

Clint stood at the mouth of the alleyway. His stance was shadowed with the concise way he carried himself. You couldn’t tell if he was alone or not, but didn’t get the signature winter scent from Kate’s presence.

He strode up to the target, pulling the arrow from his shoulder with a gentle tug. He put it back into it’s quiver as if it wasn’t slick with blood. Clint cuffed him, dragged him into a sitting position by the arm. You watched his languid movements with a resentment you didn’t know you harbored.

“Yeah, it looked like you had it, Sparky.”

“I told you not to call me that.”

His blue eyes flicked down to your hands, watching for any signs of a dull glow. He didn’t’ find any. You balled your fists and clenched your jaw. You didn’t owe him anything. Tonight, he seemed to be approaching you with contempt, now that his initial shock had worn off.

Clint clearly didn’t’ know how to handle you, or the giant emotional elephant in the room. It was nearing midnight and there was a storm brewing, you could smell it. The last thing you wanted to do was stand by the dumpsters and discuss your feelings, so you started to walk away.

“Kid, wait. I’m approaching this all wrong. I’m sure you had it handled.” His words didn’t stop you, but he jogged to catch up and fell in step. You glared at him, shoved your suddenly cold hands into the pockets of your suit. “We need to talk about Kate.”

This stopped you in your tracks. He wanted to talk about Kate. All these years separated, living completely different lives and he wanted to talk about your fake girlfriend. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s talk about Kate.”

“You can’t continue to see her.”

You stopped, standing in front of him with your arms crossed. He had a few inches on you, but you carried his stance. One of the only things other than his stubbornness that you had inherited from him.

“I’m sorry?”

“Kate is persistent, I’m sure you know that. It took months of her poking and prodding for me to even agree to take her under my wing. She’s a good archer, but she’s reckless, thinks too much with her heart and not her brain. She can’t afford to have distractions right now.”

A brick dropped in the pit of your stomach. The flames seemed to lick viciously at your pulse points. But, you swallowed it back and let out a sad laugh. “You don’t think I’m good enough for her.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to, you did all the talking when you walked out on me at eight years old. Then you come waltzing back after years of building the family you wanted. The family that wasn’t filled with freaks.”

“Y/n, I don’t-“

“Because that’s all we ever were for you.” You growled at him. “the accident was just the excuse you needed to leave, and you’ve spent your time trying to make up for it by parenting every single stray that shows up on your doorstep expect for me.”

He was rendered silent, something that Clint rarely was. He opened his mouth and closed it again, a few times as if he was a fish out of water. You were breathing heavy, the words stinging your throat. You’d been harboring that for years, burying it deep inside. He’d tripped the metaphorical wire.

When he did find his voice, it was cracked and morose. “Okay. You’re right, you’re right.”

“I’m… right?”

He nodded sadly “I haven’t been fair to you, or your mother. I was a different person back then. I just don’t want Kate to get hurt, and I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have.”

A step back from him seemed to clear your mind. For a moment, you wanted to crash into his safe embrace, to breathe in the scent of his aftershave. He was your father, your biological father, and despite it all, you were drawn to his kindness.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, mouth tasting of metal and bile. “You’re afraid of me, Hawkeye. You always have been.”

“That’s not true” He said it weakly.

“It is. You wouldn’t have run the moment I became different if you weren’t.” another step back and he didn’t’ dare to follow you. You vowed not to cry in front of him, or about him. Not now, and not ever, but you couldn’t stop the tears from streaking your cheeks. “You don’t have to worry about Kate Bishop. She can take care of herself. And so can I.”

#Kate Bishop #Kate Bishop x reader #Kate Bishop x y/n #Kate Bishop x you #Kate bishop x reader #Hawkeye #Hawkeye fanfiction #Marvel #Marvel Fanfiction #hurt/comfort #Ask #bobbi morse #lance hunter #mockingbird #clint barton #Reader has fire powers

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pinkyplushiemaker · 6 days ago

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New 2025 Commission Information

Commission Information and Terms of Service

Information on Artist.

I started my plush work in 2013. I have worked hard on developing my style and process over the years. I create my embroidery and patterns from scratch, so everything I make is one of a kind. I do not sell my patterns because they are not normal and only I can understand how they come together. I live in West Virginia, USA. I can ship all over the country and internationally. I live in a dog, bird, and reptile friendly home. I love anime/manga, superhero movies/tv/comics, horror movies, animals, art, and making plushies.

My Plush Work

I work with minky fabric since it’s the highest quality I can use to make my work the best quality possible. I can also use faux furs, long pile minky, mochi fabric, fleece, and cotton if needed (or requested). I use upholstery thread when sewing my plush together. The thread is incredibly strong and the chances of pieces coming apart are very low. If they do come apart (very uncommon), just message me and I will fix and reinforce the piece.

My work is considered “art”, not factory produced for the general public. This means that they are unique and special, but it also means they are not really meant to be handled roughly, crushed, and/or given to very small children. They are pretty durable since they are plush, but any material can wear over time when they are over “loved” (lol). Taking them on adventures, and carrying them around is totally welcomed, just please go easy on the tug and pull <3

Ordering a Plush

Please feel free to reach out to me through Twitter (X), Tumblr, Instagram, or Facebook. I do my best to answer as soon as possible, but you are welcome to message again in case I have not replied after a few days. (I can get busy with the Plush Business, my full-time job, and taking care of my pets.)

Let me know what you are looking to have made. (I can make humans, animals, creatures, cars, robots etc.) Let me know what size and style you are thinking of and if there is a certain time you would like to have it made by. (It normally takes about 2-4 weeks, it depends on if I need to order anything specific.) Please provide images if possible (if you want something unique and only have a description, I can do a rough concept of the character for you, or if you would like to commission me to do art of the character, please feel free to request it). Once I have this information, I will give you a price quote. The quote will only be for the plush, this will not include the shipping or taxes. If you agree to the price, I will request an email from you and will send an invoice. It will list all the details for the transaction, including shipping and tax. The invoice is through PayPal Goods and Services, so we are both protected.

Once the payment is made, you are added to the queue. Before I start on the plush, I will create a concept for it. In this stage (and only in this stage) you are welcome to make any updates to the design. (For example: preferring a different color, wanting the eyes to be bigger, not wanting a certain part included etc.) I will do my best to get as close to the concept as possible. It will never be exact, but I do normally get really close. After the concept is finished, I will share fabric colors to ensure they are right.

Once everything is approved, I will create the pattern and embroidery files. Next, I will embroider the fabric and cut out the pattern. Finally, I will sew the plush together and share the final plush in our communication. I will need you to share the preferred name and address for the shipment. Once this information is provided, I will pack up the plush and send it out. I will provide the tracking when it is on its way.

Shipping the Plush

My standard shipping is first-class and using a waterproof bubble mailer envelope. This keeps the shipping as low as possible. ($7 within the US, $25 International)

For 2025, I am offering priority and over-night shipping (overnight only available in US). I am also offering the option to ship within a box instead of a bubble mailer. These options will be much higher prices and can be discussed while setting up the commission.

Please note, once I ship a plush and provide a tracking number. It is out of my hands.

Canceling a Commission

You have 1 week after ordering to cancel a commission. If I ordered materials for the project, it will be deducted from the total.

If a plush is not correct (and it is due to my mistake), I can grant a full refund. Unless I am able to fix the issue. The mistake would be due to me not using the correct color fabric, missing an important detail from the concept etc. Just not liking a plush or deciding you don’t want to pay for a plush once it is made are not valid reasons. I have various examples of my work and before commissioning me, please review my pages to make sure you like my style and quality.

Final Note

I am more than happy to work with someone to make a plush they can afford and love. Since all of my plush are custom and I make all the patterns and embroidery, I can make adjustments easily. For example, I can make the plush smaller and contain less details. I will be happy to explain what parts are causing the higher price and we can work out other options. I believe PayPal has options to make multiple payments too, so I can still get full payment and you wont need to pay in full right away.

Thank you for reading!! I hope I can bring your favorite characters to life 😊

#plush #plushie #plushes #pinkyplushiemaker #custom plush #commission #commissions #pinkyplushmaker #my art #my terms #My terms

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abyssal-ambience · 11 months ago

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prefacing this with I'm not necessarily punk, but I like customizing my clothes. and i wanna help other people find stuff for battle jackets! (and other stuff) I'm not the authority on this, but I still want to give my two cents!! also don't expect much more to this, my profile is pure cringe.

If anyone is starting out and I can help, I'd like too!!

The spike/stud dilemma

one of the biggest issues i've noticed is "where do I find studs/spikes without fast fashion??" which is totally fair. something like that shouldn't have to be a minefield. obviously if you buy from a small business that re-sells them from aliexpress you're still indirectly supporting aliexpress.

im sure there ARE slow fashion alternatives and if anyone knows some please let me know so I can add it!!

BUT here's what I'd recommend.

-goodwill bins, sometimes they have old clothes or broken belts, very rare though. also any thrift store or reclaimed craft store.

-Local businesses, sex shops

-metal paper fasteners

-borrowing. it's inevitable, I know. JOANNs is definitely the best selection imo, but Hobby Lobby is better to steal from. Because They are Terrible. Michael's is OK but less selection usually. They use peal off tags usually which are easy to remove.

-also if you're feeling extra insane, hot topic uses mainly ink tags, which can be removed with heat (look up tutorials on) or just cut off a stud/spike belt. their studs are pretty easy to remove. same with bracelets, they break a lot. ofc it depends on the place whether they use beep beep tags.

-ask people for broken shit!

TEXTILES (the easy part)

-fabric samples are easy to find for free online. get whatever colors you want, i usually stick to black, white, grey and 1-3 other colors. they're usually pretty small so order around until you find the right size. you want cotton and linen, usually upholstery if you're painting on them. if you're not or you're ok working with leather, leather is easy to find too. A lot of companies mentioned how stretchy your material is something not stretchy most cases.

-FACEBOOK!! A.K.A the boomer method. This is where I got almost all of mine!! I recommend downloading FREEBIE as well! I got mine thru that, it links to facebook, nextdoor, and so on. Ofc you can pay for them- but you don't have to! I have lifetime supply of textiles basically bc of this. A lot of people get them for hobbies or work.

-the goodwill bins!!!! you can absolutely find fabric there, it's pretty common actually

-you don't need to steal this tbh it's easy to find second hand and less wasteful

PAINTING

-Facebook, goodwill, or reclaimed/used craft stores if you have them

-borrowing (same places)

-use something like Painter Eye (AR tracing app) and draw out any complex band logos etc.

-you can also use sharpies or whatever nobody's stopping you

Other stuff

-one of the best ways to find stuff is just GO FOR A WALK! Find little shiny objects!

-hardware stores are good so are army surplus

#diy projects #punk #crust punk #battle jacket #crust pants #crust punx #local music #diy punx

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untitled5071 · 11 months ago

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I'd definitely love one shot requests

Well, ask and you shall receive! Here's the answer to your earlier ask, a Reverse AU of Lisa Frankenstein where she's the creature! Hope you like it!

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

“Alright, I think this is everything.”

He could barely see where he was going over the stolen sewing supplies piled in his arms, but he knew he was headed in the right direction thanks to the soft hum of acknowledgement coming from inside his bedroom. Tottering his way over to the corner, he deposited all of his mom’s supplies onto his bed before selecting the thickest hot pink thread he could find and a sharpened upholstery needle and turning to face his guest.

“What about this one?”

The corpse of the young lady stood there, hair still a little wet from her first-ever shower and completely entranced by the feathered sleeves of his mother’s flowy pink nightgown. He stood there for a moment and watched the dead girl wave her arms slowly back and forth to watch the sheer fabric of the sleeves follow in their wake, and took a moment to wonder just when his life took a turn into Mary Shelley territory.

He had been totally scared out of his wits earlier; all he had wanted was a night alone on the couch while his brother, mom and stepdad went to a movie, able to start re-watching through his VHS collection without fear of judgment when a absolutely filthy being crashed through the window, stumbling after him and groaning as he tried and failed to flee. After finding the creature-who he quickly realized was, or at least once had been, a woman-sitting apologetically in the living room and looking at him with sad eyes, he decided that he might get further talking to her than running from her.

And any reservations against connecting with the woman died away when he realized that she was the one whose grave he had been tending to for the past few months, the reanimated corpse of a person buried under a tombstone that only said “Unmarried”.

And so he helped her get cleaned up, letting her shower the nearly century of grime away until he could see slightly bloodshot eyes, a shy smile, frizzy hair teased and tangled within an inch of his life and with a deep and disturbing gash in her left shoulder that needed attention.

Hence the sewing supplies.

“I have no idea which of this stuff is…quality or whatever, but my mom has very high standards in terms of the things she buys and especially for her hobbies, I mean, you should have seen how much she spent on fake rhinestones last year, but I think this might be the best stuff to use? I don’t think neon existed in your time but I think you might like this color judging on how much you like that robe.”

The corpse looked up at his voice, locked eyes with the thread and immediately smiled, excited by the vibrant color and opening her mouth to speak, but upon remembering that decay had taken that ability, she began gesturing wildly, clapping and pointing at the thread and then to her butchered shoulder. He got the message quickly enough and cleared the rest of the sewing supplies off of his bed, sitting down by his pillow and gesturing for her to sit on his left. She complied, and he gently guided their torsos so that he was looking at her back, with her turned towards the door to allow him access.

He unraveled much more thread than necessary and stared at the eye of the needle, completely lost. She must have noticed his hesitance, because she silently reached a hand back and made a ‘give me’ gesture. He placed the needle and thread in her freezing palm and watched over her shoulder as thin fingers-clumsy with a century of deterioration-threaded the string through the eye of the needle and tied it for him, handing it back to him with a small smile. He returned the gesture.

“Thanks.”

She bowed her head slightly, and lowered the shoulder of the robe and the nightgown underneath, brushing her wayward hair out of the way to expose the gash that he presumed had killed her. He didn’t want to dwell too much on it, head already spinning with the implications of such a wound, so he gently rested his hand on the robe, the threaded needle poised in the other hand.

It was only then that he realized that he had no idea what he was doing.

“Uh..how do I…?”

The corpse’s shoulders shook like she was giggling, and she turned her head to lock eyes with him. Slowly, with the stump of one hand and the fingers of the other, she mimed stabbing something with a needle, then pulling the thread through, then the nice, even stitching and repetition of the motion, and then finally pulling the stitches tight and tying off the work, complete with biting the thread to cut it. He nodded, taking the offered needle and thread.

“Okay then, let’s…let’s do this.”

She nodded and turned back towards the door, letting him work in peace. It took him a few moments to prepare himself for what he was about to do, and, as gently as he could, stuck the needle in her skin.

He flinched and expected her to do the same, but she sat perfectly still, examining the feathers on the robe a bit more.

“Did that hurt?”

His voice was edged with concern, but when she turned her head to look at him, her eyes were gentle and calm. She shook her head minutely.

“Do you feel…anything?”

She thought for a moment, gaze wandering away from his before she shrugged, settling back with her face to the door to signal the end of the discussion. He took a moment to absorb this new knowledge, then let out a shaky exhale and turned back to his work.

“Okay then. Here we go. I;m sorry if this comes out…totally terrible but you have to understand I’ve never done anything like this before but I am far from a trained professional.”

The corpse hummed her assent and continued to play with her sleeves, and he could see the smallest corner of a smile playing on her gaunt lips. He tried to ignore what that sight did to his heart and got to work, slowly stitching together the corpse who had quite literally crashed into his life and correctly guessing it would not be the last time he did so.

#lisa frankenstein #lisa frankenstein fanfiction #lisa frankenstein 2024 #lisa frankenstein au #lisa swallows #the creature #lisa frankenstein one shot

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forgingtheblade · 3 months ago

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MATERIALS!!!

Hoo boy am I working with a TON of different materials for this build! I haven’t documented them super well over time, but here’s a glimpse into some of the things i’ve gathered over the last couple months.

1st img: Fabrics and trims!

from left to right— Trims—a black and gold ribbon trim and a maroon and gold beaded trim. These will go on the cloak. also a bell! These, and the red and blue fabrics next to them were bought on a trip to chicago from a MASSIVE textiles outlet, while hanging out with some of my best online friends.

The white fabrics & red above the trims are linens and cottons from Joann, for the base outfit. These are being dyed to my desired colors, because I have access to some natural dyes in my fibers lab and really wanted an excuse to use them.

The red and blue also from the textile outlet are for the cloak. The blue, which I’m assuming is a polyester satin was out of a clearance room for like 2 bucks a yard, and is for the lining. The red velvet is an upholstery fabric that I’m really excited about because its weight creates a really rich looking drape.

Furs!! These are from BigZ fabrics, and it was my first time ordering from there! Their selections of short pink was better for what I wanted than what Howl Fabrics had to offer, and I didn’t want to have to shave down longer fur for the head. I’m really excited about the color variation in the gray, which is for the cloak’s collar, a trim along the bottom of the cloak, and as a buffer layer between armor layers, like a trim.

All of this is layed out over various foams, 1 inch and 3 inch upholstery foam which will be used for the head base, fursuit-y bits, and shoulder pads between the shirt and the cloak to give me some breadth. as I am kind of small relative to this design. and some floor mat foam, which is a cheaper alternative to EVA foam, and will be used for a lot of the armor-y bits, like the crown, weapons, and the armor itself.

2nd img— YARN

This yarn is something I bought from a local weaver’s studio, about a half hour drive out of town. I came to her looking for an undyed wool yarn, because I wanted to weave the AE banner from scratch. I dyed these yarns in a living indigo vat, and this is the color samples from that—more on that later.

3rd img—BEADS!!

This is the collection of beads I bought for some wither rose appliques I’m making for the hem of the cloak. I’m not using all of them currently, but I really like the variety I ended up with and will eventually figure out a use for all of them later down the line.

This is by no means comprehensive and doesn’t even begin to get into tools and consumable stuff like glues, thermoplastic, resin, paints, etc, but I’ll try to document all that stuff as I go too!!

#info #materials #cosplay #ctechno #ctechnoblade #dsmp #technoblade

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iturnlemonadeintolemons · 7 months ago

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hi! i loved what you're doing with kc now, can i request something like klaus and caroline doing something mundane and human and we see them living their married couple life? can be a drabble or a full lenth, what ever you want ;p

“Maybe this one?”

“I don’t get it.”

“What’s there not to get?”

“The fabric looks so…dull.”

“It’s supposed to have a shimmering effect in the sunlight.”

“That’ll just remind me of Twilight. No.”

“They're curtains.”

“So?”

Klaus clicks his tongue. “Love—”

“No. No. Do not use that tone with me, Niklaus Mikaelson.”

Ooh. Full named. He’s on thin ice now. “Sweetheart, it’s very simple. It’s a very simple choice, this one or that one.”

“It is so not a simple choice. We’re deciding on curtains for the living room. If you think that’s a simple decision you should just leave right now.”

He reminds himself that answering that is a trap.

Oh, how he wishes he could leave. There’s a new box of paints waiting for him at home, made from shells, a gift from Elijah, and he was hoping to get done with shopping and get home before three, at most.

It’s bloody six and he’s listened to Caroline drone on about stitching patterns for two fucking hours now. One would think they’d be done with the furniture by now, but no. They're just getting started on the upholstery. Heaven forbid Caroline’s exacting tastes allow any of his antique furniture pieces into the living room.

It’s from the fifteenth century, love—

It has clawed feet, Klaus. No.

Sweetheart—

I let you keep the bathtub, but I'm drawing the line on the ottoman. No.

It’s a fine piece—

A tacky one.

Well, I happen to think that of your patio table.

That had been a terribly stupid move.

So now, he’s being punished by being forced to give his opinions on furniture he doesn’t care about. He’s this close to pulling out his hair, and if he sees one more chair with birds on it he’ll be breaking it.

“Caroline—” he whines.

She shuts him up with a glare. “If I wanted to hear whining, I would’ve brought Enzo. Now, opinion.” She holds up two squares of fabric against the light. “Which one?”

Now, see. Klaus is an artist. He prides himself on being one of the best there are, not to brag, but one’s ability is refined after a thousand years. He’s been splashing colours onto surfaces ever since he can remember, the vibrant hues and shades leaving him fascinated since he was a boy. Paints, charcoal, the paint he made from various berries and flowers when he had been human…colours have never left him frazzled.

He knows for sure Caroline’s going to rip off his head when he tells her they’re the exact same colour.

Then he remembers he doesn’t particularly care about his curtains, so he says, “The one on the left.”

Caroline smiles. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Of course not,” he grumbles.

“Hm,” she says distractedly, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek and moving towards the counter. “We’ll get these, then. They’ll go great with your ottoman.”

Klaus’s eyes fly up to meet hers, and she gives him a small smile, one that never fails to leave him reeling. “I'm not a total dictator, you know. I don’t want it to only feel like my home, and not yours. I want it to be ours.”

It’s such a small gesture. In truth, Klaus hadn’t given the ottoman a second thought when they’d had that fight and she’d glared at him angrily and dragged it away to the attic, only focusing on how he could get her in a better mood if only to look at her smile again.

He loves it when she smiles, because oh, her smile is so beautiful. She’s so beautiful.

“Klaus?”

Caroline’s looking at him, her blue eyes concerned. “Are you okay? Did you hear what I said?”

“Yes,” he answers, drawing her in for a kiss. She goes forward with a surprised sound low in her throat, her hands resting on her shoulders. The saleslady clears her throat and Caroline jumps away from him, her face reddening as she turns to her and starts rambling about cushion covers and duvets.

Klaus watches her fondly, all traces of annoyance with her disappearing.

In truth, he’d let her cover the whole house in pink wallpaper if it meant he got to see her laugh every day.

He’d let her do anything, really.

Everything.

#klaus x caroline #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #klaroline drabbles #klaroline ask

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miniscule-meow · 9 months ago

Text

Isabell and the Lads (13)

Masterpost

First Part | Last Part | Next Part

Word Count: ~1.9k

Warnings: none? This one is pretty cozy

---

“Zeke it is like, two AM. What are you doing?” Marcus leans against the door frame to their shared office space. Zeke is sitting on the floor, an upholstery staple gun in his hand. Strewn around him are piles of books, scraps of fabric, a pair of scissors, and all of the doll furniture they made today.

“I’m curtaining off part of this shelf,” Zeke responds, nodding to the bookshelf he’s sitting in front of before shooting another two staples into the underside of the shelf.

“Uh, okay?” Marcus says, looking across the scene with visible confusion, “Mystery solved then, I guess.”

“It’s so Isabell can have her own space. You know, something that isn’t a box or a dollhouse,” he gives his roommate a pointed look.

“Alright, that’s fair,” Marcus rubs the back of his neck, pushing himself off the doorframe, “This couldn’t wait until morning?”

“Nope,” Zeke responds simply, placing the staple gun down and picking up the scissors. He cuts a slit in the curtain, an entryway for Isabell.

So far, he’s curtained off a little more than two thirds of the shelf, the smaller section will be left open so she can be easily picked up or dropped off. The larger section of the shelf will get walled off with another swatch of fabric for her privacy. But first, they have to arrange the furniture in there.

Marcus sighs, scanning the floor around him carefully, before looking around the rest of the room. His tired eyes eventually land on where Isabell is sitting, blanket bundled around her on Zeke’s sewing table. He crosses the room in a few easy strides and plops down in the desk chair. His arm rests down on the table shortly followed by his head laying down against the back of his hand. After a slow, lethargic blink he sighs again, looking at her.

“Was this his idea, or your idea,” Marcus mumbles quietly to her. He looks more than just a little silly with his cheek squished against his hand like that.

“Um,” she tenses. If she tells him that it was her idea, then he might be mad at her for causing all this noise at two in the morning. But, if she tells him that it was Zeke’s idea, then he might get mad at Zeke, and then Zeke might get mad at her. Zeke is already frustrated with her anyway; she bit him after all.

So the question becomes, should she make one human more upset with her, or should she have both humans be annoyed?

The room was too big for her to go back to sleep. She could have tried, but they ran the risk of her forgetting where she was when she woke up again. That was something that both her and Zeke wanted to avoid. With the dollhouse and the shoe box both being non-options, this was the best they could come up with. Really, it was sort of a mutual agreement they had.

“Hey, relax,” Marcus mumbles with a tired laugh. Zeke turns, glancing over at them out of the corner of his eye. He looks between them for a moment, likely checking that his excitable roommate is keeping his hands to himself. Zeke points to her, then flashes a quick thumbs up. You good? She nods, Zeke gives one sharp nod in response and turns away, continuing to arrange furniture on the shelf. “Not every question is an interrogation,” Marcus says, oblivious to the small communication that just happened in front of him. “I’m just making conversation.”

“You just like hearing your own voice,” Zeke mumbles, placing the little couch on the shelf. He looks at its position for a moment before switching its position with another piece of furniture.

“Hm. Maybe,” Marcs says, a sleepy grin spreading across his face. He winks at Isabell.

“I’m almost done,” Zeke says, picking up the fabric that’s going to become the outer curtain. “Isabell, do you like how this is set up?”

She peers into the shelf, everything was meticulously placed, not exactly an easy feat for someone of his size. But still, she can’t imagine trying to do it herself. Even if the state of her leg wasn’t quite so critical, moving all that furniture would have been

She hasn’t been here very long, but she’s already seen that Zeke has an immaculate sense for detail. Looking into the shelf, she can see that he really thought through where everything should go. He didn’t just put the furniture in and make it fit, he arranged it for her. She nods her approval, and Zeke uses the staple gun to curtain off her room from the rest of the office.

Why did he do all of this? The question burns at the back of her mind

He could have just left her out on the coffee table. Even if that meant rotten sleep for her, it would have been significantly more convenient for him. Instead, he took the time to clear this shelf, delicately arrange all the miniature furniture inside for her, and curtain it off from the rest of the room. He even thought about how this room doesn’t specifically belong to either of the humans, and how this room gets less traffic than any of the other common areas in the house. It’s their shared office space, so she should have the most privacy here.

Why?

Even though it’s very late. Even though the process woke up his roommate. Even though he himself had just been woken up, and not too kindly at that. Even though she had just bit him. Even though she is so small, and insignificant, and practically a stranger to him.

Why?

“Just let us take care of you,” he said

“It’s just human decency,” he said… That can’t be right. That’s nothing.

What is she not seeing here? What could he possibly gain from helping her. She’s known other borrowers that wouldn’t lend a helping hand without a proper trade first. It’s very clear at this point that these humans are very literally saving her life. If she had managed to get back home, she wouldn’t have had nearly enough supplies to allow her to rest. It’s likely that she could have starved or died from dehydration when her leg decided to give out and not let her go borrowing. Or, her leg could have given out in the middle of a mission, leaving her defenseless against whatever human she was stranded with. Or, he could have gotten an infection and that could have taken her. There are so few possibilities for her where an injury like this doesn’t immediately spell the end of her life.

She can’t repay the humans for this. There is no equal trade for what they’re doing for her.

She observes these humans for a moment. Zeke, setting aside the staple gun, and tidying the books around him. They’ll need a new home since they’ve been evicted for her sake. Marcus dozes beside her, his blonde hair is tied back, but a few wavy strands still fall into his face.

What’s in it for them?

What do they want from her?

These thoughts continue to gnaw at her when Zeke approaches. He looks down at his roommate, asleep sprawled across the desk. Zeke huffs, rolling his eyes, but a small smile tugs at his lips. It’s good to see that they do more than just tolerate each other. They must have been friends for some time- not that she should care about the social relationships of the humans here. She hasn’t even figured out what they really want from her, she shouldn’t care about whether or not they actually get along.

Zeke brings a hand to Marcus’ shoulder and nudges him awake. Marcus groans in protest.

“Go to bed, I’m going to have to listen to you complain all day tomorrow if you try to sleep like this,” Zeke says quietly. Marcus heaves a deep sigh but gets up. He mumbles incoherently as he trudges across the hall to his bedroom. Once Marcus leaves, Zeke turns his attention down to her, lowering himself down slightly so he isn’t looming straight over her.

Her heart skips like it always does when she becomes his sole focus. He moves slowly, full of intention. Zeke’s hands slowly cup around her, before he pauses. He’s only done this once before, to bring her from the coffee table into the office. Earlier today he held her to transport her across the house, but her leg was cooperating enough at that point that she was able to hobble onto his palm herself. She had told him that’s how she would prefer to be picked up, and she stands by that. But with the state of her leg, she doesn’t have much choice in the matter anymore. Zeke hesitates now, seemingly uncomfortable with the prospect of simply scooping her up.

His eyes remain trained on her. He doesn’t say anything, but she knows that he’s waiting for her to confirm that this is alright. She doesn’t see what kind of difference that makes. If she doesn’t let the human pick her up, she’s stuck on this desk. So, she hugs the blanket tighter around herself and gives a quick nod. Zeke closes the distance between them, and gently lifts her into his palms. She has had more than her fair share of human hands lately. She’d like to tell herself that this will be the end of it, but she knows that once she wakes up, tomorrow will be a new day filled to the brim with more interactions with these humans. And the day after that, and the day after that. Until she can make the trip back home. To Zeke’s credit, he moves slowly. If she didn’t know any better, she might even say that it seems as though he’s just as uncomfortable as she is. He pulls back the corner of the fabric wall and hovers his hand next to her bed. She awkwardly scoots herself over, and once she’s on the plush surface of the bed, his hand retreats.

“Isabell,” He begins, then hesitates as if unsure about what he should say. He settles on a simple, “goodnight,” and with that, he lets the fabric go, and she’s plunged into a comfortable darkness. She can hear him leave the room, he clicks off the main light as he goes and what little light was filtering in through the fabric, disappears. She blinks, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness, and she takes in her surroundings.

It feels safe. She can almost pretend that she’s back in the walls. She can almost pretend that a human hand wasn’t just here, arranging all the furniture in this space for her. She can almost pretend that said human hand won’t be the first thing to greet her in the morning.

Almost, almost, almost.

Pretend, pretend, pretend.

The reality of the situation is that she’s a complete failure.

She’s been outsmarted, they put her in a DIY dollhouse, and she’s going to have to rely on these humans for, what did Zeke say, a month, before she can really go home. She’s helpless. What kind of borrower is this bad at what they do, it’s all she can think about as she drifts off to sleep once more.

#g/t #g/t stories #g/t writing #my writing #isabell and the lads #i don't like this chapter lmao #but i think it's a necessary evil #so here is is #hopefully i can write something uh actually good soon #hey not every chapter can be a banger some of them have to be cozy and simple right?#this is what i'm choosing to tell myself please let me live in my delusions #bleh

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