#luxury bag repair

[creareblog]

Best Restoration Artwork and Decorative Furniture in Delhi – Creare

If you're planning to redecorate your home and furniture, these home decor stores in Delhi NCR are worth a visit. Find all sorts of furniture at affordable prices. Call us at - +91-9717673535.

[tuffleathercare]

Best Luxury Sofa Cleaning Repair & Restoration Services

Leather is very unique and look nice to wear, that's why its hard to wash it at home and maintain it. Tuff leather care is giving you the best services to maintain your leather items . We give you leather repair, restore and laundry services that we can restore your memories with your items. Luxury sofa cleaning repair & restoration services is the one of the best services we provide. Contact today for further information and services.

[doctoruncle2013]

Premium Shoe and Bag Repair Shop

In the fast-paced world of fashion, we often invest in exquisite shoes and designer bags that complement our style and reflect our personality. However, over time, wear and tear can leave our accessories in need of some tender loving care. Doctor Uncle is Delhi’s premier shoe and bag repair shop, dedicated to restoring your cherished items to their former glory.

[mockerycrow]

PACK CUDDLES (Hybrid!141 x GN!Human!Reader)

multiple characters masterlist

summary; the base’s heaters have all broken and aren’t due to be repaired for a week—it’s the middle of winter and you’re one of the few humans on base.

[WARNINGS; hybrid stuff, can be read as platonic or romantic, fluffy, sickness.]

THE BASE HEATERS decided to break at the worst possible moment—during the harshest part of the winter. They’re baseboard electric heaters that line every barracks room; the general community rooms such as the common area and the training rooms have central air and heating, but they didn’t decide to provide the barracks with the same luxury. It was never much of a problem, really. Nearly everyone on base was a hybrid of some kind, usually a bigger animal due to the needs of the military so they would produce body heat hot enough to keep them warm for the duration of when the electrical technicians would come in to fix the wiring, or replace the heaters.

Unfortunately for you, you are not a hybrid. You were born to completely human family members, and you have no hybrid genes in your chromosomes. Also unfortunately for you, you were for some reason one of the ones tasked with shoveling the pathways and roads on base—your station has no snow plows as the winters are usually mild to moderate, but this year decided to fuck you over harshly. You spent hours outside in the snow, bundled up in your warmest uniform with a winter coat, boots, gloves, hats, and even a balaclava on to keep as much warmth as possible. 

On day 2 without a heater, you woke up in the middle of the night unable to breathe through your nose. Your face is aching terribly—likely your sinuses—and it feels like you swallowed glass and gargled salt water right after. Your chest aches and you overall feel terrible, and you feel both hot and cold at the same time. Even after bundling up in your warmest hoodie and sweatpants—you slept with socks on, too—you just could not evade the sickness. Harsh coughs rack your body, your eyes tearing up as pain shoots through your chest and your throat to your ears. You groan and press your face into your pillow for a moment before you slowly kick your blankets off, pulling your hood up after sitting up.

You slip your feet into your slides and you check the time—0328. Fuck. The boys should be returning from a short mission soon. You hold in a sigh in fear of further hurting your aching throat, making your way towards your bedroom door. You grab your keys on the way out, letting your door close behind you. You squint as the hallway lights irritate your eyes, but you lay them no mind, walking down the hall to seek out the kitchen. Luckily, this base allowed basic medicines in a cabinet in the kitchen, so began your search for some cold medicine, and perhaps some sinus medicine too if you can take both at the same time.

To your sickly delight, no one seems to be awake right now—or at least hoarding the kitchen—despite many of the hybrids on base being nocturnal. You aren’t in the mood to really talk.. Not like you could, anyway. You shuffle your way to the counter with a harsh sniffle, opening the cabinet and rummaging around. You find some compatible cold and sinus medications, and you decide to grab a tea bag and the little plastic jar of honey, deciding that you want to soothe your throat. The air running through your throat makes it ache more. 

You put your forearms on the counter and arch your back, laying your head down as you wait for the electric kettle to heat up the water. At least the kitchen is warm. You holy a bit after it must be a few minutes, hearing the kettle heating up. You lift your head and see steam emitting from the opening, so you switch it off and begin to make your tea, stirring honey into the mug. You shove the pills into your mouth and swallow it down with a wince, using the tea. You sip the tea slowly until the mug is empty, so you quickly wash it out and put it in the sink to properly wash later. With your throat feeling a little better and a handful of paper towels, you head back to your room to go back to sleep.

The next time you wake up, it’s slow and uncomfortable. You’re on your back and you first feel the pain rippling through your throat with every wheezy breath you take—it’s a bit harder to breathe than before, even with the sickness—and then you notice the heat. Wait.. the heat? Isn’t the heater broken?

Your eyes flutter open, unfocused and bleary, with twinges of pain due to the dawn shining through your poor excuse of black-out curtains. Something shifts on your chest, causing you to glance down. When your eyes focus, you’re face to face with a wolf looking husky—striking blue eyes that are peering into your soul, the wolfdog’s fur being thick; white and grey, his ear twitching as he stares back at you. It takes you a moment before recognition filters through. It’s Soap!

A lazy smile spreads on your face as you pet his head between his ears, causing him to lick his snout. “Hey, Soap.” You croak. You sound absolutely dreadful. Three more heads pop out of view, making you flinch ever so slightly. “Jesus!” You hiss, looking at the other three. You’re met with a Grizzly bear, a Barbary lion and a Jaguar; Price, Ghost, and Gaz. Your bed springs croak under the weight of all of them—they broke your frame a year ago, still in the search for a frame that can handle a bunch of weight—and they shift closer to you. A low, rumbling noise comes from Ghost. There’s not much noise he truly makes in his lion form, he often is silent—except for the occasional chuff or intimidating growl—so you know the rumbling means something. 

You reach out to him with your other hand, tangling your fingers in his mane, feeling the rough texture between your fingers. His dark eyes stare at you and if you didn’t know Ghost as well as you do, you would likely be shitting yourself right now. He pushes his snout into your palm for a moment before his rough tongue peaks out and licks over your palm, making you wince from how prickly his tongue is. Ghost then lets out a huff, his breath reaching your face as you watch the Jaguar—Gaz—slink up to your face, the three of them; Gaz, Soap, and Ghost invading your personal space. No doubt that they can smell how sick you are. You think absentmindedly about when they returned from their mission. 

“I’m okay.” You say, your voice hoarse. You can’t help but wince at how you sound, but you don’t dwell on it too much when Gaz’s hard head pushes into your cheek, making you smile. “Yes, I promise.” You add on, moving your hand from Soap’s head to Gaz’s neck, your other hand still attending to Ghost’s mane. You glance over to where Price is, seeing his two little ears peering up behind Ghost. You groan dramatically and pat the spot next to yourself. “C’mon, Captain. You guys can be my heaters, I guess.” You weakly joke, earning a whine from Soap, who hasn’t moved an inch from laying on top of you. You make a noise in return, your eyes feeling heavy once again when the heat surrounding you finally becomes comfortable. “Supposed to fix ‘em soon.” You mumble, already half asleep by the time you feel Price’s nose sniff your cheek, checking in on you.

[xaviers-student-union]

Hey guys it's that time of the month

That's right, the time of the month where I take my dad's credit card and buy you guys whatever you ask for. [ so long as its not illegal.]

As usual:

- The money isn't traceable by my father

- This won't have legal ramifications, it's money he gave to me

- He's an Anti-Mutant Billionare running for a political office or some shit. So every month everyone in the X-mansion, and anyone else who sees this, can place orders from me. I like wasting his money.

- For every dollar I spend, I match it and donate to a Mutant positive charity.

So far:

- Aranza: New paint supplies, an easel, and other tools [ she didn't ask but I'm doing it anyway] and Hedgehog care supplies

- Deanne: New jewellery, medical textbooks, sports equipment, and a new laptop

- Molly: New fairytale books, 150 Jellycats, Club room materials, a megaphone, winter clothes, Halloween decorations, a clipboard, Polaroid camera, and an inflatable hamster ball.

She also requested silly string but I have veto'ed that.

- Megan: new book bag, stationary, sanrio "stuff", wing warmers

- Sativa: Beads, wing warmers, new dresses, accessories

- Reaper- Skateboard and cat toys

- Nod - Office decor, $100 donation

- Pyxis - New mountain bike, New winter coat, $50 donation

- Scott- Wood carving supplies, 50 cases of waterbottles, and top of the line New kitchen utensils.

- Mihai - Ps5, and a new laptop

- Kurt - Repair the trapeze. While I'm at it I'm going to get new equipment for the gymnasium in general.

- Rogue - Cat toys [ according to Google that's the best thing for a gator] and new romance novels.

- Negasonic Teenage Warhead : 2x giant 12 ft tall skeletons, costumes for the skeletons , a giant kuromi plush

- Yukio: several pieces of limitied sanrio merch, giant hello kitty plush.

- Eel: Luxury Yacht + hoverboard wheelchair

- Logan - New motorcycle + a helmet. Get fucked logan.

- Forget-me-not - New baking supplies, and equipment.

Lina- New bass strings, and a donation of 100k [ she didn't ask for this but I decided I wanted to donate extra in her name]

Tagging relevant people [ let me know if you don't want to be tagged]

@jeangrey-xmen

@roguefromthexmen

@remy-lebeau

@wolverineofficial

@deadpoolsmeanestally

@dead-in-the-pool

@professorcharlesx

@scottsummers-xmen

@hankmccoyhere

@reapers-graveyard

@totally-not-a-mutant

@vanessa-howlett

@pyxis-deliveryservices

@a-trip-and-a-fall

@thebesttelepath

@forgotten-x-men

@just-a-mutant

@prettyplasma8

@blue-man-group-reject

@queenofthetempest

There's...so many people to tag so I'm going to stop here. If I missed you it wasn't intentional.. - J.🕯

[ no limit on price as long as its reasonable]

[macbethsymphony]

The Swordsman and the Blacksmith | Chapter 23

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Chapter wc: 2.5k

Chapter rating: SFW

Content/Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Fem!Reader, Enemies to lovers, SLOW slow burn, Eventual smut

Summary: Your skills as a blacksmith have made you desirable to both the government and pirates. You know you have to leave this island if you want to escape your fate, but that doesn't make the choice of leaving any easier. Roronoa Zoro is intrigued by your skills as a blacksmith. Your work is like nothing he's ever seen before. Unfortunately, you're hot-headed and he's rude and you both definitely hate each other.

Chapters [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9][10][11][12][13][14][15][16][17][18][19][20][21][22]

Masterlist

Slowly crossposting from AO3

Chapter 23: The Storm

As you extinguished the fires of your forge, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of satisfaction mixing with the deep exhaustion plaguing your muscles. This marked the end of a relentless cycle, a ceaseless endeavor of reforging and improving the damaged parts of the Thousand Sunny. With each swing of the hammer and every molten weld, you had poured your sweat and determination into the task. Now, as the final embers flickered and died, you knew that you had done all you could for the repairs. What remained would have to rest in Franky's capable hands.

Leaving the warmth of the forge behind, you stepped out into the cool, humid air, raindrops cascading down from the darkened sky above. You’d actually always thought you liked rain, with its soothing patter and calm atmosphere, but this incessant deluge had begun to wear on your nerves. The constant dampness seeped into your clothes, clinging to you like an unwelcome companion, making it all harder to scrub the ashes from your skin. You didn’t pretend that your hair was ever that well kept, but now your locks rebelled in unruly tangles, a testament to the relentless onslaught of moisture. Oh, how you missed dry socks, a distant luxury you could only dream of amidst the sodden landscape.

With a heavy sigh, you cast a weary glance towards the sky, the dark clouds serving as a somber reminder of the unending challenges that still lay ahead. The rain had become a hindrance, impeding yours and Franky’s progress in repairing the ship. You constantly had to move tarp after tarp, erect tent after tent and still, you battled the puddling water. Yet, despite the frustrations and setbacks, you pressed on, the crew driven by a determination to set out to sea once again.

With a swift motion, you swept aside the heavy waxed canvas of the tent before you, revealing Franky and Usopp diligently at work within.

“Oh! Firecracker!” The enthusiastic voice of the cyborg greeted you as you let the bag in your hands fall to the floor with a clang. “Is that the last of it?”

“Damn right it is,” you replied proudly, a surge of satisfaction coursing through you.

Usopp rummaged through the bag, examining the contents with keen interest. “Impressive,” he remarked, holding up a piece of black metal between his fingers. “I can’t believe how quickly you work. We would have been stuck here for months without you.”

A blush crept up your cheeks, accompanied by a bashful smile at the unexpected praise. “Just doing my part,” you chuckled, unable to hide the warmth in your tone.

Franky stood up, his massive hand reaching out to ruffle your hair affectionately. “You’ve done more than just help, Firecracker. You've been a lifesaver,” he declared, his voice filled with genuine gratitude. “Take a breather. You've earned it.”

You snorted, a wry smile playing on your lips as you rolled your shoulder, attempting to alleviate the tension knotted in your back. "I wish," you sighed, the weariness evident in your tone, "but I still have a stubborn swordsman to assist."

As you spoke, a gust of wind blew through the open tent flap, carrying with it the sound of crashing waves and the faint scent of salt in the air. You glanced out at the turbulent sea, your gaze traveling to the shore where you could almost see the outline of the swordsman’s silhouette meditating over Yokubari. Even from afar, you could sense the occasional shifts in the sword’s behavior.

Franky and Usopp exchanged a knowing look before turning their attention back to you. "You'll need all the help you can get with that one," Franky remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Usopp nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Zoro can be a handful when he sets his mind to something."

You chuckled, a mix of exasperation and fondness coloring your tone. "Tell me about it," you replied, shaking your head. "But he's determined, I'll give him that."

With a resigned sigh, you straightened up, the ache in your muscles a constant reminder of the physical toll the past two weeks had taken on you. But despite the fatigue, you knew there was still work to be done, repairs to complete, and a stubborn swordsman to assist.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” you called back, arm holding the flap of the tent open.

As you stepped out, you observed Zoro from a distance, a sense of unease gnawing at your insides. You watched the swordsman grapple with Yokubari’s sheathed form with developing apprehension. If you were honest, he surpassed your expectations, demonstrating remarkable proficiency with the sword, yet his relentless pursuit of mastery bordered on obsession, an obsession that sent a chill through your veins.

It took everything in you to stop yourself from taking your sword back. Despite your reservations, you knew you had to trust him. He had exhibited a similar fervor with Shiawase and Uragiri, reveling in the precarious edge of danger. It was a trait that both intrigued and unsettled you, a constant battle between admiration and concern. But you couldn’t help but worry that he might not emerge victorious from this fight, for history had proved Yokubari untamed by hands other than its creator.

You crossed the gangplank, your boots sinking into the wet sand as you approached him. The two of you had devoted every morning and evening to this endeavor since arriving on the island. His diligence was commendable, tirelessly training from dawn till dusk to grasp at the sword’s essence.

Although, at first you had had to intervene occasionally, prying the sword out of his hands, he’d eventually figured out where to draw the line when handling the steel. Your gaze met his and with a content smile, now that you were in his vicinity, he finally unsheathed Yokubari. You observed as he worked with the blade’s haki, trying to understand its unsteady rhythm, sync with it.

“Any progress?” you asked as he wrestled with a sudden surge of haki emanating from the sword.

You watched as he grappled for control. He was close. You bet he’d get it before you’d set sail again. As it became too much, he quickly let go, the steel sinking in the sand.

“It’s stubborn,” he grunted as he bent down to retrieve the blade.

You hummed in consideration as you witnessed the obstinate waves radiating from the black metal, its satisfaction in the command it exerted over the swordsman. “That would be an understatement,” you answered with a chuckle, your gaze moving back to him. “But you’re lucky, it seems to like you, swordsman. Care to tell me which part you’re struggling with today?”

“It’s like trying to reason with a wild animal,” he observed through gritted teeth, the waltz between the sword’s will and his own starting again.

Your heart sank at his words, recollections of the sword’s creation passing your mind. A wild animal… you supposed you hadn’t that far away from one in that time. You felt your nose prickle slightly as tears threatened to flood your eyes for a sliver of a moment. For an instant you hovered on the edge of memories you didn’t want to address, the menace of an ocean of feelings with no shore in sight.

Shit.

The exhaustion was really starting to get to you.

You scrunched your nose, trying to make the feeling disappear. You suppressed a heavy sigh, forcing a smile, masking the turmoil churning within. “That’s a… surprisingly good comparison.”

Zoro’s gaze flickered to you, sensing the weariness in your tone, but Yokubari quickly demanded his attention again with a sudden and powerful surge of haki, drawing his own out in a battle of wills.

You analyzed the conflict happening between the steel and the swordsman with keen eyes, trying to see how you could help him.

“You don’t have to reason with it, you know, Yokubari will always do what it wants,” you observed the complex waltz of haki before you. “You wouldn’t try to reason with the sea, instead you ride the waves, work with it the best you can.”

Your hand reached towards the blade slowly, extending your own haki to the mix, a third party to the battle raging on. The swordsman’s gaze widened slightly as he watched the way the black tendrils emanating from your hands rode out the waves, played with them, eventually made them submit and retract.

As your fingertips brushed against the steel, a shiver of reaction ran through Zoro. With a definite flinch, he pulled the sword back, his motion carrying a hint of possessiveness. Your breath caught in your throat at his response, your heart seemed to stop, then all you could hear was its terrified pulse. You hesitated, afraid to lift your gaze, fearful of what you might find reflected in his eye.

As you met his gaze, a wave of panic hit your senses, your muscles tensed. You knew that look in his eye. You’d seen it mirrored in the eyes of lesser men. Maddened men. Dead men. It sent a cold sensation in the pit of your stomach, your blood freezing in your veins.

“Give it back,” you demanded suddenly, your voice feeling distant, a hiss through clenched teeth.

“What?” He scowled, something akin to greed passing his stare. His hand inched away ever so slightly at the demand, his reaction a confirmation of your fears.

“I said give it back,” you took a step closer, panic in your eyes, the snarl twisting your mouth uncompromising. You opened and closed your hands in a futile attempt to rein in the trembling plaguing them.

“No,” he matched your step, back straight as he towered over you. His grip tightened around the handle of the sword, an unmistakable possessive gesture.

It was a gesture that struck a chord of familiarity within you, one that stirred discomfort in the depths of your being. Almost involuntarily, you superimposed the image of your mentor onto the swordsman’s stance, a haunting resemblance that wrenched your heart painfully. You sucked in a sharp breath, attempting to fend off the encroaching wave of panic threatening to overwhelm you.

Your jaw clenched, the grinding of teeth an audible testament to the turmoil raging within you. So, this was how it was going to be. The instinct to fight surged within you, overpowering any semblance of restraint. The audacity of his refusal fueled an inferno of anger, coursing through your veins like molten metal, consuming every ounce of judgement in its path.

"Give me back my fucking sword, swordsman," you spat, the words laced with venom.

A derisive scoff escaped his lips, his arrogance infuriatingly palpable. “I’m this close to figuring it out, witch. You’re not taking it back now.”

Your nostrils flared, the urge to throttle him almost overwhelming. "You think you're invincible don’t you, pirate hunter?" you seethed, your voice rising with each word. "But you're not. You're just a fool trying to wield a weapon you clearly don't deserve. Face it, you’re too fucking weak for Yokubari. So. Give. It. Back."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you knew you’d messed up, but rationality had long fallen victim to the glacial frigidity of your fears. His eye flashed dangerously, the air crackling with the intensity of the brewing storm between you. "I'm not too fucking weak," he growled, his grip on the sword tightening further, the wood creaking. “You’re the one in the way of me figuring it out.”

There were ghosts that passed your eyes for a moment, sorrow, rage. “You’re a damn fool Roronoa Zoro,” your voice was thick, the snarl on your lips bitter. “Thinking you can tame Yokubari like that. It’ll devour you whole before you even realize it.”

His gaze narrowed at your words, his jaw set in defiance. "I don't need your warnings, witch," he retorted, his tone laced with stubborn determination.

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails digging into your palms as frustration boiled within you. "You're playing with fire, Swordsman," you warned one last time.

He crouched low, his eye ablaze. "I'll master Yokubari on my own terms, whether you approve or not. Stop getting in my way.”

Before restraint could rein in your reaction, your hand surged forward, aiming for his face. But he intercepted it with lightning reflexes, his grip clamping around your wrist painfully, thwarting the blow.

 "You're being a real fucking cunt, swordsman," you snapped, frustration lacing your tone. Without hesitation, your foot followed, connecting solidly with his shin, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from him.

 His hold slackened, allowing you to back away. "Damn it," he muttered, the pain evident in his voice.

You weighed your options quickly, wondered if you could be fast enough to retrieve Yokubari from his iron grasp. But the possessiveness in his gaze froze you in place.

"You want to figure it out alone? Fine." Your words hung heavy in the air, dripping with condescension. With a quick turn on your heels, you strode away, each step purposeful, yet laden with unresolved tension. "Just don't come crying to me when you lose yourself along the way!" Your voice echoed across the ship as you ascended the gangplank with determined stomps. "I just hope you fall on Yokubari and die before you go mad. For both our fucking sake."

Crossing the deck, you made your way back to where Franky and Usopp were diligently working. With a forceful motion, you pushed open the flap of the tent, your gaze ablaze with rage as it met the two men hard at work.

"Franky," your tone was terse, cutting through the air like a blade. "You don’t need me anymore, right?" you asked, your words tinged with a sense of urgency.

He responded with a small huh of confusion. "Nah, Firecracker, Usopp and I will be fine. Why?" His brow furrowed in curiosity.

You didn’t offer a reply, a determined 'good' slipping past your lips as you turned away, your resolve palpable.

"Nami," you shouted, her name loud in the damp air. "I’ll be in town for a while. Come get me if you need anything."

The navigator popped her head out of her study, a puzzled expression crossing her features. "Sure thing, (y/n)," she called back, concern lacing her tone. "Is everything alright?"

You grunted in response, striding purposefully towards the women’s quarters. "Fucking fantastic," you yelled, the frustration evident in your voice as you slammed the door shut behind you.

You swiftly packed a bag, hastily gathering what you deemed necessary before emerging once more, the weight of your decision settling heavily on your shoulders.

As you made your way back down the gangplank, you sensed the curious gazes of your crewmates following you, their concerned whispers touched your ears like the distant murmur of waves against the shore. You passed the swordsman, still engrossed in his relentless battle with Yokubari. When you saw him look at you in the periphery of your vision, you flipped him off, before finally reaching the small path that led to the quiet town nestled not too far away.

← Previous chapter | Next chapter →

Masterlist

[apotodiplodocus]

Guard Dog

Hi! So I'm back, I had a whoopsie but I am OK now and feeling in a better head space! I will be finishing You're My Idol! But for now I'm making a start on the Pet AU fic I promised all those weeks ago! I hope this is a good enough apology for vanishing. :D

Growing up you lived in semi-luxury. Your parents, humble people, worked high up in some organisation, you’d never been given the opportunity to see. You loved your parents, loved they worked so hard to support you and give you everything you need, but at the same time you don’t like them. It wouldn’t be fair to say you hated them because you didn’t. You didn’t like that they were never home, you didn’t like that while they tried to spare you from the truth you KNEW they did bad things, awful things, and they enjoyed it. It was hard to accept with a nanny that taught you to be good, kind and charitable, that your parents could do so much harm but only care for you and each other.

 

So as soon as you could, you moved out of their house, not their home, because it had never really been one. Too clean and quiet to be a home. You started working at a non-profit and life was good, you had a good life, occasionally having money battles with your parents where they would send you some money, you would send it back and then they would send back more until it was way too much, and you couldn’t bear the idea of them sending even more. In those cases, you would donate at least half of it to various charities. Only keeping the rest for any necessary repairs or emergency fund, knowing they would only send you more if they found out you gave it all away, and they would find out. Three years after you moved out you received a call from your mother. She was frantic, begging you to lock all your doors and windows and to hide in the deepest darkest corner you could find. They had pissed off the wrong person for too long and now people were after you. You were terrified, furious, and worried for your parents. So many conflicting emotions you didn’t have time to sort through while you did as instructed and trembled in the hardest to reach place you could.

 

The night passed and nothing happened. Nothing happened for a long time, you were crouched in that space for hours, muscles cramped and feeling like even if you wanted to get out, by now you probably couldn’t even move. It was around 5am when a brick flies through your window, shattering the glass, landing with a dull thud on your living room floor. You shock yourself when you find you can move, your hand coming up to slap against your mouth and muffle any sound. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait but nothing happens. You wait even longer this time and exhausted from all the fear and tension, you pass out. By the time you wake up its 3pm, you listen for 5 minutes and when you hear nothing you slowly climb out of your hiding space. There has been no news from your parents yet. But you can’t cower for ever, you’ve been hiding for almost a day, you are starving having just gotten back from work when you started hiding. You settle for crawling around your home to get what you need and hopefully stay out of sight. Once fed you receive a text from your mother telling you to pack your bags, they were on their way to pick you up.

 

As angry as you are, now is not the time to refuse. Someone wants to harm you, so obediently, you pack your things and when they arrive settle into the back seat, feeling safer with your parents in their tinted window car. They slap a wig on you and make you wear sunglasses. No-one speaks, barely breathes. They drive for hours, only stopping to quickly grab some last second things from a petrol station at 9pm. That short window where they are out of the car and distracted that you are dragged from the car. A hand is enclosed over your mouth, the other dragging you by the waist. They take you behind the petrol station, and into the forest, seemingly unperturbed by how hard you’re kicking and punching. In the only moment of clear thinking you have, you jam your fingers up your assailant’s nose and push upwards as hard as you can, hooking your nails into their flesh. They yell and let go of you out of reflex, you push off them, sending them hurtling backwards and throwing you forwards. You stumble but just focus on running, you sprint as fast as you can. In the commotion you lost track of your direction and realise if you were going in the right direction, you would have reached the car by now.  Having just run probably further into the forest you freeze and climb the nearest tree. You haven’t climbed a tree in years but in this moment, you are basically a master. Settled on a high branch, you have to adjust your wig so you can see properly and realise your sunglasses vanished at some point.

 

Not too long after you’ve finally slowed your breathing, the man arrives and looks around desperately. He takes off in a random direction when he hears a noise, but not even a minute later you hear yelling and he sprints back past your tree, something fast, so incredibly fast following immediately behind. Just out of sight behind the leaves of a different tree you hear the man being torn apart. Viscera seeping into view ever so slightly. Once the screaming stops, the figure, now covered in gore, appears at the bottom of the tree. You see bright eyes looking up at you and gasp. It had already known you were there; had it been watching? Strands of your wig cloud your vision again and you swipe at them moving them out of the way. It opens its arms to you in a welcoming gesture which just terrifies you further. It clears its throat and opens its mouth, exposing red tinted sharp teeth.

 

“Ume?” It speaks. Confused you don’t move, the voice is creaky, like it hasn’t been used in a while and it has a vulnerability to it, it’s masculine and its terrifying. You can recognise the intent though, it’s quiet and calming in a strange way that when he makes no more movements, convinces you to slowly come down. You carefully shimmy your way down and now stood before him, you realise he towers over you, at least 6 foot 5 possibly more.

 

“Ume? Who is that?” You question gently, keeping your distance cautiously. His arms twitch and withdraw slowly. He seems to realise something and, faster than you can comprehend, grabs your wig from your head hauling it away. The white strands glimmer in the moonlight and it makes you feel so naked, too seen with it off you. He snarls, throws the wig to the ground and turns away from you crouching, one hand over the back of his head and the other scratching deep marks into his neck. Blood spills down what of his neck you can see, mingling with the mud and viscera splashed on him. You gasp and step forward to stop him, but he whirls around and bares his teeth at you. A clear threat. You stop in your tracks and hold your open palms out, eyes on the wound that is now quickly closing. It dawns on you, he’s a demon. A loose demon. There are marks on his neck and wrists that look to be from prolonged exposure to wisteria laced restraints. Your heart shatters a little bit.

 

“Wait! I can help you. You want to find Ume, right?” You whisper, looking from his eyes to those monstrous teeth and both long nailed hands. His eyes narrow and you spot for the first-time little marks in his irises, kanji that indicate pure blood. Strong blood. His posture relaxes just slightly, waiting for you to continue but staying poised to attack if he doesn’t like the proposal. “I work with a charity that deals with rescuing and homing abused demons! I can use that to look for them I’m assuming they’re a loved one, right? Oh, and I can tell you’re a pure blood, if they are a loved one, I can see if there’s any demons with the same markings and take you to her.”

You don’t think about what will happen to you if you fail and you can’t find her, you don’t want to think about it.

 

He contemplates, eyes still wild and staring through you. He crouches to your level looking you in the eye with an intensity you’ve never experienced.

 

“… My sister. If you’re lying, I will tear you apart and make you watch.” He threatens, an amused almost excited grin spreading across his face, like he’s convinced you are lying and is just waiting to be proved right.

 

“OK. I understand. In return, I want you to protect me.” You say hesitantly and quickly expand on your request when he bares his teeth again. “There are bad people after me, I can’t find your sister if I’m killed in my sleep! All you need to do is stay with me, be pampered, and make sure no-one suffocates me!” You throw in pampering to sweeten the deal. He stops again, smirk returning. He says nothing but visibly relaxes. He stands, slouched now, he knows you aren’t a threat, couldn’t be if you tried. He gestures for you to start walking, pointing in what you assume is the direction of the petrol station. You don’t hesitate, walking a bit more confidently now, backed up by the strongest demon you’ve ever come across.

 

When you reach the petrol station, you are dumbfounded to find your parents car long gone. Some part of you was convinced they wouldn’t leave you. The demon behind you watches you slump to your knees staring at where the car had been. Collecting yourself takes a moment and a couple of tears rolling down your cheeks but you take a deep breath and stand up, brushing off some of the mud and debris from your scuffle.

 

“OK. Should have guessed. They probably just assumed I was long gone or dead. I can understand that. They’re still assholes, but I get it.” You mumble to yourself. The demon behind you giggles a little, seeming to take pleasure in your disbelief and abandonment. You let the feelings wash over you but then push on. “First things first, I saw a motel about ten minutes that way,” You point in the direction you had come from “I’ll get a room there, sneak you in get you cleaned up and then tomorrow we can go back to my apartment, and I’ll start looking for your sister.” You state in a matter-of-fact manner. The demon nods following behind you while you walk. It’s a good thing its dark out, walking around with a blood-soaked demon would not end well for either of you.

 

It takes you half an hour to get to the motel, it was a longer walk than drive coupled with the fact you both had to hide in the treeline when a car would pass so they wouldn’t see your new companion. On the walk you question him, asking question after question, the only answers you get to any of them is when you ask him his name.

 

“… Gyutaro.” He states looking straight ahead. You quirk an eyebrow.

 

“Just Gyutaro? If you have a last name, it could help me find your sister. Even if it was a past owner.” The word leaves a bad taste in your mouth but it’s the truth. His body stiffens a bit mid stride but relaxes again just as fast.

 

“Shabana.” You roll the name round in your mind, getting used to the sound, and searching your mind to think if you’d seen or heard it before. Not finding anything you don’t panic; you don’t remember everything you see it could still be somewhere in the records.

 

“Gyutaro Shabana and Ume Shabana.” Gyutaro doesn’t even look at you when you say it so you just focus on the walk and try to use clues to figure out how she might look. You see so many demons that insist they don’t have a name or don’t remember it, it might be easier to find her by appearance. Though Gyutaro is so encrusted with mud and gore you can barely see him. His hair is both flat and matted, twigs and leaves sticking out in every direction the only thing clean about him is his eyes, but they seem to have an unhealthy yellow colour to them. Though that might just be what they look like usually. When you do reach the motel, you have him hang back in the tree line while you book the room, you mime the number to him behind your back and gesture for him to go around the back to the window. As nonchalantly as you can you make your way inside the room, locking the door behind you and heading straight for the bathroom window.

 

Watching him squeeze his way through the tiny window is almost kind of impressive. Though once he is through you have to wipe away the grime he left behind. He takes his time looking around the room while you do.

 

“Gyutaro? You OK? You’ll want to have a quick shower before you have a bath… Gyutaro?” You called through the open door first, but when he doesn’t respond you poke your head out the door. He’s just sat on the bed seeming to be testing the comfort. When he spots you, he stands straight up like he was burned by the bed.

 

“It’s OK you can sit there for a minute if you want.” You smile, rolling your sleeves up so you can test the water temperature. As a demon, temperature probably doesn’t matter to him but you want to put in the care.

 

“But I’m covered in shit.” He states, looking at you like you’re stupid.

 

“Sheets can be washed, and there’s always spares if they get too messy to sleep in, go wild.” He hums and sits back down, gently bouncing on the springs. After checking the temperature and unpacking the soaps from the drawers you call him in for the shower. You show him how to adjust the temperature and leave him to his own devices. Not even a minute late you hear him slip and fall in the bathtub, most likely not having prepared himself. You knock on the door quickly.

 

“Gyutaro, are you OK?” You call. You don’t know why you’re concerned, he’s an adult demon, it would take more than that to hurt him and he wouldn’t die from a broken neck. Unless he found some way to decapitate himself. Right before you were going to open the door to check on him, he grunts out a confirmation and you hear him moving around. “OK, be careful.” He grunts again and you turn back to the room. To your amusement you see that at some point he flopped onto his back and made a mud angel on the bed. It was kind of endearing and heartbreaking at the same time, who knows how long it’s been since he had any form of comfort?

 

It briefly crosses your mind that maybe you should be more scared I this situation. You just got kidnapped, fought for your life, saw someone get eviscerated right in front of you, got abandoned by your parents and now you have to find a demon’s sister, or you’ll be killed in the same way as your kidnapper. You take this moment to hold yourself and try to come to terms with everything. Sorting through your feelings as best you can, you realise you should message your parents, let them know you’re still alive, and pissed at them. Oh, so very pissed. You send a scathing text but put your phone down, you can’t deal with whatever their response is right now, you just want them to stew in what they’ve just put you through. Maybe for once they might feel regret.

 

Eventually the shower stops, and you realise you forgot to give him a towel. As your reaching for one the door swings open, making you gasp and turn away.

 

“Gyutaro!” You want to scold him, but no words come out, you feel too awkward, so you hold the towel out behind you.

 

“What?” He snaps back, taking the towel.

 

“What do you mean what? You know what!” You exclaim still pointedly looking away. He stalks past you, towel around his waist and you properly see his body for the first time, in the awful fluorescent lighting and with no dirt obscuring it. You are shocked by how skinny he is, he had all that power in such a malnourished body? What is he like when he isn’t starving? There are black ink like splodges that litter his pallid body like constellations and you see his hair is two toned, black and green.

 

“I don’t know what you’re yapping about. It’s just my dick.” He snorts throwing himself onto the couch, towel just about staying on.

 

“Exactly! It’s private, I’m not getting my… bits out.” You look to the side getting progressively more flustered. You drag your hands down you face before wiping your hands of the situation. “Whatever, in future please keep yourself covered.” You scold.

 

“With what?” He shrugs at you, giving you that disgusted look again.

 

“Good point. I need to find you some clothes…” You stare at him, trying to guess his size and he takes notice, snarling at you.

 

“What?! Just realising how ugly I am? I bet you don’t even know how lucky you are, good looking, that car you came in sure did look nice, how much was it? Probably more than I’ve ever seen, good for you. Good for you.” He mumbles the last bit.

 

“No! Nothing like that, I’m just trying to guess what size clothes you are. You have broad shoulders, muscular arms… A tiny waist and long legs…” Are you… Attracted to that? Have you always been attracted to demons? Let along such strange ones? You can unpack that can of worms another time and preferably not in front of the demon in question. “I’m just gonna pop out and see if they have anything in lost and found. Don’t make too much noise, I’m supposed to be the only one in here.” He waves you away turning over on the couch, back now facing you.

 

When you eventually convince the front desk clerk to look through the lost and found you manage to find a huge coat, some slacks, and a pair of brogue shoes. And odd match overall but it’ll do to get you back to your apartment. By the time you come back to the room Gyutaro is dead asleep or pretending to be, so he doesn’t have to talk about you. Either way, you leave the clothes on a chair nearby and quietly undress. You hadn’t the foresight to grab some clothes for yourself once you realised you were also covered in mud, undressing was your only comfortable option. You slipped straight into the covers and think about how Gyutaro could have taken over the bed while you were gone but didn’t and you want to believe he chose to let you have it which is too much faith to have in a demon you’ve just met.

But you drift off peacefully, feeling safe in the knowledge that Gyutaro is a few feet away.

[littlemarianah]

Prompt: “How am I supposed to focus when you look at me like that?”

@tetheredfeathers and I started a challenge to write a text between 500 - 1000 words with this prompt.

Click >here< to see her version of this.

Just something fun to pass the time... I ended up writing my new non-reaped AU project, where Katniss and Peeta never go to the games.

I'm tagging these three incredible and talented writers to continue our challenge.

@mollywog @nightlocked-in @rainymyx

title:

The streak of luck.

A tide of luck had swept over me the last few weeks. Spring is always the best time of year to find things in the woods, but this year I outdid myself. I found two bee hives full of honey. It was very painful and I spent days recovering from the bee stings, but I managed to bring two bags full of honeycombs to sell on the rob. Honey is a rare item in district twelve, so it made me a lot of money.

I think that since spring began, there hasn't been a day that goes by that I don't come home with something to sell with. From juicy wild berries to Turkeys, swallows and wild dogs. I've been finding things more valuable lately.

This month, we had the luxury of spending more stuff than just on food. I was able to buy new boots for Prim, cold coat for me and a supply of oils for my mother to make ointments and resell.

And in the end there was still money left. So I bought a sewing thread and a needle. I grabbed my mother's old white dress from the back of the closet. She and Prim did all the repairs for me. Then I took my dress to Hazelle and paid her a good amount to wash it. She asked me for bleach, to remove the yellow stains from age and mold. Then she asked me for violet fabric paint. It was difficult to find something like that on the black market, it ended costing me a whole rabbit.

I was afraid it would turn my dress purple, but she said that the dye mixed in hot water removes all the yellow stains and makes the dress white like never before.

She was right. It was so beautiful it looked like I had bought it brand new.

As I get older and become more and more like my mother, her dress looks more and more like it was made out for me. The straight cut at the collar makes my long neck - which Peeta praises so much - stand out. The long sleeves hide my thin arms. The tight waist makes it my hips look more accentuated than they actually are. It's a simple dress, it looks like a nightgown. However, its fabric is so elegant that I look like a bride from the big city.

My mom puts my hair in a low bun and Prim makes a lavender flower crown to match spring.

The shoes I will wear are a problem. I only have my beat-up hunting boots and old school shoes. None suit the occasion. My mother's shoes are beautiful, but they are so tight on me. I refuse to spend the whole afternoon limping.

There is a third option, which I don't like very much. There are the shoes I used to wear at the reaping. The last time I wore them I was 19 years old, two years ago. This blue heels are so old they look gray.

I wish I had thrown them away, but you can never waste resources like that. Shoes are expensive. Even if they don't bring back good memories, they are still valuable. My mother cleans them and rubs them with lard to make them shiny. I feel weird, but it's my best option at the moment.

So here I am, dressed like a spring bride. And there he is, dressed like a merchant groom. Waiting for me at the door of the Justice Building.

He has combed his hair back and applied gel to keep the curls in place. A perfectly ironed white shirt, black pants with a silver buckle belt and a brown suit over everything, which make his shoulders pointy. He's perfect. On his feet are also his reaping shoes.

“You look so beautiful." he says.

“You too." I reply.

Then we link our arms and wait until they call us. I feel the heat radiating from Peeta. He doesn't usually get nervous, but today his forehead shines with sweat and he fixes his collar compulsively. So far I've counted five times in the last two minutes.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Oh, my brother lent me this shirt. It's itchy" He groans, awkwarly. I smile at him and he seems to relax.

There are several couples around us, waiting too. Everyone wants to get married in the spring.

Many young women in white. Some with lacy and chic dresses, others with old and yellowed, but all the same holding the hands of their lovers. The young men, one exhausted by work, one covered in coal dust, and another with elegant blue suits and shiny shoes.

We are all there, waiting to get to our turn.

When the door finally opens the old man calls out "Thompson" in a deep voice.

Then a couple enters, the girl with a veil and a garland and the boy with a leather hat. The two are shaking with so much excitement, they are completely in love. Still too young to free themselves from the burden of the Hunger Games. It's not good luck marry before you're 19. So I sigh, and wish them good luck on next summer.

After a few minutes, the couple leaves smiling and receives a round of applause from their family members who are waiting for them outside.

Then the man screams again "Greenwood".

An older, handsome boy, next to him is a blonde girl in a flashy dress. They are accompanied by their parents, elegant merchants. I start stomping my feet anxiously. I want to end the waiting once and for all. After a couple long minutes, they finally leave the building and when I least expect it the man is shouting for "Mellark". I head towards him as if he were calling my own name.

My witness is my mother, I wanted it to be Prim, but she is still a minor. Peeta's witness is his middle brother. He seems a little uncomfortable being there, but he pats Peeta on the back to encourage him.

“Mrs. Everdeen and Mr. Mellark, is it of their own free will that you both meet here today to be united in matrimony?” says the old man.

“Yes.” Peeta said vigorous.

“Yes.” I said in sequence, quieter revealing my nervousness.

Peeta takes my hand gently and squeezes it with his sweaty palm.

I thought I was calm until this moment, now I'm sure I'm terrified. While that old man talks boring things about marriage and laws and the importance of family I get lost in Peeta's flush face. His lips are tight and raised in a restrained smile. I feel my heart skip a beat.

When the man stops talking we each receive a pen. Peeta leans over the thick book first, writing “Peeta Mellark” in cursive. Then it's my turn, my hands shake and I sigh, before finally putting the ink on the paper.

I start with the "K" of my name, with a less sophisticated calligraphy than Peeta's. Now my tremor is visible to everyone around me. Peeta's eyes are the heaviest on me, they make me blush.

“How am I supposed to focus when you look at me like that?” I sigh. He giggles and looks away as I write "Mellark." My new last name.

[luxury-leather]

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[maleficentmrsofallevil]

"Entitled" BJD collector, me

I've got an axe to grind due to a large order I have with a company. Thanks to a lovely bonus, I was able to pay off my layaway early. Re-reviewed my order, and realized I forgot to order bags (I hate those enormous boxes BJDs come in, and if they have any fancy print on them, I can't recycle them). Quick email to the company - Hey, I forgot to order bags. So sorry. Can I add a couple bags to my order? (it's a BIG order)

Doll company snaps back: "If you wanted bags, you should have ordered them when you ordered your dolls."

Oooooo-kay.

Less than 24 hours later: "The optional hands you ordered aren't the same color as the doll. Seeking your kind understanding."

I ordered the hands at the same time I ordered the doll.

I pointed out to the company that when I make a mistake, you snap at me. When YOU make a mistake, I'm supposed to be understanding. I'm pretty sure my email flew right over their heads, but that could also be a translation thing.

I'm done ordering from that company, but it made me realize that I am becoming an "entitled" collector.

It made me realize that this is a luxury hobby, but this is not a rich person's hobby. Rich people - truly wealthy people - expect to be catered to. They expect to get exactly what they want, exactly when they want it. Truly wealthy rich people would not put up with half the shit BJD collectors do. They would not accept dolls that arrive with imperfections, scratches, mis-matching resin, blushing that's already starting to peel, and 3-6 month wait times in which you hope you get what you paid for. They would not put up with poor to nonexistent customer service, not answering your questions for days to weeks at a time, and all the crazy shit that happens with shipping and delivery.

But if the rest of us acted like that as doll collectors, we would be acting "entitled." Emailing a company and asking them to make a certain type of doll is "rude." Asking when your doll is estimated to ship is "annoying." Asking for resin samples is "a waste of time." Expecting after sales service (repair/replacement parts) is "unreasonable." You pay what they tell you to pay. You get what you get. And you better fucking LIKE it, or ELSE. No returns. No cancellations. No refunds.

Tell me what other business operates this way?

My order was as much as a used car cost in my younger days. To me, that is a LOT of money to get jerked around and snapped at by a doll company.

I don't know, man. Folks who make the same complaints I do get told, "Maybe this isn't the hobby for you."

Maybe not.

[doctoruncle2013]

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