#he literally fuckin PUNCTURED us

[echidnana]

cursed with foot hurts because the fuckin rooster spurred us through our boots

#he is So Aggressive for no reason #he literally fuckin PUNCTURED us #oughh #arthur.txt

[todayisafridaynight]

dodging-the-question ass type of answer i have to lay down

#snap chats #YK WHAT I MEAN god this is still a funny answer to me i remember during my first playthrough i was just #'cunt thats not what he asked WHO DO YOU. SWEAR FEALTY TO' fuckin /arakawa entrusted me to you/ WHO DO YOU-- #are you here on your own volition or because arakawa sent you Are You Here Ultimately For Aoki's Sake Or Arakawa's #am i making sense. im 90% sure im making sense. #cause using my EYEBALLS it fuckin lookin like he's here on arakawa's order and not so much aoki's #I MEAN WE KNOW SAWASHIRO LITERALLY LIVES ONLY FOR HIS SON DON'T GET IT TWISTED #this is only a point of contention considering the horrors down the line.. and sawashiro TRULY havin to answer that question.. lol.. #that whole question of Who's Sawashiro Loyal To at the end of the day.... that shit got answered with arakawa's body in the bay #and some old fuck with his eyeball punctured in #At The End Of The Day WHO IS HEAD HONCHO IN YOUR HEART figured it out gang #wow i love him he's so unwell <3 gonna go watch that scene again bye

[roosterbruiser]

*cough* pegging mafia bobby though, that's gonna be interesting

"yeah, just like that," Bob grunts through grit teeth, fingers sunk into the plush mattress below him. he bites his lips hard, eyes screwed shut as you can't your hips forward at a bruising pace. "fuck, doll, givin' it to me so fuckin' good. oh, baby."

"still tryin' to boss me around?" you pant, a tired but exhilarated smile tugging on your painted lips. "what makes you think you can make me do jack-shit right now? huh, baby?"

he groans at your words--Christ, you know just what to say to him. his neglected cock is dripping pearlescent drops of pre-cum onto the expensive sheets, the tip red and swollen.

his knees are aching from being in this position for the last half hour--not that he's complaining at all. sure, his knees are aching, but everything else feels fucking perfect. your delicate hands gripping the bend of his hips, fresh manicure puncturing the skin there. the strap on, a smaller and sleek thing that's only been used a handful of times, is hitting a spot inside of him that's making his thighs quiver. the rapture he's in right now is totally overwhelming all of his sense--so much so that he can hardly do anything at all except sit there and take it.

"fuck," Bob groans, shaking his head. you're still thrusting into him at that dizzying pace, the one that legitimately has stars dotting his vision. "fuck, doll."

he knows he's in no position to spout off anymore--you're already pissed at him for missing dinner, for leaving you hanging. in fact, you're still in your heels right now--unwilling to take them off. that dress he wanted to tear off of you is now on the floor, but it wasn't ripped off by him. no, no--you made him sit on the end of the bed on his hands as you slowly undid every single button, keeping your pouty eyes on his, before you told him that you were going to be fucking him nice and good tonight.

this is the first time that Bob has really given you total and complete control. sure, here and there you've gently grazed the sensitive area when blowing him or teased it with a playful tongue--but this, you fucking him, it's new.

and you fucking love it. the strap is delivering fantastic friction to your sopping cunt--not nearly enough for any real gratification, but enough that it knocks the breath out of your lungs a little bit each time.

"fuck, I--I, oh God, please, I just--I fuckin'..." Bob can't even form coherent sentences anymore. but he knows what he needs: release. and you haven't given it to him--in fact, you've withheld it from him. bringing him to the edge and then pulling him back over and over again. "doll, I--!"

"tell me what you need," you tell Bob, digging your thumbs into the tan flesh of his hips. god, he feels good beneath your hands. a shivering, sorry thing that pushes back against you to meet your every thrust. "g'on, baby. say it."

Bob immediately breaks.

"need you to touch my cock," Bob cries, head falling onto the sheets in exhaustion. "please, doll, I need it in a bad, bad way."

"yeah?" you mutter, hand drifting from his hip to the soft skin near his cock--dotted with groomed but coiled hair, ultra-sensitive. "need me here real bad?"

you let your fingers dance there, grazing all that skin that's been neglected. you're so close to his cock that tears of relief begin to stream down Bob's pink cheeks. he knows that as soon as you wrap that pretty little hand around his throbbing cock, he's gonna cum. and it's certainly fixing to be the best orgasm of his life.

"oh, you're a fuckin' angel," he says, uttering it like it's a most sacred prayer. he wants release so bad--so bad that he would literally denounce God and start worshipping you right this moment if you just let him cum. he'll worry about Hell tomorrow. "god, fucking--I love you so much, baby, please touch my cock. wanna cum for you. please, doll, please."

he's so desperate that it almost hurts when you pull away. not just your hand--everything, entirely, simultaneously. Bob, who was standing on the edge of the best orgasm of his life, is suddenly empty and reeling from the loss of contact.

"are you fuckin'--!"

reaching forward, body taut and hot, you hold onto the back of his neck and press a few kisses there, reaching around with your free hand to languidly stroke his cock a few times. he's suddenly back on the edge, dizzy from overstimulation and under-stimulation, gasping when you suddenly nudge him over and make him cum; all while holding his throat and kissing his ruddy cheeks.

he cries out your name as he cums, entire body quivering and tensing, fingers cracking as he tightens his grip on the sheets. and you work him through it like the good little doll you are, nibbling his earlobe, tonguing a few of his stray tears.

"next time you think about doing your dirty work and standing me up, I want you to think about this moment," you mutter into his skin. "'cause only I can make you cum like this, baby, huh? and I can take it away just as easily."

#m answers #mafia bobby #blurb #request #bobfucks #it is bob #bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #top gun bob #robert bob floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd #robert floyd x you #robert floyd smut #bob floyd fanfiction #bob top gun #bob floyd x you #bob floyd fic #bob floyd drabble #bob floyd x female reader #bob floyd mafia au #bob floyd headcanons #robert bob floyd imagine #robert bob floyd fic #robert bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x you #robert bob floyd fanfiction #bob fucks #bob fluff #bob fic

[acorrespondence]

Im on my phone so I don’t know how many words this is but commentary on this would be lovely

Nah, it ain’t his fault,” says Raylan, resigned. “It’s these goddamn paramedics. I told ‘em I don’t need the damn x-ray, but they won’t listen.”

That brings Boyd to attention, more surely than a barked command ever did, given his natural tendency to interpret even direct orders as particularly loud suggestions. He drops his hand from his face and sits up straight. “X-ray? What the hell for?”

“It’s just a precaution,” says Raylan. “The vest spreads the pressure out. That’s what it’s for.”

Boyd stands up off the bed. “You got fuckin shot?!”

Raylan pauses, and Boyd can practically feel his wince through the phone. “Only a little.”

Boyd glances out the open window, to ensure the kids aren’t listening in. They’re playing a game they apparently invented involving stones from the roadside, a handful of twigs, and the empty tin can from today’s soup, and making some kind of unholy racket, so they’re probably safe. It reminds him of a game he made up once, to keep Bowman out of the house whenever their daddy got mean, only with a paper plate in place of the can and a lot more punching involved. He drops back to the bed. “Christ, Raylan.”

“They don’t think my lung’s punctured,” says Raylan, as though this news is worthy of some celebration; but then, Raylan’s always been weird about pain. Boyd doesn’t like to think about why.

Oh, this is a fun one, thanks for sending it! We know from canon that Raylan has a really warped sense of scale when it comes to violence and injury—not only is he constantly working a high-stress (and high-impact) job through gunshot wounds and beatings he took, but his first response when Boyd tells him that Ava got shot was to ask “how bad?” Boyd seems to have a slightly less warped sense of it, if his reaction to Raylan when he asks this question is any indication, although in the pilot he does ask Dewey where on his body his brother was shot, so he has his own sense of pragmatism about these matters. Anyway, this leads Raylan to shrug off any medical attention he deems unnecessary, and with his interpretation of what that means, it’s not unreasonable for Boyd to worry.

Boyd was very, very good at blowing things up but very, very bad at literally every other aspect of being a soldier. He doesn’t like being told what to do, and in this universe his service history (and therefore everything we know about it through Colt) is exactly as it was in canon, this being pre-Pemberley, which is the place where the timeline splits.

Of course, Raylan by this time has realized that what he said was something a normal person (not that Boyd fits this description in any way) might find concerning—or, more accurately, he understands that Boyd has reason to doubt his assurance that the x-rays are unnecessary—so he tries to give more context. However, he knows the context itself is also concerning, so he tries to soften the blow by not saying it directly and leading with the part that might make Boyd feel better: that he was wearing his vest. It doesn’t take away from the fact that he literally got shot, even if Raylan thinks it should.

This made-up game the girls have concocted is actually adapted from a game my uncle taught us all to play when I went camping with my family as a child. It’s similar to horseshoes, and the version I learned involves the paper plate rather than the can (though sans punching, at least the way I learned it). My uncle was adopted, and the game is one he played with the other children at his group home while he was still in the foster system and subsequently brought to the attention of my mother and her siblings. It allowed them to stay out of the adults’ hair, since it didn’t require anything they’d need help setting up, and so I thought it made sense that Boyd might invent something similar to keep his brother out of the house when their daddy was on the warpath, and then that his children might invent something along the same lines that reminded him of it years later.

And as for this last paragraph, I expanded on it in the very next paragraph:

He still remembers the morning Raylan walked in to school after a three-day absence with his arm broke, wrapped up in a cast he wouldn’t let any of his baseball friends sign. Between the bus and the payphone, Boyd had wasted eighteen quarters of his own money putting a call in to the DCF lady, who came in to talk to Raylan and then, at the end of it, let him walk away again, back into class—back into that house. Boyd doesn’t think he’s ever hated anyone more in his life.

So, Boyd doesn’t like to think about why Raylan has such warped ideas about pain—but then he immediately thinks about it anyway. I think Boyd generally has a hard time not following a thought to its inevitable conclusion: the opposite of Raylan, who could repress pretty much anything.

#ask game #justie2justie communication #my fic #heavy heart #justified #raylan/boyd #sorry for this kind of disjointed answer i sort of answered it in pieces in between doing other things #justie author commentary #norgbelulah #writing

[queer-adhd]

So anyway part of the rest of the reason why this anon is fuckin dumbass is that I just had to rehouse the rubber wheel of Rouke's manual wheelchair.

The dog managed to introduce so much torque that he deformed the rubber enough to flip the whole thing off.

In case you don't know, these are solid rubber tires. They aren't inflatable. Which is great, because we don't get punctures!

It is less great in that they are very strong, and not stretchy, and want very badly to stay the size they're happiest at. Which is smaller than the wheel they're on. So they stay on there, because they don't want to be stretched off!

Tragically this also means that I had to spend twenty straight minutes of physical exertion, use two levers and bruise the knuckles of both hands and nearly collapse from exhaustion just to get the tire to sit back on the wheel housing. They're usually put on by a specialised machine, not by a human.

And the thing is that I have to be able to have enough reserves in me that I can cope with situations like this, because they happen... Often.

For example: today I had to pick rouke up from where it was stranded, push the power chair home in neutral, get it up the ramp, nearly faint fixing the manual chair, and then walk the dog. I have just finished my work for the day, which started at 7:30 am, and it is almost midnight.

I need to be able to fix these things, because often there is literally no other option.

So no, I'm not going to spend every single piece of energy that I don't have budgeted elsewhere, just to make some clowns on the online think I'm doing enough to satisfy them, because there is always going to be a situation in which I have to dig deeper. Budgeting for that and leaving some margin for the unexpected is essential.

[casspurrjoybell-19]

FERAL - Chapter 6 - Part 1

*Warning: Adult Content*   

- Echo -   

My vision was blurry. 

And this time, I couldn't even attribute it to my less-than-adequate eyesight. 

This time, it was because I'd been staring at the same spot on my wall for what felt like forever, waiting impatiently for any news at all. 

Time had long become an abstract concept, with minutes passing like eternities. 

And ever since I'd been banished from the Pack House and sequestered within the confines of my parent's house so that, as Uncle Benji put it "the medical professionals can complete their work without the threat of Ecko interfering," an unsettling sense of restlessness settled into the very marrow of my bones. 

Whining, I shoved my face into the duvet, curling even further into myself as Sana scratched endlessly at the forefront of my mind, just as desperate as I to prove them all right in their ploy to keep me away. 

Realistically, I knew that it was for the best. 

Of course I did. 

But it didn't help the ache in my heart, the vicious cramp in my gut that told me he needed me just as much as I needed him. 

But instead, I was being taught a brutal lesson on patience, one that hurt so bad that the muffled scream that I let loose into the duvet nearly ripped my throat apart. 

"Damn, you've got some lungs on you, lil' bro," an unwelcome voice suddenly interjected, puncturing itself right through into my steadily encroaching depressive thoughts. 

"You ever considered trying screamo? I could put you in touch with some local bands that would be stoked to have you. You've got that adorable yet also completely insane vibe going on that they would totally dig." 

Even my cheeks flamed in embarrassment at being caught in the middle of what should have been a private emotional burst, I turned my head out of the blanket once, glaring at the sight of Nuri as he flounced his way into my room as if he owned the freaking place. 

Not skipping a beat, he sprawled out his long limbs on my carpet, nonchalantly spread-eagling across the cushy fabric. 

"What the hell... I could have sworn that I locked my door," I muttered blankly, rubbing at my burning eyes which I had no doubt matched the color of my bright hair now. 

It was a testament to my mental state that I didn't even comment on the fact that he'd so confidently called me his little brother. 

"Yeah, well. Nothing keeps me from getting what I want." 

The eternally monotone voice of my little sister suddenly joined the steadily growing posse as she slipped through the door behind my other brother. 

She used an unkinked paperclip like a toothpick as she smirked mischievously around it, leaning against the wall next to the door and crossing her legs at the ankle as she unabashedly showed me the tool she'd undoubtedly just used to pick the lock. 

Nuri grinned proudly, pointing up at our sister with his own, matching toothpick that seemed to materialize out of thin air. 

"Taught her everything she knows. What a fuckin' prodigy. Stay tuned, 'cause for our next lesson, I'm teaching her how to really fuck some shit up." 

Before I could even begin to form a reply to that highly alarming remark, Theon's large form busted through my door with a casually ridiculous phrase that he'd undoubtedly picked up from our slightly unhinged Uncle Tyrus. 

"Hey ho, Muchacho." 

I groaned aloud as the sight of his brightly grinning form, complete with his neck pillow firmly secured and arms filled with bags of chips and other ridiculously unhealthy snacks, finally sent me over the freaking edge. 

"Okay, what the flip, you guys?" I hollered as I sat up, smashing the closest available pillow to my pained chest as I fought against a new wave of tears that threatened to spill over. 

They weren't tears of gratitude but rather tears of sheer overstimulation. 

"I'm literally experiencing the lowest point of my entire fucking life and you guys pull this shit?" 

The tears weren't just threatening anymore but full-on attacking as they tumbled down my cheeks for what had to be the millionth time in the past twenty-four hours. 

And just like all of the rest, I was completely powerless to stop them. 

"Can't you tell I'm in pain?" 

With the conclusion of my outburst, a slightly awkward silence settled upon the room, the crinkle of the chip bags that still crinkled in Theon's giant arms doing nothing to cut through the tension. 

Gaia was the first to talk, pocketing her paperclip before pushing off the wall and making her way toward me. 

She settled down onto my bed next to me before she spoke, moving slowly as if I could snap at any moment. 

Which... admittedly may have been a reasonably fair assumption, given my current circumstances that left me teetering precariously on the edge of losing it completely.

 "We heard," Although still monotone as ever, Gaia's voice was surprisingly soft, taking on a gentle edge that was just as rare for her to use as it was for the sun to fall out of the sky. 

My chest tightened as I looked at her, unable to say anything as tears filled my throat again. 

At this rate, I was going to cry out all of the fluids in my body. 

But then Theon stepped forward, concern creasing his brow. 

"Yeah. And I was worried about you, squirt," he paused, taking the opportunity to take a seat on my other side, dropping his horde of snacks on the duvet beside him. "We all were." 

"Well, not me. I never worry," Nuri took the opportunity to interject in his typical, against-the-grain fashion, "But I might admit that hearing about what happened gave me a renewed sense of urgency to finally figure out how to complete my seance circle and finally summon a proper demon to help fuck up whoever hurt your guy." 

At that, the smallest hint of a somewhat pleasurable feeling began to intermingle with the dread and horror and pain that threatened to pull me under. 

And before I even knew it, the corner of my lips were twitching up into the ghost of a smile, a barely-there thing that probably rivaled the pitiful ones Papa barely managed to conjure up when he was really, really happy. 

But of course, being fellow siblings who shared the same fathers, they were all quick to notice even the smallest hint of change in my features. 

"There it is," Nuri grinned once more, kneeling at the side of my bed and resting his chin atop his heavily ringed fingers. 

I was grateful that he didn't reach over to touch or hug me like he usually would, seeing as to how I honestly wasn't sure if I could tolerate any physical contact outside of my mate, Dad or Papa right now. 

"That's all that we were trying to do. We know this must be really fucking hard for you right now. And... we just wanted to see if we could cheer you up a little, that's all."

 "Well, that and to bring you some comfort snacks. We thought you probably wouldn't have an appetite, but..." Theon added, trailing off as if he didn't exactly know how to finish his sentence. 

Either way, his thoughtfulness shone through. 

Yet another beat of silence, this time soft, passed before I sobered up good enough to shove a few words through my teeth. 

Still, they came out as a sob. 

“I... I don't even know his name," I looked down at my hands absently just for something to cling onto. "And what if," I gulped. "What if I never know it? What if he dies without even knowing that I exist? Without knowing that I cried for him? That I fought for him? That I already care about him so damn much?" I shivered through a brief pause. "I always imagined what it would be like to finally meet him. I'd dreamed of that magical moment more times than I could possibly count," my voice lowered, burdened with emotion. "But not like this. Never... never like this." 

I didn't have to look to feel the empathetic gazes of my siblings from where they all surrounded me. 

And when they did each place one of their hands inside of my own, my skin didn't crawl as much as I expected it to. 

So, closing my fingers, I held tight. 

They didn't say anything. 

They didn't need to. 

Their touch said it all. 

"I love you guys," I rasped, lifting my head back up to give each of them a long glance. "I really, really do." 

Their resounding 'we love you too's that echoed around the room were truly wonderful but with one final squeeze, I let them know what I really needed. 

"I'll be alright. I just... need time to process." I explained, giving them a tight-lipped look that I initially thought I could finesse into somewhat of a smile. 

But judging by the looks on their faces and the fact that it felt more like a grimace, that endeavor failed just as miserably as I felt inside. 

"Alright," Theon nodded, using his oldest sibling privileges to gesture to Gaia and Nuri that it was time to go. 

"We're right down the hall if you need anything though, alright? Seriously." 

"Yeah, anything you need." Nuri seconded, to which Gaia echoed with a monotone... 

"Ditto." 

With a few hasty shuffles and a few curses that definitely meant that they'd caused a pileup outside of the door, my siblings were gone and I was right back where I'd started, staring at a random point in my room as I tried my best to focus on staying alive.

In addition to my garden, my room had also always been a safe space for me, a sanctuary I'd meticulously crafted over the years. 

The hand-knitted macrame baskets that hung from my walls and ceiling were my favorite, filling my ceiling with a natural canopy of draping vines and indoor plants that never failed to make me feel at peace, especially when I didn't have a chance to get out to tend to my vegetables in the garden. 

And my bumblebee nightlight, one of the main things I'd refused to give up since childhood, still projected weakly onto the light olive-green wall across from me.

Yet, as I swallowed down yet another whimper of despair, I couldn't help but feel as if those same walls that once brought me solace were steadily closing in, constraining my mind and imprisoning my spirit. 

And as it happened, I found the rest of me as nothing but a hopeless observer, as if my physical form stood completely apart, unable to make a connection to the agony unraveling within.

 Eventually, I turned away from the door, unable to handle the prospect of what was to await me on the other side. 

And, curling into myself so tightly that my knees nearly touched my nose, I buried my face into the pillow that I still held and prayed. 

‘I will never ask for anything else ever again. Just... Please, Goddess, if you can hear me, let him live.’ 

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #029

“the monsters aren’t living under your bed, ‘cuz they are the voices in your head”

Would you ever consider being a foster parent? No; I don't want kids period, but I do know that if I was to be a parent, for ME PERSONALLY, that kid would have to come from me or the person I'm in love with to love them the way they deserve. What was the last thing someone asked you for advice on? Girt in regards to the job position he's considering applying for. He's got reasons for no longer being sure if it's the best idea to change job roles and wanted to know what I thought. Do you have any upcoming plans with friends? Girt is spending the night tonight. What was the last picture message you received, and from whom? Mom sent me a picture of this massive rainbow we had outside the other day. Have you ever swam in a saltwater pool? No. Does your personality generally fall in line with gender stereotypes? How about we stop perpetuating gender stereotypes, lol. How many houses are on the street you live on? A lot, idk. Have you ever negotiated a pay raise? No, I could never. Have you ever been a victim of identity theft? No. Do you know anyone who’s had their kids taken by Child Protective Services? I probably do. Do you keep an umbrella in your car? I'm actually quite sure Mom doesn't keep one in there. Of the many different American accents, which one is your favorite? Maybe New Yorker, ig. Do you know anyone who had a kid before they were financially stable? More than one person. Why did you move to where you’re living now? Our old house was a health hazard for my mom, who was going through chemo for near-fatal cancer. There was an ongoing (black) mold problem that the people who owned the fuckin' place wouldn't fix. It was kind of an emergency move that a family friend helped us with; the woman who lived here right before us wanted Mom to have this house after she died. What’s your opinion on wearing pajamas in public? Do you yourself do that? I do it and seriously couldn't give a rat's ass if others do, too. What was the topic of conversation the last time you spoke to a sibling? I don't even know, dude. We don't really talk a lot. Are you currently looking for a new job? No. Are any of your relatives musicians? No. Have you ever been in fear for your life? More than once. Has anyone lost their virginity to you? No. Have you ever merged finances with a significant other? No. Has your house ever been damaged in a storm? Yeah; we've had a tree fall on our roof during a hurricane, and the branches punctured it a bit so a wet spot formed. I slept through it lmfaooooo. What did your mother study at university? She got her bachelor's in social work WHILE fighting cancer. Get on my mom's fucking level. Have you ever been somewhere where you didn’t fluently speak the local language? No. What’s an interesting fact about the last person you hugged? Um I THINK the last person I hugged at Ashley's place was her, so uhhhh she's legally blind in one eye. She wasn't born that way, the vision just died out. What was the amount of the last check you wrote? I've literally never written a check. Have you ever had famous neighbors? No. The first famous person who comes from THIS city, I want to meet, lol. What’s the longest stretch of time you’ve spent completely alone? I know at the bare minimum, a week. Have you ever been in a situation where you needed a lawyer? Yes, to argue for disability. Do you know anyone who has been evicted? My mother and therefore me, yes. We didn't do anything bad, Mom just couldn't keep up with rent. How did you and your significant other celebrate your last anniversary? Our first one is coming up. I really don't know what we'll be doing. Honestly, I don't even know if Girt remembers our anniversary, haha. Do you like Iron Maiden? Yep. Have you ever been so terrified that you felt paralyzed? Yep. That's exactly what the movie theater was like, actually; when "the scene" came on, I felt like I NEEDED to get out as quick as fucking possible, but my body was just stone. I had to seriously force myself out of it. Do you think Mars will be colonized in your lifetime? Eh, idk. Who was Van Halen’s better singer - David Lee Roth, or Sammy Hagar? David is a pompous asshole, but I favor him as a singer. Have you ever been to either of your parents’ workplaces? Yes. Do you ever read the threads on r/AskReddit? Nah, Reddit is more Girt's thing. What is the greatest source of anxiety for you? Finances. What is your favorite work of art? Look up "Denialism" by NukeRooster/Tatchit. What was your first bill you started paying on your own? I've never paid a bill because I've never been financially independent. Have you ever had a stalker? Um, not that I know of. Do you watch ASMR videos? Nah. Have you ever received a misdiagnosis? Yup. Good LUCK convincing me I ever had ADHD. Which disease do you personally think is the most horrible? I think all diseases are awful and tragic, but the one that I personally find most heartbreaking is probably Alzheimer's/dementia. Like my god, just imagine forgetting YOU. What the hell was even the point of living if you finish it remembering so little to NONE of your story? The pain it costs your loved ones, just... everything. It tears me the fuck up. With just how awful my memory already is at 26, I seriously worry something like this will happen to me. What is your biological sex? Female. Are you in a heterosexual relationship? Well I'm in a female x male relationship, yes, but I'm personally not heterosexual. Quite sure Girt is, though. Have you ever snuck into a rated R movie? No. Would you ever take surfing classes? Hm... I don't think so, but I can't say with certainty. Especially if I had a friend, I know I'd totally go to a day of a free class or something. Did you watch Sesame Street when you were little? According to Mom I loved it, but I have no memories of watching it or being very into any characters, so I musta been real little. Would you ever get breast implants? No, but I'm very well aware I'll want a breast lift after I lose the weight I want gone. I'm telling you man, obesity fucks your body UP. Have your parents ever threatened to send you to boarding school? No. Have you ever been afraid that there were hidden cameras in your house? No... Has someone ever broken into your house? The Bloods gang tried to when my sister and her friend were home alone, but thank the fucking sky and every goddamn star they gave up. We know it was them because of the flag they left by the door. Have you ever had sex in the shower? No, and the idea has never really appealed to me. I want to get clean and get out, don't bother me, lmao. Who was your favourite babysitter when you were younger? My sisters and I knew him as "Uncle Donny," even though we weren't related at all. Him and his wife Janet would watch us. They were neighbors, and my older sister was friends with their I want to say granddaughter Jennifer, who lived with them. We all thought Uncle Donny was super funny and nice. Bless his heart, he was never the same after Janet died. Realistically he has very likely passed by now, and even though I don't really know what I believe comes after death, I really do hope their souls found each other again. Would you ever work at Hooters? No. One, I absolutely do NOT want to work in the food industry, and I would also be extremely on-edge about whether or not anyone was there with gross intentions. How old was the oldest person you’ve dated? In total honesty, I don't even remember how much older Juan was than me when we dated for, y'know, less than a day. I know it would be him, though, because he failed grades. Do you have any dietary restrictions? No. Have you ever dated someone who was very lazy? Nope. I can at least give it to myself that I pick hard workers. What’s a song that makes you cry? (come on, there has to be one): I'm going to exclude my usual answer because I can't even listen to it. A very strong option is "Eternally Yours" by Motionless In White; I can't get through it without tears, but I don't feel like I will actually die if I hear it. Are there any dance/action/fighting scenes from a movie you can perform? No. Have you ever dreamt about your crush/significant other? Yes. Is there anything you would change about your childhood if you could? Well yeah, I wish my dad hadn't drank. Do you want to live in the same town for the rest of your life? Fucking PLEASE no. What do you feel is the best source of venting sorrow or anger? Artistic expression. Easy. Do you carry any means of protection on you while out in public? No. I've wanted pepper spray for a while though. Why were you last hospitalized? I was suicidal. Have you ever changed a diaper? Yes, and I never plan to do it again. And the diaper wasn't even dirty, I... think. Maybe she'd peed, idr. Do you know anyone with obsessive-compulsive disorder? Yes, me. Have you ever been inside of a cave? No, but I SERIOUSLY hope I can go on a tour of one one day. Caves are SO fuckin fascinating to me. Would you ever pick up a hitchhiker? Absolutely not. Museum date or aquarium date? Why? Ohhh, I think I'd have to pick aquarium. I just love the ocean and its wildlife. A museum would be cool too, though. Who knows the most about you personally? Mom, I guess, if we're counting people still in my life. [TW WARNING: SELF-HARM] Have you ever self-harmed? Yes. It's been many years though and I don't plan on ever going back to it. With films in languages you do not speak, do you prefer a dub or a subtitle? IF they are done well/not excruciatingly awkwardly, I think I'm the only person I know who will pick a dub. Subtitles are extremely distracting to me. Is it true that if you can’t love yourself, you can’t love another? AbsoFUCKINGlutely not. Don't even try me with that shit. Were you a cute baby? I honestly think I was. My little sister was even cuter though, like holy shit she was a model baby. Do you think you’d make a good teacher? Why or why not? Hell fuckin no, I'd be fired day one. I don't like kids NEARLY enough to handle 20+ of 'em and I have a very hard time explaining some things. Have you ever had your significant other fall asleep on you? Oh my god yes, that's the best/cutest thing. Have you ever kissed someone while you were sick? Did they get sick? I don't *think* so, no. A sick person has kissed me, but his illness wasn't a contagious one. How many snacks do you eat throughout the course of a day? These days, normally none. I barely even eat two meals. Which of the three meals a day are you most likely to skip? Lunch. What’s something lots of people are afraid of, but you aren’t? Snakes are an easy answer. I could say spiders, too, but I'm more afraid of them than snakes, which I feel pretty much zero fear around. Do you know anyone who is tolerant of some on the LGBT spectrum but not all? Yep. When’s the last time you went to the beach? It's been many years. Would you rather go on a ghost hunt, or through a haunted house? Could we ghost hunt IN the haunted house? That sounds like an awesome date. Who are you most nervous about introducing potential significant others to? My dad, because he's, well, my dad. A difficult person. Do you have a “one who got away”? It used to 100% feel like that, but it hasn't been that way for years. If he didn't leave when he did, Jason would have absolutely left later down the road when things were just harder. Can you do more with a yo-yo than just “go up and down”? No. Did you get an allowance, growing up? Why or why not? No. I know we struggled financially, but we were okay with Dad still helping (I think), so I don't totally know. What is something that one of your family member collects? My niece Aubree has quite the Squishmallow empire, haha. Have you ever legitimately forgotten to do homework? Only once to my memory and I was SO embarrassed, especially because the teacher didn't make it totally pain-free in that I had to sit outside in the hall and do it and felt like a bad kid, lmfao. Do you enjoy autumn leaves or spring flowers more? Why? I have to admit, I like flowers more than even colorful leaves, BUT I hate the heat so would rather be seeing the leaves than spring flowers. Would you rather have a mermaid tail, a fairy’s wings or a unicorn’s horn? I would accept fairy wings so fuckin fast lmao. What are some things that you do to make the world a better place? I mean I *try* to be the best person I can be and attempt to be an example of how to treat animals and nature and other humans, all with kindness. I could do better. Have you ever done a workout DVD? OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOOODDDDD GUYS I forgot my sister had a Barbie one and we did that bitch together sometimes, sobbing emoji Who usually takes out the trash in your family? Usually Mom, sometimes me. When you go fishing, do you make someone else get the fish off the hook? When I used to go fishing, yes. I wasn't afraid of the fish at all, but instead of stabbing myself, especially with my tremors. Who was the last person you dreamt about? I actually don't remember. Did you get babysat a lot as a kid? I all honesty, I really don't remember, especially in comparison to other kids. I mean both my parents were employed, so I would think so, but. What is your least favorite holiday, and why? Columbus Day can go fuck itself for reasons I hope are obvious, lol. Which forest animal would you be most afraid to encounter? A grizzly bear. Has anyone close to you ever gone to war? No. Jason's dad was in the navy, but I wouldn't say we were ever "close." Have you ever rubbed anyone’s feet? Oh my god NO I fucking hate feet. Have you ever played Sudoku? Yeah, I used to like it. Do you ever take surveys for money? No. I did briefly TRY to, but I never, ever, EVER qualified for any because of how immensely I lack just life experience with various things. Where was your mom born? Somewhere in New York I won't share.

#lyrics: ''zombified'' by falling in reverse #survey #surveys #random surveys #random questions

[erodasfishtacos]

Gang!harry - “I’ve never wanted to kill anyone more” so like angry sex 😏

THIS IS A VIBE THO.

warnings: rough, knife play, blood, dark language

-

“I’ve literally never wanted to kill anyone more than I want to kill you right now,” Harry grits out between clenched teeth.

YN was sitting carefree in their dining room, ankles crossed and propped on the table, “Then who’ll fuck you?”

“Any girl down in the London, they’d be more obedient, less mouthy, less of a fuckin’ brat,” Harry spits out at his wife, kicking over one of their chairs in frustration.

She doesn’t even flinch.

“I was thinking Chinese today? Some lo mein?” YN hums, picking at her nail beds as her husband fantasizes about all the different ways he can hurt her (sexually with consent of course).

Her nonchalant attitude has him coming up behind her and wrapping his hand in her hair, knotting it around his tattooed knuckles.

“I could slit your throat right now,” Harry hisses, other hand coming to slip out the blade he keeps in his pocket.

He runs it over her plump lips and he rolls his eyes when she moans loudly at it.

Bloody fucking pest.

But also he can’t figure out how he found someone so fucking perfect for him that was into everything he was.

“You’re too pussy-whipped to do that,” She laughs meanly, licking at the sharp metal and sneering at him when he nicks her lip.

His thumb coming to gather the blood and suck it into his mouth, “Y’know what you taste like?”

YN doesn’t respond, tight lipped.

He continues, “Y’taste like a fuckin’ brat.”

His wife makes her moves, trying to knock the knife out of his hand but he’s stronger and bit quicker than his clumsy love.

It ends her up in a headlock, his arm around her neck but the pressure is light and not even enough to have her light-headed.

“Could choke y’out right now,” Harry hums casually, tightening his hold for a second before he relieves the pressure again.

YN snorts, rolling her eyes, “You act like you didn’t cry when I walk down the aisle at our wedding.”

Harry huffs, releasing his hold on neck but grabbing her harshly by the hips to pull her bum back against where he’s hard as a rock.

“Had somethin’ in my eye,” He lies, hisses when she grinds back into him, massaging him just right where he needs it.

He lets her turn around in his grip, chest to chest, her mischievous eyes sparkling up at him, and he has to stop the teasing for a moment.

Tattooed hands find her jaw, pulling her in for a kiss that has her melting into his arms, and a light suckle on her tongue.

“Tell me you love me,” She demands expectantly.

“Love y’more than anythin’ on this earth, m’love,” Harry replies easily.

Harry has never told anybody he’s loved them beside his wife.

Never once.

It came easy to him, rolled off the tongue with the perfect, clumsy, bratty girl he decided on marrying a few years back.

YN takes the opportunity, quickly grabbing the knife off the table where her husband had placed it and trailing down his neck.

She gasps when he presses into it, letting it puncture the skin superficially, “Tha’s it, c’mon.”

“Shut up,” YN hisses through her teeth as Harry encourages her, a light trickle of blood dripping to pool at his collar bones.

“Sweetheart, stop being difficult and let me eat y’cunt,” Harry murmurs, his hand reaches out to cup her heat.

It distracts her enough for him to twist her wrist and gain the knife back.

He’s pushing her until her back hits the large dining room table. He’s roughly pushing up the skirt of her dress and using that knife to slice easily through the thin elastic of her thong.

Right before he fastens his mouth to her perfect center, he looks up at her cockily and says, “I always win, brat. Won you, won the fight, won this fucking cunt.”

#gang!harry blurbs #gang!harry #gangrry

[bakubub]

In which racer!kuroo is your roommate, and seems to only like it when you treat his wounds... (word count: 1.9k)

Ngl quite proud of this one!!

Warnings: 18+, a whole lot of swearing, a whole lot of blood, innuendos and implied nsfw, reader almost vomits (NOT from pregnancy chill, I know we're all scarred but its going to be just fine) and if you're squeamish perhaps skip the scene where reader stitches his wound?

Also bit of a disclaimer: I am in NO WAY a med student and literally all of my knowledge is from movies and other fics... so if you acc know what to do in this situation this may be a torturous for you :D

All due credits go to @aikk00​ for this AMAZING fanart!!!!

I watch as my roommate enters the penthouse, once again scratched up and bleeding, covered in so much blood there is no possible way that it was all his- if it was he would not be standing.

I launch myself off the couch- where I was sitting for the past hour nervously waiting for his return- and slip my arm under his, supporting him as we inched towards the bathroom.

"I can do this by myself you know," he grumbles, his grimace revealing just how much pain he was actually in.

"Mhm, I'm sure you can. Just like you boiled that poor egg by yourself last week, hmm?" I say sarcastically, trying to keep my mind calm and clear, because oh my god it looks really bad this time...

"Oi, its not my fault it fuckin' exploded," he mutters, voice laden with pain.

"You put it in the microwave because 'the shitty water wasn't doing its job.' Of course it would explode," I say, gently seating him on the closed toilet seat and taking out my supplies that I unfortunately have become rather accustomed to using. He's made it a habit to get himself injured.

"Where's the injury?" I ask, setting down my half-empty bottle of antiseptic and box of bandages. He peels off his shirt, cringing at the pain it brought him as the fabric was stuck to the gash that went from his left pectoral down to the middle of his chest.

"Pissed off a bidder after winning a race, fucker took out a knife once he realised he couldn't beat me up," he huffs out, arrogance still lacing his tone even with sweat dripping down his brow as he leans the back of his head onto the tile wall behind him. His Adam's apple bobs down his bloodstained neck as he speaks, and I quickly look away, focusing on the injury at hand.

Not his blood soaked, but nevertheless well defined pectoral muscles, nor the abs that my hands occasionally brush up against and know how hard they really are, and definitely not the trail of black hairs that lead down, down, down...

"What's wrong, the view too hot to focus on the work at hand?" He asks suggestively, raising his pierced brow, even in this state.

I'm quick to reply, having gotten used to his flirtatious remarks from the second I moved into his penthouse, "nope can't even see the view from that massive head of yours. Not to mention your permanent bed head."

He huffs out a laugh, then proceeds to flinch from the pain it must have caused.

"Stop moving, idiot. You're going to exacerbate the cut!" I say, quickly grabbing a damp towel and beginning to clean up his abdomen, whilst simultaneously pressing another rag to his wound to stop the bleeding.

“At least you admit that there is a hot view,” he says in his low voice, gazing at me from his position.

I simply roll my eyes.

No falling in love. That was the deal we had made on the day he offered me a place to stay in exchange for my services as a maid and apparently, a nurse. I cook, clean and basically keep the house running while this moron goes out and acts like the idiot he is. In my defense, dorms are expensive as hell, and his penthouse is nearby. Plus, I don't have to pay rent. It's a win-win situation.

But the feelings stirring up inside my heart might just ruin the dynamic we have going on and simultaneously take out a whole lot of cash out of my pocket.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself.

Once his skin isn't completely saturated in blood, and the wound has (thankfully) stopped bleeding, I add some antiseptic onto a make-up pad and begin to dab at his wound, earning winces and slight grunts from the massive man.

"The cut looks deep, Kuroo. You need to go to the hospital," I say, worry lacing my tone as my eyebrows crease and earn yet another huffing laugh.

"Do you want me to rot in prison for the rest of my life?"

I roll my eyes at his response, deliberately dabbing just a little harder which earns me a yelp and an attempted glare in my direction.

"First off, illegal street racing won't send you to prison for your entire life, just for like, half a year. Second, this wound needs stitches, and believe it or not, I'm not a fucking licensed medic. In fact, the only experience I have is with you!" I say, immediately regretting my choice of words as I wait for his remark.

"That's what she said," He says, chuckling at his own innuendo.

I sigh in frustration, pouring more antiseptic to make sure there was no chance of infection from whatever grimy ass knife stabbed him, and beginning to gently scrub the wound with a soft towel, so as to make sure there was no debris left in there.

"You're gonna have ta do it," he mutters, his hazel eyes boring into mine.

"I- I can't Kuroo, you can't possibly think-"

"Fine. I'll do it. Go get me a needle and thread," he states, struggling but nevertheless, sitting upright on the red stained toilet.

I stare at Kuroo in disbelief as he utters these words. Was he dumber than I thought? Does he have some sort of head injury too?

I examine his face and all I come up with is unnerving determination. I exhale out of my nose sharply, "fine, dammit. I'll sew your fucking wound shut."

I am extremely handy with a sewing needle and thread, used to really be into embroidery back when I had the time so...it should be fine.

He just shrugs, leaning his head back against the tiles and closing his eyes.

"Fucking asshole. Can't believe I'm saving your damn life," I mutter, leaving the bathroom to dig through my wardrobe for my sewing box and taking out a gold silk thread that I was saving for a special project.

Well, I guess that will never happen.

"Hey, I found some silk thread. It's literally known for its strength and durability in high temperatures, so it should work like a charm!" I say, walking back into the blood stained bathroom and trying to psych myself up.

He grunts in response. I sigh as I begin with mopping up the excess blood and sanitising the needle and thread before chucking on gloves.

I wipe the antiseptic over the wound once more, and examine it carefully.

Well, if his condition worsens, I can always knock him out and call an ambulance...

I decide, screw it, and thread the needle, pretending it was just another embroidery project.

It's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I chant as I puncture his skin with the thin needle.

Kuroo gasps in pain, and I place a hand on his knee, telling him to suck it up and deal with it, half talking to him but also to myself.

To my surprise, he listens, stretching his head back once more and gritting his teeth.

"Don't do that, here put this in-between your teeth," I say, grabbing yet another towel and shoving it into his mouth.

He obeys as I continue to stitch. I feel my gag reflex kicking in as I think about how stitching skin feels as though I am stitching leather, it feels hard and tough while pushing the thin needle through.

Must hurt like a bitch.

Once I've completed my neat stitches down the wound, without vomiting, I tie it off as I would with any embroidery, and clean the area free of any remaining blood. After rubbing some antibacterial ointment over the gold stitches, I stick on a particularly large bandage over the wound and start tidying up.

"Thank you," Kuroo mutters, still seated on the toilet seat and practically panting for breath.

"Ah, the criminal knows his damn manners!! Now get up and get in the damn shower. You ruined my pristine bathroom!" I complain, putting the last of the materials away before walking to the door.

"Wait, I- I can't get up." I turn around and look at him incredulously as he utters his next few words, "will you... shower me?"

My eyes just about pop out of their sockets at his request. "Are you insane?! I'm not your mother, nor your wife! Call your pudding haired friend and tell him to come shower you!"

He shakes his head, a rare pleading look taking the place of his usual arrogant smirk, "Kenma's too lazy to shower himself, Y/n, please!"

I contemplated it for a moment. Sure, I've seen him naked before, accidentally of course, and so what if I have to scrub him clean. God knows he can't do it himself with that damn injury.

Fuck this shit.

"Fine, get up right now." I bark at him, leaving to change out of my blood soaked pjs into a pair of shorts and a tank.

"...I just said I can't."

---

"Ow, y/n, you're scrubbing too hard!" He complains, his exfoliating glove around my hand as I rub his toned back clean of any dead skin-cells and blood remains.

"But look how much stuff is coming off!" I say gleefully, enjoying this a little too much.

Kuroo, seated on the built-in bench in the open shower with his red boxers on, looks back to see the satisfaction dripping from my features.

"Are you secretly a sadist?" he whispers. In response, I begin to rinse off his raw back with hot water, causing him to screech like a cat.

"It burns, it burns-”

“Shut the fuck up, moron! It's 4 in the morning, you’re going to annoy our neighbours. I tried very hard to get in their good graces, and Mrs. Suzuki still doesn’t like me! She definitely thinks I’m some kind of hooker…” Kuroo laughs at this, and I can’t help but watch as his whole face brightens up from his usual emotionless expression. I find myself smiling in response.

I grab his expensive shampoo and pour some into my hands, beginning to massage it into his scalp. With wet hair, his raven strands are for once flat on his head and reach down to his defined jawline. Kuroo groans under my touch, leaning into my fingers. I snatch my hands back and pour hot water over his head.

"ARGH! Y/N!" He screams, hastily getting up and wetting me in the process.

"Ah- what are you-" I don't get to finish my question as he grabs my arm and yanks me next to him under the hot water, soaking my clothes and my hair.

"You asshole!" I screech as I reach up to pull his hair in defiance, but he only grabs my arm and hooks it around his neck, leaning down to look directly into my eyes.

Our noses brushing against one another, he mutters, "You look pretty with your hair wet and your shirt see through."

It takes me a moment to get past the compliment and to hear the perverted comment that he just uttered.

He sees my look of confusion and laughs, bends over, clutches his stomach and laughs, before bellowing in pain because of his injury.

Smiling smugly down at him as he grimaces, I force him to sit back down and continue massaging the shampoo into his hair, warning him that if he so much as moaned I would leave him in here, dripping wet and in pain.

"That's what he said," is his reply.

I smack his head in response.

Notes, interactions and reblogs are highly appreciated <3

#kuroo x reader #haikyuu drabbles #racer!kuroo #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #haikyu fics #haikyuu!! #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x gender neutral reader #kuroo x gn!reader #kuroo x you

[armory-rasa]

Idle question. I'm getting lured into Witcher fandom, and my partner turned to me this morning and asked "would getting covered in digestive juices from weird monsters damage Geralt's leather armor, or would it just be at risk of getting torn up in battle? Would he have to hunt down someone who knows what they're doing to repair it at intervals, and how frequently might he need to do that?" You seemed like the person to ask!

✨ OH BOY it's my time to shine. ✨

Wherein a professional leather armor-maker weighs in on Geralt's costume.

First off, leather by itself is not particularly effective as armor. It helps soften the impact from blunt weapons or blows (ie, getting slapped with a tail) and is good protection against scrapes and abrasion (hence its popularity as motorcycle armor), but at the end of the day, it's just skin, and a combination of sharp edges + pressure (a heavy sword blow; sharp teeth and powerful jaws) will pierce/slice through it.  

Which doesn't mean it's no use—if he were fighting something the size of a tiger, its teeth would be able to pierce his armor, but the leather would prevent them from going deep enough to cause real damage. At which point, the crushing pressure from its jaws would probably be more dangerous than the punctures from its teeth. (To a regular human, anyway; I'll accept that witchers can't be crushed so easily.)

And indeed, when we first see Geralt in his shitty armor in episode 1, it bears the evidence of having been mended countlessly many times:

Which Geralt 100% did himself. Making leather armor is a profession; upkeep on it is as basic a skill as knowing how to take care of his horse. This involves:

Repairing gashes. He needs a blunt needle and an awl—sewing leather is not like sewing fabric, because it's so tough that you have to pre-punch your holes with something else (the awl) before you can push the needle through it. He'd use either waxed cotton/linen thread or animal sinew, which is stiff when its dry and would need to be soaked in warm water beforehand to make it soft enough for him to sew with. Leather thongs are used as ties for armor, but are too thick for sewing with.

Conditioning the leather. Leather gradually dries out over time (and much faster when it’s getting hard outdoor use), and will start to get brittle and weak unless it's properly conditioned. There are a ton of products for this, some old and some new; in Ye Olde Fantasylandia, I'd venture to say that Geralt's best option would be a mixture of neatsfoot oil and beeswax. Many oils would work, but neatsfoot (literally, made from cow feet) is ideal because it has a much much lower freezing point than other oils and it doesn't go rancid like food oils. Beeswax by itself would make the armor too stiff (and way too sticky), but a small amount rubbed into the surface would help it to be very water-resistant. He'd be doing that pretty often, so picture it as a round-the-evening-fire activity, Geralt with a rag and his jar of oily wax, patiently rubbing it into his armor. (I regret to say that his armor conditioner cannot be used for lube, because beeswax is fuckin' sticky, y'all.)

Replacing straps. The straps used to buckle your armor in place are usually the first point to wear out, since they're made of thinner leather and also getting more stress put on them than anything else. Geralt would have to buy the blank leather strips from a tanner or an armorer, but he'd know how to fashion them into straps himself, to replace ones that break in the field. Honestly, the only time he'd need to go to a professional would be if a chunk of his armor got torn off and eaten, or if a piece was damaged beyond repair and needed replacing.

*

If he got hit with a spray of monster digestive acid, I expect the leather would do a good job stopping that in its tracks. Leather is pretty non-reactive to solvents, so it would probably dull the surface but not actually eat through it. Geralt would just have to wipe it clean after the battle and buff the surface with more oily wax to make it look decent again.

Leather (indeed, all animal fibers, including silk and wool) is extremely flame-retardant, which probably also stands him in good stead.  

Water isn't great for leather though. If he gets soaked through in the rain, or submerged in a lake, it is going to be deeply unpleasant to pry it off him, and then he's going to need to drape it or lay it out so that it dries in the proper shape. And then once it's dry, it's going to be unwearably stiff until he applies a comprehensive layer of oily wax to soften it up again.

(The season 2 armor is a different beast -- it’s not meant to be soft, it’s got a hardened breastplate and backplate that are buckled together on the sides to form a sort of carapace.)

And sweat = water. Basically, whenever he takes it off, he’s going to want to set it up so that it can air out before he puts it on again. Leather is an organic material and it will grow mold if it stays damp for too long.

*

Which brings me to my next point, which is that there are many different ways to tan leather, and they result in entirely different materials, with different uses and different care requirements—and frankly, Geralt's costume is a bit anachronistic.

I've talked about this in detail elsewhere, but in brief: vegetable-tanned (veg-tan) leather is the thick, rigid stuff used for full-on armor—his pauldrons and bracers, legguards if he's wearing them, etc. If anything he's wearing is waxed or boiled, it would be those pieces, because both processes leave the leather hard and inflexible.

Leather garments are a trickier proposition, because keeping leather soft and pliable through the tanning process takes more effort. It would have been infused with oils, and worked by hand to keep it from stiffening up.

In the old days, garment leather was largely buckskin, made by a process that involved smoking it, and the result was a matte, tan-colored leather that was indeed very thin and stretchy, excellent for pants that showed off one’s well-turned calf. (You can see this in 18th century men’s portraits, my favorite being the one of Alexander Dumas’s dad. Like, damn, dude, do you have to ROLL those up your legs??)

These days, garment leather is chrome-tanned (ie, using chromium salts, turned in massive drums with rocks), leaving it with a shiny finish -- and that's what Geralt's costume is, but that process was not invented until the industrial revolution. Just putting that out there.

*

I’ve read some fics that have Geralt tanning whatever deerhides/monster hides he picks up in his travels and selling them for extra income -- sorry, but he can’t, he doesn’t have the wherewithal for that. He might be able to salt the hides to keep them from rotting for a few days, and sell them to a tannery if he gets to one quick enough, but tanning requires way more time and equipment than he can spare on the road.

*

Interestingly, it is not anachronistic to have Geralt in head-to-toe black. I've seen people discussing that, laughing that he's either wearing super-expensive black armor For The Aesthetic™, or that monster guts make a black dye so he's basically a walking advertisement for his profession, but neither are necessary. Iron dissolved in vinegar makes vinegaroon, which has been used as a leather dye for centuries; it's not a true black the way modern dyes are, it's a very dark grey, but it will appear black after it's been conditioned with that oil and wax. That also means that when Geralt's armor is new, he smells like vinegar. 👍

*

Going back to my first point, which is that leather by itself is not very effective armor—but you know what leather does go well with? A coat of plates:

(The Anders brigandine -- for them who’s interested, I’ve written a full tutorial on that.)

It's a way to combine flexibility with protection—a bunch of small plates made out of metal or rigid heavy leather, riveted to a garment of canvas or thinner leather. These days you'll often see it with the plates on the outside (for the Aesthetic™), but historically, they were usually made with the plates facing inward—because the coat-of-plates was worn over chainmail, so the plates were insulated from both the wearer's skin and from tearing up whatever surcoat they were wearing over it. An inward-facing coat of plates looks like this...

(Not my work -- from armstreet.com)

Which looks awfully similar to Geralt after he gets some coins tossed to him and upgrades his armor--

...Granted, I don't believe that the costume designer had coat-of-plates in mind when they made Geralt's armor—because he's not wearing chainmail underneath it, because it doesn't move like coat-of-plates does. I think they just liked the look of eleventy million rivets,  but that's what it should be, goddamn it. A layer of steel plates would provide infinitely better protection than just leather.

(Though I also like to headcanon that the rivets are silver-plated, so that when monsters try to grab him it's like grabbing a hot potato. 🤣)

(And I’m low-key amused that the pattern of his shitty armor vs. his shiny armor is identical -- which says to me that he’s figured out how he likes his armor, and he doesn’t like change. That he dropped his old, falling-apart armor in front of some leatherworker and went, “Same as this, but better.” Which, fair -- I am also Stubbornly Set In My Ways.)

*

Anyway, I hope that was informative! Feel free to hit me up with more leather-related questions, I enjoy being able to put my skillz to fandom use. 😀

ETA - And since this is suddenly blowing up, here, have the pics of gremble wearing Geralt's S2 armor.

#leatherworking #instructional #I guess? #the witcher

[t4twolfstar]

Pearl Jam songs as the marauders' story

listen here

explanations under read more

Red Mosquito - Remus is bit by Greyback

two steps ahead of him, punctures in your neck…/ Hoverin' just above your bed... (2x)/ I was bitten...must have been the devil…/ He was just paying me…/ A little visit, reminding me of his presence…

Jeremy - most of the song, Sirius

Okay so we’re going to look at the verses not the refrain for this one bc (TW su*) this song is based on an actual boy who diy died in front of his class so like no we’re not relating to that part but the “Clearly I remember/ Pickin’ on the boy/ Seemed a harmless little fuck/ But we unleashed the lion….Daddy didn't give affection, no/And the boy was something that mommy wouldn't wear”

Daughter - Sirius at home

Trans sirius in an abusive household………. “Mother reads aloud, child tries to understand it/Tries to make her proud/ The shades go down, it's in her head/ Painted room, can't deny that something's wrong/ Don’t call me daughter, not fit to”

Leash - Sirius and Remus’ toxic codependent love and then yelling at the establishment/people who say they’re too young going too deep too hard too fast

“Troubled souls unite/ We got ourselves tonight, oh/ I am fuel you are friends we got the means to make amends/ I am lost I'm no guide but I'm by your side/ I am right by your side….We will find a way we will find our place/ Drop the leash drop the leash/Get outta' my fuckin' face”

Why Go? - Sirius becoming disenchanted w his family

Trans Sirius too of course. She seems to be stronger/ But what they want/ Her to be is weak/ She could play pretend/ She could join the game, boy/ She could be another clone….don’t come visit/mother/ why go home?

Blood - Sirius’ family trying to make him into something he’s not

Spin me round/ Roll me over/ Fucking circus/ Stab it down/ One way needle/ Pulled so slowly/ Drains and spills/ Soaks the pages/ Fills their sponges/ It’s my blood/ It’s my blood

WMA - basically about all the big pureblood families that can get away w anything

“He won the lottery when he was born/ Took his mothers white breast to his tongue/ Do no wrong so clean cut/ Dirty his hands, it comes right off” (tw for song: police, implied police violence)

Do the Evolution - Sirius ranting abt/mocking his family

Admire me, admire my home/ Admire my son, he's my clone…./ I'll do what I want but irresponsibly/ It’s evolution, baby/ I’m a thief, I'm a liar/ There’s my church, I sing in the choir:/ (Hallelujah, hallelujah)

Bushleaguer - abt the aristocracy etc

This song is literally about George bush lmao but I love it abt the upper class

“Born on third, thinks he got a triple…./The aristocrat choir sings, "what's the ruckus?”/ The haves have not a clue/ The immenseness of suffering”

Mind your manners - You guessed it - Sirius rejecting his family

I've got an unfortunate feelin’/ I've been beaten down/I feel I don't believe/ And now the truth is coming out/ What they've taken is more than a vow/ They’ve taken your innocence/ And then they throw them on a burning fire/ All along they're sayin’/ Mind your manners

My father’s son - SIRIUS

I am my father's son,/ Yeah, too bad he was a psychopath and now I'm the next in line, , dear mother, yes, surely she's a work of art,…/Can I get a reprieve?/ This gene pool dark and deep…./Now father you're dead and gone and I'm finally free to be me,/ Thanks for all your dark gifts for which I've got no sympathy,/ I’m living in a walled-up place in the bounds of 5th symphony

Yellow Ledbetter - Sirius

Okay so 97% of the the lyrics are indecipherable when Eddie sings them but you can hear I don’t wanna stay

Go - Regulus to Sirius as he’s trying to leave

(Abuse tw) So sorry about this one yall …… .but yes I think this is regulus finally realizing that he shouldn’t have let things get so bad at home (Sirius blames him for not stepping in even tho he’s a child there’s nuance here etc) and he’s begging Sirius not to leave him here “Oh please don't go out on me don't go out on me now/ Never acted up before don't go on me now/ I swear I never took it for granted just thought of it now/ Suppose I abused you just passing it on….I pulled the covers over him shoulda' pulled the alarm/ Turned to my nemesis…Please don't go on me/ Don’t go on me/ Don’t go on me/ Don’t go on me/ please”

Rearviewmirror - Sirius running away

(Tw abuse) Time to emancipate/ I guess it was the beatings made me wise….Forced to endure/ What I could not forgive/ I seem to look away/ Wounds in the mirror waved/ It wasn't my surface most defiled

Can’t Keep - Sirius running away from home

I want to shake/ I want to wind out/ I want to leave/ This mind and shout/ I’ve lived/ All this life/ Like an ocean/ In disguise/ I don't live for ever/ You can't keep/ Me here

Hail, Hail - Remus and Sirius’ codependent strong love

A how I love you till the day I die...ah and beyond…/ are we going to the same place? If so, can I come?/ It’s egg rollin' thick and heavy...all the past we carry…

Release - Remus thinking about his dad

Remus’ dad is so full of guilt for his hand in remus’ transformations that he extracted himself from remus’ life. Remus laments here, “Oh, dear dad/ Can you see me now?/ I am myself/ Like you somehow” “I'll hold the pain/Release me” he’d would rather have a dad, guilt and all, here, than the self appointed absence but since you left me with the absence and grief and loss of it, at least release me from it, loosen your grip so I can move on.

Present Tense - Sirius and Remus talking probably laying in the forbidden forest assuaging one another’s beliefs of the gnarled beasts they think they are

BUGS - prob remus when he turns before the boys know

Bugs on my ceiling/ Crowded the floor/ Standing sitting kneeling…/ A few block the door/ And now the question’s:/ Do I kill them?/ Become their friend?/ Do I eat them?/ Do I join them?/ I’ll just stop now/ I’ll become naked/ And with the...I'll become one

Who you are - probably James at remus when he thinks he’s a big monster

Who are we?/ Who we are./ What’s your part? Who you are / You are who you are.

Save you - GOD THIS SONGG okay this is probably James @ Sirius when home life is bad and also Sirius @ Remus and also Remus @ Sirius it’s all of them @ all of them

Gonna save you fucker, not gonna lose you/ Feeling cocky and strong, can't let you go,/ Too important to me/ Too important to us, we'd be lost without you/ Baby, let yourself fall, I'm right below you now/ And fuck me if I say something you don't want to hear/ And fuck if you only hear what you want to hear/ Fuck me if I care, but I'm not leaving here/ You helped me when I was down, I'll help when you're down/ Why are you hitting yourself, c'mon hit me instead

Life Wasted - Sirius @ Reg re: leaving

I escaped it, a life wasted./ I’m never going back again…./ You're always saying you're too weak to be Strong./ You’re harder on yourself than just about Anyone/ Why swim the channel just to get this far?/ Halfway there, why would you turn around?

Severed Hand - Reg joins the death eaters

Big man stands behind an open door/ Said, leave your lady on the cement floor./ Got some kicks, want to take a ride?/ I said, yeah!/ Oh please understand I just need, my friend,/ A way a way a way home

Brain of J. - Reg and Sirius arguing after he joins the death eaters

The whole world will be different soon/ The whole world will be relieving/ You, you've been taught/ We’d been the same, now they got you in line/ Stand behind the stripes/ There will be order, so give it a good mind…./And by name/ The name they gave me/ The name I'm letting go

Deep - Regulus knows he’s in too deep

This is Regulus knowing he’s in too deep, Voldemort and the death eaters are such bad fucking people and he’s in too deep now (massive tw for this song for drugs and se*ual violence)

“Ponders his Maker, ponders his will/ in too deep/ can’t touch the bottom”

Pilate - Remus abt Sirius ;0)

Like Pilate I have a dog/ (Obeys listens kisses loves)/ Walks me out of town/ Still one's a crowd/ Making angels in the dirt/ Looking up looking all around

You Are - in love 🥰

Love is a tower/ Of strength to me/ I am the shoreline/ But you're the sea

Red Bar - the war begins

War, I’m crazy/ War I’m crazy I’m war the song is also a lil goofy so it’s maybe just like going crazy being so in it that it’s funny now

Porch - WARTIME EVERYONE @ THEIR LOVERS

It’s the war and everyone knows today could be their last day and tensions are running high in relationships and they love each other so much and need each other but snap at one another nonetheless

What the fuck is this world running to?/ You didn't leave a message/ At least I could have learned your voice one last time/ Daily minefield, this could be my time by you/ Would you hit me? Would you hit me?/ Hear my name, take a good look/ This could be the day/ Hold my hand, walk beside me

Thin Air - babes in love

There's a light, when my baby's in my arms,/ There’s a light, when the window shades are drawn…/ And I know she's reached my heart, in thin air.

All or None - More war time songs soz

Here's the selfless confession/ Leading me back to war/ Can we help that our destinations/ Are the ones we've been before?/ I still try to run on/ But it's all or none

Parting Ways - Lily @ James during the war

She knows their future's burning/ But she can smile just the same, same/ And though her mood is fine today/ There’s a fear they'll soon be parting ways

Love Boat Caption - Sirius/Remus, Lily/James, etc etc. during the war

Love boat captain/ Take the reigns and steer us towards the clear, here/ It’s already been sung, but it can't be said enough/ All you need is loveIt's an art to live with pain/ Mix the light into grey/ Lost nine friends we'll never know/ Two years ago today/ And if our lives became too long/ Would it add to our regret?…./Hold me and make it the truthThat when all is lost, there will be you

Evacuation - going into hiding

Lukin- Lily and James have to go into hiding

(Tw st*lking mention in explanation, gun mention in song) The song was written by Eddie when he was being stalked and he had to bring himself and his wife to a friend’s house for safety.

In Hiding - Lily and James are in hiding and enter Peter

No way in or out/ I turned and walked the hallways/ And pulled the curtains down…./I swallow the truth to keep from lying/ i'm no longer overwhelmed and it seems so simple now/ Yeah, it's funny how things change so much/ It’s all state of mind

Once - Peter Pettigrew betraying the marauders

Literally about someone committing a mass murder. “Once upon a time I could control myself.” “Mimic whats insane.”

Around the Bend - I'm so sorry ummm but Lily to Harry on Halloween 💀

I am wishing you a well…./ I hold your head deep in my arms/ My fingertips, they close your eyes/ Off you dream, my little child/ There’s a sun around the bend/ Please forgive me, won't you, dear?/ Please forgive and let me share with you, around the bend/ You’re an angel when you sleep/ How I want your soul to keep, on and on around the bend

Garden - Sirius being taken to Azkaban

He’s just taking his fate as it comes to him.

The direction of the eye/ So misleading/ The defection of the soul/ Nauseously quick/I will walk, with my hands bound/ I will walk, with my face blood/ I will walk, with my shadow flag/ Into your garden/ Garden of stone

Even flow - IS SO VERY MUCH SIRIUS IN AZKABAN

sung from the pov of an incarcerated person waiting for life to begin again

BUGS - Sirius in Azkaban (yes I already said this abt remus but idc)

Bugs on my ceiling/ Crowded the floor/ Standing sitting kneeling…/ A few block the door/ And now the question’s:/ Do I kill them?/ Become their friend?/ Do I eat them?/ Do I join them?/ I’ll just stop now/ I’ll become naked/ And with the...I'll become one

Black - Remus lamenting about Sirius’ perceived deception

Remembering their love and how now so many of his memories are tainted (by) black and that all of this has changed him fundamentally (star imagery, “black”, “tattooed everything”)

Indifference - Sirius in grimmauld place, sirius in Azkaban

Sirius taking his home life in stride until he can leave, taking Azkaban in stride bc it doesn’t matter any way bc he believes he deserve it anyway

“Pretend I'm free to roam/ I will make my way/ Through one more day in hell/ How much difference does it make?/ How much difference does it make?/ I will hold the candle/ Till it burns up my arm/ Oh, I'll keep takin' punches/ Until their will grows tired/ Oh, I will stare the sun down/ Until my eyes go blind/ Hey, I won't change direction/ And I won't change my mind/ How much difference does it make?/ How much difference does it make?/ I’ll swallow poison, until I grow immune/ I will scream my lungs out till it fills this room”

Alive - Remus post ’81

Eddie originally wrote the song as a lament - why did I live when he didn’t? Why am I still alive?

“Is something wrong she said, of course there is, you’re still alive she said, but do I deserve to be?”

Animal - Remus after ’81 when he needs to transform alone

Feat. A throwback to being turned (so tw: abd*ction) “Torture from you to me, yeah/Abducted from the street/I'd rather be with an animal”

Nothingman - Sirius and Remus after ’81

Once divided nothing left to subtract/ Some words when spoken can't be taken back/ Walks on his own with thoughts he can't help thinking/ Future’s above but in the past he's slow and sinking…./ She once believed in every story he had to tell/ One day she stiffened took the other side/ Empty stares from each corner of a shared prison cell/ One just escapes one's left inside the well

Smile - Remus @ the marauders (except it’s after ’81 and he just thinks of them fondly)

Don't it make you smile?/ I miss you already/ I miss you always/ I miss you already/ I miss you all day/ This is how I feel/ Three crooked hearts swirls all around/ Don’t it make you smile?

In my tree - remus abt sirius after ’81

I remember him, yeah…/ I swore I knew everything, oh yeah…/ They say knowledge is a dream, yeah…/ He's growing up just like me, yeah…

Light Years - Remus abt Sirius

But now you're gone, I haven't figured out why/ I’ve come up with riddles and jokes about war/ I’ve figured out numbers and what they're for/ I’ve understood feelings and I've understood words/ But how could you be taken away?/ Back pages and days alone that could have been spent/ Together, but we were miles apart Every inch between us becomes light years now

I’m open - Remus!!!! Post ’81

After spending half his life searching he still felt as blank/ As the ceiling at which he stared/ He is alive but feels absolutely nothing/ So is he?/ When he was six he believed that the moon overhead followed him/…..So this is what it's like to be an adult/ If he only knew now what he knew then

Thumbing my Way - Remus post ’81 again blah blah ikik

I can't be free with what's locked inside of me/ If there was a key you took it in your hand/ There’s no wrong or right but I'm sure there's good and bad/ The questions linger overhead

Rats - we know how remus like to soliloquize …. This is him waxing poetic about how fucking horrible Peter is

The song itself is kind of listing the many ills of humankind saying how rats don’t compare to people bc they don’t do all this. But Peter isnt really a rat. He’s a man and oppresses like a man and betrays like a man and takes like a man.

“Drink the blood of their so-called best friend….They don't scurry when something bigger comes their way….Don't take what's not theirs“

Oceans - Sirius escaping Azkaban

Hold on to the thread/ The currents will shift, glide me towards/ You know something's left/ And we're all allowed to dream of the next…..The sea will rise/ Please stand by the shore/ I will be there once more

Elderly Woman Behind The Counter In A Small Town - Sirius after Azkaban

200004309248% sirius returning from 12 years isolated. He doesn’t really recognize most things. Remus wouldn’t recognize him. He’s different. Changed by being unchanged. He couldn’t grow and learn and morph and become. He stagnated yet decayed. But he’s back and he recognizes your skin and your breath. He’s back.

Off He Goes - Sirius is a Sagittarius in the first half, second half is post PoA

Know a man his face seemed pulled and tense/ Like he's riding on a motorbike in the strongest winds/ So I approach with tact/ Suggest that he should relax/ But he's always movin' much too fast/ Said he'll see me on the flip side/ On this trip he's taken for a ride…./ And now I rub my eyes for he has returned/ Seems my preconceptions are what should have been burned/ For he still smiles and he's still strong/ Nothing’s changed, but the surrounding bullshit, that has grown/ And now he's home, and we're laughing, like we always did/ My same old, same old friend/ Until a quarter-to-ten

All Those Yesterdays - and cue the bath scene, remus washes his lost love

Don't you think you oughta rest?/ Don’t you think you oughta lay you head down?/ You don't think there's time to stop/ There’s time enough for you to lay your head down tonight tonight/ Let it wash away/ All those yesterdays

#literally put me down #unless you like it #then kiss me #some of these are big brain and i do want yall to read it at least but i also know I'm like a feral dog rn so it's ok #text post #long post #read more #playlist #pearl jam #marauders #harry potter #hp hc #sirius black #remus lupin #james potter #lily evans

[bryanhasanswers]

Morning-ish Part IV

So you want part’s one, two and three? You wanna see those first? Smart thinking kid. Well then, you gotta go: 

here for part I

here for part II

here for part III

Or maybe you DON’T want to read the first chapters? You just want to swing right into the middle of the jungle? Fine with me, Tarzan.

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

I was gone - Bryan Fury didn’t exist.

Nothing clicking no sparks. The ONLY thing keepin’ me connected to this shitty-ass world was the data stream from my cybernetic suite, informing me on my recovery status. So far the news had been pretty bad. I’d lost several liters of blood. There was kidney damage.... punctured lung... lacerated liver...

Shit! Not my LIVER - I need that fucker.

My brain had even been put into an artificially induced coma while the nano bots in my blood stream scurried around to the hotspots trying to rebuild all the destruction.

Seriously - is there ANY good news here?? Whoa, wait - did I just... think that?! I did! Hey - look at me - I’m thinkin’ again! I... I’m back... But then - why don’t I see anyth - 

The next sensation was...

Is that - booze? Yeah - an’ it smells like... vodka. But I can’t uh... see.

I didn’t know if my eyes were open or closed - if I was sitting or standing or lying down or what. It was a weird and pretty fucked up feeling. I started to panic a little and had to get a grip.

Keep it together BF... You can smell the vodka, right? Right?? Okay, then just focus on the booze... you’re good at that.

I put all my attention into the sense of smell. I tried to identify everything about it.

It’s cheap shit... plastic bottle. Reminds me of my college days... what was that shit we used to drink? Oh - yeah! I know what that is - it’s...

“....FF-ffffucking Popov VODKA!”

The thoughts exploded out of my lungs as words, and I HEARD them! Then out of the darkness, came another voice. It was a woman and she sounded almost as excited as I was.

“Mr E! Mr E!! He’s alive! He just spoke! He spoke!”

Like a high-tech chain reaction, my systems had been coming back on line. First my thoughts as the coma was reversed, then the sense of smell - then hearing and now... I could see wireframe images taking shape all around me. 

The room was being mapped with a bright green grid...

Low ceiling, pipes and shit - narrow stairs - some look broken... I’m lying on the floor, in a... a basement?

The wireframe was snapped to and mapped the person next to me who was shouting to “Dr. E.” 

That’s the chick who’s been shouting - She’s looking at the stairs... Are we in the basement of the book store? There’s a bottle next to her - that explains the booze smell - and bandages and other medical shit. She’s trying to help!

“Dr E! He’s awake! Awake!! Please hurry! Dr. E!” 

I could hear her voice was quickly slipping from excitement to fear. I turned in her direction and tried to smile. It didn’t have quite the effect i was hoping for.

“DOCTOR EBENEEZER! WHERE ARE YOU?! HELP! OH GOD, HE’S GETTING UP I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO...DO?!!!”

She tripped, fell back on her butt and I saw her featureless, texture-less wire frame form slide at warp speed backwards across the floor until she hit a shelf against the far wall. Some shit fell off and bounced on the ground around her.

Also - she was right! I was I was sitting up - fuckin’ nanobots RULE! 

But I needed to calm my mysterious benefactor down. I knew I must look pretty goddamn scary and the kid was starting to completely lose her shit.

“Omygodomygodomygodomygod - please don’t hurt me!”

I concentrated for a few seconds and then - the details popped in - I had color... texture...I could SEE - but now I needed to fucking speak. I could see my caretaker scramblin’ sideways along the wall like a startled fiddler crab knockin’ books and stools and junk all over the place until she slammed to an abrupt halt in the far corner of the room.

“H-Hhey - kid - shuddup, relax and lissen to me for a second...”

When I spoke it sort of had a mixed affect. At least her shouting stopped, which was a nice change, but she was frozen still as a statue sitting rigid against the damp clay tile of the old basement wall, staring at me with huge frightened eyes. I noticed the color immediately - hazel. 

The kid was pretty too. Dark brown hair, with faint freckles across the nose. She had those little adorable dimples you get from smiling a lot. She was wearing old, ripped jeans with cute little glam patches and glittery bull-shit on ‘em. and a baggy white sweatshirt that had three blue apples arranged in a triangle on the front. Yeah - that’s right - in just a fraction of a second, I could see all that. I could tell that this was a nice, goodhearted kid. It made me consider how this all must look to her...

You were probably helping out the weird old guy at the bookstore on weekends for beer money and now you’re face to face with a zombie, cyborg assassin, freak-show who has been shot a billion and six times and is now somehow sitting up and staring right at you.

My normal M.O. is to be the monster truck that drives mindless terror deep into the heart of my targets, just before I literally beat their brains out. 

I’m SUPER good at that. 

What I’m NOT super good at, is getting people to feel relaxed and comfortable around me. I’m not exactly and affable guy. I don’t know all the right shit to say in every situation - so I just went with the stupid ol’ truth.

“Kid - I know you were trying to help me. So cool your shit - you’re going to be okay.”

She continued to stare at me with those big, frightened hazel eyes. Shaking a little bit, and staying real silent. I kept trying to reach her.

“Look - I get it... this is an unusual situation. You’re scared. So... I’ll say it again nice and slow...so it sinks in. You... are... going... to... be... okay. And that’s a really big deal coming from me, because - I pretty much never say that. Now what’s your fu- ah what’s your name?”

She seemed to relax and her breathing got a little deeper and less rapid. Then she spoke - in a pretty goddamn steady voice too.

“Penny - I’m... I mean - you can call me Penny.”

#bryanhasanswers #morningish #tekken #bryanfury

[interminal]

scar ref/rundown :)

MORTAL WOUNDS ARE IN BLUE. 

HEAD: from the time he “fell off a building” (death #4); much shallower a scar than you’d think it would be, barely even noticeable by touch. he doesn’t know it’s there, but the fact that those injuries (you know, the kinds of injuries a guy gets after falling 30 storeys) remain on his body in any capacity is probably where some of his chronic pain/migraines stem from. 

FACE: big claw mark from a feral nastyboy attack, lost him his eye, but don’t worry he got better :). left ear is a little nicked from this, also. a kinda faint scar from his jaw down to his collarbone, from the time his ex’s dad tortured him. that’s not the last we’ll be hearing from him lol

TORSO (FRONT): big one in the middle is from the tophat bastard shotgun attack of ‘20 and the resulting “oh god all your meat is a mess” surgery. extends through to the back. just above that is the time his ex skewered him with his sword, and the time merc shot him through the heart, and below is the time he impaled himself in order to get out of prison; all also extending through to the back. respectively, these are deaths #7, #5, #2 and #6. 

cont.: top surgery scars. bite marks from a giant fuckin snake; the damage done to his left shoulder lost him his arm for the second time. rogue stab wound from a rogue 11 year old who got real mad at him. all remaining red scars are from merc attacking him with a machete. 

TORSO (BACK): those not already seen on the front; deep lacerations from ex’s dad slice ‘n’ dice session, 2 whole plurodesis scars for the 2 times he punctured his poor left lung. 

ARM: pretty much all of those are the result of him punching through windows, and also one time falling through a window. he does not learn.

LEG: upper thigh is more of dadex work. knee is also from falling through a window. calf is literally a shark bite; it’s a long story. ankle is more dadex, knife went right through there, generally a bad time.

MISSING BITS: lost his eye but got it back so it’s fine! lost his arm to a “trophy collector” who was obsessed with him, got it back via death shenanigans. lost it again to a giant snake (he assumes this is because he was never meant to get it back). got his leg amputated because he used to have a severe limp (thanks dadex) and, while in a silly goofy mood, figured prosthetics are far superior (he figured correctly) and just got it chopped off. he can run now, be scared :)

DEATHS NOT SHOWN: #1: died of internal chemical burns upon administering the elixir/serum/philosopher’s stone/whatever the kids call it these days. only lasting effects of this are his low metabolism and chronic hypothermia. #3: died during a post-mortem examination a couple of days after death #2. scars not present on his body because the body was unrecoverable due to missing all of its vital organs. jean can’t explain how exactly he got a “new” body, nor does he know whether the “old” body still exists. he hates thinking about it.

BUT WHAT’S THAT WEIRD CYAN ONE YOU HAVEN’T MENTIONED?: got shot by a ghost, by a ghost gun, in limbo. it’s invisible but you can feel it if you touch him. weird!

there should be...many more scars than this. he’s very attackable, very woundable. he has been stabbed many times, and he’s deserved most of them. however, this is about as much as i could put on without it looking crazy bonkers, so i just stuck to the more important ones. 

#ref.

[not-close-to-straight]

You Give Love a Bad Name (Three)

MASTERLIST

**************

Chapter Three: Somewhere Between “Oh Shit I’m Gonna Die” and “Ho Ho Holy Crap I’ve Never Been So Horny”

“Hon?” It was late by the time Bucky made it back to the house, his head spinning from the shock of it all, the information overload that began with Natasha and ended somewhere fuckin’ crazy. His fingers were shaking on his gun but he held it anyway, his nerves were shot but he walked through the door anyway, his heart breaking but he forced it away so he could be cold and calculated and everything the Winter Soldier always was. 

“You’ve got twenty four hours to make that woman disappear or the company will step in and do it for you.”

“That’s my wife, Rumlow.” 

“Does it matter?” 

“...No.” 

“Hey Tasha, did you make it home yet?” He called faux cheerfully, easing the safety off on his gun. “Sorry I missed dinner, but I can’t wait for left overs! Your cooking is always mm-mm-good!” 

A quiet laugh from somewhere in the house, up the stairs and echoing in the hall and Bucky closed his eyes for a split second because Christ he loved Natasha’s laugh, but right now it was just a precursor to what promised to be a painful death at the hands of the Black Widow. 

“Oh hello darling.” Natasha called and in the quick silence that followed came the unmistakable sound of a shot gun being loaded. “I skipped making dinner tonight, thought we could order take out!” 

“Take out.” Bucky darted across the open hall and took cover again behind the huge china hutch. “Is that some sort of assassin joke?” 

“I don’t know, is you demanding to keep the house at some frosty sixty five degrees some sort of Winter Soldier joke?” 

“Natasha--” 

“You lied to me!” 

BOOM a hole the size of Bucky’s head tore apart the wall in front of him, and he yelped, ducked and rolled out of the way. 

“I lied to you?” He shouted in disbelief. “Tasha, they literally call you the Black Widow! How long was it going to be until you killed me anyway? Strung me up in some web of last seasons jewel tone scarves and ate me for dinner?!” 

“I’ll have you know I never once killed a husband, and honestly I’m offended you think so.” Natasha loaded another shell and blew out a deep breath, counted to ten so she wouldn’t burst into tears. “My worst crime against you is being hot enough to make your brain short circuit so you missed every sign of me not being a housewife!” 

“Yeah, and my worst crime--” Pop pop pop Bucky lay down cover fire as he advanced through the house and tried to get closer to the stairs. “--was apparently being hot enough to attract your attention! What exactly did I do to deserve you stringing me along for three years?” 

“Stringing you along?” Natasha cursed when a bullet whizzed by her head, then vaulted over the railing and down into the living, tucking and rolling to lessen the impact. “And how exactly was I doing that? By having dinner ready every night? By buying you new toothbrushes?” 

“Newsflash sweetheart.” A quick flash as Bucky ducked into another room. “Your cooking is fuckin’ terrible. Pot roast on Tuesday was so tough I needed a damn chain saw to get through it.” 

“Newsflash, sweetheart.” Natasha swallowed back the devastation clawing up her throat and snarled, “I’ve never cooked a day in my life! I order in catering and my world famous pies come from a bakery in Jersey!” 

“Oh, so she shoots and she lies.” Bucky picked up one of those infernally shiny decorative trays Natasha had always insisted on and in a rare moment of gratefulness for his wife's horrible taste in decor, used it to peek around the corner to see where Tasha was posted up. “What else don’t I know about you? Are you really a 34 B cup?” 

“My love.” Natasha caught sight of the glimmer at the corner and leaned further out of sight. “If you’d spent more time getting to know the girls instead of rabbit humping away at the final destination, you’d be fully aware I am a perky two sizes bigger than a B-cup.” 

“Damn it.” Bucky rubbed his hand over his face because damn it he was not going to laugh right now. Not when he was trapped in his house with the Black Widow and fighting for his life. He was not going to laugh, even though the sarcasm from Natasha made him think of that one night in the hotel and how she’d been so funny and so damn sexy all at once. He was not going to laugh even though this was the first time in almost three years Natasha sounded like the woman he’d fallen in love with.  

“You still alive, baby?” Natasha called, mocking and teasing and so damn sad and that was enough to pull Bucky from his more morose thoughts. “Let’s finish this already, I have drinks and pedi’s with Maria in the morning.”

“Call her and tell her you won’t make it.” Bucky breathed in once, twice, then yanked his other gun from his back holster. “Come out of hiding, Widow. vykhodi i poigray so mnoy. Come out and play.” 

*************

The battle destroyed the house. 

Bullet holes in the walls and through the expensive flooring they’d put in just last summer. The china hutch knocked over and thousands of dollars of dishes shattered. Drywall punctured and a television sized hole contorting a door frame when Bucky hadn’t bothered to check his strength and launched the sixty inch thing towards the hail of bullets from Natasha. 

Wires frayed from speakers that had been torn down and used as projectiles. Curtains in tatters after Natasha had launched into one of them and used it as a rope to kick Bucky square in the face. Knives from the kitchen everywhere, the wall of the den missing after Bucky had chucked a grenade, blood smeared on the wall when Natasha cut her hands on glass and lost her balance. 

A shotgun snapped in half because Natasha winged it at Bucky and he simply broke it before tossing it away. A dagger in the hall where it landed after carving a line across Bucky’s cheek bone. Thousands of spent ammo cases that glowed copper in what was left of the lights. The door to a hidden safe ripped away because Natasha was far stronger than even the most in depth intel had suggested, the weapons inside turned on the advancing Winter Soldier who had stuttered mid step because he hadn’t known Natasha could do that. 

The house was destroyed and when the guns clicked empty and the knives were out of reach, the fight turned physical, master assassins trading punches and kicks, dodges and jabs, retreating and advancing and staring into the face of the enemy with the same steely resolve they’d faced down countless other opponents. 

Except Bucky pulled his punches when Natasha didn’t, held back from sure blows when Natasha climbed his body like a tree and threw him to the ground with her thighs clamped around his neck. She was shockingly strong but Bucky was stronger and only when the redhead pulled another knife from somewhere and held it to his throat did Bucky let his strength surge again and grab her wrists in a single bruising grip to force her still. 

“Let me go.” Natasha kneed him in the side and Bucky wheezed, but didn’t break his grip even as Natasha rolled them over and got those deadly legs around his neck again, effectively burying Bucky’s face at the vee of her hips and missing the hilarity entirely.

Bucky didn’t miss it though. “Ooh, it’s been a long time since you let me eat you out.” he grinned and Natasha snapped, “Well maybe if you’d done it more often, I wouldn’t be tempted to snap your fucking neck!” 

“Take your own advice, sweetheart.” Bucky lunged to his feet but Natasha didn’t let go, he shoved her into a wall hard enough to crack the plaster and the vicious redhead only winced and sassed, “You saying I don’t give you enough blow jobs, Bucky?” 

“I’m saying--” Bucky was starting to see spots when her legs tightened at his jugular. “M’sayin’ if you spent more time deep throatin’ and less time doing hot yoga with the girls--” 

“You’re such a pig!” she screeched and Bucky only, “Oink oink oink!”ed until Natasha arched her back to break his hold and connected a swift kick to the side of his head. 

“Ow! Fuck!” Bucky didn’t mean to throw Nat half away across the room-- or maybe he sort of did?-- but boy howdy did he knew he messed up when she slowly, painfully got to her feet and wiped the blood from her bottom lip, eyes blazing. “Oh shit. Okay. Sweet heart, that was actually an accident. Bullets and everything aside? I’d never just throw you across the room, I promise.” 

“Well I fully meant to kick you in the head.” She countered, and Bucky’s heart sank when Natasha reached behind and pressed at a spot on the wall and a handgun dropped out into her waiting palm. “No harm no foul, darling. Both just doing the job.” 

“Just the job.” Quick as a flash, Bucky tucked and rolled towards the fireplace, wrenched the sawed off rifle from behind the bricks and whirled around with it ready to fire--

--and met Natasha face to face, her pistol pointed squarely between his eyes. 

“Tick tock, husband.” There were suddenly tears in Natasha’s eyes, and Bucky squared his jaw, straightened his shoulder and told himself to be strong. “Either your company comes in to finish the job, or mine does. Tick tock.” 

Be strong, Widow. She told herself, and tightened her grip on her gun. Be strong, you don’t love him, you don’t love him, he’s just a job. 

“Tick. Tock.” she bit out through clenched teeth. “Or are you going as stupidly chivalrous as always and tell me ladies first?”

You don’t love him, you don’t love him, you don’t love him. 

“Damn it Tasha, don’t test me.” 

A shot gun shell locking into place was a sound every person in the world recognized, and it made Tasha’s blood run cold in her veins. 

You don’t love him, you don’t love him, you don’t love--

“Tick. Tock.” she said again, mocking and devastated and all the other things she didn’t want to be feeling right now. “Come on, Soldier. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine.” 

“Show me--” Bucky huffed what sounded like a laugh and Natasha blinked at him. “Ah fuck, this shouldn’t be funny, Tasha. This ain’t funny.” 

“Then stop laughing.” she hissed. “What are you doing?” 

“It’s not funny.” the words were whispered now, nearly breathed and Natasha narrowed her eyes uncertainly. “Jesus Tash, this isn’t funny but all I can think about right now is how much I miss you.” 

“How much you-- you what?” 

“This is the closest I’ve felt to knowing who you are since the first day we met.” Bucky’s gun lowered inch by inch and Natasha’s heart caught up in her chest. “You’re beautiful like this. Wholly in your element, bein’ funny and sassy and fuck, I miss you. The last three years have been packed full’a lies, Tasha but the beginning wasn’t. I love you. And I miss you.” 

The rifle dropped away, clattered to the floor and Bucky put both hands up. “I won’t do this. I won’t.” 

“Damn you.” Natasha put both hands on her pistol, widened her stance and snarled, “Don’t be like that! You don’t love me and I don’t love you and we are just each other’s jobs! Fight me!” 

“No.” Bucky shook his head, took a few steps away. “No, babydoll. If you want this, take it. But I’m not going to do it. I love you.” 

“You are not allowed to say that!” Natasha was shouting now, almost screaming. “That night at the beach you were working a mission that I set up! You showed up and you fucked my mission up and I brought a building down on you! You are not allowed to say you love me, because I watched the Winter Soldier through the scope and ordered a building blown around you! You don’t love me. You are supposed to be dead and instead you showed up in New York and I was a job so you made me fall in love with you but you-- you don’t--” 

Bucky took a step forward and she jerked the gun back up. “--no don’t you dare. Don’t you come near me. You made me love you--” she stuttered, stammered, bit at her lip until it bled and then cursed, “--damn it, Bucky. You made me love you viciously and now I hate you for it. I hate you for it. This is a job, so finish it.” 

“I won’t.” Bucky said hoarsely. “Vy ves' moy mir, you are my whole world, Tasha. I never meant to love you, but now it’s too late and I do. So I won’t do it. You want to finish it, then finish it, but I’m done fighting you.” 

“You cannot be the bigger person right now.” Natasha protested, begged. “Three years you’ve been petty and sort of obnoxious, don’t change now. You unscrewed the toilet lid and took it off just so I’d stop bothering you about leaving it up. Do not be the bigger person right now.” 

“You said you love me viciously.” Bucky took another step forward, hands up so she wouldn’t jerk away again. “It’s been so long since you said that I almost forgot how good it sounded. Say it again. Please.”

“No.” 

“Tasha.”

“I--” the gun wavered, tears slipping out the corner of Natasha’s eyes as her resolve crumbled and the self control she’d been clinging to started to shred. “I love you.” 

“Viciously.” Bucky stripped the guns from Tasha’s hands and tossed it away, framed her face in both his hands and pushed her into the wall. “Say it. Say you love me viciously.” 

“I love you.” They weren’t sure which one was crying when their lips met, tentative kisses that tasted of sweet sweet sorrow and full of everything they hadn’t ever said to each other in three years of marriage. “Bucky, yes.” 

“C’mere.” Tasha was so little and for once Bucky didn’t check his strength when he swooped his wife up, when he grabbed her tight into his body and crushed their mouths together, when he got his left hand on her shirt and just tore it away, breathing a curse over the myriad of cuts and dried blood on her perfect skin. “Oh babydoll, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“It doesn’t hurt.” Natasha tossed her head back and gasped ragged over each tender kiss on the cuts. “But don’t stop, don’t stop, I’ve missed you. I love you.” 

“Viciously.” Bucky pleaded hoarsely. “Say it, Tasha please.” 

“Viciously.” she half sobbed. “Bucky, I love you viciously.” 

Don’t stop. 

Bucky didn’t stop, not when they tumbled onto the broken couch and Natasha felt around for a knife to slash at his jeans and shove them off his hips. He didn’t stop when Natasha scored fire down his back with her nails, when her ankles locked around his waist and brought him in deep sooner than either was ready and the burst of pleasure pain popped light behind their temples. 

“I’ve missed you.” Bucky dug bruises into Tasha’s waist as he held her down, closed his eyes and hissed when she bit at his pulse, at the hinge of his jaw, when her teeth scraped his tongue in a messy, brutal kiss. “Fuck Tasha, I’ve missed you. Missed my wife. Need you.” 

“You weren’t a mission at first.” Natasha promised when they fell off the couch and Bucky brought her up on top of him. “You weren’t, I swear. When Fury told me to chase you I thought-- I thought--” 

“Pierce told me the same thing. I know. I know.” Bucky murmured as they moved together, running his hands up her perfect body, over the barely there scars her nightgown always covered, the tense of muscle and flex of power that made him wonder how he’d ever thought she wasn’t every bit as powerful as him. “I never meant to lie to you, Tasha. Not like this. Never like this.” 

“I never meant to lie to you either.” she reached for him and Bucky came willingly, sat up to chase a kiss, wound their fingers together and held tight so Tasha knew he would hold her, take care of her, ground her when she fell apart. 

Oh I love you viciously. 

***********

***********

“I can’t feel anything in my left hand.” 

Later, after they’d fought and fucked and finally tore apart gasping for air, later they lay amid the destruction of their home and what was left of their fake marriage and just talked. The comforter from the guest bedroom was spread out on the floor, Natasha wrapped up in Bucky’s shirt, and Bucky with a throw pillow over his dick because he was too hot to bother with clothes. 

“No?” he rolled over onto his side and picked up Natasha’s left hand, kissed each of her fingers and then her palm. “Why not?” 

“Shrapnel.” Natasha was soft and rumpled, her lips swollen and cheeks still flushed red and Bucky couldn’t resist leaning in to kiss her. She was intoxication and he would never have enough. “Carved into my left side. Took a plastic surgeon to fix the damage but we never fixed the nerves.” 

“Ain’t no thang, baby.” Bucky rotated his left shoulder purposefully. “Remember my wind surfing accident?” 

“Mm-hmm?” Natasha swept her tongue along the line of Bucky’s jaw and practically purred when her husband shuddered beneath her. “What about it?” 

“Not a windsurfing accident.” Bucky tugged a few times to disconnect the cling that kept his silver arm quite literally under wraps, and watched Natasha’s mouth drop open as it fell away. “That building you brought down on me caused some pretty serious damage, and old man Pierce is all about building terminators these days.” 

“This is my fault?” Natasha touched the silver limb carefully, up to scars that had been revised at least three different times to make them all but invisible. “Bucky, I--” 

“Didn’t say it was your fault.” Bucky shook his head. “Not your fault, just like you trying to take a shot at me yesterday morning wasn’t your fault. Plus it’s not the first time I got good and hurt. See this line right here?” he traced a faint line low on his body. “Botched appendix removal, my body kept trying to heal over mid surgery, I almost died from the shock.” 

“Super solder serum saved you?” she guessed and he nodded. “That’s both gross and amazing.” 

“Speaking of amazing.” Bucky pinched at her bicep playfully. “I saw you rip that safe door off. You juiced too? Always heard rumors that the Black Widow got a pint sized dose of what they gave me.” 

“I’m strong enough.” Natasha said dismissively. “But sure, that’s why we’ve been chasing each other for decades on end. Why most of my scars heal up quick too. This one was Bogota. I fell off a helicopter during a rescue.” 

“Afghanistan.” Bucky craned his neck so she could see the thin white scar at his hairline. “Bullet about took my head off.” 

“Our first wedding anniversary I was so high on tranquilizers to deal with almost getting run over, I don’t even remember the night.” 

“S’alright, sweetheart, Valentine’s Day last year when you wore that pretty pink lace thing?” Bucky pointed down at the dick-covering throw pillow meaningfully. “I slid down a banister thinking I was real slick chasing after someone, turns out there was a big ol ball on the end of the railing and it connected with my tenders. I could barely walk much less get it up in the way you deserved.” 

“My love, I think tonight has been the first time in years you’ve gotten it up in the way I deserve.” she teased, and Bucky shot back, “Well maybe if you didn’t wear granny night gowns all the time my dick wouldn’t be so shy!” 

“I wear granny night gowns to cover all my bruises from work!” she laughed out loud. “What’s your excuse for wearing tighty whities and long sleeves to bed?” 

“I like they way they cup my package, and also to hide my arm.” Bucky shrugged. “Why do I get th’feeling that if we’d kept doing the deed like we did at the beach, all this would’a come out sooner?” 

“I almost wish it had.”

“Me too.” Bucky wound his finger around a strand of Natasha’s hair and tugged lightly. “Was it you in Saint Paul last winter? One damn time we were sure the Widow had come out of hiding long enough to fuck up my mission.” 

“The week I said I was visiting my mother and you said were at Brock’s bachelor party.” She confirmed. “I didn’t know the Winter Soldier was in Saint Paul.” 

“Yeah well, apparently wearing polos and playing golf is the world’s best cover. Turned me from Most Wanted to Most Ignored over night.” 

“By the way?” Natasha raised her eyebrow, then smiled when Bucky leaned in and kissed it. “I hate your khakis. If you don’t stop wearing them, I’ll burn every last pair.” 

“That’s fine, I only wore them so the neighbor women would stop ogling me.” Bucky admitted. “Figured you were the only one I wanted looking at me anyway, plus it’s easier to stay under the radar if no one notices me for any reason, right?” 

“Same reason I started wearing modest dresses and got rid of any high heel over two inches.” Natasha agreed. “Easier to blend in if I look like the rest of the pretty plastic housewives.” 

“There’s nothing plastic about you.” Bucky brushed over Natasha’s nipple and grinned when it hardened beneath his thumb. “And you could wear a potato sack and still be the most beautiful woman on the planet, Tash.” 

“I’ve missed you being ridiculously sappy with your compliments.” she admitted, and Bucky admitted softer, “I miss feeling like you want me to say that sorta stuff.” 

And later still, when they’d ordered delivery pizza and laughed until their stomach hurt because the poor delivery kid looked so damn confused over the destruction and then over Natasha wearing a lot of not much, Bucky inhaled most of a pepperoni slice and asked, “Not to put a damper on our sorta spectacular make up sex but um-- you know what I’m thinkin?” 

“You’re thinking the same thing I’m thinking, which is that it seems highly suspicious that we cohabited for three years together and somehow never really ran into each other on any missions and that it almost seems too much of a coincidence that we both ended up on the same mission on the same day.” Natasha wiped a bit of cheese from his chin. “That’s what you’re thinking.” 

“Actually I was thinkin’ that when you sit cross legged like that I can see all of your hoo-hah.” Bucky admitted and Natasha practically cackled with laughter. “But yeah, it’s sorta weird that we used’ta interrupt each others missions all the damn time but the whole three years we were together, other than Saint Paul we didn’t even check into the same time zones.” 

“Last week one of my techs went missing in a quick snatch that literally should have never happened.” Natasha pointed out. “My company has some of the highest levels of security out there, and yet he was snatched and tossed walking home from a bar he’d never been to with a woman he’d never seen?” 

“One of our gals.” Bucky confirmed. “No idea how she stumbled on an actual tech for your end of things, but she did, called it in and we moved quick. Easiest kidnapping of my life.” And then after a pause, “Too easy, maybe.You guys couldn’t find him at all.” 

“And we tried for the better part of a week.” Nat took a drink straight from the two-liter of mountain dew. “We tried but he was gone.” 

“We weren’t even being all that stealthy.” Bucky said slowly. “And he gave up his information real quick. Told me about you being active again and about the hostage situation taking place at the border. I didn’t even have to get scary with him, just threatened to eat him is all.” 

“That’s not scary?” 

“I’m the Winter Soldier, Tash. You think threatening to take a bite outta someone is my scariest version of torture?” 

“Touche.” She took another drink. “So one of my guys got snatched way too easily, you got the information with barely even a threat and after three years of missing each other, you and I were on the same mission, staring at each other through a rifle scope from a thousand yards away. If you were reading this file as an outsider, what does it look like to you?” 

“Like the powers that be were fully aware of us but made sure we were never aware of each other until the time came t’knock us both off.” Bucky answered immediately, and then, “Oh fuck me.” 

“How much time do you have left on your directive to get rid of me?” Natasha asked quietly. “Cos my clock is down to two hours and some change.” 

“Two hours and some change.” Bucky confirmed. 

“Shit.” 

“So what are we gonna do?” Bucky sat back against the couch and hauled Natasha up into his lap, getting rid of the pillow so he could set her pert butt right against his thighs. “You wanna run? You wanna fight? What?” 

“...you want to do this together?” Natasha blinked at him a few times. “Really?” 

“You’re my wife.” Bucky smoothed his hand down her back and rested it at the curve of her hip. “And more than that, the first time you pinned me down and rode my face--” 

“Bucky!” 

“--I knew I’d do anything for you. So what’s it gonna be, baby? Three years of marriage for nothing? Or are we gonna Bonnie and Clyde this shit?” 

Natasha looked down at their entwined hands, at the ring on her left finger and the gleam of Bucky’s silver palm. “Didn’t Bonnie and Clyde die?” 

“Yeah, right before they went down in the history books as one of the best stories out there.” Bucky nipped lightly at her earlobe. “I could go down in history with you, especially if it means fucking with Fury and Pierce after they tried to trick us into this whole thing. What’d’ya say? Wanna blow some shit up?”  

“I could blow some shit up.” 

Bucky pulled her into a sweet kiss, slow and nearly tender as the last of the walls between them came tumbling down. 

“Shot to the heart.” he sang softly, teasingly, as they parted. “And you’re to blame. Sugar, you give love a bad name.” 

“That used to be our song.” Natasha laughed and hummed the next line. “I can’t believe you remember that.” 

“It’s still our song.” Bucky corrected. “And we got about two hours before someone else comes and tries to finish the job neither one’a us finished. So why don’t we find some clothes, steal us a car and get the fuck outta here?” 

“I’m with you.” Natasha got to her feet, then leaned down to give him one last kiss. “And I’m sorry for trying to kill you.” 

“I’ve had uglier people try a lot worse.” Bucky said solemnly. “Finding out you’re a total bad ass instead of a super boring housewife is the best anniversary present ever.” 

Natasha tossed her hair behind her shoulder and finger gunned at him and Bucky clapped his hands over his heart, laughing out loud as she ran for the stairs to change, singing along to their song as she went. 

Darlin’ you give love a bad name.

********

A mile west of Mr. and Mrs. Barnes’s house, Brock Rumlow sat in the back of a van with a rifle held tight to his chest, watching the countdown clock on his next hit tick down to zero. 

“This seems wrong is all I’m saying.” one of the other men said. “I worked with Barnes for damn near ten years now, how come all the sudden he’s on the hit list?” 

“None of your business.” Rumlow grunted. “You see the guy, you put a bullet in the guy, you get another mission tomorrow and do the same thing.” 

“But it’s Bucky.” 

“Yeah, and now it’s Bucky’s time.” Rumlow racked in a round in the chamber. “Personally, I’m looking forward to seeing just how many bullets the mighty Soldier can take before he bleeds like the rest of us. What do you think, twenty? Twenty five?” 

“I think you’re a sick bastard.” 

“And that’s why I’m next on Pierce’s list of soldiers to super juice.” Rumlow grunted. “T-minus one hours and forty minutes boys. Stay steady.”

***************

SAY SOMETHING ABOUT THE CHAPTER!

***************

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#ncts fics #winterwidow #bucky barnes #natasha romanov

[h-e-l-l-b-r-o-k-e]

Without a Doubt [B.H. x you]

Summary: Billy’s enamored with his desk neighbor. The only thing is, she’s not aware of his existence...or anything, really.

Inspiration: Ballerina Out of Control by The Ocean Blue & Lorelei by Cocteau Twins

Word Count: 1399 Warnings: profanity.

Written Date: 11/7-18/2019 Posted Date: 11/18/2019

Parts: [1] [2] [3] [4] [MASTERLIST]

Billy noticed her brutalized notebook first as it loudly plopped onto the desk beside his. Its front cover hanging on to its last two spirals while angry indecipherable scribbles nearly puncture through the material. The edges were beyond frayed from maltreatment.

He rolled his eyes then and thought to himself, ‘Great…I sat next to the weirdo of Hawkins High.’

But then a subtle scent swirled into his nostrils, smelling of roses and…those essential oils Susan had stored away under their bathroom sink. Girly. Girl. ‘Girl.’

Instead of some overweight, pimpled-faced, greasy-haired brute who spends the majority of his time masturbating to Miss November and probably hasn’t figured out how to make eye contact with the opposite sex without his palms cooking up a sweat, Billy’s ocean blue eyes found her. A rather pretty girl with tangled locks whose wardrobe lacked diverse shades of color.  

Needless to say, she hadn’t noticed him. She hadn’t seem to notice anything. Not the teacher as she introduced herself, not Billy as he was forced to introduce himself as the new kid to the entire class, and certainly not the material her grades would rely on. The steady world outside the classroom was just as dull and lacklustre as the classroom, yet it had cast a spell on her.

And, the whole time Billy hardly noticed anything other than the quiet girl who limply waved her hand just a few centimeter above her shoulder when her name was called during attendance. He hadn’t noticed Tommy H., who would soon become the unshakable monkey on his shoulder, nor Cassie Beckham, the flirt he would have a late night encounter with just a couple days later at the quarry.

In just those first forty-five minutes of class, Billy managed to make out two words in the mess that was Y/n’s notebook, and he wasn’t even sure if he had gotten it right when spelling it out on a different sheet of paper: cocteau twins. ‘What the fuck is Cocteau Twins?’

Never coming across such a strange term, not even in the diversity of California, he didn’t know where he could find the meaning. Regardless, he was determined and became rather obsessive in the hunt for the answer.

He had snuck into his father’s study just to browse through his encyclopedias, but all he found was some French writer he doubted had anything to do with the girl in his class. He had wasted two hours at the local record shop flipping through the ‘Cs’ and ‘Ts’ before putting on his best flirtatious smile and asking the employee if she’d ever heard of them, thinking it could possibly be a band. The employee hadn’t, but she’d been happy to check the inventory list for him before coming up empty.

That didn’t deter him from hopping around other music stores, even when the outcomes continued to be the same. After Tommy had become somewhat of a friend to him, he had joked that madness was doing the same thing every day and expecting a different result. And still, Tommy had not a clue that this search was for the girl in black in their English class for dumbasses. No, Billy’s hunt came to a close when he’d ran out of record stores within the 15-mile radius.

With no hint as to whether this Cocteau Twins even existed, Billy held on. Quite literally.

Just a month into the school year and fall had consumed the town, leaving layers of cracked and chlorophyll-broken leaves for the street-sweepers to clean up almost daily. But while she was staring out the same window at those dead, sinking leaves, Billy decided to forge those same words he’d been searching for onto the center of his palm in blue ink. Tommy had taken to sitting behind him, so he had to stop glancing at her so often.

For always picking on poor souls who crossed his path, Tommy was careful around Y/n, acting like her seat wasn’t preoccupied by one of the sorest thumbs in the entire school. This left Billy even more mystified about her. There was history between the two, just like there was history between Tommy and the soon-to-be dethroned king himself, Steve Harrington.

How deep the ties were in this school, he’d soon find out during a shirts vs. skins basketball scrimmage against the one-and-only Steve Harrington.

With one quick shove of the shoulder, Harrington’s lanky form toppled to the floor. That was all it took for Billy to make the winning basket before offering a hand to his fallen opponent. Leaving the pen markings in his palm vulnerable to scrutinizing eyes, it took only one prolonged glance for Harrington to ponder upon all the answers Billy had been itching to know.

Steve had dated the girl who had introduced him to the virtually underground band whose name was etched into Billy’s skin before leaving her for a new fancy—Nancy, the unpopular girl who grew into her looks quite well. They had dated for a year, and Steve had thought he had loved her all the more when she and Tommy had surprisingly developed a bond that resembled siblings.

And yet, Steve had ultimately ruined everything he had built with Y/n for the exciting chase that was Nancy. It was his fault that Y/n had fallen off the cliff of popularity and had swindled down a hole so foreign to him. He’d stolen what little shine her eyes had held, the soft peaches of her closet, and left her a hollow shell of the girl she was before.

At first, Steve hadn’t a reason to worry about her after the breakup. He didn’t cheat on her and he hadn’t lied to her when he told her he had fallen out of love. Besides, it wasn’t his fault that the friends she had met through him were superficial enough to turn on her once they weren’t an item. There was no reason for guilt to settle in the pit of his stomach when Carol had nastily snickered about hearing his ex’s sniffles behind one of the bathroom stalls because his hands were clean.

But, Steve was different now. He was still very much in love with Nancy but finding this Morse code on his enemy, the need to protect his vulnerable ex-girlfriend as some form of self-redemption shocked his core. And he wondered just what in the hell did Billy have planned for Y/n?

Billy had caught the lingering stare of his enemy, and later that day, Billy had taken Tommy H. to the only bar that didn’t card because a drunk Tommy was a very open Tommy. He spent twenty-three dollars he barely had just to get Tommy spilling his nostalgic guts onto the wooden counter.

“Harrington broke up with her over boring Nancy, and she’s not even hot ya know? No, but see, my Carol is hot. Nancy? Nah, man. Just another judgy bitch that thinks she’s better than us. And now, Y/n—she dresses like a freak. I think she’s fuckin’ depressed, hanging around that ash* chick Samantha sure messed with her head.” Tommy finished his drink and flagged the bartender for another one.

In between the slurring of his words, Billy got the gist of the drama his friend was mulling over and suddenly Hawkins didn’t seem like such an empty puddle. And, yet, Billy acted the oblivious fool when it came to her.

He never speaks to her, never speaks about her. He is a mere observer without a clue as to what Cocteau Twins is because he refuses to make the first move. So, he fucks around with girls whose names he doesn’t give a shit about, fights with other guys for dominance—anything to stir a commotion in this depressing town, hoping one day she’d be enchanted with him instead of their English class window.

A/N: *Ash was one of the many terms in the 80s used to label someone from the goth subculture before the term “goth/gothic” really took off.

#I'm sorry if this sucks so much ass or if it's not really coherent!!!! #Billy Hargrove #stranger things #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy x y/n #billy x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #st #st imagines #st imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine

[himbowelsh]

paralysis and baberoe for the injury/sickness meme please?

a little fall of meme can hardly hurt me now  ( accepting )

AN:  So, this spiraled a bit, and turned long...  you probably didn’t sign up for all of this, but whoop, here’s a fake snake species created just for the angst!!

It happens too quick to see — even in the aftermath, when they’re both blinking at each other in confusion and wondering exactly what the hell happened. This is what Babe knows for sure: he and Doc Roe are trudging through a wooded shortcut just discovered by Janovec this morning, because Babe wants to show Gene this really cool lake he found, because Gene seems like the sort of person who likes lakes… and Gene is a few steps ahead of him, moving fluidly through the woods, and he’s saying something Babe’s only half-listening to because the sunlight dappled through trees to hit Gene’s inky hair is something to see, okay, and then Gene must ask him a question he completely misses because Gene turns to him, and his eyes are smiling where his mouth isn’t, and he takes a step back…

Crack. Snap. “Shit!”

So, there are snakes in Austria. This would have been a nice thing to mention beforehand.

“Gene?” The word leaves Babe’s mouth like a foreign object. He can’t really process what he’s seeing, is the thing — and from the look on Gene’s face, neither can he. He's bent forward with one leg lifted lightly over the ground, hand clasped to his ankle. It takes a minute for Gene to look up at Babe again. When he does, his mouth is tight around the edges; all traces of that silent laughter are gone.

“This might be bad,” he declares, and lifts his hand to show blood.

“Jesus Christ!” 

Babe can’t help cringing, his entire body arcing into himself, like the two tiny punctures on Gene’s ankle are the goriest sight he’s ever seen. Far from it, really… but just the idea of some slimy thing digging its teeth in him stings, never mind actually looking at it. The wound on Gene’s ankle is bright red, leaking blood like twin bullet wounds. It’s not spurting out or anything, not like when Jackson got hit, but… Jesus, those are bites. Goddamn bites. Babe is so busy staring at the snake marks that he almost forgets Gene is staring at him.

“Don’t you pass out on me, Heffron,” Gene orders, voice sharp as steel. 

Babe snaps back to attention with army-honed quickness, a wheeze escaping him as he straightens up. “No… no way. It’s fine. Christ, it’s okay, Gene.”

“Actually, it’s poisoned,” Gene remarks mildly.

“What?”

“Two holes means venomous.” Gene’s hand hovers over the ankle, like even he’s uncertain what to do about it, and that scares Babe more than anything else. “Not to mention, it burns like hell.”

Suddenly, the simple act of standing feels like running through open fire. Babe turns his attention to the ground, hopping on his toes, like more snakes are about to slither in and eat him alive… but he only catches sight of movement on the ground not far from Gene. A sleek brown serpent slithers away into the bushes. Other than that, the forest floor is bare.

“Think I stepped on it,” Gene continues, voice tight and aggravated. “No wonder it bit me, but he sure blends in — hopping won’t help you, Heffron, cut that out.”

“Who decided not to mention snakes?”

“You didn’t listen when they mentioned snakes,” Gene corrects. His chest is kinda heaving, like drawing breath takes more effort, but that’s got to just be from adrenaline, right? Or could it be the snakes? Babe’s never seen a goddamn snake before, he lives in South fuckin’ Philly, he doesn’t know these things — “We got antivenom back at base, but ain’t had to use it before. Some of these fellas can be nasty customers.”

“No kidding.” Babe is still eyeing Gene’s bite like it’s about to bite him. Venom… if the bite’s poisoned, then why does it look so simple? Like any old cut his little sister could get from playing with Ma’s sewing needles, or what Babe’s been dumb enough to do to himself on old nails. Just… punctures. Not any weird colors, not leaking anything... except they were made with teeth, from a goddamn serpent, and that’s all the difference.

Not to mention, if that wound’s poisoned, doesn’t that mean...

Suddenly, the word venom clicks in his head, like he’s just translated it from a different language. People get sick from snake bites; they even die from them. Something in Babe’s stomach bottoms out, a new wave of panic gripping him. They’ve gotta get Gene back to town, and to that antivenom. Now.

“Alright, Gene. Up and at ‘em!” In the time Babe’s spent processing this, Gene sat down hard on the ground… which seems like the worst place to be for a fella who's already been a snake’s chew toy once today. Babe leans forward, holding out a hand, but Gene just blinks at it.

“Yeah,” he says slowly, like Babe’s just told a joke he doesn’t get. “Okay.”

“Okay, get up! Not — Gene, we’ve been over this already, for chrissakes —“ Babe seizes hold of his hand for him, and hauls him up in one fell swoop. It helps that Gene doesn’t weigh all that much — but even this weight is a lot, when his legs buckle as soon as he’s on his feet. Yelping, Babe scrambles to steady him, an arm locking around his ribcage. “What the hell, Gene?”

“Sorry, sorry…” Gene forces himself back upright, but has to brace too much of his weight against Babe for either of them to pretend it hadn’t happened at all. “Leg, uhh, feels weird. Getting all numb.”

“How fast does the venom spread?”

“Well, it depends on the snake, don’t it? Should have asked him how quick he wanted to kill me.” And, okay, Babe deserves the annoyed clip in his voice, but Gene talking about death so casually does nothing for his swelling panic. “Seems to work pretty fast. I’ve never seen this before, Heffron, so I don’t know.”

They don’t have any time to stand around bickering about this. Babe leads Gene forward, one step after another. This time, Gene manages to stay upright; even though he’s obviously favoring one leg over another, he matches Babe’s pace. “We ain’t got snakes back in Philly, so this is all new to me,” Babe declares, just to say something in his own defense. “Haven’t you got snakes down in Louisiana?”

“Sure. But in Bayou Chene, our reptiles’ve got a lot more teeth. Not to mention legs.” At Babe’s look of aghast horror, Gene just huffs. “You’ll figure it out, Heffron.”

“Don’t tell me the little fuckers can grow legs. Gene? You’re messing with me, right? He can’t run after us, can it? Jesus, Mary and—“

Gene stumbles again, so suddenly that Babe barely has the chance to catch him. One second he’s walking, and the next — 

“C’mon, Gene,” Babe huffs, propping the man back upright. “I know it hurts, but we aren’t too far. You gotta make it back.”

“I’m trying,” Gene snaps, with a ferocity that takes Babe aback. He’s never heard that growl in the old Doc’s voice, or seen such wire-taut frustration in his eyes. Gene’s hands clench into fists, one gripping his knee and the other steadied against Babe’s chest. It takes a moment before he’s willing to put weight on it again. The skin around the cut is already bright red and inflamed; as Babe watches, he swears he can see it swell up a bit more, like a goddamn balloon. It’s hell to look at, so he can’t imagine what Gene’s got to be feeling.

As soon as Gene tests his weight, the leg buckles. He falls to one knee, a sharp curse escaping him; a second later, in his struggle to scramble back up, he just manages to fall sideways and land on his ass.

Babe is left feeling profoundly helpless — eager to help, but certain of wounding Gene’s pride if he tries. “What — what’s wrong with it?” he asks instead, sounding too much like a frightened kid.

Gene’s hand hovers over the swollen ankle... but at the first touch he draws away with a hiss. Instead, he fondles up his calf, brows knit together and face paler than usual. “It…” he says, and pauses for a long moment. When he draws in a breath, it trembles. “It’s really burning. Burning bad, but it’s not… Heffron, I don’t know. Don’t think I can walk on it.”

“Why not?” Babe demands, desperate.

“Because it’s gone numb.” When Gene looks up, his eyes are black and piercing; they cut straight through Babe’s soul. “I can’t feel my leg, Babe. All the way up to the knee, and it’s moving fast.”

“What the hell’s it doing? Paralyzing you?”

He means it as a joke. Gene doesn’t laugh.

“Shit.” Babe presses a hand to his face, then runs it through his hair with earnest. “Shit, shit, shit. Will that kill you? It sounds like it can kill you.”

“Depends on how quick it gets to my lungs.” The amazing thing is how calm Gene sounds, in spite of it all. No one should sound that fucking calm while a deadly toxin’s blazing through their system. If anyone could, it’s Gene Roe — but all the panic he doesn’t have, Babe’s got in spades. For a moment, it’s paralyzing.

The thought clicks in his head too late; he goes still, and barks out a harsh, sudden laugh. Panic is paralyzing him while Gene’s literally being paralyzed.

Goddammit, Heffron, get your shit together.

“Okay,” he says — and finally, finally, he’s not two inches away from tumbling over the edge. Maybe he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he can at least sound like it. “You really think you can’t walk on it, huh?” When Gene shakes his head, eyes grin, Babe’s mouth goes tight. “Okay! We got two options here, Gene. We could sit and wait for your goddamn lungs to freeze up, or —“ Babe swallows hard, like forcing an entire egg down his throat, and straightens his shoulders. “Or, I gotta carry you the rest of the way.”

It’s not ideal. They both know it. Gene isn't that light, Babe isn’t that strong, and a fella has a certain amount of dignity even when he might be dying. The thing is — they don’t have any other options. Sitting and waiting is out of the question, so far out of the question that it ain’t a question at all. If they don’t move, Gene will just get worse... and no way in hell is Babe letting that happen.

Their eyes lock, and a ripple of unspoken communication passes between them. Something in Gene’s expression steels itself, while Babe forces a deep breath.

“Alright,” Gene says. “Let’s go.”

Babe hits the ground on one knee, and Gene’s arms wrap around his neck a second later. Credit where credit’s due, he’s not taking any chances; no way will Babe be able to drop him when Gene’s got a grip like a clingy toddler, locking around his neck like he’s half-set on strangling him. Babe chokes involuntarily, and Gene quickly eases up; a muttered “sorry” rumbles in his ear as the grip adjusts. 

When Gene finally feels steady, Babe hauls himself to his feet, dragging the other man up with him. Now, Gene’s full weight is really braced against him, and it hurts. Hastily, Babe scrambles to get a more solid grip, hunching forward to ease him up. After a moment, he feels Gene leave the ground, most of that weight settling on his shoulders and back.

“Jesus, Doc,” he mutters. “You been storin’ food through the winter? Bastogne’s over now, buddy, you can share the wealth!”

Gene cuffs him lightly on the side of the head. In spite of the situation, Babe laughs.

After that, it’s just… putting one foot in front of the other. A harder task than you’d think, because of Babe thought dragging him alone was tough, carrying a guy is even worse. Is this how Luz feels all the time, with his massive radio? Better yet, where’s Bull Randleman when you need him? If Babe was meant to haul fellas around like potato sacks, he wouldn’t have played the goddamn trumpet in high school. Despite the weight, he steels himself and pushes forward. Going is slower than he’d like, but at least they’re moving. Base isn’t that far away, and they’re still going faster than they would if Gene were walking on his own.

Gradually, Babe’s breathing grows more labored. His body working overtime to carry twice its weight, struggling to keep up. It takes him too long to realize he isn’t the only one. Gene’s body is working harder too; his breaths are gradually turning into pants, arms tightening around Babe’s shoulders as his legs slowly grow slack. Through their layers of clothing, Babe can feel Gene’s heartbeat against his back. It’s too damn fast.

“How you holdin’ in there, Gene?” he asks, after his grip on the other man’s ass nearly slips. Not much longer now — it can’t be long, can it?

“I’m — uhh —“ Gene takes too long to answer, and that scares Babe the most. His voice is hoarse, too low to be called anything but a murmur. “Been better.”

“Yeah, I bet.” And that tells Babe exactly nothing. “What are you feeling?”

“Uh,” says Gene.

“Okay, better question, what aren’t you feeling?”

“Well — my legs are still there, right?”

Jesus Christ. “Yeah, they’re still there.”

“All I need to know.”

Forcing the worry out of his mind, Babe charges forward. At last, the path is more road than wilderness, somewhere familiar. More sure of himself now, Babe leads the way, silently praying for a Jeep to pass. Anything that can get them there quicker will be a godsend; as it is, they’re fifteen minutes out from any help, and he’s really not sure Gene can last that long.

The burden on his back only grows heavier as Gene becomes more and more dead weight. He murmurs something about his fingers, and suddenly his hands have grown slack; Babe just tightens his grip, knowing that if Gene can no longer hang on, the situation’s going to get a whole lot harder. What other options does he have? Fireman’s hold? Bridal carry? Hell, he could try it —

“Babe,” Gene mutters, pressing the word into the side of his neck as his head lolls against Babe’s shoulder. “We almost there?”

“Yeah, buddy. Almost. Stay with me, okay?”

“‘Kay,” Gene agrees, and doesn’t try to speak again. Maybe he doesn’t have the energy; maybe he just can’t get the words together. It’s hard to tell which idea scares Babe the most.

He’s just readjusting his grip on Gene’s limp lower body when a distinctive rattle echoes from further down the path. Babe goes tense. A second later, the truck rounds the corner, in all its rattling glory. With a whoop, Babe charges straight for it, practically bouncing in the middle of the road.

“Hold it! Hey, stop the damn car!”

The driver is a stranger, a supply man who doesn’t look a bit happy about being halted on his route. “What’s goin’ on here?” he demands, looking Babe and his unusual cargo up and down.

Babe doesn’t even bother replying. Before the guy can protest, he slings Gene up into the truckbed and scrambles in after him, slamming on the hood for good measure. “Sorry, buddy, but you gotta turn around. Get us to the hospital now!”

“Hospital? What for?”

“For crissakes, I’ll tell ya as we drive, just go! It’s an emergency!”

The engine rumbles to life again. Babe hunches over Gene, eager to protect him from the dust and smog. Underneath him, Gene is tense and unmoving; each breath rattles in Babe’s ears, louder than the truck as it begins to gutter down the road. After a moment, it’s safe enough to pull back. Babe forces himself up on aching arms to regard Gene’s face, and nearly chokes on his own heart.

Gene’s face is colorless. Completely drained, a stark milky-grey like laundry water after Ma’s gotten through with it. His mouth hangs half-open, lips shuddering as he clings to every earnest breath. Black eyes, darker than ever in his ghostly face, peer blankly up at the sky. Desperate to rouse him, Babe presses a hand against his face, and finds that his skin is burning. 

“Shit, shit — Gene! Stay with me, buddy!”

It takes a minute for the life to stir back in his eyes. “Where’m I gonna go?” Gene finally demands, sounding affronted. God help them both, Babe can’t help barking out a hoarse laugh.

“Nowhere. Goddamn nowhere, cause I’m not gonna let you. We’re almost there, okay?” Babe presses down on his shoulders, like he can squeeze some feeling back into Gene’s rapidly-numbing body; no doubt the terror on his own face is obvious, but Gene’s so out of it that there’s a chance he can’t tell. That’s what Babe clings to, though the agonizing, rattling ride — he’s gotta be strong for Gene’s sake. He draws Gene close to his chest, gripping him tight, feet braced against the side of the truck to support them both. Each breath is precious; he charts the rhythm of Gene’s breathing, trying to steady it with his own. At some point, Gene tried to raise an arm, only for it to flop back down… but when Babe asks him if he’s getting any worse, he just shakes his head. Probably a lie, but Babe’ll take it.

“Gonna be alright, Gene,” he mutters as the town square finally rattles into view ahead. “Look. We’re here. Can you see that we’re here?”

“Can’t lift my head,” is all Gene mutters. 

Babe lifts it for him. Something in Gene’s cloudy expression clears at the sight of familiar surroundings — and the tiny group of Easy men, clustered on the street corner, smoking and smirking at each other. Babe doesn’t pause to explain anything, even to their poor driver. As soon as the truck jutters to a stop, he springs out, waving his friends over. “Thank god — Hashey, find a medic, will ya? Or a surgeon, get a goddamn surgeon, tell him there’s a snake bite — the two of you, come on, help me lift him. Doc’s in bad shape.”

This is a familiar song and dance by now. They’ve done this before, after sneak attacks and harebrained patrols, scrambling into action to aid a wounded friend. Only thing different now is that the war’s over, and it’s Doc on the table. Luckily, no one needs to be told twice. Hashey sprints off like the devil’s on his heels, while Ramirez and Alley quickly join Babe’s cause; together, they’re able to slide Gene’s body towards the edge of the truck, laying him out flat. From there, no one’s really certain what to do. Babe stands near Gene’s head, practically cradling him, while the other men exchange bewildered, rattled glances.

“A snake, Babe?” Alley demands.

“A fucking snake,” Babe confirms.

Everything’s a blur from there. Hashey returns, a surgeon on his heels; he’s got a needle the size of Babe’s whole arm, and that’s the point things get real hazy. Babe has to shut his eyes past a wave of dizziness, but he hears Gene gasp in pain, the surgeon mutter something, and the shuffle of men moving a limp body. By the time Gene’s steady on a cot, being hauled into the building, his eyes are shut, head killing back.

And Babe’s left… standing. Useless, alone, and wondering if he was any help at all.

“Jesus Christ, Babe,” Alley hisses, dragging a hand through his hair. Hashey whistles, staring at the ground. Ramirez looks like he’s just chugged three week old stew.

Babe slumps back against the bed of the truck, exhausted. His heart stutters in his chest; his throat feels tight. After a minute, he slumps forward like his strings have been cut, hands coming up to cradle his head.

“Hey, everything alright?” a voice from the front of the truck calls. After a minute, the driver leans his head out, just enough to look at Babe and his friends. “Private, is your friend going to be okay?”

“I don’t know,” Babe mutters — and then, for the guy’s benefit, “Can’t say yet. They’ve gotta… work on him, or some shit.”

“You did a hell of a job getting him here,” is all the driver says — and, when Babe looks back in surprise, just shrugs. “Like a man possessed. I couldn’t have kept driving if I wanted to. Never seen anybody look like that.”

Babe huffs a sigh. It rattles in his chest, hurting as it comes out, but he manages to summon a smile. “Th- thanks, pal.” Giving the truck an affectionate pat, he pushes himself off, and offers the driver a wave.

The driver waves back. With a guttural roar, the engine starts back up again; after a minute, the truck and it’s cargo rattle off down the street, out of sight.

Babe tucks his hands in his pants and sighs. His head turns up to the sky, as if drawn there.

“Okay,” he says to his friends. “Who’s got some damn cigarettes?”

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

“You saved my life.”

He can’t bring himself to meet Gene’s eyes. Babe stares at the blanket instead — the crisp, clean, certified hospital blanket, the kind you’d only find in a town that hasn’t been bombed to hell. Jesus, what they wouldn’t have killed for a set-up like this in Bastogne; a roof over their heads, a warm bed, blankets, even pillows. Fluffy ones, stuffed with actual feathers.

“Who knew all you gotta do to live it up ‘round here is almost die?” Babe quipped when he walked in — a stupid crack, but it brought a tiny smile to Gene’s washed out face, so damn him if it wasn’t a victory.

Now, though… he can’t quite do it. Even though Gene’s okay — and there’s no question of that anymore, now that the anti-venom’s done its work and the fever’s cleared up — it’s all too fresh, too raw to dwell on. Babe’s gotten good at shoving the awful things aside, smothering them under heaps of snow until he can only feel the weight of them, not the sting. Seeing Gene like that… god, it hurt, Hurt he hadn’t felt since Julian, since Jackson, since watching friends choke and die while being able to do nothing for them. That helplessness has become familiar as an aching scar; Babe knows he’ll never forget it, for as long as he lives, but feeling it with this man in his arms was something else.

“You scared the hell out of me, Gene,” he finally manages, still staring at the blanket. “Wasn’t your fault, but… Christ. I never wanna see that again. Never wanna feel that damn scared. Never wanna feel like… like I might lose you too.” Finally, he drags his gaze up, to meet Gene’s impossibly dark eyes. “Please don’t do that again.”

Gene stares at him for a long moment, unmoving. It’s like he’s paralyzed all over again; Babe can barely stand it.

Finally, a flash of movement draws Babe’s gaze down again. There, inching across the blanket — Gene’s hand, fingers flexing, reaching towards home

“Hey, you’re not supposed to try and move ‘til that stuff’s out of you completely —“

“I’m alright.” Gene’s voice is soft, like something fragile. When his hand finds Babe’s, though, he’s strong; he grips Babe like a promise, the sort neither of them are bold enough to break. They’re both alive, both here, and neither one is going anywhere. That’s enough for now.

“Thank you, Babe,” Gene murmurs, and Babe’s heart stutters in his chest.

“Yeah…  any time, Doc.”

#baberoe #babe heffron #eugene roe #band of brothers #hbo war #my writing #Anonymous