#A Light Touch

[quinloki]

A Light Touch

Fem Reader x Eustass Kid

CW: language, assault, violence, sexual themes and situations, implications of non-con, loss of limbs, blood. 18+ Only.

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 2: Handy Guy

Kid and Killer didn't come back until late afternoon the next day. They'd left their numbers with the nurse, and she got them into your phone for you. She filled you in on a bit more information as well since you were more aware the next day.

The man who had rear-ended you had been released from the hospital that morning, but he was in Marine custody currently. There'd probably be someone by tomorrow to talk to you about what happened regarding the accident, and she left some materials with you about your options for prosthetics.

Kid or Killer had made sure your bag had ended up with you in your room, and you were grateful for that. Not only did it have your phone and ID, but your insurance information was in there as well. When you gave it to the Nurse she smiled.

"Your costs have already been taken care of, Miss (Y/N), but I can run everything through your insurance still, if you like."

"Uh, yes please." You were trying to think how the cost of a hospital stay had been preemptively handled, but you didn't quite have the brain cells to sort it out. You were still on some pain meds and even then there was a good bit of soreness to be dealt with.

There was no way that the drunk who had hit you had been forced to pay for your hospital stay, or anything else so soon after the accident. You didn't have any family, in the Grandline Metro or outside of it. Your work certainly wasn't going to pay for anything they didn't have to, and you didn't have anything like a sugar daddy.

The only logical conclusion was that Kid had decided to pick up the tab, and something about that irritated you. You didn't know him well enough for him to be giving you charity like this. Even if he did feel guilty for you losing your hand – which was painfully obvious – this was too much. It was like he thought you weren't capable of swinging a hospital bill just because you'd been driving a beater.

By the time Kid and Killer arrived you had become irritated and snapped at them as soon as they walked in.

"What the hell, Red?" You growl, the smile on Kid's face melting away. "I know you feel responsible for me losing my hand, but that's no reason to pay my hospital bills! I'm not broke just cause my car was a hunk of junk!"

"Eh? Don't go assigning guilt to people like that!" He threw a wrapped box against the far wall, though for a second you were sure he was going to pelt it at you. "Damn bitch." He grumbles, turning on his heel and storming out of the room.

Killer stays behind, watching Kid leave before turning back to you. He put his hands up in front of him like he was surrendering.

"I come in peace?" He offers.

"Tch. Fine. Come in if you want." You grumble, sinking back into your bed. Being angry had already worn you out and you'd barely raised your voice.

Killer walks in, setting down a small bouquet of flowers by your bed before walking around to the other side and picking up the box Kid had thrown.

"We didn't pay your tab, (y/n)." Killer says after a moment.

"Then who did? Certainly not the drunk." You grouch.

"No idea." Killer shrugs, stepping back around to the side of your bed that's by the door. "Kid did try to pay. I can't say if he does, or doesn't feel responsible for your hand. He just had the means, and I think he felt sympathetic toward you."

"I don't need-." Your words caught in your throat, and you groan. Kid had a big prosthetic arm. It was really hard to miss, and you'd seen at least two versions of it – a gnarly kind of metal one you remember from the accident, and a more subdued, almost normal looking one he'd been wearing while visiting you. Of course, he'd have some sympathy for you, losing your hand, given he was down a whole arm. "Aw, fuck, I am a dick."

"Eh. You've been through some shit the last couple days." Killer offers. "Kid just needs to cool off, and he'll be back."

"Are you everyone's voice of reason, or just his?" You question.

His shoulders shake a bit. "You seem to be doing better today at least, you've got more energy."

"Yeah." You breathe in deep and let it out. "I miss my hand, but if some money-fairy has descended and handled my hospital bill then that frees up some options."

"You could commission Kid." Killer offers. "He's made all the prosthetics he has now."

You smile. "I... don't know that I should. I think trying to pay him for something like that would just end in a fight."

"I wouldn't take yer money anyway, Mouse." Kid grumbles from the doorway.

"Ah, hey, look, I'm sorry about... uh, earlier."

"S'fine." He mutters, coming into the room.

"I still don't know what to think about you two." You admit as Kid sits down in the corner chair.

"Whaddya mean?" He still sounds a little testy, but you couldn't blame him. You'd read him the riot act earlier and it was unfounded.

"I appreciate you guys visiting, and, honestly, I can swallow my pride and appreciate you wantin' to help financially too. But," you chuckle a bit and smile sardonically. "This can't be how I make friends for the first time since school."

"You really ain't got any friends, Mouse?"

"Ah, I mean, I have some coworkers I get along with, but aside from that, not really. Most of my hobbies are indoors, and I don't dislike people, but well..." You clear your throat. "Most of my school friends moved out of the Metro, and there's a couple I keep in touch with, but they're miles away. I don't know, once my mom passed away a couple years ago, I've just kind of... worked." You shrug, and then look back to Eustass. "I have to know though, why do you keep calling me mouse?"

Kid turns his hand as he talks. "Your key chain." He sips whatever drink he'd gotten when he went to cool off. "You should put less charms on your key ring, Mouse. The extra weight can wear out the starter."

Admittedly, you had a lot of little knickknacks on your key ring. You'd find cute small charms while walking the malls, or from little gacha machines, and the ones you liked ended up on your key ring. Between the options he had to pick from, maybe Mouse wasn't such a bad nickname. The idea of someone like Eustass Kid calling you "kitten" or "maid" or "dog" just kind of soured in your mind.

"What if I really don't like that nickname?" You questioned.

Kid shrugs. "I'm not trying to be your friend, Mouse, so -."

Killer clears his throat, and Kid grumbles, taking another drink.

"If it really bothered you, I could... try."

"Eh. I imagine there's worse things to be called by walking volcano with a metal arm."

Kid tried to glare, but with his face turning pink it really diminished his intent. Killer nearly choked on his own drink, and was silently shaking in his chair, trying desperately to stifle his laugh.

"You're a real brat, (Y/N)." Kid grumbled and you laughed as much as you could muster between your injuries.

"Somehow I feel like you're the type to get along with a brat better than, say, a princess." You point out.

Kid opened his mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, and then finished off the rest of his drink. He got up and picked up the box he'd tossed across the room, that Killer had set by your bed. He turned it over in his hands, knocking crinkles off the wrapping.

"Do you know when they're releasing you?" He asks.

"Tomorrow, if nothing opens up. I heal pretty fast, not like Devil Fruit fast, but nothing's infected and they can't do anything about a prosthetic until it's completely healed anyway."

"Decided what you're going to get?"

There were several kinds of available prosthetics for people. There were mechanical-movement versions, which mimicked neural movements fairly well, but the control was all in learning how to manipulate the mechanisms. Most didn't have fine movement capabilities, and all of them required re-learning how to move whatever they replaced. Another type was single-join or stationary prosthetics, commonly for legs or people who were only wearing one to make other folks more comfortable. With only one or no moving parts, they were more for show than practical use.

The kind becoming more common over the last couple decades, were neurologically connected prosthetics. It was a painful primary procedure, and it required both money and capacity to upkeep, but they moved and worked like actual limbs. All the way down to producing sensations of touch and pressure.

You shrug. "Part of me wants a fully integrated hand. But I don't know if that's necessarily because I need one, or if I just want one. I mean, I've had two hands for my whole life. I'd like to have two hands for the rest of it."

"That sounds like a strong enough reason to go for it." Kid states, setting the rumpled box back where Killer had put it. "You don't have a car right now, Mouse, you need a ride tomorrow?"

"I could get a taxi, but uh, I guess if you're offering, I can accept." You thought about it for a second, remembering the fact that it was nearly the bumper of Kid's truck that slammed into you. You were not nearly as tall as the two men in your room, and you had logistical concerns. "Can I even get into that monster truck of yours?"

Kid grunts as Killer stood up and they headed out with a simple, "get some rest." And you were on your own again.

Admittedly, you were really tired, and as you dozed off you wondered if either of those muscle-heads had noticed. They seemed like really nice guys, especially for a couple of dudes who look like they'd fight god with hammer, a rusty screw driver, and nary a fuck to give between them.

The next day, just as the nurse had anticipated, you were visited by the Marines. A young officer with dark eyes and bubblegum pink hair asked you questions about the accident. He had a partner with him, but the taller blonde didn't seem to be interested in even being there.

You explained the turn of events as best as you could remember.

"Did you want to press charges?" The marine, who said his name was Coby, questions you.

"If he's willing to pay restitution, then I have no reason to do so." You admit. "I've already lost a few days of work, and will be out for another couple weeks at least, plus the cost of replacing my hand. But if he doesn't want to even try to pay for damages, then yes."

"That's acceptable, Miss (Y/N). Did you want to press charges against the secondary collision? Technically, you'd be at fault for it, but with the-."

"No, not at all." You interrupt. "The guys that were in the truck have been apologetic and have been visiting me regularly. They haven't blamed me for any damages to their truck, and it's not their fault that, uh, did you say his name was Mr. Vander?"

Coby nods. "Vander Decken the ninth." He reads from his notes.

"Yeah, it's not their fault that drunk bastard shoved me into the intersection." You say with an obvious irritated edge to your voice.

You catch a faint smile across the young marine's face, but he quickly composes himself to a more professional expression. "Very well, Miss (Y/N), that's all we need today. As things progress we'll be in touch. You're due to be released today, correct?"

"Yeah, later this afternoon."

"Alright. I'll reach out to you at your home in a couple days as a follow-up."

"Thank you officer Coby, I appreciate that."

Now all that was left to do was wait for Kid and Killer and go through the discharge process.

Next Chapter

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

{Marya Hornbacher from Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia//stay away but come closer via Altusboy on Tumblr}

[andva-ri]

☆ ko-fi ☆ | ☆ patreon ☆ | ☆ instagram ☆

[domwitch]

Imagine flirting with a boy by giving him casual commands. Waving him over from the bar, telling him to sit down and ordering drinks for the both of you. Manhandling him gently, hand loose around his waist, walking him towards the exit. He could simply ignore you if he wasn't interested, but he's so obedient and pliant that he follows your every move, his big doe eyes eagerly watching for your next command.

[theygender]

The more I learn about judaism the more I wonder where tf christianity got all its bad shit. Why is divorce a sin in christianity when judaism has recognized the right to divorce for nearly a millennia and has codified religious laws for it. Why does christianity consider sex to be dirty (to the point where puritans considered it a sin to enjoy having sex with your own spouse) when in judaism it's considered holy and it's a literal mitzvah to have sex with your spouse on the sabbath. Why does christianity consider it a sign that you're faithless if you question your religion when in judaism that's considered an essential part to developing your faith. I'm probably stating the obvious here but I still can't get over the fact that there's no historical basis to any of this shit before christianity started, it's like christians just said "hey guys what if we took the torah and built a new religion around it but this time it was actively hostile to human life"

[learnelle]

I just love these pictures of Sylvia Plath. ❤️

[zu-is-here]

Fragile | Happy birthday to Horrortale ★

[1/16] horrortalecomic by sour-apple-studios

[starwarjotta]

kissy codywan (I'm a bit late but this is absolutely for @dontbelasagnax's codywan kissing agenda)

[istehlurvz]

sometimes I look at the 'Official Grown Up'™ art and it looks like Sokka and Zuko are geared up to go on another life changing field trip together haaaa

[yokowan]

GREATEST LIGHT RAIL SYSTEM IN THE WORLD BAYBEEEE

THE CROWN JEWEL OF AMERICA TRULY THE PINNACLE OF MODERN ENGINEERING

NEVER HAS THERE BEEN A MORE INNOVATIVE WAY OF GETTING NOWHERE VERY SLOWLY

[quinloki]

A Light Touch

Fem Reader x Eustass Kid

25 chapters - 61,095 words Version with images can be found here

CW: language, assault, violence, sexual themes and situations, implications of non-con, loss of limbs, blood. 18+ Only.

Summary: Some people come into your life with a light touch, some with a heavy hand. No matter the case, things are never quite the same afterward.

Chapter 1: Smashing Introductions

Grandline Metropolis had been your home your entire life, and while you were aware of the darker sides of the massive city, it hadn't been a part of your life. Which wasn't surprising to you, there might be a robust everyone-knows-but-no-one-says underbelly in Grandline Metro, but with 600,000 square kilometers of land and over 100 million people, it was still a statistically small part of the city.

The one thing the GL Metro had aside from size and population, was the highest concentration of Devil Fruit users. Most people in the city referred to them as Devils, and there were a lot of laws and regulations regarding what they were and weren't allowed to do with their abilities. The majority of devil opted out of filing if they ended up with a Devil Fruit, but the fines if you were caught after the fact were pretty big.

Currently, your job was one of a plethora of people who worked for the Government at the Devil Fruit Registry office. It wasn't a glamorous job, but it paid enough to keep you afloat and doing decently well. Well enough, it seems, that you have actually been headhunted by another company. Devil Fruit Laws were public and private sector, and there was a private company that had reached out to you to fill a position within their firm. It was a 40% raise, and the benefits were comparable, if not downright better.

You were on your way to the first interview of what would probably be a few rounds of interviews when the worst possible series of events could've happened.

Sitting at a red-light you could hear sirens in the distance as they were drawing nearer. Looking around for a way to move your car aside in case the sirens turned into flashing lights behind you, you didn't see the non-emergency car careening toward you.

Not that you had anywhere to go to get out of the way.

The late model, full-metal body, of a dingy brown Oldsmobile slammed into the back of your compact beater. The impact shoves your trunk practically into your backseat and forces your car out into the intersection. The violence action rattles your whole body, slamming you into your steering wheel and knocking your foot off the break.

You barely had a split second to realize what had happened when the crystal-clear picture of a full-sized truck grill meets your gaze. The terrifying screech of tires and the smell of burning rubber fills your senses as the heavy vehicle tries desperately to stop, but this secondary impact did more than just rattle your whole body. Searing pain rips through your left side as the door crumples against you in the impact.

The pain keeps you awake and aware for the most part, but your brain has been rattled around twice in short succession and you're struggling to stay focused on your surroundings. Your arm's pinned between the seat and the door, and you don't have the sense or strength to pull it free.

"Killer! Make sure that bastard in the Olds' doesn't get away!" A voice shouts, and then suddenly there was a massive, muscular man with fiery red hair and golden eyes peering into your shattered driver's side window. "Aw fuck, hey! Are you okay? Stay with me! Come on lady, I'm calling an ambulance right now, just hang on!" He turns his attention to the phone, barking about the accident and requesting emergency services.

Aside from his shockingly red hair, the only detail you could hold onto was the massive metal arm he had in place of his left arm. The pain was making it hard to focus, but every time your head rolled around, those golden eyes would be in your field of vision, getting your attention and trying to keep you awake.

"Hey lady, they say you gotta stay conscious, so hang in there. I can't pull the door off until they get here, incase you're hurt worse than it looks, so you gotta stay there, okay? Come on, talk to me, tell me you got that."

You nod weakly and swallow. "...Yeah." You manage, but you're not really up for extended conversation.

"Your name, what is it?"

"(Y/N)..."

"That's a good name. Tell me about yourself (y/n), keep talking." He had his phone against his ear, looking around trying to assess the damage better.

"My... car..."

"If it was important to you, I can help you restore it, but it's not going anywhere right now."

"Interview..."

"You're going to miss it, Mouse."

"Name's... not... Mouse... Red." You manage almost a full sentence and there's a lop-sided smile from the red-haired mountain standing over you.

"Name's Eustass Kid." He offers. "Calling someone with red-hair 'Red', is kind of unimaginative."

"Working with... what I got."

"Fair enough. The professionals are here, hang in there."

Paramedics took over what Eustass had been doing and asked a lot of the same questions, keeping you conscious as they assessed what was going on. It took almost a hour to get you safely out of the car, and the paramedics wouldn't answer any of your questions about how you were. The frustration from their non-answers and blatant dodges had the needed effect of making you so irritated you were staying conscious just to grumble.

Loaded into the ambulance you were taken to the hospital, prepped for emergency surgery and put under.

.

.

.

.

When you came around you were in a recovery room. It was dim, but not dark, the muffled sounds of steady beeps and the smell and feel of astringent bleach, and the scents of other cleaners gave away the hospital room for what it was. A familiar form was sitting in a chair in the corner of your room and an unfamiliar form was next to him.

You remembered Eustass Kid, but the guy beside him, every bit as muscular as his red-haired friend, had the wildest, thickest, most amazing mane of long blonde hair you'd ever seen on a man or a woman. Most of his face was obscured by the long locks, but he seemed to see through them just fine, as he nudged Eustass with his elbow.

Kid looks up, and then lights up; a small smile playing at his lips before he slowly approaches your bedside.

"Hey Mouse, how're you feeling?" He asks. For such a big guy he seems a little apprehensive.

"Better, I think? Uh... not to be rude, but why're you here?" You question groggily, coming around to your new reality slowly.

"Er, well, we were just gonna stay until someone else showed up, but-."

"Ah. Yeah, I... don't have family in the Metro." You try to sit up, but pain zings through you all over the place. Kid's massive hand is barely touching your shoulder, urging you to lay back down.

"I can raise the bed for you, if you want, but you should stay resting." Kid explains, looking for the controls on the bed. "The nurse said they're gonna move ya to a more permanent room later."

"I... uh... thanks." You say finally after he raises the bed a little. "I mean, for staying. It's nice to have someone filling me in on what's going on."

"You remember what happened?" His friend prompted.

"Kind of? I remember hearing sirens, and I looked over to see if I could move my car to the side, in case they needed to get by, and when I looked back up it was just in time to be shoved out into the intersection." You grimace, shifting yourself to what you hope is a more comfortable position, which is a little difficult with your left arm in a sling. "You, uh, ran into me after that, right?"

Kid makes a face. "Yeah."

"You wouldn't have if I hadn't been hit the first time." You state, the grimace on your face from your discomfort, not because of him. "It'd be a real dick move on my part if I was mad at you." You remember hearing Kid yell something before he'd come up to your car. "What happened to the guy who rear-ended me?"

Kid growls, and his friend answers. "He's fine."

"For now." Kid grumbles.

You looked back and forth between them, before looking toward the blonde. "Sorry, you are?"

"Everyone calls me Killer." He explains. "Kid and I run a mechanic shop."

"How's he fine?" You grouse. "He hit me pretty hard."

"Drunk." Kid seemed to be getting angrier by the second. "He was so fucking sloshed he was walking around the street with his car wheel in his hands making motor noises."

"He'll probably be sore and have a massive hangover tomorrow, but I doubt anything's broken. Drunks are rubber in accidents, they don't tense up, so they don't get hurt." Killer explains.

"I'm still really tired," you admit, struggling to keep your eyes open. You had wanted more questions answered, but recovering bodies slept a lot. "I just got one more question."

"What is it, Mouse?"

You look into Eustass Kid's golden eyes. "Why can't I feel my left hand?"

The look on his face tells you all you really need, but he puts it into terrible, undeniable words for you.

"Sorry, (Y/N), it's gone."

Next Chapter

[ryllen]

[mayasaura]

one problem with a theatrical adaption of tlt is htn, where the reveal that Gideon lives on works because of the change of second person to first.

the only way i can think of it working is that the actor playing gideon works backstage, like the lights system (but is hidden from the audience aside from subtle hints)

the biggest hint is when when wake breaches pal's river bubble she 'breaks' the lighting system and the stage goes dark. harrow is ushered into the wings by pal so she doesn't see anything, but the lights flick back on just before the curtains drop for a scene change, and pal looks directly up at the light box in surprise and smiles. if the audience is quick to turn around they can see a flash of a black robe.

Oh boy my friend, have you come to the right place!!

So, fun fact about ninja. Bear with me, I am going somewhere with this. The image of a ninja covered head to toe in black, with a hood and mask, comes from Kabuki theatre. It was originally a stagehand uniform. Like stagehands in modern theatre, stagehands in Kabuki would wear all black to signify that they were not really there, and whatever effect they were causing (carrying a prop, creating a breeze, ect.) was to be taken as happening on its own. Basic stagehand stuff, a lot of productions in many styles around the world do it, especially if they don't have fancy rigging systems.

Someone (I don't remember who now, or in what play) had the idea to dress the ninja in a production up as a stagehand. In the convention of the theatre, this made them invisible. The audience was already so used to ignoring stagehands, they didn't know any more than the characters that the ninja was present, despite the actor being clearly visible on stage. Which meant when the ninja struck, it was as if out of nowhere. I can only imagine the uproar in the theatre the first time it happened. It worked so well as to become commonplace, and the rest is history. The popular image of a ninja is still a kabuki stagehand.

So, back to the stage play of Harrow the Ninth. I think you've hit almost exactly on how to incorporate the Gideon twist into a theatrical production. But not as a lighting tech. Gideon is a stage hand. Maybe there would be more than one stagehand, maybe she would be the only one, but she would operate in full view of the audience, literally setting the scenes. I think it works best if she's the only one, but if the production needs more, she should subtly stand out in some way. As the play went on, we would notice that this one stage hand... increasingly interacts with Harrow, though Harrow never acknowledges it. At first it might look like she's playing Harrow's necromancy, because that would be the main special effect she would need to help with. When Harrow is unconscious at the end of a scene, it's always the same stagehand carrying her out. But we all know she's not really there. Until Palamedes acknowledges her. Turns to look right at her, and speaks to her. I can see the scene clearly. He would look at her, stunned, until Gideon finally took off her mask. The line "Kill us twice, shame on God," would be addressed to Gideon, and then he would turn back to Harrow, kiss her on the forehead, and tell her to go. Gideon, always out of Harrow's line of sight, would guide Harrow away while Harrow looked back at Palamedes.

[cecenyss]

the Real mystery of death note is that Light somehow convinced the fandom that he is the socially competent one and L is the recluse with no social skills. Light thought it was realistic to respond to the emo freak at his college who said he was a world famous detective after hunching over like a gremlin taking his shoes off in public and sitting like a frog was "if you're telling the truth i respect you greatly." L frequently performs social tests on people close to him to see what they'll say with the goal of studying their responses and picked up a call from his friend in a potentially volatile situation by flawlessly imitating a douchebag friend who parties too much while likely never having been to a bar in his life. they are not the same.

[janasojka]

Touch.

[littlecrittereli]

That moment when your non-affectionate brother is suddenly affectionate