#amputee fiction

[bodaciousalliance]

The heart of Mr Farouk,

ch. 59: "Lazy Saturday"

The aroma of coffee began to percolate through the house. Nathan had time to search around in the pantry, finding the croissants, butter and jam; but that was as far as he went, he knew the croissants were Youssef’s department. Meanwhile, in the corner Kit-Kat crouched down on his haunches glowering across the room. Nathan was careful to give him a wide berth, treading gingerly around him.

Soon enough, Youssef emerged. Like Nathan, he had dressed for effect this morning. All he wore was a pair of sexy black football shorts, and no shirt. What a sight he presented: the black shorts, with his black liners and carbon sockets, complemented the jet black hair of his head, beard and chest, while the flash of metal from his pylons and hooks set off the flash of his hazel eyes. Nathan was completely entranced by his sexy, topless lover, his very own bionic man.

...what a sight he presented, the black shorts, with his black liners and carbon sockets...Nathan was completely entranced by his sexy, topless lover, his very own bionic man.

“Feed the cat, I dare you,” Youssef, at the pantry, tossed a bag of treats Nathan’s way.

“Ah … okay …” Nathan answered tentatively. He shook the bag and like a shot Kit-Kat came running across to him, meowing and rubbing himself against Nathan as he circled around his legs. Nathan squatted and showed Kit-Kat the now-opened bag, which drove him absolutely wild. He took one of the treats and, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, offered it to the cat. Kit-Kat, though in a mania of hunger—really there was something in these treats that always sent him crazy—gently took it from Nathan, without biting or nipping his fingers.

“Good boy,” Nathan cooed, offering him another—and another and another and another, until the cat walked away, sated, “Good boy, good boy,” Nathan cooed again, and Kit-Kat chirruped in reply.

Observing all this, Youssef thought ‘how sweet’. He couldn’t help but take it as some kind of good omen, given that Kit-Kat was usually completely hostile to everyone bar himself.

“He likes you,” he teased Nathan, “he’s never not hissed and growled at any visitor here—you’re the first one he’s warmed to.”

“I suppose that augers well then—I hope I can spend a fair bit of time here in the future, if you’ll have me, habibi.”

“Of course, my boyfriend, it’s great having you here, I love it,” as an afterthought, he added, “but I like your place too, you know.”

They sat at the table, enjoying their breakfast. The croissants—warm and buttery and jammy—were not as good as those in Paris but still pretty good for suburban England. The coffee, rich and creamy, was heavenly. The lovers sat there, taking in the simple joy of sharing a delicious meal with each other.

“So, habibi, did you have any idea of what you want to do today?”

“Well, my boyfriend, I thought I’d enlist your help in the kitchen—I want to put dinner on soon so it can simmer away during the day.”

“Oh … okay … you want me in the kitchen? You are brave, what are you thinking of?”

“Don’t worry, just help with some of the prep, no actual cooking—I’m doing Moroccan lamb—I hope that appeals. Anyway, what about you, what do you have in mind for today?”

“I brought a heap of art stuff. I’d like to draw a bit. And I brought you some stuff—just to play around with, only if you’re interested.”

“Hmmm … maybe?” There was a time when Youssef would have automatically, categorically said ‘no’. These days, being subjected to Nathan’s constant encouragement, he felt less unsure about his capabilities, and though he was quite sure he was devoid of any kind of artistic sense, he felt so much more open—again thanks to Nathan’s influence—to new experiences, to trying new things.

“Okay, cooking and drawing,” though Nathan was in no rush to do anything except savour the fantastic coffee.

“Let’s do it,” Youssef rose and made for the fridge and the larder, and started gathering the ingredients. He wanted Nathan to chop the vegetables; onions, carrots and potatoes—that was, especially the onions, the most fiddly and time-consuming part of the process for him. However, it quickly became obvious that Nathan was clueless about all things to do with cooking. Youssef even thought it may have been quicker for him to take over, despite how long it took him to do these intricate tasks with his prosthetic hooks. It didn’t matter, it was a joy to be doing stuff together and, with some patient coaching and gentle correction, Nathan was soon making a good job of it, while Youssef trimmed and carved the lamb into nice big chunks.

Before long the rich aroma of frying onions and garlic began wafting through the house, later joined by lamb, turmeric and other spices. It gave a cosy, homely feeling to the place. Nathan watched in fascination as Youssef deftly handled the various utensils and achieved the different tasks—frying, pouring, stirring and the like—with his hooks. Nathan almost let out a warning cry as he saw him about to pick up the casserole dish without first getting a pot-holder, then he realised, of course his prosthetics don’t feel the heat.

“There, we’ll just let that quietly stew away for a bit, and that’s our dinner,” Youssef said as he transferred the casserole from the cooktop to a slow oven.

“Mmmmm,” Nathan savoured it, he was loving being here.

“How about some tea, and maybe we can sit down and relax?”

“Lovely. Like I said, I’d like to draw. Actually, I’d like to draw you, will you sit for me?”

“Draw me? What, a portrait or something? … yes, of course, but why? Why on earth would you want to draw me?”

“Well … I love you …”

“I love you too!”

“… I love you, and right now I think I would want to draw you every day. Plus, you’re a great subject: your super-handsome looks and your amazing physicality.”

“Aaaar … hmmmm …”

“I know you don’t like it but, this idea of ‘difference’ is a real thing in art these days, there’s a big movement to proudly portray people with their various differences, to make a strong statement about it being okay to be different. You can be a part of that movement too, you know.”

“Oh … I don’t know, I’m not any kind of advocate or activist, don’t want to be, either.”

“That’s alright. You can at least pose for me, nothing more.”

“Yes, yes, like I said, for you, anything—my lovely boyfriend.”

“I see I’ve gained an adjective now,” Nathan teased.

They repaired to the living room, with their cups of tea. Nathan suggested Youssef sit on the couch while he got his stuff. Returning with his favourite sketch-pad and charcoals, he sat cross-legged on the floor, facing Youssef.

“So, how about you place your feet flat on the floor—yes—now, lean forward, elbows on your knees—that’s it—and look straight at me. Wow!”

...feet flat on the floor, lean forward, elbows on your knees, now, look straight at me... wow!

It was a powerful aspect, the unambiguous metal of his leg pylons and hooks, the sexy thick hairy chest, the muscled shoulders, sort of bound by the harness-straps of his prosthetic arms, and his intense, cool gaze. All was magnified by the stark black and white of Nathan’s charcoal drawing.

“Can I see it?”

“Promise not to hate it, or freak out over your body-image issues?”

“Hmm, okay, I’ll try not to.”

Nathan got up and brought over the sketch. Youssef gasped a little, and slowly, carefully, thoughtfully perused the picture before him. He had gone completely quiet as he continued to stare at, to meditate on, Nathan’s portrait of him.

“You’re not going to go all lachrymose on me again, are you?” Nathan asked, only half-jokingly.

“Ummm … no … gosh, it’s remarkable, it’s such a strong image, I’ve never seen myself like this before—you’ve made me look so powerful.”

“Ah, well, the pose, and the medium, and the style add to it; but really all the power comes from the subject, the sitter, you—it all comes from you, Youssef.”

“Yes, but…”

“Look, habibi, honestly, this is one of my better ones, I can tell, they don’t always turn out so well. I mean to say, success as in actually being able to realise on paper what I see, to convey or transmit what I see and feel to you, the observer. It doesn’t always happen this well, in fact sometimes it doesn’t happen at all.”

“That’s interesting, I never thought about art in those terms. It’s all so subjective, isn’t it? You know, with science, we spend all our time trying to eliminate the subjective. We have to aim for complete objectivity.”

“Of course, that’s why it’s science and not art. Science and art, objective and subjective, just like yin and yang—that’s why we’re so good together, my lovely.”

“And here’s me thinking it was because you are so damned sexy,” Youssef had that glint in his eye again…

[u10como]

Some time ago, i released this picture on my DA with a caption, later suppplemented by a short story expanding on the theme, followed by personal afterword regarding my background and themes of the story, which i now decided to present here on tumblr, all joined into one text. Once again, english isn't my first language, it was one of the first longer pieces i wrote and i'm by no means a writer, but i hope some of you might enjoy it nonetheless.

Hope you don't mind

You met her on an online forum about your favourite band and you've been messaging for a month now. She was just perfect: Funny, smart and as far as you were aware she was really interested in you, but everytime you suggested meeting somewhere, she said she's either busy or just changed the subject. Not wanting to push her, you gave her some time to think about it.

One morning a message from her, accompanied by a photo landed in your inbox:

"So...this isn't easy for me, but you seem like genuinely good person and i'd hate myself if i passed that opportunity  because i was insecure. Anyway, this is me. I had an accident with high voltage  power lines six months ago and i'm still insecure about meeting new people or going in public in general.

If you feel weird about it i completely understand and won't bother you any more, but if you still want to meet, i know a nice little pizzeria just around corner from where i live. The owner is an old family friend and could arrange a small room in the back for us so people won't stare."

Why should i mind?

As you read the message over and over, your mind is racing, filled with mixed emotions. On one hand, you're relieved – she really wants to meet you after all. On the other hand you can't help but feel sad – such a beautiful, smart girl, full of life, suffering from such horrible injury. Of course, you never for a second consider saying no to her proposition – she is still the great girl you messaged with the past month. You immediately write your reply:

„Hey! Of course i still want to meet you - i've been asking to meet you for some time now and nothing changed about that! Today, 4 in the afternoon works for you? Just tell me where the pizzeria is and i'll wait for you there.“

In few minutes she replied:

„Oh, you can't believe how relieved i am – thank you for not being weird about it! Yes, 4 will be perfect time. The pizzeria is Giovanni's on the corner of Oak and Harbor st – just tell the owner you're Jana's friend, he'll seat you in the back.“

„Well… I have a date!“ you think to yourself. Rummaging through your wardrobe you struggle to find anything you'll be satisfied with – going all dressed up like to prom seems like overkill, but you don't want to come all casual either – after all, you really care for her and you want to show it. In the end you settle for your least worn cargo pants with a T-shirt of your favorite band – you know she likes them too, so you hope this might outweigh your otherwise way too casual look. You set off early, intending to buy flowers for her. After careful consideration, you buy a nice bouquet of seven pink carnations and set off to Giovanni's.

As you step inside ten minutes before 4, the owner – a rather short, somewhat overweight yet muscular man with large hands and a bushy mustache above his friendly smile greets you. „Welcome to Giovanni's, what can i do for you?“ „Uhm, hello, i am Friend of Jana…“ „Oh, Wonderful, wonderful!“ the owner interrupts you with a big warm smile, A friend of our little Jana is my friend too! Right this way, have a seat, i'll bring you a vase for these beautiful flowers. Care for a drink in the mean time?“ „Yes, i saw you serve a homemade lemonade, please.“ you answer. „A wonderful choice! Comming right up!“ says the owner with a wide smile.

With that, the owner runs back front, returning in half a minute with your lemonade served in beautiful tall glass with pieces of lemon, lime and mint leaves, toped with a bright red straw. „Here you go! When Jana arrives i'll send her right away. Now, if i may ask, when did you two met? Pardon me for asking what might be a personal question, but you see, being friends with her parents ever since i moved here, Jana is like niece to me.“ "Oh, don't apologise, i understand.“, you reply, “To be frank, we haven't met in person yet, we were just chatting over internet and i really liked her – and the feeling was mutual, dare i presume.“ „I see“, says the owner, „So you know about…?“, He struggles to put his thoughts to words, instead just shrugs his shoulders one by one.

„Oh? Oh! Yes, i do. In fact, she told me just this morning.“ „I was just asking.“, nods the owner, „You see, our poor little Jana suffered enough. I just don't want her to leave today with a broken heart, so i wanted to make sure you won't freak out or something.“ „Oh no, don't worry, sir. I was asking her for a meetup for two weeks before i knew about it. I liked her before i knew about it and i don't see why it should change anything.“ The owner nods his head „I see. You're good in my books then, kid. I'm glad Jana found someone so understanding.“ He pats your shoulder as he says that.

There is a ring from the little bell above entrance and a young woman's voice calls:

„Uncle Tigran, are you there?“ „That's her.“ Says the owner and rushes off to the front. „My little Jana, it's so nice to see you again! Your friend is in the back, go, have some fun, and when you're ready, call me and i'll be right back to take your order.“

You stand up to greet her. In few seconds, she peeks inside the room with a shy, almost affraid look on her face. As your eyes meet, she smiles at you and you smile back. Despite the smile, her green eyes show a hint of timid apprehension. As she steps in, you notice her motionless hands, convincing at first glance, but knowing her condition, obviously artificial.

"Hi, nice to finally meet you", you say, holding the bouquet of carnations forward. "Oh, these are beautiful, thank you, she says, leaning in to smell them. Looking into her beautiful green eyes, your heart flutters with happiness.

„I'm really so glad to finally meet you in person“ you say. „You're even more beautiful than on the photo .“

„Oh, thank you. Nobody said such thing to me since…“ she pauses, looking into distance. After few seconds she breaks off, shyly attempting to smile on you. „Anyway, would you mind helping me with my coat?“ „Of course, right away“, you say as you move in to unbutton it. As you remove her coat, the prosthetic arms slip off her shoulders, staying firmly inside the coat's sleeves, letting her little arm stumps show. „Oh, sorry, i didn't mean to, let me…“ you stammer an apology.

„No, that's allright. They were meant to come off. I should have told you. I wear them on the street to avoid the stares, but they are so uncomfortable, so since here i am among people who know about me, i just hooked them to the coat so i don't have to wear them all the time.“

As you sit on the opposite sides of the table, you suddenly don't know what to say. You see she is uncomfortable, so you try to steer the conversation a different way.

„So… This pizzeria – It's named Giovanni's, but i heard you call the owner a different name?“

„Oh yes, uncle Tigran gave this establishment italian sounding name as marketing trick. He is great, though, one of the best pizza chefs around. He says he spent five years in Naples learning about local cuisine, actually. I understand you already talked with him?“

„Oh yes, he seems like really nice, but no-nonsense kind of guy. Told me you're like a niece to him and warned me not to break your heart. Not that i intended to, anyway.“, you add with a smile.

„Yeah, uncle Tigran was always nice to me. He visited me in the hospital almost daily when i…“ once again, Jana's gaze slides into distance.

„You don't have to talk about it, i'm sorry if i reminded you in any way.“ You say hastily.

„Oh? No, don't apologize, you did nothing wrong, it's just… Everything reminds me, you know? Wherever i go, whatever i do, every single thing reminds me i no longer…“ she pauses and sighs, lifting her stumps to illustrate her point before continuing „…have arms. Waking up in the morning, i try to lift my blanket and these useless things just flap about helplessly. Reaching for things, trying to do any simple task, even steadying myself when i trip – everything i do i must remind myself i can't do it the normal way anymore. If it was just one i could deal with it, but like this? I feel so helpless sometimes. The first few weeks in the hospital i had to bother the nurses everytime my nose got itchy, not to mention i had to be showered by them, just standing there, leting them clean me off. Tt felt so dehumanising... I'm sorry i spilled all this on you, it's my problem and i should deal with it myself, you don't have to think about it.“ She averts her eyes, looking down into the table.

„Jana,“, you say, „If i wanted not to think about it i wouldn't be here with you – and that would make me quite a bad person, don't you think? I came because i liked you from the moment we started chatting, long before i ever saw you. If there is anything i can do to help you – even if it would be just to stand by your side to always be able to remind you how great person you are whenever should you doubt yourself – i want to be there and help you.“

With tears welling in her eyes, Jana lifts her head „Really? You would do that for me?“

„Of course i would. You are smart, funny and stunningly beautiful. If i can help it, i wish for you never to be sad again“, you reach over the table with a tissue to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

„Thank you,“ she says, suppressing tears, visibly moved. „I never thought i would hear anybody say that to me. Come on - let's order some food, i'm starving.“

As if waiting for his cue, the owner comes in with a big smile „So, what would you want, my dears? We have excellent Margherita Napoletana, but if you're not into traditional pizza, i might do a regular New York style. Most people prefer that, anyway – beats me why, though, there's nothing better than proper traditional italian pie.“

„I think i could go for your Napoletana, Jana told me you're one of the best pizza chefs around, mister… uhh…“ „Tigran Manukyan, at your service.“, he replies with maybe a little too deep bow, „I presume our little Jana here told you about my little trick already, so why should i hide it anymore? Anyway, what can i offer you, my darling?“ says mister Manukyan turning to Jana. „I'll take the Napoletana too, uncle Tigran. And might i ask you for a glass of that lemonade too? It looks so refreshing.“ „Comming right up, my dears“, says mister Manukyan and rushes off.

„So… Where were we?“ asks Jana. „Well,“ you say, „I just told you you're beautiful and i wish to be always there for you.“

„Oh…“ she pauses, but smiles, finally seeming to be at ease, „I mean… Thank you. I'm sorry, I've became quite bad at taking compliments lately – not that i ever was any good to begin with, but now… i mean, you know, with my…“ she says, wiggling her arm stumps.

„You don't have to explain yourself, i understand“, you calm her, „Jusk know you are beautiful to me and nothing can ever change that. In fact, you were beautiful to me long before i knew how you even look, when we were still just chatting.“

Mister Manukyan comes with Jana's glass of lemonade and a pitcher „I brought you two some more for refills – on the house of course. The pizzas will be done in few minutes.“ Almost unisono, you and Jana reply „Thank you, mister Manukyan /Thank you, uncle Tigran“ and with a smile, he leaves.

„Anyway,“ says Jana, „I know you're telling me that just to make me feel better. Why would somebody as cute as you consider someone ‚beautiful‘ just from an online chat?“ she says, leaning forward for the straw and taking a sip from her drink.

„Maybe because i found a great person to talk to and spend time with.“ You reply, looking directly into Jana's eyes. „Maybe i don't care about looks that much. Maybe i think beauty is not only based on somebody's looks. And maybe, or not as much maybe as quite undeniably surely, you are actually beautiful even if i would step so low as to judge you just by your looks. You have pretty face, beautiful hair and the most captivating emerald eyes i've ever seen. But even without that, you are above all the brave, smart girl i came to know and love – and nothing can change that.“

„Brave? How am i brave? I spent half a year hiding from world, almost never leaving my room unless i had to.“ Replied Jana.

„Yet you came here and invited me.“, you say, “You overcame your anxiety and reached out. That alone was braver than most people would ever hope to be. All i ask of you is to believe in yourself as i believe in you. You are the bravest girl in know and i love you for that.“

„I love you too“, she says, hint of tears in her eyes once again as she shifts closer to you with her arm stumps outstretched. Understanding the hint, you hug her, gently stroking her hair with your hand.

„Oh, young love, what a beautiful sight!“ says mister Manukyan as he comes in with your pizzas in each hand „Here is your food, my dears, Bari Akhorzhak to you both!“

„Uncle Tigran,“ says Jana, lifting her head from your shoulders, „this was the first time ever i heard you speaking Armenian in your pizzeria.“

„Well, i figured i might as well drop the act, my dear.“ said mister Manukyan with a smile. „Pizza is my passion and my living, but i'm no Italian and never will be. Maybe it's time for me to fly my true colors with pride. People come here for good food, not for fake Italian. Of course, a name change would be required, then, but i hope people would come nonetheless. After all ‚Uncle Tigran's‘ has a nice ring to it, no? And i might as well put some of my old family recipes on the menu. Next time you come, i'll make you the best Lahmajoun you ever had, i promise!“

„That would be really great, mister Manukyan“, you say with enthusiasm, „I'm looking forward to it.“

As mister Manukyan leaves with a big, warm smile, you and Jana sit to your pizzas. "Do you need any help?" you ask. "No." says Jana almost too quickly. "Well yes, probably, but i shouldn't. I need to do this on my own - i mean, there won't always be somebody around to help me, but i will be always armless, you know?" You notice her suddenly easing up, as if adressing her condition out loud, without euphemisms or hesitating helped her finally come to terms with it. "Would you mind helping me taking off my shoes, though?"

"Of course", you say as you kneel and gently lift her right foot in your hand, taking off her shoe and sock, then doing the same with her left foot. "Thank you. You're a real sweetheart" she says, lifting her feet up to the tabletop, awkwardly picking the fork with her left foot and knife with the right. As you sit on the opposite side of table, you can't take your eyes off her while she cuts a small piece of her pizza and using the fork in her left food brings it to her mouth with a great effort.

"Oooh!" she smiles with pleasure as she savors the food in her mouth, "I almost forgot how great uncle Tigran's pizzas are! You should eat too while it's hot." Taking a bite from your own pizza, you must agree - this is certainly the best pizza you ever had. As you both eat, you notice Jana's movements becoming ever so slightly more fluent and relaxed with each bite. you can't help but stop and look at her, smiling.

"What? Is something on my face?" she asks as she starts rubbing her nose with her right stump. "No, it's just... When you came you were all tense and apprehensive, but now you seem to ease up." "I just know i'm in a good company", she says, shrugging her shoulders, "I mean, yeah, i knew you are funny and kind from the first time we started chatting, but now, you made me feel... appreciated, normal. Like i matter. I... probably just needed to hear that, you know? Like... from somebody outside of my family." "I see," you say, "But how come you weren't so shy when we were chatting on the forum?"

"I don't know, i guess the anonymity played a part, you know?" she ponders, "Like - on the internet, nobody sees me. Nobody knows. There's no way to tell whether the person on the other side is beautiful, ugly, thin, fat or uses toes to write. That probably helped me there."

"Tell me about it," you say. "Sometimes i feel anxious even making a phonecall, let alone talking to strange people in person!" "You?" she smiles "No way! You seem so cool and confident. After all, you asked me out first, i would have never had the guts to do it myself without you."

"The same magic of the anonymous internet as in your case" you reply, "And if i somehow seem confident now, it's only because i feel like we known each other for ages. It's hard to describe, but i feel like we were meant to be together, you know?"

setting down the knife, she extends her right foor over the table towards you, gently stroking your face with her big toe. Smiling, you take her foot in your hands, planting a soft kiss on her ankle. She giggles "That tickles! But... it feels nice." Kising her foot once again, you let go of it, looking deep into her green eyes with a warm smile. "So, are you up for a little stroll after we finish our pizzas?", you ask her. "Gladly!", she replies as she puts another piece i her mouth. "Do you have any specific place in mind?" "Well," you say, "I was thinking of just going for a walk, but if you want, we might go to the gazebo on the cliff above the city and watch the sunset together?" "Oh, romantic!" she exclaims with excitement. "I like that."

When you finish your pizzas, mister Manukyan comes in to clean up, almost as if he was waiting for his cue. "Enjoyed your food, my dears?" he asks, "Everything was up to your liking? "Of yourse, uncle Tigran," responds Jana with a smile, "I always loved your cooking."

As you leave Jana in the back to pay for the food, mister Manukyan says:

"Thank you for everything, kid. Jana really needed someone to just be there for her. She used to visit me every week, but since her accident she just moved back to her parent's house and stoped going out. I knew what she was going through, but i had no idea how to help. Turns out, all she really needed was for someone outside of her family to just treat her with love and respect and you did just that. I won't lie to you - i doubt if stuff would be just *poof* and everything is okay now, people just don't work like that and i am sure there is still a lot ahead of Jana before she's back to the cheerful self i remember from before her accident, but i feel like you really helped her make a big progress today. Once again, thank you for that."

"It was my pleasure, mister Manukyan." you replied, "She is great girl and i fell for her ever since we started chatting." "I'm glad to hear that. And please, you can call me Tigran", he says with a smile, "Or Uncle Tigran, whole town will know me like that anyway soon, at least i hope."

After shaking hands with mister Manukyan, you return to Jana, who is almost prepared to leave. As you help her tie her shoes loose enough so she can slip them on and off at will, you go fetch her coat.

"No, you can leave that here,", she says, "i'll talk with uncle Tigran and ask him to hide it somewhere so i can pick it up later."

"Are you sure? Your arms are in there, don't you want to put them on?"

"Not really. As i said, they are heavy and uncomfortable. Also, they are purely cosmetic, so aside from keeping people from staring, they are pretty much useless.", she said. "And if that means people will stare, then so be it. I need to get used to showing in public and i thought why not now, when i have you by my side?" "As you wish," you reply. "Shall we go, then?"

"Okay. I hope you don't mind being seen in public with a disabled girl"

"Being seen with beautiful smart girl i love? Why shuld i mind?"

A little afterword is due.

This story, while obviously coming from place of my attraction to women with, let's say, non-standard physique, in this particular case bilateral arm amputees, is a departure from my usual style. My usual character background snippets revolve around happier circumstances - my characters usualy lose their limbs voluntarily, non-permanently or in some obscure magic way, which, while it can't be assured to be temporary, has the peculiar side effect of making them weirdly okay with the changes.

This is not the case. In reality, a limb loss is a powerful traumatic experience to vast majority of people. Overcoming such trauma might take weeks, months, years even, and some people may never recover mentally. I felt like this point was worth mentioning and keeping in mind.

As for overall themes of this story, the main themes are hope, acceptance and dealing with adversity. In that sense, Jana's condition is a stand-in for number of problems which might cause a person to lose their sense of self-worth and shut themselves off from the world. If you are suffering from any condition causing you to feel that way, remember this: You Matter. You are loved. And while in real life, recovery will certainly not come as quickly as for Jana in my story, the point illustrated still stands: Some battles are not meant to be fought alone. Sometimes all you need is to find someone who will help you carrying your burden. Remember, that leaning on your friends in hard times isn't weakness. On the contrary, knowing when to ask for help is major strength. And if you do not suffer from any such problems, then please, be mindful of those who do. Be kind, accepting and unconditionally loving as our unnamed protagonist. After all, the protagonist is reffered as You, because they are supposed to represent the best in every single one of us. Man, woman, trans or non-binary, if you're reading this, i hope you will always be as unconditionally accepting as the protagonist is to Jana.

Some elements of the setting sort of come from my own experience. The overall setting of my stories is this usual culturally neutral americano-european mishmash, made for easier accesibility for wider audience, but certain characters or places might carry something from my personal experience. As some of you might know, i am Czech, so i decided to write Jana as one too - even though this might not be really apparent from anything beside her name, that is her intended nationality. Whether you imagine her as local, thinking of this story's setting as somewhere in Czechia or as immigrant to a foreign country of your choice is up to you. Also, the character of Tigran Manukyan is losely based on my own experience: Where i'm from, a lot of pizzerias are actually owned by people from Armenia, Georgia or Turkey and a lot of their owners are very similar to "uncle Tigran" both in their appearance and in their cheerful, friendly way of greeting their customers. Uncle Tigran's character arc is also about acceptance: Accepting own cultural heritage, because every culture is worth preserving.

So, this is the end of my little PSA. Respect each other, be tolerant to one another and try to help those whose life dealt them the worse hand.

[sillystringsimpsons]

Hai!! What headcanons do you have for the capos (like Louie, Legs, and Johnny)? (If you don’t wanna share that’s totally fine <:3)

I would love to share! Here's some designs and basic headcanons I made for my AU :)))

If you have any specific questions I'd love to yap :3

Interactions HUGELY appreciated <3

[smallsies]

Reflecting on Representation in Audio Drama (as a Creator)

It's a commonly sung praise of fiction podcasts that, because of the indie nature of the space, minority representation is much more commonplace, but I don't think I've heard much of what that looks like for creators on the other side, so I just want to talk about it a bit in regards to my personal experience, writing an upcoming audio drama and being physically disabled.

"Write what you know" is advice given far and wide, even beyond podcasting, so when working through the pre-canon impact the city collapse in SPACE SPECKS had on the population, a long-term injury seemed like a trail worth heading down. Thus one of the show's characters, Nora, was partially trapped underneath a collapsed wall after an explosion, with her partner forced to do a field amputation to get her to safety, and, in a broader sense, save her life.

As an amputee, just the idea of writing a character with an amputation was exciting — I've struggled to find any relatability to other amputees, in both fiction and in real life, due to the circumstances and type of amputation I had. Creating a character who's amputation was, like mine, traumatic, who struggles with phantom pain and her disability being minimized and not having a say in the medical decision, now having to relearn navigating the world with mobility aids has meant so much more to me than I ever expected it would.

We're both partial foot amputees (write what you know, right?) and for me, this came with a lot of strife that I'm now getting to explore through Nora. I didn't call myself an amputee for a very long time — I didn't think I "deserved" it, because you wouldn't ever be able to tell just by looking at me, because my healthcare team and my family told me I would be fine and would adapt to walking again and because, even in amputee spaces, I simply didn't have it as bad as others did, along with hundreds of other reasons.

In short, though, audio drama is allowing me to tell a story that I would otherwise probably continue to feel isolated within. Becoming an amputee was a huge shift in my life I've never shared with anyone, but now Nora's injury has the opportunity to help me and maybe help others feel seen and understood, (even if their circumstances may be different!) This is just an incredibly unique sort of catharsis I didn't expect to find in podcasting & I'm really grateful for the opportunities this space presents. :)

[aspiringwarriorlibrarian]

You know, I'm medium on Mech Cadets in general but I am SHOCKED to see a piece of relatively mainstream media that acknowledges that prosthetics are not a magical limb replacement or that amputees might prefer life without them.

[emophil1981]

Taylor’s limbless dream

The fluorescent lights above buzzed like disturbed bees as Taylor’s eyes fluttered open. The room came into focus, but everything felt foreign, surreal, like stepping into a dream he never wanted to wake from. His heart raced, an inexplicable mixture of excitement and confusion. His head was still foggy, remnants of a turbulent sleep wrapping around his consciousness like a warm blanket. He blinked a few times and scanned the room, absorbing the white sheets, the IV drip, the monitors beeping rhythmically.

“Where...?” he murmured, his voice a hoarse whisper. Instinctively, he tried to push himself up, but the sudden realization that something was drastically different hit him like a thunderclap. The bed felt both familiar and strange beneath him, an unsettling cocoon that held him captive.

He glanced down at where his arms and legs should have been. His eyes widened, then sparkled with an unbridled joy that he hadn’t anticipated feeling. Instead of limbs, he saw four soft stumps, smooth and unblemished, like two little logs protruding from his shoulders and two beneath his hips. The realization washed over him like a refreshing wave of euphoria, crashing against the shores of his mind and sweeping away the last remnants of confusion.

“Oh my God,” he breathed, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “I really did it. I’m... I’m free!” His voice trembled, imbued with disbelief and thrill. His happiness was palpable, radiating through the sterile air like sunlight breaking through clouds after a storm.

A nurse entered the room, her kindly eyes widening with concern as she noticed his sudden emotional outburst. “Taylor, sweetheart, are you okay?”

“Okay?” he echoed, laughter bubbling up from within him. “I’m more than okay! I’m amazing! Look at me!” He wiggled his stumps, the motion stirring his veins with adrenaline. “I’m a quadruple amputee! This... this is incredible!”

The nurse's brows furrowed slightly, uncertainty flickering across her face. “I know this was unexpected, but you just experienced a major change. It’s natural to feel... overwhelmed.”

“No, no,” Taylor interjected, his voice gleeful. “You don’t understand. I’ve always wanted this! I prayed for it, wished for it—how strange does that sound?” He chuckled, adjusting his position to get a better view of his beautiful stumps. “But this is everything I hoped for! I finally feel truly vulnerable. I’m complete!”

The nurse’s expression softened, her voice becoming gentle. “I’m glad you’re feeling this way, but it’s important to remember that your mind and body are adjusting. It’s okay to have mixed feelings about everything.”

Taylor nodded, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “Mixed feelings? Not me! I get to be someone I’ve always admired. I’m living my dream!”

Suddenly, his laugh echoed through the room, carrying with it an energy that surprised even him. He envisioned life unfolding differently now—people would see him not just for who he was but as a symbol of his desires, his liberation.

As he marveled at his new reality, his thoughts raced through the possibilities. Would he be treated differently? Would men look at him the way he’d always looked at those beautiful amputee models in magazines? A shiver of anticipation danced down his spine.

“Can you help me get up?” he asked, eyes shining as he directed his gaze to the nurse. “I want to feel this new me fully. The world has never seen a man as fabulous as I’m going to be!”

The nurse hesitated but ultimately nodded, an amused smile breaking through her professional demeanor. “Okay, let’s see what we can do. Just remember to take it slow.”

With her assistance, Taylor shifted, tilting his body slightly. He could feel the soft fabric of the sheets beneath him, a sensory thrill that wrapped around him with warmth. Each movement sent ripples of elation through him—this newfound freedom was intoxicating!

As he lifted and maneuvered his stumps, a combination of tears and laughter flowed freely from him. Every little bump and scrape of his body against the world held significant meaning now. It’s as though he was finally peeling back layers of life he had worn for too long, and what lay beneath was radiant and vibrant.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe this is my life!” he exclaimed, emotions overflowing. “I’m vulnerable, I’m open, and I’m ready for whatever comes next!”

In that moment, he felt a profound connection with himself, a joy that radiated from every part of his being. He was excited to meet the world as he had always wished—bold, unapologetic, and completely free.

The soft hum of the hospital room was now a backdrop to Taylor’s bubbling enthusiasm. He had pulled himself closer to the edge of the bed, gripping the sheet with what little momentum he could muster from his stumps. Each attempt to shift his body brought a new wave of exhilaration; he was reveling in the extraordinary sensations of movement, as if every inch he conquered was a victory in itself.

The nurse, whose name he had learned was Claire, returned, this time escorted by a physical therapist named Marcus. He was tall, with kind eyes and an approachable demeanor that immediately put Taylor at ease.

“Hey there, Taylor!” Marcus greeted with a warm smile. “I hear you’re ready to get moving. How are you feeling?”

“Amazing!” Taylor beamed, practically vibrating with excitement. “I’ve always wanted to see what it’s like to navigate the world this way! I mean, it’s beautiful. I can’t stop smiling.”

Marcus exchanged a quick glance with Claire, noting the infectious energy radiating from Taylor. “That’s a great attitude to have. We’re going to start you on your journey to independence, but keep in mind that the first step won't involve walking, per se.”

“Of course! I can’t wait,” Taylor said, his eyes sparkling like stars. “What’s next?”

“Today, we’ll focus on the wheelchair, which you’ll be able to control with a joystick,” Marcus explained, guiding Taylor through the plan. “You’ll steer using your chin; it’s a great way to get around and it will give you the ability to maneuver wherever you want.”

“Seriously? I get to drive my own little chariot?” Taylor’s laughter brightened the room, bubbling up from his core. “Let's do this! I’m ready for my royal ride!”

Claire went to retrieve the wheelchair, and Taylor felt a rush of anticipation. He was about to gain a new sense of freedom. Just then, she returned, bringing with her the sleek electric wheelchair. Sunlight streamed in through the window, glinting off the smooth surfaces of the chair, transforming it into something almost magical.

“Here it is!” Claire announced, positioning it carefully beside the bed. Taylor’s heart raced.

“It’s beautiful,” he whispered, emotions swelling within him. “Let’s get me in!”

With assistance, he was carefully lifted and slid into the seat. He adjusted, feeling the plush contours of the seat cradle him comfortably. His heart soared. “I'm in! I’m really in!”

“Okay, now let’s get you familiar with the controls,” Marcus explained, pointing to the joystick. “All you need to do is tilt it, and it will move in the direction you want. Just a gentle nudge.”

Taylor tilted his chin towards the joystick, excitement bubbling up again. “Alright, let’s see if I can do this!”

“On the count of three,” Claire said, her voice encouraging. “One, two, three!”

Taylor nudged the joystick with his chin, and the chair responded with smooth precision, gliding forward. A squeal of joy escaped him, and before he knew it, he was moving around the room. He spun in a little circle, a laugh escaping as he realized the freedom in his movements.

“Look at me! I’m driving!” he exclaimed, navigating around the small space as if it were an expansive race track. It was liberating; every inch he moved felt like unshackling the chains of limitation he hadn’t even known he was bound by.

“Good job! You’re a natural,” Marcus cheered, clapping his hands encouragingly.

“Thank you! I’ve always dreamed of racing around in one of these,” Taylor said, gliding toward the window. The view was spectacular—an endless expanse of trees swaying in the breeze and clouds floating lazily overhead. Suddenly, being armless and legless felt less like a limitation and more like a ticket to an uncharted adventure.

“Just be conscious of your speed, okay? We wouldn’t want you to crash into a wall,” Marcus said with a grin, but Taylor was too enraptured to heed the playful warning.

“I won’t! I promise!” Taylor assured him, gliding cautiously toward the other corner of the room. His excitement ambushed him, and he fancied himself a knight on a quest, armed only with his courage and the magic chariot he now commanded.

After gliding around for a while, he turned back towards Marcus and Claire, their smiles encouraging and full of pride. “This is more than I could’ve hoped for! I can get anywhere with this thing! I can... I can travel!”

“That’s right, Taylor,” Marcus replied, his tone serious yet encouraging. “With practice, you’ll become adept at navigating not just this room, but when you return to campus, you’ll be able to move around just like you did before, if not better.”

“I’m going to be the coolest guy on campus!” Taylor declared, his heart swelling at the thought. “They won’t even know what to do with me! And… can you imagine? Me in a wheelchair? Totally chic!”

Claire chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re certainly going to turn heads. Just think about all the people who will be inspired by you.”

His mind swirled with visions of vibrant social gatherings filled with laughter and warmth, of coffee dates with friends, nights out dancing to his favorite songs. Taylor was going to embrace this new identity with a sparkle like never before.

As the session continued, he practiced making tight turns, mastering the delicate balance of pressure needed to navigate the joystick smoothly. Each movement filled him with a bubbling joy that surged through his entire being.

“Okay, I think I’m ready to go on an adventure! Where’s the nearest coffee shop?” he joked with a grin, beaming as brightly as the sun streaming in from the window.

Marcus chuckled warmly and replied, “How about we just focus on getting you comfortable in here first? Then we can map out your future adventures.”

“Fair enough. But I won’t forget that coffee shop!” Taylor promised, the thought of fresh coffee and conversation echoing like a sweet melody in his mind.

As they continued the session, Taylor began to feel a profound sense of connection not just to his newfound abilities, but also to the world waiting for him outside these hospital walls. With every movement he mastered, every inch he navigated, he felt more himself than ever. He was ready to embrace vulnerability, to experience life—a life filled with adventure, joy, and the thrill of endless possibilities. And as he zoomed around the room, feeling that electric rush of liberation, he couldn’t help but smile, knowing he had finally stepped into the chapter of his life he had always envisioned.

The overhead lights in the hospital room cast a soft glow, illuminating the sterile white sheets that enveloped Taylor’s hospital bed like a warm embrace. The stillness of the room wrapped around him like comfort, each sound echoed softly, creating a serene atmosphere. Alone with his thoughts and the remnants of his incredible transformation, Taylor was consumed by an exhilarating wave of newfound sensation.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he took a moment to focus, feeling the gentle weight of his body against the bed. Having spent countless nights fantasizing about this moment, he could hardly believe it was actually happening—a culmination of dreams realized in a way he had never truly anticipated. He was four little stumps resting atop a hospital bed, and he was desperately excited to see how much he could move, how far he could go.

Tentatively, he shifted his weight, initiating a gentle push with the stumps protruding from his shoulders. The sensation of the soft sheets sliding against the sensitive tips of his stumps elicited an involuntary gasp of pleasure. It was as if he had uncovered a secret pathway of sensation that had long been masked by the weight of his limbs.

“Oh my god,” he whispered to himself, a giggle bubbling within him. “This is amazing!” It felt almost surreal—the way each small movement connected him to the surface beneath him, stirring something deep inside. The intimacy of the experience sent tingling sensations through him, arousing a thrill he hadn’t expected.

Determined, he continued to wiggle around. His core muscles, still surprisingly strong, engaged rhythmically as he pushed and shifted, trying to gain a little more distance on the bed. The lightest brush of fabric against his stumps sparked a cascade of emotions—joy, a touch of mischief, and a strange, euphoric awareness of his body’s new capabilities.

“Come on, Taylor. You’ve got this!” he encouraged himself, as if his very own cheerleader, pushing himself to explore a territory he’d only imagined. He wriggled again, attempting to enjoy the soft shuffling motion as he pushed himself further down the bed. “Yes! Look at me go!” he exclaimed, breathless with exhilaration.

In that moment, Taylor found pure enjoyment in the simplicity of movement, in the intimate dance of his new form against the sheets. He became increasingly aroused as he was reminded of both the limitations and the unexplored possibilities this new existence provided. The rush of delight tickled his senses, making him feel vibrantly alive.

Just then, the soft creaking of the door snapped him from his blissful exploration. He froze, heartbeat quickening. If it was a nurse or doctor, he might have to rein in his newfound energy; but when he turned slightly, his heart melted at the sight of his best friend, Sean, standing in the doorway.

“Dude! What the hell?” Sean exclaimed, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and admiration. It was a sight to behold—Taylor, his friend, the incredible force of joy and resilience, moving like a master on his bed, his stumps swirling and wriggling deftly across the sheets.

Taylor paused, flushed with delight and slightly embarrassed, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “Welcome to my one-man show! I call it ‘Wiggling in Unimaginable Freedom!’”

Sean stepped further into the room, the door clicking shut behind him. “I mean, seriously?? This is beyond amazing!” he said, his voice laced with awe. “Are you for real right now?”

“Right?” Taylor giggled, pushing himself a little further down the bed. “I feel like I’ve found a whole new vibe. This is incredible! I shouldn’t even be able to do this, and here I am, totally getting into it!”

“Wait—what are you talking about?” Sean looked at him incredulously, brows furrowing. “You’re not just... okay with this? Like, you’re really happy?”

“Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it!” Taylor declared, kicking off his little performance once more, wiggling with enthusiasm. “I’ve never felt so free, Sean! It’s like I’m shedding old skin, and these stumps? They’re a part of me now! I feel empowered—totally vulnerable yet blissfully alive!”

Sean, arms crossed and leaning against the wall, watched in silence, processing the moment. “I mean, you look incredible,” he finally admitted, a smile breaking across his face. “You’re just—wow. Leading the way and looking fabulous doing it! How are you so... I don’t know, positive?”

Taylor couldn’t help it; he beamed at his friend, the warmth of Sean’s admiration filling him with even more joy. “Because this is what I’ve always wanted!” He paused for a moment, reflecting on the words he had kept tucked away for so long. “I wanted to embrace my complete self. I get to experience life through a totally unique lens now, and it feels... transcendent.”

“Dude, that’s rad,” Sean replied, his voice sincere. “I’ve never heard someone talk about losing limbs like it’s a blessing.”

“It is!” Taylor exclaimed, pushing himself playfully again, feeling the soft caress of the sheets beneath him. “I get it now. This is the most liberating experience ever—shedding expectations and limitations. It’s hard to describe, but it’s like I’ve unlocked a new dimension of myself.”

Sean shuffled closer, leaning on the edge of the bed. “You’re brave, you know that? It takes a lot of guts to be honest about how you feel and to own it like this. I mean, how many people can say they’d be this confident?”

Taylor’s heart swelled at Sean’s words. “It’s all about perspective, really. I’ve spent so long wishing and hoping. And now it’s here! I have to embrace it, right?”

“Absolutely! I admire that about you.” Sean nodded appreciatively, then chuckled lightly. “But, uh, for real though. You should probably keep your little wiggling routine under wraps until you’re out of here. Can’t have the whole world knowing your secrets when this is the real ‘Taylor Show’!”

With a laugh, Taylor rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine, fine! I’ll be coy and mysterious,” he teased. “But let’s be real—once I get out of here, everyone is going to know what’s up. I’ll have my fan club created by the end of the week!”

“Fans? I can see it now—‘The Incredible Stumpless Wonder!’” Sean joked, mimicking a late-night talk show host. “You’ll be signing autographs and everything!”

Their laughter floated through the room, illuminating the bright moments within this new chapter of Taylor’s life. He felt a surge of hope and excitement, knowing that he was not just alive but truly living, free from the burdens he had once carried.

“And you’re going to be by my side through it all, right?” Taylor asked, looking past the playful banter to find the sincere support of his best friend.

“Always, Taylor. Always,” Sean affirmed, his voice steady and genuine. “You’re not just a friend; you’re family. We’ll figure this out together.”

Taylor smiled wide, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude. In this moment, surrounded by love and support, he felt that he could conquer the world, stumps and all. He was ready to dive headfirst into whatever life had in store for him, living in color, wrapped in vulnerability, and embracing the incredible journey ahead.

The hospital room radiated a sense of calm, the afternoon light streaming in through the half-closed blinds, creating a patchwork of shadows on the walls. Taylor lay there, his heart still soaring from the earlier excitement of his newfound mobility and the joy of sharing that experience with Sean. He reveled in this surreal transformation, finding comfort in his vulnerability and aware that his best friend stood by him, ready to support this journey.

“Sean,” Taylor's voice cut through the silence, genuine curiosity etched across his face, “I have something to ask you. It might seem strange, but… would you be okay with, um, touching my stumps? Just to see how they feel? It’s a bit of an exploration, I guess.”

Sean blinked, a hint of uncertainty flickering in his expression. “Touch your—uh, your stumps? Are you sure you want that? I mean, it's kind of... intimate.”

Taylor shrugged, his excitement bubbling beneath his skin. “I get it. But it’s a part of me now, you know? And I want to feel connected to it—and to you. I promise it’s not weird for me. It feels good to engage with my new body, to have you involved in this.”

After a moment of contemplative silence, Sean nodded slowly, apprehension still evident in his eyes. “Okay. If you’re sure, I’ll do it,” he said, his tone wavering between hesitance and resolve.

Taylor beamed, a rush of warmth flooding his chest. “Thank you! It’s kind of like exploring a new landscape, and I want to share it with you. Trust me, it’ll be an interesting experience!”

As Sean leaned closer, Taylor's heart raced with a mix of vulnerability and exhilaration. He adjusted his position slightly, propping himself on his back to create a more inviting atmosphere. “Just be gentle,” he encouraged, arching his back slightly, a wave of anticipation coursing through him.

Sean placed his hands tentatively on the tips of Taylor’s stumps, the warmth of contact sending shivers through Taylor’s body. His friend’s hesitance was palpable, yet within moments, he began to apply light pressure. Taylor inhaled sharply, the sensation pulsing through him in surprising ways.

“Oh wow,” Sean said, eyes wide as he felt the soft texture of Taylor’s scarred stumps beneath his fingertips. “It's like... they’re alive! I can feel the muscles tensing as you move,” he said, slightly astonished.

“Yeah! It’s wild, right?” Taylor exclaimed, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the extraordinary sensations enveloping him. “I love when I flex them; it feels so… freeing. Like I’m becoming one with this new form.”

Sean’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, you can control them like that? Just by flexing and relaxing?”

“Totally! It blows my mind every time,” Taylor replied, his voice a mix of pride and eagerness. “Try it—just move your fingers a little… there’s a surprising amount of sensitivity. I promise it won’t be weird for you.”

Breathing in deeply, Sean pressed down gently, his fingers exploring the contours of Taylor’s stumps. He stabilized Taylor’s body, marveling at the way the tips would contract and release under his touch. It was a discovery of delicate strength intertwined with vulnerability.

“Whoa,” Sean whispered, his voice tinged with wonder. “It’s almost like they have their own personality now! It’s kind of magical, Taylor.”

Taylor viewed him with gleaming eyes, feeling a profound connection with his friend in this intimate exploration. “Exactly! Can you feel that? I love this sensation, Sean. It’s not just a touch; it’s an acknowledgment of who I am now. Holding space for vulnerability has never felt better!”

Sean continued to explore, becoming more comfortable with each gentle stroke. He became fascinated, sensing Taylor’s stumps responding to his movements—the hint of muscle contractions, a delicate dance between them that felt alive. It was an experience he never expected but was somehow fitting; it seemed to bridge a gap in their friendship, an understanding forged through vulnerability.

“Taylor, this is so… unique,” he commented, admiration seeping into his tone as he continued to touch and discover. “I never would have imagined... I get why you feel so liberated now.”

“Right? It’s such a more profound connection to my body. I never knew I could experience something like this.” The warmth from Taylor’s body ignited as Sean trailed his fingers along the sensitive tips. Each caress sent electric pulses rippling through him, drawing an involuntary soft sigh from his lips. “It feels so nice, even exhilarating.”

“Oh, wow,” Sean said, his curiosity piqued. “That’s incredible! Can I try moving them more?”

“Definitely! I’m enjoying this,” Taylor encouraged, nudging against Sean’s hand. “Just let your fingers find their way. It’s like a secret language that only we can share right now.”

Sean smiled, a sense of comfort washing over him as he explored further. He began experimenting, applying different pressures and movements, fascinated by how Taylor’s body responded. “It’s like they’re doing the waltz! I can feel you moving in little waves.”

Taylor let out a soft laugh, arching his back slightly as Sean’s fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot. “You’re a natural, you know! I never thought I’d find such joy in something like this. It’s just…it’s just so fulfilling!”

As the moments stretched on, the atmosphere became an intimate cocoon, each gentle touch filled with trust and understanding. Taylor closed his eyes, surrendering himself to the blissful sensations rushing through him. With each movement, he felt the connection deepen—not just between his body and the world, but between him and Sean, his unwavering friend standing by him through thick and thin.

“Taylor,” Sean ventured softly, pausing for a moment, “you remind me that vulnerability isn’t something to shy away from. It can create powerful bonds and extraordinary experiences.”

“Exactly! This experience is everything I dreamed it could be,” Taylor replied, a radiant smile illuminating his face. “Sharing it with you only makes it even better. This—this moment—it's about acceptance and celebration. I love it.”

Sean looked into Taylor’s eyes, understanding resonating in the unspoken bond they shared. “You’re inspiring, you know that? You’ve always been unique, but now you’ve evolved in a way that’s beyond anything I could grasp. I’m grateful to be right here with you.”

Taylor felt a rush of warmth and sincerity envelop him like a soft blanket. In that moment, amidst the exploration and the courageous vulnerability, he understood that he was not just a quadruple amputee; he was Taylor—a vibrant, resilient spirit embracing life head-on.

“Thank you for being here, Sean. For being you. This journey—we’re just getting started. I can’t wait for everything that’s to come!” Taylor declared, his heart swelled with hope for the future.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Taylor found joy not only in the tactile exploration of his body but in the reaffirmation of their friendship, now intertwined with threads of acceptance and understanding. No longer bound by limitations, he was ready to journey into the world, embracing every challenge and sensation that lay ahead. Together, they would forge a path filled with laughter, love, and a deeper connection that transcended the ordinary.

The sun hung high in the azure sky as Taylor rolled onto the bustling college campus, a buzz of excitement coursing through him. The air was thick with the scent of autumn leaves and fresh starts. Today marked a significant milestone in his life: he was back at college, ready to embrace his new identity as a quadruple amputee—a transformation that felt, in many ways, like coming home.

Seated in his power chair, he had customized it to suit his needs, enhancing both its functionality and his own sense of style. The sleek navy blue frame gleamed in the sunlight, and he had adorned it with colorful stickers that expressed his vibrant personality. In this chair, he felt powerful, ready to tackle everything life had to throw at him.

“Look out world, here comes Taylor!” he declared, grinning as he steered smoothly through the throngs of students bustling between classes. The chair responded seamlessly, and he navigated the winding paths with confidence, enjoying the feeling of liberation as he zipped past familiar landmarks—the library, the cafeteria, and the quad where he had spent countless hours with friends over the years.

“Hey, look who it is!” a voice called out, breaking into his thoughts. It was Mia, a classmate he hadn’t seen since the incident. She rushed over, her excitement evident. “Taylor! You’re back! Wow, you look incredible!”

“Thanks, Mia! I feel incredible!” he replied, his voice infused with enthusiasm. “I’m finally here, and I’ve never felt so free in my life!”

Mia studied him for a moment, her eyes filled with admiration. “You’ve really embraced this. I’m so proud of you. How has it been?”

“Honestly? Surreal!” Taylor chuckled, taking in the vibrant campus surroundings. “I always wanted to experience what I’m living now. Sure, it was a wild path, but I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m finally living my truth!”

As they chatted, Taylor moved his chair closer to the sidewalk, the sunlight warming his cheeks. He could hear the laughter of students nearby, and it filled him with a sense of belonging. With each word and each glance exchanged, he felt a renewed sense of purpose—he was no longer just a student; he was Taylor, a courageous adventurer ready to face whatever came his way.

After parting ways with Mia, he continued to explore the campus, every bump and turn a small challenge he navigated with growing ease. Each time he steered with his chin, he felt empowered, reclaiming a sense of agency that had once been stifled by his limitations. Excitement bubbled within him to see his classes again, to engage with professors and friends alike.

Finally, he made his way to the accessible dorm room he would now share with Sean, who had already settled in, his face lighting up when he saw Taylor entering.

“Taylor! You made it!” Sean exclaimed, rushing from the kitchenette where he had been organizing their snacks. “How was your first day back?”

“Epic!” Taylor declared, rolling into the room and surveying the cozy space they would share. The room was tailored to be accessible, the furniture arranged to accommodate his power chair as well as the soft, welcoming vibe they had both worked to achieve. “It feels great to be home!”

Sean stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Taylor in a tight hug that spoke volumes—of support, of trust, and of their unbreakable bond forged through every challenge. “I’m so happy you’re here, buddy. This is going to be amazing!”

“I know! It already feels homey. I can’t wait to make it ours,” Taylor replied, his excitement infectious. Then, as always, his playful side emerged. “Now, let me show you how I wiggle around like a boss!”

With a cheeky grin, Taylor maneuvered himself out of his chair, sliding down onto the floor awkwardly but determinedly, his four little stumps making contact with the soft carpet. He began to wriggle and roll, pushing himself around the room with laughter, Sean watching with a bemused expression.

“Dude, you are something else! I did not expect you to just… drop and dance like that!” Sean chuckled, shaking his head as Taylor continued to move.

“I told you! I’m becoming a master of this new-body dance,” Taylor replied, tightening his core and pushing off the floor with his stumps, propelling himself around the small room in a joyful flurry. Each movement was a delightful reminder of his new life—the vulnerability he craved was entwined with every wriggle and wiggle. “This feels so good!”

Basking in the moment, Taylor reveled in the sheer joy of movement and the newfound freedom that accompanied it. As he playfully crashed back onto the carpet and giggled uncontrollably, Sean joined him on the floor, captivated by the lightness of being.

“Okay, show me your best move!” Sean challenged, laughter bubbling up.

With a determined look on his face, Taylor pushed himself off the ground, rotating and sweeping his little stumps with a flourish as he executed a playful spin. “How’s that for dancing?” he joked, beaming as he completed his little routine.

“Absolutely incredible! If this were a talent show, you’d win first place!” Sean encouraged, laughter in his voice. “But for real, watching you thrive and create these little moments—it's inspiring. You own this!”

“Thanks, Sean! It’s all about embracing who I am now. I wish I had done this sooner, but I’m ready to take on the world,” Taylor said, wiping a tear of joy from the corner of his eye, a mix of gratitude and exhilaration washing over him.

As they both transitioned back into a more relaxed demeanor, ready to tackle the homework and projects ahead, Taylor leaned against Sean. “Hey, can we take a moment? I want you to know how grateful I am that you’re here with me through all of this.”

“Of course, man. There’s no way I’d miss this adventure,” Sean replied, sincerity filling his tone. “We’re in it together, always. Your journey means the world to me, and I’m proud to be by your side.”

“Together, we’ll have the most fun.” Taylor said with a gleam in his eye, “And who knows? I might start a trend for limbless style on campus!”

“You totally should!” Sean laughed, tossing a pillow playfully at him. “Limbless chic could be the next big thing! Just think of the fashion possibilities!”

As they devolved into friendly banter punctuated by laughter, a sense of shared warmth enveloped them, building a comfort that was palpable. Taylor felt—more than ever—that he had entered a new chapter: vulnerability not as a weakness, but as a pathway to deeper connections and self-acceptance.

Both soon settled into the rhythm of campus life, doing class assignments together, collaborating on projects, and sharing heartfelt conversations late into the night. Taylor guided his chair through the campus halls, navigating with newfound confidence.

Every laugh, every shared moment was a testament to their journey—a tapestry woven with support, resilience, and the audacity to embrace life in all its unpredictability. As the weeks passed, Taylor continued to wiggle and move about in his dorm, joyful in his physicality, while the world around him transformed—the college experience, once a challenge, had blossomed into opportunity, connection, and unabashed celebration of who he had always longed to be.

With the unwavering support of Sean and the newfound joy in being themselves, Taylor was ready to take on whatever life had in store, embracing every twist and turn with grace, humor, and a relentless love for living authentically. The best was yet to come, and he was determined to meet it head-on—stumps and all.

[thedisabilitybookarchive]

'Nimona'- Stevenson, N. D.

Disability Rep: Amputee, Prosthetic Arm

Genre: Science Fantasy

Age: Young Adult

Setting: Fictional: Fantasy Kingdom

Additional Rep: Genderfluid/Queer MC, Gay

For more information on summaries, content warnings and additional tropes, see here:

[rjalker]

The Power and the Glory

By Charles Willard Diffin

Originally published July 1930, in the magazine, Astounding Stories of Super-Science.

[Sadly, sternly, the old professor reveals to his brilliant pupil the greater path to glory]

[ID: A black and white illustration showing a young man siting in a chair in front of a table of scientific equipment, his head in one hand in despair, while an older man stands above him with his hand on the younger man's shoulder consolingly, his other wrist held across his chest, showing he is missing that hand. End ID.]

There were papers on the desk, a litter of papers scrawled over, in the careless writing of indifferent students, with the symbols of chemistry and long mathematical computations. The man at the desk pushed them aside to rest his lean, lined face on one thin hand. The other arm, ending at the wrist, was on the desk before him.

Students of a great university had long since ceased to speculate about the missing hand. The result of an experiment, they knew—a hand that was a mass of lifeless cells, amputated quickly that the living arm might be saved—but that was some several years ago, ancient history to those who came and went through Professor Eddinger's class room.

And now Professor Eddinger was weary—weary and old, he told himself—as he closed his eyes to shut out the sight of the interminable papers and the stubby wrist that had ended forever his experiments and the delicate manipulations which only he could do.

He reached slowly for a buzzing phone, but his eyes brightened at the voice that came to him.

"I've got it—I've got it!" The words were almost incoherent. "This is Avery, Professor—Avery! You must come at once. You will share in it; I owe it all to you ... you will be the first to see ... I am sending a taxi for you—"

Professor Eddinger's tired eyes crinkled to a smile. Enthusiasm like this was rare among his youngsters. But Avery—with the face of a poet, a dreamer's eyes and the mind of a scientist—good boy, Avery!—a long time since he had seen him—had him in his own laboratory for two years....

"What's this all about?" he asked.

"No—no!" said a voice; "I can't tell you—it is too big—greater than the induction motor—greater than the electric light—it is the greatest thing in the world. The taxi should be there now—you must come—"

A knock at the office door where a voice said, "Car for Professor Eddinger," confirmed the excited words.

"I'll come," said the Professor, "right away."

He pondered, as the car whirled him across the city, on what this greatest thing in the world might be. And he hoped with gentle skepticism that the enthusiasm was warranted. A young man opened the car door as they stopped. His face was flushed, Eddinger noted, hair pushed back in disarray, his shirt torn open at the throat.

"Wait here," he told the driver and took the Professor by the arm to hurry him into a dilapidated building.

"Not much of a laboratory," he said, "but we'll have better, you and I; we'll have better—"

The room seemed bare with its meager equipment, but it was neat, as became the best student of Professor Eddinger. Rows of reagent bottles stood on the shelves, but the tables were a litter of misplaced instruments and broken glassware where trembling hands had fumbled in heedless excitement.

"Glad to see you again, Avery." The gentle voice of Professor Eddinger had lost its tired tone. "It's been two years you've been working, I judge. Now what is this great discovery, boy? What have you found?"

The younger man, in whose face the color came and went, and whose eyes were shining from dark hollows that marked long days and sleepless nights, still clung to the other's arm.

"It's real," he said; "it's great! It means fortune and fame, and you're in on that, Professor. The old master," he said and clapped a hand affectionately upon a thin shoulder; "I owe it all to you. And now I have—I have learned.... No, you shall see for yourself. Wait—"

He crossed quickly to a table. On it was an apparatus; the eyes of the older man widened as he saw it. It was intricate—a maze of tubing. There was a glass bulb above—the generator of a cathode ray, obviously—and electro-magnets below and on each side. Beneath was a crude sphere of heavy lead—a retort, it might be—and from this there passed two massive, insulated cables. The understanding eyes of the Professor followed them, one to a terminal on a great insulating block upon the floor, the other to a similarly protected terminal of carbon some feet above it in the air.

The trembling fingers of the young man made some few adjustments, then he left the instrument to take his place by an electric switch. "Stand back," he warned, and closed the switch.

There was a gentle hissing from within glass tubes, the faint glow of a blue-green light. And that was all, until—with a crash like the ripping crackle of lightning, a white flame arced between the terminals of the heavy cables. It hissed ceaselessly through the air where now the tang of ozone was apparent. The carbon blocks glowed with a brilliant incandescence when the flame ceased with the motion of a hand where Avery pulled a switch.

The man's voice was quiet now. "You do not know, yet, what you have seen, but there was a tremendous potential there—an amperage I can't measure with my limited facilities." He waved a deprecating hand about the ill-furnished laboratory. "But you have seen—" His voice trembled and failed at the forming of the words.

"—The disintegration of the atom," said Professor Eddinger quietly, "and the release of power unlimited. Did you use thorium?" he inquired.

The other looked at him in amazement. Then: "I should have known you would understand," he said humbly. "And you know what it means"—again his voice rose—"power without end to do the work of the world—great vessels driven a lifetime on a mere ounce of matter—a revolution in transportation—in living...." He paused. "The liberation of mankind," he added, and his voice was reverent. "This will do the work of the world: it will make a new heaven and a new earth! Oh, I have dreamed dreams," he exclaimed, "I have seen visions. And it has been given to me—me!—to liberate man from the curse of Adam ... the sweat of his brow.... I can't realize it even yet. I—I am not worthy...."

He raised his eyes slowly in the silence to gaze in wondering astonishment at the older man. There was no answering light, no exaltation on the lined face. Only sadness in the tired eyes that looked at him and through him as if focused upon something in a dim future—or past.

"Don't you see?" asked the wondering man. "The freedom of men—the liberation of a race. No more poverty, no endless, grinding labor." His young eyes, too, were looking into the future, a future of blinding light. "Culture," he said, "instead of heart-breaking toil, a chance to grow mentally, spiritually; it is another world, a new life—" And again he asked: "Surely, you see?"

"I see," said the other; "I see—plainly."

"The new world," said Avery. "It—it dazzles me; it rings like music in my ears."

"I see no new world," was the slow response.

The young face was plainly perplexed. "Don't you believe?" he stammered. "After you have seen ... I thought you would have the vision, would help me emancipate the world, save it—" His voice failed.

"Men have a way of crucifying their saviors," said the tired voice.

The inventor was suddenly indignant. "You are blind," he said harshly; "it is too big for you. And I would have had you stand beside me in the great work.... I shall announce it alone.... There will be laboratories—enormous!—and factories. My invention will be perfected, simplified, compressed. A generator will be made—thousands of horsepower to do the work of a city, free thousands of men—made so small you can hold it in one hand."

The sensitive face was proudly alight, proud and a trifle arrogant. The exaltation of his coming power was strong upon him.

"Yes," said Professor Eddinger, "in one hand." And he raised his right arm that he might see where the end of a sleeve was empty.

"I am sorry," said the inventor abruptly; "I didn't mean ... but you will excuse me now; there is so much to be done—" But the thin figure of Professor Eddinger had crossed to the far table to examine the apparatus there.

"Crude," he said beneath his breath, "crude—but efficient!"

In the silence a rat had appeared in the distant corner. The Professor nodded as he saw it. The animal stopped as the man's eyes came upon it; then sat squirrellike on one of the shelves as it ate a crumb of food. Some morsel from a hurried lunch of Avery's, the Professor reflected—poor Avery! Yes, there was much to be done.

He spoke as much to himself as to the man who was now beside him. "It enters here," he said and peered downward toward the lead bulb. He placed a finger on the side of the metal. "About here, I should think.... Have you a drill? And a bit of quartz?"

The inventor's eyes were puzzled, but the assurance of his old instructor claimed obedience. He produced a small drill and a fragment like broken glass. And he started visibly as the one hand worked awkwardly to make a small hole in the side of the lead. But he withdrew his own restraining hand, and he watched in mystified silence while the quartz was fitted to make a tiny window and the thin figure stooped to sight as if aiming the opening toward a far corner where a brown rat sat upright in earnest munching of a dry crust.

The Professor drew Avery with him as he retreated noiselessly from the instrument. "Will you close the switch," he whispered.

The young man hesitated, bewildered, at this unexpected demonstration, and the Professor himself reached with his one hand for the black lever. Again the arc crashed into life, to hold for a brief instant until Professor Eddinger opened the switch.

"Well," demanded Avery, "what's all the show? Do you think you are teaching me anything—about my own instrument?" There was hurt pride and jealous resentment in his voice.

"See," said Professor Eddinger quietly. And his one thin hand pointed to a far shelf, where, in the shadow, was a huddle of brown fur and a bit of crust. It fell as they watched, and the "plop" of the soft body upon the floor sounded loud in the silent room.

"The law of compensation," said Professor Eddinger. "Two sides to the medal! Darkness and light—good and evil—life ... and death!"

The young man was stammering. "What do you mean?—a death ray evolved?" And: "What of it?" he demanded; "what of it? What's that got to do with it?"

"A death ray," the other agreed. "You have dreamed, Avery—one must in order to create—but it is only a dream. You dreamed of life—a fuller life—for the world, but you would have given them, as you have just seen, death."

The face of Avery was white as wax; his eyes glared savagely from dark hollows.

"A rat!" he protested. "You have killed a rat ... and you say—you say—" He raised one trembling hand to his lips to hold them from forming the unspeakable words.

"A rat," said the Professor—"or a man ... or a million men."

"We will control it."

"All men will have it—the best and the worst ... and there is no defence."

"It will free the world—"

"It will destroy it."

"No!"—and the white-faced man was shouting now—"you don't understand—you can't see—"

The lean figure of the scientist straightened to its full height. His eyes met those of the younger man, silent now before him, but Avery knew the eyes never saw him; they were looking far off, following the wings of thought. In the stillness the man's words came harsh and commanding—

"Do you see the cities," he said, "crumbling to ruins under the cold stars? The fields? They are rank with wild growth, torn and gullied by the waters; a desolate land where animals prowl. And the people—the people!—wandering bands, lower, as the years drag on, than the beasts themselves; the children dying, forgotten, in the forgotten lands; a people to whom the progress of our civilization is one with the ages past, for whom there is again the slow, toiling road toward the light.

"And somewhere, perhaps, a conquering race, the most brutal and callous of mankind, rioting in their sense of power and dragging themselves down to oblivion...."

His gaze came slowly back to the room and the figure of the man still fighting for his dream.

"They would not," said Avery hoarsely; "they'd use it for good."

"Would they?" asked Professor Eddinger. He spoke simply as one stating simple facts. "I love my fellow men," he said, "and I killed them in thousands in the last war—I, and my science, and my poison gas."

The figure of Avery slumped suddenly upon a chair; his face was buried in his hands. "And I would have been," he groaned, "the greatest man in the world."

"You shall be greater," said the Professor, "though only we shall know it—you and I.... You will save the world—from itself."

The figure, bowed and sunken in the chair, made no move; the man was heedless of the kindly hand upon his shoulder. His voice, when he spoke, was that of one afar off, speaking out of a great loneliness. "You don't understand," he said dully; "you can't—"

But Professor Eddinger, a cog in the wheels of a great educational machine, glanced at the watch on his wrist. Again his thin shoulders were stooped, his voice tired. "My classes," he said. "I must be going...."

In the gathering dusk Professor Eddinger locked carefully the door of his office. He crossed beyond his desk and fumbled with his one hand for his keys.

There was a cabinet to be opened, and he stared long in the dim light at the object he withdrew. He looked approvingly at the exquisite workmanship of an instrument where a generator of the cathode ray and an intricate maze of tubing surmounted electro-magnets and a round lead bulb. There were terminals for attaching heavy cables; it was a beautiful thing.... His useless arm moved to bring an imaginary hand before the window of quartz in the lead sphere.

"Power," he whispered and repeated Avery's words; "power, to build a city—or destroy a civilization ... and I hold it in one hand."

He replaced the apparatus in the safety of its case. "The saviors of mankind!" he said, and his tone was harsh and bitter.

But a smile, whimsical, kindly, crinkled his tired eyes as he turned to his desk and its usual litter of examination papers.

"It is something, Avery," he whispered to that distant man, "to belong in so distinguished a group."

[shyfrog-says]

Actually, I think mobility aids and prosthetics in fiction should be both appealing to disabled people AND cool as fuck.

That steampunk prosthetic robo-arm that turns into a blunderbuss should also have temperature control, cushioning, and adjustable fastenings for maximum comfort and longevity. And also, the character who uses it should take it off when they don't need it because that's how prosthetics are used.

That electric wheel chair with easy directional control, gentle braking, proximity sensors, automated balancing for inclines, and a breathable seat should also have rocket boosters and a plasma cannon. And also, it should be reflected in the wheelchair's design whether or not the character who uses it uses it ALL the time, or only SOMEtimes.

The reason prosthetics and mobility aids aren't already treated like this in sci-fi and fantasy is because in order to have this much attention to detail, the writers/directors/authors/whoever would need to actually have a conversation with a disabled person. Change my mind. You won't.

[yellowymellon]

Idk Abt anyone else but if I was Osamu dazai and got revived to see modern Japan making an isekai Abt me surrounded by typical harem girls and a constant killing myself gag

I'd kill myself Again

[bodaciousalliance]

The heart of Mr Farouk,

ch. 57: "Cherry"

Content Advisory: this chapter contains graphic description of Adults engaging in Sexual Acts.

This chapter is very sweet, twenty-nine year old Youssef is about to have his cherry popped, so to speak, to be fucked by a guy for the very first time... and of course, the guy is the sweet, caring and gentle Nathan. I think Youssef may have found a new vocation, as it turns out this is the thing he's really been waiting for—all his life—except, of course, he didn't know it...

Youssef, hobbling on his knees as usual, followed Nathan into the bathroom.

“Just get into the shower and bend right over, alright.”

Nathan took the hand-held shower and adjusted the flow and the temperature, explaining, “Look, we really don’t need to do much here, just a bit of a rinse is enough.” He added, “I’m quite sure you’ll figure out a way to manage this yourself, but for now this will do.”

It was not lost on Youssef, he noted how even when Nathan was doing something like this for him, his speech and his attitude towards him was still empowering.

“Or maybe I could get one of those fancy Japanese toilets,” Youssef proposed.

“Well, there’s a certain danger in that…”

“Yes? What?”

“You wouldn’t see me for hours at a time—I’d be locked in here having my clacker um… ‘massaged’ by the jets of water … there, done. Let’s go back to bed. Now, have you thought about how we’d like to go about this?”

“Yes, I have actually, my boyfriend. Can we start with some kissing with fingering, then I’d like your tongue in there, then more fingers, followed by your dick … please.”

“Right, well habibi, that’s a menu, isn’t it?”

Youssef followed Nathan back into the bedroom, and up onto the bed. Here they were, both on their knees, naked and facing each other. They began kissing, it was the usual long, deep, passionate kissing that they excelled at. Their excitement rose, with their cocks growing larger and harder as they pressed against each other. Of course, the wonderful thing about this position was it enabled Nathan to reach around and start fingering Youssef while they were kissing. At first it was sweet and gentle, but Nathan’s manipulation became harder and more insistent with their increasing heat.

“Next level?” Nathan broke away and turned Youssef around. He manoeuvred him so that, bent over on his elbows and knees, his beautiful crack was displayed to its best advantage, right in Nathan’s face.

“Oh, my Lord, Youssef, you have the most hairy arse imaginable.”

“Mmmmm, is that bad? Sorry…”

“Are you kidding? Fuck me Jesus it’s like the Garden of Eden here. This is amazing,” and he dived in head-first with his tongue.

Youssef had thought he’d reached Nirvana when he’d discovered Nathan’s soft velvety membrane, but now he realised he’d been mistaken. Feeling this from the opposite end, feeling Nathan’s tongue probing and swirling around and licking out his hole, was an intensely pleasurable new sensation. Like Nathan had said before, this tonguing was enough to bring him to a climax. As he’d noticed previously, Nathan was also an expert at knowing exactly when to ease off, to stop him from spilling over the edge, to leave him hanging there, to stretch things out.

So, too, Nathan—like he had said earlier he couldn’t believe how hairy was Youssef’s arse, he’d never imagined such a thing was possible. God, it was beautiful! It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—except, of course, for all the other parts of Youssef that were also the most beautiful things he’d ever seen.

This rimming session went on for a very long time, as long as it possibly could, as Nathan’s tongue began to ache with exhaustion. He seamlessly transitioned to a well-lubed finger. Youssef noted the change too. It was good, the finger digging in deeper, circling around, the amazing sensation of having his inner gland stroked and tickled and squeezed.

“More?”

“A-ha…”

The second finger went in, very slowly. This was new, challenging even. Youssef winced and held his breath for a bit. Aaah. He breathed, he relaxed. Oooh, now it was in. Mmmm. This felt good, really good.

“Is there more?”

“You want more, habibi?”

“Yes please … my boyfriend.”

Nathan slowly eased in a third, heavily lubricated finger. This was really pushing it for Youssef, he breathed, breathed, in and out, in and out, and then—oh—man—this felt good. Youssef was being stretched and filled by Nathan’s fingers and it was, truly, a whole new kind of amazement. To say, he’d had Nathan’s tongue in his mouth, and over his cock, and in his arse; and he too had felt Nathan’s cock sliding in and out and down his throat, not to mention last night’s amazing fuck; but, but, but this! This was it!

“Nathan,” he pleaded, “please!”

“What, habibi, alright? You want me to stop?”

“No! Fuck! Fuck no! More! Please, please, please, Nathan, fuck me now, please,” he begged, the insatiable hunger that was unleashed almost bringing him to tears.

Nathan, his passion spurred on by Youssef’s desperate entreaties, extricated himself from the current position, and encouraged Youssef to turn over. This was an exceptionally good move—with Youssef lying on his back, what could Nathan do except prise apart his legs so that he could slide in to his hungry hole. With Youssef’s legs up in the air and wrapped around Nathan, his two below-knee stumps were now tantalisingly close to Nathan’s face—and mouth. God, this intensified the situation, Nathan’s cock was the hardest it had ever been with this added source of excitement.

What a scenario: Youssef on his back, legs in the air, tripping out on the feeling of total penetration by Nathan, whose own arousal was magnified by the joy of having Youssef’s stumps in his face. These he took turns licking, sucking and nibbling, driving him to plunge himself deeper and deeper into the abyss, deeper than with anyone before.

A lesser man would have crumbled at such an onslaught, perhaps even snapped like a twig, but not Youssef. His stumps tingling with the touch of Nathan’s tongue, his rim burning with the fires of passion, and this feeling within, of being totally, completely filled, wholly fulfilled, with Nathan’s every thrust—he found himself being rocketed into the fourth dimension, into a new and hitherto unknown universe.

“Fuck me, Nathan, come on, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he screamed in a wild frenzy.

And so they whiled away the morning—helped by Nathan’s mastery at edging and stretching out the time. Nathan was finding his deepest fulfilment as he strained to fill Youssef’s insides yet more deeply; and Youssef, as he opened himself more and still more to his boyfriend, found his heart being similarly opened. The two lovers, unified in their passion, clung to each other, virtually becoming the one flesh, like a snake swallowing its own tail.

Nathan couldn’t hold on much longer, he was just about ready to pop, which was just as well because Youssef was at the jumping-off point too.

“Are you ready, baby,” Nathan whispered, quickening his pace.

“Give it to me, give it all to me, I’m begging you please.”

“Ooohhh … aaaaahhh …” he closed his eyes, just for a moment, as his whole body tensed up for the money shot...

Perhaps "Youssef begging-for-it" looks a little like this

[desdasiwrites]

I'll be back in his classroom, back in competition, back on my own feet. Or rather, back on my own one foot.

– Padma Venkatraman, A Time to Dance

[cripplecharacters]

Navigation: Helpful Posts - specific disabilities

[large text: Navigation: Helpful Posts - specific disabilities]

This is the long-awaited sequel to the first post that unfortunately hit the link limit. This part will focus on posts for specific disabilities, while the general topics will stay in the original post. If you can't find any posts on the disability you're looking for, please check out the "Other" section in the first post.

This list will of course continue to be updated.

Last update: July 2, 2024

Amputation/Limb Difference

[large text: Amputation/Limb Difference]

Constructing Characters with Limb Differences: Discussing Fetishization Do Amputees Always Wear Prosthetics? Does a Character with Amputation Need a Prosthetic? Does a Character with Upper Limb Amputation Need a Prosthetic? Designing a Prosthetic Arm Making a Character with Upper Limb Amputation Genius Amputee Mechanic: Discussing the DIY Prosthetic Trope Causes of Amputation Limb Differences as a Spectrum

Blind Characters

[large text: Blind Characters]

Making a Blind Character: what to add, what to avoid Designing a Blind Character: Discussing the Eye Covering Trope What to Give Your Blind Character Blindness Tropes: Daredevil, milky eyes, and blindness-negating magic The Blind Prophet Trope Guide Animals: Dogs, Horses, and Their Fictional Equivalents Blind Characters with Superpowers Echolocation and Sound Powers Yeah Another One about Superpowers Portraying Photophobia in Pre-modern Times Characters with Albinism Fetishization of Albinism Going Blind from an Accident Writing Characters with One Eye More on Monocular Vision Writing a Blind Kitty (+possible accommodations)

Deaf and Hard of Hearing (HoH) Characters

[large text: Deaf and Hard of Hearing (HoH) Characters]

Creating Deaf/HoH Characters Writing D/deaf/HoH Characters Another Guide on Writing D/deaf Characters Tips on Writing Deaf Characters Visual Indicators of a Person being Deaf Tips on Writing about Hearing Aids Deaf Character Unable to Sign Sign Language with Limb Difference Writing Out Sign Language (+book recommendations) Cultural Deafness Primer

DeafBlind Characters

[large text: DeafBlind Characters]

How DeafBlind People Learn Language DeafBlind Character not Wanting to be Blind On Access and Protactile [not writing advice, just a piece of great writing; greatly recommended if you know nothing about DeafBlindness]

Facial Difference (FD)

[large text: Facial Difference (FD)]

Introduction to Facial Difference: basics, tropes, what I want to see Constructing a Character with an FD: Discussing Disfiguremisia and the "Mask Trope" Does My Character Need a Prosthetic Eye?: alternatives What Would Happen to A Character with a Scar Through the Eye? What Would Happen to a Character with a Burn on the Eye? How Scars Affect the Character, and How the Character Affects the Scar (in the technical sense) Should your Character with Scars Hate their Scars? Including Characters with Treacher Collins Syndrome in a pre-Surgical Setting Basic Information on Vitiligo Harmful Vitiligo Tropes/Stereotypes Animalistic Characters with Vitiligo Stigmatization of Strabismus in Visual Media How to be Normal about the Real Life Equivalents of your OC with a Scar Over His Eye

Intellectual Disability

[large text: Intellectual Disability]

Introduction to Writing Intellectually Disabled Characters: basics, tropes, how it actually works Down Syndrome and Historical Fiction Combat and Disability: intellectually disabled characters Basic Tips for Writing Characters with Down Syndrome

[submalevolentgrace]

Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

[cy-cyborg]

Tips for wring amputees: its ok if your amputee can't repair their own prosthetics

There's a trope in fiction for amputees to always be these mechanical geniuses who can make and repair their own prosthetics, endlessly tinkering away and improving them. This isn't a particularly trope, and i dont think its harmful or anything, but in reality, prosthetics are REALLY, REALLY complicated, and a lot of amputees cant do their own repairs. And thats ok. Like, prosthetic creation and repair is way, way harder than I think people expect. Well outside the skillset of your standard mechanic, handy man or craftsperson.

People who make and repair prosthetics are called prosthetists. To become a prosthetist, most countries around the world today require you to have completed a bachelor's degree in specifically in prosthetics and orthotics, which covers not only how to make a prosthetics (and orthodics) but a great deal of medical knowledge, physics, how different forces impact "non-standard" bodies, the additional biological wear-and-tear that comes with being an amputee and so much more. This will qualify you to do the job of fitting/making the prosthetic socket (the part that attaches to your body) and putting premade components together to make a functioning device. On top of this, many prosthetists are also expected to have artistic skills, sewing skills, good physical strength and dexterity, IT skills, and more recently, knowledge of 3D modelling and printing.

You want to make all the high-tech components the prosthetists put together to make the full prosthetic? The requirements for that vary country to country, but most will require at least some level study in the field of engineering and/or medicine, on top of what was already required for the prosthetics course.

The reason for all this is because even "basic" prosthetics are extremely finicky, and messing up one thing will have a domino effect on the rest of the body, especially in more complicated prosthetics. It can also result in people getting severally injured if anything is even slightly off. many leg amputees for example end up with spinal issues due to extremely minor issues with their prosthetic that weren't caught until years later, and by then the damage had been done.

Some amputees do learn to do basic repairs. This is most common in places like the US, where a visit to the prosthetist can cost hundred to thousands of dollars (depending on your insurance), but it's also quite common in rural parts of countries like Australia, where cost isn't an issue but access is due to vast distances between major cities. I was personally in this category; as a kid, my nearest prosthetist was 6 hours away. My prosthetist was able to teach my dad, who later taught me, how to do some of the simple repairs, but we still needed to go in every few weeks for the more complex stuff (Kids prosthetic need more adjusting than adults because they're still growing. Also I was rough on my prosthetics and broke them a lot lol).

But even after being taught how to do repairs and having my prosthetics for 20+ years, I only ever did these sorts of repairs to my below-knee prosthetic. I will not do any repairs of any kind to my above knee leg, which is much more technologically complex. Every time I tried, I made it worse to the point where the leg was unusable. I just leave those repairs to the guy who went to university to learn how to do it, and sometimes even he needs to send it off to someone with even more specialist knowledge when it's really badly messed up lol. Last time that happened Australia post lost the package. Not really relevant to this post, I just find the idea of it being sent to the wrong place by accident hilarious, it was one of my more realistic legs too so someone probably had a heart attack when they opened that package lmao.

Anyway, back on track lol.

This isn't even touching on the fact that on some more advanced prosthetics, many features are actually locked behind a security barrier only prosthetists can access. My prosthetic knee has an app on my phone I can pair it to, that allows me to change certain settings and swap between certain modes for different activities that tell the leg to change its behaviour depending on what I'm doing (e.g. a mode for running, a mode for cycling etc). but most of the more in-depth settings I can't access, only my prosthetist can, and he can only gain access to those settings with a security key given to him by the manufacturing company that requires him to provide proof of his credentials to receive it. I don't really agree with this btw, something about being locked out of my own leg's settings makes me feel a bit of an ick, but it's set up like this because people used to be able to access these settings and they would mess with things to the point their leg was virtually unusable. Because altering one setting had a domino effect on all the others, and a lot of folks weren't really paying attention to what they were messing with, all their prosthetists could do was factory reset the whole leg, which causes some issues too. Prosthetic arms are often similarly complex, as I understand it and have similar security barriers in place for more advanced arms. I don't know for sure though, so take that with a grain of salt.

All this to say these are incredibly delicate, finicky and complex pieces of equipment. There's nothing wrong with having a techy amputee character who can do their own repairs, but in reality, that is pretty rare, and its ok to have your character need to see a prosthetist or someone more knowledgeable than them. It's a part of the amputee experience I don't see reflected very often in media. In fact, the only examples I can think of in fiction (meaning not stories based on real people) where this is reflected are Full metal alchemist.

technically I think Subnautica Below Zero also mentions prosthetists are a thing in that world, but its a very "blink and you'll miss it" kind of thing...in fact I did miss it until my last playthrough lol.

[emophil1981]

Lucky encounter

I loved to go to the mall way before my accident a few years ago.

I was 21 at that time, today I am 32. The car accident was a bit of my own fault. I was driving my car too fast and saw the lorry that hit me simply too late and couldn’t react in time to avoid a collision. My car was crushed between the lorry and a van. Thankfully I have no own recollection of my accident, everything just went black.

The doctors told me it was probably better that way. My arms and my left leg were crushed and intertwined with some of the metal of my car. Had I been awake, the pain would have been excruciating. My savior was an emergency doctor at the scene who had been with the military before his civilian life as an emergency doctor as I learned later. So he had seen his share of heavy wounds in the past.

He assessed the situation quickly, took charge and in a matter of one hour, he performed emergency amputations on my arms and on my left leg to get me out of the car wreck. It was a miracle, that despite the severe wounds to my three limbs I wasn’t hurt anywhere else. In the hospital they had to clean my raw amputation wounds from the scene of the accident and they decided to reamputate the wounds to avoid any infections at all. I was in an induced coma for nearly six weeks.

When I was woken up by the surgeons at first I couldn’t believe them that they had removed both of my arms right up to my shoulders and my left leg right at the hip. I didn’t have any stumps left and the doctors told me that I would probably never be able to wear any usable prosthetics. My parents were there for me but I think for them it was the hardest part, to see their only son lying in a hospital bed, maimed for the rest of his life. Disabled for the rest of his life.

But what I couldn’t tell anyone, not the surgeons or even my parents, was this weird sensation inside my head, that was telling me: finally! Finally and just by sheer luck I had achieved my ultimate dream, the dream to become a triple amputee.

I was so lucky, that the amputations they had to perform on me were exactly the ones I pretended to have, when my parents were away since I was a kid. I was always fascinated by amputees since the time when I saw that armless kid when I went to McDonald’s once in my childhood with my parents. I watched the kid, while he was eating his Big Mac by holding it perfectly between his feet and toes. I was flabbergasted how normal it seemed for him and his parents to be that he ate with his feet. The sleeves of his T Shirt were completely empty, there were no traces of any arm stumps at all. I secretly glanced at him from time to time. When he talked with his sister or his parents he even used his feet to make gestures, I was absolutely intrigued by him.

When I came home that night, I closed the door to my room and started to pretend for the first time. I was 10 years old and still playing with LEGO at that time, so I took off my socks and started to build stuff by using my feet. I became really good at it and started to learn to do more and more stuff with my feet. That continued until I was 14 or so and I found the Internet for me. By surfing the Internet and searching for amputee pictures I came across lots of pictures of triple one legged amputees and I also learned the terms devotee, wannabe and BIID. Finally I knew that I was not alone with my longing to become an amputee, but I also knew that the society wouldn’t approve or help me to fulfill my dream.

When I was 16 or 17 years old, I normally pretended to be one legged and armless. Using only my right foot I was now able to eat, drink, write, type on my phone or computer, switch channels on my remote control for my tv and I even could use the controller for my Xbox and play some video games by turning the disability settings on. In short, I was trying to live like a triple amputee. Four years later lying in the hospital my dream was at last fulfilled: I had the body I always wanted to have, I would be a triple amputee now for the rest of my life.

Some of the nurses were absolutely impressed that I started really quickly to use my right foot like a hand. The nurses told my parents how amazing they found that I accepted my new situation so fast and that I already started to use my foot to help me adapt to my new reality. Because of my extensive pretending I didn’t need much physical therapy at all. They fitted me with a state of the art electric wheelchair that had a special foot control and I didn’t even lose much time in college. A few weeks after the release from the hospital and after finishing my physical therapy programme I was back in college finishing my studies in business administration.

After my graduation I got a job at an insurance company where I still work today and in my free time I like to go to the mall and show myself to the public in all my Amputee glory. I love it when other people stare at me, the attention I get makes me sometimes feel like a celebrity and I like to show off my amputated body and my foot skills to everyone.

When I go to the mall I like to wear sweatpants and a hoodie. All my hoodies are specially altered, the sleeves are cut off and the holes are sewn shut with material from the cut off sleeves to fit my armless body just perfectly. The same is done to the left leg of my sweatpants, the pants leg is cut off and sewn shut. Normally I am barefoot but when I go to the mall I wear a white or sometimes a colored sock over my right foot. Why you ask? Because when I am having lunch or a coffee at the mall, by wearing a sock over my foot, I need to take that sock off by pulling it from my foot with my mouth, to gain access to my toes.

Lots of people are shocked when I do that right before eating something or before stirring my coffee with a spoon hold between my toes. I did that today also, I was sitting with my coffee at Starbucks, when I saw him for the first time. He looked like any regular college guy, probably in his late twenties. He wore a grey t Shirt and purple basketball shorts, his big hairy feet were sticking in two flip flop sandals and he played with them under the table. His face was clean shaven and he had high cheekbones. His hair was cut very short almost like an army haircut if you ask me. He was just sitting there, having headphones on, looking at his coffee and sipping it from time to time.

I watched him, I found it hot that he played with his feet. Then it happened. For the first time since I entered the starbucks cafe, he looked in my direction. Our eyes met and I saw something strange in his face, curiosity, lust and a smile all mixed together in that one short glance where our eyes met. Normally people don’t smile at me most of them avoid eye contact at all. That’s a first I thought, he isn’t afraid or disgusted of my body. I continued to watch him and he did it again and this time he hold eye contact and smiled at me broadly with a wide grin. I couldn’t figure it out, was he really hitting on me or was he just being nice?

When I finished my coffee, I put my sock back on on my foot with my teeth and steered my wheelchair to the exit. The guy was instantly following me. I was driving a few meters away from the entrance of the coffee shop and then I turned my chair around by pushing the foot control to its limit. He froze in front of me and did it again. He just smiled at me.

„Is it funny for you to follow me around?“ I asked him.

He froze before me and seemed a little bit shocked. He blushed.

„Mhm…no, i just saw you at Starbucks and wanted to get to now you. I think you look quite hot.“ he said to me.

I wasn’t expecting that from a good looking guy like him who could have had any woman or man. I was beginning to get turned on by the thought that I could have this good looking twentysomething kid with his adorable boy feet to play with me and have sex with.

„Are you a devotee?“ I asked him bluntly. And he just nodded, seeing that his eyes were getting a bit wet.

„Hey kiddo, no need to get upset. I know that there are guys out there who find me hot because of my rather special appearance if you like. I have no problem with that.“ I said

His broad smile came back. „What’s your name?“ I asked him. „Michael, I study at the local college and live in a dorm on campus.“ „Smart and independent, I like that in my guys.“ I laughed. He blushed again. „You are not from here, right.“ I asked. „No, just moved here with the beginning of the semester. I was at another college before.“ he answered.

„Listen Michael, my name is Tommy and I am hard as a rock right now, would you like to come with me to my place and we see where this is going between us? Because as matter of fact I glanced at you and that big hairy feet of yours the whole time in that Starbucks cafe.“ I thought I would try the direct approach with him. He blushed again, that was so sweet that he blushed all the time I thought to myself, such a big guy and so shy at the same time. He looked at his feet and then at me. „I would love to come to your place.“ he said nearly so quietly that at first I thought he didn’t say anything at all. „Alright then, follow me. I live not very far from here. We can talk some more on the way.“. He nodded and grinned again.

While we were going back to my place I got to know him a little better. He was studying to become an engineer. He also told me, that he discovered that he was gay in highschool and that he was into amputees which confused him at first but with the help of the Internet he came to terms with him being an amputee devotee. „Have you ever met an amputee before in real life Michael?“ I asked him. „No I never had the courage, but I really wanted to ask you. You only were too quick and caught me off guard first.“ he said.

„Here we are.“ I said when we reached my accessible apartment complex. We went into the lobby and up to my apartment. When I was standing before my door, I thought to myself, why not involve Michael right here on the hallway. „Michael, would you be so kind and pull my sock off real quick, it’s easier for me to grab my keys with my bare toes, you know.“ a lie, but I wanted to test him how he reacted. I stretched my sock clad foot out in front of him, and without hesitation he pulled the sock from my foot. Out of the corner of my eyes I looked at him. He was standing there, holding the sock a little bit too close to his chest and to his nose. And he took two or three deep breaths, probably deeper than normal. I knew it, I thought to myself. An amputee and a foot fetish, that footplay of him under the table in the Starbucks cafe gave him away.

I grabbed my keys out of the utility pocket on my wheelchair and opened the door to my apartment. I put the keys back in the special pocket on my wheelie and drove the chair back to its special power station right beside the door inside my apartment. „You can come in Michael, don’t stand there in the hallway.“ „Thank you, where shall I put the sock?“ he asked holding the sock still in his hands. He was such a sweet and polite young man. „Oh just put it on the sideboard there. Thanks.“ I said. I watched him from my wheelchair. He was very considerate and took his flip flops off before he entered my apartment. „You can put your sandals beside the door there.“ I pointed to the corner with my foot. He closed the door, put his sandals in the corner and the sock on the sideboard. He was nervous.

I smiled to break the ice. „So, now it’s time to get out of this baby here.“ I looked at my wheelchair while saying that. „Sorry but, can I help you with that?“ he asked a bit shy. I thought for a moment. Normally I was absolutely independent. But here was a young devotee, offering his assistance. „Oh Michael, you are so cute. Of course you can help me getting out of my wheelchair.“ I told him, still smiling. He blushed again, his cheeks red as an apple. „Ok here is how you do it. I am putting my foot in front of the chair, then you will put your one Hand around on my back and the other one onto my stomach, just above my crotch. And then when I stand up you stabilize me and help me keep my balance. Then you will walk beside me while I hop to the living room.“ Michael was nodding and looked really concentrated while he fulfilled the task I gave him. It was so sweet to see how eager he was to help me, how committed he was. I nearly felt a bit bad about seducing this devotee guy.

I stood up and he softly put his big hands on me. I noticed that he was taller than me, but I liked that. A young guy to protect me, I thought. I faked a bit that I had problems holding my balance, so that he had to grab me a bit firmer. I looked up at him and smiled when I was standing on my right bare foot firmly. „Michael my right foot is a bit sweaty, so I will take smaller hops than usual because I fear I might slip on my floor tiles in the hallway, ok?“ „Ok, I will help you with that.“ he told me. „Just walk beside me, holding and supporting me with your arm around my back ok?“ Michael did as he was told by me and I started to take smaller hops than usual to go to the living room.

When we reached the living room I went directly to my couch. I made three little hops on the spot, Michael was still holding me and than I sat carefully down. He released me. I sat there with my sweatpants and hoodie and put my foot on the couch seat as well. „Put your backpack just beside the couch.“ I said to him. He was eerily quiet. „Michael, please look at me, whatever happens tonight is fine for me. We can just sit and talk, we can watch TV, we can cuddle together, you can see my stumps if you like or we can make out. It is totally to you and how we get along ok? If nothing happens, it’s great too, ok? Please don’t feel pressured by me or the situation we are in right now.“ Michael stood there frozen for a moment. Then he started to sob. Jesus that Kid wasn’t only shy but also total emotional. „Hey, hey. Come here on the couch, stop crying please and tell me what’s on your mind.“ Michael did as he was told he sat on the couch beside me, he folded one leg under his butt the othe was dangling over the edge of the couch sweatband standing on the floor. „It’s just…I am…I am so happy, this is what I always wanted. I always wanted to be with a guy like you and I never….I never dreamed that my wish would really become true.“ „Oh Michael, you are such a sweet big boy. Come here to me and give me a good hug.“

He was leaning over on the couch, I was outstretching my right foot and put it around him on his back. It was my special hug, but he didn’t mind at all. He squeezed me in a kind of bear hug, but I liked it. We hugged for a few minutes. Then he leaned back. He blushed. „Tommy, can I…would you mind showing me…your stumps? I was fantasizing in the Starbucks the whole time what they looked like and I am really curious.“ I smiled at him, my little perky devotee frat boy I thought to myself. „Michael of course, you can have a look at them, but you need to help me undress please.“ I said. He smiled at me and nodded eagerly. He started with my hoodie, he carefully grabbed the frontside of the hoodie and pulled the hoodie over my head. To have no arms at all has it benefits. My hoodie was off in no time, I didn’t wear a t shirt and he stared in awe at my naked chest and shoulders.

He looked at my to shoulders with wide See eyes, they were pretty heavily scarred from the accident. „Do they…do they hurt you?“ he asked. I laughed „They only hurt shortly after I awoke in the hospital after my accident. It got better and today they don’t hurt at all, although they look not good. You can give them a good touch if you want to.“ I told him. When he touched them I started to twitch them both a bit. He giggled. „It feels funny when you move them. As if they have a living of their own!“ he said. I closed my eyes. „Michael it feels good if you touch them, please massage them a bit more.“ I pleaded with him. And Michael did the like and gave my stumps a good rub down. I moaned slightly while he did that.

„Would you like to see my leg stump too?“ He blushed again and bit his lower lip. „Yes.“ he said slowly. „Then pull down my sweatpants.“ Michael stopped squeezing my scarred shoulders and pulled down my trousers. I was not wearing any boxer shorts and was naked underneath the sweatpants. My half hard dick was lying on my left hip stump when Michael started to hesitantly touch the scarred hip stump. „It is so beautiful!“ Michael exclaimed when he touched the spot where my leg used to be before the accident.

I started to shiver in pure excitement closed my eyes and bit my lips. „Michael it feels so good when you touch my limbless body! Please don’t stop.“ Michael continued to touch my stump with his right hand while also massaging my chest sensuously with his left. He started to play with my left nipple. „Ahhh, Michael.“ I screamed when he pushed and rolled my nipple between his thumb and his index finger. God this kid new how to trigger a guy. My shoulder stumps were twitching uncontrollably while he played with my nipple. It was so hot.

He switched with his right hand from my leg stump to touching my dick. It’s always such a weird feeling since the accident when I feel someone’s Hand on my dick. Because I can’t touch myself anymore in that way it’s always quite odd to have a real hand on my dick again. But I enjoy this everytime so so much. Michael started slowly to pump my dick with his right hand and sped up his movements on my dick continuously. Playing with my nipples at the same time with his left. „Oh god, Michael, keep going please!“ His hand was nearly flying up and down now pumping me so hard. „Mhmmm…Michael! Rub me harder!“ I started to reach out with my right foot, I wanted to touch him, to touch his face while he was jacking me off. When I touched his left cheek, he turned his head and kissed my foot softly. Then he sucked on the big toe.

I was surprised and turned on immensely by that. Despite my foot being sweaty and smelly he licked, kissed and sniffed it. That pushed me over the edge. Michael gave my dick two more strokes and I exploded. My dick pulsated and cum was gushing out. „Oh goooood! Michael I am cuuuuummmmmiiiiing right noooow! Mhmmmmm oooooooh!“ I screamed and moaned.

My shoulder and hip stumps were twitching like hell while I squirted my huge amount of cum all over me. It hit my chin, my chest and it flowed over Michaels hand. He took his hand full of my cum in his mouth and slurped it into his mouth. Then he kissed me and I tasted my own salty cum on his lips. That was so hot, the orgasm I had was the best in months and I was so satisfied. I panted but I wanted to give Michael an orgasm as well.

He was sporting a huge tent in his shorts already. I started to fiddle with my toes and foot to get his shorts off of him. It took me a while but I succeeded at the end, with a little help from Michael who was a bit impatient. I saw that he wanted to get off as well after seeing me cum so hard all over my amputated body. He took his Shirt off himself and he was sitting in front of me in all his naked glory sporting a huge boner. He was circumcised like me. He looked down coyly on his hard dick while I started to touch his piss slit that was oozing and glistening with precum with just my big toe. I wanted to tease Michael a bit. He inhaled sharply when my big toe made contact with his slightly purple glans.

I lifted my toe again and a clear thread of precum was building between my toe and his glans. I took my toe in my mouth and licked the precum off. „You taste nice Michael.“ I put my foot back on his penis again and with my toes spread, I started to jack him off slowly. It was so nice to feel his big member against my foot twitching from time to time. His breathing became stronger. „You look so hot when you give a Footjob with your amputated body, Tommy. Please keep going!“ he told me. I was rubbing his dick with my right foot faster and faster. Then I stopped and he looked surprised. „Why…?“ he wanted to start. „Shhhh…Michael, I want to feel you inside me now. I want you to fuck me. Fuck me real hard.“ I said in response.

I leaned back and I spread my leg so that I was lying with my back against the armrest of the couch looking him longingly in the eyes. Michael was coming towards him. „You can put your hands on my shoulders if you want.“ I told him. Michael looked at my butthole that was twitching in sweet anticipation of Michaels dick. He aimed at it by holding his dick and guiding it inside my anus. I felt it sting a bit but that went as Michael was slowly pushing his huge dick inside my man pussy.

God how I loved to be fucked! Michael pushed inside and out in a steady rhythm while holding me at my shoulder stumps with his big hands. I was starting to moan and also my dick got hard again. Michael was in a mental tunnel now pounding away at my ass like crazy. „Mhmmm…fuck me yeah! Fuck me harder! Pleaaase!“ I screamed. „God you are so tight, Tommy! It feels so fucking good! Ah, ahh, ahh!“ Michael said while fucking me good. My dick was hard again as a rock while Michael fucked me thoroughly. I was leaking precum again.

Then it happened. Michael shifted his position slightly to the left, because there was no leg left, he fucked me suddenly at an odd angle and I was seeing stars, so to speak of. He was hitting my prostate so hard, that I feared my insides would actually tear. „Oh my god, that’s the spot, that’s it. Keep going Michael!“ he hit my prostate with the tip of his dick. Every single time he pushed in me. I was in heaven, that was the reason why I bottomed. I was nearly there already but I wanted to experience the orgasm in another way than usual. I wanted to cum just from being fucked. Fucked by this able bodied hunk, while he was holding on to my triple amputee body, squeezing my shoulders.

It made me feel so helpless, that I was surrendering to this young virile man. „Oh god Tommy I want to cum inside you so bad! Please let me cum inside you!“ Michael screamed. „Ah, oh, oh I am also nearly there Michael, please, oh god!“ I responded.

Michael pushed in one last time and shivered while he shot his hot sticky cum up into my male pussy. „Oh my gosh! I am cuuuuummmmmiiiinnng!“ Michael shouted. That pushed me over the edge. „Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.“ I squirted for a second time between the both of us. My sphincter was closing around his dick, practically milking Michael while he was still pounding my ass.

Michael kissed me passionately and slowed down. We were both breathing heavily and panting. „It was so hot to have been able to make love to you. I love how I can grab and squeeze your stumps, you are the hottest person I ever met. That made me so hot seeing you lie there without any arms and a left leg. I love you Tommy!“ Michael said.

Now it was my turn to blush.

„I love you too Michael.“ I whispered to him.