#i have an eye condition and a hand/finger condition and i am physically disabled so i should just be thinking

[gaydexvocaloid]

i’m buying synthv pro and yuma soon. i’m so excited …. i have a cover with maki i’ve been working on for months but it’s been in mixing hell cuz i know nothing abt mixing lol…. it’s basically done now i just need to finish the art..

[turtletaubwrites]

Bend Until You Break ~ Part 3

Thank you so much for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup !!🖤

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 3208

Ao3 Link

Summary: Law gives you the choice to go against your doctor's recommendations as you begin your recovery. Are you clear headed enough to make the right choice?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush), Needles, Drugs, Arguing, Massage, Praise Kink, Pain, Dissociation, Humiliation, Gaslighting, Non-Consensual Drug Use, (Implied)

A/N: I hate hospitals 😩 But for Law I might make an exception... Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

Beeping. 

What is that sound? There’s another sound.

That soun–

Fuck!

A strangled cry left your throat, pain tearing through you.

Tight, fuck it’s so tight, can’t–

Your eyes were still too droopy to open as your hands scrambled at your neck. A sharp pinch twisted against your right wrist, and you felt the pull of wires restricting its movement. 

That beeping noise was louder now.

“Y/N, you’re okay, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

Law’s deep voice pulled you out, giving you a reason to open your eyes. He pulled your hands away from scratching at the neck brace, and you slumped with relief at his touch. 

Only to let out a choked scream at the pain.

“Shh, I’ve got you. Can you stay still for me? I know you can, you’re so strong.”

“I don’t want to be strong anymore.”

Your confession slipped quietly from your trembling lips as you tried to acclimate to the pain, tried to be still for him. 

His brow creased as he looked down at you, and you felt pathetic. You wanted to take it back.

Law brought those cool, tattooed fingers to your face, leaving featherlight touches along your temple and cheek. Your eyes fluttered closed, burning tears starting again.

“You’re right,” he rasped, brushing your tears away with his fingers, leaving the tissues in their box this time.

“You’ve been strong for so long, haven’t you? You shouldn’t have to fight so hard every day.”

Gentle sobs left your throat, interrupted by a small gasp.

His hand still traced your face in soothing lines, until he brushed his tear soaked thumb across your lips.

Your eyelids were still heavy, but you held them open to melt into the storm gray eyes above you. 

“You don’t need to be strong with me, Y/N,” he breathed, close enough to leave the warmth of his words on your face. “I’ll save you.”

~

Beeping.

I’m with Law. I’m okay.

Foggy dreams of Law’s hands on your face made your skin flush before you opened your eyes. 

That beeping got louder as you fought off the embarrassing thoughts you were having about your doctor’s hands, but the slight shift you made in the bed had you forgetting it all, groaning in pain.

“Nice and slow, Y/N. You’re safe, just take some deep breaths.”

Your doctor stepped into view, his eyes scanning your body before gifting you with a gentle smile. 

Attempting a small stretch of your arms was a bad choice, but it brought your attention to the rest of your body. 

The bed was still angled so that your upper body was lifted. Lying flat had been excruciating. But even with your raised position, it was difficult to look down at yourself over the neck brace. 

“Where are my clothes,” you muttered, looming horror growing at the feeling of a hospital gown against your skin. 

“I apologize, Y/N,” Law admitted gently, tilting his head toward the beeping machine. “I needed to monitor your vitals to ensure your safety since we used that medication to help you sleep. I’m afraid I had to cut through your top to avoid injuring your neck further. I was able to save your bra, and I have scrubs you can wear once your neck is healed enough for you to pull the clothes on by yourself.”

He just said a whole bunch of words. 

Your brain decided the best way to handle all of the emotions flying through your head was to ignore them.

“Why do I have an IV?” You changed the subject, lifting your wrist, and tugging all the tubes with it. 

“Again, since you hadn't had that drug before, I took this as a safety precaution. I assumed you would prefer a single needle versus the potential of many if I needed to administer more medication,” he explained as he disconnected you from the tubes, but left the placement on your wrist. “You’ve also been receiving fluids, which is essential after the traumatic night you had.”

A nod made you wince, so you thanked him softly, feeling warmth move through your chest as another hint of a smile touched his lips. 

“Do you have the energy to move, Y/N? I’d like to show you the room, and do another physical exam to see if you’ve improved since last night.”

The thought of moving hit you with the sudden realization that you needed to fucking pee.

“Is there a bathroom,” you asked, holding your breath from embarrassment. 

“Of course, it’s right here. Let me help you.”

After many whimpers, and groans, and heavy breaths, you were on your feet. Shaking with pain as he led you to the door, you knew that nothing else could have motivated you to walk right now. 

“Do you need help sit–”

“I’ll be fine,” you blurted out, closing the door. 

He’s my doctor. This is fine. He’s helping me because I’m injured, and he’s my doctor.

Those thoughts did not diminish your embarrassment, especially when you did struggle to fucking sit down. 

Gritting your teeth, and clinging to the safety bar, you managed to keep at least some sliver of your dignity by not yelling for him to help you. 

Shame rocked through you as you washed your hands, avoiding looking in the mirror. You didn’t want to know how wrecked you looked. 

But you looked anyway. 

You wanted to splash some water on your face, but couldn’t bend down to do it. 

“Y/N, are you doing alright in there?”

“I’m fine,” you called out as you fought with the ties of the gown. 

Oh my gods, he took all of my fucking clothes off.

That knowledge kicked in again as you tried to make sure every inch of your ass was covered.

“Can you put me to sleep again,” you half joked, taking his hand as he helped you through the door. 

“We don’t want to overdo it,” he said in that serious tone he’s so good at, leading you slowly toward the center of the room.

He sat backwards in that rolling chair. 

But his chair isn’t that color…

“Is this the same room,” you interrupted him, looking around by turning your body instead of your head. You couldn’t tell if the weird sounds you were hearing were real, or if you were just getting a headache from moving around.

“No,” he hummed, nodding slowly at you. “I’m impressed you were able to notice that in this state.” 

You followed the line of his arm as his tattooed finger pointed to a large door. 

“Those are my quarters. I had you moved to an adjacent room so that I can be close if you are in pain, or become injured again. That vent is open so I’ll be able to hear if you need me.”

“O-Oh…”

He shifted his hand again, and you turned to follow it, your eyes a bit wide.

“You already know where your bathroom is. The third door leads out into the corridors of the Polar Tang, but Y/N,” he said, his voice taking on more force, “I request that you refrain from leaving these quarters until you are steadier on your feet. I would hate for you to become injured under my care.”

“But how–”

“Y/N,” he rasped, that low voice pulling you in, “let’s complete the exam before you tire yourself out, alright?”

“Okay.”

“There you go,” he purred, “I love seeing you take care of yourself. Do you consent to me touching you?”

Your ‘yes’ was barely audible as you tried not to let his words, and the way his words sounded with that dangerous voice, make you fall over. 

Feeling his fingers on you might be your favorite thing in the world. Even as you whimpered in pain while he checked along your shoulders and spine. 

“This seems to be the problem area,” he noted, tracing lightly over your left shoulder down between your shoulder blade and spine, rubbing along a few of the vertebrae. 

“But my neck?”

“Everything’s connected, Y/N,” he breathed over your ear, making you shiver and wince. “Don’t worry. I’ll help you learn how your body works.”

Fuck, his voice.

There was no way, no fucking way that you could be dripping wet in a hospital gown while your body was stiff with pain. No way that tight coil of pressure could be building in your core over the only doctor that had ever helped you, ever believed you. 

I can’t fuck this up. 

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Mhm,” you lied, catching yourself before you nodded this time. 

“Let’s have you sit down. We need to take the brace off, so I can examine your neck again. It is going to be painful. Are you ready, or would you like to take a break first?”

~

“Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck.”

“You are doing so well for me,” Law praised, gently removing the brace to press against your neck, asking you questions while you tried not to move.

How can I like his fingers touching me like this? What is wrong with me?

“Look at you. I’m so proud of how you’re handling this,” he rasped, soothing your whimpers as he secured the brace again.

“When will I be able to go home?”

Law’s jaw shifted a bit as he sat back, and it felt like the air in the room got heavy. 

“As your doctor, I had to make the call to protect your health. We left your island, and my recommendation is that you remain with me for the time being. I think we both realized that one more week of treatment would not be enough support for your chronic condition. This incident with your neck further proves your need to receive continued treatment.”

“Left the– We’re underwater,” you said in a small voice, realizing what the strange clanking sounds in the background must be. 

“You took me away,” you asked softly as your boyfriend’s warnings about Law started playing in your mind.

Fear ran through you then, and the metal room grew smaller, your oxygen growing harder to find. Panic hit your lungs, fast, shallow, useless breaths spiking your neck with pain.

“Y/N,” he drawled, that voice almost frightening now.

“But you were going to be there another week. Why did you take me? Why–”

“Y/N, I will take you back right now if that's what you want,” he soothed, voice warm and inviting. “Please let me explain why I had to make that choice. You weren’t able to make decisions for your own health and safety at the time. As your doctor, I had to do what I believed was best for your wellbeing.”

You stilled, your breath slowing, but staying shallow. That fuzzy distance started to take over, but you dug your nails into your palms to try to focus on what your doctor was saying. 

“Your boyfriend came to the ship in the morning, demanding to take you home.”

The image in your mind built up. That fight. The keys you left in the open door. 

You jolted a bit as Law laid his hand on your clenched fist. 

“He refused to listen when I explained your condition, and that it would be dangerous to move you so soon. He…” Law took in a heavy breath, looking to the ground as he shook his head. When he met your eyes again, his were deep and sad, but etched with kindness. 

“Y/N, your boyfriend accused me of taking advantage of your ‘obsession with being sick.”

Those words were thick like the nausea rising in your throat. 

He did say little things sometimes. Things that made it seem like he didn’t believe me. 

Law’s thumb stroked the back of your fist until you relaxed your hand. He took it in his before continuing with a gentle voice.

“He threatened to return with a group to take you by force. You are my patient, Y/N. I could not in good conscience release you in this current state. I had to make the call since couldn’t.”

That inner distance was coming again, all the sounds feeling washed out. Until he squeezed your hand, leaning in close. 

He smells good. 

“As your doctor, I must always do what is in your best interests. I believe that you should remain here under my care, at least until we have time to make progress with physical therapy. Until you feel safer in your own body.”

Your eyes had to close. It was all too much.

“However, it will always be your decision, Y/N,” he comforted. His voice was smooth, and thick, like some rich dessert. “If you choose to go against my recommendations, I will turn around right now. If you want to go back home, I will take you. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

A trembling mouth opened, but you had no words to speak. 

“Y/N, I need you to really think about this. Think about what’s best for you.”

Law massaged your hand as he spoke in that liquid voice, a shiver breaking you out of the fog. 

“Where was he, Y/N,” he asked, not pausing for an answer. “You walked all the way here on your own, didn’t you? The amount of pain you were in was frightening, yet you chose to suffer alone. Why didn’t you ask for his help?”

He caught your rush of tears with a tissue, his voice raspy as he came closer to dry your face. 

“Do you want to go back to a place where all the doctors treat you like you’re crazy?”

Years of frustration, anger, and pain fell on you, but you tried to stay present, tried to think straight.

“Do you want to go back to a family that doesn’t believe you? To a partner that believes you’re pretending, that thinks you want to be sick?”

No. You didn’t.

But you tried to let it go, tried to think without emotions. You wanted to shake your head, to move, to fling some of these sickening feelings off of you. 

But you couldn’t move. You were in too much pain. 

And Law is the only person who cares. 

“You know, Y/N, I understand exactly how lonely and angry you must feel.”

He trapped you in the stone wall of his eyes again, and you’d never seen this look on his face before. 

“When I was a child, myself and everyone I knew got sick. They all died.”

“I—“

“Even though I wasn’t contagious, even though I was just a child, every single doctor treated me like I was trash.”

The hand that was holding yours was squeezing tighter while you were frozen by his barely contained rage.

“There was only one person in the world who cared about me,” he muttered, the tension in his shoulders easing a bit.

“He did everything he could to save me. Even when I fought him. Even when I hurt him... He never stopped.”

The overwhelming closeness you’d felt in that metal room was easing, and the heat of tears building in your throat wasn’t for yourself this time.

Law rested his palm against your cheek, and that foggy dream floated through your mind.

“I’m not like all those doctors that abandoned us, that left us to suffer all alone,” he rasped, the twitching of his creasing brows giving you more emotion than you’d seen from him before.

“I will never abandon you, Y/N.”

His promise filled the air, as if this metal room were a ringing bell, the vibrations wracking through your body.

I feel like I should be scared. But why? He’s helping me. No one has ever helped me before. He’s just intense because he knows.

He knows this pain even more than I do. 

Of course he’d do all of this to help me. He’s just helping me.

Law kept his hand on your cheek while he waited for you to think. He didn’t push, just gave you time. You heard the heart rate monitor starting to slow as you breathed with him.

He had taught you to follow his breathing during exercises, and now it felt natural, soothing. 

“I want to stay with you. If you want to help me.”

“Of course I want to help you,” he purred, brushing a few strands from your forehead before stroking his fingers through your mussed up hair.

“I’m your doctor. You can trust me.”

~

“Law?”

“Are you alright,” he answered as he charged through the connecting door.

“I’m fine. Well, the same,” you reported, trying to shift your body up the bed. 

It was getting difficult for you to tell the passage of time underwater, but you knew it had been at least a week.

Your pain was reducing, and your range of motion was improving, but you were still on bed rest unless Law was with you to guide your movements.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” you said, a sheepish grin pulling at your lips. “I’m just… I’m so bored, Law. And if I listen to Bepo’s Uta tone dial one more time, I’m going to go insane.”

That crooked smile made your skin flush as he walked toward you. He started piling pillows onto your lap, gently moving your arms out of the way before propping them up.

“I believe you’ve healed enough to read a book with some support,” he rasped as he brought his fingers to your skin. He pressed lightly against your shoulders, your jaw, and around the edges of the brace. You only winced a little when he stuck his fingers in to check the tightness.

“Although, you’ll need to make sure you’re not straining yourself, so we’ll have to start with short periods of time. Can you do that for me, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you agreed with a smile. It felt like your birthday, finally getting to open and enjoy your presents.

“You like mysteries, right,” he asked as he walked toward the door.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Your smile wilted just a bit as you tried to recall telling him that.

You hated being so loopy all the time. It felt like you were missing out on parts of your life. 

“This is one of my favorites,” you almost squealed, catching yourself before you wiggled in your hospital gown.

“Really,” he teased as he took it back, flipping through the pages. “I’ll go find you something you haven’t read then.”

“No, please. I love it, thank you.”

“Show me how you’ll be holding it, Y/N.”

Law’s hands on your arms made you crave his massages more than seemed healthy. With your neck as it had been, he wouldn’t risk hurting you. 

You still couldn’t lie flat anyway.

But I’m getting better. Then we can start. He can teach me how to take care of my body. He can touch me again.

Your own thoughts sent blood rushing to your face as you dove in, getting lost in one of your favorite mysteries. 

Even though you knew who the villain was, you always loved the thrill of the chase. 

And you still weren’t sure who you were rooting for. 

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I'm having so much fun 😈

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @metonimia-de-bellota | @3v37773 | @dewdropsandfrogs | @nubigenouss

Part 4

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[maxpawb]

[Information regarding the visual stylization and anthropomorphization in my OC world/story in development 'circusworld']

The "animals" in circusworld are all people. They are drawn as anthropomorphic animals for stylistic and symbolic purposes. Any species may exist, but I tend to prefer to draw my favorite animals or the animals which are most symbolically important to me. So while birds, reptiles, fish, and insects exist in their world, you are more likely to see lions and zebras as the main characters. They should all be drawn with human bodies and limbs, including plantigrade legs/feet, with the exception of ungulates which may be given ungulate feet. Insect species may have wings on their backs. Bird and bat species may have wings either on their backs or as extensions of their fingers. Their hands are humanlike with the exception of paw pads and claws for mammals, and the aforementioned avian species. Their heads should have humanlike foreheads, brow ridges/eyebrows, and eyes, but they may have animalistic noses and mouths. They have hair on their heads. They have animal ears and tails. For all intents and purposes, they are "humans," but artistically, they are "animals" who are undoubtedly people.

They may have flat chests or defined chests, including through transitional surgery. Nipples are not drawn. Lower genitalia is not drawn. Both of these features technically do exist in their world for reproductive/child raising purposes, but it is not the focus of the story and is not necessary to illustrate them. They may have body hair in addition to the fur/feathers/skin/scales on their bodies. They do not necessarily feel the need to wear clothes. Many of them do, for various reasons. Clothes may be physically necessary for warmth, protection, or as a uniform. Some clothes are worn simply for fun or fashion. Many circus characters enjoy clothing as costume.

Feral animals exist in their universe and appear and behave exactly as they do in our universe. They cannot talk, and they are kept as pets and used as livestock. It is not seen as weird for an animal person to own a feral animal pet, because animal people are entirely separate beings from feral animals.

Essentially, animal people are just people. Thus, their species is not often commented on by other animal people, and is often entirely irrelevant to their lives. There is no species discrimination or predation amongst animal people, although certain animal people species may have more of a taste for feral animal meat than others. In addition, some species behaviors may be adapted into personality or lifestyle traits, such as a sea lion enjoying swimming. However, a cat could enjoy swimming just as much. Animals of all different lifestyles and personalities exist.

Animal species are often used to symbolize different traits that we humans attribute to animals. For example, a lion symbolizes bravery/courage, devotion to a group/family, and physical strength. As such, a lion character may embody these themes more heavily. In the case of zebras, they are used specifically because of their symbolic meaning as a representation for under-diagnosed/rare medical conditions, and zebra characters are likely to be used to explore concepts related to illness and disability.

In conclusion: I am a furry artist above all else. I thrive when I am making furry art. I love the creative freedom and opportunity to explore symbolism that is inherent to furry art. I do not think I could tell a story or create a world that I was satisfied with if all of the characters were humans, because of the way my brain thinks in colors and symbols like this. But with this project specifically, the characters are just people who happen to be animals.

[idontplaytrack]

I Dare You(to love me)

Jos Cleary-Lopez x physically disabled fem! reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut— oral, fingering, kissing, marking, slight overstimulation, first time(reader receiving), fluff, some angst, mentions to surgery & scars.

Reader’s first time reveals some truths about herself to Jos.

Bit of self-insert, sorry not sorry🫢

(Pictures used a from Tumblr & Pinterest)

“y/n, it is the middle of summer. You’re already sweating.” Jos says quietly, “Why are you still wearing long pants?”

You looked back at her, swallowing harshly as you began to panic. You couldn’t let her know, you could never. She’d hate you and be disgusted with you just like anyone else, then. The more you thought about it, the more you felt like crying. You feel the painful lump in your throat and the racing of your heart. Fiddling with your thumbs, you looked down and your crossed legs.

Jos doesn’t back down. She asks again, “Baby, what’s the matter? You can tell me anything, you know that.”

Your fists balled together trying to divert the tears that were pricking your eyes, away. “Look at me, y/n.” She says, moving closer to you. You shook your head, still avoiding her gaze. “Baby, please.” She repeated, hand reaching for your chin and tilting it up so she could see your face. The card game on the floor was long forgotten.

“You’ll just be disgusted by me like everyone else.” You croaked.

Her eyes narrowed, puzzled. But her gaze was soft and filled with obvious concern. “y/n, I don’t— I promise you, nothing about you could make me feel that way.”

“I don’t know how to tell you.” You admit. “I’m scared.” A tear slips from your eye. “I like you so much, Jos. And every time our make-outs almost turn into more and I just— I know I say no to it but it’s not because I don’t want to do it.”

She looks at you, still concerned but listening attentively.

For the lack of better words, you rolled up jeans to show her. “I…have cerebral palsy.” You revealed fearfully, “I had to get surgery twice when I was a kid to make sure I would stop tiptoeing and actually walk because my muscles and tendons were so tight. So by the end of twelve years, two surgeries and four long and very obvious, ugly scars…after many of my friends saw these and got terrified a disgusted by them…I don’t ever show them. Because I know better than to do that.”

She looked at them, then looked at you. You got self-conscious and looked away again. “Baby, they’re not ugly. Okay? And as cheesy as it sounds, they got you to where you are today. It improved your life, you could do more of what you wanted. Kids are assholes sometimes, they didn’t know better. But I do, I know you and those scars and your condition don’t define you. What does define you, however, is how you treat others with so much respect no matter how nasty some people can get with you. You’re kind, you cherish your friends, your family, me. You love me for who I am. y/n, you are perfect the way you are. You are my girlfriend- you’re perfect for me.”

You told yourself not to cry, but of course she still managed to make you cry. You shook your head, desperately rejecting what she was telling you. Your mind didn’t want to accept it even though it was the sort of response you’ve always wanted. You couldn’t believe your ears, and not in a good way. But damn, your eyes watching Jos…how that tank top perfectly hugged her figure? It was making you feel some things. You exhaled harshly, avoiding her eyes again while swiping the tears away, “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for? Don’t ever apologise for things that aren’t your fault.” Jos sat closer to you, tilting your chin again so she could see your face. “I’m just happy you trust me enough and told me so I know what to look out for and help you.”

“I’m not used to such a reaction so I just— I can’t believe it, literally.” You admit, “But thank you, Jos. For not ditching me like everyone else has.”

She doesn’t say anything but smile at you, cupping your cheek and leaning in. Her eyes silently asking for permission to kiss you. You were feeling so many emotions at once, but desire won. You nodded, allowing her to crash her lips onto your own.

“Ever done this before?”

“No.” You mumbled.

“That’s okay, I got you. We'll figure it out together." She assured, "You can show me how you like me to do it."

Fuck. You whined into the kiss as she deepens it, then telling you to sit in her lap. You pulled away, looking at her right in the eye. “Yeah, sit in my lap.” She confirms. “Okay…” You agreed hesitantly and let her pull you onto her lap. Her fingers hooked on the hem of your underwear and your jeans, “Take ‘em off, baby.” You gulped, lifting your hips and allowing her to pull both pieces of fabric down. You laugh, it was a bit of struggle but somehow neither of you thought of standing up to remove them first. Once the pieces of clothing were abandoned, you were sat comfortably in her lap. She tilts your face to kiss you, hand cupping and caressing your cheek. Once she started to kiss you, you’d forgotten about your worries. Her free hand was tentatively on your thigh but it soon started inching closer and closer to the juncture between your thighs.

“I’ll take it slow, okay?” She broke away, lips separating unwillingly. Jos looks at you, searching your eyes for the answer since you didn’t open your mouth to talk. “Yeah, yeah.” You finally managed to say, “Okay.” Jos starts kissing you again once she gets a confirmation from you, her fingers ghost your clit and you flinch. A second later, her fingertips were on your clit, rubbing slow circles on it to let your arousal grow for a while. You fought a whine that was caught in your throat, painfully swallowing it when you felt her slide a finger down towards your entrance. Your clit throbs, causing an ache and she’s definitely felt that little movement. Jos chuckles into the kiss, finger teasing your entrance for a little too long. Right before you could complain, she started pushing her finger in slowly. A whimper falls from your lips, muffled by the unending kiss. Jos takes this as her cue to pick up her pace, her hand’s also left your face and was now on one of your thighs to keep them open for her.

Jos laughs lowly, sending a shock down your spine, “You’re so wet, baby…” You whined at that, and the fact that she’s slid a second finger in. “Oh, shit.” She groans at your tightness, fingers staying still so you could get used to the feeling. “Does it hurt?” She asks quickly, gaze studying your face for any signs of discomfort. You mumbled incoherently and shook your head, “Keep going?”

“Okay.” She grins, moving her lips down to your neck while her fingers got back to work. Jos kisses a trail down the side of your neck, and when you let out a yelp at a certain spot, she went back to it and started to kiss it over and over, sucking and then biting down on it lightly. Shit.

You moaned, squirming in your position. Jos chuckles right into your ear, proud that she figured it out so easily. It only made you even whinier. “Baby~ are you close?” She teases.

Your breathing hitches.

“Tell me.” Jos said gently, handing caressing your thigh.

You breathed in then exhaled harshly, painfully admitting, “Yes.”

She smiles then pressed a kiss to your shoulder. Retracting her fingers as much as she could without leaving you, they were then forcefully jammed into you so she could hit your sensitive spot and push you over the edge. Jos did this a few times over before you started to clench erratically around her fingers.

“Shit.” You panted, “Oh, my God.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” She cajoled, “That’s good, just let it happen. I’ve got you.” Jos’ voice was so sweet, but her actions were so sinful— it drove you crazy. Your heart was beating in your ears, breathing coming out in short gasps, you were whining and whimpering…all because of Jos.

“Go on, baby. Come for me.” She whispers, “Come on.”

With a final push of her fingers poking at the spongy part deep inside you, you felt yourself unravel. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You mumbled, leaning fully onto her while your head fell back onto her shoulder lazily. Jos keeps going though, until you let out particularly high-pitched cry and lifted yourself of her. She quickly removes her fingers from you and eased you back down into her lap while she whispered sweet words into your ears and caressed your thigh, “You’re okay, baby. You’re okay. Breathe, beautiful. You’re alright, I promise.”

————

Next thing you know, Jos lifts you off the ground and places you on her mattress. You locked eyes with her. She asks, “You…wanna go again?”

“Again?” You asked, a little bit winded while you leaned against the headboard, legs still apart while she knelt in between them.

She nodded, biting back an excited grin.

“So—”

“I’ll use my mouth if you’d like.” Jos continues.

“Oh.” You said back, the same giddy smile forms on your face again. Nodding your head, she moves, face to face with your dripping cunt, her ass tilted in the air. Dear God.

Jos was incredibly gentle, seeing that you’d just came once. Yet, you were still so sensitive and kept flinching. So, she went slower, and softer. You let out a ragged breath, she holds onto your inner thighs causing your hand to fall off your knee and limply onto your side. “Mm— fuck—” You murmured shakily, “Fuck— Jos— feels so good.”

Satisfied, Jos laughs, breath fanning against your heat and eliciting a whine and a string of profanities to spew from your lips. Jos fully attaches her mouth onto you, like she was trying to suck you dry. The sudden increase in intensity numbed your mind, causing your clit to throb harshly in her mouth and your wetness to leak out more and more every time she did it. You cried out, “Fuck!” You gripped the sheets beneath you, unsure of what the hell you could do with them other than that.

A long string of ‘oh, my god’ and ‘fuck’ coupled with her name comes from you without an end as she ruthlessly ate you out, helping reach your second high with ease. Your hips bucked right before you came, making Jos grip onto your thighs harder so you stayed put like this— closer to her face than ever. Your knees were giving way, though and she knew so she just let that happen too after a little bit. You fall back on the mattress, a whiny mess following her ministrations. Trembling as you came down from your climax, you were also breathless.

“Fuck, that was so hot.” Jos knelt again then sat down. Your gaze falls onto her face, and you were dumbfounded. Using her hand to clean off her face and chin that was dripping with your cum, she leans forward to capture your lips into her own. “Are you okay, baby?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, “I’m okay.”

Her hand strokes your cheek, “Good. You did so good, baby.”

You smiled blissfully, catching her gaze for a beat, “Fuck.”

“So beautiful, baby.” A similar smile creeps onto her face as she attacks you with kiss after kiss all over your face making you giggle.

“I love you.” You told her, arm resting on her shoulder as she sits before you and between your legs.

“I love you more, baby.” She seals the promise with yet another kiss, “I love you— so, so fucking much.”

————

🏷️ Tag list:

@ashecampos @auliisflower @cheesysoup-arlo @frogs00 @reneeswif3 @ludoesartnstuffs @pda128

[crackednailsandsplitends]

Chronic Illness: Everyday Mundane Things I Struggle With - Arm and Hands

Chronic Illness: Everyday Mundane Things I Struggle With - Arm and Hands

Pain is a universal human experience; however, chronic pain -- the kind that lingers, interrupts your life and refuses to leave -- is a different beast altogether. This is a glimpse into my daily struggle with ME (Myalgic Encephalomyelitis), chronic tennis elbow, and severe cervical foraminal narrowing.

ME (Myalgic Encephalomyelitis)torments me significantly with arm issues. The trouble escalates in my right arm due to years of suffering from chronic tennis elbow. But it doesn't end there. I also have severe cervical spine foraminal narrowing which means that the passage where the nerves exit my spine narrows down, compressing those nerves slightly. This condition triggers problems down my right side especially affecting my hand, elbow and shoulder.

Thus, I experience a whole heap of issues with my right arm and hand.

More than pain

It's not only about battling constant intense pain; it's all about managing nerve pain too - neurological nightmares of tingling, heaviness, numbness, spasms etc.

With all my conditions, it restricts my arm and hand use considerably even in seemingly minor ways. For instance, trying to squeeze the liquid gel detergent out of a bottle turns into a painful battle; especially at the point when the bottle is quarter used, when I need to exert pressure on the bottle – something I find myself unable to do, due to pain.  

Such trivial encounters upset me deeply, simply because they highlight my disabilities and limitations so blatantly and brutally.

It means now that when selecting laundry detergent, it becomes a decision based not only on preference but also on physical capability—can I squeeze the gel out? Even handling medication proves challenging as taking pills out from their dispenser or picking them up is more troublesome than it should be. Imagine losing crucial medication on the floor because of my finger dexterity issues, unfortunately, I do this often! Also, using spray bottles, the trigger can be extremely painful for me to keep pressing that trigger.

Makeup application, once an effortless process, now turns into a long, exhausting ordeal due to these limitations. Brushing my teeth becomes incredibly painful or just simply difficult as my arms and hands fatigue quickly and feel extremely heavy and painful. Brushing my hair and attempting to style it (tie it up), is immensely challenging with my arm. With the most upsetting thing is, I am unable to do my daughter’s hair.

I now only buy jersey sports bras as I can step into them and pull a sports bra up, thus, this avoids me having to do the hook-and-eye connection on a normal bra (which I find extremely challenging to do)

I use talk-to-text on my phone/laptop as typing and using my fingers can become quickly painful. Holding the phone to my ear can quickly become too much and too painful.

Constant reminders

Doing buttons-up, tying shoe laces – all these tiny mundane everyday tasks that I took for granted before, are now constantly reminding me that my body is failing me, my body is broken, and I am disabled.

Days that are particularly bad present even more challenges — things like cooking become almost unmanageable. Tasks like cutting fruit and vegetables become impossible. Other activities including sewing can lead to excruciating pain; making me pay for hours or even days afterwards if I push myself too far. 

Although I'm slowly learning to use my left arm/hand more frequently, it doesn’t have full functionality without issues, and it also presents continuous difficulties.

Final thoughts

Living with chronic pain requires constant adaptation and resilience, dealing with both physical discomforts and emotional setbacks. Each day is a new challenge but it also provides opportunities (always trying to keep positive) for learning better ways of managing life despite limitations.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙮 𝙢𝙚𝙩𝙖𝙡 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧 (𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘐) || sub!bucky barnes x dominatrix!reader

𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 || every client is different, with different needs; but this client is, in every way, exceptional.

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 || 5k

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 || smut (cnc), dom/sub relationship, ‘mistress’ title, pain kink, cockwarming, orgasm denial/control, use of a cockring, slapping, objectification/degradation, some angst and hurt/comfort, crying after sex, touchstarved!bucky

new parts posted on thursdays!  join the taglist here

"And you can promise complete and total discretion?” the deep and husky voice on the other end of the line repeated, low enough that it was almost a whisper.

You laughed a little. “Of course,” you answered. Most clients were serious about privacy, but this guy was next level. He must be famous, you thought to yourself, or married. Or both.

But just as much as your clients wanted to keep you separate from their personal life, you would rather they know nothing about who you are. Of course it was always a risk, since nobody could hide their face and you had to work out of your apartment, but you did what you could to keep your job just that— a job.

You told your friends you were a consultant, because people didn’t question that. Sure, it was hard to keep up the lie sometimes when you got last-minute bookings and had to cancel plans, but it was worth it for the money these men were willing to pay.

And this new guy? He was shelling out all kinds of cash, on a long set of conditions. Including an NDA. You wouldn’t have given him up either way, but if the contract made him feel better (and made him pay more) then you were happy to sign it.

“So it’s all anonymous, then? No ID, no credit card…?” he pressed.

“I mean, if cash is easier for you—”

“It is.”

You were starting to worry that this was a major red flag, as if he didn’t want to be traceable back to you at all. It was almost a dealbreaker, until you glanced down at the legal pad you’d written his offer on and remembered that you couldn’t afford to turn him down. “Then cash is fine,” you decided, making a note to yourself to have 911 already dialed when he came by in case his aversion to ID was really about a desire to get away with something.

“When can we start?”

“Um, well the soonest I can do is tomorrow at seven” you explained.

"Great, I'll be there," he answered firmly, apparently about to hand up.

“Hey, hey, slow down!” you chuckled. “Can I at least get a name?”

“I didn’t think we needed to do names.”

“We don’t… but if you’re willing, I’d like to know something to call you.”

“James,” he answered after a tense pause. “James is fine.”

“Alright, James, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Upon opening the door, you instantly noticed three things about him: he was tall, he was big, and he was sexy.

You had sort of been hoping that his appearance wouldn’t match his voice, but it did, and it was going to make this so much harder.  Maybe easier in a few ways, but overall worse.  It was important that you didn’t get too emotionally invested with your clients.

His eyes were dragging over you like he was just as taken aback.  Which was odd, because he must have seen your picture online before he called you.  

“James,” you greeted. “Glad you made it.”

You stepped aside to let him enter, guiding him to take a seat in your living room.  Before clients came by, you hid any signs of life and kept the space as neutral as possible, which was why the only furniture was the white couch he sat on, the black chair across from it, and a glass table in between.

You sat in the black chair and crossed your legs, noticing with pride the way his eyes studied your every move.

“It’s important that we have a discussion about boundaries and limits before this goes any further," you explained sternly, and he nodded slightly.  "Tell me what you do and don't want."

“Uh, well, I guess I was just looking for… somebody who can administer, um, discipline… you know, someone who sets rules and enforces them.  But could also be kind of, uh, sweet I guess, to.  Not too sweet, just… not too mean either."

You smiled a little; he sounded right up your alley.  "I can do that."

"You should know I… I have a… disability.  My left arm it's, um, it's a prosthetic."

"How would you like me to accommodate that?"

"Just don't say anything about it, please.  Treat it like a normal arm.  And, uh, if you could ignore my scars, too…" he added awkwardly.

"Of course,” you nodded, “I would never want to make you feel insecure."

"Well, I mean, I'm not against degradation," he admitted sheepishly, making you smile a little.

"Right: that's different.  Anything else you're distinctly not against?"

“I can take a lot of pain,” he explained matter-of-factly.  “However much you think I can handle, double it.  I wanna feel it.”

You could almost hear the words he wasn’t saying: I wanna feel something.

“Okay, we can do that.  You’ve probably heard of the color system," you posited.

“I haven’t.”

"Oh."  That threw you off slightly… how new was he to this scene?  “Well, it’s traditionally green, yellow, red; like a stoplight.  Red means stop.  Yellow means proceed with caution.  Green means continue.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Too simple for me, in fact.  I have my own version: ‘red’ will make me stop what I’m doing, but only ‘black’ ends the scene entirely.  And then there’s ‘blue.’  That means you want more.”

He smirked a little; a strong show of emotion compared to his stoicism so far.  “I think I’ll use that one most.”

“Just don’t be afraid to use anything else, alright?  I’d never be disappointed in you for safewording, or even just needing a break.”

He nodded.  “Can we get to it then?”

“You’re rushing as always,” you laughed.  “I’m not charging you for this part.  We have plenty of time— don’t we?”

“Yes, but—” he sighed.  “You look really… I walked in and, I guess I’m just really looking forward to this.”

You almost would’ve smiled at the compliment but you thankfully suppressed it.  “And what is it that you’re looking forward to?  What do you want me to do to you?”

His jaw tightened as he looked away from you.  “Um, there’s a lot.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Ropes.  Strongest you have.  I can buy you stronger ones if you need them, for next time…”

He’s already thinking about next time?  He’s already thinking about buying me things?

“Alright, I can do ropes: wrists and ankles?  Or more than that?”

He seemed a bit confused by that question.  “Is there anywhere else?”

“Torso,” you enumerated, “neck—” you stopped because you saw his reaction to that, and it made you smile a bit.  “Okay, so maybe the neck is something to try.  Do you like being choked?”

“I… I don’t know…” he sighed.

“Have you ever been choked before?”

“Not… sexually...”

You felt your eyebrows rise, but didn’t want to press; a story for another time, perhaps.

“We’ll have to discuss silent safewords and signals so you can tap out, but if you’d be willing to try it—”

“Yes.”

You laughed.  “Eager, are we?”

He swallowed, and you wondered if you shouldn’t have let your ‘dom voice’ slip out in that moment… but he looked so good flustered like that.  He adjusted himself slightly in his chair and you hoped he was already hard.  And with that thought in mind, you couldn’t stop yourself from teasing him further.

“Do you like being called certain things?” you asked, voice lower as you leaned forward.  “How do you feel about ‘pet’?” 

He almost kept up his poker face, but his gaze faltered at the same time he moved in his chair again.  “Um, ‘pet’ is okay.”

“Baby boy?”

“Not really my speed,” he shrugged.

You slipped out of your chair and stood up, approaching him slowly as the click of your heels echoed across the tile.  He watched you with wide eyes and quickening breaths.

“What do you like?  Tell me,” you demanded, though you kept your tone light.

“Uh,” he paused, watching your hand as it rested on his leg, “I like… I like being called a good boy.”

You grinned as you pulled your hand away, watching him tense up with disappointment.  “I can do that,” you agreed, lifting his chin with a finger until he looked at you with those beautiful, desperate eyes, “if you actually are being a good boy for me.” “I will,” he promised quickly, “I’ll be so good.”

“Mmm, I bet you will,” you purred.  “So willing to please…”

“Tell me how,” he sighed as your hand trailed from his chin down to his chest, slipping under the loose collar of his henley and rubbing his chest.  “Tell me how to please you.”

“Well, for starters, I have a name, too: Mistress.”

He sighed like the wind had been knocked out of him, but nodded.

“And if I ask you a question, I expect you to answer ‘Yes, Mistress’ or ‘No, Mistress’.  Is that clear?”

“Uh-huh,” he agreed before suddenly correcting himself, “um, yes, Mistress.”

“I’ll let you have that one,” you frowned, “but further infractions will be punished.”

“Yes, Mistress; I’m sorry, Mistress,” he moaned, melting under your touch as your hand moved down to rub his thigh through his jeans.

“Now, just for fun,” you smiled, leaning down until your lips were nearly brushing his ear, “tell me what you want.”

“Please touch me, Mistress,” he sighed.

“But I am touching you.”

“Touch my… touch my cock," he clarified, adorably embarrassed. "It’s so hard for you…”

“We’ll get to that eventually.  Let’s go to the bedroom first, okay?”

However good he looked standing in your doorway half an hour ago, it was nothing compared to how he looked naked and hard and tied to your bed.

Yes, the prosthetic and the scars that attached it to his body were hard to ignore.  He had failed to warn you that it was metal, so you couldn’t hide the slight shift of your face when it caught the light; you hoped he didn’t think it was a look of judgment or disgust, because you truly didn’t think it was anything upsetting.  Maybe the scars were a little worrying… but they didn’t seem to bother him now, at least physically.

But truly, if anything was distracting about his body, it wasn’t the arm.  It was his muscles— no wait, it had to be his cock, right?  It’s tough to call: on one hand, his entire body was toned and hardened beyond the peak of human conditioning, his thick thighs making your mouth water already, his chiseled abs almost making you jealous; but on the other hand, between those lovely thighs and curving up against those perfect abs was a cock that rivalled anything you'd ever seen before, with a blue vein running up one side and a drip of precum rolling down the other.

You finally sauntered up to the bed and ran your fingers over the taught ropes, pretending to ignore him watching you impatiently.  It was almost hotter knowing that he could pull out of the ropes if he really wanted to.  More than most, he was choosing to submit to them and to you.

“How’s this knot feel?  Too tight?” you hummed, tugging the rope just beside his wrist and watching his hand move limply with it.

“No, it’s good.”

You stepped back to the foot of the bed and stripped slowly, peeling off your black dress to reveal a matching lace set underneath.  You left your heels on as you stepped out of the dress and kicked it aside.

Turning back to face him, James looked like he was all but drooling.  You could see in his eyes how much he wished the ropes weren’t holding him back so he could run his hands all over your body.

But you could tell he craved being denied what he wanted, by the way his cock flexed of its own volition.

You let yourself smile as you crawled your way up the bed and over his body, like a panther stalking its prey, and boy did he look ready to be devoured.

"Are you scared?" you asked quietly.  He shook his head.  "Are you ready?"

He nodded.  You sat up as you straddled him, positioned just right such that no part of you was really touching him, and watched with delight as he tugged against the ropes slightly to try to get closer.

"So needy," you grinned, somewhere between praising and scolding him.  Your fingers ghosted over his chest and he shivered; he asked you to treat his prosthetic like a normal arm, so you dragged your nails down the metal and watched his eyes flutter shut.  When you pulled your hand back and left him untouched again, he whined slightly.

“Aw, poor thing,” you pouted as you examined him, desperation emanating off of him in an invisible aura.  “Your cock is all red and leaking… it must hurt, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, Mistress,” he groaned.

“What if I touch it a little?” you offered.

“Please…”

You traced your fingers lightly up and down his length, tickling the skin and giving him the least pressure that you could.  He whimpered and you chuckled mockingly.  “I said I’d touch it a little, sweet boy, are you not satisfied?”

He bucked up into your touch as best he could, causing you to pull your hand away.  “Baby, please—” 

You cut him off with a slap to the face, as hard as you could muster.

“Mistress!” he corrected with a whine.  “Mistress, please… please wrap your hand around it.”

“Around what?” 

“Around… my cock.  Stroke me, please…”

“All you had to do was ask,” you grinned, finally tightening your hand around him and moving slowly up and down the shaft.  His head fell back with a soft moan, just from that.  Your teasing had certainly helped get him this worked up, but you knew it wasn't just that… he was plenty sensitive all on his own, apparently.

It made your mouth water.

"Does this feel good, James?" you asked huskily.

"S-so good," he whimpered, "please can you… stroke it a little faster, please, Mistress…"

"Hmm, not yet," you decided, feeling him tense up beneath you.  "Relax," you instructed with a free hand rubbing his thigh gently.  

You continued to teasingly stroke his length, never quite giving him the pressure or speed he needed to get closer to his release, savoring every whimper and whine and sigh from him along with the satisfying weight of his cock against your palm.

It felt like you'd never get tired of wielding so much power in your hand.

"Please," he sighed, "I need more…"

"You want me to stroke you faster?" you pressed, already knowing that wasn't what he meant.  He shook his head and you grinned, leaning in closer but letting go of his cock. 

Slowly, you let the lace covering your core rub up against his shaft, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head.  "Ohhhhh," he moaned, "oh fuck, Mistress…"

You grinned and kept rocking against him, easily feeling the warmth of him through your panties— meaning he, in turn, could feel the warmth of you.  "How does it feel, baby?" 

"Good," he choked out, "really, really good… fuck, I want more, I need more, please…"

"Are you my good boy, James?" you asked in a low purr.  He nodded eagerly, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed nothing.  "Do you want to be inside me?" you finally whispered against his ear, letting a finger run lazily up his spine and feeling him shiver so hard it was more like he was convulsing.

"Please, Mistress, I'll do anything…"

You didn't touch all of your clients sexually, due in part to the fact that they usually wanted a lot more pain than pleasure.  You'd only had sex with one or two of them, and it wasn't a routine thing.  Before today you never would've imagined doing this with a first-time client, but to be completely honest… he was fucking hot.  The kind of guy you'd be spreading your legs for instantly if you weren't at work and he wanted to buy you a drink or grab lunch.  And he was here, at your disposal, begging you for more.  How could you say no?  

You pulled your panties aside and gripped his cock tightly to guide it to your entrance, studying his face twisted in anticipation before sinking down and watching him gasp and sigh all at once, somehow.

It took a lot of effort to hide your own pleasure when he was stretching you out so perfectly, but you managed to suppress the desire to moan and just smile at his fucked-out expression instead.

Finally, your hips met with his and you got to sit there and enjoy the look of dawning agony as he realized you were staying completely still.

“Move, please,” he sobbed, “oh god, Mistress, please move…”

“But I thought you wanted to be inside me?  Isn’t this what you asked for?”

He whined and tried to wiggle his hips; all that got him was two hard slaps to the face.  

“No whining,” you instructed through your teeth.  “Good boys don’t whine.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whimpered, “‘m your good boy, I promise.”

“I know you are,” you grinned, “or at least, I know you can be.  Show me how good and patient you are.”

Reaching to the side a bit without getting off of him, you pulled a vibrator from your drawer.  His eyes went a little wide when he saw it, and you laughed.

"Don't worry, this isn't for you.  It's for me," you explained as you turned it on, inserting it between your body and his to touch the toy against your clit.  He winced as you sighed contentedly.  "Fuck, it feels good.  Can you feel it on your cock?"

"A… a little…" he hissed.

"I bet it feels good for you too," you posited, "but not good enough to make you come."

After a little pause, he nodded breathlessly.

"Good," you smiled.  "I just wanna come with your cock inside me.  I wanna know how it feels to get off with my favorite toy while being full of my newest toy."

"Fuck," he groaned.

"Do you like that, pretty boy?  Do you like me using your cock, being your Mistress' dumb little fucktoy?"

"Yes," he sobbed, hips shifting ever so slightly beneath you as he sought more stimulation from your flexing walls.  Shifting the vibe to hit right on your clit, you cried out— and he did too, at the feeling of you tightening around him.

"God, you love being Mistress' dildo, don't you?"

He nodded, biting hard on his lip until you worried he'd hurt himself.  He moaned again as another jolt of pleasure forced your channel to clench on his cock.

"You're making too much noise for a fucktoy, you need to be quiet."

He opened his mouth for a second, but closed it again and nodded instead.  

"You can do it yourself right?" you pressed, seeing him nod.  "You don't need me to gag that pretty mouth?" 

He whined but shook his head, keeping his lips pressed together.

That went on for a few more moments as you teased yourself with the vibe, hoping to draw this out for the sake of his struggle.  Wanting to up the ante, you took the vibe off your clit and turned it off for a moment.  "I think this would feel better with a little lube… will you get it wet for me, James?"

You brought the toy to his lips and he eagerly wrapped them around it, sucking lightly on the silicone with those pretty lashes resting on his cheeks.

"There you go, that's a good boy," you praised, pulling the toy from his mouth, "that's my good boy…"

"Yours…" he repeated weakly, "wanna be good for you, just for you…"

This time when you turned it on and pressed it to your clit again, you instantly gasped and felt your walls bare down on him; turning up the vibration, you actually moaned aloud and saw him wince.  "Oh, can you feel it now?" you asked tauntingly.  He bit his lip and nodded.

It really wasn't even intentional but you felt your hips start to rock, making him gasp as his eyes shot open.  For a guy who had been begging you to move not too long ago, he looked pretty overwhelmed by it now.

"Fuck, I'm gonna make myself come on your cock… do you wanna feel me come, baby?"

He seemed conflicted, which was exactly what you were going for.  You wanted him to struggle, just enough, between his need to satisfy himself and his desire to please you.  "I… I want to make you come, Mistress," he finally choked out, notably answering a slightly different question than the one you'd asked.  

You smiled and leaned in to whisper in his ear: "Are you afraid that if you feel me come around you, you won't be able to hold back?  That you might accidentally come inside me?"

He made a needy little groan and nodded.

"Don't worry, baby, I'm gonna help you," you promised sweetly, but of course as soon as he saw you grab a cockring from your drawer he changed his tune.

"N-no, Mistress, please," he begged with wide eyes, "I'll be good, just not that— don't put that on me."

You smirked and sat up, pulling off of him and slowly slipping the ring on his throbbing length as he quietly pleaded for mercy.  He winced when you pushed it down to the base of him, his cheeks burning hot red now.

"Is it a little too tight, baby?" you cooed, grinning when he nodded.  "Good."

You sank back down into him and let your hips grind on his, working your clit with the vibe and even kicking it up to the next highest setting.  He jolted beneath you, clearly feeling the vibrations strongly now, and you let the view of his beautifully broken facial expression egg on your own climax.

"Mm, I'm close, baby," you whispered, "just stay still and let Mistress use you like a good little boy."

He made a small noise through his teeth but seemed to manage okay, even when your walls began to pulse rhythmically around him and your head fell back, your free hand palming at your breast through the lace bra just to add that last little edge of sensation.

"Oh fuck, fuck," you moaned, "that's my good boy…"

You shakily pulled the vibe away and turned it off, still a little numb on your clit but feeling your channel still rippling slightly with aftershocks; he seemed to feel them in spite of their subtlety, if the panting breaths that filled his muscular chest rapidly were any indication.

As slow as you could manage, you pulled your body off of him and sat back on his legs to stare at his cock.  The remnants of your orgasm left plenty of lubrication to stroke it, focusing on the head which had turned almost purple now.

"M-Mistress," he groaned, writhing under your touch.

Amazingly, his cock was already flexing in your hand, and a growl of pride and hunger echoed in your chest.

“Oh fuck, can you come for me, James?” you moaned, pumping him so fast your hand was a blur.  “Can you be my good boy and come right through the cockring?”

“Yes,” he sobbed, “gonna come, Mistress, please—”

“Come right now,” you demanded, watching his face instantly fall slack as he spurted out onto his own chest and stomach, cock flexing and pulsing in your hands as his legs quivered and his hips thrusted wildly.

And the tears were flowing soon after.  You weren’t sure if it was sub drop or just the power of his release, but between weak sobs he whispered broken apologies.

“You did so good,” you cooed as you slipped off the ring and wrapped your arms around him, subtly trying to reach over to untie the ropes.  But you didn’t need to; he flexed his arms and the restraints popped like floss.  He embraced you in return as you let his head fall onto your chest.  “You’re so good, it’s okay,” you continued, stroking his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated again, breathing quickly and wetting you with his tears.

This, you realized, is what he had made you sign the contract to protect.  It wasn’t that he was excessively embarrassed about his sexual proclivities, but that this was his space to be soft, and weak, and broken.  Apparently he wasn’t ready for anyone else to know that he wasn’t steel all the way down.

“Shh, it’s okay… you’re okay…” you breathed, indulging him in this moment even though it was more intimate than you preferred to get with customers.  Aftercare was an important part of your job, certainly, but so was enforcing boundaries.

He began to soothe as you kissed his forehead gently, whispering well-deserved affirmations and praise.  As his breathing slowed and moved back to normal, he pulled back and looked up at you.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated one more time, but not as wavering as before, “I didn’t think I would… that was unexpected.”

“No, it’s somewhat normal,” you exaggerated slightly, “this kind of thing… it’s taxing, I pushed you to your limits.  You were really tough, and it’s all very vulnerable.”

“Thanks,” he sighed, sniffling and wiping his eyes.  “And sorry about your ropes,” he smiled as he noticed the frayed ends coming off of where his wrists were still tied.

“Let me help you get those off,” you smiled, loosening the knots and sliding the binds off of him, quickly massaging the places that the rope had constricted.  “Blood flow’s okay?”

“Yep,” he nodded.

“You numb anywhere?” you pressed.

“Uh, just my dick.  And my brain is all fuzzy…” 

You smiled.  “Can’t help the first one.  Let me get you some water for the second.”

“No!” he yelped suddenly.  “Um, don’t go yet, please…”

“Of course,” you smiled.  “I’ll untie your ankles, then.”

He still seemed disappointed, as if he expected you to hug him for hours and never move.  He let you go this time, though, and loosened his grip so you could slide down to the foot of the bed.  

"Was that sort of what you were hoping for when you called me?" you asked as you untied the ropes slowly and took a moment to massage the skin underneath, hoping to restore any lost blood flow.

"So much better than what I was hoping for," he admitted with a breathless chuckle.  "You're… really good."

"Well, thank you," you shrugged, "it comes with practice and experience.  You held your own, too."

"I wish I could say that was from practice and experience.  I didn't want to say anything before but I've, uh, never actually… been to a domme before."

You smiled slightly, coming back up and being pulled into another embrace.  "Um, I'll admit I can kind of tell…" you mumbled.

"I'm not supposed to touch you like this," he realized quietly, relaxing his grip on you and pulling back.  "I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright, just don't get too comfortable because we only have—" you glanced at the clock— "eight more minutes until you need to leave."

"I'll get up and get dressed soon," he offered with a sigh as you got up and quickly slipped on a robe, grabbing him a damp washcloth for the drying come on his torso.

You tilted your head as you watched him clean up, and you wanted to offer some touch that was a bit less intimate than a hug, so you found yourself blurting out: "do you like having your hair played with?"

"Um, I don't… I don't know," he admitted as he reached up to card his fingers through the hair in question.  "No one else has ever really touched my hair before."

"Really?" you laughed, getting back on the bed to sit beside him.  "It looks pretty luscious.  I figured any girlfriend of yours would want to get her hands on it."

"Oh, well, the last time I had a girlfriend… it wasn't long then," he explained, and you kept on your best poker face.  His hair looked like he'd been growing it out for at least two years, unless it grew crazy fast or something.  How long had he been single?  With a body like that you could barely believe that he was single now.

"Do you mind if I touch it?" you offered quietly, and once he gave you a nod you reached forward and combed your fingers through it, reaching deeper to scratch at his scalp, occasionally pulling the strands lightly into loose braid-like patterns that fell away almost immediately afterwards.  He sank into your touch until you found yourself supporting his head against your chest, mindlessly playing with his hair until you noticed his eyes were shut, his breathing was slowed, and his body was limp on top of yours.

He fell asleep.

You laughed silently to yourself, realizing that you couldn't get him off of you without his cooperation since he was so heavy and you had no shot at lifting him.  And, of course, his cooperation required his consciousness… which required waking him up.

And, for some reason, you couldn't bring yourself to do it.  He just looked too peaceful, for a guy who had never seemed truly relaxed around you.

Was there any other way he could relax?  Cause it kinda seemed like he really, really needed this.  And you were in the business of meeting needs, to say the least.

So, with an apologetic text to your last client of the night that you needed to reschedule, you let James sleep on you as you closed your eyes and drifted off as well.

[marzipanandminutiae]

What's having TS like?

For me?

Well, let’s just go stream of consciousness:

I was diagnosed when I was 7. It’s gotten better with age, as it often does, but hasn’t gone completely away, so it probably never will.

My TS is mild, which makes my life vastly easier than if it were severe

I am very self-conscious about my tics, so I wind up tellng people almost immediately after I meet them. Turns out most of them don’t notice until I say something. Oops.

Sometimes I can stave off a tic that would be very noticeable by doing some smaller motion that uses the same muscles, or making a quieter version of the same noise. It’s a useful trick; I don’t know if that’s a common thing a lot of people with TS do. Probably?

My hands aren’t just twitchy. That’s a tic.

I don’t just stretch my neck a lot. That’s a tic.

I don’t blink too much or roll my eyes all the time or wink at people. Those are tics.

I’m not breathing weird because I’m done with my sentence. That’s a tic. I’ll make it apparent when I’m finished talking. Oh gods, don’t- nope, you started talking already. Guess I don’t get to finish that thought.

I don’t “make little [musical] notes under my breath,” as my friend’s stalker said in college while trying to hit on me. That’s a tic. And he was a douchebag.

I do swear, a fair amount. That’s not a tic. The swearing tic thing (coprolalia) is relatively rare. Educate yourself.

One time I told a new friend that I had TS for the first timeand then promptly dropped the food I was carrying. I cursed under my breath, and saw their expression turn pitying. There followed a discussion of the difference between TS and a pottymouth.

...I do have a new tic of making the flipping-off gesture every time I say “fuck,” though. So if we’re talking IRL and you see me stretch my fingers at my sides when something irritates me, that’s why. Gotta satisfy the Weird Muscle Gods without being inappropriate.

Not a lot of AFAB people have it, but most of the ones who do are queer women, non-binary, or trans men. Nobody’s done research on this and I really think they should.

When I’m totally calm and/or very focused on things, my tics stop.This includes performing (good) but not writing (argh)

Hand tics are 99% of the reason I don’t write as much as I used to

Getting a fanfic chapter out takes twice as long as it once did

Why Weird Muscle Gods why

Being around people who are ticcing will set me off, and vice versa

I never know what to call myself, because I’m not really disabled and I’m not sure if neurodivergent covers conditions that are neurological and physical but not mental. Brain-weird?

Having tics feels like You Gotta

You Just Gotta

Don’t question it

Flex all your fingers right now and bend your thumb in or you’ll have the annoyance of a really bad itch (without the actual itchiness) until you do

This is called disvoluntary movement/sound as opposed to involuntary- you technically can control it, but only for a little while and you’re going to feel Wrong the whole time

I could go on, but this is getting really long. There’s a taste, though!

[autisticchicc]

Autism and Love

TW: Mentions of physical and emotional abuse, drug-related metaphor

Love and obsession, for me, are separated by a very thin line. Even if I weren’t autistic, I know I would still love fiercely, but I also know that autism has a profound effect on the way that I feel and express love.

In my life there have been numerous occasions where I thought I was in love, and I often still debate with myself about whether I have ever been ‘in love’. Nowadays I tend to take the view that love is something very personal, and just because it doesn’t last doesn’t make it any less valid. Being someone who is still on good or even great terms with all of my ex partners, I’d say I absolutely loved them at one point in my life. Maybe I still do love them, but I live a strictly categorised life. That love is now a purely a platonic love that comes from knowing and trusting someone for a long time. That ability to categorise so strictly is something some of my exes have had a hard time coming to terms with, I am quick to move them into the platonic love category and keep them there. Once someone has been placed in the platonic category, they do not leave. I don’t get back with ex-partners, and I don’t actually think its possible due to that strict categorisation.

My very first boyfriend sent me a message the other day asking if I ever still think about him. I replied honestly and said that I do not. I think that this comes from the strict categorisation too. If you are my friend, I think about you, but not that often. I have a lot of things happening in my head at all times, a sensory cornucopia that is exhausting to sort through, a conscious stream of five or six trains of thought, and my special interests. Special interests are a really intriguing factor in the context of autistic love, because I believe that the intense focus and adoration we treat our interests with absolutely translates to the people we fall in love with.

Anyone who has been close friends with me while in a relationship knows how insufferable I am when I love someone. I talk about them at any given opportunity, for longer than the other person probably cares to hear about it at times. When I love someone, they become a source of great inspiration, I find the characters I write resembling them, I could spend hours editing pictures and videos of them, my artwork is littered with their image. Love, for me, is an all-encapsulating thing. It invades every aspect of my life, consciously or subconsciously. They become the most beautiful person in my eyes, I drink in their image as though dehydrated. Curiously, even things I perhaps did not like about them before suddenly become things I look at fondly. Something about that shift from like to love, it is a very powerful shift for me.

Ironically, I’m not very forthright with my expressions of love. After mulling it over for years, I’ve realised that I’ve been conditioned to believe that love and pain go hand in hand. When you love someone, you must expect them to hurt you. At least, that’s what I thought until I deconstructed why I thought that. I had become accustomed to people weaponising my love for them, using it to blackmail me emotionally or to excuse physical abuse. As such, although I feel so deeply for the people I love, I am always very anxious about showing it in ways that can be used against me. I don’t show them the story or the art that I created inspired by them, for fear that they might think me obsessed for spending so much time on something pertaining to them.

I get very embarrassed when performing acts of service for my partners. I enjoy tidying and cleaning a lot, and I often want to do it for my partners to make their lives easier, but I get scared that they will think I’m being subservient and that they can take advantage of me. When I see my partner enjoying something or fostering a talent, I desperately want to invest in it, buy them tools and find resources so that they can develop it further, but am scared that they will think me strange and over-enthusiastic. I’m the kind of partner that loves extremely hard, and wants to express it as such, but I cannot quite get over the shame.

I have only recently been able to engage in non-sexual physical touch without flinching. Learning that touch is your love language when you have been shying away from it for years is a strange thing. It almost feels like a betrayal of sorts. Why was I denied this thing that I love for so long? And the reality is, it was a part of that fear. I have to be vulnerable with someone in order to allow them to touch me. Vulnerability has never come easily for me, although I always desperately wanted it. Finding someone that I can entangle limbs with, that I can kiss and hug on a whim, that I can show physical affection in my ‘weird’ autistic ways with has been very therapeutic for me. For the first time, I feel like I can have vulnerability and touch without it being thrown back in my face. It feels desired and reciprocated, not only do I want to touch and hold this person, but they want to touch and hold me too.

Another lesson within that has been ensuring that while I maintain my tough, outer visage, I am honest about needing to be soft and fragile sometimes. I have always been forced into being strong and resilient, it was never a conscious choice that I made for myself. I was forever pushed to be strong for other people, constantly making sure that those that needed me didn’t have to see me struggling or breaking under pressure. I never had someone I felt I could truly cry in front of, ugly, drunken sobbing type of crying. At least not without feeling judged or treated like a flight risk. Having someone I can be unapologetically sad in front of and they don’t force me to be strong for their own comfort feels so alien to me, but the relief it fills me with is immense. I am no longer pretending, and I am no longer embarrassed to be fragile. I can break down in front of this person and they will never question my strength.  

While crying and vulnerability are certainly an obvious hurdle for plenty of people in relationships, for autistic people there is the added stress of getting used to unmasking in front of a partner. I didn’t get diagnosed for a very long time, which will tell you just how good I am at masking. As a Hispanic girl, a lot of my behaviours weren’t reprimanded too much. Being loud and aggressive is normal in Spanish culture, and oftentimes isn’t even interpreted as aggression the way it is in the UK. Conversely, I did terribly with the tactile nature of social interaction in Spain and among Hispanics. I didn’t want to kiss strangers or even family members on both cheeks, I didn’t like having my cheeks squeezed by old women, and I didn’t like people touching, grabbing, or shaking me. But I was unfortunately forced to do it for my own survival. I don’t know if the sentiments around disabilities have changed in Spain, but the way I remember it in the part I grew up in was that they weren’t talked about. I didn’t even know what disabilities were until I came to the UK.

In England, pretty much every aspect of my behaviour was reprimanded; my loudness, my ‘aggression’, my opinionated disposition, my lack of a filter, my inability to understand my classmates’ feelings… The list goes on and on. At a certain point, I learned to just hold in a lot of my personality until I got home. What I didn’t realise that I was actually holding in some instinctive behaviours in privacy as well, I would flinch and stop if I noticed myself stimming, my face would go red when I couldn’t verbalise properly, and I often found myself practicing facial expressions in the bathroom mirror because I was self-conscious that I wasn’t doing them ‘correctly’. I started my own personal journey so to speak about a year ago to completely unmask, alone. I still cringe when I catch my arms pulling up into ‘t-rex’ form or if I start verbally/physically stimming, but I’m slowly becoming less ashamed of myself.

Consequently, unmasking in front of someone else has been incredibly nerve-wracking. The ‘issue’ (I say issue but it’s quite the opposite) is that I’m so comfortable in my partner’s home that I unmask without even realising it. Something I’ve noticed however, is that half the time they don’t. When my fingers twist and rub against each other, I glance up nervously to see if I’m being watched. No one has even glanced at me. I stammer and mess up my sentence, or my mouth fails halfway through, and yet even then no one laughs or looks at me strangely, they just wait for me to rectify or finish the sentence. I wonder if part of me still thinks I’m under the ultra-critical gaze of my secondary school peers, expecting to be torn to shreds verbally over my quirks as I always was, but it never happens. I have to constantly remind myself that I am well liked here, and my quirks are something people are fond of now.

Overall, love as an autistic person is intense and difficult, but an experience that is so all-consuming it feels almost like you’re on some kind of drug. I’m a very logical, science-based person, but love is one of the few things that still feels remotely magical to me. It can draw me out of my cold, black and white world and into an illogical whirlpool of emotion. I rarely act on emotion alone, but love is something that certainly has the power to make me do so. It embarrasses me a lot, it makes me feel out my depth, it makes me behave in ways I normally wouldn’t, but I’ll endure those feelings any day for the reward. I still have a long way to go before I can properly express myself to a partner, but one day I’d really like to be able to show them all my projects inspired by them, and the true level of sappiness I’m capable of (lol).

[cherryplasmids]

☆ still my dove ☆

pairing: sandor clegane x reader fandom: game of thrones—season 8 anon request: Sandor x Reader where they’re involved in some sort of battle or they’re attacked by some bastards and the reader is greatly injured, losing an arm or a leg? “What use am I to you now?” notes: mentions of blood and violence and death.  — I am in no way an expert on disability. I don’t know the science behind having a leg chopped off or anything. I do not mean to offend anyone.

—check out my other works; masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

         The heavy bodies of four wights that struggled to desperately end your life, suddenly vanished, leaving your arms to drop at your sides. Besides immediately confusion—how in the actual fuck did they just disappear—soreness filled your body and you could finally breathe; inhale without fearing it would be your last.

After the initial shock, people began yelling out names or screaming in pain or crying when they stumbled upon dead loved ones or maybe all of the above. You wanted to feel emotional agony because you are certain you’ve lost someone in the battle but the exhaustion overwhelmed you, silencing any type of feeling besides content. Even when you heard your name being yelled, you just lied there waiting for someone to find you while thinking of a downing cold ale, kissing Sandor because you know your tall, brute lover survived, and sleeping for three days.

Whoever shouted for you came close and quieted down. Despite all the smoke in the air, temporarily disrupting your vision, Necalli’s distinct appearance captures your attention. He leans over, placing his hands on his knees and begins panting. His face is covered in a thick coat of blood and ash with streaks of sweat on his cheeks. Armor no longer rested on his chest or shoulders, instead, the thin olive tunic dangled loosely off his collarbones. Thankfully, you couldn’t find any major wounds, just little scratches decorating his tanned flesh.

“Y/N,” Obvious relief spilled out of him. He drops down to his knees and removes his Unsullied combat helmet which immediately makes you sad.

“I’m sorry about your friends.” You pointed at the helmet. “They nor the Dothraki should have died first. That’s just disrespectful.”

“Perhaps we were taken for granted.” He shrugs even though sorrow fills his eyes. “But we do what she asks of us with no question. If her intent was for us to die, I think we did a good job.”

It’s a poor attempt of a joke but you crack a smile anyway. “Is Grey Worm—”

“Alive, searching for Missandei. I looked for you as soon as the battle was over.”

You lift a hand up to touch his cheek. “Thank you, raqiros.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Good...I think? Just lightheaded.” You stop for a moment, pausing in order to take a deep breath. “Tired, really damn tired.”

Necalli doesn’t speak and looks you over, assessing your condition. He moves your head side to side, wiping away blood from your warm cheeks. You’re delirious to his ministrations because the exhaustion hits you. Hard. Like a sudden rainstorm or the Sept of Baelor blowing up.

Sleep; it’s alluring and the best idea you’ve had in ages. You just need uninterrupted sleep..forever. You, Sandor and the comfy beds filled with cozy furs that Winterfell had in abundance. Necalli is keeping you from fulfilling that desire. He needs to stop worrying—you’re completely and utterly fine, just exhausted. Nothing more and nothing less.

But then he starts shouting causing your ears to start ringing. You close your eyes and push your hands to close anymore sound from going into your ears. He’s screaming bloody murder for what? He needs to leave now because he’s being extremely rude now.

Despite his incessant screaming, sleep calls out to you—sending soft murmurs of delicate yearning. Your eyes close even further, darkening the outside light from penetrating your eyelids. It feels warm.

It doesn’t last long because you begin involuntarily shaking—violently as if you’ve basked in ice cold water. Eyes snapping shut, you see Necalli shaking you, his face filled with the utmost concern and worry.

“Necalli?” Then you feel a jolt in your lower region, shocking you into an upright position. There are so many people crowding you, all shouting incoherent nonsense. Sansa is there, tears spilling, and head shaking. Everything is suffocating, too hectic for you to focus until you notice her eyes shooting back and forth from your own gaze to your legs.

So, you look.

Blood gushes from your left leg, dark red, almost black, but that isn’t the worst part about it.

It was gone.

Your left fucking leg from the knee down wasn’t there—just empty space where the shin should be. Your mouth opens up, but nothing comes out—or maybe it did but you couldn’t tell because of the high volume ringing in your ears.

The pain hits you now, shooting through your body like fire. Somehow, at the same time, it felt like ice and electricity replaced your veins, throbbing at rapid a pace that seemed to quicken your heart rate. It makes you reel, sending you back to your previous lying position, head thudding against the wet dirt which is the worst thing you could have possibly done. An explosion of blinding whiteness blows up in your head and the last thing you could remember is watching Sandor race towards you before your consciousness simply vanishes into darkness.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ─── 

          Beric’s death struck sorrow in Sandor. After all, the two men have spent many hours together, trying to survive all the obstacles life has thrown at them. They prevailed together, came to the North together, fought alongside each other, and buried comrades together. Although Sandor’s never been one for sentiment, there’s a bit of nostalgia coursing through him as his eyes wander out to the vastness of the North. Beric, an oddball, surrounded himself with other oddballs like Thoros, made Sandor feel welcomed. Not a hound—a brother who’s destiny is to survive. He’s not heartbroken, far from it, but he is sad.

Originally, he just drank a cups of ale in Beric’s honor. However, once he couldn’t find you among the dead or the living, he became inconsolable.

Three days after the battle, he still cannot find you. No one is telling him anything on account of you and Sandor not necessarily being in a relationship. If he specifically asked for you, people would be suspicious and Sandor was not the type to have his personal business under scrutiny by any means. Instead of sacrificing his pride and ask for aid, he helplessly searched for you throughout Winterfell. Every nook and cranny searched and stripped to find you. Three days worth of panic and innocent bystanders being shoved or yelled at and silent tears at night when he’s alone.

It registers after the fourth day that you might not be here. The sudden realization of your clingy self not being there to annoy him, jump on his back, or to play with his fingers when you’re nervous, suddenly slaps him so hard in the face, he physically caught whiplash.

Sandor’s thoughts increasingly became a jumbled mess as he kept drinking with his sight becoming a tad bit hazy. Tipsy is not the word to describe him at the moment. He’s intoxicated and smells like he took a bath in alcohol—not at all how he usually is. Nothing about him is normal anymore, well, as normal as he tried to be. Everything is different; the morning light disrupted by ash polluting the air, the frostiness of the North seems warmer, fewer people roaming around, even the ale tastes different. It’s dreary, dark, and depressing. And the only way he can combat that heartbreak is to drink until he’s dead.

He’s got nothing to live for anymore. He’s done his duty of protecting the Stark girls and without you around, he doesn’t see a future because he planned it with you. The brown cottage with cobble steps and yellow flowers planted beside it that you wanted to live in with him was a far fetched dream that is impossible to realize without you. All the little plans of being farmers and florists and chefs and any other random idea you had would never come true. He did not have the heart to continue, to move on without you because you were everything. How can he move on when you took his heart with you to wherever the fuck you ended up at.

That’s when he knew he could never be happy. The stars would never align for him to set him up with a good life. The one chance he did, the village had been slaughtered and the second time an opportunity came, you were taken from him.

Life’s a cruel joke and Sandor’s been the butt end of the joke since childhood.

So, he takes another gulp of ale, only to find the cup empty. He reaches over to the beer barrel to pour more but nothing comes out of the tap. Just one push of the barrel sends it over. Nothing sloshes inside of it. It’s empty.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

            Something slams heavily against the wall, but Sandor’s eyes are crusted shut. He can’t tell what the noise is and doesn’t want to. The massive pounding in his head makes him feel heavy as if his brain weighs a ton. It’s a heat stroke combined with a migraine, the frigidness of Winterfell doing nothing to cool him down.

Then he’s shaking. A second party is forcefully kicking him but he’s immune, numb. Kicking and stomping, loud slams, gibberish—nothing can shake him out of the thick haze and rut he’s succumbed to.

“Fuck off,” Vomit is on his tongue and it makes him gag.

Whoever is disturbing him speak again, more gibberish followed by another kick to his side. After that, they stop. Instead, freezing water with chunks of ice crashes down on his face, sending his body to jolt forward into a sitting position.

“Fuckin’ hell!”

“It’s about time you woke up.”

Sandor whips his head up despite the throb in his brain to find Arya standing over him, arms crossed over her chest with her eyebrows raised—unamused and certainly unimpressed. Light illuminates her tense silhouette which means it’s still daylight. He’s been sleeping for a few hours instead of a few days like he thought.

“Fuck you,”

She taps her foot and moves to sit on an ale barrel. “You’ve got some nerve.”

Sandor pushes himself to sit against the nearest wall, grunting the entire time. He can’t think straight without pushing his limits, can’t talk without feeling like he licked a shag carpet. Breathing heavily and eyes closed, he takes his time to calm down or else he’ll attack the younger girl. She might beat him, though. After all, he is intoxicated beyond belief.

“All this time you’ve been drinking your arse off for the fun of it and—”

Sandor shakes his head, brain sloshing around in his skull. “Dead,”

“What?”

“She’s dead.”

“Who—” Arya stops herself, sighing deeply before rubbing her forehead. “Y/N?”

“There’s not..nothing left.”

The young Stark girl gets down on her knees, leaning forward to meet his gaze. “You idiot!” Sandor’s eyes flare up in anger. She’s pissed too.  “While you’ve been here feeling sorry for yourself, mourning over her for no reason, she’ been screaming day and night about missing you.”

His eyes perk up, his body physically straightening as her words finally have some clarity. “She’s alive?”

Arya rolls her eyes and stands up. “Yes, been asking for you.”

Scrambling to get up, Sandor stumbles and trips over his own feet several times before standing properly, but his feet don’t have stability. Suddenly, he tilts backward, falls back and hits his head on a wooden barrel. It smashes and ale seeps out.

Arya remains unimpressed at the sight, offering no help to the groaning and probably concussed Hound. “Shower and sober up or she’ll have your head for smelling like an alehouse.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

            By the time Sandor sobers up, takes a shower, and actually attempts to groom a bit, it’s the next night. He didn’t think it would take him that long, obviously underestimating how fucked up he was. The hours leading up to the very moment he entered the makeshift hospital wing in the castle was filled with extreme anxiousness. It’s been five, almost six days, since the battle—fours days he deemed you dead. All the nasty thoughts of his lonely future remained in his head. Surely you wouldn’t want to be with him after he left you to deal with your injuries alone.

He assumed they were horrific since Arya refused to speak about them and even got a little teary-eyed mentioning it. Did you look like him now? Scarred flesh and ugliness tainting your features? No, no matter what happened to your face, he would still love you. It couldn’t be that. When Arya’s eyes got misty and somewhat pitiful, it reminded him of how she used to look when he brought up a specific topic on one of their adventures years ago. For the life of him, though, he couldn’t remember the subject.

When he reaches the wing, there are three Unsullied men guarding your door. They glare at him as he approaches. He expects them to part but they remain still, speaks held up high with their hands tightening their grips. He’s feeling particularly nasty at the moment and opens his mouth to swear but is cut short by your room door opening and swinging shut.

Necalli, your best friend, looks tired with bags under his eyes and terrible posture. His head is low even when one of the Unsullied guards speak to him. It’s in Valyrian, a language Sandor never heard of until the Targaryen girl invaded Westeros. You know it, though. You gave him cute nicknames and compliment him using that language. He never knows what you’re saying, but the little smile on your lips makes it okay.

“Sandor,” Necalli’s accented voice calls out to him, removing him from his memories. The tanned man looked a little pale but he smiled up at him anyway. He didn’t think the Unsullied were allowed to smile. “It’s really great to see you.”

He grunts and nods.

“Y/N has been in and out of sleep. She is awake now but might fall asleep on you. Just don’t do anything that causes her heart to quicken.” The sly bastard winks at him talk Valyrian to the guards before all four Unsullied members leave the wing.

As soon as he sees their bodies turning at the end of the hall, he pushes the door open. Firewood and lavender waft throughout the room, reminding him of his smell and your body scent mixing together. His boots noisily alert you of a new presence and before you can call out, Sandor is standing a few feet away from your bed.

Your breath hitches and hands tighten around the snow-white sheets.

“What—” You audibly gulp. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I’m not. Off you go.”

“What’s the matter with you?”

“I don’t want you here.” Your voice is tight, eyes filled with terror.

Visibly caught off guard, Sandor takes a step back at your words. Not even a week ago were you declaring your love for him, begging for him to fuck you, preparing all these future plans with him. Now you’re telling him to leave as if that hadn’t happened? Had he done something wrong? Why do you look terrified?

“What the fuck do ya mean?” He snaps at her, anger taking ahold of him.

You match his ferocity. “Are you deaf now? I said get the fuck out!”

Sandor stares at you for a long time, causing you to shift. He always does that to you when he knows there’s an underlying issue. And you’ve just outed yourself out by swearing at him, something you rarely ever do.

“The Stark girl told me you were hurt.” Again, he stares, searching for something. “I don’t see anything.”

His lingering eyes sends anxiety through your body and you feel panic welling up in your throat. Again, you tighten your hands around the sheet, bringing it up toward your body.

“Please, Sandor, just go.”

Your whispered words do nothing to ease the giant man and he moves toward you. Your eyes shut when he gets near you, attempting to hold back the tears threatening to cascade downward. Each shuffle, creak, and any other movements cause you to tense up because Sandor will inevitably find out what’s wrong. Of course, it terrified you.

He kneels down beside you and gently tugs the sheet out of your hands. You whisper in disagreement and for a moment, he stops. Eyes intense, you could feel his stare at you and eventually, you relent, completely releasing the sheet.

Agonizingly slow, Sandor peels the cloth off of you, bare flesh gaining goosebumps. He stops when he reaches your knees. Realization stuns him, causing him to release the sheet.

Tears slip out underneath your closed eyelids. Before you know it, you’re sobbing and shaking.

Sandor feels his heartbreak at the sight of you completely and utterly devastated. He understands now. Why you didn’t send someone to get him, why he wasn’t by your side. You’d rather have him think you’re dead than in this condition.

“Oh, Sandor,” He leans forward, tugging you into his chest and you awkwardly grab onto him, twisting your body enough to be practically on him.

“I love you.”

Somehow you cry harder, chest heaving. You shake your head at his words and look up, eyes shining with tears with absolute sorrow leaking.

“What use am I to you now?”

“Listen to me, dove.” Voice gruff and stern, he pulls you further to him. “Nothing has changed. You’ll still be annoying and clingy and will still jump on my back. We will get that cottage with yellow flowers and cobblestone steps.” You cry even more. “Everything is the same. Legs or no legs, you’ll still be my dove.”

He pulls you into him again, smelling your lavender scented hair and lets you soak his shirt in tears. You try to talk but he hushes you, knowing that you’ll need sleep soon. So, he climbs onto the bed. Like routine, you curl up to his side and grip onto his shoulders. It’s silent after that, just you two together with bodies pressed against each other and breathes mingling—thinking about life together away from all the deaths and injuries and wars. Sandor kisses your head and you know you’re safe and absolutely loved at that moment.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

word count: 3,034 published: may 16, 2019 edited: n/a

[tell-me-when-ur-ready]

This Thing Called Love (part seven)

Summary: When Shawn meets dancer Kellie in Toronto, he falls for her—hard. But Kellie has an invisible disability and thinks it’s impossible that someone could really love her the way she is.

Author’s note: PHEW things are getting good. The usual disclaimer: I have multiple chronic illnesses that are similar to Kellie’s, but not the exact same health conditions she has, so I apologize if I get anything wrong.

Warnings: language? just once lol

Word count: 2k

Kellie and Shawn didn’t talk to each other for two full weeks. It wasn’t for lack of trying on his part; Shawn continued texting her and calling her and trying to connect with her, but Kellie thought it was better to just make a clean break. It would be better in the long run for both of them.

Shawn had gotten Mackenzie’s number at some point during the summer (something Mackenzie had been way too excited about at the time), and he was using it now. Each evening, Mackenzie would show Kellie the latest texts.

Can you tell Kellie to call me?

Has Kellie said anything to you?

Ask Kellie what I did wrong.

“That boy’s in loooooove,” Mackenzie said, delighted, at first. But she got a little more exasperated as the days dragged by and the summer started to wane. “Kellie, this is just cruel,” she finally said. “Why won’t you date him? Because you think he’ll be scared away if he sees your health issues up close?”

Kellie shrugged uncomfortably and looked away.

“You could at least tell him that instead of just leaving him hanging. See what he says,” Mackenzie said, pursing her lips disapprovingly. But Kellie just shrugged again.

Shawn wasn’t the only one who was suffering. Stress affected chronic migraines, making them worse, and Kellie got so sick during those two weeks she almost forgot about Shawn altogether. The second week, she was only able to go to work one day; the other four days, she was at home in the darkness, lying in bed and periodically running to the bathroom to throw up.

 She’d gotten used to texting Shawn when she felt bad. But that wasn’t an option anymore. At least, that’s what Kellie kept telling herself.

 “I can’t do this,” she sobbed on the phone to her mom one Friday night. “I’m going to lose my jobs.”

 “Slow down,” her mom said. Kellie’s family lived an hour away, more north of Atlanta, so Kellie’s mom could no longer help take care of her when she flared up. Mackenzie had brought home groceries that day and Shelby had gotten Kellie’s prescriptions for her, but they were out with friends now. And Kellie didn’t want to burden them any further, anyway. She’d been upfront with them about her health issues when they decided to all move in together, but they weren’t obligated to babysit her.

 “But I am,” Kellie said. She wiped at her eyes. “Going to lose my jobs, I mean. I can’t work, I can’t eat, I can’t do anything.”

 “Is this at all related to Shawn?” her mom asked. “You haven’t mentioned him lately.”

 Kellie sighed. She’d told her mom (who had never heard of Shawn) about the music video, of course, and had vaguely said that she was staying in touch with Shawn and liked him a lot. But that was all her mother knew.

 “I mean, we haven’t talked in a couple of weeks. But it’s not a big deal.” That second part was a lie. “I’m way more worried about how I can pay rent. I can only call out of work sick so many times.” That, unfortunately, was the truth.

 But somehow, she woke up the next morning feeling better. She was able to keep breakfast down; her migraine was almost completely gone. Kellie rested all day Saturday anyway, to get her energy back up, and went into the dance studio Sunday.

 When she got home, exhausted but feeling a little happier after a few hours of teaching a lyrical workshop, she started pulling ingredients for a smoothie out of the cabinets. Someone knocked on the door, and she wiped her hands and went to get it; Mackenzie and Shelby were both at work, and she didn’t think they were expecting anybody.

 The door swung open and Shawn was standing there.

 Kellie’s first thought was that she looked awful, sweaty and tired with her hair in a messy bun (not the cute kind, but the actually-messy kind). Her second thought, which she said out loud, was, “Mackenzie.”

 Shawn shoved his hands in his pockets and smirked a little. “I like Mackenzie,” he said conversationally.

 “Well, she’s not here,” Kellie snapped, moving to shut the door. She didn’t know if she would have actually closed it in his face, but before it was halfway shut, he had reached out to stop her.

 “Can I come in?” he said, his face serious now. Reluctantly, Kellie nodded.

 Thankfully, the apartment was relatively clean at the moment. Their squishy couch was covered in pink pillows and the kitchen island held a stack of books and a pair of pointe shoes; out the window, you could see the hanging plants Shelby had installed on the balcony, green leaves swinging in the breeze.

 “Cute,” Shawn said, looking around. He slung his backpack to the ground and turned and looked at her, leaning against the counter. “Hi,” he said, his eyes going soft.

 “I’m sorry,” Kellie blurted out. But before she could get anything else out, the door opened again and Mackenzie came flying in.

 “Shit, he’s already here? I thought I was going to get home first,” she exclaimed, breathless. “I was going to prepare you—” She looked at Kellie apologetically.

 “I should have known you would do something like this,” Kellie said with a heavy sigh, glaring at her. Secretly, something inside her had lit up at the sight of Shawn’s face—but she didn’t really want him here, because now she had to face the reality of all her complicated, messy emotions and the things those emotions had made her do.

 “Sorry,” Mackenzie said, not sounding sorry at all. She held up her hand for Shawn to give her a high five.

 “Nice to finally meet you,” he said, sounding amused.

 “Go fix all of your problems,” Mackenzie said. She waved her hands at them in a shoo-ing motion.

 Kellie frowned at her. “Life is not a rom-com. It’s not always that easy.”

 Mackenzie shrugged, patted Shawn on the back, and disappeared into her bedroom with one last bright smile over her shoulder.

 There was a moment of awkward silence. Then Shawn said, “Are you feeling okay today? Do you wanna—go somewhere and talk?”

 “Yeah,” Kellie said shyly, figuring there was no way around it now. “I guess so.”

 She slid her feet into flip-flops and they went down to the parking lot of her apartment complex. On the sidewalk, Shawn rubbed a hand across the back of his neck and said, “Uh, so I might not have totally thought this through. I caught an Uber from the airport and they didn’t stay. Do you… feel well enough to drive?”

 She did giggle then, a real one, and Shawn smiled, obviously encouraged.

 “I guess so,” she said, and she was fishing out her keys when Shawn stopped her with a hand on her arm.

 “Really?” he asked seriously. “Because I don’t want you to feel like you have to say that. And I have a little self-interest here, too, since I’ll be in the car…”

 It was so different from what others said. If Kellie was starting a migraine or getting over one, she didn’t feel as if she could drive safely because of the pain and disorientation the migraines caused. Her friends didn’t always understand that. With Shawn, though, it was like he truly understood what her disability and her life were like—or at least, he was really trying. For the first time, Kellie felt like this might actually work.

 “Yeah,” she said softly, and nodded.

 She drove them to a park ten minutes away, trying not to be embarrassed about her dirty old Toyota, most of the drive spent in silence except for a few questions from Shawn about places they were passing. When they got to the park, they sat down on a picnic bench overlooking the baseball fields where teams were beginning to warm up for a late afternoon game; Shawn sat on the opposite side of the bench from Kellie and twisted the rings on his fingers.

 “So,” he said after a moment. “I want you to talk to me. Really talk to me. Mackenzie told me—some—”

 “Probably too much,” Kellie said with a rueful smile. Her voice sounded hoarse and strange and she cleared her throat. Her stomach was feeling fluttery, but for once that had nothing to do with Celiac.

 “But I want to hear it from you,” he finished. He stopped fidgeting and set his hands flat on the table, looking straight at her. His gaze was a little frantic and a little wistful, but there was a certain steadiness to it, too. “Please.”

 Above them, the wind blew through the leaves; from down the hill came faint yelling and the clang of a baseball hitting a composite bat.

 “Okay,” Kellie said slowly. She licked her lips and looked down at the rough wooden table, then looked back up, latching onto the steadiness in his eyes. “I just—okay. It’s not that I don’t want to see you. I do want to; I want to so badly. But I feel like I can’t. Because…”

 And she went on, describing how she felt as if it was unfair to the other person to try to be in a relationship, because she was constantly canceling plans and resting in bed and too busy caring for herself to think about anybody else. She talked about how she was scared to be with somebody because she thought, even if they said they didn’t care, they would see the real her—Celiac and chronic migraines included—when they started dating, realize everything that entailed, and wouldn’t stay. She explained how her life was unpredictable and how sometimes her physical problems affected her mental health and how she was so used to being alone in her pain she just didn’t know what it would look like to have someone by her side.

 When she finished, Shawn was silent for a moment. Kellie swallowed and wished she’d brought along a bottle of water for her dry throat.

 “You know the thing you left out in all that?” Shawn said softly. Kellie shook her head.

 “I love you,” Shawn said frankly. Kellie stared at him, mute, feeling her eyebrows draw together in something like shock or maybe disbelief.

 “Or, I think I would,” he added, “if I had the chance. And I think love makes all that other stuff not matter. I think, I mean I know, you can’t help that you have health problems, and I think everyone is afraid for someone to see the real them. But I think the real you is what someone should want in a real relationship. And I think… I mean, I know… if you give me a chance, I won’t leave. I’ll stay.”

 Kellie felt tears prick at the back of her eyes and turned away slightly, bringing a hand to her face.

 “Are you upset?” Shawn asked, his voice full of concern. An entire baseball team was walking by them, metal cleats crunching on the sidewalk, but Shawn never took his eyes off of her.

 “No,” she choked out. “I’m happy. I—no one’s ever said anything like that to me before. But I’m still scared.”

 He reached out and gently pried her hand away from her face, taking it in his own.

 “Do you think I’m not scared?” he said, laughing a little, almost incredulous. “Kell, I’m scared too. I’m scared for you to discover the real me. I’m scared my anxiety will get bad again and I’ll shut everyone out. I’m scared of what it might be like to have a relationship that’s inevitably going to be very public. I’m scared because you’re really pretty and I don’t want to say something stupid and sound dumb.”

 Kellie laughed through the tears that were now dropping on her face. She brought her other hand up to wipe them away and cover her eyes, but he captured that one too, not letting her hide.

 “But I think,” he said, low, “we can’t let fear dictate our lives.”

 There was a long moment of silence while all the things they’d said hung in the air.

 “Okay,” Kellie whispered finally, and Shawn looked at her steadily.

 “Okay?” he repeated, and she nodded. He smiled. And then she asked, “Do you have a tissue?”

Taglist: @rosiemercy@ @learning-howto-be-myselfx3 @evibesss @tnhmblive (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

[elisha-am]

Learning Fear

also on : ao3 (edit: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862372)

Newt heard the most horrifying scream in his life. He whipped around to see Tina knocked down by a blue strike from her opponent.

“Tina!”

He rushed toward her, and his wand point right at her assailant, who was also lying on the ground. But after a quick glance that told him the man was already dead, he wasted no more time on him and focused on his wife. Tina was lying on her side, curled into the fetal position. Her face was screwed together and ghostly white.

“Tina, where were you hit?”  The fear grew inside him when she didn’t respond. “Tina, I am going to check where you are hurt, alright?” He patted all over her body, trying to locate where she was hit when he heard her spoke.

“Knee—,” Her word came out between her jagged breath, barely audible, but it sang like a song of hope in his ears. He quickly looked down at her knee, which was clutched in her hands. Pring her red-covered hands away, what he saw underneath was so horrid he gasped. The magical strike bust opened the side of her right knee, the whole area was a crimson mess. He could even see a few spots of ivory white peeked out from the wound— her wound was deep to the bone, literally. What made the matter worse was the blood that kept pouring out.  A few touches and his hands were painted red. He moved his hand higher on her leg and felt another cut on her inner thigh.

"Merlin's beard." He swore.  

Newt quickly took off his coats, and then his waistcoats, which was the cleanest fabric on him as it was worn between his shirts and overcoats— stopping the blood was more important than worrying about infection now, but he still had to do the best— and then pressed the fabric onto her wound. She merely whimpered, having no more strength to scream. Newt flicked his wand and conjured up two ropes to wrap around her leg, keeping the pressure intact.

Newt looked up and did a fast swipe around to see the battle was still heated and no medic in sight. He made a quick decision and picked Tina up in bridal style as carefully as possible, tried not to jolt her wounded leg. "Tina, love, I am going apparate us to the healer, hold on." He muttered, not sure if she was conscious enough to hear him at all.

So when he felt her curled closer into his chest, he couldn't help but smile. And then he disapparated.

The moment they apparated right in the middle of the medical tent, the healer and assistants all stopped whatever they were doing for a second and looked at their way. They were so in sync that it was rather comical if not for the situation.

The motion resumed in the wake of a gray hair wizard rushed toward them and started barking in a heavy accent, “What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?! " He pointed his bony finger at Tina and her wound, "You wanker apparate her in that condition? You want to bust her wound more open?”

“My wife is bleeding to death and there was no one that could help me carry her here in the time she needed,” Newt stared right into the older wizard’s eyes," And I think we are wasting more time discussing this."

"Brats these days think they know better!" The healer grumbled and rushed them to a bed that was already prepared by the assistants during the small altercation.

As soon as he put Tina down on the bed, Newt was pushed aside by the healer and assistants coming around. He was anxious to stay close, even though he knew there was nothing he could do. He found a stool nearby and sit down. An assistant carrying a clean towel approached him, pointed at a makeshift washstand in the corner. That was when he realized his hands were still covered in Tina's blood.

He walked to the washstand, scrubbed his hands under the faucet until the water drained down went from deep red to pink and finally clean again.

Newt jumped when a hand tapped his shoulder. He turned around to see his brother stood there covered in dirt and dry blood. Like always, Theseus drew him into a rough embrace without a word. He didn't know how much he needed it when he returned the hug.

"I've heard, Newt." Theseus looked over his shoulder to where Tina was with sympathy on his face. "She will make it."

Newt didn't restate the obvious. "You are not just here for that, aren't you?"

“They need you at the Dragon Squad. The dragons are getting agitated and aggressive all of a sudden, they need you to find out what’s causing it.” His brother sighed, seemed reluctant to deliver the request, especially under the circumstance.

“I am sure someone else can do that.” He tried not to sound annoyed, "They are all qualified magizoologists or dragon trainers like me."

“Yes, but you can do it the fastest and most accurate. They need to stop it as quick as possible before anyone gets hurt. I don't think you need me to tell you what would happen if a team of dragons loses control."

“Theseus.” He pleaded.

“I understand, brother, but there’s nothing you can do here.”

He hated it so much as Theseus’s words echoed his own conclusion earlier.

Before Newt could answer, an assistant interrupted them. “Mr. Scamander, your wife is conscious and asking for you. You would want to hurry because she wouldn’t stay awake long.”

No need to be asked twice, Newt rushed back to Tina’s bedside. The healer was still working on her knee. Her face was still pale as a ghost, but it seemed like the healer had done something to dull her pain because her body seemed much less tense.

“Tina—“

“Go.” She breathed out, apparently heard their conversation. “Help people, and the dragons.”

He swore to Merlin he might just fall in love with her all over again. Only his Tina would worry about the other and the dragons' safety— especially the dragons, not much cares about them but treating the creatures like powerful weapons in war — when she was the one nearly bled out and now lying on the medical bed with a shattered knee.

And wasn’t that just made leaving her even more difficult?

“Newt, I am in good hands now,” Her voice was getting slurry again, which meant she was about to go under again. “Do the right thing.”

Tina fell back into unconsciousness.

“Tina!”

“Listen to your wife, lad,” The healer said without looking up from his work “She is right, they are always right, that she is in good hands—not that I'm bragging. And no smart man would dare to disappoint a woman like her. You don’t look stupid, my boy.”

Newt almost chuckled. He took a deep breath, looking down at the love of his life. He saw a strand of hair stuck on her forehead because of the sweat, so he reached down and pushed it aside. He indulged himself to linger on her skin a few moments more.

Newt turned to his brother, who had been standing there waiting for him. “Lead the way, These.”

***

Turned out it sure was the best for them to bring Newt into it.

They found thick needles that pricked into the skin between the dragons' scales whenever the creatures moved, tucked under the harness of every dragon on duty. It wouldn't cause any serious damage, but surely gave the dragons a hell of discomfort and annoyed them to the point they started to think bitting humans and spitting fire could solve the pesting little problem.

The culprit was the Luietenat, who recently converted to Grindlewald. He would've been the one to 'inspect' the dragons if the Captain didn't seek out to Newt.  They captured him on his run. The only reason his Captain didn't just feed the man to the dragons was that he had human decency,  the Captain himself told Newt. Newt responded with a half-hearted smile.

"I just received a message from Healer Lynch," the Captain pulled out a scrap of paper from his pocket," Said your wife has been transferred back to the St.Mungo. My apology, Scamander. I wouldn't pull you away from your wife if I had known."

"Actually, she's the one who pressed me to come." This time Newt smiled fully.

"I shall thank her then." The elder man laughed. "Now, go back to your wife and give her my regards for me, young man."

"I will."

*** Some perk did come with fame when he was lead right to Tina's bed the moment he stepped into the St.Mungo's, not many questions asked.

Tina was changed into the hospital gown, out of her blood-soaked clothes. And she was sound asleep on the bed, and her right leg was bandaged in layers and slightly elevated.

Newt stood at the foot of her bed and just stare. He felt some weight lifted from his chest, seeing some of the colors back on her face. Before he sat down beside her, he stopped a young healer walked passed them to ask about her condition.

"We were able to piece her bones back together and close up the wounds, those should heal up in no time. But..." the healer hesitated.

"You can tell me the truth," Newt assured her.

"There is a great chance she wouldn't gain the full use of her right leg back due to the severeness of her injury." The healer told him solemnly.

"You mean she could have some trouble walking in the future?"

"I am afraid so." The healer left them alone after making sure Newt know where to find help if he needed some.

Newt walked back to the left side of Tina's bed and pulled a chair over to sit. He watched his wife sleep, and his mind kept shifting back to what the healer just told him.

The new would devastate her. Tina might be quiet in her manner, but she never stayed still. Always something to do, always someplace to go. Being a driven, dedicated Auror, she would not rest if the dangerous dark wizards still out there threatening the safety of the wizardry community.

"She was born to run." He recalled how he described the Zouwu years before in Paris. Years after now, it suddenly occurred to him it was also a perfect description of Tina.

With the aid of magic, physical disability normally wouldn't confine the wizardkind, but to people like Tina, who energized by activity and purpose, half use of a leg would still be troublesome.

He decided to put it aside. He would worry about it with her if it really happened.

Newt picked up her hand resting on the bed, caressed the back of her hand with his thumb over and over. He stared at the golden wedding band on her ring finger; it caught the late afternoon sun shined through the window and glinted into his eyes.

He recalled what Dumbledore told him when he delivered the news of their engagement to his former teacher. "Newt, love is the most powerful magic in the world, but to learn it, you have to pay the price that is learning the fear."

He thought he knew. But today, he finally understood.

"Newt?"

He looked up as he heard her called his name, in time to see the small smile fell. " Tina, are you still hurting? Shall I get the healer?"

She didn't answer, only to pull out the hand clutched in his and reach for his face.  As she wiped his cheek softly did he realized that he was crying.

He let his emotion guided him forward and rest his forehead gently on her shoulder.  He felt her arm wrapped around his neck, hand stroking the back of his head.

"I'm alive, Newt, I'm alright now."

[turtletaubwrites]

Bend Until You Break ~ Part 6 ~ End

Thank you so much for this request from the lovely @anemptypuddingcup !!🖤 And thank you to everyone for reading and enjoying this with me. I didn't realize I was going to put so much of myself into this yandere fic, but hey 😅 This one has been a blast!

Pairings: YANDERE!Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Bend Until You Break ~ Masterlist

Word Count: 4224

Ao3 Link

Summary: Law goes to extreme lengths to convince you to trust him. Can you trust your own mind after all this time under his care?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, DARK CONTENT, DUBCON, Dubious Consent, Swearing, Eventual Smut, Yandere, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Hypermobility, Medical Examination, Medical Trauma, Medical Conditions, Chronic Pain, Injury, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Doctor/Patient, Abuse of Authority, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Other Additional Tags to be Added, (Reader is described as having hair "above her shoulders" that she can brush), Needles, Drugs, Arguing, Massage, Praise Kink, Pain, Dissociation, Humiliation, Gaslighting, Non-Consensual Drug Use, (Implied), Birth Control, Menstruation, Discussion of Pregnancy, Brief/Implied Discussion of Sterilization Surgery, Teasing, Dom Trafalgar D. Water Law, Hand & Finger Kink, Blood, Spit, Dacryphilia, Vaginal Fingering, Penis in Vagina Sex, Unprotected Sex, (Be Safe Out There), Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, Creampie, Pet Names, Overstimulation, Cunnilingus, Biting, Bruises, Hair-Pulling, Aftercare, Inappropriate Use of Akuma no Mi | Devil Fruit Powers

A/N: This fic means so much to me. Thank you for reading! 🙏🏼 Some of these medical issues may or may not have come from personal experience 🙃

Extra A/N: I am not a doctor, and this is not meant to be educational, or to contain any health advice. Please seek a health professional.

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

You dropped the beating heart, watching in horror as it bounced across the floor. 

“What the fuck,” you repeated in a whisper as you slid down the wall. The glass still slicing into your feet was forgotten as you tried not to throw up. 

“I didn’t hurt him–”

“You cut his heart out! How– why is it–”

“Y/N, please believe me. I haven’t shown you my devil fruit powers yet, I’ll prove it to you.”

The heat of panic lacing his words tugged at you, so you forced yourself to look at that trapped heart again before you met his eyes. 

“It’s how I can do surgeries like I can, okay? It’s… I’ll just show you.”

Law held his hand out, those fingers still mesmerizing you even now. 

A glow formed beneath his palm, and you pulled your bloody feet toward you. 

“Room.”

His voice was always powerful, but the force behind that single word caught your breath, so you weren’t breathing when that glow expanded. A blue sphere of light filled the space, passing beyond the metal room. 

The glow wasn’t visible anymore, and you couldn’t explain why, but you knew it was still there. You knew that you were caught in his web, that he was in complete control.

Just like he always was. 

Just like you let him be. 

“Y/N,” he rasped, pulling you in. “All I want to do is take care of you. You were all alone, living in pain, in silence.”

Frantic tears fell as you fought your need to believe him. That aching need he’d created in you.

“The world abandoned you,” he coaxed, intoxicating words making your eyes drift closed before you snapped them open to make sure he hadn’t moved closer. “Everyone around you treated you like trash, didn’t they? Like your pain didn’t matter?”

He killed him, he killed him, he killed him.

The anger and resentment Law had stoked in you was agonizing. It made you feel sick to realize that a tiny part of you did want to hurt your boyfriend.

But he killed him. He ripped his heart out. 

“The world left you to suffer, Y/N,” he whispered, a slight quiver in his lip tearing at you, making you want to crawl to him. 

“I’ll never abandon you. Even if you fight me. Even if you hurt me. I will never stop saving you. Never.”

Silent sobs struggled through you, and you had to keep flicking your eyes down to that heart on the floor. 

“I didn’t lie, Y/N. I didn’t hurt him.”

Law picked up a large piece of that broken glass, sending fear shaking through your body. He held it against his chest as he caught your eyes, before he used that powerful voice again.

“Scalpel.”

Strained whimpers left your throat as you watched Law rip a cube from his chest, another beating heart.

His beating heart that had been so soothing, so comforting, now sat pulsing in his hand.

“See, Y/N,” he said lightly, gesturing to himself, “I’m perfectly fine without this in my chest.”

You gasped as he tossed it in the air, catching it with a little smirk. 

“He’s completely fine. I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I should have trusted that you could handle it, you’ve been progressing so well.”

Another whimper left you as you cringed, still trying to hang on, trying to think straight.

“Y/N,” he soothed, holding his heart up between you. “You can trust me. I only want what’s best for you. I want to take care of you. If you want to leave, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go.”

Wide eyed, you fought to focus as his heart pulsed so close. 

“You can leave whenever you want. I just worry about your health. About what will happen when you’re back in a world that doesn’t believe in your pain. What will you do when you have another incident like your neck, and have no one to care for you? I don’t want to see you suffer. But it’s always your choice, Y/N. All you have to do is tell me what you want.”

He’s right. 

If I leave him, I’ll have to go back to all that pain. All the shame of people thinking I’m making it up for attention. All the tension of never knowing when some part of my body might wreck me.

All the pain of working jobs that made me cry after every shift. All that pain of fatigue and headaches in the middle of time with family and friends, the guilt of not having the energy to participate in life.

The grief of a life wasted by pain.

His eyes observed your every movement, widening slightly as you took a deep breath.

He’s wrong.

He’s been controlling me this whole time. And I let him.

He’s fucking crazy. Dangerous. 

Staying with him might ruin my soul, hollow me out from the inside so that he can burrow himself in, turn me into his puppet.

Bend me to his will. 

“Y/N,” he breathed, that gorgeous face like bait to lure you into his trap, “If you stay, you’ll be mine. I’ll take care of you. I’ll do anything for you. You know I will. You know I can give you everything you need.”

You were starting to slip away, clawing at your mind to stay here. 

“Let me prove it. Take my heart.”

He grabbed your wrist, forcing that pulsing cube into your palm while you gasped. 

“I told you I’ll keep saving you. Even if you fight me, even if you hurt me. Let me prove it.”

“Wh–”

“Squeeze it, Y/N,” he commanded in that voice you always obey. You resisted, but he did it again, pulling at the strings you’d let him tie around you. 

“Squeeze it.”

Law crumpled to the ground, writhing and groaning in pain, and your panicked body couldn’t stop. All the pain and fear came roaring from your lips, a frustrated cry to join his moans of pain.

You squeezed his heart, watching his body thrash. Spit dripped through his bared teeth as you clenched harder, flinging as he arched his back. 

A sharp, familiar pain lanced through your wrist, weakening your hold. 

Law coughed, pulling himself up slowly while you cradled his heart against your chest. Feeling the frantic beat of it closer than you ever could before, you wondered if you could match heartbeats the way he’d taught you to match his breath. 

“Are you okay,” he checked in. Law looked like he’d been dragged through hell, still catching his breath, thick beads of sweat dripping down his face. His damp hair was sticking to his forehead, and you couldn’t stop staring at it.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled, a headache joining the pains in your wrist and feet.

“I know, this was a lot,” he purred, scooting in closer. “I’m so sorry I put you through all of this. I wanted to protect your health by waiting to tell you, but I really fucked it up, didn’t I?”

Nodding at his sheepish little smile, you relaxed your hold on his heart. Pretty fingers took it from you, brushing against your palm as he went. 

“Y/N, you can always tell me what you want,” he promised, falling into that professional voice. “But as your doctor, I request that you let me treat you now. All that glass has to be painful. And your wrist is acting up, isn’t it?”

So tired. 

“Yeah,” you admitted in a small voice, your head falling back against the wall. 

“You can trust me, Y/N. I’ll always take care of you,” he rasped, taking your hand and gently massaging while keeping your wrist in the right position. 

“Will you let me take care of you now?”

“Please,” you breathed out, the sound barely audible.

Your body was limp as he lifted you, and he pressed his lips to your forehead while he carried you to the hospital bed. 

“My good girl.”

~

Law.

His touch, his voice, his lips. 

He was the first thing you thought of, a hum of contentment vibrating from you. 

But your stretch felt wrong, and you opened your eyes to find yourself in the hospital bed. 

Law!

“There you are,” he teased, appearing at your side, eyes scanning your body. “How are you feeling?”

“Did that happen?”

He quirked his lips, looking down with a sigh.

“I’m afraid it did. And I can’t apologize enough. I let you down. Would you like to talk about it?”

“I don’t want to be on this bed.”

“Your feet need to–”

“Please.”

Your doctor carried you to the couch in his quarters, setting you on his lap while those fingers trailed over you. You’d been naked except for that sheet when you passed out, but now he reached his hand into the open back of the hospital gown he must have put you in, pressing soothing circles between your shoulder blades. 

“What do you need, baby,” he whispered against your ear, humming as you shivered against him, your bandaged feet scraping along the couch.

What did you need? What did you want? What were your options?

Go back home to the same old pain and loneliness.

Let him drop you off at some random island with nothing, alone in the world, only to deal with that pain forever. Even if you did find a doctor that could and wanted to help, you wouldn’t be able to afford it.

Or you could stay.

Be his. 

This man that had controlled you, probably more than you’d realized. This dangerous man, who might not even let you go if you asked. Who might punish you if you did.

This man who had a safe full of hearts, labeled with the names of those he could torture or kill anytime he wished, with just a squeeze of those tattooed hands. 

DEATH.

That’s who he was. The Surgeon of Death had kept you in a cage, given you everything you ever needed, so that you would need only him. 

All through your thoughts, Law didn’t make a sound. Just let those fingers bring you comfort while you tried to decide.

What’s the right choice when every choice restricts you? If your condition was curable, if the pain it caused didn’t make every day hard, some days terrible, then you could go home, or you could start a new life somewhere. It would be difficult, but not as difficult as with this dragging weight of pain and fatigue. 

Just gathering the energy to clean around the house, to cook a meal, to go to work, to take a shower, sometimes even just putting on your clothes…

The thought of going back to that struggle with no support after all this time of being cared for brought a painful lump of tears into your throat. 

You tried not to let them fall, but Law’s fingers caught them when they did. 

“You trapped me,” you accused softly, still gazing into nothing. 

“Mm, Y/N,” he rasped, brushing a few strands of hair from your face, “it seemed like you were already trapped when we met. I’ve just helped you. I know what you need. You know I do.” 

I know. 

He gives me everything I ever needed, more than I could have dreamed of. 

Countless thoughts of gentle hands, sweet praise, and that calming breath to follow… Your body wanted to stay. 

Your mind was caught in right or wrong, safe or deadly, smart or stupid. 

Leaning back, you looked into those stone gray eyes, seeing how long your moral outrage could keep you from letting him build that wall around you again. 

“You know, Y/N,” he said with a subtle smirk, “if you stay you’ll be mine. But I’ll be yours too. I’ll take care of you forever. You can trust me.”

Does it make me a bad person if I choose the villain? What if it’s the only good choice I have?

No matter what path I choose for my life, my pain will never let me be free. 

So I might as well choose the prettiest cage.

“Yes,” you confessed your sin, relaxing into his arms. “I trust you.”

Satisfaction poured from him, making you shiver as he pressed his lips to yours. 

“My perfect girl, doing so well for me,” he purred, velvet words wrapping around you like chains. “Do you feel better now?”

“Mhm,” you nodded, melting as he kissed your neck. The tickle of his facial hair was like a distraction as he tugged at the ties of your gown, leaving you exposed.

“Let me look at you,” he commanded gently, his arm around your shoulders guiding you to lean back, resting against the armrest. 

There had always been something hidden beneath the way Law looked at you when he was being your doctor. That hint of need and danger was probably what had snared you, that promise of heat. But now the mask was gone, and you trembled in the lap of a monster.

Law looked at you with the manic eyes of a child poking a dying animal with a stick. Wanting to see what kind of noises he could draw out of you, how long he could play with you before you fell apart. 

That entitled glee of power over a creature helpless against his will. 

You felt like a hopeless idiot for seeing a mix of admiration and tenderness in all that ownership, but you didn’t care.

“My sweet, Y/N,” he rasped, tracing tattooed fingers down your body. “You’ve gone tense again. You know–”

He let out a surprised groan when you kissed him, giving him as much chaos as you could. 

Law had fanned the flames, manipulating you into thinking of nothing but him for weeks, a couple months now. And it had worked.

You were obsessed with him. 

A sick need filled you to have every fucking piece of him touch you, take you. You let him taste your own manic hunger as you forced your tongue into his mouth.

Your wrist brace limited your grip as you tried to pull his face toward yours, but you moaned into his mouth when he met you. 

His arms wrapped around you, cradling your head against him as you both nearly choked on that brutal kiss. 

Desperate whines left your throat, making him growl against you as you tried to claw at his clothes. 

Law didn’t break that wild kiss as he stood, lifting you with him. You expected to be tossed onto the bed, but he turned to set you gently on the couch with your bandaged feet propped on the cushions, leaving you to whine again as his lips finally left yours. 

Until you gasped, watching him shove the coffee table away, all of its perfectly organized piles scattering while he knelt in front of you. 

Your mouth fell open with need as you watched the stretch and pull of his tattooed muscles while he tore his shirt off. 

“You like what you see,” he rasped, his taunting voice making your eyes roll back. 

His pleased laughter surrounded you as he grabbed you, moving you where he wanted. A muffled moan left you as he held your chin, making you open your eyes to the sight of him between your legs. 

Your eyes rolled back again until he dug his fingers in, the sharp pain making you cry out, your body twisting with need. 

“This kind of pain is different, huh, baby,��� he explained, kissing your knee before giving you a devious little smile. “So much pain everyday. But you trust I’ll help you with that, don’t you?”

You nodded, wordless as you watched his hungry mouth leave warning kisses along your thighs, closer and closer. 

“Your soft, pretty skin bruises so easily, doesn’t it,” he teased, danger growing in his dark eyes.

“But I’ll take care of you. I can give you pain tha–”

“Hurt me, please.”

You had never felt more pride than when you watched his eyes roll white before his little smile turned into a satisfied grin. 

“Good girl.”

Law kept those eyes on you, the doctor observing his patient, as he sunk his teeth into your thigh. Your back arched as you moaned, the sting of his bite so overwhelming, but so fucking good. It felt like the pain shot in a direct line to your core, building that ache.

Law loosened his bite, licking over his mark, the softness of him over that tender flesh making you shake. 

“You did so well,” he purred, leaving one last kiss on your new brand. “I told you I know what your body needs, Y/N. Just look at this.”

Law’s tattooed hands held your thighs in place as he licked a long stripe through your folds, letting his tongue loll out to show you how drenched you were. Your slick dripped off of his tongue until he licked his lips, head tilting back as he let out a shuddering breath. 

“Fuuckk, I knew you’d taste fucking sweet,” he breathed, his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs. “But this…”

You bit your lip, a little fear crawling back in at the look in his eyes. 

“I’m gonna eat you,” he threatened, head moving lower while you held your breath, “and you’re gonna let me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

You lied. You didn’t understand. 

Law was so meticulous, so controlled. Everything he did was catered to your pleasure. 

But this was somehow greedy. Almost as if he were taking more he was giving, eating up your pleasure with that air of ownership. Every moan you gave was his, every gasp, every twitch. He controlled you. He held you in place, laughing against your folds while you cried out his name. 

“Grab my hair,” he commanded, leaving your clit for a moment.

You obeyed, fisting into those black strands while he watched you. 

“Harder.”

Like a loop of pleasure, your fingers tugging his hair at the roots made him let out a deep moan as he shoved his tongue in your needy cunt. One of his hands curled around your hip to play with your clit, the barest of touches bringing you screaming, coming, gushing into his mouth. 

Law let out more hungry moans against you, your body only spurring him on until you were crying, too lost to pleasure to beg him to stop. 

You tried to tug at his hair again, to make him stop. It was too much.

But he only glared at you, shaking his head to get your hands off. That shook his face against you, his facial hair rubbing against your clit making your back arch again. 

Finally, he slowed, chuckling softly as he stroked his tongue in gentle lines along your folds, barely teasing your sensitive clit while you twitched and gasped. 

“You’d better get used to coming in my mouth like that, pretty,” he taunted as he picked you up from the couch, kissing the tears from your cheeks. “Especially if you’re going to keep injuring yourself.”

He set you on the bed, minding your bandaged feet as he shook his head. 

You tried to pay attention to his scolding as he finished stripping, revealing that gorgeous, thick cock. 

“Since it was partly my fault, I won’t blame you,” he rasped, sitting at the edge of the bed to trace a finger around your ankle, “but you need to take better care of this body for me, okay?”

He crawled up the bed, his hands and lips claiming your body as he went, until he caught your chin in his hand.

“You–”

“I need you, Law,” you interrupted, holding onto his wrist as he subtly restrained you. 

He could be angry with you for interrupting him again. You had no idea how he would react to things in this new world you’d just created together. 

But part of you felt like he needed to hear it. 

Why else would he give so much of his energy, his life for me? 

He started again, brows creased just slightly, but you cut him off, squeezing his wrist as much as you could with your weakened grip.

“I trust you, Law. I’ll listen to you. I know you’ll take care of me,” you confessed with a tired smile, a sigh leaving your lips. 

“Do you need me too?”

The words were so soft. So pathetic. You wished you could take them back. 

You waited for ridicule, or punishment, or just coldness to leave his lips. 

He looked down, his eyes dark before he crawled over you, caging you in. Fear almost took you over, but you stayed relaxed, just as he'd taught you. 

“Do you consent to–”

“Yes,” you breathed as he lined himself up, clutching at the blanket while you waited.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, moaning as he pushed into you. He’d put your legs over his shoulders, his body moving closer and closer to yours until he kissed you. Slowly, thoroughly, moving his cock and his tongue into you once again while you gave in.

The feeling of taking Law inside of you after all that time of aching for him was unreal, it was everything.

“Ask me again,” he rasped as he pulled back from the kiss. His thrusts grew more demanding, and you tried to follow his instructions before he sent you speechless again. 

“Do… Do you need me too?”

He tore a scream from your throat, a brutal thrust right where you needed him sending you reeling. 

“I need you to stay relaxed for me.”

Another vicious thrust.

“I need you to trust your doctor, and listen to my orders.”

More desperate screams. Law’s eyes were fierce, jagged rocks piercing into you as he fucked himself through your body. 

“I need you to be a good girl, and tell me what your body wants.”

“You, Law, want you, please…”

Law slowed, pressing down against you. Your thighs gave him no resistance as he bent you how he wanted.

His thrusts were slower, but so fucking deep, and your eyes were rolling back as you moaned for him.

He kissed you, then kept his face above yours, observing you as you fell apart. 

“I need you to stay.”

Law’s confession was so quiet, it was almost lost as you screamed his name. 

“Fuck, Y/N,” he moaned against your ear, "you're fucking perfect for me, baby."

His rhythm staggered until you both left this metal box, exploding through some distant sky, nails digging into each other’s skin so you wouldn’t be lost in the void.

You needed him. 

You needed him in every possible way, and nothing else mattered as your senses were overcome by him. His scent, his skin, the way his eyes burned into yours. That dangerous voice, those powerful hands. His pulsing, twitching cock claiming your body again, hot ropes of come that kept filling you, almost too much, too much heat spilling out of you. 

“Law,” you whimpered as he pulled away. 

“I’m right here.” 

Warm hands, soft cloth cleaning your skin. Delicate presses of lips across your body as he looked you over. 

“Law,” you pleaded, reaching your hands out, but he gently moved them aside to inspect your chin where he’d gripped you. He checked your bandages, then laid between your thighs, hissing as he traced around the bruise already spreading from his bite. 

“I hurt you,” he admitted, a guilt there you hadn’t heard before. 

“I loved it,” you soothed, propping up on your elbows to see the impressive mark for yourself. 

“It’s…”

“You knew I’d bruise easily,” you teased, poking his shoulder. “I’m okay.”

“I’ll go get you an ice pack.”

“Law! Please, I want to leave it. I’ll ice it tomorrow. Just help me walk to the bathroom, and then carry me to bed, okay?”

He stared at it for too long, but finally agreed, obeying your orders for once.

Those strong arms, those hands marked with death, carried you into his bed as if you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world. You tried to melt against him, but there was a tension running through his body that you had to take down. 

The realization hit you, filling you with tingling warmth as you matched his shaky breathing. This man who took you for his own, stole you away to make himself your world, would really do anything for you. 

Law had put his heart in your hand, and let you torture him to prove it. 

Your doctor had broken you. But it seemed… You hoped that it had cut both ways. 

His skin was still salty as you left a soft kiss on the lines of ink carved into his chest. 

“Y/N, are you sure you’re alright? Do you need anything,” he asked. His pretty fingers stroked almost nervously along your skin as he held you close.

“Say it again.”

“What–”

“I need you to say it again,” you commanded, needing it to be true. You listened to that comforting heartbeat, your head rising and falling with his chest as he released a breath. 

Law’s confession wrapped you both in velvet chains. 

“I need you to stay.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: Thank you so much for joining me on this ride. It was supposed to be a smutty one shot, but it ended up being something really personal and healing for me. I hope you enjoyed this story. We all deserve our own crazy, heart stealing, bad doctor to care for our every need. I hope you all know that you're not alone. I believe you 🖤

If you'd like to read about the message I intended with this story, as well as how bad our bad doctor really is, you can find the link here:

Author's Notes About the Message & Law's True Nature

Tag List: @shewrites02 | @jadeddangel | @metonimia-de-bellota | @3v37773 | @dewdropsandfrogs | @nubigenouss | @i-l0ve-metallica

| masterlist | about me | rules | ao3 |

[overwatch-does-stuff]

Overwatch: Observation

Summary: Talon has received its newest test subject, in the form of a man raving about "the melody". Moira attempts to make her observations.

  Moira observed. With how incredibly unstable her new subject was, that was all she could do. Her only view into the room, her only method of observation, was through a small security camera tucked in the corner of the padded walls.    The man laid on the ground in the straitjacket, his mouth quivering softly. Incoherent words were occasionally mumbled loud enough to be picked up by the camera's audio. Something to do with a "melody" and "the universe".    If the man wasn't so clearly out of his mind, Moira might have enjoyed talking to him. Curiosity burned within her. This man was part of an experiment, an experiment that had completely changed his genetic makeup to the point where it was barely recognizable as human. Was that what he had intended? Did he consider his experiment as successful? After all, failures in the eyes of ethics were not always failures in the eyes of true science.    She knew that the experiment involved black holes, but that was the extent of her knowledge. It was the extent of Talon's knowledge, anyway. It was knowledge she was hoping to further.    But she was unable to learn more from this dusty security room. Observation had shown no signs of change in the subject. Minute after minute, the only image of the room was that of a old man on the ground, speaking in absolutes. She did not doubt that the man was unstable, but perhaps he was not as volatile as Talon was lead to believe. Even if he was, she was certain she could escape the grasp of his supposed powers with ease.    It was time to further this research.    The double-door lock that led into her subject's containment cell took far too long to operate. Moira tapped her foot with impatience as the large outside door swung closed, and a security scan was initiated. She quickly tapped a nearby button with her finger to disable the scan. She was bringing objects into the chamber, yes, but they were diagnostic tools; tools she would need for readings of his condition and further samples of his DNA.    After another lengthy pause, the smaller but still armored inside door slid open. For the first time, she looked directly upon her new subject. He looked unchanged from her previous view of him, as if he was frozen in time.    The padded room dulled the sound of her footsteps as she approached the man, but the vibrations she caused to travel through the ground seemed to wake the man out of his dream. He opened his eyes and looked to the ceiling, dazed.    There were codewords, supposedly, to help manage this subject. Supposedly they were used by the staff of the government retention facility to stabilize him. Moira supposed it was worth a try. "Sigma?" The man took a sharp breath and his eyes returned to focus. With a small hiss in his breath, he replied. "Sigma. . . present."    Moira did not reply. She walked around the the side of the man and pulled out a scanning tool. She briefly flicked the holographic bar over him, and notes on his condition came up on the screen. Physically, he was not injured, though 'healthy' was not the right word to describe him either. Done with that, she put the scanner away and brought out more tools from the pockets of her lab coat. Her work was interrupted by a quiet voice. "W-where am I? How. . . how did I get here? Who are you?"    Moira did not respond, but just for a moment, her eyes met with his. Mistake. "Why am I locked up? What are you going to do to me?" The man whimpered, his voice trembling. His body tensed.    Moira detected that his pulse had picked up. Obvious even under the thick straitjacket, the man's chest still rose and fell, quicker, quicker, quicker still. Other tools currently in her pocket began to chirp quietly, their sensors detecting fluxes of instability.    That was when Moira remembered she was currently sharing a room with a weapon instead of a test subject. "Sigma." She said sternly.    The man began to weep, his body shaking with every sob. As he did so, Moira felt a faint pang of nausea, as if she were falling. She gasped. "Sigma, respond. Sigma!" She strengthened her voice, but the feeling only increased.    One of her diagnostics tools chirped louder, only now, she noticed, because it was no longer in her pocket. It floated in the air alongside her. She quickly grabbed it and put it back in her lab coat, pinching the pocket closed. Instinctively, she tried to take a step back, but as soon as her foot left the ground, she floated backwards. Her heart raced. She couldn't focus herself enough to fade. The man continued to ramble in between his sobbing. "Please don't hurt me. Please don't! I don't even know who I-"    In an instant, Moira was thrown against the ground. She landed on her back, knocking all the air out of her, before something continued to squeeze down upon her body even harder. She gasped for breath. "HOLD IT TOGETHER." The man screamed. Moira tried to lift her head up and look, but it felt as if lead weights had been placed on her neck. Spots appeared in her vision and her head began to ache.    But as suddenly as it started, it was gone. The pressure lifted. Moira gulped down breaths of fresh air, coughing and sputtering as she did so. Her ears rang faintly. Her throat burned.    When her focus returned, she sat up from the ground, clutching her head. She nearly flinched when she met the gaze of her subject. The man twitched, his head tilting to one side before righting itself. His eyes were pale and weary. "Are you alright?" He asked. His lips barely moved.    Moira simply looked at him, stunned to silence. The man looked her up and down in return. "You look. . . like a scientist. Are we back on the station?" A station. Moira had read this subject's history. It was where this man had conducted the experiment that made him this way. If he believed he was back there, then perhaps he would be calmer. Perhaps she could get somewhere. "Yes." "Oh! I'm sorry. I must have dozed off." The man blinked to her reply. "Say, I don't recognize your face. Are you new here?" "My name is Dr. O'Deorain." She said stiffly. "I don't recognize your name." He looked down at the ground, before looking up again. "My name is Dr. De Kuiper." Moira purposefully tried to soften her voice. "Can you tell me more about your experiment, doctor?" "The experiment. Yes, of course. I'm afraid the full outline in is my office, but if you would like to see some of the basic gravitational equations, I could oblige. . ." the man looked down to his arms, which were bound. He flinched upright, and the same dazed look he had when he first woke up entered his eyes. "Doctor De Kuiper." Moira reached out her hand and grabbed his shoulder firmly. "Do not worry. You are safe." "I am safe." He repeated, and he relaxed again. "You are. Now, can you tell me about your experiment?" He shook his head and gave a nervous smile. "No, not with my hands tied like this. And, I don't see a whiteboard around here. Do you have a marker? Perhaps I could write on the walls, o-or you could write on them for me." Moira laughed slightly. "It appears I left them all in my lab. I do not." "That's alright." There was a look of kindness in his pale eyes. "Perhaps another time." "Indeed." Moira replied. Another thought crossed her mind. While he was temporarily stable, perhaps it was possible to accomplish her original goal after all. She searched her pockets for her tissue sampler, only to find it missing. She looked behind her. It sat a few cushions away. She reached back and grabbed it. "What is that?" Her test subject asked. "It's a tissue sampler." She didn't look up as she fiddled with the tool's settings. "Oh?" "Genetics is my," she paused, "side hobby. May I swab your cheek?"    Actually asking her subjects for their genetic material was so foreign to her. She was used to simply taking it without regard. None of her previous subjects were ever a worry for her. None of them could ever do something in protest, for they needed her, and needed her services. But now, she needed him. She needed him to cooperate. He had the power to choose not to cooperate. She could practically feel the pressure crushing down again, squeezing the life out of her and- The man smiled again. "I don't know much about genetics. Why bother when astrophysics is so much more fascinating?" Moira took a quick breath and clasped her hands to keep them from shaking. "It is, but-" "Sure, I'll donate a sample. Just don't try and clone me." He cut her off with the same happy tone, with no regard to her obvious nerves.    Moira leaned forward, and he opened his mouth. She took a cotton swab that was dispensed by her tool and quickly swabbed the inside of his mouth. Then, she inserted the swab back into her machine. The data of his full genome would take some time to be fully analyzed, but she certainly didn't have to wait here for it to be processed. "That's all I need, doctor." Moira said. The man closed his mouth. "Are you leaving me now?" "Yes. Goodbye." She stood up. It was not that long of a distance to the exit door. "Please, come back." His eyes followed her up. Moira froze. "I have to go now." She said slowly. She took deep breaths to steady her pulse. "Come back and tell me when the experiment chamber is ready for my experiment, I mean." He said, twitching slightly. "It should be soon."    Moira did not respond as she walked hurriedly to the door. She wiped the sweat off her hand on her lab coat, then put her finger on the panel next to the door. The door slid open, and before it was even open all of the way, she stepped through it.    The double-door lock that led out of her subject's containment cell was far to quick to open. The doors were several inches thick, but not thick enough, she worried. If her subject was able to toss her around like a ragdoll without even being conscious that he was doing so, who knew what he was capable of doing on purpose. A chill went down her spine. She shook her head. For the first time, that was a theory she did not want to test.    Fear. Fear was not a normal emotion for her. Fear of the unknown was silly, illogical, and it impeded progress. Fear limited the mind's ability to question and investigate fully.    Perhaps it was good, Moira observed, that she finally felt it again.

[our-deamon2-blr]

Chapter 100: FAITH HEALERS

I still had my faith and I would give myself over to God, just to heal me. I wondered who was leading me in this life, Satan or God. The obvious answer was Satan. Since my diagnosis, I would ask myself over and over whether I have trusted God enough to heal me. After years when my prayers were not answered by God, I stopped asking and slowly starting to lose faith. My friend, who was religious, quoted these words to me. “God allows the path to be difficult because He intends on refining us and preparing us for our place of promise” What did that mean? He is playing around with me until he decides it is time to heal me? I held onto my faith but how could I trust GOD after what he did to my life. All my dreams were starting to shatter.

Adjusting to life with a disability is never easy, I didn’t want to be a victim that was caught in a body I had no control over. I wanted to be an active mom with my children. Although I was still physically able to walk, I could not run with my children that were one of the activities that a mom needed to be a “whole” mom. All I wanted out of life was to be normal again. Be the person I used to be, with faith and a zest for life. I was young and slowly killing myself emotionally. I was caught in a place I did not want to be. I did not belong there. I was young, and my life felt like it was stuck in this small space and being held down. Most of the time I had a positive attitude and my disability was placed far away to interfere with my life. I slowly adjusted my life to having a disability. I could not really complain. All I could not do is run; walk fast, stand-up in a weird way and sometimes when needed walk with a crutch. There were much worse conditions than mine.

Living in a small town, there was always information spreading around that could not be missed. One event that caught my eye that was of a church assembly organized by the church and a faith “healer” would be present. I have to admit that I saw hope, not that there was a faith healer/ Prophet but the fact that this happened so close by me losing my faith. I felt like it was a sign. I had nothing to lose. Maybe there was a small sign of hope for me.

Clyde would not accompany me as he took care of Jade. I got dressed in jeans and a blouse, grabbed my cane and hoped for the best. As I approach the church there was a huge tent set-up for the sermon. There were cars surrounding the tent as well as car guards directing cars to parking spaces. I was so nervous, my heart was beating that my body was giving me a "fight or flight” response. My adrenaline made my heartbeat at such a rate I have to inhale oxygen just to breathe. I grabbed my crutch and again I to convince myself that it would be ok and that I should not have any expectations.

As I entered that were people seated all over the tent. I noticed blind people, deaf people, people in wheelchairs, people on crutches, and people with a multitude of disabilities just from the onset.

There were a few people lined in the front that I assumed were requested healing. I could not see properly but I didn’t want to be in the front view and sat at the back of the tent. I secluded myself not to be noticed until I was ready. In the centre of the tents was a small stage or podium with surrounding floodlights but not that bright to see properly.

Suddenly there was a roar in the crowd and this well-dressed man entered the tent and was introduced as Nemha. (I will always remember this name due to my experience) and was given a microphone. He stepped onto a podium and presented himself as a man of God whom anyone might approach for deliverance, salvation, and miracles. He was joined on stage by a few men that looked like his bodyguards, also dress in suits. He started his sermon with an introduction as he was saved and his past and just about his upbringing and how he started having faith to this point where he was today. The sermon started out normal and then all of a sudden he started speaking louder and louder up to a point that he was shouting. It was like watching a movie, but this was just live. Everyone started yelling, “Amen, Hallelujah”, and “Praise God.” He continued preaching that the devil used some people and the devil brought them to their church to destroy the Demon in them.

All of a sudden he started speaking in tongue, walking back and forth. Some people in the front were bending down, so he could cast their demon out of them. I stood up to see what he was doing. He started putting his hands on these people, still speaking in tongue. He also did the ‘slaying of the spirit’ demonstration. His helpers would pick up a “disabled body” to be saved. He stood before him and two huge ‘catchers’ stood at his sides. He placed one hand at the small of his back, pressed the other to his forehead and easily pushed the man over. It seemed that this man decided to resist, and though Nemha pushed him hard three times. The man remained firmly standing. He then pushed the guy so hard and the helpers pushed him down to show he was being healed. Was this the demon resisting, fighting to be present and not give in?

I had seen these healings on TV documentaries and had heard much debate about whether someone should fall forward or backward when the Holy Spirit touched them, in a "slaying of the spirit" The audience started shouting so loud it became annoying. The louder the audience got, the louder Nemha spoke into his microphone until he started shouting to raise his voice over the audience chanting.

There was a section of the room that was set aside for people in wheelchairs. A contribution plate was held out for them to pay for the chance to be healed. He started the healing ceremony, encouraging people to stand up from their wheelchairs and so on. The prophets “bodyguards” were going around, pushing wheelchairs towards the prophet, trying to get people to stand up and walk. Mostly, the people would try but then sit right back down in disappointment, a few were crying.  He took his bible slapping the Jesus into a woman, well it didn’t work. He would then announce their failure and blame the people for a ‘lack of faith’ when it became clear that the healing would not work. A woman walked up to the 'prophet' and claimed to be healed. It appeared as if it was staged. The healing could be legit but it seemed very suspicious. He then began waving his magic finger at people, and they were falling down, supposedly slain in the spirit. One of the evil spirits was cast out and those set free by the Prophet writhed in the dirt while vomiting out the demons. One of these rituals I saw was a strong demonic presence over this man. His head was contorting and looked to me like it would almost twist, as well as his jaw, face and hands contorting; it seemed every muscle was at an extreme strain in his body.

He was jerking and twitching severely. Nemha wasted no time responding. He rushed over to this man; put his hand on his chest and forehead, starting to binding demonic powers and commanding his body to be released in Jesus’ name. I didn’t believe what I was seeing. Was it real or not? Weeks later confirmed that this man had suffered an epileptic seizure which often can display similar signs of someone being “possessed” being held by a “demon”, and then when the epileptic seizure passes, he would be “healed”.

He prayed for every person in the line and declared them all healed. He claimed that he could also transfer power to an ordinary person and that the person would be able to perform healing. During healing hours, he would touch any person in the congregation and tell that person to come forward and be healed. I sat at the back, out of sight, and did not even think of standing in line to be healed. Ironically, I wanted this to be real. I was hoping it would work for me.

I asked God, whilst I was sitting there, to please remove this demon from my body so that I could become normal again. I used to think that it was all bullshit, but here I was, sitting with a small bit of faith, clutching and holding on to hope. I am a fairly intelligent and alert person, and I kept my eyes, and ears open to everything that was going on. I am not somebody that can have the wool pulled over my eyes easily.

I thought it was a joke and got up to leave. It was extremely noticeable that I had a problem standing and somehow, one of his helpers saw me and guided me to faith healer/ Prophet to where I was standing. I clearly walk with a limp and using a cane. He sat me down, said something and touched my head, and pushed it backward. I thought: “What the …? F...k off, do not touch my face.” He was shouting over the microphone that he saw me healed, and announced that my leg had started growing longer. “What the hell are you talking about?” I asked him.

He ignored my question and again, touched my head and said: “You are now healed.” Then this person came with a plate so that I could reward the Prophet for his connection with God. I looked at this person, got up and shouted: “You are a fu...ing fake. You are not a healer; my one leg is not shorter than the other.” He turned his back on me and started 'healing' other people. His helper held out a plate for a contribution. I smacked the plate out of the man's hand that the change went flying and stormed out. The Prophet asked for a weekly donation that would be the same as having healthcare. Good people will go down in financial flames for trusting those con men and thieves. It also came to view that the congregants would write their fears and problems down on a prayer card "for God" before each meeting. The prophet would read them in secret, and then repeat their prayers back to them word for word while he laid hands on them. I wondered if he was a psychic before this was revealed.

That day, my faith in god disappeared. There is no god. I had been taken for a fool, believing in a god who does not exist and people should open their eyes. The song with the words: “I think that god has a sick sense of humour,” (Depeche Mode - "Blasphemous Rumours") were the exact thoughts I had at that point.

I had just experienced the rejection of a god that could tear you apart from the inside and leave your life in what seems to be an unending torture. It was a complete collapse of my entire belief system. It was like learning the truth about Santa Claus. It seemed obvious that god was completely fabricated. I came to the starkest of conclusions … god did not actually exist. I got into the car and banged my fists against the steering wheel.

Shouting at the demon to get the f...k out of my body. I punched my legs so hard that I cried out in pain. I needed to vent so badly but only tears came out. I blamed myself that I had taken this path and had made choices that I had believed to be my own. I cried out in anger and disgust at the extent of the deception, and it caused a deep-seated headache.

“You did this to me,” I cried in anger. “Get out of my body now!” I had a battle with this demon in my body; I sat there for what felt like hours. My eyes were swollen so badly from the tears. I was shaking and I had to drive home. I looked at my watch and it was just past 22h00. I tried my best to pull myself together because I did not want Clyde to see me like this. I could not face him and hear him say anything negative right then. I did not have the strength to talk, and I did not want to argue either.

I got home and composed myself. Clyde was sitting in the lounge. “You were gone for a while,” he said. “How was it?” not sounding as if he really cared. “The guy is a total fake and ridiculous,” I replied with the anger still inside me. “I’m tired. I’m going to take a bath and go to bed.” I walked to the bathroom and let the bathwater run, calming myself. I heard him switching off the TV, opened the bathroom door slightly asking me if I am ok because he is off to bed. “I’m fine, I will be done soon” I try to speak these words without anger. To sound cam

I bathed longer than usual, waiting for him to be asleep when I got out. I went to Jade’s room, and he was sleeping soundly. “Sorry I failed” I whispered to him. By the time I got to the bedroom, Clyde was already fast asleep in bed. Although I was with my husband, I felt very isolated and extremely alone. I turned my face towards the pillow and softly cried myself to sleep that night. I buried myself into the pillow so my sobs will not wake Clyde. I wanted to take his arm and wrap it around me. I needed comfort but could not ask for it.

I kept this experience/nightmare/secret buried for years and never mentioned it to anyone or indicated how it affected my life.

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME ⟶ REVOLTING PEOPLE / 3.02 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

‘revolution is in the air.’

‘soon the streets will be awash with blood.’

‘i’m sure there’s more, but i don’t want to know about it.’

‘who wants to try my coffee?’

‘he’s seven feet of solid muscle.’

‘how many times must i tell you that throwing hot beverages at the customers is not considered good business practice?’

‘what kind of gullible idiots would queue for coffee in a paper cup with stupid names for the cup sizes?’

‘who were you talking to just now?’

‘talking to a book? that’s strange behaviour.’

‘sometimes you talk to your imaginary friends.’

‘don’t you talk to him that way. he’s not well.’

‘see? these are the kind of gullible idiots you were talking about.’

‘best idea i’ve had since i booby-trapped my false leg to dispose of that woodpecker.’

‘i remember the explosion.’

‘could you say all that again? i wanna right it down.’

‘are they going to be very bored?’

‘are you implying my life is dull?’

‘i won’t pull any punches.’

‘my life story will be warts and all.’

‘i really must protest in the strongest possible terms.’

‘there’s always a catch, isn’t there?’

‘i insist you accept this huge sum of money.’

‘THAT’s what i’m protesting about.’

‘rioting will ensue.’

‘it’s called ambience.’

‘it’s called assault.’

‘hold your tongue, madam.’

‘you’re a pansy!’

‘you hoyden!’

‘is this flirting?’

‘how dare you strike me, madam!?’

‘and what are you going to do about it? physically overpower me like some raging animal and have your wicked way with me?! in the back room to which i have the key?’

‘i could help you if you like.’

‘they make such an unlikely couple.’

‘opposites attract, don’t they?’

‘you know you’re barred. so, get out.’

‘you shouldn’t have thrown up in the porridge last night.’

‘luckily they were all english so none of them complained.’

‘this is turning a bit nasty.’

‘why are you telling me stuff i already know?’

‘they’re getting itchy trigger fingers.’

‘so what, i’m not scared. alright, i’m scared.’

‘i can’t help noticing a bit of tension in the air.’

‘don’t be offended, gents.’

‘we will not be insulted.’

‘very well! we shall all sing the hessian national anthem in a loud and intimidating fashion.’

‘kill me now.’

‘we have an anthem?’

‘that was beautiful.’

‘slit the bastards throats.’

‘that’s haberdasher’s rhyming slang.’

‘there’s really no need for all this musket-cocking or trigger squeezing.’

‘you know my father?’

‘oooooh, that’s mysterious.’

‘there’s a mysterious beautiful lady to see you.’

‘you look wonderful.’

‘i was going to say that.’

‘how long has it been?’

‘the day you left i waited for you on the roof but you never came.’

‘it would have helped if you’d said which roof.’

‘i loved that roof.’

‘our parrots. i loved our parrots.’

‘i thought it was me you loved.’

‘they never even met me.’

‘she’s swedish, but grew up in birmingham and never quite lost the accent.’

‘not a day goes by when i don’t think of you. well, a few days maybe. but not very many! mostly tuesday’s, because that’s my big shopping day. and saturday’s; my saturday’s are crazy.’

‘i’m not the sap i used to be.’

‘what do you want from me?’

‘is there anywhere the two of us can be alone?’

‘meet me on the roof, sugar.’

‘look on me and weep.’

‘all i did was ask you to hold the baby for a minute.’

‘babies are a full-time job.’

‘there’s still so much we don’t know about genetics.’

‘you’re the father, _____, just live with it.’

‘i’d rather you didn’t use the word ‘rub’ in my present condition.’

‘do you need any extra help over there?’

‘i need your ladder.’

‘it’s freezing up here.’

‘i’ve been waiting hours, what took you so long?’

‘that was another roof. another time.’

‘you’re still angry.’

‘you hurt me.’

‘i thought we had everything. we were young, we were in love, the world was our oyster. but you turned that oyster upside-down, and the pearl of our happiness was dislodged and fell out of the oyster into the tangled mass of seaweed on the ocean floor, and got devoured by scuttling, scavenging... crabs.’

‘oyster analogies are so hard to sustain.’

‘why’ve you climbed back into my life?’

‘you really know how to keep sticking on in that knife, don’t ya?’

‘they’ll kill him if they find him.’

‘forget it, baby, i’m looking out for number one from now on.’

‘i know what kind of a man you are.’

‘you’re still as irresistible as you ever were.’

‘the world ain’t fair, cinderella.’

‘i can’t help wondering what might have been.’

‘do you have any regrets?’

‘why am i wasting my breath on you?’

‘i’m talking about a depth of emotion and feeling you’ve never experienced.’

‘she’s the one woman i’ll never forget.’

‘we’re destined never to be together.’

‘put down that harp.’

‘it’s just a piece of grit that’s gone into my eye.’

‘is something the matter?’

‘you have washed that thumb, haven’t you?’

‘then she got some hired thugs to beat me to a pulp.’

‘what’s your definition of a love story, then?’

‘that was a pack of lies, and you know it.’

‘blinding the woman was true.’

‘if she can take it, i can.’

‘well i don’t know what you’re talking about, then.’

‘well excuse me, i’m working with one arm here!’

‘it’s so foggy. i can’t see two feet in front of my face.’

‘why would you want to see two feet in front of your face?’

‘feet in front of your face? that’d mean someone was flying at you feet first.’

‘it’s an expression! now will you be quiet?’

‘he is the goat.’

‘don’t do the noise, it sounds a bit french.’

‘if you’re following someone up a ladder, /then/ you can have two feet in front of your face.’

‘what the hell am i doing here?’

‘let me do the talking.’

‘arrgh! dubloons!’

‘you see, darling? i told you.’

‘it’d be odd if we /didn’t/ do this.’

‘it is not goofy.’

‘hand over that goat!’

‘why do you keep glancing over my shoulder?’

‘you’ve killed him!’

‘i didn’t do nothing.’

‘you’re holding a frying pan and it’s still reverberating!’

‘i’ll round up the usual cutthroats.’

‘how can i make myself scarce? there’s only one of me as it is! how can i get more scarce than that?’

‘this is my home town, i couldn’t get lost if i tried.’

‘i can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done.’

‘here’s my invoice.’

‘what you’ve done tonight makes me care for you even more.’

‘listen to me, you headstrong little fool...’

‘well when you’re right, you know, you’re right.’

‘you and i, we don’t add up to a hill of beans in this cock-eyed world.’

‘we’ll always have parrots.’

‘in some circles, that could be construed as mutiny.’

‘i didn’t notice any actual treason, per say.’

‘with respect, any leading actor glamorous actor is going to want to play the part of me, isn’t he? i’m the disabled character; whoever plays me picks up all the awards.’

‘i think i might add a shark.’

‘a huge white shark that only eats naked ladies.’

[parvatiholcomb]

the (current draft of the) first half of the big convo between phineas and leah under the cut

“This is unusual,” says ADA. “Hello, Dr. Welles. I hope you aren’t here to involve the Captain in an irrational scheme.”

Phineas has neither the breath nor the time to answer. He heads straight for the stairs leading to Leah’s quarters— and nearly crashes into the metal door suddenly barring the way. His heart pounds in his ears. “Blast it, ADA—“

“The Captain has requested that her sleep only be interrupted for medical emergencies.” ADA’s tone is just short of menacing. “Is this a medical emergency?”

“It’s an urgent matter.”

“On a scale from ‘spilled Zero-Gee’ to ‘Monarch imploding’, how urgent is it?”

Phineas stops short, crisis temporarily forgotten. “What kind of scale is that?”

“The Captain devised it herself. I admit, the lack of numeric reference points makes it difficult to use. I’m still mastering the finer points of it.”

“It’s an eight,” Phineas hazards.

ADA deliberates in silence. Phineas’s answer must prove satisfactory, because the door at last slides open with a hiss of pneumatics. “Very well. I’ll wake her.”

By the time Phineas reaches the top of the stairs, Leah is leaning against her doorway, waiting for him. She’s bundled up against the cold, in fleece pants and an oversized sweater, and something about her appearance is off. Her armband, Phineas realizes. She isn’t wearing it.

“What the hell’s going on?” asks Leah, blearily. She looks him up and down. “Law, how many stimulants are you on right now?”

“That isn’t relevant,” says Phineas, waving off the question. “I need to speak to you about a sensitive matter.” On the last two words, his eyes flick up to the ceiling meaningfully. He (seventy-three percent) trusts ADA herself, but recordings can be hacked; sensors can be hijacked. Until he and Leah decide on a course of action, it’s best to ensure any prying eyes remain in the dark.

“ADA,” says Leah, “can you give us some privacy?”

“Yes, Captain. I am capable of performing that action.”

“Okay, let’s try that again. ADA, turn off all surveillance devices outside the bridge until I ask you to turn them back on.”

“Understood, Captain. Please be advised that if you are crushed under a falling object while my sensors are disabled, I will be unable to detect that you require help.” An ostentatious sequence of three descending beeps plays from the ceiling, signaling ADA’s compliance.

“Accidental cyanide poisoning couldn’t have killed Dr. Miller,” says Phineas without preamble, now that they’re alone. “I examined his genome, and within it, I found the ability to taste and smell cyanide. It would have been impossible for him not to notice that his respirator was broken.”

Leah stands up straight, eyes alert, all her tiredness sublimating like naphthalene at room temperature. “Why the hell were you looking at his genome?”

“He wouldn’t be the first scientist the Board has assassinated through a staged lab accident. I started investigating as soon as I learned of his untimely death. At first, I thought I was merely being paranoid— but I was right. Dr. Miller’s death isn’t the simple case it appears to be.”

Leah sighs, touching her fingers to her forehead in an infinitely exhausted gesture. “The Board had nothing to do with it.”

“How can you be certain?”

“Because I know who did it.” She holds up a hand to keep him from interrupting. “It’s been handled. Before you ask, I can’t tell you who it was. And before you ask the next question, I can’t tell you why I can’t tell you, either. All I can tell you is that there’s nothing more for you to investigate.”

“Do you think I could have survived thirty-five years as an outlaw without learning discretion? Whatever you’re trying to protect me from, you don’t need to.”

“It isn’t about protecting you. I’m asking you to trust me on this, Phin.”

“I’m man of science. ‘Trust me’ isn’t enough of an answer, not even from you. If you won’t tell me, then I’ll be forced to continue investigating, whether you want me to or not.”

For a long moment, she holds his gaze, and no one speaks. Finally, shoulders slumping, she folds. “He wasn’t murdered.”

“You can’t possibly expect me to believe that, can you? You just admitted it wasn’t an accident.“

“It wasn’t murder, and it wasn’t an accident. Johan… turned off his respirator himself. He messaged me the night he did it. Explained his reasons, asked me to keep it a secret. That’s why I didn’t want to tell you. It was his last request.”

Leah isn’t making any sense. What she’s describing simply isn’t possible. Miller wasn’t a thief; he wouldn’t rob—

There it is: another damned splinter of Board conditioning Phineas can never extract. He was raised by Spacer’s Choice parents in a Spacer’s Choice town; propaganda was spoon-fed to him with his baby food, and one of the flavors was Rizzo’s Purpleberry Suicide Is Theft. Only the Hope’s colonists are free from that corruption. Only they can fix things.

And Miller knew that. He wouldn’t just abandon the colony. “Is that message the only evidence?”

Leah blinks at him. “Evidence?”

“I don’t doubt you believe what you’re saying, but I’ve dealt with the Board’s machinations for much longer than you have. Forgery is child’s play for them. They’re terrified of you after what you did at Tartarus, and they’re right to be. They would stoop to any means to throw you off the scent.”

“Phineas. He killed himself. That’s all.”

“Aha! Don’t you see? That’s precisely what the Board wants you to believe. Think about it logically, for a moment: Dr. Miller’s work was among the most successful of any researcher in Halcyon. What possible reason could he have for choosing to stop?“

Leah stares at Phineas, dumbfounded, as though he just declared that the speed of light is saltuna. Not simply an incorrect statement, but one so fundamentally wrong about the nature of reality that the listener doesn’t know where to start with corrections. Finally, she says, “You know about his kids. We were both there when he woke up.”

Phineas has a vague memory of Miller, minutes after dehibernation, mentioning something about the family he left behind on Earth: two daughters and three sons (or was it three daughters and two sons?) and a dozen grandchildren. The specifics hadn’t seemed important at the time. But now, Phineas — not a father, not a family man, and not accustomed to stepping outside himself — pauses to consider what the loss would feel like. A thought experiment. Leah, he supposes, is the closest analogue. If she were to die—

Multiply that by five, all at once, and Leah’s hypothesis becomes a sickeningly plausible alternative to murder. “But he lived with that reality for five months. What changed?”

“A few months back, he thought he found one of his grandkids’ names on a colony ship manifest from Dashkova. But two days before he died, he found out it was a different Jozefein Miller. They just happened to have the same name and be the same age. He… couldn’t handle it anymore, after that.”

Another plausible answer. There must be a flaw somewhere, if only Phineas can find it. “Dr. Miller wasn’t indentured. He didn’t have a body price. Why use such elaborate means to conceal his own suicide?”

“You,” says Leah, softly. “He knew how hard you worked to save us, and how much faith you put in us, and he didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You’re certain of this?” asks Phineas, his stomach dropping to somewhere in the vicinity of Terra 2’s mesosphere.

“I’m certain. He was in a bad place for a long time. None of us want to disappoint you, Phin, but—“

“I failed him, didn’t I?” asks Phineas, unable to hear Leah over the wave of nausea rolling over him. “If I’d found the solution to reviving you all sooner, his children would still be alive. He would still be alive.”

Leah gasps — a sharp, broken little sound — and she puts her hand on Phineas’s shoulder, gentle and firm all at once. “No,” she says. “Look at me. Look at me. That isn’t your fault. We’re only here because you refused to give up on us. You dedicated your life to saving us. Just you, alone. You did everything you possibly could.”

“That’s what I can’t stand. I did my best, and it wasn’t good enough.” Phineas swallows down the lump in his throat, unable to meet her gaze. “I wasn’t good enough.”

Without warning, Leah pulls him into a hug he doesn’t deserve, pressing her cheek to his chest. She’s a wall of living warmth, proof that his failure wasn’t total, and his arms hang uselessly at his sides. He possesses the physical strength to push her away, but not the moral strength. “You were. What you did was a miracle, and you did it with no help from anyone. With the Board trying to hunt you down. You can’t blame yourself for not doing it sooner.”

She’s wrong, wrong, wrong. “Why can’t I?” Guilt fills Phineas’s lungs like water; crawls under his skin like Monarchian parasites. He doesn’t deserve her comfort. He doesn’t deserve any of this. “Dr. Miller is dead because of my failures. Dozens of colonists are dead because of—“

Phineas catches the confession halfway through, but it’s too late. Leah breaks the embrace quicker than if he’d turned into a mantisaur, and she backs up one step, then two. “What are you talking about?”

He should lie to her. Say that he meant the colonists whose hibernation chambers UDL stole for their Lifetime Employment Program research. He opens his mouth to tell her just that, and from far away, he hears himself say, “You weren’t the first colonist I attempted to revive. You were my first success.”

Leah takes another step back, her expression inscrutable, and Phineas waits for her reply like a prisoner waits for the firing squad. This must be what the colonists’ tachypsychia feels like: one moment, stretched into eternity. He’s hyper-aware of everything: his heartbeat, the stale taste of recycled air, the cold spots on his back from the loss of contact. He tries not to imagine Leah throwing him off the Unreliable, starting the engines—

“If we’re really gonna talk about this,” says Leah, “we should sit down.” Without waiting for a reply, she walks past him, heading for the stairs to the third level of the ship. She doesn’t look behind to see if he’ll follow.

A moment later, he does.