#she said ‘sure do you want to me to amputate your full arm or just from the elbow down’ 😄

[beatrixstonehill2]

"Super excited for the gymnastics championship in two months! I have three months to go on this pregnancy so I think I'll be pretty massive by the tournament but I've been doing all of my training with a weighted fake pregnant belly and I'm getting to the point where I can hardly find my center of gravity without a huge belly full of kids! So, I think I'll be able to handle this no problem! Wish me luck! Just making a quick post before I see my doctor, no routine today. But I should get a nice update on how my latest brood is doing! See you guys soon!"

Edit: "OK. Um, holy crap.... I can finally write to you guys. I don't really know how to make content yet anymore but I can edit this post and finally give an update, as I've been gone two weeks. Soooo I went in for my checkup and the nurse prepped me to be put under for surgery. I asked why and they told me they need to check something. I asked what and they said to relax and not worry.... I went along with it, of course.

I woke up in the ER with my arms and legs amputated just above where my knees and elbows were, perfectly symmetrical. I knew this style of amputation, it's what those TikTok Influencer girls get done. You keep your thighs so you can sit up, and your upper arms so you have 'handlebars' for guys to use. I recognized it right away. I looked around and saw my limbs were gone. I was naked, propped up in a hospital bed, no sheets over me, just my bandaged stumps. There was a cute blonde girl in the bed next to me, a giant pregnant belly, big boobs dripping milk. She looked me up and down and congratulated me on getting my limbs removed as well, excitedly telling me she was doing it for her boss to get promoted.

I told her I didn't want my limbs removed. That's when a gorgeous tanned Asian girl to my left spoke up, pregnant, propped up, her breasts were really big and fake, round, the size of soccer balls. She told me she was coming in for some lip filler but woke up an hour ago with no arms or legs. I was slightly anxious but soon the nurse came in and talked to me. I asked why they removed my limbs. She squinted at my chart and asked me, 'Oh, you didn't want your limbs removed? Are you sure?'

'Yes!' I told her. 'I never asked to become an amputee.'

'Hold on, let me double check this chart against your file.'

She left for a while, when she came back I asked, 'Well? Why did you guys remove my limbs, I'm a gymnast!' But she walked right by me to the Asian girl, telling her that her limbs were removed because she starred in several adult movies, and the doctor figured the amputations would boost her career. She blushed and accepted this reason, trying to rub her thighs together in a pathetic attempt to masturbate.

The nurse returned to my bed and told me there was a mix up with my chart and they accidentally amputated my arms and legs. She smiled, putting a hand on my belly. 'My, you're the size of a house, and I think you look even more gorgeous with your arms and legs chopped off, but that's just one woman's opinion! You should be happy, guys are gonna go nuts seeing you all helpless like this.'

She had a point, but I was still outraged. 'I'm a professional gymnast who has a tournament coming up. I can't perform without my arms and legs!'

"So sorry to hear that! I do apologize for this minor mix up. But you have to admit the surgeon did a great job. You look absolutely incredible! Tell you what, I'll talk to the front desk and we'll let you stay here for free until we get you acclimated to using a wheelchair and ocular software on your laptop or phone. Don't you worry, we'll get this little mishap sorted!'

She left for a while. Eventually the Asian girl's porno agent stopped in with a group of guys and filmed her getting gang fucked in the ER recovery area. The director eventually noticed me, naked and limbless, asking if I was that cute pregnant gymnast who went to the Olympics last year. I said I was, and without warning he started filming me getting fucked by these muscular, roided up porn actors, absolutely brutalizing my holes, as the blonde next to me giggled in delight, telling me how sexy I looked getting pounded like a big helpless pregnant slab of meat. I moaned like a whore, never so turned on in my life, I came over and over. The nurse walked in after two hours and turned right back around, saying, 'I can see you're busy, I'll come back later,' to the pregnant gymnast who had her limbs removed without her permission, only to be filmed getting gang raped while in recovery, drooling with her eyes rolled back from cumming so much.

The porno agent eventually finished filming, grabbed his card, folded it into a bulky cylindrical container the width of a soda can, and shoved it into my pussy, telling me he'd love to sign me on full time. The nurse came back the next morning. The Asian girl and I were sweaty, a total mess, having pissed ourselves a few times, completely untended to. The nurse scolded us for being so messy, as she showed us how to use the ocular software, and eventually helped us learn to use a wheelchair. I control mine with my left stump and my mouth, breathing into a special control device like a little harmonica. I eventually learned to call my real agent, my friends and family, and now I'm here, discharged. And guess what? I owe the hospital $720,560 for my stay, as well as the physical therapy, software lessons, and the amputations themselves. Naturally.... I've called the porno agent and am already signed on to start filming this weekend. I've got to pay off all this debt somehow! Plus hopefully soon I'll figure out how to post new content! I guess I'll need help..... I might need to hire a nurse or something. Maybe someone willing to help upload my porno vids? Oh, and I should call the hospital and see about getting implants as big as that sexy Asian girl I spent my stay next to! What's a little bit more debt? If I'm doing porn I might as well go all out. And I'm sure none of you mind my new career change, do you? ❤️"

[u10como]

First time posting my writing on Tumblr along the usual DeviantArt. I'm no writer and english isn't my first language, so please, be mindful of that. Anyway, i hope you might enjoy it anyway.

This story is a sort of prequel/explanation to this picture: https://www.tumblr.com/u10como/739614288736632832?source=share

Jane and Roxy

Sam and Jane stoped in front of a rehab clinic. Mere month after the septic shock which took both of her arms and her left leg, Jane's residual limbs were still sore and swollen,unable to be fitted with prostheses yet, but she was recomended to commence with her rehabilitation as soon as possible to gain dexterity in her remaining limb. She was dressed in a shorts and plain, light blue T-shirt, it's left sleeve limp against her body and just a tip of her sole arm stump peeking out of the right one. Her single foot was bare, holding between her toes a joystick which operated her electric wheelchair. Sam was standing next to her, dressed in jeans and white polo shirt. Turning from the clinic's door to Jane, he asked:

"Are you sure you want to go alone?"

"No. But i feel like it's for the better, you know?" replied Jane, looking up at him from her wheelchair. "Don't worry, the people there are professionals."

"As you wish. But if you changed your mind be sure to ask them to call me and i'll be here as soon as possible."

"Don't worry, i'll be fine. After all, i'm here to learn to handle myself, so i feel like calling you in the first time i encountered struggle would be cheating."

"Okay then. I'll be here to pick you up in four hours?"

"You're the best. I love you!"

As they kiss goodbye, Jane pushed the joystick of her wheelchair to the side, turned around and entered the building. inside, a young receptionist looked up from her screen to greet Jane. "Welcome. Miss Walsh i believe? 8:30 appointment for post-traumatic amputation rehab?"

"Hello, yes, that's me."

"Okay, down this hall, third door to the right. The door's automatic, so just roll close enough and it should open, if not, feel free to call me."

As the door opened before Jane, she saw a room which looked like a cross between gym and medical facility, with a large mat in the middle, parallel bars in far right corner and racks full of excercising equipment along the wall to the left. To the right she saw a woman roughly her age, missing both legs above her knees and right arm just below elbow sitting in old hospital issue wheelchair. Jane turned towards her and as her wheelchair slowly drove closer, it's motor gently whirring, the other woman looked up and smiled.

"Oh, Hi! I was starting to worry i'm going to be alone here today. I'm Roxy!" she said, cheerfully offering her left hand for a handshake "Yeah, i know it's awkward to shake a left hand, but what can i do about it?"

"I'm Jane, but...ahem..." said Jane, shrugging her shoulders to emphasise her missing arms, "I'm not sure what to do now..."

"Give me a foot, silly! At least yours is a right one, you know? Come on!" said Roxy cheerfully.

"Well, *sigh* okay then..." replied Jane shyly as she slowly extended her foot for Roxy to shake. Roxy immediately grabed the offered foot with her left hand and shook it.

"Now, that's more like it! Wow, are you moisturizing? You foot feels so soft!"

"Thank you... My boyfriend does that for me actually, i can't do much myself, you know..."

"Wow, he's a keeper. And don't worry, few weeks here and you'll forget you ever needed more than one limb to do things. I almost did already. But in my case, i kinda had to, living alone and all..."

"Oh, that must have been rough."

"Well, coping wasn't the bad part, you know? Being ditched by my bitch of an ex for not being perfect enough anymore? That really hurt."

"Oh, i'm so sorry to hear that, i didn't mean to remind you..."

"Nah, that's okay, screw her, i'm badass and i don't need her sorry ass, you know?"

"Good morning ladies", greeted them the rehab nurse, "I see we have a new face here today - miss Walsh i presume?" Jane noded. "Allright then, since you're new here i'll be focusing on you today to introduce you to the routines. Mis Jensen, you can move up to the parallel lines

and put on your training legs, you know the drill already."

Jane's excercises focused mostly on gaining dexterity in her remaining leg and foot. From time to time she took a peek at Roxy, waddling in her short, kneeless prosthetics with large circular pads instead of feet. She hoped she'll be fitted with her own prostetic leg soon, but her leg stump was still way too sensitive. Roxy caught her look and winked at her with a big cheerful smile. Jane wondered how the girl can be so cheerful all the time - losing three limbs was hard enough for Jane, so she couldn't even imagine being this optimistic if she also suffered through a break-up like Roxy did.

After finishing their respective routines, the nurse asked them whether they need help showering or feel like they can handle themselves. "I'm fine, thank you!" said Roxy, taking off the training legs before she rapidly scooted off towards the showers, using her single arm and her butt to move forward. "I... think i'll handle myself, thank you." said Jane, determined to become independent as soon as possible. "As you wish, but should you need a help, feel free to use the bell to call me up."

Hopping on her single foot, Jane made her way to the showers where Roxy was already taking her clothes off. At that moment, Jane realized her mistake.

"Oh, damn it... I better call the nurse..."

"What's the matter? Oh..." asked Roxy and immediately figured the answer. "That's allright, come over here, i'll help you."

"You sure? i mean... i don't want to bother you..."

"Don't worry, you don't. I wouldn't offer you my help if i feelt bothered by it." said Roxy with a smile and patted the seat next to herself. Jane hopped closer and shakily crouched with her butt over the bench next to Roxy, dropping the last eight inches to a sit.

"There you go. So, will you try to do it yourself first and leave the tricky parts to me, or should i start?"

"I'm barely a week home from hospital, so i guess the 'tricky parts' cover pretty much everything i guess. *sigh* Allright, then, go ahead."

Grabbing Jane's shirt by the collar, Roxy slipped it over her head easily without any arms in the way. She then pulled down Jane's shorts low enough for Jane to kick them off. As Roxy unhooked her bra, Jenny felt vulnerable and helpless, unable to cover herself. Setting the bra carefully on the shirt, Roxy noticed Jane's nipple piercings and smiled.

"Wow, didn't take you for a kinky one! I like those!"

"Yeah... I had them done before... you know... Now they just look dumb on a pathetic cripple like me..."

"Hey, whoah, don't say that! You are beautiful and don't you ever think otherwise!"

"Thanks... You sound a little like Sam now..."

"Which just shows i'm right. And as i said before - he's a keeper. Now, let's get those panties off and get to the showers, shall we?"

After Roxy set off Jane's panties on the pile of her other clothes, they each entered one of the neighboring shower stalls and sat on the stools inside. Jane reached with her foot for the lever tap and set the water temperature before she grabbed the soap bar and soaped herself everywhere she could reach with her sole foot.

"Uhh... Roxy? Could i ask you one more favor?"

"Sure, Jane, What is it?"

Could you come over and soap up my back?"

"Only if you do the same for me. I might have an arm, but believe it or not, i used to be right handed just three months ago."

Jane heard the water in Roxy's stall stop and a soft thud as Roxy dropped down from her stool. "Gotta bring the seat along, i don't think we would both fit on one, would we?" Said Roxy and by small increments, pulled the stool and herself one after another into Jane's stall. Setting the stool right next to Jane's she climbed atop it and smiled.

"That's more like it. I guess i wouldn't reach you from down there and i wasn't sure you would be able to stand up if i asked you to sit on the floor. Now, pass me the soap and turn around."

As Roxy took the soap from Jane's foot, she started soaping up her back and massaging it using both her hand and stump. "Oooh, that's great," exclaimed Jane, stretching her shoulder blades and twirling her sole short arm stump in delight. "Where did you learn this?"

"It used to be my trade back when i still had both arms. It's still all up there in my head, but who would pay for one armed masseuse anyway..."

"Well, i certainly would! Okay, my turn now. I don't think i can remotely match that experience, but let me soap you up real nice." said Jane, grabbed the soap bar with her foot and started rubbing Roxy's back with it.

"We make a pretty good team, don't we?" asked Roxy

"I can't take much credit for it. I'm such a mess. I mean, if it wasn't for you i would still stand outside unable to undress myself..."

"That's gonna improve, trust me. You should have seen me the first few weeks after losing my dominant arm. Give it a little time and you'll get much better."

"Except i lost both arms, remember?"

"You still got your leg. You know what i would give for one of those? And with a little training you'll soon handle it just like an arm, i mean, my back can already testify you're pretty gentle with it even now, so i'm sure you'll get even better over time. Hell, you might even eventually have better handwriting that i can ever hope for if you were right handed before."

"...Handwriting?"

"Oops, sorry... Footwriting? Is that a word?"

"It better be, i'm gonna need to have it after all", said Jane with a hearty laugh, a rare occasion in the last month of her life.

"Hey," grinned Roxy, turning to face Jane, "You know you're way prettier when you smile like that?"

"Are you hitting on me?" asked Jane.

"Well, normally i totally would, you're pretty much my type, but seeing you're taken and into guys, i'll pass. I'm no home wrecker you know?"

"Who said i'm only into guys?, asked Jane.

"Fair enough. Still, the last thing i would want to do would be wrecking such a strong, genuine relationship as yours. I kinda envy you, you know?"

"Don't worry, you still can find somebody. I saw you being fitted for prosthetics, i bet a badass sexy cyborg like you can't have much trouble scoring a girlfriend."

"You never dated a girl now, did you?"

"Well, there was this one time in college... Yeah, i guess a week long rebound doesn't really count. Allright, i didn't actually. Not that i never had options, but guys were usually easier to deal with."

"See? That's exactly what i'm talking about."

"You seemed to me pretty extroverted earlier when we met, why can't you just play that confident, outgoing, cheerful card in a bar somewhere?"

"Eh, i'd wish. Truth is, i felt confident only because you're first person since that car wreck who was pretty much on par with me physically. I wouldn't be nowhere near as confident otherwise, trust me. Also, being trained for a pair of legs and being able to afford some really nice pair are two things, you know?"

"So you won't get any?"

"I already ordered a pair of basic ones, spent my last dough on them, actually. I have money for a week long stay in a motel downtown where i moved after my ex dumped me. After that? I'll probably board a coach bus to live with my parents. But that's not important right now." said Roxy, her worries surfacing through her confident faccade. "Come on, let's dry ourselves and i'll help you get dressed, i'm sure your boyfriend is already waiting for you."

As Roxy dressed both of them, Jane suddenly got an idea

"Hey, i was thinking... How do you even get home from here?"

"I have this old wheelchair borrowed from here. It's far from easy operating it with one hand, but better than scooting all the way on my behind you know?"

"Why don't you borrow mine, then? Just snap off the clamp holding the joystick to the footrest and put it wherever you're comfortable."

"Wow, for real? But how about you?"

"I have a leg, i can hop along, it's not that far. Sam is waiting just outside, he'll drive us home."

"Us?"

"Sure, aren't you coming along?"

"If you insist. Beats taking the bus any day, thanks a lot!"

"Don't mention it. Come on, let's not keep Sam waiting."

As they said goodbye to the nurse and receptionist, they approached the door where Sam was already waiting for Jane.

"Wow, your boyfriend is hot." said Roxy.

"I thought you're into girls?" asked Jane

"Well... Mostly, but not exclusively. Damn, sorry, now i must sound like i'm coming after your boyfriend."

"A little. But you were hitting on me first, so i guess it's okay. We'll have to share you, that's all..."

"Ha ha ha... Wait a minute a what now?"

"I'm joking, don't worry. But you told me you'll have nowhere to live in a week. If you want, i can negotiate with Sam and you'll be staying with us."

"Even after i kinda... you know, shown interest in both of you?"

"Well, that might actually be a plus, you know?" said Jane, still slowly hopping along next to Roxy. "You're the only person besides Sam who seemed to be genuinely interested in me after all this happened to me. That seems to me well worth having you around. And i have a hunch Sam won't be against it - More than just a hunch, actually."

"Okay then... I'm not getting myself caught in a sex cult now, am i?" Asked Roxy with an awkward smile.

"Nah. No cult here. And sex only when all involved parties consciously agree. And even then - let's give Sam a little time to get used to the idea before we overwhelm him, shall we?"

"You're serious then? We just met like four hours ago and you want me to move in with you?"

"I'm not pressuring you into anything, we can drop you off at your motel if you want, just know there's an option..."

"Where do i sign?"

[sparklypinkflightsuit]

The Witching Hour: Chapter 8

Pairing: Detective!Bob Floyd x Reader x Sheriff!Bradley Bradshaw

WitchAU

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Alcohol, Drunkenness, Witch Craft, Danger, Swearing, Love Triangle

- Chapter 7 Here -

——————————————

18+ Only Beyond This Point

——————————————

You ran down the mountain in the pitch black, brambles and branches cutting into your skin as you and Bradley tried to stop from losing your footing.

You weren’t sure how long you ran for, but the look on Gillian’s face told you one thing.

Run.

And so you did, you ran until the pitch black of the dense woods turned to softly lamp-lit streets and the cold, soft undergrowth turned to hard tarmac.

As soon as you could see one another, your eyes adjusting to the sudden brightness of the lamps, Bradley took your hand and pulled you down the street, no longer in a full sprint but a fast paced walk.

“Where… where are we gonna go?” You panted.

“The station.”

You walked for what felt like forever, until eventually Bradley pulled you down a side street and into an unassuming little station.

The station was mostly empty apart from a pretty brunette behind the desk and a tall blonde tending to a drunkard behind one of the cells bars.

They both turned to face you as you tumbled through the doors, bloodied and sweaty, and their faces didn’t hide their surprise.

“Sheriff?” The pretty brunette questioned, rounding the desk.

“Trace, I need you to lock all the doors. Seresin, get O’Malley out of here.” He ordered.

The tall blonde shot Bradley an exasperated look. “But you were the one who told me to arrest the bastard-“

Bradley shot him a look and the blonde sighed, shaking the drunk awake.

Once the brunette had returned from locking the doors, extremely confused, she joined you both and winced as she took you in.

“Oh sweetheart, you’re cut.” She said, inspecting your cheekbone and the long cut that the thorny brambles had adorned you with.

“Trace, I got it. You just help Jake get O’Malley home… Nat, I said I’ve got it.” Bradley insisted firmly.

Nat nodded, smiled at you sympathetically and hooked one of the drunks arms over her shoulder as her and Jake hoisted him out of the station.

Just before they left Bradley stopped and turned to them, “Oh, and… once you’re done, I want you both to go home. Your shift is done for the night.”

————————————

You were now sat on the kitchenette counter of the Sheriff’s Department, waiting for Bradley to come back from the storage room with a first aid kit.

You had told him you were fine, it was just a little cut and that you had much more pressing things to worry about, but Bradley had insisted and pointed out that the Sheriffs department was likely the last place they’d look.

“Found it.” Bradley murmured, emerging from the dark corridor that run past the kitchenette. He was struggling to open the tape that sealed the brand new kit.

“Pass it here.” You insisted, grabbing at the air with one of your hands.

Bradley reluctantly handed the first aid kit to you and you easily lifted the tape with your thumbnail before handing it back to him.

“Thanks.” He grinned, slotting in between your legs. He opened the kit and pulled out alcohol wipes, placing the kit next to you.

“Tell me doc, is it bad?” You joked, wincing slightly as he dabbed the wipe along your cheek.

Bradley kissed his teeth and grinned, “I think we may have to amputate.”

“My head?” You chuckled.

“Yeah, I think that joke works better on arms or legs.” He cringed.

“Such a dad joke.”

“And I don’t even have kids. Imagine how bad I’d be if I did.” He chuckled.

You suddenly fell into a comfortable silence as he wiped gently at your cut. You realised you really didn’t know anything about Bradley, you hadn’t even asked him about his life, you really hadn’t had the chance.

You brought a hand up to Bradley’s and gently pulled it away.

“I can’t do this.” You whispered, your eyes scanning Bradley’s beautiful features, also slightly scraped and bloodied by brambles and thorns. Your guilt was beginning to build again, alongside a new emotion.

Worry.

Worry for someone you were really starting to care about.

“What, am I hurting you?” Bradley’s eyebrows pulled together.

“No, you’re perfect. Bradley… we really don’t know one another and I can’t pull you into this. My family is dangerous, you saw what my aunt did to the cabin, even you’re no match for her.”

“I’m not asking your permission.” He stated, bringing his hand back to wipe your cheek.

You moved back on the counter so you were slightly out of reach, your face more stern now.

“I need you to stop. You need to go, or let me go at least.”

“Let you go, to do what? Get yourself blown to pieces by someone who’s meant to be your family? If you think I’m gonna let that happen then you really don’t know me.”

“That’s what I’m saying, I don’t know you. You don’t know me, you’re being stupid.” You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t call me stupid.” Bradley huffed.

“Stupid.” You pressed.

“I said, don’t call me stupid.” He ground out through gritted teeth.

“Well then don’t be stupid.” You huffed.

“Woman, I said… for fucks sake.” Bradley now red faced and flushed, eyes blown and practically panting, wrapped his big hand around the back of your neck, his thumb resting on your good cheek, pulled you forward so that your faces were inches apart.

Your eyes met briefly as he scanned yours for any hesitation or indication that you didn’t want him.

When he found none, he surged forward and captured your lips in his.

He took your breath away, and you found yourself needing to hold onto his torn white shirt to steady yourself.

After a second when you’d regained your senses, you thought you should pull away, but instead your body ignored you completely and you kissed Bradley back hungrily.

Both of his hands moved to your waist and he held onto you for dear life, leaning you back as he desperately chased after your lips.

You brought your arms to wrap around his neck while your legs wrapped themselves around his torso, and you felt Bradley’s strong hands lower to your thighs, squeezing your flesh as your frenzied makeout continued.

You moaned at the feeling and Bradley lifted you up, pulling away for a second.

“See what happens when you call me an idiot?” He chuckled.

You grinned, breathless, “I believe the word I used was stupid.”

Bradley surged back to capture your lips, one hand wrapped around your thigh and holding you up, while the other cupped your jaw and worked its way around the back of your neck.

Your insides were fluttering, your skin was hot and Bradley’s lips were making you want to tear his clothes off, but suddenly Bobs face appeared in your head.

“Bree, help me!” The voice in your head rang out.

You pulled away from Bradley suddenly, a confused look plastered across your face.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, panting and confused.

“Nothing, I’m sorry.” You apologised, shaking it off and pulling Bradley back to continue your assault on his lips.

You tangled your hands in his curly golden locks and he carefully moved you to the nearest wall, pinning you against it and holding you up with his thigh in between yours and his hips as he made quick work removing his torn shirt.

You took a moment to revel in his toned, golden body, and you bit your lip as you watched him peel the shirt off of his broad shoulders before he turned his attention back to you.

His lips attached to your neck, you decided to take the opportunity to feel him, your hands running down his sweaty torso.

The feeling of your hands on him was too much for Bradley, and he ground his hips into yours, growling into your neck as he continued down to your collarbone.

You moaned, bucking into him and -

“Bree! Help, please!” Bobs face and voice popped into your head again.

This time you gasped, pushed Bradley away and landed on your feet with a soft thud.

“I’m sorry, if I did anything uncomfortable or if you wanna stop-“

You shushed Bradley as you listened, trying to figure out if you were imagining it all or if somehow you were really hearing Bobs cry for help.

“Bree, they’ve found me, help me!” Bobs voice rang out, and you had to do everything not to sob.

You turned to Bradley, your face an expression of horror as you whispered, “It’s Bob. They’ve got him.”

——————————————

You waited for the moon to rise high enough in the sky and then you and Bradley snuck out into the back of the sheriffs department.

You got him to light a ring of candles he’d found in the emergency stock cupboard, and you began to prepare.

You sat in the middle of the candle ring and closed your eyes. “Hand me the knife.” You instructed.

Bradley hesitantly did as he was told, and you wasted no time in slicing your palm open, blood dripping out of either side of your hand while you quickly poured it into a coffee mug Bradley had found.

Bradley dropped to his knees next to you just outside of the circle, reaching for your injured hand instinctively, but you waved him off and gave him a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine, wounds made for spells heal really quickly, promise.”

Bradley nodded, but his face was pale under the moonlight as he watched you continue.

You stood up slowly, your back turned to the moon, and your shadow now strong on the ground even in the candlelight. You mumbled an incantation under your breath, over and over as you dripped the blood from the mug over the head of your shadow in rough cross shape to signal the cardinal points.

Suddenly your eyes turned white and you went quiet, Bradley now stood and nervously waited, unsure if this was all part of the spell and only having seen you performing a small spell once before, this was terrifying in comparison.

Then, almost as soon as it started, you were on your knees and gasping.

“I know where he is.”

———————————

Bradley had insisted on waiting a couple hours to sober up before you hit the road. You had argued that you wanted him to stay, but he had made it clear he was taking you.

After several cups of black coffee and a cold shower in the sheriffs department locker room, Bradley was ready to go.

You snuck out of the department and into one of the many trucks Bradley had out the front.

The streets were quiet and you let out a sigh of relief having not run straight into your aunt, but this just made you wonder if she had left to join the others who had found Bob.

And that would not be good.

Bradley slid into the drivers seat, his hand coming to rest on your knee.

“You sure you wanna do this? I can just call my buddies over in Boston to check it out.” He offered, his eyes desperately pleading for you to change your mind.

You shook your head, “No offence, but your police friends really aren’t a match for Gillian.”

“Was worth a shot.” Bradley sighed as he settled back and pulled out onto the street.

The drive to the eastern seaboard was long, but Bradley happened to have plenty of 80’s music to bide your time with.

You listened as he sang along but you were in no mood to join in. You were plagued by thoughts of Bob and what danger he might be in.

Eventually you dozed off, Bradley’s deep voice a lullaby to your exhausted state.

You had no idea what waited for you in Boston, if you had, you may have savoured this moment for just a little longer.

But that’s the beauty of hindsight.

—————————————

- Chapter 9 Here -

[okdeedee]

Okay so I feel that Cassian will be someone who shows his love through actions instead of words. So maybe a Cassian x reader where it’s little acts of service over the course of their relationship?

ease my mind - cassian andor x gn! reader a drabble from the latch verse.

you don't need to read the latch series to understand this - it's post-scarif, canon divergent (everyone lives). the only context you need is that a couple ocs are mentioned - they're the reader's colleagues.

an: thank u for this request/prompt anon! it's so sweet. i'm coming to it late, but i wanted to write something when i felt inspired, instead of churning it out for the sake of writing. for any latch readers this is the first foray into post-if i could (post-scarif)

warnings: mention of surgery/amputation (not graphic), very vague almost unrecognisable mention of a sexual situation, fluff. angst.

wc: 1.4k

____

It starts even before you and Cassian are romantically involved. 

You can’t bring yourself to call it ‘dating’ because you’re in the middle of a galaxy-wide war and calling Cassian your ‘boyfriend’ just feels… trivial. 

And it feels too casual and light for whatever the two of you have. 

But it starts after you cry in Cassian’s arms about not being able to handle combat - without you even asking, he works alongside Melshi to get you your placement, to vet out the team you’re joining. The night before you start, he wishes you luck. 

Soon after you start, Cassian visits you while you’re on shift. He brings tea or caf, sometimes. 

If you’re really busy, he won’t say a word, he’ll just set a mug on your toolbox or on a crate near you, smile, and walk away. 

He’s good at talking; at emotional conversations, communication. He likes complimenting you, being complimented back. He loves physical touch - the way he holds his friends and the way he constantly seeks out points of contact with you shows you that. You know he values spending time with you. 

But he’s always been good at being covert, and it turns out, he uses that skill to do little things for you. 

Once, you forgot you’d put a spanner in the pocket of your coveralls, and it stayed in your room overnight. Then, it fell out somewhere in the mess hall during breakfast before your shift the next day. 

You complained about it to Greda when she resurfaced from a G-75 an hour into your shift, because you needed it for your next repair, and now you’d have to go and search the mess hall for it. 

You went to help Yemmi with something for ten minutes, and when you came back up to the Y-wing you were working on, your spanner was sitting there in your toolbox. You were baffled at the time, but life went on, and you brushed it away as one of those weird things that just happens sometimes - maybe you had remembered to bring it after all. 

You only found out later, after you and Cassian got together. 

It was your second or third time staying the night in his room, and you’d made the same mistake - this time with a drill-bit and a spring you found in your pocket. Cassian smiled fondly, tiredly, while picking up his sleep-shirt and said “Make sure you don’t forget them tomorrow like last time.”

You managed to tear your eyes away from his bare chest long enough to ask “What do you mean, ‘last time’?” 

He pulled his shirt on and you mourned losing the sight of his torso for a second. “When you left that spanner in the mess hall.” 

“How do you know about that?” 

He looked sheepish, almost. “I heard you telling Greda about it and I brought it to the hangar.” 

You thought you might cry. This gentle, loving man. “I always wondered how that just appeared in my toolbox. You did that for me?” 

He heard the waver in your voice, his brows furrowing with concern. “Of course.” 

Your chest was full to bursting with something so vivid it was entirely unnameable so you just walked over, held his face, and said “I love you.” 

You’ll remember being able to feel the heat that bloomed in his cheeks for as long as you live. 

He did your laundry with his once, when you left an undershirt and a pair of socks in his room. He picked up your favourite brand of caf during a mission. 

Sometimes when he has a couple free hours, he’ll sit with you in the hangar and pass you tools when you need them, without you even having to ask. 

It’s an effort to get him to stop focusing on you in bed, to convince him to let you do something for him.

He gives, and gives, and gives. 

.

Ever since Scarif, the tables have turned. 

The initial surgery went well, but not well enough. The reconstruction of his hip and spine succeeded, but the nerve endings in his leg were irreparably damaged, the muscles atrophied.

They hold out hope for a while, the doctors; of his leg making a recovery with enough physical therapy, but he’s still in a coma, and without proper exercise, the blood flow gets weaker and weaker. It’s soon clear that his leg will need to be amputated.

He’s still in the coma when they amputate, and it’s only a week later that he wakes. 

It’s a massive blow for Cassian. 

He’s used to a level of agility, elasticity, that will be altered by the loss of a leg and the gain of a prosthetic - even if current prosthetic technology is incredibly advanced. 

He’s not one to sulk, per se, but you can tell from the look in his eyes that he sees this as a great loss. 

.

It’s a few weeks after he’s woken up, and it’s his first day of physical therapy - his first day out of bed, using crutches, trying to rewire the pathways in his brain to understand the absence of one of his limbs.

Eyroa kindly offered to take your shift, and you thanked them profusely. They just smiled in their calm, peaceful way and shooed you out of their workspace.

So, you’re sitting in the visitor’s chair in the training room, watching the therapist work with Cassian on strengthening exercises, writing notes on her directions.

Cassian’s frustrated – you can see that – he’s always been good at most of the things he does, he’s incredibly smart and scarily observant.

But no amount of logic and intelligence can make the human brain absorb the loss of a limb any quicker. He fumbles, subconsciously expects to have his right leg catch him when this torso shifts forward.

It’s a long day, and by the end of it, Cassian is bone tired and understandably glum. He’s back on the hospital bed, staring down at his feet.

Something in him died on Scarif, you think. He’s still fiercely devoted to the cause, but his fire is dimmed. There’s less light in his eyes.

You don't know what to do - a brush with death like that is not something you've experienced. You want some way to make him feel better.

You’re holding his hand, looking up at him. His beard is unruly and flecked with dry skin, he hasn’t wanted to touch it – hasn’t wanted to do anything much, the last few weeks.

You have an idea.

You lean forward and kiss his cheek. His eyes flick to you.

“I’m going to grab something from your room, I’ll be back in a minute. Is that ok, Cass?”

He grunts softly in response.

“Alright.” You kiss his hand for good measure before you let it go.

.

You come back ten minutes later with his razor, scissors, shaving cream and a little bag for rubbish. Balanced in your other hand are two mugs of tea.

You set your tea on the nightstand and place the other mug in his hands. His eyes close drowsily as he gently inhales the steam that rises from it.

“I’m gonna shave your beard, is that alright?”

“Hm.”

“That’s not a yes or no, Cassian,”

He laughs ruefully, but it’s just an exhale through his nose. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

So you lean in, prop one leg on his bed and stand on the other.

You trim his beard first in little clumps so you can drop them in the bag without getting hair everywhere. Then you spread the shaving cream on gently, lovingly, and feel your heart sing with the victory of him leaning the weight of his head into your hands.

It’s quiet as you shave his face. Just your soft, mingled breaths. His shoulders loosen, his jaw unclenches. Every once in a while, he lifts the tea up to his lips, you pause in your work, and he takes a sip.

When you’re done, you wipe his face with a washcloth that’s on the nightstand and run your fingers over his jaw and neck. You pepper achingly soft kisses along his jawline, and his brows furrow just a touch. Then you press your foreheads together gently.

You can’t magically rewire his brain to accommodate for the loss of his leg in an instant. You can’t take away his pain. You can’t make his physical therapy sessions go any better. But you can make him feel more normal, human, in these little ways while he recovers. Until his new normal is a prosthetic, or moving around with crutches.

Let him focus on what’s important while you keep up his routines from before.

You kiss him on the lips, just once, and lean away.

There’s a faint smile on his face.

“Thank you,” he says groggily.

You move away to sit next to him again. You take the mug out of his loose grip and set it back on the nightstand, “Sleep well, love."

[frillyfacefins]

Ozzie's Toy (Ozzie/Fizzarolli)

Fandom: Helluva Boss Rating: Explicit Pairing: Asmodeus/Fizzarolli Tags: Amputation Kink, human fleshlight, more like imp fleshlight but you get my drift, Kind of Body Horror, fizz has some major ptsd about the whole amputation business, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Power Imbalance, ozzie's bodily fluids have mildly magical properties, this is set early in their relationship, kinda dark bc they're not really communicating here, Fizz thinks he has to do whatever Ozzie wants so Ozzie will keep him Word Count: 4,809

Also on AO3

Summary:

„You‘re being so good for me, Fizzy.“ Ozzie braces himself on his elbows above Fizzarolli, bracketing his entire body with his arms. Fizz is so small like this - half his usual size when his legs aren‘t extended. „I‘m going to blow your fucking mind tonight…“ Fizzarolli tries to grin; he‘s pretty sure it works. „You better, cupcake… I‘m not doing this kinky shit just so you can get an eye full…“ Ozzie‘s eyes crinkle, and oh, that feels better. He just has to lean into it. „So what else is on the menu tonight, beside 100% pure imp meat with no additives?“ He wriggles his stumps a little in a mockery of seductive writhing and bats his lashes at Ozzie. *~*~* Fizz always takes what Ozzie gives him. And if that's an order to take off his limbs for the night? Well, he's not going to say no, is he?

Author's Note:

This originally had a happier ending, but then I wrote the tags of this fic and realized that... Nah. Needs to be nastier. I mean, listen, this is smut between a weird jester demon and the literal embodiment of the sin of Lust, written by me, what did you expect?

(Or, as my friend said: "Don't be afraid to go meaner.")

Fizzarolli is done for the night. The house band is playing the last guests out and the bouncers are going through the restrooms to find whatever stragglers are either fucking or passed out in there. He still feels sweaty and amped up when he comes into Ozzie‘s office and hops onto his desk.

„All good?“ Ozzie asks while he carefully puts some fishy-smelling papers into a pink file folder and then into the out-tray for paperwork that needs to get to other rings. Fizz feels weird at the thought that he now knows the meaning of every one of Ozzie‘s color-coded document trays. The things he does for the best lay in hell…

„All good. Ya might rethink hiring acts from Sloth, though. That Horse-bitch was an hour late, so we had to juggle the schedule…“

Ozzie reaches for Fizz and rubs one large finger over his head. „That‘s why the other acts were from Lust, Fizzy. She‘s a favorite of Belphy‘s, so I figured she was good, but if you don‘t like her we don‘t have to have her back. Not like she‘ll care.“

Fizzerolli shrugs. „She wasn‘t that bad. Next time we should schedule her first instead of third, though, so she might actually show before midnight…“

„Hmm,“ Ozzie hums and swivels around to pull one of the many file drawers open. He pulls out the file with the demoness‘s name on it, makes a note on a pink post-it, and adds it.

„Why the fuck are you still using paper,“ Fizz grouses, not for the first time. „You know computers have been invented, right?“

„Fizzy darling, I know enough about robotics and all that shit to know that I do not want a machine to have all of my documentation,“ Ozzie says patiently as he puts the file away again.

Fizzarolli‘s robotic joints whir as he crosses his legs and leans back until he is lying on the desk and looking at Ozzie upside-down. „But it would give you more time to spend with me, Ozzie…“ he whines.

Ozzie chuckles and teasingly pulls on one of Fizz‘s hat tails. „Aw, are you jealous of my paperwork, Fizzipop?“ At least he is putting away his fancy ass fountain pen now, and Fizzarolli immediately begins to wag his tail - the one attached to his butt, not the hat one.

„Of course I‘m jealous. I‘m jealous of everything you spend time on that isn‘t me,“ he says with a broad grin.

„Aw, poor Fizzy“ the larger demon purrs, standing up and plucking his favorite little jester off his desk. „I guess I‘ll have to make it up to you that I‘ve spent so much time today on these acquisition forms, hm…“

Fizz‘s grin grows wider as he goes boneless in Ozzie‘s hand instead of jumping on his shoulder, so he has to carry him. „Yep, you have to, Ozzie,“ he says on a cackle.

Ozzie lets out a little huff of blue smoke, then he opens a portal to his palace and steps right through. The portal opens right into their bedroom instead of the kitchen where they would usually have a snack after work. That‘s just fine with Fizz, though - he is definitely hungry for something different than pizza rolls, and by the looks of him, so is Ozzie.

The portal closes noiselessly, and Ozzie puts his top hat onto its hat stand and starts to undo his vest.

„Clothes off, Fizzy, and then move your cute little ass onto the bed.“

His anticipation is making Fizzarolli vibrate so much that the bells on his outfit are jingling. He quickly undoes his ruffled collar, throwing it to the side in a cacophony of bells before he slips off the cuffs on his wrists and his high heels. He wriggles out of his shirt and pants while he‘s on his way onto the bed, leaving a trail of clothes behind in his eagerness to finally get Ozzie‘s undivided attention.

„Hat too, Fizzy.“

That request makes Fizzarolli go still. There is only gentle amusement in Ozzie‘s voice, as if he‘s asking him to not drag dirt onto the carpets when what he is actually asking him is to take off his armor, to put his most vulnerable parts on display. If Ozzie was just going to fuck him even more silly than he already was, he wouldn‘t ask something like that from him.

His anticipation settles into dread. There is no place for shame in the Lust ring, but he still feels confused and vaguely guilty.

„Did I do something wrong, Ozzie?“ he asks in a small voice.

Ozzie, now only clad in his half-unbuttoned pink shirt and his thigh-high boots, turns around to look at him. His face softens when he sees the insecure look on his little favorite‘s face.

„No, baby, don‘t worry.“ He is at the bed with one step, and Fizz has to adjust his balance when he sits down and makes the mattress quake. Ozzie reaches over to him and pets his head again, gently rubbing his fingers down to his shoulder blades. „There‘s something I wanted to try for a while, but I need you completely open and vulnerable for that. If you‘re not up for intense stuff, we don‘t have to do it, though.“

Fizzarolli frowns, then he shoots out his arms and propels himself up to Ozzie‘s shoulder. Ozzie‘s hand immediately comes up to rub his back again while Fizz rubs his face into his light-blue fluff. The disembodied bull-face snuggles up to him in turn. „Nah, let‘s do it. You just caught me off guard, is all.“

The thought of taking off his hat makes him nauseous, but in the end, it‘s no big deal, right? Ozzie has seen him without it before; he doesn‘t ever seem to be disgusted by the state of him. If Ozzie wants him that way - if he wants to see him like that - then Fizzarolli will do what he wants, like he always does.

Fizz has always been proud that he can keep up with Ozzie most of the time; that he can find pleasure in the weirdest kinks, that he can be presented with a sexual preference or a new kind of play and immediately understand what about it is hot enough to tempt the Embodiment of Lust.

He doesn‘t want to be a party-pooper, ever. Ozzie is the best thing that ever happened to him, and even when he asks him to do things like this for him - things that make him tingle in a less than pleasant way, things that make him feel small and helpless - he wants to make him happy.

Ozzie turns his main face towards him and gives his forehead a little peck. „Alright, baby. Do you want me to take it off for you?“

Fizzarolli takes a deep breath and concentrates on the feeling of Ozzie‘s fluff against his cheek. „Yes, please,“ he says in a soft voice and closes his eyes.

He feels the bull-face rub against him again, causing a weird, slightly electrical tingling to run from his cheek down into his tense shoulders. He feels Ozzie tug at his hat tail again, but this time he tugs until it slides off his head. His head feels immediately cold. Usually he doesn‘t even take the hat off to sleep. He can feel the air against the top of his nubs, where the vestiges of his cornual nerves still give the broken remnants of his horns some feeling, though it always feels like carefully prodding an open wound - not really painful, but also definitely not pleasurable.

Ozzie gives him a little rub between his horns, where touches still feel good, and where Ozzie rarely gets to touch him. His hat is carefully put aside with a tiny jingle, then Ozzie scoops him off his shoulder and holds him with both hands in the air while he gives him a slow, sweet kiss. He‘s being so gentle with him that Fizz heart aches in that way that feels nearly like a panic attack.

He puts him down with his head on his gigantic pillows and throws off his shirt, so they both are finally naked. Fizzarolli shivers with delight at the way Ozzie is bending over him, filling his entire field of vision with his dark blue immensity, Fizz‘s very own night sky, with Ozzie‘s smiling eyes two beautiful moons surrounded by pale blue fog, his colorful rooster tail an aurora in the periphery of his view.

Ozzie kisses the mark on his forehead, then his lips. He lingers there for a moment, and Fizzarolli opens his mouth to get a taste of his favorite drug. Ozzie indulges him, licking into his mouth, making his body buzz with his saliva. Fizzarolli know‘s it‘s not addictive - that it only has very weak aphrodisic properties, not comparable to Ozzie‘s precum or slick, but it just gives him enough, just makes him feel warm and loose and tingly, and he just can‘t imagine ever living without.

Maybe because just imagining that would send him down a spiral he wouldn‘t be able to pull himself out of.

„You taste like appletinis, Fizzy baby,“ Ozzie whispers against his face, then he moves farther down and kisses both of his nipples. Fizzarolli is shivering now, sighing and mewling with pleasure. He is still so sensitive when it comes to Ozzie… Even the way he kisses his stomach makes his cock jerk with need.

Ozzie indulges him, laving his broad tongue over Fizzarolli‘s cock and balls before he lets it slip down over his taint for just a second.

He pulls away before Fizz can really start enjoying himself. He sits back on his haunches and looks at his little imp as if he was an especially appetizing piece of sushi. He even licks his lips. Fizz feels himself heat up under that look. It‘s a little like the rush he gets when he‘s on stage, but deeper, more dangerous and maybe even more real. He doesn‘t need to put up an act, doesn’t need to be funny or clever or energetic. He has always loved being looked at - craves it more than anything else. But nobody has ever looked at him quite like Asmodeus does.

Being desired by the Lord of all Desires… It‘s no wonder he feels dizzy.

„Take off your arms and legs, Fizzy,“ Ozzie rumbles above him, and Fizzarolli feels like his heart stops.

„…What?“

Ozzie‘s face changes in the way it would if he had eyebrows and raised one. „You heard me, Fizzy…“ His voice is like hot cocoa spiked with whiskey as he trails a finger down Fizzarolli‘s breastbone to his belly button. „Take them off. I want you soft and helpless for me, baby. None of the whirly parts.“

When Fizz still hesitates, Ozzie kisses him again and gives his lower lip a nibble. Fizzarolli doesn‘t know if it‘s supposed to be a warning or a comfort.

„Just think of it as reverse bondage, darling,“ he whispers when he pulls away again.

Reverse bondage. Sure. He can do that for Ozzie. He can let go of his arms and legs for the demon who freed him from Mammon, who looked at him and saw through his costume and his act and still wanted what he saw. He can give himself up to him for a night. Right?

He ignores the way his heart beats against his stomach and swallows down the dread and the acid. He takes off his legs first. Pushing the pressure points of the complex release mechanism feels unnatural, wrong, not unlike pushing your fingers into an open wound when you’re hopped up on so many drugs you can no longer feel pain. He does the same with his left arm, but Ozzie has to help with the right one. Fizz can extend it far enough that his hand can reach his upper arm, but the angle isn’t quite right and he can’t get a proper grip on the mechanism. Ozzie has been talking about using advanced cybernetics to bond the limbs to his body - Fizzarolli isn’t sure how exactly that would work, just that they would need to heighten the nerve control he uses to move his limbs, and that would mean Ozzie would have to fuck around with his spine, put a chip in there or something.

Fizz isn’t ready to let him do that. So for now, the attachments remain mechanic.

Ozzie kisses him deeply while he picks up his prosthetics. Fizzarolli watches him move to the side of the bed and carefully set down the bundle of metal limbs on the plush carpet.

„You‘re being so good for me, Fizzy.“ Ozzie braces himself on his elbows above Fizzarolli, bracketing his entire body with his arms. Fizz is so small like this - half his usual size when his legs aren‘t extended. „I‘m going to blow your fucking mind tonight…“

Fizzarolli tries to grin; he‘s pretty sure it works. „You better, cupcake… I‘m not doing this kinky shit just so you can get an eye full…“

Ozzie‘s eyes crinkle, and oh, that feels better. He just has to lean into it.

„So what else is on the menu tonight, beside 100% pure imp meat with no additives?“ He wriggles his stumps a little in a mockery of seductive writhing and bats his lashes at Ozzie.

Ozzie lowers himself over Fizz until he can feel his fluffy feathers tickle his naked belly. „Well, you see, my little darling…“ He kisses his cheeks, his forehead, his horn stumps and then back down. „For dessert, I was thinking about stuffing my favorite little jester like an eclair, pump you full until the cream‘s coming out on both ends…“

Fizzarolli lets out a deep purr. „Hmmm, I can definitely get behind that idea…“ He strains up to catch Ozzie‘s lip in a cheeky little nip. Ozzie growls at him, then he kisses him hard, and Fizz can‘t help it that his purring becomes so loud that it‘s shaking all that is left of his body. It‘s instinct that he tries to embrace Ozzie; he can only push his stumps against Ozzie‘s feathers, of course, but at least his tail can still reach the back of Ozzie‘s head and try to push him closer.

It‘s difficult to stop thinking and sink into lust when his body isn‘t working like it normally does.

But this is how Ozzie wants him tonight, and he makes that clear when he pushes his hands under Fizzarolli‘s body, one under his shoulders, the other under his butt, so he can lift all of him when he sits up. He lifts him to his mouth and licks a broad strip from his balls up to his chest, the way you do with a cigarette paper before you roll it.

„Mm…“ he goes, taking another lick of his chest. „Delicious…“

It‘s a good thing that Fizz doesn‘t have issues with heights. It‘s not unlike trapeze, being handled like this. With no way to catch himself if he falls, he has to to completely trust Ozzie as he moves him around like a rag doll. Ozzie keeps licking and kissing and nibbling his skin, giving his stumps as much attention as his chest and his belly before he flips him around and holds him slightly head-down while he works his tongue between his ass cheeks. In this position, Fizz can at least do more with his prehensile tail than just rub over Ozzie‘s feathers. He pushes the tip of his tail into Ozzie‘s neck fluff and grabs a bushel of it as well as he can, just to regain the tiniest bit of control as Ozzie makes a meal of his hole.

It doesn‘t take long until Fizzarolli is sweating and cursing and shivering in Ozzie‘s hands, desperately trying to pull him closer with his tail but just ending up tugging at him helplessly. Ozzie is so fucking good at this - no wonder with him having an actual sixth sense for other people‘s lust and desires. His tongue is literal magic, reaching deeper inside of Fizz than it has any right to, and when he pulls it out and flicks it through his crack he even hits that spot right under his tail perfectly.

The hot, wet tongue swipes down again, but this time it moves down his taint and over his balls, before it wraps around his cock in a way that makes Fizz see stars. The wave of pleasure coming off him has to hit Ozzie right in the face, because he can hear the demon king behind him moan deep in his throat.

Ozzie gives his crotch a last long lick, pushing it against his belly, and then he pulls back and flips Fizz around again. Ozzie‘s face splits in a satisfied grin.

„Such a lovely meal,“ he rumbles. He has to put him down for the next part; even with their size difference, Ozzie can‘t comfortably hold him up in the kind of position he needs him in when he starts fingering him open. Ozzie‘s finger is already magically slick when he pushes it into Fizzarolli‘s spit-wet hole. His sex magic isn‘t functionally different from the Concubi, though like everything about Ozzie it is more intense, more potent. While his spit works like a mix of alcohol and pheromones, and his slick and precum prolong and intensify his partners‘ orgasms, the lube he conjures up to cover his fingers immediately makes Fizz‘s hole relax. Sometimes he wonders if it makes him more sensitive, but there‘s no real way to answer that. Sex with Ozzie is like nothing else, even when they use toys instead of Ozzie‘s body. There are so many reasons for that, of course - starting with Fizz‘ limited experience, which is nearly completely comprised of partners who weren‘t very experienced themselves or of partners who didn‘t care about Fizz‘s pleasure. Of course he got his mind blown when he‘d been swept off his feet by the King of the Lust Ring himself, the embodiment of that very sin, whose very being combines everything debauched and indulgent and pleasurable.

When his finger pulls out, Fizzarolli immediately feels empty. He doesn‘t really need preparation, since a) they only had sex yesterday and b) nothing physical could ever prepare him for Ozzie‘s sheer size, so there is magic involved anyway, but Ozzie loves to touch every part of him, to mark and claim every nook and cranny of his little jester.

At some point, Fizz must have closed his eyes, because when he opens them he sees that Ozzie is staring down at him. He can feel those glowing eyes travel over his body, over his sweaty face, the mottled red and white of his skin, his flicking tail and his shivering stumps. He drinks in the sight of his slender, dripping cock lying against his belly, a soft sigh coming out on a wave of blue smoke as he rubs his thumb over what is left of Fizzarolli‘s inner thigh.

Something about that look on Ozzie‘s face is too much for Fizz, so he does the only thing he knows to do when he needs to get out of any kind of situation.

„What‘s the hold-up, Big O? Don‘t tell me you‘re out of juice already?“ He pushes his hips up, wiggling his ass and wrapping his tail around Ozzie‘s wrist. „Don‘t leave me hanging here…“

Ozzie makes a chastising clucking noise and pushes the tip of his thumb against the rim of Fizz‘ wet, sensitive hole. „So impatient, baby… Be a doll and let Daddy enjoy the view for a bit.“

„Can‘t do much more than be a doll here anyway,“ Fizzarolli complains, wiggling his limbless body some more. „Or maybe more of a sausage than a doll…“

„Oh, I know exactly what you are, Fizzy baby…“ Finally Ozzie lifts him up again, and his grin makes something in his belly do cartwheels. „I think I just had an idea for some new merchandise…“ He shifts him into one hand for a moment to line up his cock with Fizz‘s achingly empty hole. He pushes until his cockhead slides in, then he grasps Fizz‘s trembling body in both hands and slowly, slowly pulls him down his length. „How much, do you think, would people pay for an authentic fleshlight replica of that lovely hole, complete with a little wise-cracking robo-fizz head? Kinda like one of those talking dolls, just pre-recorded voice lines and those nut-wrenching noises you make when you really enjoy the dicking you‘re getting…“

Just then Ozzie bottoms out, and Fizz is spasming around his cock, garbling out something that might have been a moan or a cry of pain as his brain is getting overloaded with pleasure.

„That‘s exactly what I‘m talking about,“ Ozzie says on a low rumble that‘s more from his throat than his belly, more of a bird coo than an imp‘s purring, but that still makes Fizz feel warm and fuzzy in a different way than the bone-melting heat wrecking his body as Ozzie slowly drags him back and forth on his cock. It‘s a real mind-fuck to imagine how he looks right now, but because Fizz‘s mind has always been fucked, he can‘t help but think about how Ozzie is literally using him like a fleshlight, how his body is nothing but a flesh cylinder for Ozzie to jack off with. He doesn‘t know if he‘s horrified or exhilarated at the thought. These days, he often can‘t tell those two things apart.

It feels so fucking good, though. Sex with Ozzie is always incredible, obviously, but just the fact that he doesn‘t have to think about what to do with his limbs, that he can‘t control anything but the tightness of his core and his swishing tail… He doesn‘t have to do anything - he can‘t do anything. He just has to exist in his body and take whatever Ozzie decides to give him.

And what Ozzie is giving him is incredibly good dick.

He is still moving him like a fleshlight, but while his motions earlier were slow and drawn-out, luxuriating in the tight heat of his body, now his motions are becoming faster. His hands are squeezing Fizz‘s body more as he jerks himself off with it, the eyes of all three of his heads are closed, his pumping becoming more and more erratic.

It‘s a wonder that Fizz hasn‘t already come, but he can feel that he‘s not going to last much longer. He closes his eyes as well and just sinks into the feeling, until he is nothing more but flesh singing with pleasure, both feeding Ozzie with his lust and getting him off with his body. He draws in a sharp breath as everything starts coming to a head, and all of his muscles contract, the remnants of his arms and legs cramping because he can‘t hold on to anything. Ozzie pulls him off nearly all the way, and then pulls him onto his cock again so hard that it pushes the breath straight out of Fizzarolli‘s lungs. He lets out a strangled cry as he comes all over the both of them, his body shaking violently as Ozzie fucks burst after burst out of him. At some point Ozzie has started to come too, and his cum is making Fizz’s body even more sensitive. Fizz can feel the way his climax comes back in full force after his cock spurts the second time, and he whimpers and whines and eventually screams with whatever strength he has left as he just keeps coming, his body completely in thrall to Ozzie‘s sublime nature.

When Ozzie finally stops moving, Fizzarolli feels like a wrung-out dishrag. He is soaked with sweat and his own jizz, the cramps have left his muscles throbbing and sore, and his ass feels as if he just fucking gave birth or something. Ozzie pulls his cock out of him, and a wave of hot, magic cum follows in its wake, dripping down along his tail in that way that always makes him feel like he needs to shake himself like a wet dog. Too bad he doesn‘t have the energy to do anything about that right now.

He shouldn‘t have been worried, though. Ozzie takes his after-care pretty seriously. He‘s still got Fizz in both of his hands, and now he starts to lick him clean from his chest down to his tail. The goat and the bull head are helping, though they are more tickling and nibbling than really cleaning him up properly. Of course Ozzie spends the most time at his hole, soothing his stretched-out rim with long, deep licks and gentle sucking before he finally licks the last remains of his cum off Fizz‘s tail. When he pulls away, Fizz strokes the tip of his tail over Ozzie‘s cheek and gets a little kiss on it in exchange.

When Ozzie finally puts him down, Fizz feels like he‘s about to fall asleep. He still feels sticky and sweaty, but his body has been so thoroughly used and his orgasm has hit him so hard that even keeping his eyes open feels like too much when the bed beneath him is so soft and Ozzie‘s body hovering over him, gently kissing his face, is so warm. He knows he should go have a shower, but even while he hears Ozzie suggest as much, his eyes fall shut and he sinks into comfortable, dreamless darkness.

When he wakes up hours later, his limbs are on his body again, and Ozzie is sleeping peacefully next to him.

Fizzarolli carefully disentangles himself from Ozzie and the blanket he has pulled over his body and grabs his cap from the side of the bed. He holds the bells still so they don’t make a sound as he walks out of the bedroom and through the hallway to the big bathroom. He could have used the ensuite, of course, but he needs some more walls between him and Ozzie - some more doors.

He puts his hat down on the counter and turns the hot water on in the shower. It takes him a moment to work the handle. His hands feel weird, like a computer that got rebooted and is now trying to deal with security upgrades.

His hips hurt. He knows it’s likely because of how strenuous the sex was, but he feels like they hurt from standing. Like something is wrong with the attachments of his legs. Like just being out of them for a few hours was enough to warp them, to make them incompatible with his body.

His arms feel so heavy, and his head feels so light.

He feels like he’s been put back together wrong.

It’s bullshit, of course. His arms and legs work as well as they always do, and the fit is also good. Ozzie designed these things, for fuck’s sake, he wouldn’t put them on wrong.

He steps into the steaming shower and closes the glass door behind him. For a while, he just stands there and lets the hot water wash away his sweat and anything that remains from Ozzie’s tongue bath. He’s used to water on his horns - he can’t really wear the hat in the shower, after all - but he wonders how it would feel on his stumps. He’s tempted to take off his legs again, to just sit on the shower floor, maybe until he drowns.

He’s being stupid. A stupid little bitch who gets hung up on harmless bullshit like this.

If Ozzie wants to have him that way, Fizz will give that to him, because Fizz is the luckiest motherfucker in hell because Ozzie wants him. Not just for a fling or a week or as a side piece or anything - he is living with him. They’re brushing their teeth at the same fucking sink. How could Fizz refuse Ozzie anything he wants?

He can’t. It’s that simple.

He belongs to Ozzie. Everything he has, everything he is - Ozzie gave him that. His job at the club, the robots, his limbs…

Of course Ozzie can fuck him however he wants.

It’s fine. He’s just being stupid. It’s just sex. He didn’t take his limbs away to humiliate him or to punish him. It’s fine.

He’s just being stupid.

He turns the water off and gets out, dries off as quickly as he can and puts his hat on. The bells jingle gently when he comes back into the bedroom and climbs into bed.

Ozzie wakes up just enough to reach out for him and pull him into a hug.

“Did you go wash up, baby?” he mumbles, still half-asleep.

“Yeah,” Fizz says, and rubs his face into his blue fluff. “Go back to sleep, Ozzie…”

[because-its-eurovision]

here’s my Eurovision tattoo 🖤

[comfortwriting]

Through Thick and Thin - A.S

Anakin Skywalker x Fem Reader

masterlist, requesting rules, guidelines, taglist

About: When Obi-Wan learns of Anakin's turn to the dark side, he goes to Y/N to try and find him; what he gets instead changes everything and Anakin gets the answers he's been waiting for.

A/N: this is my first time writing in months, please be kind! Need to get back to my flow lol

Word Count: 2057

Warnings: murder, death, blood, mention of parent loss.

"He killed younglings, Y/N!" Obi-Wan stressed, pacing around the room "Tell me where he is, I beg you."

You stared at your husbands Jedi Master, contemplating if you should tell him the truth - betraying your husband and revealing his whereabouts or to lie and protect him. After all, you knew what Obi-Wan was going to do.

You knew that Anakin was capable of taking lives, especially the lives of women and children after he murdered the Tusken Raiders - you weren't afraid of him when he confessed and you certainly didn't shame him for it; you could understand his anger, his hate, his need for revenge.

Anakin's back was facing you, he stared at the wall, hot tears streaming down his face.

"I killed them." he paused, catching his breath "I killed them all. They're dead, every single one of them."

Anakin slowly turned around to face you, his face stained with tears, his eyes glassy and red.

You stared at him, trying not to judge him for what he had done - knowing that if you did, you would be the biggest hypocrite known to man.

"And not just the men," Anakin inched closer to you, shaking his head "but the women and the children too."

You froze.

Women, like you.

Children, like the ones you adored at the Jedi Temple, children you dreamed of having with Anakin.

Part of you died hearing his confession, but you remembered how you felt when you were finally left alone in a room with your fathers killer. You too would've killed his wife and the other women and children in their village. You would wipe them all out.

"They're like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals." Anakin started to raise his voice, his pearly white teeth shining in the light "I hate them!"

Anakin dumped himself to the floor, bringing his knees to his chest, more tears falling from his eyes; you placed your hand against his face, wiping away his tears with your thumb.

"It's okay to feel angry, it's okay to hate them after what they did." You said softly, casting circles on his cheek with your thumb.

"I'm a Jedi," his eyes searched yours, his hand reaching for yours, holding it tightly "I know I'm better than this."

You sighed, kissing his hand softly "Don't let what you've done define you, Ani."

"How can I come back from this?" He asked in frustration "How can I move forward if Obi-Wan is holding me back!"

"You find a way," you encouraged him "even if it means going against him... and the council."

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?" You asked quietly.

Obi-Wan didn't answer, he swallowed hard and looked at the pale lilac carpet.

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to be the death of me?"

"Don't say that Master... You're the closest thing I have to a father... I love you. I don't want to cause you pain."

"He has slain younglings, Y/N! I saw his callousness with my own eyes!" Obi-Wan raised his voice, "Anakin has sided with Palpatine! He's the sith lord!"

You started to laugh, waving your hand.

'Of course, Obi-Wan and the council are pinning this on Palpatine, making him the bad guy.' you thought.

"It's funny," you speak up swinging your right leg over your left knee "you and the council painting Palpatine as evil."

The Jedi Master stared at you in horror and couldn't believe the words coming out of your mouth - his heart splitting into tiny fragments, the young girl he raised was defending the chosen one - the young boy who had grown up with bouts of pent up hate and anger, and turned to the dark side.

"Palpatine is the only person other than me who truly cares for Anakin, who never lectures him for his feelings, who never holds him back."

Obi-Wan felt sick.

"I don't know where he is," you lied "even if I did, I'm not telling you."

"Don't make this harder for me than it needs to be," Obi-Wan warned you, remembering the Jedi Code, pushing his memories with you and Anakin aside.

You didn't flinch, instead, you sat back down on the sofa, staring at the beautiful sparkling wedding ring on your finger.

"I don't want to go back," you sighed, dragging your feet through inches of deep, sparkling snow "I've missed being home."

Anakin nervously fidgeted with the ring box in his pocket, practising his words over and over and over, making sure he got them perfect, his body freezing, his hair full of snowflakes.

"I'm so thankful you came here with me, Ani." You smiled, "My dad would've loved you."

Realising that Anakin wasn't following you, you stopped in your tracks and turned around, finding your boyfriend down on one knee.

"Ani-"

"From the day we met, I have never been able to shake you from my mind and heart."  

Your eyes filled with tears and your goggles started to steam up.

"I never got to ask for your father's blessing, but that won't stop me."

You focused on the ring, realising it was the same one that your father always showed you as a child, with his plan to give to you in hopes that you would pass it on to your children.

"Y/N, my love, will you marry me?"

You nodded your head, removing your glove, exposing your warm skin to the freezing air that instantly started to nip at your skin.

"Yes," you smiled, more tears falling from your eyes "I will marry you, Anakin."

"Your father would be ashamed of you, you're becoming the very thing he hated, you're sleeping with the enemy!"

The rage you once felt started to ignite deep inside you as Obi-Wan tried to sour one of the greatest moments of your life.

You stood up, and walked over to him, staring him down.

"You know better than to bring up my father, Obi-Wan."

Anakin tried to catch his breath, stumbling backwards in extreme pain, the sound of your screams ringing in his ears. You were hurt, probably dead with the amount of pain Anakin was experiencing.

His heart started pounding, his ears ringing, feeling sick to his stomach - you couldn't be... could you? who could've done this? why?

"I have these nightmares..." Anakin opened up to you "what I see, happens."

You stroked Anakin's head, your fingertips massaging his scalp, your lips brushing against his neck.

"I had them about my mother before she died, I wasn't strong enough to save her."

You stopped massaging his scalp, and pulled away, looking into his blue eyes - full of tears that pooled up over his waterline.

"You are strong and you get even stronger the more you learn and experience," you paused "I was strong - not strong enough to save my dad, but now I probably would've had a better chance of doing so. We move forward."

Your fiance nodded his head, pursing his lips and kissing you softly, still emotional when he pulled away from the kiss.

"I don't want to dream of you like that- I don't want the nightmares - I can't... I can't lose you..."

You shook your head, cupping Anakin's face in your hands "You won't lose me, Ani."

Anakin didn't know but he would soon find out, killing the last of the separatist leaders on Mustafar, he boarded his ETA-2 Jedi Starfighter and set off in a hurry; desperate to find you.

You were in utter shock.

Your hands trembling, your forehead burning, the room closing in on you yet expanding at the same time and your throat like sandpaper from your constant screaming.

It all happened so fast - Obi-Wan striking for you, your leg being severed off faster than you could realise until you fell down and all you could feel was agonising pain, and the smell of burning flesh filling the room, the blood boiling in your veins.

You sat on the floor, your back propped up against the back of the sofa, dragging yourself across the floor proved difficult since you stopped practising your upper body workouts.

Looking across the room, your eyes landed on Obi-Wan, no longer breathing - how you did it? you didn't know - you managed to take control, more power than you ever had in your life, your fury spitting inside of you begging for release.

Do you feel guilty? Now that you think about it, no.

Obi-Wan attempted to end your life and he would take Anakin's life too.

Bringing the back of your hand up to your forehead, you wiped away the beads of sweat, your chest rising and falling.

Anakin jumped out of his Starfighter, his hood shielding his face, his long strides bringing him closer and closer to you, his eyes no longer a beautiful shade of blue, but like the two suns on Tatooine during sunset.

She can't be. Y/N can't be dead. Not now. Not ever.

Getting closer and closer, Anakin could sense death, pain, and suffering.

The door swung open as Anakin stormed in, searching for you frantically until his eyes landed on your amputated leg in the middle of the room, his face drained of all its colour.

Your screams came back to him, the searing sound of Obi-Wan's lightsaber severing your leg, the loud thud as you fell to the floor and then the walls shaking, everything shaking, your yells, Obi-Wan's voice breaking before his body dropped lifelessly to the floor.

Anakin glanced over to his Jedi Masters lifeless body and stared, his eyes burning holes into Obi-Wans back, wanting nothing more than to revive him just so he could have the pleasure of murdering him for what he had done to you.

You peeked your head out from behind the sofa, "Ani," you winced, "I'm back here."

Anakin rushed to your side, his eyes pouring with tears as he searched your face and body for more injuries; the sight of your wound hurt him deeply.

How could Obi-Wan do this to you? How could anyone do such a thing to the chosen one's wife?

"Are you-are you-"

"Ani," you tried to calm him down breathlessly "just my leg, nothing-nothing else."

Anakin scooped you into his arms as gently as he could, you held onto him for support, moving one of your arms around his neck, your tear-stained face hiding in his chest, his heartbeat thumping against your ear comforting you.

"I thought you were dead," Anakin croaked, carrying you away, his robes hiding you in his arms.

"Obi-Wan came to me, he needed to know where you were so he could kill you," you admitted, "he told me that you killed younglings."

Anakin slowed down, you pulled your head out of his chest and looked into his eyes.

"Did you believe him?" Anakin asked, his tone harsh.

You paused for a moment, slightly afraid that Anakin might drop you.

"I know that you have killed children before," you replied quietly, "he told me that Palpatine is the sith lord... that you are his apprentice-"

"What do you think of Palpatine?" Anakin's eyes rummaged through yours.

She can't turn against me - she won't. I won't let her.

"I think that he's the only other person aside from me who has ever encouraged you to show your emotions, to use them to make you stronger."

Anakin's eyes fixed on your face like glue "what if he is the sith lord, and I have joined him? what would you think of me"

You sighed, closing your eyes, imagining the perfect life with your husband; you and him never in harms way, children of your own growing up without a clue of what it's like to lose a parent, to be a slave.

"I would encourage you to overthrow him, and together you and I can rule the galaxy,"

You opened your eyes, everything coming back to you, your father's death, how it felt to slaughter a whole family.

"make things the way we want them to be."

Anakin gripped onto you tightly, a prideful grin spreading across his face.

"Everyone turned against me but you." He said softly, kissing you.

"What if you hate what I become?" your boyfriend stressed, pacing up and down.

"I could never hate you, Anakin," you walked over to him, linking your arm with his metal one"I'll be with you through thick and thin."

tags: @autobotrosestark

[numptypylon]

Epilogue

I added a short epilogue to Reunion and Intersection today, but I also wrote a much longer one, full of fluffy comfort, to get through the angst-writing in the first two chapters. It’s unedited, unfinished and ridiculously self-indulgent, and I don’t think it really goes with the story, so I elected to not post it, but I’m attaching it here, under the cut, for those interested. Keep in mind it’s a reject for a reason though; this is what my writing looks like in the explorative phase where I’m looking for the point, and in this case I didn’t really find it XD

~2K under the readmore

Callum got there early. A lot of people eyed him warily, but a letter from Queen Janai was a good smoother-of-grumpy-elf-tempers.

No-one had seen Rayla, so… she was probably not here yet.

He went to the inn, bought a large room, lit a roaring fire in there, activating the Sunfire rock he used to keep warm at night under the covers of the bed, and calling for the tub to be filled. It had the usual Skywing heating arrangement, only needing a good Fulminis to heat the water.

He resisted flying out to find her. He risked missing her again, and her leaving town before he got back.

It was about… hitting the point of intersection.

So, he waited at the city gates. He didn’t have to wait nearly as long as he expected, considering the distance she would have had to traverse. Maybe she had recovered and had travelled faster than he thought.

It was definitely her though. A small, lone figure on the mountainside.

He intended to wait for her until she got to him, but then she stopped to lean against a tree and he realized that she had not recovered and was up there sick in the snow… and that resolve evaporated like it had never been.

Like he would ever let her struggle alone a moment longer than she needed to.

 **

 It was a measure of her exhaustion that she didn’t notice him until he was basically right in front of her, and even then, her reaction was so much slower than usual.

It still… it was hard to believe it was real. For her too, surely more so.

He numbly pulled his scarf off, packing it around her neck and head. He grazed her cheek and felt it and she felt it and… she felt it, because the tears that had built up in her eyes spilled over at his touch, slipping down her dirty and flushed cheeks.

She looked ready to drop, and felt it too, when he put his arms around her and her disbelief gave way to relief. Whatever ridiculous level of stubbornness had kept her upright for the last day and night of walking through snow and up mountains when she should have been in bed… fell away and she slumped almost completely in his arms.

She sobbed hoarsely for a bit, and he let her.

And she let him, when his hand cupped the back of her head and her hair tickled his fingers and it hit him too that… it was really real, she was here.

They needed to… get to the inn though, so he pulled away and wiped his face. They could… and probably would… have a longer cry and a longer hug later. But she was sick and cold and there was a roaring fire and a filled bathtub two minutes of flight away.

“Let’s go,” he said. “I knew you were coming this way and that you were sick. And I booked a room for… you.” For them both, he hoped, but-

“What?” she blubbered. “But… aren’t… aren’t you mad?”

“I mean, of course I am, but… that’s not really… that can wait.”

“I’m…” she laughed weakly, more tears spilling over. “I’m so happy to see you and there’s… so many things I would like to say and… and I’m such a mess right now and so tired and I’m just… I’m so tired I cried earlier just because a stupid pine branch hit me in the face and knocked me off my sled and it continued down the mountain without me and I’d have to walk instead and-“

“Hey, hey!” He stroked down her flushed, wet cheeks, along fresh scratches where presumably that branch had hit her. Sledding, huh… she always was extremely resourceful and oh so daring. And that explained how she got here so fast. “Rayla, it’s okay. You can rest first. I’ll take care of things… of you. For as long as you want me to, but… definitely for the next few days.”

“How c-can you… are you… here-”

He leant his head against her forehead, relishing in the feeling of contact, even if her skin was clammy and too-hot. “That’s… complicated,” he said. “And also simple. You called me here. I came.”

“Manis. Pluma. Volantis.”

 **

 She staggered, when they set down, steadying herself on his shoulder, and Callum was glad he had elected to land in front of the inn instead of at the city gates.

She definitely wasn’t well yet, her breath rasping in her throat, her forehead beading with sweat, cheeks and ears flushed. The fever had maybe broken, but it hadn’t quite left. And she was exhausted, trembling with the effort of staying upright, her eyes dull and glassy.

People were staring, when they went inside, but the innkeeper came over and recommended the soup of the day, and their house-made herbal tea blend with Sky Yak milk, and assured them it would be brought to their room shortly, with a look of very obvious sympathy at Rayla.

And then the door shut behind them.

“I owe-” she started, but he cut her right off.

“No. You’re owed,” he said tightly.

“Owed what?” She sounded… nervous.

“Soup. Hot tea. A warm bed and a fire someone else made. General fussing. Love. Forgiveness. Kindness. A damn break, for once.”

“L-love?”

“Yeah, love.”

Her clumsy fingers fumbled at the clasps of her armor. They were still ice cold when he touched them, the skin red and no-doubt sore.

But she for once didn’t resist any help he gave, sinking gratefully into the tub he had prepared. A warm bath was possibly not great for her fever, but… it was pros and cons and he needed to warm up her hands and feet.

She was barely conscious when he helped her back out of the tub, so he just put her down on a towel on the bed, drying her hair as best he could. He at least managed to get her awake to pull off her own wet underwear and pull his clean night shirt over her head.

 **

 “Callum?” she asked, because… she wanted things, and she could have them. “Stay with me? Please.”

He pressed against her back, warm and real.

His hands engulfed hers, big and soft and familiar.

Full of real little details that her brain hadn’t accurately recreated.

The callus at the side of his right index finger, from his charcoal pencil. The scar from a clumsy sparring accident at the second knuckle.

His voice when he said her name and when he told her it was okay.

His kinda… snuffling non-snoring sleep-sound.

And new things, that she hadn’t known to add.

His arms, still skinny, but stronger than they had been.

His too-long hair flopping over his ears.

And things she had yet to find out.

 **

 “Morning-“ she muttered, as she woke, feeling warm. And her throat felt a lot better, too and most of that sticky, gross fever feeling was gone, although there was still some sluggish daze, everything just a bit vaguer and floatier than it should have been.

“Afternoon,” Callum corrected lightly, but there was something not so light underneath. “You slept for… 14 hours. I bet you’re hungry.”

“I bet… you were worried.” That was a long time to worry and not wake her to assuage it but just sit in it, watching her sleep.

She reached out to stroke his furrowed brow. Her hands were bandaged though, so she couldn’t touch him properly. She didn’t remember, but did recall something about Callum saying he had called a doctor, and then she must have conked out pretty hard and slept through it.

She clenched and released her hands experimentally. Seemed alright except for being stiff and sore?

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, staring down at the thick bandages.

“Except for the illness that nearly killed you because you’re such a massive dummy? Lots of things.” He took her hands, starting to unwind the bandages. “For your hands, hopefully only frostnip. I’m supposed to check that, when you woke, take you back to the doctor if there’s signs of deeper frostbite.”

There was some thick ointment, probably the reason for the bandages. Her hands looked reddened, the fingers a bit swollen, but… not so bad. Nothing was white or black or blistered, so really, nothing to worry about, where frostbite was concerned.

Callum wasn’t satisfied with a visual inspection though, cupping her hands in his, methodically checking she could feel all her fingers and make a full fist.

“I think it’s okay,” he said, breathing out, relieved. He did tend to catastrophize- “No… no risk of amputation this time-” His fingers slid across her left wrist, the faint whitened scars from where the binding had dug into her skin and where the sunforge blade had burnt her.

“It’s definitely okay,” she said. “Barely hurts.” She cupped his face, feeling his skin just fine against her fingertips. “It’s not like back then, okay?”

“How do you feel today?”

“Better. Way better. I’m ready to go, if-”

“What?!” He stared at her in disbelief. “Absolutely not. You didn’t hear what the doctor said. But I did, she got here while you were sleeping. And absolutely not.”

“What-“ Was it not just a regular bug?

He breathed, slowly and deliberately. “You’re okay, it’s a regular winter infection going around. But you did a number on your own immune system with the hypothermia and mountain climbing and… she said you were undernourished, dehydrated, stressed and critically exhausted. And that you would do well to take a week or more to fully recover, during which you should eat and rest plenty, stay warm and keep stress down. Does that sound like your regular travel, to you?”

Well… not so much.

“So, I’ll ask again, how do you feel today?”

“Tired,” she sighed. “My hands are stiff and achy. My throat hurts. My legs are wobbly. My head feels full of snot.” She smiled, despite all that. “My heart is happy to see you. It’s okay if you’re- I know… that it’s complicated.”

“It is. We have… some things to talk about. Promise you won’t leave until we do?”

“I promise.”

“Okay. Then, I think we should put the complicated things away for a few days. Until you’re better and it doesn’t hurt your throat to talk. Because… we have a lot of talking to do.”

“You don’t… need to stay. For those few days. If it’s hurting you to-”

He sighed heavily. “It does.” Yeah, he couldn’t say that it didn’t. Being around her with so much… unresolved. She didn’t want that for him. She didn’t… want to have those long and hard conversations right now either, when she was still tired and fevered and liable to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. “But it would hurt me more to leave. Didn’t it hurt you? To leave?”

“Yeah.” So, so much.

He reached out to pack his scarf around her throat more closely, the soft, warm knit a soothing feeling against the raw ache.

“Lie down, okay? Be sick? I’ll read you a story. It has murder and dismemberment in it, I asked the innkeeper specifically.”

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

The Dog Days Are Done - fic

Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Haley the dog, a quick bit of Barbara Gordon Summary: Dick is a good guy. He is. He knows that. Just like he knows that bribing your wayward, animal-loving, emotionally-traumatized brother to come see you with a puppy is exactly what all good guys do. That was a fact. A/N: How their post-Ric/everything reunion should go, but we all know it won’t. If Dick doesn’t bribe Damian at least once with that dog in canon then everything is a waste.

~~

Dick nervously stared at the phone on the counter. Bit his tongue and looked away. Sheepishly glanced back.

“I know you want to.” Barbara hummed in his ear. Softly, though. Gently. Knowingly. “I’m not going to do it for you.”

“I wasn’t going to ask you to.” Dick mumbled, sighing as he pulled his mask from his face. He’d just gotten back from patrol, and it’d been a rough night. Been a rough night after a rough few months.

And Babs knew him way too well.

Because it’s not like he’d said anything. Not overly, anyway. Hints, here and there. Probably. Nothing more. But she knew. Of course she knew.

“I know.” She chuckled. “He’d probably hang up on me if I called anyway.”

Dick smiled. Yeah. Probably.

“…You’re the only one he’s wanted to talk to anyway.” Barbara whispered. A moment to let that sink in, then a lighthearted snort. “You picked a shitty time to be an amnesiac.”

Dick gave a little laugh too. “Yeah, yeah.”

“…I’ll give you an hour.” Barbara decided.

“Or what?”

“Or a certain wayward young hero will be getting a call about a neglected puppy in an abandoned Bludhaven apartment building.” She said cheerfully. Without any other warning, she cut the line to the communicator.

Dick could only roll his eyes.

But…she was also right. He needed to do this. He did.

So he got a water bottle, chugged it, changed his clothes, fed Haley, took her for a walk, gave her a little more food, gave her some treats, took her out for one more potty time, then found himself back at that counter. Staring at that phone.

He hit the button to light up the screen. It’d been fifty minutes since Barbara had hung up. He had ten minutes before she forced his hand. Because he knew she absolutely would – especially after she went through all that work to actually find the number.

He inhaled to steel himself, but before he could exhale, he heard Haley suddenly puke in the corner.

He looked over to the poor puppy, who looked at him sadly, and smirked.

Well, that’s as good a reason as any.

Dick turned back to the phone, picking it up without thinking about it, and finding the speed dial option that he still had programmed. That he never deleted. That Barbara had already put the new, recently-unknown number underneath.

He bit his lip as the line rang, anxieties running rampant through his brain. What if he didn’t answer? What if he didn’t want to? What if he couldn’t? What if he was dead?

The line rang three times. Four. Five. Six.

It was ring seven that the line finally clicked.

“…This is Damian.”

Dick’s shoulders dropped, his heart loosened.

“Kiddo?” Dick asked, but found his voice was hardly a whisper. He cleared his throat, tried to gather himself back up. “Hey, kiddo.”

Damian said nothing.

“This is Dick.” He said dumbly. “This, uh…did…did your dad tell you?”

“That you regained your memory? Yes.” Damian murmured. Dick felt himself wincing. Because…for once in his life, he couldn’t read him. He couldn’t read Damian. “I just…am…coming to terms with it.”

“…Oh.” Dick responded. “Do you…do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” Damian said. Instantly, flatly. So like the little boy Dick had met so many years ago. There was a beat of silence, then. “Did you need something?”

“Uh…yes!” Hope bloomed in Dick’s chest. “Yes, actually, I, uh…you talk to Babs recently?”

“No. Why would Gordon and I be in correspondence?”

“Just wondering. I, um…” Dick smiled, tried to throw it into his voice. “I got a dog.”

There was a moment. “You what.”

“Well, I didn’t get her, I found her. Saved her from street assholes. And she’s not a dog, she’s a puppy. Special needs, too. Has three legs.”

“Congenital or traumatic amputation?”

“Uh…what?”

Damian sighed in frustration. “Was she born like that or is it due to injury?”

“Oh.” Dick turned. Haley was still staring sadly at her pile of vomit. “Born like that, it looks like.”

“I see.”

“Do you want to? See her, I mean. I can send you pictures of her. She’s super cute.” Dick rambled quickly. “But I mean, that’s why I called. I…I don’t know if I’m taking care of her right.”

“If she was born without the limb, she’s probably fine. But if you’re concerned, I’m sure there’s a vet in Bludhaven.”

“Well, yeah, sure. But like.” Dick laughed nervously. “You’re great with dogs. Look at Titus! Even Ace flourished with your attention. How do I get Haley to act like Titus and Ace?”

Damian hummed in thought.

“Also…” Dick scratched at his head. “She just puked, so I…I think I overfed her? I don’t know.” Another pause, and he looked back to the puppy. His puppy. “Damian, I don’t think I know how to take care of a dog.”

And I miss you. He didn’t say. I miss you and I’m hoping you don’t see right through me right now.

There was another few seconds of silence. Then Haley let out a happy bark, and Damian sighed in resignation. “What’s your address?”

~~

It was three days later that there was a quiet knock on the door. Haley growled from her bed, jumping up and stumbling slightly to the floor. Dick smiled at her as he all but raced across the floor. He grabbed the knob and took a deep inhale. He closed his eyes, held the breath, then pushed all the air out of his lungs with a harsh exhale. Then pulled the door open.

Damian stood there.

Dick looked him over, catalogued the changes since he’d last seen his kid brother. He was taller now, and way skinnier. But not in an unhealthy way, in a lanky, awkward, puberty-just-hit way. The baby fat was all but gone from his face, and he was looking more and more like Bruce by the second.

There were also bags under his eyes, ones that Dick didn’t remember being there before, even given their lifestyle. There was a bag in one of Damian’s hands, but the other was free, and his fingers were curled around each other, picking and tapping at the nails nervously.

Damian had never done anything nervously in his life.

Damian wasn’t looking when Dick opened the door, had his head turned back to the hallway, like he was looking for an escape route, or regretted coming and was already thinking about running.

Dick swallowed away that last thought with the lump in his throat. Because he wanted to hug Damian. Squeeze him so tight he couldn’t breathe. But Damian’s body language said not to, that he wasn’t comfortable, not here with Dick. And Dick had to admit, after all they’d been through – that stung a little.

“Hey.” He said instead, letting his smile widen when Damian looked up at him. “Thanks for coming.”

Damian nodded stiffly. “I had some time.”

Dick chuckled, pushing the door open wider. “Glad you could fit me into your schedule.”

“Hardly you.” Damian scoffed walking past him, making a beeline towards the puppy. “I’m here to make sure you aren’t torturing this animal you appear to have kidnapped.”

“I prefer the term rescued, thanks.” Dick closed the door behind them. “What do you think, Haley?”

Haley barked loudly, but happily, barely containing herself as Damian approached. Damian reciprocated her joy as he smiled and crouched in front of her, placing the bag off to the side. It was funny, seeing him with a puppy, with a dog actually his size. Titus always towered over him, even as a baby, and Ace had knocked the preteen over plenty of times, accidentally.

“…Have you actually taken her to a vet yet?” Damian hummed. “Like, just for a check-up?”

“Yeah, after I found her.” Dick sighed, coming up around Damian’s left side. He glanced into the bag as he pushed it out of the way with his foot. It was full of new dog toys, and various bags of puppy food and treats. This kid. “She was getting kicked around by some losers. So I found a place to get her checked out. Just to be sure.”

“And you arrested those thugs, I assume?”

Dick shrugged. “No…but I did beat the crap out of them.” Dick looked down at his fingers. The scars of Haley’s teeth were mere shadows already. “And she bit me for my trouble.”

“Good girl.” Damian whispered, leaning down and kissing her forehead. Haley became putty in his hands, closing her eyes as he scratched at her ears. “I’m very proud of you.”

Dick felt himself smiling, despite the dig at himself. He watched as Damian moved, noting more changes from last time he’d seen him. While Damian always had the ability to be gentle, especially around animals, he seemed even extra so here, with this puppy. Let his pets be feather soft, held up his hands as the puppy decided that his lap was where she wanted to be. Floated his fingers around her torso as she stumbled up the small incline. Cocooned her protectively with his arms when she settled and closed her eyes.

Dick let his smile falter. Because, while the motions were sweet, and on par with Damian’s normal characteristics, Dick knew him better than that. And Damian’s movements weren’t necessarily out of care, he could see that.

They were out of fear.

Damian was afraid to touch her.

What?

“…How you been, kiddo?” Dick whispered after a moment. Damian merely shrugged. “I missed you.”

“You can’t miss what you don’t remember.” Damian sniffed. “It’s scientifically impossible.”

“Come on, Damian. Don’t be like that.” Dick chastised, quietly. “I missed you when I got back. When the whole family got together to kick ass, and you weren’t there. When you never came home.”

“That’s not my home anymore.” Damian replied quickly. “You’ve talked with Father, I’m sure. He’d tell you as such.”

“He told me what happened. What you said before you ran off.” Dick swallowed the lump in his throat. His own fear. Because he knew Damian. And if he said the wrong thing, Damian would run. Damian would bolt, and disappear off the radar.

Potentially take Dick’s new puppy with him.

“Damian.” Dick sat up a little bit now, watched as Damian flinched at the seriousness of his tone. Put his hand on Haley’s back to ground him. To emotionally support him. And Haley was already good at this, she just nuzzled closer to his stomach. “What happened wasn’t your fault.”

Damian bowed his head. “Yes it was.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Dick pushed. “What happened to Alfred wasn’t your fault. What happened to me, I – you weren’t even there.”

“I should have been.” Damian whispered. “I would have seen the gunman. I would have pushed you out of the way.”

“Yeah, sure. Then the bullet would have hit you and you would have died.” Dick tried not to sound angry, but he wasn’t sure how good of a job he did. “Would that have really been the better option?”

It was a rhetorical question, but stubbornly, Damian answered it anyway. “Yes. It should always be me over you. Always.” Damian looked up, but not at Dick. Kept his gaze forward, out the nearby window. “The world needs Dick Grayson. It does not need me.”

“Don’t-” Dick was lashing out before he realized it, grabbing Damian’s elbow and squeezing. He felt Damian tense under his grip. “Don’t you dare say that again. Not ever.”

Damian looked over, eyes half-lidded and dull. “Why?” He countered, the royalness in his voice not mimicked by his tired features. “It’s the truth.”

“It’s not-”

“I killed Alfred, I do nothing but hurt and torture and agonize everyone around me so yes, it’s exactly as I would deserve.” Damian spit. “If saving you or anyone else happens in the process, than at least you simpletons can convince yourselves that I did not die in vain.”

“It’s not…you can’t…I can’t…”

I can’t lose you again.

Dick didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to think.

So he didn’t.

Instead, he did what he always did. He didn’t think – he acted.

He used the grip he had on Damian’s elbow to pull him into his chest, engulf him in his arms. Haley grumbled at the movement, but Dick ignored her, holding Damian’s head against his throat, burying his nose in Damian’s hair.

“Oh, Damian…” He lamented. Then quieter, to himself, to the universe, to the very air around them. “What happened while I was gone?”

“…Everything fell apart.” Damian breathed softly. Painfully. He didn’t return the embrace, kept his hands firmly on Haley’s flank, but he did slump into the hold, lean his head exhaustedly on Dick’s shoulder. “Everything…I…I don’t know who I am anymore. What I’m supposed to do. Who I’m supposed to be.”

“You’re supposed to be Damian. You’re supposed to be my little brother.” Dick whispered. “That’s it. That’s it.”

Damian shook his head. “It was through Father’s methods I got Alfred killed. He never acts, always reacts and that’s…that’s not working. That gets innocent people in the line of fire.” A small gasp. “But I can’t…I don’t want to…”

A whimper. A whimper from the great Damian Wayne.

“I don’t want to hurt people. I don’t want to kill anyone. Not…not anymore.” A watery exhale. “I don’t want to be what my mother wants me to be.”

“Neither do I.” Dick answered honestly. “But I don’t want you to be Bruce either. I don’t want you to be anyone but you.”

“But who is that?” Damian shifted to look up at him, so Dick reluctantly leaned back. He didn’t release his child, though. “What good am I if I can’t make at least one of my parents proud? If I can’t help anyone who needs it?” He shook his head, closed his eyes. “Grayson, I’m useless.”

“You’re not. You’re not useless, you’re not what your parents dream.” He leaned forward, pressed his forehead to Damian’s. Damian opened his eyes and stared cautiously up at him. “You’re you, and I love that. I love you, just because you exist.”

Haley whined a little between them, and Dick felt her nosing at the arm he had tight around Damian’s back.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry no one helped you when you needed it. I’m sorry you felt so alone.” He whispered. “But I’m here now. I’m back, and I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you, no matter what.”

“I don’t think you get to decide when you get amnesia again.” Damian drawled bitterly.

Dick snorted a laugh. “Well then I’ll tell you right here and now, okay? If I’m ever unable to say it, for whatever reason. Know that I love you. I have always loved you and I will always love you. No matter what. Don’t ever forget it. Even if for some reason outside of my control I do.”

Damian didn’t respond, but he silently nodded. Leaned a little more weight into Dick.

“…You know, you avoided my question.” Dick sniffed his own tears back, gently running his fingers along Damian’s spine. The boy melted into his touch. “How have you been?”

“…Tired.” Damian admitted softly. “I’m so tired, Grayson.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have extra blankets, and a really big mattress.” Dick laughed. “Humour me, and stay a few days?”

“I…have places to go…” Damian tried. He even tried to pull back, out of Dick’s arms. Dick refused to let him. “A case I’m working…”

“A case more important than Haley’s health?” Dick asked. Damian sighed.

“I knew from the moment you called that it was a ruse to get me to show up here.” Damian hummed thoughtfully. Remorsefully. “Until I heard her bark, I assumed there wasn’t actually a dog here at all.”

“I mean, it was, but also not really. I want to give her the best life I can, and you’re the greatest expert on dog care I know.” Dick shrugged. “And…I’ve never had a special needs dog.”

Damian seemed to consider, then exhaled again. “The longer I’m here the more likely Father will find me. And I…” A hesitation. “I don’t…want to see him. Right now.”

“If you don’t want Bruce to find you, I won’t let him find you. Simple as that.” Dick promised. “Want to make a bet on it? Stay a week, and if he doesn’t find out you’re here, you have to stay another two months at least. If he does, I’ll go with you wherever you want to go, even if it’s back to where you mom is, and only marginally complain about it.”

Damian stared up at him. His eyes were still dull, still tired, but there was a spark there. Just a little one. Just a tiny bit of hope.

“…You’re ridiculous.” Damian chuckled. “And I’m starting to think this was more than just a plot to get me to show up.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” Damian nodded, looking down at Haley. She didn’t open her eyes, but she did let her tail happily wag. “It’s feeling more and more like a kidnapping of me, and not necessarily of this sweet girl like I said earlier.”

“Well, what can I say?” Dick asked weakly, extending his legs until they surrounded Damian’s, and locking his ankles together. Now he had dog and child right where he wanted them – in his arms and under his protection. “I wasn’t lying. I really did miss you, kiddo. So damn much.”

Haley yawned, stretching her front leg out until it touched Dick’s knee. “…I missed you too, Grayson.”

Dick smiled, and leaned forward to plant a long kiss on Damian’s temple. “I love you, Damian.”

Damian smiled down at Haley, ran his hand over her head. “…I love you as well, Richard.”

“…Enough to stay for a few days?” Dick tried, leaning his chin on Damian’s shoulder. “Or, like, forever?”

Damian laughed – genuine, loud laugh – and flopped back against Dick’s chest. In exhaustion. In relief. Dick didn’t care. Just held his boy as tight as he could.

“I suppose I can consider it.”

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 282: Aizawa Defeeted

Previously on BnHA: Oh my god do we even care about that at this point. Tomura made a speech; Gran Torino died; Deku lost his shit and tried to strangle Tomura to death with his bare hands; Ryuukyuu came back from Wherever She Was and tried to grab Tomura but he punched a hole through her giant hand; and now he’s grabbing his Quirk-Be-Gone bullets and is ready to cause some mayhem okay?? That about sum it up?? Is anyone even reading this?? CAN WE JUST GET ON WITH IT I’VE WAITED AN ENTIRE WEEK.

Today on BnHA: Well I guess let’s start with what doesn’t happen: Bakugou doesn’t lose his quirk. HE LUCKED OUT!!... for now, anyways. Because, thanks to a near-impossible-to-predict series of events (seriously, raise your hands if you had “Aizawa gets shot but goes full World War Z on his own ass” on your bingo card), Tomura has seemingly regained his regeneration powers, which means that his other quirks are probably back online as well! So we’ll see how that all goes. Anyway so in the meantime Shouto’s back, looking very mad that everyone temporarily forgot he was a main character. And Gigantomachia is back as well! Or almost, anyway. Also, you’ll never guess who broke another one of his arms! Go on, guess. But at least he still has the arm, though, which is more than we can say for certain other people’s limbs. Poor Aizawa is literally on his last leg. He and Tomura really got off on the wrong foot. He chopped his leg off, is what I’m saying. It’s that kind of chapter folks.

you guys I’m losing my whole fucking mind. I straight up deleted the tumblr app off my phone for 24 hours so that I wouldn’t be tempted to log in and risk potentially being spoiled. and I’m happy to say that it worked! so here we are now, completely spoiler free, and let me just say that if Horikoshi decides to cut back to Gunga Mountain now, I will either cry for hours or abandon the series forever and go do something more productive with the rest of my quarantine like learning how to play sad songs on the guitar

all right. here goes

so we’re opening with Deku, who is currently comprised of 100% rage and 0% mercy, and is doing that thing where only the whites of his eyes are visible. and basically he’s just thinking “I’VE REALLY GOT TO HOLD ON TO THIS GUY AND MAKE SURE HE DOESN’T DO ANYTHING ELSE HOMICIDAL.” which is a solid game plan, but perhaps not so easily accomplished

-- oh my god this poor kid is still in denial, I can’t. why are you doing this

is there even still a Gran Torino to tend to at this point? after Tomura bulldozed a hole through his torso, and you went and finished the job with your own fucking attack? sob

but I guess the law of Tragic Shounen Mentor Deaths mandates that Gran’s should be at least as drawn-out as Nighteye’s was, though. so he’s probably only Mostly Dead, which is still Slightly Alive if I remember my Princess Bride correctly, and I think I do

so now the rest of these stooges are finally catching up with us here

yes, my friends. a bullet. WELCOME TO MY LIFE FOR THE PAST FUCKING WEEK. anyways I have a LOT of pent-up energy here just fyi. there may be a lot of unnecessary screaming in this recap

FUCKING WYOMING SMASH Y’ALLSSSS

I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT JUST HAPPENED SOB. DID HE JUST HAMMER FIST TOMURA’S HEAD INTO THE GROUND. DID HE SNAP HIS FUCKING NECK AT 100%. IN AN IDEAL WORLD HE WOULD HAVE JUST CHOPPED TOMURA’S ARMS OFF WHILE SOMEHOW MANAGING TO AVOID BREAKING ANY OF HIS OWN BONES IN THE PROCESS, BUT I HAVE A FEELING THIS SITUATION WILL NOT BE RESOLVED IN ANY KIND OF MANNER ONE WOULD CONSIDER “IDEAL”

(ETA: fun fact: this attack did absolutely nothing except make things approximately 100x worse. but you tried Deku. you tried.)

THE FUCK KIND OF PORTENTOUS BULLSHITTING TITLE IS THIS. OH MY GOD, I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT EMOTION I’M HAVING RIGHT NOW, IT’S JUST A LOT OF LOUD THOUGHTS

anyway so if you’re just joining us, Tomura just pulled two bullets out of his pocket, the good guys finally noticed, and then Deku did a smash and everything exploded. the radius of this attack actually looks wide enough to have potentially involved Aizawa, who probably does NOT want to get any debris in his eyes right now, and also Gran, who probably doesn’t particularly want to be hit by another deadly attack for the third time in the past ninety seconds. anyway so I guess what I’m trying to say here is WHAT WAS THE POINT OF THAT YOU LITTLE GREEN LUNATIC

AHHHHHH

he got the one!! the one that was in Tomura’s right hand!! but what about the one in his left ahhhhhhh

(ETA: lmao at Kacchan being the one to blow up the same bullet I was so sure he was going to be shot with. saw the writing on the wall, huh kid? what do we say to the god of foreshadowing?? ‘NOT TODAY.’ ...except that we’re still not actually out of the woods yet so you still better watch yourself lol.)

...

based on the font here, these are Tomura’s thoughts. which he is thinking immediately after getting the lower half of his jaw very painfully cronched by the VERY homicidal sixteen-year-old still clinging to him. anyway so Tomura’s thought processes are as inscrutable to me as ever lulz

and Deku’s arm looks broken again, yaaaaay. but at least it’s his left arm and not his right! so that’s nice. now they can match

[SHRIEKS]

HE YEETED IT. IT HAS BEEN YEETEDED. HE DID A YEET. [sobbing] he DiD a YeEt oH my GOD

DID IT HIT SOMETHING!?!?!?

my reading process here is as follows: 1) scroll down exactly one panel. 2) scream even though absolutely nothing has happened yet. 3) WRITE THAT DOWN 4) REPEAT

DKSFJLKHSDLGKHLI

DID IT HIT HIM!?!? DID IT GET HIM IN THE LEG SOB ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS. JUST LIKE THAT?? BOOM GUN BULLET LEG!!?

YOU GUYS IT REALLY HIT AIZAWA AND NO ONE DID A GODDAMN THING?? it wasn’t even drawn out or anything??? it just HAPPENED, within like four pages??? NO SLOW MO?? NOT EVEN A REACTION PANEL WHAT THE FUCK

son of a bitch I would so dearly like to grab Manual and RockLockRock’s heads right now and just conk them together real hard. YOU STUPID FUCKS sob YOU HAD ONE JOB!!! IT REALLY WAS JUST ONE!! AND YOU WERE SHARING IT!! SO IT’S MORE LIKE HALF A JOB!! AND YOU STILL COCKED IT UP IN ABSOLUTELY NO TIME AT ALL OH MY GOD

(ETA: they should blow this panel up and make it into a t-shirt and make Manual and RLR wear the shirts every day for the rest of their lives. half a job, you guys. please go away I cannot even look at you right now.)

FUCK MY EVERYTHING

(ETA: I still can’t figure out if this horrific angle is due to the earlier damage from the Noumu, or if Tomura really just flung the bullet THAT hard. honestly I’m surprised it didn’t just slice right through him with that kind of velocity. “no thanks because then I wouldn’t get to write a scene where he chops his own leg off” oh okay well when you put it that way, Horikoshi.)

if I recall correctly this is the leg that he said was “twisted”, no? yeesh. might just want to chop it off real quick, then. s’not like it’s doing you any more good. does anyone know if zombie rules apply or not with this sort of thing?? shit

?!?!

“THANKS”?? okay what. did it hit him or not??

-- oh my god WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. WAIT

I WAS -- I WAS JOKING I -- FFFFFFFFKJK

jesus fucking christ. when I said “might just want to chop it off real quick” literally FOUR PARAGRAPHS AGO, I can tell you that the one thing I did NOT expect was for Aizawa to be all, “you know what, that’s a good idea”, and then YOINK OUT HIS TRUSTY HERO SHANK AND GO FULL 127 HOURS ON THIS BITCH. "LALALA WE’RE GONNA DO IT RATIONALLY TEEHEE” like excuse me, the fuck

anyways. I don’t even know what to say. thank you Aizawa’s leg for your sacrifice, and for always supporting him. literally. oh my god I came here ready for my son to enter a new phase of character development, and for the manga as a whole to enter a new phase of glorious, glorious angst. no one told me I’d be sitting here making puns instead. what a fine, confusing day

anyway though let’s just fucking hope it worked. and side note, if Aizawa Shouta really did chop off his own fucking leg just now and somehow STILL managed not to fucking blink, I think we might as well just go ahead and hand him the Biggest Badass In The Series award right now because no one is ever going to top that. nope. not happening

it is truly a testament to Shigaraki Tomura’s unfathomably mysterious sexy villain energy that he still somehow manages to look hot with only half a face

also no one in this manga actually feels pain, do they. not Deku, not Aizawa, not Tomura, no one. no wonder none of them have any self-preservation instincts to speak of

um

did someone just randomly explode just now. at this point it might as well happen, right

oh it’s the shockwave from Deku’s Wyoming attack, apparently. how nice of it to have a delayed reaction for absolutely no reason

anyway so Deku’s being flung back, but he’s grabbing onto Tomura again with Blackwhip. but oh shit you guys, if Tomura escapes Deku and Ryuukyuu’s clutches and still has any bullets left in his pocket, we may still be able to salvage this Bakugou quirk situation after all. would be nice to be able to actually do something with all of these “happy quirk losing day” balloons that I ordered

(ETA: actually, believe it or not I honestly like this better. Tomura using AFO was always the more dramatic option anyway. and now that we’ve done the bullet thing everyone has presumably let their guard down again, which, good.)

I love how Tomura apparently hasn’t noticed that Aizawa’s just amputated his own leg? to be fair he’s probably distracted by all the explosions and such

also gotta love how Deku’s arm-breaking attack seemingly just made everything worse for no reason. and also how Manual and RockLockRock are once again just standing there doing absolutely nothing

SO NOW GUESS WHAT’S HAPPENING

I MEAN IT! GUESS. BECAUSE YOUR GUESS IS AS GOOD AS MINE LOL

OH WELL OKAY THEN

just like we all saw coming!! ...

so is this Endeavor’s attack?? Bakugou’s?? either way, hot damn. fortunately for Tomura he is apparently operating under the same guidelines as the U.S. Federal Reserve, in which mutilated bills may still be exchanged at face value if more than 50% of a note identifiable as United States currency is present. basically as long as roughly half of him is still vaguely Tomura-shaped I assume he’ll be fine

(ETA: in hindsight I should have immediately been able to identify this as a Shouto attack based solely on how murdery it was lol.)

OH MY GODDDD

KRANCH?!?

OH MY GOD LOL WHAT. LOL. REMEMBER EVERYONE’S THEORIES FROM LIKE TWENTY YEARS AGO LOL. SHOUTO WHAT THE FUCK. DID YOU STOP FOR DRIVE THRU

AND MEANWHILE DEKU’S BACK ON THE SCENE GIVING ARGUABLY EVEN LESS FUCKS THAN BEFORE, IF SUCH A THING IS EVEN POSSIBLE. SO FAR THIS CHAPTER HAS PRECISELY ZERO THINGS THAT I ACTUALLY EXPECTED IN IT, WHICH IS VERY IMPRESSIVE

IT ALSO HAS A LOT OF SMASHING

a LOT. of smashing, guys. feels like... 60% smashing, 20% severed legs, 20% Kranch

-- oh no oh SHIT oh shit oh shit

(ETA: um so I really can’t tell how far that wound extends and whether or not Aizawa still has his right eye, shit.)

first of all how did Deku get here next to Aizawa when he was just over there with Tomura, what. and second, I think Aizawa just blinked, oh shit. probably on the verge of passing out after CHOPPING HIS OWN LEG OFF which STILL hasn’t been acknowledged yet?? did I just completely misinterpret all of that back there or what

(ETA: there was seriously so little attention called to this that I scrolled back up to confirm it probably like half a dozen times. apparently Horikoshi thinks that THE MOST BADASS THING TO EVER HAPPEN IN THE MANGA should be completely downplayed. whereas if it were me, there’d be an entire two page spread of JUST THE LEG. WITH MUSIC PLAYING. EVEN THOUGH IT’S A MANGA.)

YEPPPPPPP. fuck

look at him though. he’s so happy. this is why I can’t stay mad at you no matter how deranged you get you little maniac

so is quirk-stealing back on the menu then or what. don’t think I’ve been lulled into any kind of false sense of security by any of this lol

-- ARE WE SERIOUSLY CUTTING AWAY

so Todoroki really went after them ALONE. the better to put his dad right back up at the top of the Lose Your Quirk Sweepstakes finalists. well... second-to-top, maybe. like I said I will not be lulled

yuh-oh

why do I feel like the odds of Gigantomachia arriving to herald the end of this chapter just shot up DRAMATICALLY

so the next page is almost entirely just a list of cities that the news anchor is telling people to evacuate because they’re in Machia’s path. along with a bunch of dead heroes lying around everywhere, and Ochako being all ominous

(: weren’t they, though? heh. this is going to be so, so bad (: (: (:

-- fuuuuuuuuuuu

aaaaaand that’s it. hahahaha. okay then let’s summarize

Bakugou defied all expectations and kept his quirk (FOR NOW)!

Aizawa cut his own fucking leg off and it WASN’T EVEN REMOTELY ACKNOWLEDGED FOR REASONS I CAN’T UNDERSTAND (R.I.P. AIZAWA’S PRECIOUS LEG. YOU ALWAYS PUT YOUR BEST FOOT FORWARD)

Kranch showed up after 157 years and is probably wondering why the heck I keep calling him “Kranch” now. THINGS CHANGE WHEN YOU’RE MIA FOR A WHILE MY LITTLE STARBUCKS CHRISTMAS CUP

Deku broke his arm for the 78th time

Tomura regenerated but seems to think Aizawa’s quirk is actually gone for good, which I’m pretty sure it’s not. so if they can keep him from destroying everything long enough for Aizawa to turn it back on again, we might possibly still survive this

and lastly, Machia is about to kill all of these stupid people frolicking around outside of this fitness club who are probably so proud of themselves for not being glued to their phones 24/7 because they prefer to LIVE LIFE IN THE MOMENT, THANK YOU VERY MUCH. well that’s on you my friends. at least it’ll be a quick death. ffff

[sideblogformindtrash]

SUMMER OF WHUMP - DAY 4 - ABANDONED

Mind the huge cw. Is mostly just discussing it, but still.

CW: Insinuated no-con; past-abuse; relieving past trauma; abandonment; very low self esteem; humiliation; accidental triggering; bait dog; whipping; starvation; shoved in luggage bag; bitten by mice; gross food; claustrophobia; burns; no-con drugging; no-con touching; mentioned amputation; pet whump; multiple whumpers; human trafficking; muzzle; starvation; neglect; manhandling; cruel/intimate/neglectful whumpers;

“H-hello and welcome to BB’s and Pastel’s show!” ...Pastel turned the octopus plush around as BB turned the camera on. It went from a pink, smiley octopus, to it’s frowning gray insides. Pastel pulled the blankets over his head, leaving only his eyes out “...I’ll be your host, BB, and this is my assistant, Mr.Tonsils!”

BB lifts Mr.Tonsils in front of the camera, waiving his little furry paws so he can say hello to their audience. They pick up the camera, and take it to the bed with Pastel, capturing his pretty pink-ish eyes. 

“C-come on Pastel! Say hi!”

Pastel shifts slightly under the blanket.

“I’m… Not a fan of cameras, BB'' his voice is just a whisper, as he twists the blanket. BB thinks he is kneeling “...I’ll just… be your audience today, okay?”

“O-oH! Sorry!” BB stepped away. That was right. Pastel didn’t have good memories about that. BB pointed it away, making sure only they and Mr.Tonsils were on frame. Pastel seemed to relax, even sitting back and lowering his blanket cocoon “...So, due to technical issues, Pastel won’t be joining us tonight. But that 's okay. BB and Mr.Tonsils are here to entertain you!”

BB smiled, making sure to show the missing little teeth. Just like Blue. Just like Blue… before, at least. 

“...Well, for tonight’s show me and Mr.Tonsils prepared a top 15 review!” BB wasn’t sure if it really classified as such. But it sure sounded nice “BB will be going over all of our old homes!”

They noticed as Pastel frowned, suddenly changing their expression, way more alert. BB only felt more excited. If Pastel was paying attention, it clearly meant the topic of the video was interesting! Audiences would love it! Even… Even if this was never going to be aired. BB could picture the audiences!

...With a deep breath, they braced themselves and started. They had prepared for this. They could do it.

“...BB’s begun it’s life like us all, in b-between white walls and tiled floors of the training grounds. They were worthless and ugly and dumb, BB’s smile never charmed anyone! It took a long time in the store before BB got home. It was and old lady that said BB was so ugly that it hurt, and dumb as a door, but worked well enough to, to scrub her floor” BB smiled, remembering the cozy attic, where they made their first friends, among piles of boxes that compiled their first owner’s life. Long nights they spent alone there, digging through piles of pictures, trying to piece together what a human life was like. Nonsense, it was, because it just filled BB’s head with a lot of silly thoughts.  They lifted Mr.Tonsils for the camera “...BB worked the day and spent the night locked away. In the house’s attic, BB made their first friends. They were Mr.Tonsils crowd, a family of mice, and BB befriended them all, even if they’d bite BB’s feet while it was trying to sleep! BB loved the house, their first owner, and e-every single mouse!”

BB hugged Mr.Tonsil, swinging him around. Pastel was biting his lip, pulling a thread out of the blanket. Good! He was enjoying the story! And BB felt like they were doing good, too. Better than they did at any of their homes.

“...First owner got tired of BB because the stupid Pet let her cat flee! All BB wanted to do was help and clean, but the cat saw their chance and ran away. First owner took BB to a store with a mean looking clerk. They agreed BB was ‘So ugly it fucking hurt’, hoping BB would only stay a few days and them someone would want them” BB rubbed their hand together. That didn’t count as an owner, did it? It was only temporary, in nature. Not that owners lasted very long “BB was at the store for almost a full month, during which they got to eat, sleep and there was no work. BB wanted to make friends with other pets in cages, but they never stayed for long, after all - good pets get good homes!”

...BB was still upset about the store. All of those Pets had looked so nice, so much better than they are… And they never tried to talk to BB. They were all scared they’d be beaten down if they tried, but never were. BB was the only worthless one, that got the punishments… for everyone!

“...BB was bought by creepy looking guy who stuffed BB inside a cage and on a plane and was flown away” BB gestured with their hand, copying the movements of a plane. They had to be on the chair, so it would look nice on video, but otherwise, they would have liked to run around with their arms opened “...Creepy man named BB Bait. They were a teaser for a larger, angrier Pet named Spike, who had on BB a nice punching bag who couldn’t put up a fight. They were nice to BB and even a friend, but scary and cruel when the Master decided they needed to beat them. So BB was Spike’s chew toy, but when they were nice… BB was always filled with joy!”

...They closed their eyes for a second. Those two lives were merged together. One of them had been so short, they could barely remember the second dog.

“...After Spike got tired, BB was sold again, to be another dog's punchbag. And he was the third friend BB had! He refused to hurt BB, would even cuddle them to sleep, and then I was severly punished… For making the Master's dog weak. It was the first time BB tasted a whip, and with dark bruises on its face, BB was sold again”

...They stood in that second store for a week. With no food, and no sleep. They were dirty, and cheap, not worthy of caring for.

“The next Master had BB as furniture for his house. All he did was snap his fingers and that was BB’s call. It would crawl and hold things very still and keep his glass fill, he would rest his feet over BB. If it got boring the cane was always on hand, he could crack in on BB’s back and get it all shades of purple and black. BB didn’t sleep there much at all, it had to stand still behind his bed, all night long holding a water jar upon a tray, in a perfect 90° degree, or there was always hell to pay” BB touched their arm, absentmindedly, a small scar on their elbow where bone had poke through “But BB was ugly furniture, bad and broke away, when Master tried to sit over its back one sad summer day. BB tumbled to the side, knocking Master to the floor. BB got a broken arm and was kicked out of the door!”

“...The next Master that took me in was cruel and harsh, with unusual punishments that left some scars: fingers pulled back until they snapped, weights to BB’s feet, heavy chains and painful strains and the worst - the oven’s flame” BB tilted their head. That Master, too, had scars. They didn’t know how she had gotten them, it was not it’s place to ask. They… They were happy to leave that one “...BB was then lost in a card game, and doesn’t remember much at all. Pills made BB sweet and kind and small. What BB doesn’t get is that they never needed pills - they would never disobey, even if put through awful, lingering pain, they’d love Master all the same.”

...Hazy. Foggy memories. Hands over them, and brushing their cheeks, and so much drool because they were never cohesive enough to form words or move. Blinking white lights, whispered little things that returned to them in dreams.

“...When BB was sober again, they found themselves in a shed, where they were always so alone. The Master was a mountain who only came at night to beat BB down. The days went by slowly, loneliness crushing down, it was dark and cold and hungry, and there were spiders all around“ BB stopped their speech for a moment. This next part was something… that still haunted them. They had done… awful, awful things. They covered Mr.Tonsils' ears. They were afraid of what he would think “...BB, on that shed, made things it would rather forget. Just like the Master forgot BB had to fed! BB might have eaten a few of Tonsil's friends, please don’t let him know, is just BB’s stomach hurt so much and it was the only thing that could stop the growl”

BB releases Mr.Tonsil’s ears, hearing a gasp from Pastel. They turn and smile, but his face is… Pale, horrified. BB shrugs. Pastel always worries faaaar too much. Next one… Made BB feel nostalgic.

“Next… Was the trucker! He liked BB a whole lot, and let BB on the bed and the passenger’s seat! He and BB traveled a lot, seeing magic and beautiful places. BB spoke on the radio, and… And… Had a name! Was called Oreos...” They messed up their rhymes. This… This wasn’t how it was supposed to go “...BB was… Was happy then. His spouse didn’t like me, and… And behind his back, gave me away”

BB’s nails sunk on their arms, as they hug themselves. They… missed those days. It was good, good nostalgia, but what followed made them sick. They had just learned how big and beautiful the world was…

“Next Master… Stuffed BB into a bag, small and stinky with heavy leather smell, with no room to move at all, so much BB’s limbs collapsed when it was finally left out. It travelled around so much, but BB never got to see outside. It was let out during the night to be with Master, and shoved back on the bag once he was satisfied” BB shook their head, as if that would send the memories away. They hated it, hated that bag so, so much. Terrible, suffocating and endlessly boring and aching. And worse… that’s when they lost their name Oreos. They had loved that life. They truly had. “It didn’t matter much, BB was soon thrown away again. Unlovable and worthless, no one could stand BB for much longer either way. BB was sold and sold, always on their way. Next Master was confusing – gave BB many orders and functions, then beat BB down for following the instructions! They likes to trick BB, make plenty of cruel jokes, BB was just a dumb dog, one they only named Mutt!”

...They smiled then. The next one was also nice. His name was Wolfgang, but he was not a wolf. Not that BB could remember.

“And BB’s following owner sold stuff door to door! Saw BB – or Mutt then – and thought they were good charms! BB helped with the sales, being all cute and sweet, and Master was happy at first, but eventually… Sold me!”

And the next Master was…

BB shivered. This one… Hurt a lot. A whole fucking lot. It had been one of the longest lasting homes they had. It had changed the way they saw and thought of themselves forever. It was where they became BB. Bootleg Blue. Fake, useless, worthless.

“…Next was Owner Alvin, who BB loved so, so, so much. He said he would always care for BB… if BB could be someone else. BB had never ever been loved, and the feeling was so gentle and sweet! BB finally understood why no one else had loved it, and what it needed to do so that it would. Blue, a pet who had videos and fame, who had scars BB didn’t have… But I wanted to gain! BB left their teeth rot, BB scarred their own face, Master got angry – Bad BB, bad…” No, no, no. They couldn’t start to lament now. Not when they had gone so far on the video, already, and trough some of the hardest part “Alvin gave BB a room with a  plain white dresser, four pairs of clothes and double of socks! BB knew them all by heart and cherished them, BB loved Alvin, loved him, loved him so, so, so much. 

But …Alvin wanted BB to be Blue, but wouldn’t tolerate it when BB got the knife and tried to make the change. BB watched the videos on repeat, hundreds, thousands of hours on end, BB could cite them by head!

But BB wasn’t Blue, and can never be. BB is unworthy, and no one could love me. BB was shoved in a car and Owner broke his promise – he decided not to keep me, he, he, h-he… He, he…”

BB closes their eyes, bites back a sob. They are almost done now, and even if they completely messed up the last part…. they can push through! They can still make a nice video… Maybe the audience will like that they can be a little emotive?

“...Shoved BB in a car, drove them to a dead end. Left them alone on the streets to fend for themselves. BB stayed there alone and scared and sad, hoping someone would come… Or that somehow, their pain would end. And then Paul and Reina appeared, finding the ugly pet on the streets. Reina said BB did look like Blue! So she wanted, she wanted BB too!” BB smiled a little. Reina was pretty. She gave me good headpats… But BB didn’t miss them a lot. Paul wasn’t so nice “Paul knew BB was worthless, but Reina still wanted BB. BB was taken to their house and for a short span of time, BB was pampered, happy and loved, an illusion that didn’t last. They figured BB was fun to hurt and start to get their way – not that BB cared, loved them all the same”

They turned around for a second, smiling at Pastel. This was something they’d truly love to talk about, for once.

“But the best part was that BB made a friend when living at their place. Pastel was his name! Pastel held BB and told me it would be okay. BB didn’t have to be Blue – they loved me either way. Pastel took punishment and tried to keep Master’s away. BB cuddled them to sleep and they loved each other! They did!” 

BB smiled at this, hugging the plush. One drop of joy, as small as it had been. One that wasn’t stripped away. But the show hadn’t ended.

“…Alas we got back to IF. IF my desired owner, the true maker of Blue, the one who could make BB worthy of love… If he had wanted to. He shoved BB in a cage and tortured Pastel instead, and it was so, so awfully cruel!” BB shook their head, lamenting “But last and not least, Master Fairyman appeared! He took BB and Pastel to live with him! And he has been so nice so far, giving BB colored books! Lovely, nice and nice! And Pastel Is with me too, BB don’t know how long it will last, but BB is so, so to be here with you!”

BB finished, looking back at Pastel and drawing a heart in the air with their fingers. Pastel… is tearing up. He jumps from the bed, not minding the camera anymore, and hugs BB. BB melts, leaning onto the hug. Soft. Kind. Loved. 

“BB…” He finally speaks, still not letting them go  “Did… Did you rehearse this?”

“Many times in BB’s head!” BB smiled. Many, many, many times, all those years… “Did it come out nice?”

“Yeah…” Pastel rested his head on BB’s shoulder, hugging them tight “I love you, you know?”

BB smiled.

“I know”

tagging: @summer-of-whump@pinkraindropsfell

[brutal-nemesis]

E&T: The Armputation

Yeah. Yeah it’s time bitches :) you read it right we’re chopping that shit off

←Previous - Masterlist - Next→

Ingredients: amputation (omg wow), noncon surgery/body mod, body horror, slight gore

Erebus had sensed something was off when Neteri failed to bring him dinner one night, and when the guards appeared at his door the next morning instead of her, he knew what it meant.

It was time for another procedure.

He understood why she didn’t tell him it was coming, but having hardly any time to process that something was going to be drastically different about his body within the next hour wasn’t the best feeling. Before he knew it, he was on the table again, this time with his shirt off, that silly little rat drawing on the ceiling staring down at his restrained form. Maybe he should give it a name? That was something to focus on, and it’s not like he could see what Neteri was up to at her workbench with his head strapped down. After debating a bit, he settled on Zander, after a big black dog he’d played with sometimes as a kid. He missed seeing dogs. And cats. And birds and the sky and trees and flowers-

“Morning, Erebus!” Neteri seemed far too chipper for someone who was about to…do whatever she was going to do. “How are you feeling?”

“Not...great. Because I’m here. I don’t want to be here.” Even though I deserve to be.

“Yeah that’s expected. But nothing out of the ordinary?”

“Do I get out of this if I say yes?” She laughed and stroked his face.

“You’re fine.” He felt himself grow more and more nervous with anticipation as she rubbed something cold all over his right shoulder. Right there, she was going to cut him open and, and...what was she getting from her workbench? When she came back into view and he saw what she had, he felt his stomach drop. The knife she was holding was the most horrific looking instrument he’d ever seen. It was large and curved, and the fact that she was going to use it on him made it that much worse. 

“What,” he gulped, “what are you going to do to me?”

“Well...do you promise not to freak out?”

“Uh...no. You do realize that makes me more worried, right?”

“Oh, yeah I guess so. It’ll probably be better that you know the full plan beforehand anyway. So,” she put down the knife and clasped her hands, “I’m going to be replacing your arm.”

“Replacing my...with what, exactly?” 

“Another arm, of course. This one, to be exact.” She motioned to a box on the counter. “It’s from a lust demon.”

“Wait, you’re going to cut off my arm?!” Neteri nodded matter-of-factly as Erebus’s heart rate skyrocketed. He didn’t deserve that...did he?!

“I thought that was implied in the ‘replacing’ part, but yeah. Off with your right arm, on with this one.”

“You can’t just do that! That’s-you can’t just amputate my arm!”

“See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d freak out.”

“Of-of course I’m freaking out! You want to cut off one of my limbs, for Drottkia’s sake!”

“I mean, yeah, but I’m going to give you a new one right away. So at the end of the day you’ll have the same number of arms you started with. It’s honestly not worth getting that worked up about.”

“Yes it is! You’re going to just-just attach someone else’s arm to my body! What in the world makes you think that’s not-” his voice cracked, and he realized there were tears streaming from his eyes. He didn’t want this, he was so, so afraid, and no matter how much he struggled and pleaded it was inevitable. 

“Shh, shh. That’s enough now, you’ll be alright,” Neteri said as she wiped away his tears. He hated the way she comforted him, as if she wasn’t the source of all his problems. She reached for something out of his line of sight, and he didn’t manage to get a good look before she shoved it in his mouth. It was just a wad of cloth, but it silenced all of his further protests. He struggled uselessly against the tight leather straps, but he could hardly move at all. There was nothing he could do as she picked up the knife again. There was nothing he could do as he felt the cold blade touch his skin. 

There was nothing he could do but wiggle the fingers of his right hand one last time while he still could. 

The knife sliced through the flesh of his arm in one swift stroke, pain exploding out from it so quickly that Erebus could hardly register it. He barely had time to scream before he felt her place another tool on the wreck of his arm. And when it started moving, he knew exactly what it was. That was a saw, that was a saw, she was sawing through his bone, the vibrations shaking him to the very core. All of a sudden, there was a quiet thud and the sawing stopped, causing a suffocating panic to descend over Erebus, threatening to crush him.

It was gone it was gone his arm was gone the arm he’d used to write and eat and draw and plant flowers and hug his mother one last time and hold his father’s hand as he died was gone and the horrific new one couldn’t replace that, not at all, not at all, but it was too late because it was gone. He heard her pick it up and take it away, leaving a gaping hole next to him on the table, a space that had always been filled before by his arm, but his arm was gone and there was nothing there, nothing at all.

But when he felt her set something else down in that empty space, and his stomach twisted. It was the arm, the one that wasn’t his, the one that was going to be attached to his body, that was going to be his. After fiddling with it a bit, she pressed it up against the stump, the cold demon flesh meeting that of a warm human. She started to stitch them together, and Erebus couldn’t help but whine at both the sting of the needle and the horror of what was happening to him. But once the stitching stopped, the healing magic started, and that was far, far more painful.

Erebus screamed into the gag as he was assaulted by waves of relentless agony, ebbing and flowing as each nerve and blood vessel was joined together. It felt like every pain sensor in the arm was lighting up all at once as the connections were forged, every imaginable anguish being played out in a single moment. And when the bones started to fuse, oh he could hardly breathe, it was like fiery splinters were stabbing up into his shoulder, as many pinpricks of agony as there were stars in the sky, and there was nothing, nothing in the world besides that stabbing pain and the hum of screams in his throat. But all at once, the intensity of the pain evaporated as Neteri’s magic ceased flowing. 

Erebus cautiously opened his eyes, looking at Zander the rat for a moment before turning his gaze to Neteri as much as the strap over his forehead would allow. He was shocked to see that she was clutching the edge of the table for support, breathing heavy as blood dripped steadily from her nose and ears. With a shaking hand, she pulled the gag from his mouth, her unfocused eyes meeting his tear-filled ones.

“Are you...okay?” she gasped between breaths. Erebus paused. He was absolutely, positively, nowhere near okay, but he knew what sort of answer she wanted.

“I’m...it still hurts, but not as much as before you, uh, started...connecting it.” Erebus replied, his voice painfully raspy from screaming. 

“Can you...can you move your fingers?” He hesitantly complied, and was relieved to feel the unfamiliar digits wiggling, even if it felt a little off. She nodded, looking between his hand and the place where she’d attached the arm. “Okay. Hang in there just a bit more.” She took a deep breath and placed her hands on the wound again. Her magic sparked to life, and Erebus could see it was hurting her, too, before he was consumed by his own pain. But it wasn’t long before the magic sputtered out again. Neteri nearly collapsed on top of him, catching herself at the last moment.

“I think...it’ll be good...good enough for now. I’m sure it’s not perfect...I promise I’ll fix it later but I...I need to stop or I’ll...” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m sorry if...hurts...I know that...really painful...and you shouldn’t...more than necessary.” Opening her eyes, she pulled something out of her pocket before moving out of view. A few seconds later, the pair of guards from before came into the lab, shock flashing on their faces for a moment as they took in the bloodstained scene before them. Neteri came around the table, clutching something small and blue in one of her fists, seemingly a little more steady on her feet. She stood between Erebus and the guards, looking one of them dead in the eye.

“Take him back and give him something to take care of the attachment site, but I don’t want anyone else touching him, is that clear?” She jabbed a finger up at his face, her other hand clutching Erebus’s left arm tightly, either for support or out of possessiveness. “He is mine, and he can care for himself until I’m better.” She turned to the other guard. “I’ll probably need your help with a few things…”

Erebus let the guard take him back without a fuss after he was freed from the table. Trying to escape in this condition would just be dumb, and it’s not like there was much point in running with that spell on the brand. He was left alone in the cell with a roll of bandages and something to help fight off infection. But before he took care of the new wound, Erebus needed to wash off the blood that practically coated the right side of his body. There was so much of it on the arm...no, it was his right arm, that the skin looked completely red. 

But as the blood was washed away by the little rainstorm, Erebus realized that that really was its color. Honestly, with the bright red skin, pitch black nails, and the prominent stitches attaching it to his body, the arm made him look like some sort of...monster which is what he was inside, wasn’t he? He watched in horrified fascination as the limb he didn’t recognize as his own moved as he wanted it to. Well, for the most part. It was sort of shaky, and he couldn’t make a fist or straighten it out all the way, but that was hopefully something Neteri could fix...

And despite everything, a small part of him couldn’t help but hope that, for her sake, Neteri was okay.

Next→

Tags: @dramaticcollapse @thehopelessopus @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @galaxywhump @as-a-matter-of-whump @mnmlover2002 @tears-and-lilies @yet-another-heathen @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @starnight-whump​ @unicornscotty

[robininthelabyrinth]

Thanks for opening prompts back up! I look forward to seeing what new ideas will come up. Prompt 1/2: The young archer shidi succeeds in killing Wen Zhuliu during the battle of Lotus Pier

They beat Jiang Cheng all the harder for it, when they catch him.

Wang Lingjiao said that he’d been the one to block her blow, the one that would have killed the little boy who shot Wen Zhuliu, and was therefore to blame for his death; Jiang Cheng had no idea if that was true or not, or if they were just making excuses.

Why they felt that they still needed to make excuses when they had all the power, he didn’t know.

Wen Chao kicked him, face twisting in disgust. “I was going to have Wen Zhuliu melt his core,” he complained, voice aggravated as if Wen Zhuliu dying had been done intentionally to inconvenience him. “Then we could have kept him as a pet.”

Jiang Cheng would rather die, at his own hand if necessary, than face that fate.

“Oh, well,” Wen Chao said, and reached for the discipline whip. “There’s more than one way to make a man useless.”

By the time Wei Wuxian came for him, Jiang Cheng was more dead than alive.

“You should go without me,” he whispered.

“Never,” Wei Wuxian swore, and took him away anyway.

Wen Qing didn’t have an especially promising expression on her face when she looked at him, and so he tried not to look at her. He had had thoughts about her once, maybe even coalescing towards vague intentions, but no one could be expected to take him as he currently was: little more than a few scraps of meat held together by ruptured and bloody flesh.

“You can help him, right?” Wei Wuxian asked her when he thought Jiang Cheng was unconscious.

“I don’t even know how he’s still alive,” she said frankly. “Even if he makes it through this, you’re looking at a recovery period measured in years, not months.”

“We don’t have years! The Jiang sect –”

“This isn’t something I can fix,” she said. “I can give him medicine to ease the pain, I can stitch him up to stop the bleeding, I can apply bandages to stop any further damage, I can prescribe a treatment regime that will hopefully leave him with some ability to move – but he’ll probably be in pain for the rest of his life.”

She stopped, licked her lips. “Or, if you think it better, I can – I can prescribe something stronger.”

Wei Wuxian’s voice rose up in protest, but then she dragged him away from Jiang Cheng’s door, and he didn’t hear what they decided.

The next day, she gave Jiang Cheng medicine. He drank it all down, finished even the dregs, and said, “Was that the one for death, or merely for pain?”

Their expressions were both stricken.

“Pain, then,” he concluded. He wasn’t sure if he was happy about that decision - he mostly just felt empty inside, even though he had a golden core to keep him warm. What use was a golden core if you couldn’t use your arms and legs? Wen Chao had laughed as he’d lashed him, aimed specifically at the connections between his limbs - a pet didn’t need those. “We need to make our way to the Nie sect.”

“The Nie sect? Why?”

“They’re the only ones I trust not to turn me in to the Wen sect,” Jiang Cheng said, and didn’t look at Wen Qing when he spoke. “They wouldn’t make their lives easier by giving me up, no matter what the Wen sect said. As for the rest - the rest will depend on you, Wei Wuxian.”

“On…me?”

Jiang Cheng nodded. He’d thought it over the night before and decided: if they sent him to his death, the responsibility for the future would fall on their shoulders; if they let him live, he would tell them what had to be done. “You’re going to lie to everyone.”

“What? Lie -” 

“Tell them that I’m off on sect business or something,” Jiang Cheng continued, refusing to let Wei Wuxian interrupt. “Recruit them in the name of revitalizing the Jiang sect on my behalf, and only later do we reveal that I’ve become a useless person and you’re the actual sect leader.”

“I’m not going to be –”

“Father would have wanted it to be you if I were dead,” Jiang Cheng said brutally, cutting him off. “And even if I wasn’t, he might have still wanted it – you understand the Jiang sect motto better than me, remember?”

“I don’t want your birthright, Jiang Cheng! I never have –”

“What use is a birthright I can’t claim? The sect will have to be in your hands. You have to put it first, Wei Wuxian – above personal feelings, above revenge, above even righteousness. Chifeng-zun sat across the table from his father’s murderer for ten years, waiting for this war; you just have to fight it.”

“But I can’t do it without you,” Wei Wuxian said, and his eyes were wet. “Jiang Cheng…”

“What other choice do we have? I can’t do anything. I don’t doubt Mistress Wen’s words that the prospects aren’t good that I’ll ever be able to do anything again. Not cultivate, not fight…nothing.”

There was a cough at the door.

Wen Ning was standing there with some bowls of soup, his shoulders up by his ears. “About that,” he said hesitantly. “I had an idea the other day…I don’t know if it’d work.”

“What is it?” Wei Wuxian asked at once, always eager to believe in the impossible.

“It was one of jiejie’s earlier medical texts,” Wen Ning explained. “The one about prosthetics, and paralyzed limbs…”

“That was purely theoretical,” Wen Qing interrupted. They looked at her and she flushed. “My idea was that since we know the pattern of the body’s meridians, there was no need to amputate a paralyzed limb in order to replace it with a prosthetic, but rather build up a prosthetic around the limb as it existed: sort of like a metal frame that you could manipulate with your qi, the way people manipulate swords. But it wasn’t practical. Even if you could find someone skilled in smiting spiritual weapons willing to waste their time building the metal frame, there’s no way to infuse the necessary amount of spiritual energy into it without cultivating with it - and the ones that need it won’t be able to.”

“But what if you tied it to something that was already a spiritual weapon?” Wen Ning said.

“Are you suggesting melting down my sword?” Jiang Cheng demanded, horrified.

Wen Ning quickly shook his head. “Not melting down anything at all,” he assured him. “But rather…jiejie, didn’t you say that the important part of cultivating the metal frame was to send energy throughout it?”

“Yes,” she said, looking puzzled. “But how…?”

Wen Ning pointed at Jiang Cheng’s hand, where Zidian still sat – the Wen clan hadn’t been able to get it off of him despite their best efforts, and at the time of his rescue Wen Chao hadn’t yet decided if he was willing to commit to just chopping the entire hand off at the wrist.

Wen Qing’s eyes widened. “Impossible,” she said, but there was a quiver in her voice.

“It’s not impossible, is it?” Wei Wuxian said, voice eager, and for a second Jiang Cheng felt himself start to fill with hope. “It can be done! Metal conducts lightning - Zidian recognizes Jiang Cheng as its master. We could spread Zidian’s spiritual energy through its lightning –”

“But that’s the problem!” she said. “Yes, metal transmits lightning, and yes, in theory, it would work to spread the spiritual energy throughout the metal frame and therefore permit Zidian’s master to control his movements with his qi rather than his body. But it’s lightning, sparking over every nerve – it would be agonizing. His body is already a wreck, you can’t ask him to -”

“No one is asking anything,” Jiang Cheng said, and now he was afire with hope. If it was just pain...well, there wouldn’t be anything just about it, but he would manage. He would have to manage. “If it can be done, let us do it. Will you come with us to Qinghe to help us design it?”

“We can’t. Our family –”

“I drugged the wine so they could escape,” Wen Ning blurted out. “And I’m pretty sure Wen Chao will be able to figure out it was me. Jiejie, please…”

“The Nie sect has the fiercest army,” Wei Wuxian said. “We could ask them to prioritize getting your kinsmen to safety, as a favor to us; they repay you on our behalf, and we repay them later. Please!”

“It may hinder your recovery,” Wen Qing said, turning to Jiang Cheng. “As it stands, your body was just ripped apart by the discipline whip – if you take it easy for two, three years, with your strong cultivation, you may be able to heal, to get your arms and legs back.”

“But not fully.”

“…no. Not fully.”

“And the metal frame will give me full mobility?”

“Not full,” she said firmly. “You would still need to heal from the basic wounds for a few months before we could even think about starting something like this, but after...” She bit her lip. “After that, that it should be enough for you to walk and fly and maybe even fight…but listen to me! If you strain yourself when you should be healing, your body will take even longer to heal – not two or three years, but ten. It may never heal right.”

“I don’t have two years,” Jiang Cheng said. “The war is happening now. I need to lead my men, at least in appearance – I need to be sect leader, I need Wei Wuxian by my side, and I need you. I need your help.”

He looked at her – would have taken her hand in his, if he could.

“Please,” he said, nearly begging. “Please.”

She gave in.

[morganaspendragonss]

if your looking for a bth prompt what about used in sacrificial ritual where tk gets abducted on a run and carlos is the lead detective on this case of people getting murdered as sacrifices and they arrive in time to save tk but the ritual involved cutting limbs off and tk ends up losing a leg? perhaps w lots of fluff at the end? <3<3

anon, i cannot tell you how excited this prompt got me. i’d been toying with a very similar idea for weeks and this was the push i needed to actually write it - with certain modifications to fit your idea. (i promise it has a happy ending!)

i’m super proud of how this came out, and i hope you like it as much as i do!

@911lonestarangstweek day 7:  Free choice!

Two months ago, TK vanished, snatched while out on his evening run. Carlos will do anything to get him back, even if that includes running himself into the ground.

ao3 | 4.9k | cw: kidnapping, depictions of violence, death and injury, forced amputation, career-ending injuries

It’s been two months.

Two whole months since TK left for his evening run with nothing but a shouted goodbye and a promise to be home soon.

Two months since Carlos hadn’t even turned around, because apparently the dishes were more important than his husband.

Two months since they found TK’s shattered phone and wallet, abandoned in the park next to a pool of blood.

Two months since Carlos’s world came crashing down around him.

He blames himself - how could he not? He’s been the lead detective on this case for months; he’s the one who’s so far failed to catch the guys who have mutilated and killed so many people, and now might do the same to his husband. More to the point, he’s the one who is supposed to protect TK, and it’s clear he’s resoundly failed in that department.

His captain had tried to take him off the case, once they’d found out that TK had become the latest victim. But Carlos had informed him in no uncertain terms that he was going to keep looking for his husband, even if he had to go above his head to do it. 

They’d allowed him to keep the case, but Carlos knows he’s being watched. They think he’s having a breakdown and, the thing is, Carlos isn’t entirely sure they’re wrong.

He hasn’t slept in their bed since the night it happened, when he got woken up at two am to the sound of his ringtone blaring through the room.

“Reyes,” Mitchell had said, tone heavy. “I… Shit, Reyes. You gotta get here. There’s another one and I… I really didn’t want to be telling you this over the phone, but…”

She’d paused, and Carlos had sat bolt upright in bed, suddenly all too aware of the empty space next to him. And, in that moment, he’d known; even so, he’d still choked out a quiet, “No.”

“I’m sorry, Carlos. I truly am.”

*

He’s been living in a daze ever since, work and TK the only two things on his mind. He eats when he has to, barely sleeps, and never hangs out with their friends anymore, which he almost feels guilty for. They’re suffering too, Carlos knows this, but he can’t afford any distractions right now. If he were to be out somewhere and ends up missing the one chance he has to get TK back, he’d never forgive himself.

He’s just about to leave for another shift when there’s a loud, insistent knock at the door. Carlos rolls his eyes and goes to yank it open, about to tell whoever it is to leave him alone.

Only to come face-to-face with a very determined looking Grace Ryder.

“Grace,” he sighs, irritation dissipating. “Can this wait? I’ve got a -”

“I know you don’t have an official shift today, Carlos,” she interrupts, folding her arms. “Just like I know you’re working yourself to death, and I’m not going to stand for it anymore. You’re coming out with me, no arguments.”

Carlos shakes his head. “Grace… I can’t.”

“Oh, yes, you can.” She clicks her tongue, levelling him with an unimpressed stare. "You should be thanking me; Judd was planning on bringing the entire crew down here to stage a full intervention. Now, I managed to talk him out of that one, convinced him the last thing you need right now is a house full of people, but I will not hesitate to go back on that. So you've got two options. Either you go back upstairs and get changed and I'll take you out for coffee, just the two of us, or I'm gonna unleash my husband and the full force of the 126 on you. Choice is yours, Reyes."

He sighs, wearily meeting her eyes. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

"No, sir, you are not."

Carlos closes his eyes and hangs his head, knowing just how stubborn Grace Ryder can be. “Alright,” he says, though his every nerve is screaming at him for it, “you win. Give me a minute.”

She smiles encouragingly at him. “I’ll be here.”

*

The coffee-shop Grace takes him to is mercifully empty, both of people and memories. He wonders if she did this on purpose, but figures it’s more a stroke of pure luck, his first in months. It’s a nice place; he’ll have to remember it for when - if - they get TK back.

Grace quickly returns with their drinks, placing a sandwich in front of Carlos, too. “Don’t even argue,” she warns. “I won’t hear it.”

Carlos forces a smile. “Thanks, Grace.”

They sit in silence for a while, Carlos keeping his gaze turned to the table, picking listlessly at the sandwich. He can feel Grace’s eyes on him, feel the tension in the air between them, and part of him wishes she’d just come out with it already.

The other part wants to run for the hills, but he’s pretty sure Grace would catch him before he got too far.

Eventually, she sighs, setting her mug down and leaning across the table. “Carlos, we miss you,” she says softly. “I know it’s tough, but you’ve barely spoken to any of us since it happened. We’re worried.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“No.” She shakes her head, voice still unbearably gentle. “You’ve been keeping yourself busy. There’s a difference. And that’s okay, up to a point, but you haven’t given yourself a break in two months and that is not okay. You know TK wouldn’t want you to be doing this.”

“You say that like he’s dead.”

Grace sucks in a sharp breath. “Sweetheart, you know that is not what I meant -”

“Maybe you’re right,” he cuts in, ignoring the pain in his chest as he finally looks up at Grace. “It’s been two months; you know as well as I do what survival rates are for missing persons, even in normal circumstances.” His breathing trembles and he squeezes his eyes shut, images of the bodies they’ve found so far flashing through his mind. His voice is barely a whisper when he speaks next. “You also know that the third month is usually when the bodies appear. We’re running out of time, Grace, and I don’t - I don’t know if I believe any more.”

“Carlos Strand-Reyes, I did not just hear you give up on that boy.”

He smiles humourlessly. “Not on him, Grace. On me.”

A long silence follows his words, though Carlos can feel the disappointment and worry rolling off Grace in waves. He should probably feel guilty for ruining a perfectly fine day, but he’s just so tired. He’ll do anything to have TK by his side again, but each day that passes is another day that TK slips further and further away from him, and it’s difficult to hold on to hope.

“I’m terrified,” Carlos admits quietly, tears pricking the back of his eyes. “Any day now they’re going to tell me they’ve found another body, and it’s going to be him, and I won’t be able to handle seeing him like that. You don’t know what they do to them, Grace, it’s - it’s -”

His breath hitches, and suddenly Grace is next to him, gathering him in her arms as he breaks down in sobs against her chest. She shushes him, running a gentle hand through his hair and, for a brief moment, she makes it easy to push away memories of sightless eyes and missing limbs and slit throats.

Grace holds him close, murmuring assurances Carlos doesn’t really hear, until he’s cried himself dry. Then, she pulls back, swiping her thumbs under his eyes, unshed tears shining in her own.

“You’ll get through this, Carlos,” she says, wobbly smile on her face. “No matter the outcome, we’ll all be here to help you get through this.”

Carlos nods, but, privately, he thinks she’s wrong. If TK dies, he’s not sure he’ll be able to find a way through that, no matter how many people are by his side. Because the only one he really, truly needs, won’t be there. 

*

Carlos rubs his eyes, his vision blurring as he stares at crime scene photos, as he has been doing for the past however many hours. He must have gone through these thousands of times over the past eight months, and yet he’s still drawing a complete blank as to clues that could help them find the killers.

They’re always too careful, never leaving any DNA on scene, never caught on camera, never seen by witnesses. There’s not even much of a common denominator between the victims, aside from the fact that they’re all young - the oldest being 38 - and they were all alone when they were taken.

The only consistency in this entire thing is the bodies. Official cause of death is always a deep cut to the throat, accompanied by at least one limb being cut off when the victim was still alive, sometimes more. They never find the missing body parts, which bothers Carlos more than it probably should.

He rubs his eyes again, blinking hard to try and stay awake. He didn’t sleep well last night, which is nothing new, but the past two weeks have been exhausting. After Grace’s coffee outing, the 126 have been stopping by regularly, one or two at a time, to check up on him and make sure he’s doing okay. Carlos appreciates it, he does, but he doesn’t have the energy for it these days. 

He’s so tired that he doesn’t notice Mitchell walking up to his desk before she’s standing right next to him, casting a shadow over his papers. Carlos looks up, and dread washes over him at the grim expression on her face, the tense set to her shoulders.

“We’ve got another one.”

Carlos makes a noise halfway between a choke and a sob. “A body?” he whispers, looking up at her fearfully.

“A disappearance,” Mitchell corrects, and Carlos doesn’t even feel guilty for the relief that floods him at that. “Industrial estate across town, one of the workers got nabbed when he went for a smoke. Same MO, no witnesses - it’s them.”

He nods, praying that Mitchell doesn’t notice the way his hands shake as he gathers up his papers. If she does, she doesn’t say anything, though he catches her exasperated head shake when he turns back to face her.

“Let’s go.”

*

The crime scene is, as always, pristine, and Carlos can’t help but be frustrated, even if this is what he’s come to expect. The case had been wearing on him even before TK was taken, but now it feels like every dead end is a spit in his face, like the universe is taunting him directly.

He’s about to wrap up the scene when a young officer comes barreling towards him.

“Detective!” he yells, panting. “Detective Reyes!”

Carlos stops, raising an eyebrow as the officer skids to a halt in front of him, hands on his knees as he catches his breath. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he gasps. Straightening, he clears his throat, pointing across the street. “There’s a hidden speed camera over there.”

Carlos blinks. Of all the ground-breaking news he imagined might warrant such dramatics, speed cameras weren’t one of them. 

The officer heaves a long-suffering sigh, which, under any other circumstances, might be amusing. “We’re not sure yet, but, looking at the angle, we think it covers the place the guy got taken from,” he explains, and Carlos’s eyes widen. “If it does, we might be able to get some ID, maybe even a license plate. I know they’ve always been careful not to get caught on camera before, but they might not have known about this one. It’s a chance, Detective.”

Carlos breathes out shakily, mind reeling from the officer’s words. It’s a chance. An honest-to-god chance. “Have we pulled footage yet?”

“Doing that now.” The officer grins boyishly, and Carlos feels a small smile tugging at his own lips. He can’t let himself get too invested in this; there’s every chance that it’ll turn into yet another false lead. And yet.

Something like hope lights up Carlos’s chest, and he dares, just for a second, to believe in it.

*

It works.

It fucking works.

They don’t have an ID - the killers are at least smart enough to cover their faces - but they do have a plate, which they’ve managed to track to a warehouse on the outskirts of town. Carlos taps the steering wheel of his cruiser anxiously; they’re parked in some trees just out of sight of the building, and he itches with the desire to jump out and go.

Every second they wait here is one more second in which TK is still with them, suffering, dying. He chews on his lip, then turns to Mitchell.

“We clear on the plan?”

She raises an eyebrow. “I am. Are you?”

“What -”

“I know what this means for you, Reyes,” she interrupts, not unkindly. “I know what might be waiting for you in there. Now, if it were up to me, you would be benched. It’s too personal, and you’re way too close to it. But, since it’s not, you’ve gotta promise me that your head is screwed on tight, you hear me? We’ve got a good plan, and it’ll work, but it’s only good so long as we are all following it. So, you tell me. Are we clear on the plan?”

Carlos swallows thickly, glancing back in the direction of the warehouse. Mitchell is right - he is too close to it, and he’d be thinking the same thing if the situation were in reverse. He just… He can’t fathom being anywhere but here right now.

He can do this; he knows he can.

He has to, for TK. 

“Yes,” he says firmly, meeting her eyes. “We’ve got this.”

She nods. “Alright, then.” Her gaze shifts past him and she jerks her chin up. “There’s the signal. Let’s move out.”

*

It’s almost too easy, in the end. The suspects are woefully unprepared for an ambush, and Carlos doesn’t even need to fire his gun, which is always a good thing. They find the guy who was taken today in the same room as his kidnappers, a little worse for wear, but not too injured, all things considered.

Carlos wants to be happy about that, but he can’t. Not when TK is still nowhere in sight.

Mitchell takes over managing the scene and questioning the hostage. He’ll have to remember to buy something for her in thanks when this is all over; she’s been a rock over the past three months, often covering for Carlos with their supervisors when things became too much.

He glances around at the swarms of police and paramedics filling the warehouse, feeling oddly detached from it all. He’s itching to go looking for TK, but there’s only so far he can push things - though he’s being no help here, he has to maintain an appearance if he wants to not get fired.

That appearance being, the calm and collected detective, which is the furthest thing from what Carlos is right now.

His hands tap restlessly at his thighs, his senses dialled to eleven with anxiety, which only spikes when he sees an officer making her way towards him, a grim look on her face.

Please, god, no.

Carlos moves to meet her, but he’s not able to form the words for the question he needs to ask. Fortunately, she takes pity on him.

“We’ve found your husband, Detective,” she informs him.

Carlos swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to tamp down the fear. “Is he...?”

“Alive,” she says, and Carlos could cry with relief. “But he’s in bad shape. I’ve been told not to let you back there.”

He stares at her, dumbfounded. “I appreciate the concern, but my husband has been missing for nearly three months,” he says tightly. “It would not be a wise idea to keep me from him any longer.”

She hesitates, biting her lip uncertainly, but eventually relents under Carlos’s hard stare. “Alright. Follow me.”

Carlos is led down several corridors until they stop outside a door, guarded by two other officers. The woman who brought him has a whispered argument with them, but Carlos pushes past her to glare at them, his patience at an end now that he knows that TK is mere feet away from him.

“I told her to bring me here,” he says. “That man in there is my husband; I’m going in there one way or another.”

The two officers exchange a glance, then wearily sigh and nod, stepping to the side. Carlos doesn’t bother to thank them before rushing inside, coming up short at the sight of three paramedics crouched around a body on the ground. He can’t really see much of TK yet, but he feels frozen in place, his mind suddenly rebelling at the thought of having to witness what three months of captivity have done to him.

He shakes his head and wills his feet forward, feeling like he’s walking through treacle as he rounds to TK’s side. Bile rises in his throat and he can’t stop the gasp that escapes him when he finally catches sight of his husband - it’s worse than anything Carlos had imagined, and he’d imagined a lot.

TK’s completely naked; the paramedics have lain a sheet over his lower half, but it does little to hide his emaciated state, his entire body outlined with sharp corners where his skin seems almost shrink-wrapped to his bones. Carlos can count every one of TK’s ribs, and the hollow of his cheeks is deeply pronounced. His torso is discoloured from bruising and he’s horribly still and pale - Carlos would think he were dead if not for the barely there rise and fall of his chest.

That’s not the worst of it, though. Carlos’s eyes travel down TK’s body, cataloguing his injuries, before sticking on his left leg.

Or, rather, the space where his left leg used to be.

Carlos barely refrains from throwing up, his stomach turning at the bloody mess in front of him. This isn’t… In the back of his mind - in his nightmares - he’d known that this was a possibility, but he’d never prepared himself for actually seeing it. He doesn’t know if he could have prepared himself, even if he’d tried.

“Detective.”

He’s broken from his horrified staring by one of the paramedics, now standing in front of him. Strange - Carlos hadn’t noticed him moving.

He sighs, obviously disapproving of Carlos’s presence here, but his expression holds nothing but sympathy. “Your husband is lucky we got here when we did,” he says. “But I can’t make any promises, and he is nowhere near out of the woods yet. To be perfectly honest with you, Detective, it’s a miracle he’s still breathing right now. He’s severely dehydrated and suffering from starvation - it looks like his kidnappers were giving him just barely enough food and water for him to survive. I’m also worried about infection in his leg, plus there might be injuries we can’t see yet. We’ve done everything we can for him here, but we have to get him to the hospital as soon as possible. I’m assuming you’re going to ride with us?”

Carlos immediately nods. There’s no way he’s going to remain here, even if he knows he won’t be able to stay with TK when they get to the hospital. He trusts Mitchell to handle things, and he wouldn’t be of much use anyway, even more so than before. Not after everything he’s seen, everything he’s heard.

The paramedics get TK loaded on a gurney and Carlos follows them out, eyes locked on TK’s still form. He brushes a hand through TK’s limp hair, forcing back the tears burning in his eyes.

“Hold on, my love,” he whispers. “I’m here; you’re safe now.”

He hopes, somehow, that TK hears him.

*

“Oh my god.”

Carlos looks up from the bed at the sound of Owen’s voice. His father-in-law has a hand over his mouth, shock written all over his face at the sight of TK - what little that can be seen underneath all the bandages and machines he has hooked up to him. Carlos had done his best to prepare Owen for what he’d face when he arrived, but it had been an impossible task. He’d barely been able to get the words out, for one, but there was no explaining just how bad things are.

Nothing will ever be the same. Not that Carlos had ever expected that it would, but when (if, he reminds himself) TK wakes up, it will be to a completely different life than the one he had walked out of all those months ago. 

The physical injuries alone would be bad enough - and, god, he’ll have to do so much at home to make it safe for TK - but he’s more worried about how this will have affected him in other ways. Carlos can’t imagine the level of trauma his husband has suffered, and he just prays that they can find a way to get through it.

Owen’s face crumples as he makes his way across the room, collapsing heavily in the chair on the other side of the bed. He reaches out as though to touch TK, but snatches his hands back just as quickly, expression stricken. “Oh my god,” he repeats.

Carlos lets him be for a few moments, allowing Owen to process what he’s seeing at his own pace. He turns away so that he can have some semblance of privacy, though he can’t ignore the soft sobs he hears. It’s almost as though they’re mourning TK, even though they now have proof he’s alive, which is more than can be said for the last three months.

Eventually, Owen sniffs, and turns to address Carlos. “Have they… What did the doctors say?”

“Nothing concrete,” Carlos answers, focusing his gaze back on TK. “If he makes it through the next few days, then they think he’ll have a chance, but that’s a big if, Owen. There was so much damage. His organs weren’t functioning properly, he has a head wound from when he was first taken that never really healed right, and his leg… It had become infected where his kidnappers cut it; they had to take some more in surgery to stop it from spreading any further.”

He tears his eyes from TK to meet Owen’s gaze, almost wishing he hadn’t when he sees his own pain and grief reflected back at him. “It’s bad, Owen,” he chokes out. “I don’t know… I don’t know what I’ll do if…”

He shakes his head, the words sticking in his throat. Not that he really needs to say them; they’re both thinking the same thing.

“The doctors probably told you, but they’re restricting visitors to two until he’s more stable,” Carlos continues, eyes dropping back to the bed. “I know the team will want to see him, but do you think you can hold them off for a while? Just for a couple of days, until we know more. I don’t want to keep them from him, but I just…” He trails off, guilt welling up in him even though he knows this is what’s best. “I know it’s a selfish thing to ask, but I think it’s for the best, for everyone.”

“I understand,” Owen says gently. “I’ll let them know. And… I’ll do my best to prepare them, for when they do come and visit.”

Carlos nods his thanks and the two lapse into silence, broken only by the hiss of the ventilator and the beeping of the heart monitor. Proof that TK’s still with them, but each noise sends another bolt of pain through Carlos’s heart.

He squeezes his eyes shut, finally allowing the tears to fall down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, Owen,” he sobs. “I’m so sorry.”

Owen gasps. “What for?”

“I was supposed to protect him! This was my case, I’m the reason he got taken, the reason he might not make it. He could still die, and it’s all my fault!”

Carlos drops his head into his hands, chest heaving from the force of his sobbing. Distantly, he hears the scrape of a chair on linoleum, then Owen’s hands are on his shoulders, turning him into an embrace. Carlos falls into him, not caring about the almost childlike way he clings to his father-in-law.

“You found him, Carlos,” Owen whispers, rubbing circles on Carlos’s back. “You found him. Any chance he has at making it through is because of you. That’s what matters now; it’s the only thing that matters.”

*

It’s several more weeks before Carlos’s prayers are finally answered.

TK was declared stable some time ago, the doctors saying that, barring any unexpected complications, they should expect him to wake up. They hadn’t said anything about what the damage might be once he did wake, but Carlos hadn’t wanted to ask; at this point, he can’t focus on more than one thing at a time, else he knows he’ll fall apart.

He’s practically lived at the hospital since they brought TK in. He’s pretty sure Owen, his parents, and the 126 came up with a rota for making sure he wasn’t starving himself, because it was always someone different who attempted to pull him away from TK’s room for food or sleep in an actual bed. Carlos resisted as much as he thought he could get away with, but he’s not stupid. He knows he needs to keep his strength up if he’s going to be of any use once TK wakes up.

It happens early one morning, when the sun is just beginning to filter through the blinds. Carlos is already awake, keeping a vigilant watch over his husband, though he doesn’t quite believe it when TK’s eyelid twitches.

He holds his breath, waiting, and, just when he’s given it up as a trick of exhaustion, it happens again, both of his eyes cracking open this time.

“TK?” he breathes, half-rising from his chair. He reaches out and grabs TK’s hand, which moves - actually moves - in his, and tears spring to his eyes.

It takes a few more minutes before something like awareness creeps into TK’s face, his eyes fully opening for the first time in weeks. Carlos just sobs at the sight, drawing TK’s attention to him, at which point his expression turns to shock and disbelief.

TK’s mouth moves, but he can’t force out any words, causing panic to flash over his face and his breathing picks up. Carlos leans forward, squeezing his hand and stroking his cheek.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says softly, reassuring him. “You’re okay, I promise, everything’s going to be okay. You’re in the hospital. I’m here, and you’re safe. God, TK, I swear I’m never going to let anything happen to you ever again, I swear it.”

TK shakes his head, still not understanding, so Carlos reaches to press the call button. He forces a smile for TK’s sake, though his mind is crowded with worries about what their next steps will be. It’s going to be a long time before they can even think about going home, he knows this, but everything is so uncertain now.

Carlos wants to believe that there can be some sort of normality in their future, but, right now, it seems like a distant dream.

*

Time passes.

He brings TK home.

It’s hard, so much harder than he thought, but they have a whole team of people willing to help out as much as they can. Paul and Grace often bring food, usually stopping to talk for a while afterwards. The others - most often Marjan and Judd - sometimes come by and take TK out in his wheelchair for a while, giving Carlos time and space to relax or tidy. Letting TK out of his sight was difficult at first, and he still gets anxious watching him disappear out the door, but he knows that the 126 would do anything to keep him safe.

He just has to trust them, which he does, implicitly so. 

Owen’s also a frequent visitor to their house, staying overnight a time or two in the beginning. Carlos is grateful for it; he doesn’t know how he would have coped if not for Owen’s steady presence while they were still figuring out their new reality.

TK struggles a lot, even with simple things these days. The head wound caused brain damage, leading to migraines and he has problems with speech and carrying out tasks. It breaks Carlos’s heart to see him, but he forces himself to keep up a front, only letting the emotion out when he’s alone - or, rarely, with one of the 126.

He suspects TK knows anyway, but they don’t talk about it.

It’s a long few months of recovery, of pain and exhaustion and frustration. But it’s all worth it, because it means that TK is alive. It means that Carlos has him back, and they can work on getting better together.

It means that, one golden morning, Carlos wakes up to see TK’s beautiful green eyes already open, watching him intently. He reaches out to caress TK’s cheek, then leans in and presses a gentle kiss to his lips, lingering for a long moment.

And, when he pulls back, TK smiles.

And it feels like everything is going to be okay.

[philliamwrites]

killing me softly with his song | (Childe / Reader) [chpt.02]

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Childe / Reader

Tags: #fem!reader, #from childhood friends to lovers, #reader is a fatui agent, #slow burn, #unresolved sexual tension, #mature language, #forbidden love

Words: 3.5k

Summary: "Lybuov zla, polyubish i kozla,“ sighs your sister as she wipes off the table, but that makes you feel even more miserable. Falling for a goat might save you from an actual heartbreak by Tartaglia’s hands.

Notes: Part 1

Masterlist

Chapter 2

At the barracks’ canteen reigns the unspoken rule that no one is allowed to cook borsch, and trying to do so is punished by cleaning all windows with cold water only in the middle of the night. Can’t see anything because the nights at the outskirts of Zapolyarny are blacker than out in the taiga? Tough luck. There are so many different recipes as there are families out there, and everyone has their very own way to make it. Fatui agents have brought each other to the hospital wing over fighting which recipe is the best, therefore a couple of years before Tartaglia and you enrolled, this rule was established.

Sitting out in the cold of Jaroslawk at four in the morning, you’d kill for a hot bowl of your mamochka’s borsch—the best in Morepesok even though Tartaglia begs to differ, but the only problem with his claim is that he is fucking wrong.

Through your binoculars you see everything is quiet and dark on the other side of the compound, which is a good sign. Unfortunately, good also means very boring. You’ve been lying in the exact same position for nearly three hours now: on your belly, elbows slightly propping your upper body to see the Baron’s estate that’s embraced by a forest like a mother cradling its child. Tales have it if you make even one little mistake inside those cold brick walls, Baron Igor would personally see to it that you don’t leave these woods alive and whatever his hellish guard dogs don’t finish eating up, his servants would send to your family as a small parting gift and warning to get as far and fast away as possible.

If only he were as thorough covering his tracks as he is scaring people, but Baron Igor has never really excelled at multiple things and now, months after the first little bird brought some interesting insight, you can’t wait for Baron Igor to finally slip and confirm the rumours about him selling information on one of Il Dottore’s gun research labs to a spy from Sumeru. Intel has it exchanges usually occur once every full moon and with the orb now hidden behind thick, black clouds, this is the last chance to get some evidence before the ship leaving to Sumeru carries whoever deserves a knife in their windpipe back to their God of Wisdom.

Baron Igor has messed up, got too arrogant, and now you and your team are here to make sure he eats up his mess. It wasn’t easy to infiltrate his mansion. Mitsuki only passed because you took out two of the other contesters for one of the Baron’s favourite restaurants down in Nowobirsk. That man bows to greed and when introduced to the place’s new maître d’hôtel—the best of his kind, the most exotic to own during their flimsy ceasefire with Inazuma—Baron Igor acted swiftly and hired him. Mitsuki had gagged at those words while lieutenant Scaramouche had shown the patience of a man barely holding himself back from violence. Two days later, Mitsuki took his position as spy and head waiter of the Baron’s personal restaurant taking up the whole second floor in the right wing of his stone mansion.

“Fuck me, I look like a penguin,” Mitsuki had said on the night before his work began at the estate, glaring at himself in the mirror dressed in a sharply tailored tuxedo.

“Then we know who to call if Baron Igor decides to open a zoo,” Mikhail had said, but he was in no hurry to turn away his appreciative gaze from how tight Mitsuki’s black pants tugged his slim legs and ass.

That’s the team, Mitsuki, you and Mikhail—Lock, Shock and Barrel, one of your fellow division’s comrade likes to call you for unknown reasons, simply laughing to himself and shaking his head as if trying to get rid of a good memory. Though for all that Scaramouche is concerned, to him you’re triple double and a clusterfuck he doesn’t want anywhere near him or so help him Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, he’ll stake your heads and scatter your remains to the seagulls terrorising the coast of Port Odessa.

“He loves us,” Mikhail likes to joke, even though you aren’t sure the words love and Scaramouche should be used in one sentence.

“One day, he’ll kill one of us with his bear hands and feel nothing,” Mitsuki commonly remarks, sounding like whatever you’d do to receive such a punishment is probably ghastly enough to justify being murdered.

“His hat is pretty neat,” is usually your only contribution and they both look at you as if you’re crazy.

“Any movement?” a voice asks from your right. Mikhail shakes still fresh snow from his head and shoulders as he dugs under the narrow doorway, looking like a puppy trying to shake itself dry. Now that a year has passed since a Geo Vision user crushed his right arm and healers had to amputate it to save his life, he’s adapted pretty well to only one arm and hand at his disposal. He’s balancing a cup in his palm while holding two paper bags with his fingers and somehow makes it look easy. He rejoins you at the window, carefully placing the steaming cup and one bag in front of you. You hand him your binoculars so he can see for himself, and inspect your breakfast. “Do I even want to know where you found,” you peak inside the bag, “pirozhky at a time like this?”

“Couple of blocks down there’s this place. Really nice lady, gave me one for free and added a little extra to our coffee.”

You take a sip, and instantly begin coughing and pounding your chest as it goes down burning. “Archons, that’s disgusting. Who in their right mind puts Fire-Water in their coffee?”

“I know, right?” Mikhail beams. “It’s genius.”

It’s ghastly. You take another sip. Horrible, really. But it keeps you warm and awake. So maybe it isn’t that bad at all.

While Mikhail observes the area, you dig into your beef and onion pirozhky. There’s nothing fun about pulling an all-nighter but sometimes sharing a cup of coffee and eating warm food helps to get through them. Also knowing someone suffers with you. Sharing pain is gain, after all.

“Well, they sure like taking their sweet time,” Mikhail mumbles, getting a little more comfortable on the cold stone ground. He puts the binoculars away and digs into his own food. “What are we gonna do if nothing happens today?”

“Then we’ll come back next month and do it all over again.” Hopefully you don’t have to. Fyrva’snezh was two weeks ago but this winter started off particularly brutal. Two out of three units are still missing from their outskirts training and you don’t want to be in the poor lasses’ and lads’ shoes who are still at the infirmary recovering from severe hypothermia. “What worries me more is that Mitsuki might lose his sanity if he stays there another whole month.”

“Well, what doesn’t kill him makes him stronger,” Mikhail says, wiping his greasy fingers off his pants. “I just want to wipe that smug smirk off the Baron’s pig face.”

He and probably every citizen populating Jaroslawk. “Once Mitsuki locates the communication point, we’ll go in and neutralise the target if we can’t catch him alive,” you say. “Baron Igor will try and weasel his way out of it but so far all evidence stands against him. The rest is up to Her Majesty.” And the Tsaritsa is known for many things, but mercy isn’t one of them. That will show anyone else trying to make business behind her back.

“Do you really think Mitsuki will endure another month in that stupidly tight uniform?” Mikhail sounds like he very much wished for another month out in the cold like this if it meant Mitsuki would bless him for a while longer wearing his uniform.

You stretch your leg and kick him in his shin. “Don’t jinx this, Nozhyalensky,” you say. “No matter how good his ass looks in those pants, it isn’t worth freezing your own ass off out in this cold. If we have to extend our mission, I’m going to steal your coat and own it for the whole time.”

“You don’t care if I freeze to death?”

“I really don’t.”

He puts his hand on his heart in mock despair. “That’s harsh.”

It would be his own fault, no hard feelings. You sit in silence, sharing your scalding hot coffee. In the mansion on the other side, a light flickers on in the east wing. Mikhail shifts and makes a disgusted grunt. “I did not want to know the Baron is banging the Duchess of Pavlovich.”

“Might be good leverage in the future.” You quickly dot it down in your notebook, squinting at the barely illuminated page. “Especially if the Duke refuses to pay his taxes again. I’m sure we can get to him through her.”

More minutes pass in silence. Mikhail continues his watch while you start to mindlessly doodle a little Foul Legacy Child in the corner of your page. You wonder what time it is in Liyue. Is Childe also out on a mission or tugged in and sleeping well in a land that knows nothing of harsh winds and freezing nights. Does he spare a thought of home? Is he missing you as much as you miss him or has he already filled the gnawing void with faceless, warm women that comfort him at night?

“Heard anything from our comrades in Liyue?” Mikhail asks nonchalantly, but he’s always been the poorest liar of you three and it’s pretty obvious where this conversation is going. Part of you hungers for that conflict.

“They still can’t find whoever killed the Geo Archon. But Lord Childe might have located the Gnosis and has begun his infiltration.”

Chances are good he might succeed in another month or so, though from the letters you’ve received so far, it sounds like he might succeed fucking the consultant of Wangsheng Funeral Parlor before that. Tartaglia has never started anything serious with guys before, safe from occasionally drunk making outs, but new cultures could change a lot in you and it’s Tartaglia’s first time staying for so long in Liyue and meeting a man like this so called Zhongli.

Mikhail clicks his tongue in disgust. “I can’t believe this guy is over there for three months already and is still nowhere near finishing the job.” He spits at the ground and twists his mouth in a very familiar manner of annoyance—only usually this expression is meant for initiate Fatui members who can’t tell a shotgun from a sniper rifle.

“How can you still be mad at him for handing you your ass three years ago,” you say. A man’s ego is such a frail thing, thank the Tsaritsa for being a strong, independent woman.

“This isn’t about that stupid fight,” Mikhail splutters, red blotches creeping up his neck. His inability to lie is abysmal. “I don’t get how you stand that guy. His arrogance needs its own giant room to fit inside. Someone needs to knock him down a peg or two and maybe beat out this need to whore around as well—”

You move in a flash. Mikhail doesn’t have any time to react before he finds himself on his back, pinned down by your weight with a knife to his throat. “Mikhail, I love you like my own kin and you know I’d take a bullet for you any time,” you growl. “But speak another filthy word about Childe and I will cut off your tongue and feed it to street dogs while watching you bleed out like a slaughtered pig. Are we clear?”

You feel Mikhail’s chest rising and falling under your spread hand, his body warm, proof of his life. How easy it would be to take it from him, to warm the cold, dirty ground with his blood.

Mikhail’s dark eyes don’t give away anything. He’s holding very still, like a cornered animal faced with its hunter; don’t move and maybe it thinks one is dead. Eventually, he says quietly, “If you could see what an unlikeable, unpleasant person he really is, maybe...” He doesn't finish. There is no need to. You know very well what point he’s trying to make.

“I don’t need your supervision,” you say. “Or your pity.”

Mikhail barks a loud, humourless laugh. “Lassie, if I had an ounce of pity left for anyone else than myself, I wouldn’t be very good at this job, would I?”

You shift your weight. Mikhail groans as you put pressure on a wound a Pyro Vision user inflicted on him a week ago that hasn’t fully healed yet—a favour for Mikhail to prevent him from following his train of thought. You don’t know what is worse: His unrequited love for Mitsuki or Tartaglia and you knowing what you both want but can’t have.

Mikhail quietly says your name and gently lowers your hand. The sharp knife has bit into his skin just enough to leave a fine, red line on his throat. “All I’m saying is, I am not the bad guy here.”

He is right, of course. But that makes it even worse, because without a bad guy, who could you put blame on? Who would be the target of your frustration and your scorn? Who would pay for countless sleepless nights wasted alone or in a stranger’s arms?

If there is no good, no bad side, no villains or heroes to put blame on, what does that leave for you? Just the law. It is hard, but it is the law.

There is no one but yourself who carries the burden. Even knowing Tartaglia goes through the same doesn’t soothe the pain steadily growing in your heart. You’re like two stars gravitating to each other, seeking the sweet collision to finally become one and create something bigger, the most exquisite light in the endless black galaxy, but whenever you manage to come close to each other, other forces pull you apart.

You shift your position from towering above him to slumping back on Mikhail’s lap, your anger deflated like a balloon.

“Arguing with you is no fun,” you mumble, sheathing the knife back in its place inside your boot.

Mikhail arches one dark brow. “Learnt from the best. You don’t want to get into an argument with my mama.”

“Are you two leaving me out from a team bonding session?” comes a static voice from your left.

“Darling, we would never leave you out from a potential threesome,” Mikhail says back, a wicked grin flirting with his mouth.

“Blergh,” you groan in disgust and roll off him, grabbing for the plastic piece from where Mitsuki’s voice has sounded; Il Dottore’s newest invention, a voice transmitter agents use for long distance communication.

“So, how’s it cooking, good looking?” Mikhail asks, ignoring your eyes rolling back. “Anything new at the front?”

Mitsuki is silent for a moment. Somewhere, a dog barks. “I think someone might have tipped the Baron off.”

Immediately, you feel Mikhail's body tense next to you. “Do you need us to come in?”

Oppressive silence fills the room. Mikhail jerks, but before he can jump to rash actions, you grab his arm hard enough to bruise. He freezes, and you both stare at the voice transmitter in Mikhail’s hand.

A moment later, static crackles, and Mitsuki says, “I received a note on the caviar shipment. Roads are all clear, it should come in around seven in the morning.”

Mikhail relaxes, but a sweat bead rolls from his temple and disappears behind his black turtle neck sweater. He sags against you, exhaling very loudly.

A couple of years ago, after you three had been working together and hadn’t tried to kill each other as often as other teams, you guys had decided to come up with your own secret language for times like these. Mikhail had first complained about the hours put into learning it the most—the semantics always changing depending on what line of work you’d infiltrate—but eventually even he had agreed it was a pretty neat trick. What Mitsuki has said simply means all is in order and the mission is proceeding smoothly.

“Little fucker,” Mikhail grumbles, ruffling his own hair just to keep his hand busy. You agree. It feels like you’ve aged five years in those last five minutes.

That relief is short lived. A small explosion from the right wing inside the mansion lights up the night like a firework show. Mikhail is out of the window in a flash. You grab your rifle, keeping an eye on him as he crosses the street in a flash and climbs over the iron gate.

Two shadows tumble through the hole in the second floor. You sway your scope, laying eyes on Mitsuki as he wrestles with a cloaked figure. Purple sparks fly, clashing with crimson flames that rise skyward and turn into black smoke. At least something is according to plan even though your Cryo Vision would be more effective.

You watch them fight for a moment, unable to get a clear shot as both are short distance fighters. Mitsuki moves quicker than a flash, whirling two hatches over his head, parrying a deathly bow from the Sumeru’s Claymore. Mitsuki is smaller than most of his comrades. People like to underestimate him, but that’s part of the fun, according to him. Proving people wrong. He dodges another swift strike, rolling out of the way and giving you a clear sight at your target. But over his shoulder, Mitsuki catches your eyes and gives the tiniest shake of his head. Not yet.

You wish he could see the stingy eye you’re giving him right now. You’ve waited long enough out in this cold and your whole body shakes with the need to move, the need to fight. A quick look to Mikhail shows he’s fending off two of the Baron’s guards himself. Luckily, they can’t really hold their stand against a fully trained Fatui agent. He quickly takes out his opponents, closing in on Mitsuki and the Sumeru agent. Mitsuki has driven him to the edge of the forest. So that’s his plan. You wait until the spy is right beneath a long, thick branch, then pull the trigger. The shot is muffled by the silencer, slicing through the air with infused Cryo power. It hits its target, cutting the branch off. The Sumeru spy is too slow. When the branch buries him under its weight, Mikhail finally catches up to Mitsuki, and through your scope you can see him patting Mitsuki down for injuries. Mitsuki pushes him away, not hard or in a mean way, just enough to signal this isn’t the time. The job isn’t done yet.

Mitsuki advances the spy and kneels, looking for signs of life. He looks up, his dark eyes searching your scope. He holds your gaze, picking up his voice transmitter.

“I have good and bad news,” he says. “The spy is still alive, so we’ll get our answers. But now I’m pretty sure the Baron knows what’s going on.”

“Then don’t just stand there, someone go after him, quick!” you yell in your transmitter.

Before Mikhail dashes off, you hear him curse. “Lord Scaramouche is going to kill us.”

He will, considered this was supposed to undergo without the Baron noticing anything.

* * *

Dear little tygress,

forgive my horrible handwriting. I am still shaking from all the laughter your last letter gave me. Zhongli-xiansheng was actually worried for my wellbeing because I had choked on air and almost died. I swear, you will kill me one day, little tygress.

Speaking of little and potential lethal beasts, I’m surprised Scaramouche didn’t use your head as a toilet plunger. I really do think he's fond of you, little tygress. Any other team would be six feet under by now. You have to tell me your secret once I’m back. Scaramouche still doesn’t know I broke his favourite, ugly cup with the bear on the front from Fontaine, and I want to be prepared once he knows.

Everything is the same in Liyue, and at the same time, everything is changing. Rex Lapis’ murder is still unsolved, and I do enjoy watching the little traveller boy run around looking for answers. Once I return with the Geo Archon’s gnosis, dinner will be on me.

How are things at home? I hope Tonia hasn’t finished all mooncakes by herself again and saved some for the rest of the bunch. I can’t bear to hear Anthon cry again about me only sending sweets to Tonia and Teucer. Has the old man gotten in touch with you? He still doesn’t reply to me, but mama says he’s reading the letters. Maybe a bottle of Liyue’s Baijiu will loose his tongue, or hand for that matter. It’s almost as good as Fire-Water, promise.

Till next time and don’t get too much on little ‘Mouche’s nerves, otherwise there will be no room left for me.

Yours, Red Fox

__________________________________________________

please drop by my ko-fi if you enjoyed my writing!

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Paying It Forward

Good Evening all,

Ok, I know I haven’t posted the next chapter of Edinburgh to Boston. I am sorry about that. But it has been a pretty bad, horrible, no good end of the year for me. Hubby got sick again and I had to rush him to hospital. He needed heavy duty antibiotics.  He is now ok, but still very debilitated after his illness. Me? I have been taking care of him, going to work, and my characters have decided not to play nice with me. Hubs said I painted myself into a corner. Not exactly, I just haven’t figured out how to get them to do what I want them to do. And I am tired. Which is partially how this fic came about.  

I decided that I would start to read MOBY for two reasons. One, it has been some time since I read it and I am hoping that Bees will be out this year and I wanted to refresh my memory of what happened previously. Two, I was hoping it would help my writer’s block. It did but in an unexpected way. After getting to a certain point in the story, I went to sleep and dreamt the story you are about to read. It played in my head over and over, like it had to some out. So I wrote it and here it is.

Now that I said MOBY:  SPOILER ALERT!  SPOILER ALERT! If you haven’t read MOBY and don’t want to find out what’s going to happen, PLEASE DON’T READ THIS. The story actually draws on ABOSAA, ECHO, MOBY, and a tiny bit from the TV program.

As always I am indebted to @scubalass for her most excellent work as my beta. Also she contributed to the story which made it so much better. I’ll tell you at the end. I am also grateful to @gotham-ruaidh who told me it was different and good. And that I should go with it. The other important thing you need to know is it is written like one of Claire’s voice-over monologues. I know that people hate the monologues, but that’s how it was and I kept to it.

So I give you Paying It Forward. I hope you like it. 

The detritus of the woodland floor muffled the sounds of the Army advancing. Moldy leaves crackled and fragrant pine needles from fir trees helped to disguise their steps. But, it is not in the make-up of the military to travel quietly especially in the 18th century. Horses neighed and harness jingled. Goats bleated. Shot pouches and cartridge-boxes buckled to belts rattled and clinked  Wagons creaked under their heavy loads. Carriages groaned pulling the weighty cannon along. And, of course, there was Rollo, half-wolf, half-dog. The mongrel barked madly harassing man and beast alike as he weaved among them. The voice of my nephew, Ian Murray, called to the animal, “ Thig an seo cù .” Yipping with glee at the sound of his master’s voice, he raced to Ian’s side.  The sounds of infantry on the move certainly broke the peace of the coppice.

Our journey became hampered by the dense forest we traveled through. It was thick with trees, bushes, and bramble impeding the progress of the Continental Army as they marched toward Monmouth. Once there we were to muster with General George Washington and the other battalions.

Commanding this regiment is the newly ordained General James Fraser, my husband to whom I serve as company surgeon. I do admit it was quite a shock to first see him dressed in the full military regalia of a Continental Officer.  I began to tremble becoming a quivering mess when I first took him in wearing an officer’s dark blue and buff.

“Why does it always have to be you? Haven’t you, haven’t we given enough? Isn't it time for you to put down your sword and pistol?” I shuddered as I recalled the failed attempt by Charles Stewart to regain the Scottish crown which resulted in our twenty-year separation. The skirmish at Alamance that resulted in Murtagh’s death and the hanging of our son-in-law Roger which almost cost his life. The battle of Saratoga where I amputated one of Jamie’s fingers. Now, we were being pulled into another conflict. Was it too much to want to return to our simple life on the Ridge I wondered? But Jamie, my Jamie, is a highlander born and bred. A decent man, with strong principles and morals. He is a man of honor and that is not a small thing to be. I watched him as he sat at the head of the column, sitting straight and tall in his saddle like the true highland warrior he is. The breadth of his powerful back and shoulders would leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was born to lead, to command, to this moment in history. And command he would, braving the responsibility of leading his battalion to fight against the oppression of the British king.

Jamie knew the meaning of suffering, cruelty, and loss at the hands of the English. The loss of his home, his country, his own personal freedom came at their hands. And the loss of his family. He had quite the history with the Redcoats. Arrested for obstruction, escaping, then being recaptured. He ran afoul of a sadistic dragoon captain who had him flogged most cruelly one hundred lashes upon one hundred lashes. He escaped again and lived as an outlaw on the run instead of facing the gallows for a murder he did not commit.

Then there was Culloden. Where he, or should I say we lost everything. I was pregnant with our second child; our first child, a daughter, was stillborn. On the eve of battle, Jamie forced me to return to my own time for the safety of myself and our child. Jamie believed it would be his destiny to die in battle. Instead, he lived. Again he went into hiding for seven years living in a cave in Lallybroch. The Redcoats continued to harass his family, stealing what they wanted from the estate. They arrested Ian, Jamie’s brother-in-law as the Redcoats believed he knew of Jamie’s whereabouts. And there was the Highland Clearances which destroyed homes, Scottish culture, language, and their way of life.

Jamie was not driven to this war because of a need for revenge because of his losses, but rather he felt he was honor-bound as a father to take up his sword to protect those he loved. Even if those he loved lived centuries after him.

“Ye said that this was meant tae be Brianna’s home, her country, aye? Then I must do what I can for our daughter and her bairns. ‘Tis my duty as sire and grandsire to see that they will live free, Sassenach.”

And he would do what he must for Brianna, Jem, wee Mandy, and Roger. No matter the cost to himself.  

My mind completely focused on Jamie and our immediate future prevented me from noticing a tall man thin as a rail standing in the middle of the road blocking our progress. Immediately, Jamie’s second in command rode up next to his commander.

The man did not budge an inch. He was rather rough looking. Wearing a knitted cap on his head, his long greasy hair protruded out. A grizzled beard covered his face. His clothes were quite worn having been patched many times. He wore no shoes. In all, he looked quite primitive.

Suddenly, he moved with a decided determination; a man on a mission.  The man strode up to Jamie assuming correctly that he was the man in charge.

A strong downward breeze announced his presence. Most likely the man had not bathed in months if not years. The odor was enough to make your eyes water.

The old man came forward eyeing Jamie like an entomologist studying a new species of bug. Relaxing he gave a tug on his cap and briefly bobbed his head.

“Ye in charge here?” the old coot demanded.

‘Aye, I am. General James Fraser at yer service sir. Might I enquire to whom I am speaking?”

“Mortimer Hepplewhite the owner of this here land yer trespassing on. And I want tae know when ye will be gone.”

“Mr. Hepplewhite, we shall be off yer land as soon as may be. We need to travel off the main road for now as there have been sightings of English troops nearby.”

“Well, all yer clanging and stomping about is disturbing the peace of me home.”

Jamie turned around to look at the property. It had not been cleared for planting nor were there any animals grazing. All that stood in the distance was a ramshackle cabin with a lopsided chimney discharging an inordinate amount of smoke.

“I dinna see any crops, or animals grazing, or people that we might be disturbing, sir.”

“Not disturbing he says! Why I’ll have ye know me Arabella is in a right fit. She doesn’t care much for strangers.”

The recluse, a long-limb man, raised a heretofore unnoticed ball of fur and thrust it under Jamie’s nose. He focused on it intently causing his eyes to almost cross. It hissed, spit, and yowled with great ferocity.

It seemed that Arabella was a cantankerous cat. And was as ill-kempt as its master with matted fur and bald in spots. One fang hung outside its mouth and on closer inspection seemed to be missing an eye.

Mortimer drew the beast close to his chest whispering sweet words of comfort while tenderly stroking its scraggly fur. The cat settled in his arms and even began to purr.

Jamie called to his Lieutenant and leaned over to whisper in his ear. He nodded and rode off to follow his orders.

I sat on my horse watching this spectacle play out. Without warning, I felt the sudden loss of my cat and worried about his well-being. Adso was part house cat and part feral cat. However, he was my cat. He loved to jump onto my lap to snuggle and drift off to sleep. Or lie on the windowsill basking in a sunbeam tail swishing like a metronome. He did wreak havoc in my surgery at times but he was mine, a gift from Jamie. Adso was just as much a part of the family as any of us. So why couldn’t Arabella be this lonely man’s family?  Family is whoever you say they are.  

The Lieutenant promptly returned carrying a bundle which he handed to Jamie.

Jamie slid down from his horse and approached the gentleman.

“On behalf of the Continental Army, I would like tae offer ye recompense for disturbing yer peace. Please accept this small token from myself and General Washington. And for the lovely Miss Arabella, I make a gift of this fish just caught this morning.”

Jamie removed his hat and bowed to the man.

Mortimer truly wasn’t sure of what to make of this but graciously accepted the parcel. He removed his cap revealing a head of matted hair and returned the bow.  He replaced his cap, straightened his shoulders, held his head high as he strolled back to his home, a rich man. A man made richer not for what he received but for the respect given him.

Later that night as I lay in Jamie’s embrace I asked him what prompted his actions on the road.

“Do ye ken the conversation we had in the gardens in Philadelphia? The one about what happened between ye and his lordship?”

Did I remember, he wanted to know? How could I forget?

“Of course I remember, you said that you would mention it from time to time.  Am I to take it that this will be one of those times?”

“Aye, ‘tis. But not what yer thinking about,” he said with a sidelong look. “I’m speaking of how John’s friendship healed us during times of great need. Mine at Ardsmuir, Hellwater, and Jamaica. Yer’s when ye thought I died.” The topic of my hasty marriage to John (for strictly political reasons) was still a sore point to him. He understood it, but didn’t and wouldn’t like it.  

Jamie let out a sigh trying to collect himself before continuing, “Mortimer was naught but a poor lonely old man, Sassenach. And I did not do much for him. I gave him a wee bit of flour, lard, dried meat, apples, and some parritch.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “Oh, a razor, a lump of soap, and a fish for his mangy cat.”

“Are you saying that you did this because of the kindnesses John showed us?”

“Exactly so, mo ghràdh . I felt..it just felt like the right thing tae do.”

I raised my face to look at him, “There’s a term for that and it's called paying it forward .”

He looked quizzically at me trying to understand what I meant.

“What that means is when someone does something kind or helpful for you, you return that kindness to a different person instead of repaying the person who originally helped you. Did you know that the man who started this idea is alive now?”  

“Och, aye? Who is he Sassenach?”

“Benjamin Franklin. I think you would like him. He was a founding Father, freemason, inventor, scientist, and a printer.”

His eyebrows lifted at the mention of Franklin being a printer and a freemason. “I should like to meet this man one day. “

Jamie grew quiet as he attempted to digest this information. “Paying it forward,” he rolled the words around in his mouth tasting them. “Aye, that’s it. Just so, I was paying it forward.”

“Jamie, I think what you did was far greater than repaying a kindness. I think you gave him something more than he ever expected. You gave him respect and a way to restore his dignity.”

He leaned over and kissed me, “Aye, Sassenach, respect is something every man or woman deserves.” Jamie stopped to think for a moment, “No man wants to go about stinking if he can help it.” I knew he was thinking of his time hiding in the cave and as a prisoner at Ardsmuir. “There were days I thought I would never get the stink off my body, dirt from under my nails, or be rid of the lice. ‘Twas a small thing but it may make a big difference to him. Maybe it will help to restore his self-regard.”

The following day we resumed our journey. Once again a man stood in the road again blocking our path. There was something vaguely familiar about him. It was Mortimer, now clean-shaven, clothes washed having removed several layers of filth, and much less fragrant. He carried a pack strapped to his back probably containing all his worldly possessions. Strangely he carried a beautiful and well-maintained musket in his hand.

He approached Jamie, removed his cap, and bowed deeply.

“Yer Excellency, I have decided tae travel with ye fer a while. If ye dinna mind.”

“Yer presence is welcome, Mr. Hepplewhite. Find yerself a place among the men. This evening please come by tae see my wife. She is the physician of our troop. She will see tae yer physicking needs should ye have any.”

“I thank ye, sir.” Mortimer replaced his cap, lowered his head, and took a position among the rank-and-file.

Jamie smiled, a pleased look playing across his face. His arm raised and he waved us forward.

As the men resumed their march, a wee black puff ball of fur stuck its head out of Mortimer’s bag evidently Arabella had a wash-up too.

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

Thig an seo cù - Come here dog.

If anyone wants to know, Jamie’s white stallion’s name was Samson. And he sneezed violently when he sniffed Mortimer.

A little bit of history here. Benjamin Franklin lent Benjamin Webb a sum of money to start a business. He told Webb that when his business was successful and he had paid all his debts, he should likewise help someone else like Franklin helped him. In return, that gentleman would have to assist someone else like Webb helped him. Franklin hoped this would continue until some knave would stop its progress. The idea of paying it forward was born.

We can all thank @scubalass for telling me about Ben Franklin and Paying It Forward.  She is truly an amazing person and a fount of information and wisdom. I think that this added so much to the story and found it quite interesting.

Thank you for reading. I hope you liked it.

It is also on AO3 where I am LadyJane518:   https://archiveofourown.org/works/28907349