#BRUTAL!!! and he trusts them all so much it’s enough to make me wanna wail

[meteortrails]

god I just like nanaki from ffvii. SO MUCH. he’s 16 years old and talks like an elderly philosophy professor. he pretends to be older than everyone in his ecoterrorism found family despite actually being the youngest. he’s one of the last living members of what can be assumed to be one of the only other sentient species on earth in ffvii, and this is basically never expounded upon. he has an insane old mad scientist grandpa who may or may not have committed war crimes. he even has daddy issues!!!

[ibuki-says]

How would Kaede react to Shuichi surviving his execution, which Monokuma did internally to prolong his death and she can’t get his agonizing expressions and wails out of her head?

This was such an interesting scenario to think about, I hope I did your idea justice, Anon!!

Pairing: Kaede Akamatsu x Shuichi Saihara 

Rating: PG-13 - Cursing and mentions of death

Word Count: 1,247

Spoilers: Not really? This is an AU for the first chapter of DRV3

Kaede couldn’t believe it. The one person she felt like she could trust in this insane situation had been the one to betray them all. Letting out a small cry, she buried her face in her hands in an attempt to shake the bad thought away. No. Shuichi hadn’t betrayed them. Hell, he had tried to save them all! Save them all by killing the mastermind! She only wished he had felt comfortable enough to discuss it with her first. She could’ve talked him out of it, or figured out a better way to go about it...something!! Anything would’ve been better than ending the trial staring at the detective’s lifeless body. Her eyes filled up with tears again at the memory, his terrified screams and expression seemed burned permanently in the back of her mind. 

“Why….why did it have to be him?” She muttered into her hands, not speaking directly to anyone. She felt so broken, so defeated, so utterly hopeless. She wasn’t able to encourage everyone enough to keep trying to get out the escape tunnel, and now this? There had to be a way out, she was sure of it!! If only she hadn’t allowed everyone to give up, Rantaro and Shuichi would still be alive and they wouldn’t be in this awful mess anymore!! If only she had noticed how strangely Shuichi had been acting leading up to the end of the time limit. It was all her fault...it was all her fault...it was all her fault…

Kaede wasn’t sure when she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts had kept her up for most of the night. Even when she did sleep, the only images flashing through her mind were the lifeless bodies of what were once her friends so she didn’t even want to sleep. She’d been woken abruptly, hearing a static sound penetrate her sleeping state. She sat up with a start, letting out a confused groan while trying to adjust her eyes to the brightness of the screen in her otherwise dark room. 

“Gooooooood morning everyone! After all the excitement from last night, I just couldn’t wait wait wait to show all of you the next surprise I have in store! Please everyone gather in the gym immediately! You’re gonna wanna see thiiiiiis~” Kaede wanted nothing more than to ignore the bear on the screen and crawl back under her covers for the rest of her life. However, she now knew what he was capable of and didn’t want another one of her friends to be punished because she didn’t comply. Rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, she willed herself to get out of bed and stagger towards the gym. 

By the time Kaede arrived at the gym, it seemed as though she had been the last one to arrive. Everyone else was simply standing around, the same confused and exhausted looks in their eyes. Conversation wasn’t necessary, besides, what would they even say? Luckily, the silence didn’t linger for too long as six figures popped up at the front of the room. “Rise and shine ursine!” The catchphrase Kaede had somewhat gotten used to rang throughout the gym. 

“We have a big announcement!” Monotaro excitedly started things off before Monosuke immediately shoved him. 

“Hey, Pops is supposed to announce it, not us! Remember! He said we just need to stand around and look cute!” He scolded Monotaro before the red bear shoved him back. 

“Actually, I don’t remember, so there!” The two glared at each other while Monophanie looked on in horror. 

“Please stop fighting!” She cried as many of the students looked on in even more confusion. 

“Hey shut up! Monokuma, what the hell’s this about?!” Kaito was the first to speak up, addressing Monokuma directly. Monokuma stopped cooing over the cubs to turn his attention to the students for the first time. 

“Oh right um, this is kinda awkward buuuut… it looks like the blackened you all chose for the last trial was….incorrect!” It took a moment to process. Kaede’s head was spinning. Incorrect? But based on all of the evidence...she thought...she determined that he had been the only logical choice to be the killer...and he wasn’t? She sent him to his death and he was innocent? Her hands couldn’t stop shaking and her eyes had begun filling with tears. Clearly, the others were just as confused, some of them in silent bewilderment like her while others had taken to anger, shouting expletives towards the bears. But...if they had gotten it wrong...shouldn’t they all have been executed? Almost as if he was reading her mind, Monokuma spoke up yet again. “I know what you’re all thinking and- no. Since this is a very rare occurrence where I made a mistake, in the issue of fairness you all will not be executed! I know, I know. I am your most generous headmaster. Besides, we can’t have the fun end right at the first trial!” 

“Can we tell them the second surprise!? Please, daddy!! Please!?!” Monophonie seemed to barely be able to contain her excitement, which made Kaede all the more afraid. What could she possibly be so excited about? Clearly nothing good for Kaede and the rest of the students she guessed. 

“Awww...if my cute little cub is so excited, how could I possibly say no?” He cooed and moved to the side to allow the cubs to take center stage. 

“Alright everyone! In addition to everyone’s non-immediate death, we have one more surprise! Since the blackened wasn’t actually the blackened, daddy managed to fix everything! You can come in now!!” Monophanie shouted out the last sentence louder, almost as if she was calling out to someone. Kaede’s blood froze as she heard the door to the gym open and footsteps ringing against her ears. She could hear the other students turning and reacting, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Her heart pounded in her chest as she squeezed her eyes tight shut. No, no...she just lost him...she just mourned him...there was no way Monokuma could bring him back after the brutal execution they had witnessed. 

“The true blackened is still out there and, to make the deal even sweeter, I have an offer. Clearly, the First Blood Perk wasn’t enough to motivate you all. If the true blackened of the first case is the next murder victim, I’ll let you all go, no strings attached!” Kaede could hear the malice dripping from his voice, daring them all to make a wild guess as to who was the true blackened of the previous case, and put enough confidence into that guess by murdering them. But...if they’re right then they can all be free… Was anyone willing to take that gamble? 

“Kaede…” A voice that was oh-so-familiar, one that Kaede stubbornly refused to believe was actually back was now right in front of her. 

“No...you’re dead.” She whimpered weakly, still refusing to open her eyes, lest this end up being some kind of sick nightmare. She felt a hand gently grasp her own, reminding her of the way she had tried to encourage him before the time limit ran out. 

“Kaede. Please look at me.” The voice begged again, a desperation that mirrored her own evident in the tone. Finally, she took in a deep breath, raised her head, and looked into the golden eyes that she had missed so much.

[alolowrites]

The Nightly Adventures of a Lost Shopper

Summary: Getting lost at night is one thing. But stumbling upon some crazy beating in a musty back alley? Yeah, no thanks. 

Author’s Note: Soooooo, it’s almost been a month since my last story 😅 Work life and gym life really are keeping me busy. Anyways, I was inspired by a prompt I saw on Tumblr and like always, I had to run with this stupid idea lmao.  Please enjoy! 

Genre: Mafia!AU (if you squint lol) Warnings: Mentions of blood (just a smudge really); reader having no self-control when it comes to grocery shopping loll  Word Count: 1.6K+

You stand underneath a flickering streetlight, swiveling your head left and right as though you’re checking for some car to drive by. Everything is so eerily quiet that a squeaky noise makes you jump on the spot. You crane your neck up and sigh—it’s just a lonely traffic light swinging mindlessly in the breeze.

The yellow light blinks nonstop, unaware if it’s broken or maybe it does, and the thing really doesn’t care anymore. You don’t blame the poor traffic light; the streets are more dead than a groundskeeper working the midnight shift at the local cemetery. At least the worker knows where they are.

You, on the other hand, don’t and admit defeat. “Damnit, I’m lost.”

A hiss escapes your lips, and you grip the grocery bags that weigh like a stack of bricks. In hindsight, you should have created a shopping list. There’s a reason why you can’t be trusted with buying your groceries without some plan. Now you’re standing at an empty corner all alone in the middle of nowhere, dealing with two screaming arms and muttering a curse at your dead phone with the awful battery life.

“Alright, let’s just go this way,” you mutter and trudge forward, praying that your bags don’t tear open. You can only handle one problem at a time. Yet, your life is anything but simple. The universe always has something up its sleeve for you, just waiting for the right moment to strike.

Your bags might be intact, and there aren’t any dark clouds threatening to rain on your parade, but you do hear loud grunts in the far distance. They cut through the deafening silence almost instantly. You quirk an eyebrow and waddle closer, curiosity getting the best of you.  

Big mistake.

In front of you is a man screaming in agony, crouched over as he endures powerful punches from the red beast towering over him. The blows never stop, each one more brutal and vicious than the last. No shred of mercy given despite the desperate pleads howling into the deep night. You watch helplessly as the final punch is thrown. The sheer force alone breaks the man’s ribs so hard that a sharp pop echoes throughout the narrow alley.

The red-haired guy tugs his personal punching bag and growls, “You ready to talk now?”

“Yes-s.”

“Good, so where’s the money you owe us?”

“At a secret hideout,” he rasps, blood dripping out his swollen mouth. “I-I can take you there a-and give you the money-y. I promise!”

He gets dropped like an old sack. “Drag him to the car.”

“Got it, Big Red.”

Said man finally turns around, and your heart stops. His bright red eyes land on you, blinking in surprise. You stare back at him, wondering if you can just crawl into the disgusting dumpster and hide there. But you don’t move a muscle nor say a word, too shocked at what you’ve just witnessed.

Oh my god, am I an accomplice? You grip the bags tighter in your hands, and his eyes glance at them before looking at you again. Eventually, you mentally slap yourself out of your stupor, blurting out the first thing on your mind.

“I’m sorry!” You stumble backward, legs shaking for dear life. “I-I didn’t see anything! I’m just—gah!”

You spin on your heel, wobbling out of there before who knows what could happen to you. Getting lost at night is one thing. But stumbling upon some crazy beating in a musty back alley? Yeah, no thanks.

“Hey, wait!”

You freeze at the sound of his voice—it’s rough and commanding but not too intimidating. His footsteps falter, and you quietly count to ten before turning around, your bags rustling behind your legs. The man (Big Red was it?) stares at you, almost like he’s figuring out where you fit in this bizarre puzzle he’s trying to solve.

Meanwhile, your eyes bounce between him and the barely conscious punching bag that’s being dragged to the black SUV, leaving a trail of red droplets in its wake. You swallow a tiny gulp; this is all too much.  

“Listen, I swear I didn’t see anything,” you exclaim, jumping on the defense. Seconds later, you wince at your mistake. “Okay, that’s a lie, b-but I promise I won’t say a word! I mean, not like I can call the cops on you since my phone is dead—”

“Huh? Wait a sec—”

“—which is honestly terrible since I’m lost! Do you know how long I’ve been walking all night? I’ll tell you: an eternity! And my arms feel like they’re about to fall apart any second now because these bags,” you shake them like a pair of maracas, “ are heavy!”

“Hey—”

At this point, you start airing out all your grievances in one go.

“I think there’s a pebble inside my left shoe, rolling around like it owns the place. My house keys keep pinching me against my hip, and one of my shoelaces feels so loose that it’s probably untied, waiting for me to trip.” Suddenly, the stress becomes overwhelming that your lips quiver. “It’s super late right now. I’m all alone and scared and—and,” you thrash the bags while wailing, “and my ice cream is melting!”

You inhale sharply like a person reaching the water’s surface after a deep dive. Your face is flushed, and your heart beats a mile per second, the adrenaline soaring through your veins as you finish your explosive rant. Eventually, you calm down and remember who is standing in front of you. Big Red looks on in astonishment, his mouth gaping like a fish.

...I can’t believe I just did that.

“Oh, god. I...I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, ducking your head and closing your eyes as a feeble attempt to protect yourself. “Please don’t hurt me!”

“Hurt you?” You bravely peek at Big Red, who sports a concerned look. He cautiously steps forward with his hands raised. “I don’t wanna hurt you, trust me.”

You snap your head up in disbelief. “Y-You don’t?”

“Of course not,” he says, giving you a gentle smile that washes some of your fears away. Big Red takes another step closer. “Why would you think that I’d hurt you?”

You give him a ridiculous stare. “No offense, but you did beat up that guy into a bloody pulp; I’m pretty sure he has no ribs left.”

Big Red laughs, catching you off guard. He jerks his thumb at the parked car and gives you a lopsided grin. “Oh, him? He’s just business. I would never harm an innocent civilian, though. It’s part of the code.”

“Part of the code?” You scrunch your eyebrows. Then it hits you. “Oh...Ohhh.”

Everything makes sense now. The suspicious, burly men with fancy suits. The rather gruesome violence in a random yet bare alleyway. The vague demand for money that’s owed. Yup, you walked into an unfortunate episode with the mafia; just your luck. You raise one finger, mouth ready to say something but then decide against it.

Big Red notices your hesitation, scratching behind his neck like a guilty puppy. “Look, I’m sorry you had to see that. I didn’t mean to scare ya’ with all the blood and violence and, well, you know…” He laughs awkwardly, making the corners of your lips quirk.

His voice is so soft and gentle that your breath hitches. It’s unbelievable that this is the same man who was growling like a wild beast before. The memory fades away as you judge his words, realizing that there isn’t any malicious intent behind them; he is honest and sincere.

Perhaps Big Red is right—maybe he won’t hurt you. If he did, he would have done it by now. Instead, he flashes a friendly grin that brightens the entire block, unlike those deadbeat street lights. The grin alone is enough to make you relax and crack a small smile at him.

“Alrighty then,” you hum, tapping one finger on your grocery bag that miraculously hasn’t broken yet. Stepping back, you start making your exit. “I guess I’ll leave you to finish your, um, business.”

“Whoa, hold on!” Big Red squeezes your shoulder, stopping you mid-way. Without warning, he tugs the bags out of your grasp. You jump as his massive hands momentarily brush along your skin, making you fumble over your words like an idiot. Big Red then shouts over his shoulder to his buddies. “Go on without me, guys. I gotta help this sweet peanut here get back home.”

Your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets. Sweet peanut? Get back home? Him carrying your grocery bags?

“Please, you really don’t need to—”

“I want to,” he cuts you off, his warm eyes and boyish grin leaving you speechless. Big Red adjusts the bags without breaking a single sweat. “Listen, you’ve been through a lot tonight; let me take you back home.”

You gawk at him. “Are you sure?”

“Yup!” He puffs out his chest and gives you a wink. “Besides, you won’t be scared or alone when you’re with me.”

Well, you can’t argue with that.

“I guess I won’t,” you chuckle, bowing your head slightly. “Thank you, Big Red.”

“Kirishima.”

“What?”

“My name is Kirishima,” he repeats, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “But-t Big Red is fine, too.”

You share your name and cheekily joke, “But Sweet Peanut is fine, too.”

Kirishima’s face lights up like the stars scattered across the night sky, absolutely smitten with you to the bone. He purposefully takes the longest route back to your house, hoping to spend as much time with you as possible. Luckily, you don’t mind—he is charming and sweet.

Guess it wasn’t so bad getting lost after all.

As always, thanks for reading! 

[hazymultiverse]

Not sure if this is allowed but, ★★Reader being railed by Purple Haze because Fugo is sexually repressed, but reader doesn't know Fugos feelings OwO

Oh its allowed.

And encouraged. Send me all your stand fucking asks, I’m literally asking you nicely please send stand thirst thank you.

Warnings for: NSFW, rough sex, slight dub con??? Bc reader doesn’t know if Fugo wants it (but he does.)

—

“I think Fugo hates me.”

Mista shifted the phone from ear to ear, and you could hear the rub of the speaker against his hat, “Why would you say that?”

“Come on man, you heard what happened with Purple Haze.” You wince slightly, recalling the earlier events.

The stand had charged towards you as soon as he was summoned, paying no heed to Fugos panicked demands to stop. He had been wrestled before any true damage was done, but you’d been knocked to the ground, driving the wind out of you, and the mission had nearly been compromised. Fugo had been mortified, refusing to talk to you afterwards, the entire drive to the safe house was kept in suffocating silence.

Even after arriving, he insisted on you staying back while he went to pick up food, which gave you ample time to call Mista.

“Stands are just manifestations of the soul, right? So if Haze keeps attacking me, that means Fugo has some subconscious hatred going on.”

Mista bit his lip, he knew Fugo didn’t hate you. Quite the opposite in fact, the guy was in love with you, but apparently all the book smarts in the world couldn’t teach you how to man up and talk to your crush.

“Well, it doesn’t always work like that.” The gunslinger offered instead, “I mean, look at the pistols! They don’t always act like me. A lot of stands have their own sentience and independence, maybe it’s just that they’re a bit disconnected.” Mista was grasping at straws at this point, partially trying to dance around spilling his friends deepest secrets, and partially from trying to put rhyme or reason to stand logic. (An oxymoron if he ever heard one)

“So, maybe it’s just Purple Haze that hates me?” You theorized.

“I wouldn’t say he hates you, I don’t think you’d be alive if he really hated you. I just don’t think he knows what’s what. Fugo doesn’t exactly let him out much.”

“So, he’s just not used to me, maybe?” You frowned, then shot your attention to the door as you heard the rattle of keys, “oh, Fugo’s back, gotta go.”

“Alright, take care- and uh, don’t worry about Panna’ hating you. Trust me, if he did? You’d know.”

—

Fugo had excused himself to one of the bedrooms as soon as he was done eating, and with not much else to do, you did the same, taking the room next door.

It was quiet, you had heard some pages turning through the thin wall, but they’d stopped, so you assumed he’d finally gone to sleep.

What was the problem? You’d never seen Fugo -or his stand- act like this around anyone else, but whenever you were around it was like he couldn’t get any control over Purple Haze. Had you done something wrong?

Shutting your eyes, you sighed, worrying about it all night would solve nothing, better to just go to sleep, and see about talking to him about it in the morning-

The air felt different.

Loud, rasping breaths hit your ear, warm air hitting your face.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, freezing in place as you saw Purple Haze standing over your bed.

You stayed, eyes locked, for what felt like ages. No sound in the house but his breathing, and the pounding of your heart.

“H-hey bud.” You finally croaked, “What’s wrong?”

A firm hand grabbed your shoulder, pushing you farther down into the bed, on instinct you went to push it away, but the thought of the capsules made you pause, gently placing your hand on his wrist instead. At the contact, the stand let out a low whine.

“Are you okay? Is something the matter?” You asked quietly, perplexed by the whole situation at this point.

With a growl, Haze leaned in closer to you, carefully nuzzling against your face and neck, steadily crawling onto your bed.

“Oh- alright- uh, not quite sure what this is, but uh, did you come here to spend time with me?”

The stand was fully on top of you now, hands wandering and rubbing at any part of you it could reach, pressing a hand firmly on your chest to hold you down when you began to squirm.

“I’m gonna be honest here, I have no idea what’s going on and- oh.”

Haze slid a hand under your hips, angling them up just enough to align with his pelvis, where in the dark of the room, there was definitely something rubbing against you.

Your mind raced, did stands have dicks? Or genitals at all? What the hell was happening? Is this why Haze kept jumping at you? Thank fuck that this hadn’t happened during the mission, if Fugo had seen, you’re sure he would have died of embarrassment.

“Hey, Fugo, are you awake?” You said, not quite a normal volume, knowing the walls were thin, but got no response, “So you just came out on your own?” You whispered to Haze, who simply gurgled and continued to rub against you.

Taking a deep breath, you attempted to assess the situation.

There was a highly dangerous stand with violent tendencies dry humping you like a horny teenager in your bed. The user of said stand, who would usually keep it from even reaching you, was asleep.

Your body had gotten undeniably warm from the rubbing and grabbing the stand had been doing, making your mind wander. You couldn’t quite see in the dark, but whatever was grinding against you was big, and tempting.

Your deliberation was taking too long however, and with a loud growl, you felt strong hands begin to tear your clothes off of you, unheeded by your pushing against his chest, and your lower half was quickly laid bare, cool fingers grabbing and poking at you.

When you felt a blunt tip of something that definitely wasn’t a finger poking at your slit, you quickly lunged forward, “No no! Wait!”

That caught his attention, and in what little light there was, you saw Hazes pleading, confused expression, accompanied by a garbled whimper.

“You have to be careful about this, just, if this is gonna happen, you can’t go in dry.” You felt crazy, when had you agreed to this? But something about the situation just drew you in, “Help me get my fingers wet?”

Drool and spit dripped down onto your fingers, oddly warm from the stands mouth.

“Thanks.” reaching down, you rubbed your spit covered fingers against your entrance, slowly sliding in a finger, then two.

Haze grumbled, clearly impatient, garbling and poking your hand.

Drawing your fingers back out, you sat back a bit farther, propped up on your elbows, a low anxiety building in your gut, you were excited to do this, and couldn’t deny the fact the stand had always intrigued you, but there was no way you could overpower it if things got out of hand, you’d never been able to, it was always Fugo.

Fugo.

“H-hold on, is your user really okay with this? I know you’re basically him, I don’t wanna do anything without his- oh god!”

Your time had run out, and Purple Haze thrusted inside of you, giving you no time to adjust before beginning a brutal pace.

You bit your hand, struggling to not cry out, Fugo was sleeping on the other side of the wall, and if he woke up and walked in on this? He’d never speak to you again.

On the other side of things however, you hadn’t been quite thorough enough in stretching yourself, unprepared for the stands sheer size. Thankfully, he seemed to have learned quickly, having slicked up his cock similar to your fingers beforehand.

The bed creaked loudly, and the loud wet noises of your pussy accompanied by the slap of his hips was near deafening in the still house. Blunt fingertips digging into your thighs as he rammed into you, drawing choked gasps from your lips.

The stretch quickly dulled into pleasure, your voice straining against your hand as pressure began to build deep in your core.

“Fuck!” You yelped out, clutching onto his shoulders, scrabbling for anything solid as you were sent hurtling towards your climax, “fuck, fuck fuck fuck- yessss~”

Haze seemed unaffected, continuing to snarl and pound into you at the same frantic pace as before, still holding you down and gripping your hip tight enough to bruise. Any thought of staying quiet had vanished quickly, though subconsciously, you prayed Fugo wouldn’t wake up to stop this.

Your orgasm wracked through your body with unmatched intensity,a low moan tearing from deep in your chest. No matter how tightly your walls clenched around him, he didn’t let up, nothing seemed to get through to him as you wailed and spasmed in his grip. Your hands pushing wildly at his chest, struggling to get enough breath to beg him to slow down just a bit as your oversensitive walls burned hot from the merciless treatment.

“Please- wait- fuck I can’t!” You yelped, and he let you go, pulling out and sitting back on his haunches. You whimpered at the relief, rolling over to bury your face in the cooler part of the sheets, “Thank you, good boy, so good, thank you.”

Familiar cool hands pulled your hips up once more, and with a groan you gripped weakly at the sheets, “again?”

The spit ladened howl said enough as he entered you again with a slick thrust.

“Alright, fine, but just take it easy. Ah!”

He did not.

Rutting into you like his life depended on it, Purple Haze hunched over you, voice far more pronounced, snarling and growling like a rabid animal.

Mind still numb from the previous orgasm, you gripped your pillow desperately, letting your mouth run.

“There we go big boy, you like that? Yeah? Oh come on, I know you want it so bad- you’ve just been trying to do this for weeks? Is that all?” You let out a disbelieving laugh, “Nearly got us killed earlier just to try and get your rocks offfffffffuck! Oh there we go baby there we go, right there.”

The praise seemed to strike a chord, one of the stands strong arms wrapping around your torso and pulling you close, wet slaps of his thighs against yours drowned out by the breath in your ear, panic inducing earlier, but comforting now, grounding you in a rhythm.

“You’ve got a lot to work out huh?” A growl in response, “Yeah, thought so. We’re just gonna be here a while then.”

—

Fugo sat, heart racing, ear pressed against the wall, listening to your sweet moans, cock in hand. Someday, he vowed, he would finally talk to you, and be on the right side of things.

But if this were the first step? Feeling the phantom warmth of your pussy around his dick, begging and praising his stand so sweetly, welcoming it with open arms and pulling it closer?

He could live with that.

[thelastspeecher]

MerStan-at-Home

Day 01   Day 02   Day 03   Day 04   Day 05   Day 06   Day 07   Day 08 Day 09   Day 10   Day 11   Day 12   Day 13   Day 14   Day 15   Day 16 Day 17   Day 18   Day 19   Day 20   Day 21   Day 22   Day 23   Day 24 Day 25   Day 26   Day 27   Day 28   Day 29   Day 30

Since today was very stressful (found out I had to go back to Wisconsin a day earlier than planned, my car was involved in an accident where no one was hurt but my car, and I drove three hours, most of it in the dark), I didn’t do one of my prompts for NaNoWriMo, but rather cleaned up and finished a scene I wrote ages ago.  It’s a cross between the MerGucket AU and the Stay-at-Home Stan AU, and, in my humble opinion, it’s great.

Word count: 1651

              “Come on, Sixer, breathe.”  Two large hands pressed down on Ford’s chest.  Ford sat upright, coughing up water.  Spots danced in front of his eyes as he tried to catch his breath.  “About damn time.”  Ford looked over.

              “…Am I hallucinating?” Ford asked after a moment.

              “I’m not a figment of your imagination, if that’s what you’re askin’,” Stan answered.  He and Ford were on a deserted beach, a few feet from the pale blue water.  Ford’s clothes were soaked through, while Stan, clad in only pants, seemed completely dry.

              “Why aren’t you wearing a shirt, then?”

              “Wha- I feel like that’s pretty good support for me not being a hallucination.”

              “Fair enough,” Ford mumbled.  He shook his head.  “I don’t understand anything going on right now.”

              “Sounds like we’re in the same boat, then,” Stan said.  He crossed his arms and frowned at Ford.  “Why the hell did you try to drown yourself?”  Ford’s blood ran cold.

              “You saw.”

              “Yeah.  I did. What’s going on, Sixer?” Stan asked quietly.  Ford’s brow furrowed.

              “How did you see?”

              “Hmm?”

              “I was on a boat in the middle of the ocean.  How did you see that?” Ford asked.  Stan cleared his throat.

              “Answer my question first.”

              “Answer mine.”

              “Stanford,” Stan said flatly.

              “Stanley,” Ford said in the same tone.  Ford and Stan stared at each other silently for a moment.  A small smile fought its way onto Stan’s face.  

              “Heh.  You’re just as much a stubborn ass as you were…shit, seven, eight years ago?”  Stan shook his head.  “That can’t be right.”

              “No, it is.  It has been quite some time.”

              “So, why were you trying to drown yourself?” Stan asked.  

              “It’s complicated,” Ford mumbled.  “I thought I could trust someone, turned out I couldn’t, so I decided to go somewhere he couldn’t follow me.”

              “The bottom of the ocean.”

              “Exactly.”

              “Ford-”

              “Hey, Stan?” a voice shouted.  Ford turned his head.  A man he didn’t recognize was walking toward them.  Like Stan, he was shirtless, only wearing cargo shorts.

              “What’s goin’ on, Lute?” Stan called back.  The man stopped a few feet from Ford, eyeing him with blatant curiosity.

              “Angie wanted to tell ya she had to go out to work.  So ya should come grab Molly ‘fore then.”

              “On it.”  Stan stood up.  Ford sighed.

              “It was nice seeing you again, I suppose,” Ford said quietly.  

              “No, Ford, you’re comin’ with,” Stan said.  Lute cleared his throat.

              “Uh, ya sure ‘bout that?” Lute asked.  

              “Yes.”

              “But he’s-”

              “We can trust him,” Stan said firmly.  Lute let out a small huff.

              “Whatever.  It’s yer head if’n he proves otherwise.”

              “He’s my twin brother,” Stan said.  Lute raised an eyebrow.

              “The same one what turned his back on ya when ya got kicked out?  Don’t sound very trustworthy to me.”

              “Lute.  You don’t know him like I do.”

              “All right, all right,” Lute said, putting his hands up.  “I’ll tell Angie yer goin’ to come grab lil Miss Molly.”

              “We’re on our way,” Stan said.  He looked at Ford.  “Comin’?”

              “I don’t understand anything that is going on,” Ford said.  

              “Just trust me, Sixer.  You’re gonna wanna come.”

----- 

              Stan came to a stop in front of a large cliff.

              “Okay, just stay out here,” Stan said.  “I’m gonna get Molly.”

              “Who is Molly?  Please explain what’s going on,” Ford said.  Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

              “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.  I’ll have to show you.  Hang tight. I’ll be right back.”  Stan brushed aside a large branch, exposing a hole in the cliff.  Ford started forward.  “No, Ford. Wait here.”  Stan ducked into the hole.  Ford sighed and turned to face the ocean.  After about five minutes had passed, a head poked above the waves. Ford’s eyes widened.  

              Is there a woman out there? The woman caught sight of him, cocked her head curiously, then dove back underwater with a flick of a bright yellow tail.  A mermaid!  What a day for merfolk!  First there was that red male I saw earlier, now a yellow female.  Ford took the journal out of his pocket.  I’m glad I thought to write on waterproof pages.  He flipped the book open to the page with his notes on the male earlier. Before he could write anything, someone behind him cleared a throat.  Ford turned around.  Stan grinned at him.

              “All right, you wanted to know who Molly is?  Here.”  Stan nodded at the thing resting in his arms.  Ford frowned.  

              “Is- is that a mermaid?” Ford asked quietly.  Stan nodded, beaming.  “Clearly an infant.  Not more than a few months old.”

              “Yep.”

              “Remarkable,” Ford breathed.  “You said the name was Molly?  So it’s female.”

              “Wh-”

              “A fine specimen.”  Ford reached out to touch the mermaid’s green scales.  Stan took a step back, a sour look on his face.  “What?”               “What the fuck is wrong with you?” Stan demanded.

              “What are you talking about?  I’m just talking about your…pet, perhaps?” Ford hedged.  Stan’s mouth dropped open.

              “My pet?!  Ford, look at her.  Does she look like anyone you know?” Stan asked.  Ford peered at the mermaid.  The baby giggled happily and clapped her small webbed hands.  She had thick brown curls and a large ruddy nose to match her rosy cheeks.  Ford’s heart dropped to his feet.

              “…She looks like you.”

              “Yeah.  She does. Wanna know why?”

              “I’m dreading the answer.”

              “She’s my daughter, Stanford,” Stan said.  Ford swallowed.

              “Is- I take it her mother is a mermaid?” Ford asked, trying to be casual.

              “Yeah.”

              “Does she have a yellow tail?”

              “You saw her leave, huh?” Stan said.  “I told her if ya saw her, you’d probably write about her or- yep, there’s your science notebook.”  Ford smiled sheepishly.  “Go on, show me what ya wrote.”

              “Uh, I didn’t get anything down about her before you got back.  I do have my notes about a merman I saw earlier.” Ford showed Stan the pages.  “Unfortunately, I didn’t get a good look at him.  He had a red tail, and I sketched him from the back but-”  Stan stared silently at the journal, his face carefully guarded.  “Wait, do you recognize him?”

              “Yeah,” Stan said after a moment.  “Yeah, I do.” Molly began to emit a high-pitched wail.  “Shit, she can’t stay outta the water for too long. Gimme a sec.”  Stan rushed over to the water’s edge and carefully dipped Molly’s tail under.  Ford stared at Stan’s back.

              “Stanley…”

              “Yeah?” Stan asked, still watching Molly splash her tail excitedly in the water. Ford joined him and crouched down. He peered closely at Stan.  Stan looked at him, confused.  “What are you- hey!”  Ford poked Stan’s neck.  At Ford’s touch, three thin slits instinctively rose up, revealing red flesh below.  Ford stumbled back.

              “You- the merman I saw earlier was you, wasn’t it?” Ford whispered. Stan sighed.

              “Fine.  Yeah. The second you mentioned the tail color, I figured it out.  Red’s actually pretty uncommon.  Mearl – Molly’s grandpa – says I’m the first merson he’s ever met with red scales.”

              “You were watching me on the boat.”

              “I didn’t know it was you, okay?  Angie – Molly’s mom – and I were taking Molly out for her first trip outside the colony.  She’s a bit young for it, but we needed some air.”  Ford raised an eyebrow in amusement.  “Water.  Whatever. You know what I mean.  When you saw me, I was tellin’ Angie to hide Molly in the family cave, ‘cause there was a ship nearby.  A little bit later, I saw someone jump overboard, and went to check out what was happening.  It turned out to be you, and, well-”  Stan shrugged.  “You know the rest.”

              “How are you a merman?” Ford asked.

              “I fell in love with a mermaid and ate a magic plant.”

              “There has to be more to the story than that.”

              “Yeah, but it’d take a while to tell the whole thing,” Stan said.  He stroked Molly’s hair absentmindedly.  “What’s going on with you, Sixer?  Why the hell would you just jump straight to drowning yourself?  Who’s after you?”

              “His name’s Bill,” Ford said softly.

              “Bill…okay.  What makes him so nasty?”

              “It’s a long story,” Ford sighed.  “In summary, he’s- he knows more about the magical creatures and items of the sea than anyone else.  And he’s not afraid to utilize that information for his own gains.  I discovered that he was using the research I was working on to disrupt natural ecosystems.  Essentially, pillaging the ocean’s magical bounty.”

              “Pillaging- oh, shit.”  Stan stared down at the wet sand.  “I know who you’re talkin’ about.”

              “Really?”

              “Yeah.  News of mer hunters tends to spread fast.  Especially if they’re as brutal as Bill.”  Stan snorted.  “God, that’s such a dumb name for such a scary guy.”  He looked at Ford.  “So. What are you gonna do?”

              “I- I don’t know what I’ll do.”

              “Well…”  Stan glanced at the ocean.  “You said that this person couldn’t follow you to the bottom of the ocean.  And that’s where I live now.  If you want, you can crash on my couch for a while.”

              “I’m not a merman.  I would drown.”

              “Not a problem.  Angie’s mom taught me a spell that makes someone breathe underwater.”

              “Do merfolk have magical capabilities?”

              “Kinda.”

              “Fascinating,” Ford murmured.  Stan rolled his eyes.

              “So, are you gonna come?”

              “…I don’t see why not.”  Ford smiled hesitantly at Molly.  “At the very least, I could catch up with you and get to know the mer family you’ve become a part of.  Such as my newfound niece.”

              “It might be more than just Molly, Sixer.”  Stan grinned.  “Man, you’re gonna lose it when you see the eggs.”  Stan stood up and began to head back to the opening in the cliff.  Ford blinked, his brain trying to catch up with what he had just heard.  He shot up with a small yelp.

              “Eggs?”

[lesbrarians]

Junkrat/Roadhog:: Trepidations

Well, Roadhog has officially gotten his own comic, and it was glorious -- but with that, Origins is no longer canon compliant, much to my dismay. I'm sorry if anyone was looking forward to a third installment of the series, but I think I'm probably going to be retiring it, ahhh. It's really important to me to stay true to canon, and I can't do that anymore with the reveal of how they met differing so much from my approach :c But I hope you enjoy this sendoff, it's a response to a request I got a longass time ago for the scene where Junkrat loses his arm from Roadhog's perspective. Thank you so much for reading!!

Title: Trepidations

Characters: Junkrat, Roadhog (+Ava and Rosa)

Rating: R

Summary:  Roadhog has seen -- and caused -- a lot of bloodshed in his life, but nothing could have prepared him for this. Told in Roadhog's perspective, this is a retelling of the scene in my Origins fic where Junkrat loses his arm, including what happened when he was unconscious. TW for traumatic amputation, gore, surgery, and general grossness.

---

Roadhog blamed himself.

In the aftermath of Piglet’s death, he let grief consume him, and Junkrat was the one to pay for his lapse in attention.

He tried to tell himself it wasn’t entirely his fault. Anyone would have been devastated by what he had been through. Seeing the pig you had adopted as your own pet carved open and roasting on a fire was enough to distract even the finest of bodyguards. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had a personal investment in Piglet, either -- the runt of the litter, with its oversized ears and brown spots, could have passed for one of the pigs he had raised twenty years ago. Piglet had been a reminder of better days, before radiation from the nuclear explosion had infiltrated his chest cavity and destroyed his already weak lungs. Before he’d realised that you could trust no one but yourself. Before he’d decided to go solo -- until, entirely against his will, Junkrat had wormed his way into his life.

Junkrat.

He knew something was wrong when he realised that Junkrat had gone unnaturally quiet. The little freak was never quiet. He couldn’t fall asleep at night without tossing and turning a good dozen times, accompanied by exaggerated sighs. Even when he took a leak, he talked to himself. Roadhog wasn’t sure whether he found the odd habit endearing or irritating. Either way, it was one of many quirks that made it impossible to ignore Junkrat’s presence. He was noisy, regardless of whether or not he had an audience.

When he realised that there was no distracted muttering or inane giggles coming from the bushes that Junkrat had disappeared through, his head snapped up.

“Junkrat.” He seized his scrap gun and charged in the direction of the shrubbery.

Roadhog was a man of instinct. He wasn’t quite as impulse-driven as his scatterbrained partner (when, he wondered, did he begin to view Junkrat as one half of a duo, instead of merely the trouble-seeking employer he was supposed to protect?), but violence was his knee-jerk reaction to just about every unforeseen circumstance.

The sight of Junkrat pinned to the ground under the weight of another Junker, with a bloody stump of an arm and a gag in his mouth that muffled his agonised screaming, was as unforeseen as circumstances came.

He acted on pure instinct. He fired his scrap gun, and his target’s head exploded in a gory mess of brain matter and viscera. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. He dragged the headless corpse off of Junkrat and tossed it aside, where the dead weight landed with a wet thump.

Junkrat gasped for air the second Roadhog ungagged him. “What the hell did I hire ya for?” he said, voice cracking. “I’m down a fuckin’ arm thanks to you! Yer supposed to -- how the bloody hell didn’t you see him?”

The words stung, but they were nothing compared to the pain Junkrat must have been in.

“I know,” Roadhog said. He tried to staunch the bleeding, but it was futile. He pulled his hand away to find it slick with blood, his fingers stained a bright red that he would see long after he’d washed it off. He’d thought he’d become desensitised to the sight over the years -- hell, he relished reducing someone to a bloody pulp --  but seeing his partner wounded was a thousand times worse than his most brutal kill.

“I’m sorry. I was distract--” He stopped himself. Grief was a poor excuse. Mourning Piglet shouldn’t have kept him from doing his job. If anything, Piglet’s slaughter should have served as a reminder to never let his guard down. The second you let yourself grow complacent, you got butchered. “I’m sorry,” he finished.

Junkrat’s severed arm lay on the ground between them like some kind of sick Halloween prop. Roadhog pushed it aside. It wasn’t a clean cut -- if the ragged edges were indicative of anything, Junkrat’s attacker had needed a few good whacks to successfully chop off the forearm -- and he wasn’t harboring any delusions that they would be capable of reattaching it.

Besides, the sight of it was freaking him out, if he was being perfectly honest with himself.

The vitriol seeped out of Junkrat, and he went limp. His breaths came in staccato bursts, harsh and shallow, like a cornered jackrabbit. “I’m gonna die,” he whimpered.

“No, you’re not,” Roadhog said with the practiced conviction of a man who spent the better part of his adult life lying to others. He fished for a bandanna from his back pocket. It wasn’t the cleanest thing, but it had to be better than exposing the gaping wound to the elements.

“Yes I am!” Junkrat wailed. “Just leave me alone to die!” If it had been any other moment, Roadhog would have rolled his eyes at Junkrat’s histrionics, but given the current circumstances, he could forgive him for being a little hysterical.

Still, he couldn’t help but growl, “Don’t be melodramatic. I just lost Piglet, I’m not losing you too.” He wasn’t sure whether he was trying to convince Junkrat or himself.

Junkrat gave him a watery smile. “You do care.” He reached his arm up towards Roadhog’s face, where it hung uselessly between them. Roadhog stared at the hovering stump, arrested by the sight of mangled flesh and bone. He tore his eyes away and went back to business. For all of his insistence that Junkrat wasn’t going to die, it was looking more likely by the minute. He needed to rig up some kind of tourniquet, anything to keep him from bleeding out until Roadhog could get him some proper medical assistance. The bandanna would work, but he needed something with enough tension to cut off the circulation in Junkrat’s arm. He reached for Junkrat’s belt and undid it, pulling it out of the loops of his shorts.

Junkrat’s giggle turned into a barely choked-back sob, and he managed a twisted smile. “What, now ya wanna get in my pants? This gets ya goin’?” He waved the bloody stump.

It was horribly, wildly inappropriate, and Roadhog couldn’t even begin to address everything that was wrong with Junkrat’s depraved little joke. “Shut. Up,” he said. It came out angrier than intended, but he was under a lot of mental strain at the moment, and Junkrat wasn’t helping. He wrapped the leather belt around Junkrat’s arm and yanked hard, tying off the makeshift tourniquet.

“You’re more scared than what I am,” Junkrat accused.

Roadhog ignored him. He was stressed, upset, guilt-ridden -- worried, even, but he wasn’t scared. “That’ll keep you alive for now. Still needs to come off before necrosis sets in,” he said, doing his level best to keep his voice impassive. His mind was racing, trying to figure out what the hell to do next. They were in the middle of nowhere, and even if he had known where the nearest hospital was, they weren’t exactly the kind of clientele that a respectable medical institution catered to. They’d be arrested the second Junkrat was stabilised. No, Roadhog had a better idea.

“I know someone,” he said, scooping Junkrat up to carry him to the sidecar. “From the Australian Liberation Front. She used to be a doctor before she was displaced.”

He hadn’t seen Dr. Ava Pennington in at least a decade. After the omnium explosion, he had stayed behind in the wreckage and carved out a place for himself on the outskirts of the cutthroat society that sprang up in its wake. With the radiation poisoning spreading to his already-weak lungs, the idea of donning a gas mask and starting a solitary life of crime had held a certain allure. He was angry, he’d lost everything he’d ever owned to the omnics, and he needed a fresh start in a place where no one knew his face or his name, where he didn’t have to answer to anyone but himself.

Ava, on the other hand… Roadhog imagined that if she hadn’t been married, Ava would have traveled down the same path as he had, perhaps even become Queen of Junkertown herself. Maybe he wouldn’t have minded the sad excuse for a city so much if Ava was the one in charge. But Rosa was a civilian, an innocent bystander as her wife conspired with the rest of the Australian Liberation Front to take out the omnium. Ava was eccentric, she preferred the isolation of the Outback, but she wasn’t willing to uproot Rosa and put her life in danger. Instead of staying behind and building Junkertown -- or, in Roadhog’s case, disdainfully watching from afar -- she and Rosa retired to their own quiet house on the outskirts of the Outback. They were well removed from both Junker society and civilised society, but close enough to commute. The last time he’d spoken to Ava, she had been talking about trying to do medicine part-time, aiming for three twelve-hour shifts a week as a trauma surgeon in the city. She’d know how to fix this.

Junkrat drew what remained of his arm close to his body and curled inward, hiding his face in Roadhog’s chest. “I don’t want any maggots in me,” he mumbled. “She’s not puttin’ them in me, I don’t want maggots in me, I won’t do it, you can’t make me.”

Roadhog had heard plenty of non sequiturs from Junkrat in the short time they had been together, but this one threw him for a loop. Baffled, he said, “Maggots-- No one’s putting maggots in you.”

“She’s not doin’ it, no, no.”

“I won’t let her put maggots in you.”

Junkrat closed his eyes and nodded. “Okay. Good. Okay.”

Roadhog settled Junkrat into the sidecar of his chopper. He wrapped the blanket they had bought for Piglet around Junkrat in a last-ditch attempt to keep him from slipping into irreversible shock. Night was quickly descending upon them, and once the blistering sun sunk below the horizon, a chill would settle through the desert -- the last thing a wounded Junkrat needed to contend with.

As he revved up the engine, a long-forgotten feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t until they were roaring through the Outback, kicking up a trail of dust in their wake, that he realised that Junkrat’s observation had been right -- for the first time in years, fear was clawing at his insides.

---

Junkrat had slipped into unconsciousness during the trip to Ava’s. The pain and physical exhaustion from the late hour proved too much for him, and, unable to cope, his body shut down. Roadhog scooped him up, letting the bloody stump of his arm dangle freely, and carried him to the house.

Junkrat’s scrawny body was tiny in his massive hands. It took little effort to shift his weight to one side and bang on the front door with deafening force.

Ava answered the door in her echidna-patterned pajamas, bedhead rendering her untamed mane of tightly-wound curls wilder than ever. Her jaw dropped, eyes widening as she looked up at Roadhog. “Mako--!”

“Fix him.” Roadhog held out Junkrat’s broken body. There would be time for pleasantries later. They had precious little time, and right now, he was more concerned with saving the life of this freak he barely knew than he was with greeting an old friend.

Ava shut her mouth and tried to peer around his massive frame. “Yeah, sure, I can fix that right up -- you got the broken off bits hiding back there?”

Roadhog glowered at her. “He’s dying, Ava,” he said coldly.

Ava couldn’t see his expression through the thick lenses of his gas mask, but she read his displeasure loud and clear. “Sorry, big fella, I hear you, that was in poor taste. Well, what are you just standing around for? Get him in here, let’s have a looky loo.”

She stood aside to let him in and shifted into doctor mode, striding into the kitchen with purpose. Junkrat shifted in Roadhog’s arms, tightening his grip on the bloody stump clutched to his chest, as if he knew his suffering was about to get much worse. Ava quickly sanitised the kitchen table, a facsimile of a sterile operating workspace, and Roadhog carefully lowered Junkrat onto it.

“Rosa, doll?” Ava called. “Come give me a hand!”

Ava’s wife appeared behind them, her round face furrowed with concern. “Honey...?” she said, pausing to drink in the scene before her.

“Hi.” Roadhog lifted a hand in greeting.

Rosa’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Mako!”

“It’s Roadhog now,” he reminded her. He’d made the decision to shed his birth name after the omnium incident, instead adopting the nickname bestowed upon him by Ava and some of the other Australian Liberation Front members. He’d earned a reputation as a roadhog from the other bikers in their gang of rebels, and he’d latched onto the moniker with a proud ferocity. As the Junker society rose from the ashes of the omnium explosion, he found that he was far from alone. Countless Junkers adopted names that fit their reinvented identities or places in Junkertown’s lawless society.

“Roadhog,” Rosa repeated, nodding. She looked past him at the man bleeding out on her kitchen table. “What do you need me to do?” she asked Ava, brown eyes alert and focused despite the late hour.

Ava had already snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and was undoing Junkrat’s tourniquet. “First things first: whip me up a couple litres of sterile saline solution,” she said. “Real slipshod job with the tourniquet here, Roadhog,” she added, handing him the old bandanna and belt.

“I was under a lot of pressure.” He stuffed the bloody bandanna back in his pocket and draped Junkrat’s belt over the back of a chair for safekeeping.

“No excuse for getting sloppy!” She wagged a reproachful finger at him. “I didn’t waste my expertise teaching you for you to go forgetting it the second the going gets tough!” She raised her voice to address Rosa, who was already pouring water into the electric kettle to prepare the saline solution. “Oh, and babe, change the sheets on the bed when you get a sec -- this poor sod’s gonna need somewhere to sleep after all this.”

Ava hefted her bag of tools onto the table and searched through it, pulling out various surgical instruments and muttering to herself as she took inventory. “Bone saw, suture anchors, scalpel, forceps…”

She noticed Roadhog looking at her and sensed his masked concern. “What do you look so worried for? I’m very good at my job, remember?” She grinned up at him. He presumed that it was intended to put him at ease, but there was something about Ava’s smile that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Not for the first time in his life, he was glad that she was on their side.

Ava held up two fingers. “Steps one and two to sorting out this mess: irrigation and surgical debridement,” she explained. “Layman’s terms, gonna flush out all the nasty debris in that gaping wound as best as I can and remove all the dead and contaminated tissue and any other foreign material that’s really lodged up in there. Once that’s done, then we can focus on closing it all up. How’s that saline looking, Rosa?”

She left Roadhog’s side to fetch the sterile solution that Rosa was mixing together. Roadhog leaned over Junkrat, searching his face for any signs of life. He thought he saw Junkrat’s eyes flutter open for the briefest of seconds. “I’m gonna fix this,” he muttered, his voice low so that only Junkrat could hear him -- if he even could. His grip on the conscious world seemed tenuous at best.

He stepped back as Ava returned with a jar of saline solution and eyed the row of gleaming surgical instruments she had arranged on the table. “Do you have anaesthesia?” he asked.

She shook her head, curls bouncing from side to side. “‘Fraid not. I’m not an anaesthetist, and that’s all highly regulated anyway. Let’s hope your man here has a high tolerance for pain, eh?”

Roadhog’s brow furrowed in concern. Life would be a lot easier for Junkrat if he could be knocked out during this ordeal.

Rosa placed a hand on his arm, and he flinched at the sudden contact. “He’s in good hands, Roadhog,” she said softly. She had a warm, wet washcloth in hand and used it to wipe the dried blood caked on Junkrat’s chest and face.

“The best!” Ava agreed jovially. She bent over Junkrat. “Oi, don’t know if you can hear me, but just hang in there, alright? This might sting just a tad, but never you worry, it’ll all be over soon!” She thumped Junkrat’s good arm in a somewhat reassuring gesture and started humming to herself as she began washing out the bloody stump with a steady stream of saline solution. Ava’s bedside manner perplexed Roadhog; she was so relentlessly cheerful in the face of grievous bodily injury, and her humming, while perfectly pleasant, felt oddly morbid. He thought he recognised the tune from the opening theme of an old, black-and-white horror film he’d seen back in the day. Frankenstein? Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, perhaps?

“Toccata and Fugue in D Minor,” Ava said out loud, as if she had read his mind. “Bach’s finest organ piece, in my humble opinion.” She bent her head closer to inspect the wound, cleansed of the surface dirt and grit. She reached for the scalpel and forceps and--

Junkrat whimpered, a sound so pitiful that it stabbed Roadhog in the heart.

He took a step closer. “What can I do?” he asked, peering over Ava’s shoulder and watching as she concentrated on excising a mutilated piece of tissue.

“Stop breathing down my neck, is what!” Ava said, shrugging him off.

There was no malice in her words, but still, Roadhog took a step back, suddenly self-conscious of the way his labored breathing wheezed through the filters of his gas mask.

“Actually, wash your hands and hold this a second.” He quickly obliged. She handed him the bloody scalpel, which he pinched between his thumb and forefinger until she held out her hand expectantly. “You’re real lucky you have me and my tools for this, you know. There’s more unsavory methods of debridement out there. Did you know that maggot therapy is a thing? Green bottle fly larvae will eat necrotic tissue, but it takes a few days, and between you and me, it’s pretty gross.”

All at once, Junkrat’s slurred rambling about maggots made perfect sense. Roadhog looked down at Junkrat and his peg leg with newfound clarity. Junkrat had told him all about how he’d lost his leg in an accident with one of his mines but failed to mention the gory aftermath.

He wondered what other things his partner had never shared with him.

Roadhog adopted the unofficial role of surgical technologist, handing Ava whatever instruments she needed. He watched the proceedings with a growing sense of dread, unable to look away. Ava activated the bone saw, and the electric buzzing gave way to a sickening grinding noise as she shaved off another two inches of severed bone.

“Exposed bone gets infected just like everything else,” Ava explained over the loud whirr, “and I need to hollow the arm out, so to speak. Create enough leftover skin to seal up this stub once all those fleshy bits are tidied up and anchored down. Related: get those suture anchors ready, I’m going to need them soon.”

Roadhog said nothing as Ava concentrated on rearranging the remaining tissue into what she referred to as a “soft tissue envelope -- sort of like a fatty cushion, it’ll make it less painful for him, especially if he ever wants to try for a prosthetic like that leg of his.” She drew the muscles over the radius and ulna and placed sutures through them, anchoring them to the severed bones.

Once everything was screwed down and secure, Ava declared that she no longer needed his assistance. Roadhog retreated to watch from a distance as Ava began the painstaking process of closing the wound, arranging the remaining flaps of skin just so and stitching it up.

“Oh, are you awake?” Ava said aloud. “I’m Dr. Ava Pennington --  you’re gonna be okay.”

Junkrat gave a groan, and Roadhog, who had sank heavily on a kitchen chair, knocked it over in his haste to stand up. By the time he reached the kitchen table, Junkrat’s eyes had closed and his jaw had gone slack. Still, hearing Junkrat’s voice and knowing that he was momentarily lucid eased some of the weight on Roadhog’s chest.

He sat back down, the sudden spike of adrenaline coupled with the rest of the night’s labors tuckering him out.

“Well, there’s nothing we can do but wait it out,” Ava finally announced, wiping her bloody hands on an old dishtowel. She turned to face Roadhog. “Change his dressings, keep an eye on the swelling, give him meds when he comes ‘round, and hope his li’l body’s strong enough to fight off infection. And try to make him comfortable in the meantime.”

“There’s fresh sheets on the bed,” Rosa added, “if you want to move him there.”

Roadhog nodded and stood up. His limbs felt like lead as he crossed the short distance to the kitchen table and picked Junkrat up.

Ava’s and Rosa’s house was a small, studio-style place where the kitchen, living room, and bedroom bled into one another. A flimsy, decorative sliding room divider offered the mere illusion of privacy; it didn’t extend far enough to cordon the bedroom off from the rest of the house. It creaked as Rosa pulled it open. Roadhog had the impression it was rarely used.

There were signs of their hosts’ interrupted lives -- Rosa’s book on the nightstand, Ava’s rumpled clothes on the floor, directly next to the laundry hamper that stood in the corner -- but the sheets were clean, and that was all that mattered, momentary guilt be damned.

Rosa pulled the covers back so that Roadhog could tuck Junkrat in. The three of them circled around the bed, eyeing their patient.

“What is he?” Ava asked.

Rosa gasped and swatted her wife. “Ava! He’s a human being!”

Ava cowered with a laugh, hands raised in surrender. “Not what I meant! Not what I meant! I meant, what’s he to you? I mean, I haven’t seen you in years, Mako -- last I saw of you, you were striking out on your own. Then you show up on my doorstep with some bloke who’s down an arm and a leg. What is he, boyfriend, business partner, friend...?” She waved her hand, encouraging him to fill in the blank.

Roadhog briefly considered it. “Partner in crime,” he answered. He wasn’t willing to define things further -- even calling Junkrat his partner in crime was being generous, given the turbulent start to their relationship.

Ava shrugged. “Works for me!”

There was a moment’s lull as they watched Junkrat twitch fitfully in his sleep.

“Bit of an odd-looking fella, isn’t he?” Ava said. “How’dya meet?”

“We won’t pry further,” Rosa hastened to add, planting her hands on her wife’s shoulders and pivoting her around.

“Oh, sure, plenty of time to catch up later!” Ava said, dutifully allowing Rosa to steer her towards the living room. “We should crash now, brilliant idea. It’s been a long night and your mate here needs his rest.” She paused, casting Roadhog a shrewd look. “You planning on staying up a little longer to keep an eye on him?”

He nodded mutely. He knew Ava expected a more thorough answer, but he didn’t see the sense in responding verbally when he could communicate the bare minimum silently.

She tapped the side of her nose with her finger. “I know you, old friend, you did the same with Riptide, remember?” Roadhog remembered. He’d looked after his fellow Australian Liberation Front member when he was injured, and the man had repaid him by robbing him blind. Roadhog had given up on trusting people after that. Ava -- and her wife, by extension -- was the exception to the rule. The jury was still out as far as Junkrat was concerned, but he had proven to be a man of his word thus far. He couldn’t count for shit, but he tried his hardest to adhere to their 50-50 rule.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Ava continued. “I’ve already got one patient, I don’t need you getting ill too! I might be good, but I can tell this guy’s gonna be a handful…”

“Ava, honey, why don’t you go get the sleeping bags set up?” Rosa said with as much sweetness as she could muster. She pushed Ava over the invisible line that separated the living room from the bedroom and extended the divider to block her from view.

“Can do!” Ava’s voice floated through the screen.

Rosa gave Roadhog an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry she’s… the way that she is. But you know all about that, don’t you?”

Roadhog nodded again and sank down in a chintzy armchair. He couldn’t tell if it belonged to the bedroom or the living room. He was very familiar with Ava’s matter-of-fact, occasionally insensitive remarks. She meant well -- as far as he could tell, anyway -- and he appreciated her candor. Her oddities had, in some bizarre way, prepared him for Junkrat’s quirks and spastic demeanor.

Rosa placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “She is right, though. You should get some sleep, Roadhog,” she said. “Stress and no sleep can’t be good for your health.”

“I can sleep when I’m dead.” He didn’t take his eyes off of Junkrat.

Rosa bit her lip but nodded. “If that’s how you feel.” She opened the linen closet and pulled out a patchwork quilt.

Roadhog finally looked up at Rosa as she draped the blanket over his shoulders.

“You have to take care of yourself too, you know,” she told him. “You’re no good to Junkrat if you run yourself ragged.”

“I’m no good to him now,” he said quietly.

Rosa gave him a small, sad smile. “I know,” she said. “I know you think that. But I’m sure he would say different.”

What the hell did I hire ya for? I’m down a fuckin’ arm thanks to you!

Roadhog didn’t share Rosa’s convictions. He drew the quilt down his shoulders and turned his attention back to Junkrat.

Rosa waited a few seconds for him to answer. When it became apparent that he had no such intentions, she stood up. “Well, promise you’ll at least try to catch a few winks then?”

Roadhog nodded wordlessly.

“Good.” Rosa stood up and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Ava and I will be in the living room, alright? Just give us a shout if you need us. The couch is all yours, whenever you’re ready to get some rest.”

Rosa extended the screen to its fullest width to afford Roadhog a modicum of privacy, leaving him to wonder how and when he had gotten so invested in the wellbeing of the little freak he had tried to kill just a few short months ago.

Junkrat squirmed on the bed, perspiration beading on his forehead, and struck out with his foot. The sheet tangled around his leg, and Roadhog realised that Junkrat was still wearing his peg leg.

He hadn’t given the peg leg much thought after their first encounter; Junkrat wasn’t the first Junker with a missing limb he’d met, and he used his prosthetic leg effortlessly. It was a natural extension, in Roadhog’s mind’s eye.

Still, he knew it couldn’t be comfortable to sleep in. There were nights where Junkrat didn’t remove it, nights where they were both on edge and needed to make a quick getaway. The next day, his usual awkward gait turned into a full-fledged limp, and Roadhog would catch him uncomfortably adjusting the socket. Nine times out of ten, Junkrat removed the prosthetic when he was sleeping. Hell, he’d done it their first night together -- a bold move, considering that not 24 hours prior, Roadhog had been attempting to kill him.

He couldn’t imagine the kind of pain Junkrat was in right now. The least he could do was make sure he was as comfortable as possible.

Roadhog stood up and approached the side of the bed. “Hey,” he muttered. He didn’t know if Junkrat could hear him in this state, but it didn’t feel right to touch Junkrat without telling him. Roadhog was leery of physical contact from anyone but the closest of friends, and while he doubted -- knew -- that Junkrat didn’t share his reservations, he didn’t want to violate Junkrat’s personal space. “Just gonna take off your leg for you. Hold still.”

Whether or not he heard him, Junkrat stopped fidgeting once Roadhog laid hands on him.

His skin was hot and clammy, a sure sign that a fever was sinking in.

Roadhog untangled Junkrat from the sheets twisted around his legs. He pushed the ragged fabric of Junkrat’s shorts up his right thigh to expose the junction where the socket of his peg leg met flesh. As he figured out how to detach the prosthetic, his thumb traced the scar tissue of Junkrat’s thigh. There was a nasty, twisted gash that ran up the inner part of the stump, and it reminded Roadhog of the battle scar that curved up the side of his own face.

He set the peg leg aside and removed the sock that covered the stump, and Junkrat sighed. Roadhog was sure that the prosthetic liner made the peg leg more comfortable to wear, serving as a barrier between the flesh of the residual limb and the prosthetic itself, but it had to feel good to let the stump breathe every now and then.

The armchair groaned as Roadhog sat back down, pulling it closer to the bedside. He closed his eyes. He was getting tired in spite of himself, but the thought of leaving Junkrat alone when he was feverish left a sour taste in his mouth. He wasn’t used to feeling guilt or compassion -- it had been a long time since he’d connected with anyone enough to particularly care about how his actions affected them.

He thought back to Ava’s question: what was Junkrat to him? He didn’t know how to define their relationship. He had never met anyone quite like Junkrat before. The man was an idiot. He baffled Roadhog on a daily basis. He didn’t listen, and Roadhog was still liable to hit him if he overstepped his physical boundaries. They hadn’t reached the point in this bizarre relationship they had cultivated where Roadhog was comfortable with Junkrat poking his belly, which he tended to do with suicidal regularity.

And yet. Junkrat made him laugh -- truly and genuinely laugh. He had been so good with Piglet. Not a lot of criminals would have been so agreeable to adopting a pet pig. He had been amenable to spending some of their hard-earned cash on luxuries for said pig, and only protested a little when Roadhog had insisted on getting baby oil for Piglet. Somehow, Junkrat had even gotten him to volunteer information about his life as Mako Rutledge, to talk about the pigs he raised before everything went south.

For better or worse, Junkrat was a part of his life now, and as loathe as he was to admit it, he was growing fond of the obnoxious asshole. Fond enough to feel regret, both on a professional and a personal level, for failing to protect him.

When he opened his eyes once more, he found that Junkrat’s brow was furrowed, his face contorted like he was having a particularly bad dream. No stranger to nightmares, Roadhog patted Junkrat’s hand in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. The wrinkle in Junkrat’s brow smoothed out slightly.

Roadhog fell asleep in the chair, his hand still covering Junkrat’s.

“Shut up,” he said when Ava woke him the following morning.

“I didn’t say anything,” she answered, grinning like the cat who caught the canary.

Junkrat surfaced long enough to take some painkillers, but he was in no condition to carry on a conversation with anyone and didn’t seem entirely aware of his surroundings. After blindly taking the medicine he was offered, he nodded off once more, his body shutting down in an attempt to sleep off the pain. Ava confirmed that his temperature had spiked, a sure sign of infection, and they took turns administering cold compresses.

Ava pulled out a puzzle for them to work on in their downtime, giving Roadhog something to focus on asides from his concern about Junkrat. That night, he decided to sleep on the couch -- it reassured him to stay with Junkrat, but sleeping upright in the chair was bad for his back, and he needed a good night’s rest. If he withdrew the screen, he could still keep an eye on the bed from the couch

He checked in on Junkrat before bed, fresh cold compress in hand, only to find that he had kicked his blankets off in his sleep and was shivering violently.

Roadhog frowned and dragged the covers back over him. It wasn’t exactly chilly in the house -- the quilt Rosa had given him the previous night had been more for comfort than to ward off the cold.  

Junkrat stilled for a few moments before thrashing them off again. He trembled like a leaf, curling up in an unconscious attempt to warm himself up.

Roadhog sighed. The fever had yet to break, and Junkrat’s body temperature was obviously swinging from one extreme to the other. He set the cold compress on the nightstand.

There was plenty of room in the king sized bed for him to lay down next to Junkrat, who was so skinny that Roadhog could count his ribs. He wrapped an arm around Junkrat’s waist and pulled him close, hoping that his body heat would be enough to strike that balance between too hot and too cold.

Junkrat stilled, all the tension in his muscles dissipating as he relaxed against Roadhog’s body. His good hand found Roadhog’s arm, and his fingers lightly brushed against his forearm.

Roadhog bent his head so that the snout of his mask snuffled against the ashy tips of Junkrat’s hair. He closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think about how right this felt.

His last conscious thought before drifting off to sleep was that he was going to have a hell of a time explaining this to Ava in the morning.