#and also i need to write The Amputation scene that parts missing | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

wutheringmights · 2 years ago

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CTB Scrap - Impa's Ploy in Faron

This was meant to be in chapter 19, when the remaining members of the Chain are trying to decide if they can risk trying to find their missing friends.

Okay, so this is a doozy to explain. Originally, Warriors was going to realize that the rumors of a new hero were a part of a scheme Impa had to capture them. The reason was convoluted. The entire plan was based on contrivances.

I also got way too deep into the scene before realizing that Warriors was acting like he did pre-amputation. He needed to be way less calculating at this point of the story.

It just didn't work, so I scrap the idea entirely.

Note: this is an unedited scrap, so the writing may not be up to snuff. Also, everything include was deleted for a reason, so please do not take it as canon to CTB.

“Not possible,” Lincoln said. “We had to go through a nearby village. A regiment of troops had just marched through a few days ago.”

“Maybe you misheard, cook,” Hyrule said.

“No, I know what I heard.” Wild placed a bowl of soup on the map, blocking Warriors from making another mark. “Eat up. You’re a pile of bones.” He placed the other bowl in front of Hyrule. “Everyone was saying that the princess had some new hero.”

“It could be a bluff,” Time said, returning to his seat.

Warriors shook his head as he sat and slid his bowl closer. “What if it’s not?” He mulled over it for a moment. “Maybe it’s not a bluff, but a ploy. The Royal Guard couldn’t tell the people of Hyrule that their hero was dead, not without inciting panic. I’m not sure why they didn’t keep that information quiet to begin with— though I have the suspicion that rumors of my death was spread by the Knights of Hyrule in order to pin it onto Lincoln and legitimize your ousting.”

“Fair logic,” Lincoln said.

“A dead hero in times of conflict can only cause panic, and with the kingdom on the verge of outright rebellion, the Royal Guard would need to keep the people calm. So they would need a new hero to replace me.”

“They could fake it,” Four said.

“Not easily, and certainly not convincingly. Here, a hero is a public figure. I had to be shown off to make my existence worthwhile. So whoever they got as a hero, they would need to have something that would convince everyone in Hyrule that they’re legitimate—the Master Sword, a Triforce mark, prowess in battle, something.”

“Are you saying they have our knight?” Time asked.

Warriors could think of a hundred scenarios that could land Sky in the hands of the Royal Guard. He liked none of them. “Maybe, but that’s beside the point. I’m thinking that they were projecting the news of the new hero just enough to get the people to calm, then started suppressing it.”

“Rumors are nearly impossible to suppress,” Wild said.

“On a large scale, yes. But with enough intimidation, limited contact from other parts of the kingdom, and a different set of news to spread, it could work in a limited area��say, for example, Faron.”

Time eyes widened. “They’re trying to lure us out?”

“Got it in one.” Warriors carefully picked up his spoon, making sure he had a good angle before dipping it into the bowl. “Impa had to have done the math and realized that we were heading to Faron. She might have even realized that we’re here in the temple. Since we slipped by the checkpoints, she’s making the gamble that she can catch us in the act of saving everyone else.” He frowned. “And she’s knows me. She knows that not knowing any information is going to drive me insane. She’s betting I’ll get restless and try to find answers myself. And if not that, then she’s betting she can lure out one of you for those same reasons.”

“It’s possible,” Lincoln mused aloud. “If I was spotted when I went back to my family’s home, it could mean that I inadvertently confirmed where you are.”

“Are you really such a hot commodity?” Wild asked Warriors.

“To Impa, yes,” Warriors said. “But again, it’s not just about me. It’s about all of us. The hero provides legitimacy in times of conflict. It’s like getting the goddesses’ approval.” Warriors frowned. “And if we don’t comply, then we’re too dangerous to be left alone.”

Time crossed his arms over his chest. “So what do we do?”

Warriors tried to think about it a moment longer, but his brain kept turning back to the same plan over and over again. He groaned, dropping his spoon into his bowl to pinch his brow.

Surely, he was still feverish. His brain had to still be muddied with illness. Why else could he only think of one solution, and a shitty one at that?

Proxi placed a hand on his elbow. “It’s not your fault,” she soothed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hyrule demanded. “You’re not thinking about leaving them there?”

Warriors grimaced, wishing for half a second he could have gently led them all to that conclusion. Instead, he had to deal with all of his friends objecting, raising their voices at once.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that,” Wild said.

“You’re abandoning them?” Hyrule said.

“There has to be some other way,” Time said.

“C’mon, think of something different,” Four said.

Warriors gritted his teeth, bearing through it. Let them shout. He deserved this. If only he had been a better hero.

“Calm down.” Lincoln’s tone brokered no argument, so much so that even Time immediately settled down.

It only served to rekindle bitter pang in Warriors’s gut, though he was saved from snapping at Lincoln when Hyrule, immune, kept shouting. “Every time we try to go along with one of your plans, something goes wrong and everyone gets hurt. Isn’t it time for us to stop worrying about that shit and start doing something?”

“Whoever is stuck in the Royal Guard made a calculated decision,” Warriors said. He wanted to be calm yet firm, but his voice sounded strained, even to himself. “The minute we rush in, they become a hostage and we put them in danger.” His hand wrapped around the stump of his left arm, squeezing what remained of his elbow joint. “I’m not saying I like it either. From the beginning, I swore that I wouldn’t repeat the same mistakes I made in the past. I fucked up that goal pretty thoroughly. I won’t argue that this isn’t the exact scenario I was afraid of.”

Warriors winced, realizing that he was squeezing his arm too tightly. But he didn’t stop. “I never wanted any of this to happen again. I swear I didn’t.”

Hyrule stared at him, wide-eyed. “Again?”

Warriors swallowed. Memories of the engineer played in his mind, consuming his eyes until they were all he could see. The engineer laughing, crying, bleeding—all because of him. Everything that went wrong was because of him. “I told you, didn’t I? I did a lot of terrible things.”

Hyrule opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but Lincoln cut him off. “If they were recruited, things won’t be apocalyptic for them,” Lincoln said. “Precarious, yes. But Impa won’t have any reason to mistreat them. We only have to worry about the possibility of them fighting on the frontlines, which may not happen for some time. I’m not sure how often any of you boys have fought in a war, but war is many weeks of doing nothing punctuated with battles. We still have time.”

Warriors’s stomach churned at the very thought, but he focused on Lincoln’s logic. Twilight, Sky, Wind, and Legend: they weren’t the engineer and Warriors wasn’t there to terrorize them. There was plenty of time. There was hope.

“I don’t like it,” Time said. “It feels like we’re leaving them behind—forgetting them, even.”

Warriors’s grip on his arm tightened until he felt a sharp pain. When he glanced at his arm, all he could think about was his dream of the child, how he had held the skinning knife in his hand as the child shouted over and over again why don’t you remember me?

“I understand what you mean,” Lincoln said. “Waiting here means I have to trust Linkle to find her way here on her own. I’m not comfortable with that idea either, but it’s what has to be done.”

This was important—some sign that Lincoln was as pragmatic as ever, but Warriors couldn’t focus on it. He was nauseous, and he could feel the meagre bites of soup he had taken swarming up his throat. Why would he think about that now?

“Captain?” Wild asked.

Warriors released his arm, if only to clutch his stomach. “Sorry. I can’t…”

Wild smiled. “Hey, don’t worry, I have some clear broth still.”

#there are whole passages of this i salvaged for the rewrite #but yeah you can't tell but this was leading to a plot thread that undid all of warriors's development so far #me rambling #lu ctb #linked universe #ctb content #ctb birthday

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bardic-inspo · 3 years ago

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💔⛔

Thanks for the ask! :D

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

Hmm, none for Fallout that have truly been "scrapped". A handful that have been started or outlined and then left on the shelf. The bigger one that comes to mind is a mutli-chapter DeaCready James Bond/Modern AU that I had outlined pretty well. I even had thoughts of a sequel that would go OT3/incorporate Nat in a really fun way. I would still like to do to it someday, but it's something I want to sort of work on all at once/draft all the way through and then post in short succession. It's also a silly for fun project and I want to be in the right carefree headspace for it. Bring the Gasoline is getting close to its final arc and I feel like I have a certain momentum with it at this point. I used to switch off more between BtG and Reclamations one shots, but now that Deacon's figuring more into BtG, my primary focus has been following that story through before really writing much else. 💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

I do love me some angst, but usually with a generous helping of comfort to soothe the ache. So, nothing I've written usually ends ~totally~ sad. But there are a few pieces/scenes that hooked me sharper than I expected.

Warm Bodies is a smut piece but with some intensive internal aching and some of most, I guess, "focused" angsting I've written. I-love-you-so-much-but-I-almost-lose-you-all-the-time-and-this-will-end-someday sort of aching.

I'll talk more specifically about Bring the Gasoline scenes below the cut. Spoilers for the fic, and content warning for some discussion of suicidal ideation.

Parts of Med-Tek were pretty rough. MacCready realizing he needed to let Nat go and get the medicine for him, and him just waiting, his brain sort of eating itself alive, for her to get back. And then the amputation. Writing Mac's pain was harder than writing Nat's in those moments. He felt so helpless to watch someone he cared for so dearly go through that, and a huge helping of personal guilt about leading her into those circumstances in the first place. Even with some time having passed, he hasn't really recovered from it completely.

More generally, writing about Nat's prior suicidal ideation has been hard and hits me off and on, sometimes unexpectedly. It's not really written about in the most explicit sense, but I don't think you can really miss it when you read BtG, either. I think the hardest scene to write with those elements was that kiss-turned-argument with Mac after the courser fight where he calls it out her reckless disregard for her own life pretty directly. That moment is then compounded by Nat being terrified of losing people, and that brief flurry of panic she has when Mac goes to get some air. Oof.

I have this fic tagged as both 'angst with a happy ending' and 'bittersweet ending'. Nat and Mac end up together. No surprises there. But I think the overall ending is sort of heartbreaking in a similar sort of vein as the canonical ending is (even though BtG's is pretty canon divergent) and I'm so excited to finally get to write those achey horrible moments that have just been stored in my head this whole time, hehe.

#ask memes #bring the gasoline #my writing #megh fights the page

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morganaspendragonss · 4 years ago

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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.

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nancydfan · 4 years ago

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Something that bothers me about Resident Evil 7's writing is that sometimes I feel like Ethan should be more emotive? Or he should react more to certain stuff. I love Ethan to death but sometimes during 7 there are bits like when Lucas kidnaps Mia. Capcom, you know when a man sees his wife taken to uncertain danger he's gonna react to that, right? Or during the ending when he sees Mia alive and his reaction is basically "Oh nice". Village did it a bit better at least.

I def agree there are missed opportunities in re7. While I understand they wanted Ethan wanted to be more of a blank character, they created a character going through hell and trying to save himself and his wife. And sometimes he just doesn’t react. There’s a couple lines that were recorded and cut like around his leg being amputated and then something about staying away from me, I think those should have been included because it would have given a better insight on Ethan’s mental state. In re8 we know it all.

Most of the time I’m okay with re7 because one of the first major signs of shock is silence. So it makes sense that Ethan just does not react at times because this is so beyond his scope of understanding he cannot process it and is just running through this trying to get out alive. Also, he has a subtle way of communicating his emotions in re7. Like w zoe and the bugs. He was pissed and my friend didn’t pick up on it. And I was like can’t you hear it? But as i said, it’s way more subtle. And when he speaks at the end of the boss battles, I feel that in my soul especially on madhouse. There still needed to be a bit more but I can let it slide for the most part as just shock.

But for the love of God, I’m glad. THATS IT?? Lol I still can’t with that. I don’t even understand why we couldnt have had an emotional scene or something. It was odd considering the depths of love and devotion Ethan has for Mia.

The one thing I liked better in re7 versus re8 is his breathing. It’s a lot more panicked in re8 and I have a noise sensitivity so it gets on my nerves. Lol but that’s just me. I prefer his quiet, calm breathing from re7. Granted Ethan is running for over a day straight in re8 versus re7. Also the end needed to be panicked because well we know why 😭

#thanks for the ask my friend!!#resident evil #resident evil 7 #resident evil 8 #ethan winters #mrs joe speaks

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gunshou · 3 years ago

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paralysed force

prompt: talking is overrated | taunting

fandom: MCU, Captain America (movies)

warnings: blood, amputation, htp adjacent

How one Hydra technician learns to keep his hands to himself.

. . . . .

read it on AO3

The screams echoed from the experimentation room, bouncing off concrete and amplifying until Drayton wanted to join in from sheer frustration. She hurried down the hallway, white coat flapping behind her, and slapped her palm against the door lock. Its beep of confirmation was lost in the howling that ridiculously increased in volume as the door slid open.

“What the actual fuck—?” she bellowed and stopped at the scene before her.

Her assessing gaze went first to the asset, crouched beside the examination chair with its matted hair stuck in sweaty clumps to its neck. The bottom half of its face was thoroughly, shockingly red. Blood dripped from between its bared teeth onto its heaving chest, but it seemed to be respiring adequately and held itself coiled but still, so she turned her attention to the source of the screaming.

Davidson’s white coat was also spattered red, and he clutched one hand to his chest while continuing to scream in high, attenuated pulses with each exhale. Lask had himself backed into a corner, his own hands clapped over his mouth and a puddle of vomit between his feet. Drayton took in the ripped straps of the reclining exam chair and reached behind her to press the door panel intercom.

“Security to Room SB7, code Ice.” That done, she remembered her training — which these idiots clearly had not — and stayed by the door, ready to leap back through it if the asset so much as twitched. Which it didn’t. It remained perfectly still, glaring through hanks of dark brown hair with those astonishingly blue eyes. Davidson had no idea why the Soviets would have built their weapon to be so stupidly good looking, even with its skin painted in blood and its lips pulled back into a feral snarl.

“What happened?” she asked Lask. Davidson had slid to his knees and was making high-pitched whimpering sounds that drove a spike right through Drayton’s temple, but they were at least quieter than the screaming.

Before Lask could answer her, the asset opened its mouth and spat something onto the floor along with a mouthful of blood. She jerked, ready to bolt, but it did nothing else, just settled back into its wary crouch, glaring at her with long red strings of bloody spit hanging to its collarbones. Drayton peered at the mess and finally identified the objects as three fingers, bitten off at the second knuckle.

Furious, she whirled on Davidson. “What did you do?” she demanded. His answered with a whine of pain and held out his mutilated hand towards her. She recoiled and snapped at Lask, “Take care of that injury and give him something to shut him up!”

Lask gestured helplessly at the medical supplies laid out on the stainless steel tray table that stood within a few steps of the asset. “I can’t,” he babbled, “I can’t, it’s right there, it’ll, oh my God, it just bit his fingers off —”

Drayton heard the clatter of booted feet in the hallway and stepped aside as a team of black-clothed armed guards poured in, guns raised and trained on the asset, who immediately widened those bright blue eyes and tipped its chin down, allowing its hair to shield its face. Slowly and smoothly it raised both hands and interlaced metal and flesh fingers behind its neck while it evened out its breathing and relaxed its posture into submission, both knees down on the ground.

“There,” Drayton said, a part of her pleased at the asset’s well-conditioned response even while in a state of aggression. “Bandage him up. What caused this clusterfuck?”

Lask finally unstuck his feet from the floor and tiptoed across the room. Keeping his body as far away from the asset as possible, he stretched his arm until his grasping fingertips caught the lip of the instrument table and rolled it towards him with a little gasp of effort. The asset stayed immobile, eyes trained on the mutilated flesh between its knees. The whole dance would have been comical if not for Davidson’s continued crying and the gun barrels that never wavered targeting the asset’s torso. Grabbing a roll of bandages in shaking hands, Lask tugged at Davidson’s messy hand and began haphazardly winding the cloth around the still oozing wounds.

“He was…he was adjusting the cyanide tooth,” Lask said. “It was loose, and, and he was fixing it back in, and…”

“And what?” she prompted, crossing her arms over her chest. She already knew, Davidson was prohibited from being alone with the asset for a reason.

“He, he…uh. He started, um.”

“Talking to it?”

“Uh, yeah. Um.”

“That filthy shit he brags about?” Drayton pinched the bridge of her nose. Davidson had this asinine need to tell everyone in earshot about the obscene shit he got away with during experimentation and regular maintenance of the asset, as if any of the rest of them cared where he stuck his dick. Davidson thought it made him look tough, like STRIKE would somehow welcome him on one of their bar crawls if he fucked the asset senseless like they did. Forgetting, as usual, that STRIKE had the advantage of numbers, weapons, trigger words, and training, and still displayed a healthy fear of the asset’s capabilities. Even when they were buried balls deep in it, they never took it for granted.

Davidson, obviously, forgot the number one rule: the Fist of Hydra was a fucking dangerous weapon.

Lask finished with the bandage and stepped back while Davidson cradled his hand to his chest again. One of the guards was murmuring a report into his radio. Lask wiped his arm over his sweaty forehead and continued, “He, uh, he was talking about how he should just take all its teeth out, so, uh, so it could suck cock better, be a better slut for everyone, and um, he pulled the tooth down so he could get a better look at it, and I guess the asset, uh, the asset must have thought —”

“It doesn’t think,” Drayton replied firmly. “Neither, apparently, does Davidson.” She massaged her temples. This was all STRIKE’s fault, honestly. If they hadn’t set a precedent for fucking around off the clock with the asset, small-dicked fuckwads on the tech team like Davidson wouldn’t feel a need to throw their weight around. God, she really hated Hydra men and their fucking egos. “Ok, go get his fingers so we can maybe reattach them.”

Lask backed up. “What? No! I’m not— Fuck no!”

Drayton sighed. Assholes, all of them. “Asset,” she snapped, and it raised its head slightly. Not enough to look at her, just enough to convey it was listening. “Pick up those fingers and bring them to me. Slowly.”

The guards fanned out and kept their rifles aimed at the asset as it unlaced its hands and reached down to scoop up the severed fingers. It rose gracefully to its bare feet and padded across the concrete floor, the big muscles in its thighs flexing smoothly. The thing never walked like a human being, it slinked or prowled, even now while it kept its bulky shoulders down and tried to make itself appear smaller and less threatening. Drayton held out her hand impatiently and the asset stopped an arm’s length away, extended its weak arm, and opened its fist to drop three bloody bits of flesh and bone into her hand. Then it dropped its arm to its side and stood there at parade rest, gaze still on the ground like a puppy that knew it soiled the rug.

Drayton held out the fingers for Lask; he hauled Davidson to his feet and propelled him towards the door. When they reached her he looked helplessly down and she sighed and dropped the bits into the pocket of his lab coat. “Take him to get fixed up and then write up a report, I want to see it before you file it,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied and pulled Davidson, still weeping miserably, away.

She looked at the asset, meekly standing still, and wiped her hand on her own coat. “Now what do I do with you?” she asked herself. “Asset, get back in the exam chair,” she ordered. It complied in silence and she glanced at the guards. “I think we’re all set here, thank you.”

“If you’re sure, Doctor,” the commanding guard said, “we’ll go make our report to STRIKE that the situation has been contained.”

“Yes, do that,” she agreed. “I’ll take things from here.” She waited until they filed out before approaching the asset, who reclined in the examination chair with his hands curled into loose fists at his sides. She picked up one of the broken straps that dangled from the side of the chair and examined its ragged edge; clearly they were going to have to install electromagnetic clamps, which would likely fuck up their data readings and require a retuning of some of their equipment. Drayton glared down at the asset.

The blood on its face and chest had dried down to a tacky dark mess, which had the effect of making its eyes look bluer. She reached carefully down and plucked loose some of the hair stuck to its face, smoothing it back and running her hand over the curve of its skull. The asset made a tiny noise and actually lifted its chin as if to encourage her to pet it again, its expressive eyes wide and soft. The crease between its brows pinched at it lifted its gaze to somewhere above her left shoulder, a plaintive but resigned look on its face. It knew it had transgressed and feared punishment. Drayton traced the sharp curve of one high cheekbone and the asset’s mouth opened slightly around a quiet exhale.

“It’s not really your fault,” she mused, picking more damp strands of hair off its sticky face and smoothing them back. “Davidson’s an idiot. You were just responding to a threat, weren’t you? That’s what you’re trained to do. Still, biting off his fingers? Perhaps a bit too impulsive a reaction. Not that I blame you, honestly.” She smiled, and since the asset wouldn’t meet her gaze, it missed the coldness in her eyes. She picked up a bottle of isopropyl alcohol and a cotton pad and said, “Let’s get your face cleaned up so we can get you back to your cell, hmm?” . . . . . Brock Rumlow had just finished reading the report filed about yesterday’s incident and shook his head. He couldn’t even take a fucking day off without some asshole fucking up around the asset. At this rate, Rumlow was going to have to resign himself to working around the fucking clock until the Winter Soldier was back in cryo. He glanced at the notation at the bottom of the report: they’d managed to reattach two of the technician’s fingers. Rumlow made a note for HR that disability should be denied on the grounds that the stupid fucker violated the rules for managing the asset. What was Davidson going to do, file an OSHA claim? Shit.

He submitted the report and headed to the asset’s holding cell to check in on it. Asinine techs kept thinking the thing was some kind of pet just because STRIKE had it well-managed. In a way, Rumlow was glad there had been another incident, even though it meant more paperwork and another round of hiring. Everyone who didn’t accompany the asset in the field needed reminding what the Winter Soldier was capable of, and if they continued to stick their hands in the tiger’s jaws — literally, in this case — without proper precautions, well, fuck ‘em.

The Winter Soldier lay on its cot, its back to Rumlow as he approached the reinforced plexiglass wall of its cell. It wore black sweatpants and a gray t-shirt that stretched over the broad muscles of its shoulders and biceps. Its metal hand lay outstretched along its thigh, its body balancing the weight of the prosthetic limb. It didn’t move as he thumbed the control panel and the intercom gave a little hiss of static.

“Hey, kid, heard you had a hell of a day yesterday,” Rumlow said. “If you wanted a snack you should’ve said something.” His dark eyes narrowed, watching carefully for any response. Sometimes the Soldier perked up at his voice, like a dog lifting its ears to listen to its master’s tone. Sometimes the Soldier was far too befuddled or sunk into its own empty head to do more than stare at Rumlow uncomprehendingly — it all depended on what experiments or procedures had been recently completed. Today he got nothing at all. Rumlow frowned. Something wasn’t right, and he peered at the line of the asset’s body to figure out what felt off.

There, on the metal fingers. Spots of discoloration. Rust? Impossible. Blood? Fuck.

“Kid, turn over for me,” he commanded, and watched as the Soldier slowly rolled back to look at him with red-rimmed wet eyes. “The fuck?” Rumlow muttered and keyed in the code to open the cell, locking it carefully behind him and sliding his gun out of its holster. He held it ready beside his leg as he crept forward slowly so as not to startle the asset, who sat up and turned fully to face Rumlow. It was wearing its black tactical mask for some inane reason, and blood-streaked abrasions showed all around the edges of it, scratches in short parallel lines of four.

“Why were you clawing at your face, Soldier?” Rumlow asked, concern at the irregularity making his heart beat faster. If yesterday’s shitshow made the fucking murderbot unstable again, he was going to shoot every technician in the building. “Why are you wearing the mask off mission?” The Soldier just stared mutely at him, an imploring look in those soft puppy’s eyes. “I’m gonna take a look at your face,” Rumlow said calmly even as he thumbed the safety off his pistol. “Just relax and be still for me, ok?”

The asset tipped its head back so its hair slid out of the way, allowing Rumlow to see something shiny around the edges of the mask. He reached out with his free hand and tilted the Soldier’s masked chin to one side and then the other, trying to make out what was wrong. “Let’s get this thing off so I can see,” he said and the asset’s eyes widened frantically. Its metal hand lifted off its lap and Rumlow jammed the barrel of his pistol against its left collarbone, angled so that the bullet would travel into the prosthetic and sever some of the connections that rendered it responsive to the Soldier’s brain. The asset immediately let its hand fall back into its lap and shut its eyes, long lashes brushing its reddened cheeks. Docile, it waited patiently while Rumlow undid the strap at the back of its head and pulled at the mask.

The mask didn’t move.

The mask was fucking glued to the Soldier’s face with some sort of industrial adhesive.

Rumlow closed his eyes briefly and imagined murdering every fucking technician in the building, slowly and with extreme prejudice. Then he straightened up, patted the asset on its flesh shoulder, and exited the cell to go find a scalpel and peel the fucking mask off the Winter Soldier’s fucking mouth.

#whumptober2021 #no.2 #no.3 #talking is overrated #taunting #james buchanan barnes #brock rumlow #captain america (MCU)#fic #amputation tw #htp adjacent #implied/referenced rape and abuse tw #gunshou fic

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fortunamuta · 4 years ago

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Pt.3 Devilman Crybaby Post (anime spoilers)

Alright so this is the last post and honestly i forgot to talk about the last episodes 7-10. Can u feel my depression while writing this, bro the sadness is never ending. I have become one with the mf void, and within it there is no self, no thoughts, no emotions just darkness.

Also TW alot of this stuff is extremely gory and dark (lots of horrible deaths that I may talk about, so tread lightly)

Lets just say things took a turn for the......first of all WTAF Homeskillet NOOOOOOOOOOO (if u haven’t read part 1 of this post homeskillet is Taro Makimura) HE ATE HIS FREAKING MOM, AND WHEN I TELL U I GAGGED AND FELT MY EYES TEARING UP. THAT WAS THE MOST TWISTED THING I EVER SAW AND THE DAD FOUND THEM. Basically the mom had taken Taro away from the family when she learned that he was a demon, also i thought he was a devilman but he didn’t win against the demon so he was taken over. But in the scene when he’s slowly eating his mother, and his dad is screaming why pointing a gun at his son, who he now realizes is his son. Taro’s demon begins to tear up making me believe that Taro was conscious but not in control of his actions. And thats when the tears begin to fall, and the dad was screaming and crying at how unfair the world was and how disgusting the sight in front of him was he couldn’t bring himself to shoot. So then the army guys who kill demons came and the dad begged them not to kill his son, but without hesitation they fired on dad and Taro, subsequently killing both. Akira tried to save them but was ultimately too late and ended up atleast grabbing the bodies and burying them.

The next scene in the episode shows Akira crying while on his knees infront of three graves (with crosses) on what looks like a hill. And I wondered if this was alluding to the three crosses who stood on Golgatha’s hill. This definetly marked a turning point for Akira and how he felt about Ryo. Anyway demons from everywhere popped up and tried to kill Akira at the instructions of Psycho Jenny, but then Miko saves him.

OH SCHNAPP I FORGOT TO TELL YALL Miko is a devilman and sis ate MY KING OF SPOKEN WORD and I think she ate her grandmother too. Anyway she really uses her new abilities to her advantage and wants to be better than Miki M. She later confesses that her jealousy and hate was just her inability to come to terms that she loved Miki and looked up to her, she didn’t like being outdone when she was used to being the best. Anyway she saves Akira from the demons trying to kill him. At this same moment Ryo is having a come to jesus moment (more like come to satan moment) he realizes that he is SATAN. I FUCKING KNEW IT. Anyway he goes on air, and stirs chaos by OUTING AKIRA. If i could throw hands and get my grandma to pray the mess outta that fool I would, damn he really didn’t have to do him like that so the whole worlds now knows that humans can become demons, so people begin to openly attack everybody. Anyway that public call out puts a target on Akira.

Akira and Miki have a moment where shes like even as a devilman he’s still the crybaby she’s always known and love. oh btw Miki now knows her parents are dead and so is her little brother. Let me tell u her screams of anguish THAT SHIT HURTED. Anyway The Spoken Word Squad is now friends with Miki because the main dude gotta crush on her, and THEY ARE SO MF LOYAL THE REAL MVP’S of THE SHOW. (except shorty he really played us) Anyway Akira goes to get answers and confront Ryo and u can see the betrayal on his face he truly still believed Ryo was trying to make the world a better place. Anyway a mob descends on the Makimura household and the Spoken Word Squad says to leave it to them. At this point I am bawling my eyes out, and i’m slowly being pulled apart by the void. Miko takes Miki on her back to try and escape from the mob but those hoes mad angry and for what reason, anyway before this Miki made a twitter post talking about how much she loved Akira i think in the familial since tho, and how even though he is a devilman he is still who he used to be and that the humans are capable of loving them even though they are different. He’s not the enemy they should be focusing on.

So as u may have guesses SPOKEN WORD SQUAD DIED, eversingle one of them, but not without being the baddest bitches every before going out. Seriously Homeslice with the dread had that crowbar and my boi was swinging and taking hoes out, but homie ended up getting over powered and visciously stabbed to death. The same happen to the dude who was crushing on Miki M basically there were just too many people(those people were the real monsters, giving into raw fear to tear into children like that)

Anyway Miko and Miki are making there escape and they end up on their old running path, and its really sad. A jeep comes out of nowhere and everybody a motherfucking automated weapons. And they continue shooting at Miko and Miki until they bring them down, Miko urges Miki to run and continue running until she’s safe and to leave her behind. Miki runs and then the show the screen with them as kids running and passing the baton. Miko passes Miki the baton signaling her death, then Miki continues to run with the baton she’s trying to catch up to Akira who in front of her but she can’t seem to and then someone in real life shoots her in the legs, but she keeps moving and finally she’s able to pass the baton to Akira. At this moment (not me tearing up as I write this) she is tackled by some guy who stabs her and she screams out, calling out for Akira. But he never makes it.

Akira goes to this place where humans have crucified other humans and there are throwing stuff at them. Akira comes and shields them, and cries out that if they should kill someone kill him. In the midst of his crying, a voice over of miki’s letter is played. And like in the bible a little child shall lead them, which a little boy goes up to Akira to hug his leg and other kids follow the mob stops throwing stuff and now some adults are coming up to Akira to apologize hugging him and crying and they help the people they had crucified. In the midst of this the demons convince Track Homie to betray Akira even though Akira was helping him. So he impales Akira with his horn thing, in the process trampling many of the humans who had been standing near, causing a panic. Demons come out of nowhere and Akira gets away.

Now Akira has made it back to Miki’s house after a big fight with Ryo promising to defeat the other. He gets there to find the house up in flames and a mob surrounding it all whooping and cheering. He focuses on the mob and almost throws up finding that Miki, Miko and the Spoken Word Squad had all been decapitated and amputated and their limbs where pushed down on spikes which were being lifted and waved around for all to see by the mob. In a fit of rage and sadness at the fact that humans had done this he releases a fiery blaze crisping the humans in the mob. He swiftly leaves and the final strand attaching him to Ryo breaks. In Ryo’s tranformation to satan they now are naked, full breast and genetalia on display with big white wings. Ryo tells Akira that he doesn’t want to fight him, he did all of this so they could be together. But Akira said he has enough spite and anger for both of then and charges, they have a midair battle and the demons back up Ryo, in the end other Devilman come to help Akira lending him limbs so that he may continue fighting sacrificing themselves.

The fight is long and sad, you can tell immediately that Akira is no match for Ryo. The scene changes to when they were younger as children, playing in the snow and going to hotsprings, exploring and just enjoying each others company. It shows just how pure and adorable Akira was and how Ryo always showed sign of not having any regards for life and believing that the weak deserved to die. Then it changes scenes to the baton passing scene showing the baton being passed from miko to miki then to akira and finally akira trying to pass the baton to Ryo but the baton keeps dropping between then, it happens several time until it drops one last time and the new scene is of the sky. Ryo’s voice is speaking to Akira as he stares at the sky, we see the side profile of Akira and his eyes are open but he’s not responding.

Ryo continues to speak about them as children, then the screen pans to the sky showing broken planets and the earth around them is destroyed all that remains are broken pieces and the heel they are on. No other signs of life. Ryo asks Akira a question, and believes him to just still be mad at him but then he touches his face and says he’s been so quiet. Finally he cries and he exclaims how he doesn’t understand these feeling and asks Akira what these feelings are.

Akira finally hands Ryo the baton.

The scene pans to show us Akira missing half of his body and dead. Ryo cries out to Akira pleading with him to say something, then he pleads that Akira not leave him alone. He continues to sob into Akira and plead to not be left alone as the screen moves further away from them, showing the actual destruction caused by their fight which basically destroyed the solar system.

So yeah, i am one with the void, devoid of emotions, thoughts, and feelings. I belong to the darkness, how tf am i supposed to feel after that. I-i just wanted Akira to be happy, but apparently that was too much to ask. Goddamn THE WHOLE MF SOLAR SYSTEM. I cried so hard my brother was actually worried about me, I had puffy red eyes and couldn’t stop my mf hiccups. and warning i do no cute cry, that shit was really ugly.

So yeah, I thought it was really good, definitely not for everybody though. Imma need to watch some Ouran Highschool Host Club. Also prayed with my grandma the other day for extra protection. But umm somebody please tell me what the relationship between Akira and Ryo because the end scene got me confused. I think it Ryo realizing his feeling for Akira because he didn’t want him to die and realized Akira had always been there for him. So this was def a wild ride, Miki was honeslty a pretty solid person except when she was modeling for that creepy dude. And then sis went to his house and asked for a shower, I was like sis are u DumbDDumbDDDDumb, luckily Akira was there because Ryo out here killing grandmas and was ready to kill Miki back then too.

Also FLY HIGH SPOKEN WORD SQUAD and MY KING OF SPOKEN WORD.

and Taro really was bestboi led astray.

My pain level is astronomical might as well be numb. 10/10 probably won’t watch again unless I need a good cry and psychological trauma. But it was really good all in all.

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curiousview-blog · 4 years ago

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Don’t lose the fun of the habit

We’re up to Chapter 13 of ‘How to stop drinking: A guide for normal people’. A series in which I am sharing my reflections on living, and staying sober, in a fun, honest, down-to-earth way to show that an alcohol-free life is possible. Previous chapters can be found below on www.samwarren.net

When I first contemplated living without alcohol I was convinced I wouldn’t be able to do anything from my old boozy life ever again. This fear was enough to make sure I kept on drinking for years past the point I knew I needed to quit, because alcohol was woven into the very fabric of my life and without it, everything would just unravel. But after the first few wobbly, fragile months were passed, I started doing all the things I used to do – just without the drink. Things start to feel slightly less awful, less weird, and more normal – well, they felt OK at least.

All the glitz and magic of Christmas with none of the alcohol

You’ll know when you’ve got to this point. It’s when you no longer have an urge to hide from the world with your embarrassing secret, or gush your sobriety over everyone you meet when you do venture out. When I felt strong enough, I started going to the pub again, having fruit cordial in a big beautiful wine glass after work, and ordering virgin mojitos on fancy nights out with the girls (just ignore the prices!) It felt safe to celebrating nice happenings with a bottle of sparkling grape juice, and more recently no-alcohol Prosecco has gaily bubbled onto the scene. And far from making me wistful for the buzz, or mourn for alcohol, I felt wonderful… I felt normal. I blended in, I still had life’s lovely drinky rituals, and very quickly I worked out which of these activities were still fun sober, and which ones weren’t.

Mocktails with dinner and a friend? Definitely fun...

Where I come from, drinking is not just about the drink, or even getting drunk. It’s also about the social rituals that fizz around the act of planning, buying, consuming, and recovering from alcohol too. Deciding how many bottles is enough to get in for a party, perusing the hundreds and hundreds of near-identical brands of gin in the supermarket, selecting just the right glass, swizzle stick and fruit garnish for cocktails, and then posting slightly proud comments on social media the next day: ‘Ugh. Hanging, but worth it: great night out!’ And then there’s the endless talking about alcohol – ‘expert’ sommelier tastings that make up a whole industry from tiny little sips, chunky courses on craft brewing, TED talks on viticulture and of course the tall stories between friends after a boozy escapade that are retold as high as skyscrapers for years after. Yes, alcohol is probably more a social substance than a chemical one, so when you quit you need to make sure you don’t overlook this important side to things. It’s only the addictive poison you want to be rid of (well, and the chaos and hideous hangovers, but they’re two sides of the same coin for us drunks). So make a clear distinction in your mind.

It's the stuff in the glass that’s dangerous, not the glass!

Many drinking support groups caution against keeping up the same rituals after you’ve quit drinking – you know, don’t put elderflower fizz in a champagne glass, don’t drink no-alcohol beer, don’t go to pubs, don’t go on bar crawls… which is shorthand for basically amputate parts of your social self and never leave the house. Wear dark colours and flog yourself too while you’re at it. What a sacrifice! You’re already getting divorced from your toxic lover, do you have to lose contact with all their nice friends too? Really? And of course, once something feels like a sacrifice and not an escape, you will feel deprived, hard done by and like you’re missing out – and we all know what happens then.

I prefer to reframe it completely the other way. With the beer goggles gone, you can see what you truly enjoy doing, and what you only enjoyed because it was an opportunity to get drunk. Having two bottles of Becks Blue in a pint glass after a summer country walk is sheer bliss. Sitting in a pub garden, quaffing like everyone else is a priceless feeling. Which is just as well seeing as that can set you back at least £7 at the time I’m writing this!

Spot the Difference?

However (for me), sitting in a Wetherspoons on a Saturday afternoon watching football is not. Neither is trawling around ten fancy bars in one evening spending money on expensive sugary potions. But having long liquid lunches of lime and soda with friends is just as brilliant as ever.

These are just my preferences of course and they’ve changed quite a bit during my sober journey. It will be different for you, and will change for all of us depending on who we are with, and at different times of our lives. But the process of distilling the ritual from the alcohol is the same, and it's a really nice process of discovering what you really like to do, and with whom.

#alcohol #women and alcohol #stop drinking #control drinking #control alcohol #sober living #sober curious #living sober #non-alcoholic drinks #alcoholism #recovery from alcohol #recovery stories #non-drinker #women's writing

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love-little-lotte · 5 years ago

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My Ranking of Outlander Season 5 Episodes

Wow. This has been such a great season! It really felt fresh and well-made. It’s like we’re thrown back to earlier seasons, and I love it so much. The writing is a whole lot better; the direction is creative and new – but never to a point that it got dreary and boring; there is a significant amount of change that I really liked. Overall, a brilliant and amazing season.

I’ve done something like this from the previous season (click here, if you’re interested), and now I guess I’m doing it again! It’s a lot harder, though, because I really liked most of the Season 5 episodes. I even wish it was longer! Twelve episodes seemed so short. I wish we could back to earlier episodes when we have more than fifteen episodes for one season.

So, to start off my Droughtlander (ugh, I cry thinking about Season 6 – it seems so far away), this is my ranking of Outlander Season 5 episodes! Before I begin, let me just say that this is my opinion, so please be polite. No need to tell me that you prefer this over that because obviously, this is my ranking. Also, just so you know, I haven’t read The Fiery Cross. I’ve only read Outlander, Dragonfly in Amber, and the first few chapter of Voyager. So, I may make mistakes about what happened in the books and such, since I only watch the TV show.

#12: Episode 3 - Free Will

Technically not a bad episode, but this is the one that I least liked out of all. It was a bit draggy, but definitely not boring. Nothing is boring when Jamie and Claire faces danger together!

So, in this episode, Josiah revealed that he has a twin named Keziah. They both escaped from the Beardsleys, who apparently abused the both of them. But without their right papers, the twins were not really free. So, of course, Jamie and Claire just had to save the day and take it upon themselves to go to the Beardsleys and pay for their indenture. Also, Jamie left Roger in charge while he’s gone. It’s funny to see Roger try to lead the men. It’s not his fault by all means – after all, this was not his time and he has zero knowledge how to lead these soldiers.

At the Beardsleys, Jamie and Claire found out that Mr. Beardsley was incredibly injured and at the brink of death, while Mrs. Beardsley was pregnant and admitted that she’s slowly torturing her husband because he used to physically abuse her. Claire helped Mrs. Beardsley give birth, only to find out that the baby was dark-skinned, which meant it wasn’t Mr. Beardsley’s child. The next morning, the missus was out of the house (wow, that recovery!), leaving her newborn baby in Jamie and Claire’s care. Jamie then faced a tough decision to euthanize Mr. Beardsley, who wanted his pain to end. Something tells me that this is going to be an important thing in the future...

#11: Episode 5 - Perpetual Adoration

Also not a bad episode, to be honest. In this episode, we get another flashback of Claire’s time in the 60s. This time, she’s seen treating a patient by the name of Graham Menzies. Sounds familiar? I’ve read that it’s a nod to Graham McTavish and Tobias Menzies – two of my favorite actors from the earlier seasons. Loved that reference to them; I also miss seeing them in this show! (But maybe Tobias as Frank because I could not, for the life of me, handle another Black Jack Randall shenanigan, even just in a flashback.) Well, this particular patient was actually Claire’s reason to finally go back to Scotland with Bree. It got a bit philosophical in the flashbacks, too! Also, Claire was able to make penicillin out of 18th century materials. Is there anything that this woman couldn’t do?

Jamie, on the other hand, was catching up with Lieutenant Knox, where the lieutenant told him that he’s going to pardon the Regulators, except Murtagh. This left Jamie no choice but to kill Knox – also because he has a list of Ardsmuir prisoners and as you all know, Jamie’s one of them. Pretty sad about Knox, though. He really trusted Jamie and he seemed like an okay guy. But he had to die!

Bree and Roger also had some problems in this episode. Roger finally found out about what happened with Stephen Bonnet and Bree before they tried to blew up the jail cell the previous season. Roger obviously (but not understandably hmpf) got mad but eventually changed his mind when Claire reassured him that it’s going to be all right. I’m not a big fan of Roger (let’s just get that out of the way), and his reaction in this particular episode. For the sake of drama, I guess.

Also, a new pet is in town! Adso finally made his first appearance at the end of this episode. He’s such a cute wee thing.

#10: Episode 2 - Between Two Fires

One of my favorite things in Outlander is when Claire flaunts her medical knowledge to the 18th century people. I love seeing their expressions, especially when they try to mentally calculate if this woman is a genius or a witch. Sadly, in this episode, there’s one patient Claire couldn’t save because it was too late. This seemed to unravel something in her. It’s devastating to lose a patient, especially when he/she could still be saved. But, even though she’s an expert healer, some people wouldn’t listen to her because she’s not an actual physician. So, Claire decided to make up “Dr. Rawlings.”

Also, I love that Claire picked Marsali as an apprentice! I really loved her character even from Season 3, and I was hoping to get more scenes with her in Season 4. But it was only in this season that her character shined brightly. Marsali was weirded out at first, obviously, but with Claire’s guidance, she’s good to go.

All away from Fraser’s Ridge, Jamie and Lieutenant Knox are fighting off Regulators. While confronting three prisoners, Knox lost his temper and accidentally killed one. At nightfall, Jamie helped the other two to escape. I love Jamie whenever he’s trying to be a hero and all, but sometimes, it just worries too much that he’s always stepping it up. Well, he’s the King of Men, I guess.

The ending of this episode was horrifying and intense because we see Stephen Bonnet, fully alive and plotting evil. I hate him so much, but Ed Speelers is an amazing actor.

#09: Episode 9 - Monsters and Heroes

Despite having this episode in the bottom part of the list, I just want to say that Sam Heughan was amazing in this episode. His acting was top-notch, and I find myself, once again, questioning the awards committee why they haven’t given him an award. Yes, give me more scenes of him writhing in pain!

This episode was highly intense, but it felt almost too draggy. Jamie and company were out hunting when they decided to split up. Jamie and Roger went together, and Jamie was bitten by a venomous snake. Roger tried to look for the others but to no avail. So they decided to camp for the night, in which Jamie told Roger that if he does not survive, it must be him who’s going to kill Stephen Bonnet for him.

Which absolutely no makes sense! Not the killing of Bonnet, but Jamie not surviving. He survived tons of other crap in his life, and I cannot believe he’s dying from a freaking snake. It just does not makes sense. Can you just imagine if he really died? Like a small snake ended Jamie Fraser’s life? It’s just heartbreaking.

The next day, Roger tried dragging Jamie with him while looking for the others. They were eventually found, and they brought him to Claire so she can fix him up. But not even Claire could even save him. The only thing she needs is her syringe, which was destroyed by friggin Lionel Brown (which, let me tell you, is the worst character to ever come out in this season). When Jamie found out his bite was way serious than he ever imagined, he told Claire to kill him instead of amputating his venom-filled leg, which broke Claire. Also, Caitriona Balfe’s acting during her conversation with Bree by the stairs was top-notch!

Jamie almost gave up that night, but with some intense body touching, Claire was able to bring him back to life. It was a touching moment, for sure. Get it? Anyway, it was Young Ian who told him to get a grip of himself – it’s just a leg. His father lost a leg and Fergus lost a hand, but they’re still happy and alive. Which I just want to applause to.

And when all hope seemed lost, it was our little engineer Bree who saved the day! She was able to form a syringe of her own using the tooth of the snake which bit Jamie. Through this, Claire was able to save Jamie’s leg. Yay!

#08: Episode 10 - Mercy Shall Follow Me

I know I’ve said I haven’t read The Fiery Cross yet, but I have read in tons of posts that the killing of Stephen Bonnet was not part of the aforementioned book; he actually met his demise in the next book. But whatever the reasons why they sped up the process, I want to thank the producers and writers for putting it here in this season. The Bonnet storyline was kind of losing touch and was getting draggy. I’d rather have them focus on new things in the next season.

Jamie, Roger, and Young Ian were putting their plot in motion to kill Bonnet through ambushing him when Bonnet himself failed to show up in the said ambush. That’s because he’s at the beach, following Claire and Bree as they were enjoying the ocean breeze. He eventually knocked Claire unconscious and kidnapped Bree.

Bree woke up to find herself in a dingy and shady place, but she was not kept as a prisoner – or so Bonnet tried to tell her. He told her he wanted to change and they even had this strange role play where they eat dinner and Bree told him the story of Moby Dick. We actually get to know Bonnet’s past in this episode. We learn that he’s deathly afraid of water, for one thing.

It seemed to go all right for Bree until Bonnet told her to kiss him, and when she did, he got the sense that she was faking and lo and behold, he was right. This angered him and even started having sex with a prostitute in front of Bree, which was downright disgusting. Anyway, Ed Speelers is a terrific actor!

Jamie and Claire finally find out where Bonnet’s hiding Bree through that prostitute to whom Bonnet was having sex with. Bonnet, fed up with Bree’s ridiculous antics, decided to sell her to a man. But before anything could happen, Jamie, Claire, Roger, and Young Ian were able to save her. Bree was given the choice to end Bonnet’s life, but she decided to give him a fair trial by the government. Bonnet was sentenced to death by drowning, but before he could even die, Bree shot him through the head in a distance. Roger asked her if this was what she wanted or if was to make sure he’s really dead, but Bree was silent, which leaves us to decide what that meant.

I’ve said this before: I wasn’t a fan of Sophie Skelton’s acting, but she definitely improved in this season! She was able to show some emotions and depth in her character. She was unable to convince me before, but she truly made an impact in this season.

#07: Episode 4 - The Company We Keep

Were you ready to see Jamie Fraser dancing in this episode? Because I sure as hell was not! It was such a delight to see him trotting about while he and Claire smile at each other.

But before we got to that scene, we had to watch Roger painfully lead the men to Brownsville (which is totally an insane and ridiculous name for a village – I know this was in the 18th century, but I hope there were poop jokes about them). Not a minute they stepped foot in this place, everything’s gone to chaos. It turns out Isaiah Morton, one of the men, had some problems with one of the guys in Brownsville. Isaiah apparently “disgraced” Lionel Brown’s daughter, Alicia, by sleeping with her, and now she cannot marry this rich guy her father arranged for her.

Jamie and Claire eventually caught up with them, and were able to free Isaiah by letting him escape and to never show his face there again. Claire finally found a new home for Mrs. Beardsley’s newborn baby in Brownsville, Jamie finally got the Brownsville men to join him in his militia to fight the Regulators, and everyone finally had a good time and partied all night long.

One of my favorite moments in the season was in this episode wherein Jamie told Claire that she looked happy while taking care of the newborn baby. He told her that she looked great as a mother, and it saddened me that he never got to see her as one. Jamie told her if she’s sure to give the baby away because maybe it’s their last chance to raise a baby together. Claire was like, “No,” but she appreciated the thought of it. They’re too old to have a baby again, and she already liked their life together. Even so, that was such a sweet moment for the both of them!

Isaiah decided to return to whisk Alicia away, and then she revealed she’s pregnant with his child. While this all seemed great for them, Jamie and Roger were not happy with Isaiah’s return because it might stir up some trouble. But Isaiah was able to convince them that he truly loved Alicia and wouldn’t they do the same thing for their wives. And that’s how it’s done!

#06: Episode 8 - Famous Last Words

A very unique and creative episode. I think I haven’t seen an episode quite like this before, and it’s such a breath of fresh air. I like what the concept of showing the events like a silent film in comparison to what Roger’s facing.

Richard Rankin was amazing in this episode. I think he really delivered well in showing Roger’s trauma and stress after his horrific ordeal. Roger is actually so beaten up in Outlander; it’s really devastating. Last season, he was taken by the Mohawks, and now this. And to think, he wasn’t a warrior or anything – he’s only an Oxford man.

Three months after the Battle of Alamance, Roger was still quiet and could not utter a word. Bree was worried about him, and confided to Claire about her roommate’s boyfriend who was shell-shocked after the Vietnam War. Meanwhile, Roger kept reliving his deathly experience in silence. Usually, I’m not a big fan of Roger (as I said earlier) but I feel bad for what his character has gone through.

Also, Young Ian finally came back in this episode! As someone who haven’t read the books, this took me by surprise. I didn’t know he’s returning, but I am so happy that he is! I really love his character. He’s not the same Young Ian as we’ve seen before, though. He was much more mature and fiercer. There are secrets he’s keeping from his family, which we’ll probably find out more in the next season.

It was actually Young Ian who made Roger speak up again (quite just like the way how he was the one who set Jamie straight when he was bitten by the snake). Ian was asked to help Roger check out some land, and the two of them bonded. Ian told him how lucky he was to have his wife and child with him, even though he was thoroughly beaten from the battle. Roger was alive with a family, and to Ian, that seemed to be everything. Roger, in return, also saved Ian from killing himself. I’d like to see more of this duo in the future, please.

#05: Episode 6 - Better To Marry Than Burn

As soon as the trailer for Season 5 dropped, I’ve heard the words “stable sex” more than once in forums. I didn’t know what it was about – only that involves Jamie and Claire having sex in a stable (obviously). So you could imagine my enthusiasm when I finally see a stable in this episode!

Before that, though, there is a party because Jocasta getting married to some guy who’s not Murtagh. Which is a total loss because I shipped them so hard! We also got to see some flashbacks with Jocasta losing her daughter because of her husband’s cause in the fight against the English long ago.

While mingling with some of the guests, Claire was approached by this ridiculous-looking man called Phillip Wylie, who’s beyond annoying. He flirted with her shamelessly, and she rejected his actions but was immediately interested when she realized he might be the key to capture Stephen Bonnet. But everything got out of hand when he suddenly tried to kiss her. Thankfully, Jamie arrived on time and was able to save her from this man.

But when Claire told him that he might be the answer to the Bonnet problem, Jamie decided to make a gamble with Wylie. Unfortunately, this involved Claire giving up Frank’s ring, which made her unbelievably mad. Later on, when Claire went back to the stables, Jamie drunkenly walked in. Claire’s still angry with him about the rings, but the anger doubled when she found out he was drunk. Jamie told her that he won the bet, and that they should celebrate. There were some fights, then Claire slapped him, and then they kissed and ta-da: stable sex!

Unfortunately, I had high hopes with what the stable sex was going to be and that was not it. I was expecting steamier scenes, but okay, I’ll take this one. It was hilarious, still.

Oh, I almost forgot. Back at Fraser’s Ridge, Bree and Roger fight some some sort of locusts evading the place, just like the ten plagues. But they were able to stop this through some smart science and shit. I couldn’t care less about their plot in this episode; all exciting things happen in River Run at the moment!

But the most heartbreaking thing that ever happened in this episode was Jocasta and Murtagh. The night before the wedding, Murtagh sneaked in Jocasta’s room and begged her not to marry Innes. This broke Jocasta, but still, she couldn’t just run away with Murtagh. She chose a man with a cause before, and she lost her daughter. This woman couldn’t take any heartbreaks anymore, and Murtagh left, heartbroken. And as you know, that would be their last conversation...

#04: Episode 12 - Never My Love

I thought we can go past one season without anyone getting raped, but here we are. I know this was included in the books, but there were so many changes from book to screen in this season – why couldn’t they changed this one? It was too heartbreaking and sad. I don’t know if it’s unnecessary, but I did read one article that said they could’ve just not included that part.

Anyway, this episode was absolutely harrowing and downright terrifying. This show does not shy away from brutal scenes like this, for sure. I am devastated for Claire because she obviously does not deserve that treatment! In her own words, she survived a World War and losing a child. She will not let this one destroy her. But, of course, Claire’s only human and she’s gone through deep trauma in this episode. It’s only fair for her to feel this way.

Lionel Brown (honestly, I hate this guy more than anyone in this season and that includes Stephen Bonnet) kidnapped Claire out of her own home with the help of some other guys, beat her senseless, and even raped her. This really “shookt” me out of my core. It didn’t ruin me like that season finale in Season 1 (which still haunts me to this day) but I am still horrified.

Also, this episode was really creative in showing Claire’s ordeal. It had dream sequences of Claire in 1960s with Jamie and their family celebrating Thanksgiving, with the exception of Bree, Roger, and Jemmy. It included a lot of Easter eggs, such as the vase from the pilot episode and the rabbit from Jamie’s dream in the Battle of Culloden (if I’m not mistaken...?) The production design was also very intricate. The attention to details is brilliant!

Jamie and his men were finally able to save Claire, but she felt ruined. They killed every men in the group, but it seemed like Lionel survived. They took him as a prisoner and brought him to Fraser’s Ridge. Claire was still mending her scars, but she found herself in her clinic with Lionel and Marsali. Yes, she took an oath to do no harm to other people, but do you really expect her to save him from his wounds after what he’s done to her? Hell no! It was too much for her to bear and so she left, crying. It was actually Marsali who ended Lionel’s life with her own hand. Ugh, I love Marsali this season! She was beyond amazing and I love how her character has grown.

This was surely an intense episode, and I love the additional twists of the dream sequence. Caitriona Balfe blew me away in this episode; just give her the Golden Globe and Emmy, please. The final shot of Jamie and Claire is beautiful. One of the best season finales of the show.

#03: Episode 1 - The Fiery Cross

Season 5 really started strong with this first episode. We had a wedding, dancing, sex, singing, burning crosses, kilts, babies! I love it so much!

Finally, Bree’s getting married to Roger, and her parents are here to see it! It’s a wonderful moment for everyone. I am in love with Bree’s dress and the pearls she’s wearing (which her mother wore in her honeymoon sex with her father, let me just add). The wedding was sweet and lighthearted.

But, of course, this is Outlander and we’re not here to have a good time – there’s always something we’re fighting off. In the very first episode, Lord John Grey confided in Jamie that Stephen Bonnet might be alive, which Bree overheard. This was her wedding night, people, give her a rest! Of course, she was visibly shaken, but she kept the information to herself. Also, Tryon was pressuring Jamie to join forces with him and fight for The Crown.

In addition, there were a love-making montage while the L-O-V-E song was being played in the background. Out of place, for sure, but sweet nonetheless. Murtagh and Jocasta managed to sneak in the woods and have some time for themselves. Jamie and Claire were in charge with Jemmy for the night, but that didn’t stop them from getting some action themselves. And, of course, the married couple Bree and Roger finally had a proper honeymoon.

Remember when Tryon was pressuring Jamie to gather some men to fight for The Crown? Well, Jamie faced an impossible decision because obviously he does not want to hunt down his godfather Murtagh. But he can’t also betray Tryon because he doesn’t want to lose his land. And so, he finally gave in and lit the fiery cross, calling the men to fight with him. He included Roger, and even gave him the title of “Captain.” Weird flex, but okay.

This was entirely a good start for a good season. I even watched it twice when it first came out because I was so excited!

#02: Episode 11 - Journeycake

One of the best Outlander episodes, and this one totally made me cry. I hate goodbyes, but Outlander does it best. This episode was also written by the original author herself, Diana Gabaldon. My expectations were high, of course, and she definitely did not disappoint!

Now that Stephen Bonnet is gone and that they have confirmed that Jemmy can travel through the stones, there’s no reason for Bree and Roger to stay any longer. Bree has already delivered the cryptic message to her parents that they will die in the fire. So, she and Roger decided to leave, especially that there’s a Revolutionary War coming on.

Also, Young Ian finally knows about the truth about Claire, Bree, and Roger – they are time travelers from the future. About time, actually! He deserved to know the truth long time ago. But something’s weird: Ian actually wanted to go through the stones himself, too. I have no idea why, but it’s probably going to be about his time with the Mohawks (which I’m totally looking forward to know about in the next season).

Also, there’s a hot sex scene with Claire and Jamie in this episode, which totally makes up for that awkward, rushed stable sex from the other episode. It involved Jamie going down on Claire while she’s sitting by the window pane. It’s daring and steamy! Trust Diana Gabaldon to perfect that scene.

Before Bree and Roger leave, they said their goodbyes to everyone first. Marsali even admitted that she sees Bree as a sister, which breaks my heart, because they totally deserve more screen time together! Lizzie also tearfully said her goodbye to her mistress Bree, and it’s quite heartbreaking because all this time, she thought she’s coming along with them as well. Poor Lizzie.

Claire also made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as her last meal for Bree and Roger. I don’t know how she was able to make peanut butter and jelly with 18th century resources, but I do know that it was painstakingly hard so kudos to Claire for her dedication in making the perfect PB&J sandwich! Jamie’s reaction was totally hilarious, too!

When Bree and Roger finally left (but for some reason, they couldn’t go through the stones – more explanation maybe in the next season), Claire and Jamie were finally left alone in Fraser’s Ridge. While Claire and Marsali were tending on a patient, Jamie and some of his men checked out some commotion. However, this was only a ploy for Lionel Brown and his men to kidnap Claire straight from her home. It’s terrifying, and I didn’t like what happened next.

#01: Episode 7 - The Ballad of Roger Mac

The major highlight of the season! I was ready to get hurt in this episode, but damn, nothing prepared me for what was about to happen.

The whole episode reminded me of the Prestonpans episode from Season 2. Jamie was fighting with his men in the Battle of Alamance, while Claire was tending the patients. Ah, but before that, let’s celebrate Jamie Fraser’s fiftieth birthday! I don’t know how this guy is 50, but he is. He and Claire *cough* did some celebrating of their own before shit went down in the fight.

While all the others were preparing for the fight, Bree was staying with Aunt Jocasta when she finally realized that the fight was going to take place in Alamance Creek. This made her remember an importance piece of history. The militia will win, and the Regulators will lose. Of course, she took it upon herself to warn her parents. Thankfully, Bree has inherited her mother’s memory cells.

Roger eventually volunteered to be the one to tell Murtagh and his men that they were doomed to fail, and Jamie let him. This was going on pretty smoothly, and Roger was able to tell Murtagh what he came for. Unfortunately, he ran into someone he knew (that woman he met in the ship from Season 4) and they were caught in a harmless innocent hug by the woman’s husband. The husband was none other than William Mackenzie, played by Graham McTavish! While it’s good to see him in the series again, I am pissed because they beat up Roger.

Meanwhile, Jamie was forced to wear a redcoat uniform, which was just downright offensive. Jamie’s entire life was dedicated to fighting off redcoats, and now he’s one of them. It truly broke my heart to see him like that. You just know he’s struggling and trying to keep his senses.

In the battle, Jamie was fighting with some Regulator when Murtagh himself showed up and saved him. There were some smiles; however, it was cut short when Murtagh was shot by one of Jamie’s militia men. Jamie tried to save him, and even dragged Murtagh back to Claire so she could save him, but it was all too late. And I am broken. I was crying when I was watching this episode, and it just broke me. Murtagh was one of my favorite characters, and I was so happy they brought him back last season. But now... I’m just broken. When the fight was over, Jamie took off the redcoat and just smashed it down in front of Tryon. This man was just fed up!

But while this was going on, Bree was worrying about Roger, as he still haven’t showed up after going to the Regulators. So, she, Claire, and Jamie tried looking for him. They finally came upon a tree with three men hanging on a tree with sacks over their heads; they were left to die. Jamie recognized Roger to be one of them because of the white handkerchief on his pocket that he had given to him earlier.

This was really a good episode, and hats off to Sam Heughan and Caitriona Balfe’s acting. They were superb. Oh, as well as Duncan Lacroix, who I really admired as Murtagh! It’s so sad to see him leave the show!

***

Well, there you have it! My ranking of Season 5 episodes. I hope you had as much fun as I did with Outlander this season. It was incredibly fun, and a huge improvement from previous season. Tell me what you think!

#outlander #outlander season 5 #caitriona balfe #sam heughan #sophie skelton #richard rankin #claire #jamie #bree #roger #outlander starz #outlander tv show #season 5

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foramomentonly · 5 years ago

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Nail In My Coffin, Part Four

Part One Part Two Part Three

Summary: Alex and Kyle are fashion designers on a Next In Fashion style reality show. Michael is their model. Dom/sub elements. Prompt courtesy of @signoraviolettavalery .

Author’s Note: This takes place between Parts Two and Three, but they don’t have to be read chronologically. I’m certainly not writing them that way! Hope you enjoy! I’m tagging these under Malex fashion au.

TW for discussion of chronic pain and loss of limb/amputation (but in absolutely no detail)

Read on AO3

It's a bad day. Alex knows it the second he opens his eyes. He tries to sit up in bed and feels his hip seize and a shooting, all-encompassing pain travel from the hinge of his joint all the way down his stump and into the empty space that still aches like it remembers what it felt like to be whole. He suffers through his morning exercises that do jack shit on days like this and showers. His crutch is leaning against the dresser as he searches a drawer for clean clothes, and even though he longs to say fuck it and take it with him, he steels himself and instead digs out his prescription painkillers—the ones you absolutely do not fuck around with—and swallows a single pill dry, stuffing the bottle in his pocket in preparation for a long, agonizing day in the studio.

When he and Kyle were first selected for the show, Alex requested a sit-down with the producers. He got fifteen minutes. He used them to explain, in no uncertain terms, that he would not be talking on camera about his prosthesis or his partial loss of limb in the line of duty. His feelings about his military service are ambivalent. It’s shaped who he has become in ways Alex both values and, on days when he disassociates and feels his grasp on his own humanity go slippery and loose, fears. But he would not allow himself to become a sympathetic poster child on a potentially global scale for streaming’s brand of heartwarming American nationalism—a decorated vet, a queer, Indigenous man who put his body on the line for a country that really does love and respect him after all. The producers played dumb at first, but in the face of Alex’s commanding insistence, they agreed Alex will never be asked directly about his time in the Air Force and, at his discretion, he will only be filmed from the waist up.

The moment they arrive at the studio, driven in from their hotel at an ungodly hour, Alex finds the producer on set and lets them know today is one of those days. When he meets Kyle at their work station he’s touched, but not surprised to find a low stool with a thin seat cushion waiting for him. He and Kyle have shared space for so long—and shared confidences for even longer—that his partner could no doubt tell Alex is in pain simply from the tight line of his mouth and the twitch of his brow when he hefted himself in and out of the large studio van.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs, sliding onto the stool and adjusting himself so the pain radiating down his thigh is at a dull, insistent ache rather than a sharp, agonizing jolt. Kyle, a master class in discretion, barely spares him a glance.

“You let them know?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ve got a lot of hem work to do, before and after Michael gets here,” he warns.

“I know.”

“I can take the bulk of it-”

“No,” Alex says, shutting him down swiftly.

Kyle purses his lips, but doesn’t argue.

***

Michael ambles into the studio with the other models a little after midday. He forces himself to play it casual, wandering over to craft services and making small talk with a designer taking a quick coffee break. But his gaze seeks out Alex across the room, and he grounds himself with deep breaths and the bite of his own nails against his palm to keep from dropping to his knees on the spot. Alex is working with a garment on their dress form, intent and focused, all broad shoulders and perfect posture. He runs a hand across the chest, smoothing the fabric in wide, sure strokes, and Michael licks his lips, misses whatever inane comment was just made in his direction, and he knows he isn’t going to last long.

The first time he’d seen Alex, Michael had assumed he was looking at a fellow professional. Alex’s dark features, his dramatic cheekbones and brow, and the toned body evident underneath an unassuming t-shirt all screamed model. Not to mention those lips. When he was introduced as a designer, one half of a buzz-worthy menswear brand made up of a former Air Force captain and a med school graduate, Michael secretly hoped he’d get a chance to work with them. He loves modeling for so many reasons. He craves the positive attention his looks and swagger bring him—nothing wrong with that—and he finds creative expression in being part of realizing an artist’s vision on the runway or in front of a camera. But the first time an impatient and harried designer had used Michael’s body like a life-size doll, manhandling him into positions and movements with little more than a gruff “up,” he had experienced a bone-deep satisfaction in relinquishing his body and his agency to another person that brought a whole new level of fulfillment to his work. It’s comforting and secure and, on occasion, incredibly erotic. He starts identifying parallel dynamics in his personal life—Isobel basically doms him into doing stupid shit every other week—and seeking it out in his sex life. Still, no professional experience or carefully-planned scene had ever felt like the toe-curling, mind-melting experience of receiving a command or a touch from Alex Manes.

Michael manages to idle a few more minutes for appearance’s sake before heading over for his consult. Alex and Kyle stand side to side, dark heads drawn together over a what appears to be a task list at the same table Michael had found himself bent over just last week, surrendering completely to Alex’s precise, wicked whims. Just the memory excites him, and Michael practically skips up to his designers’ station. He reaches out a hand and raps his knuckles on the thick tabletop for attention.

“Knock, knock,” he drawls, grinning cheekily at Alex. Alex barely cracks a smile, but that’s hardly unusual. The more stoic Alex is, Michael’s coming to realize, and the more brusque his commands, the more gorgeous it is when he inevitably comes apart.

Kyle smiles affably.

“Hi, Guerin,” he says, moving to take their garments off the dress form, and Michael lets his smile fall slightly when Alex keeps his back to him at the table, knuckles white as he grips the edge almost as if for balance.

“So, for now we’ll just ask you to try on the skirt-pants,” Kyle explains, leading him up onto the base, “but could you also take off your shirt? It’ll just be in Alex’s way while he’s making adjustments.”

Michael watches Kyle return to Alex’s side and speak low into his ear, a hand hovering over the small of Alex’s back. He knows better than to be suspicious of Alex and Kyle’s relationship—it’s clearly a deep, brotherly bond—but Kyle almost seems to be taking care of Alex and, well, Michael wants to be the one to do that.

“I’ll bring you a water,” Kyle says in a louder voice, heading off towards the back of the studio, and Michael fumbles to get changed as Alex turns abruptly towards him, supplies in hand.

“I could have brought you something,” Michael says, “I was over there.”

“It’s fine,” Alex answers briskly, setting his materials on the edge of the base and lowering himself slowly into a squat. He glances up at Michael and maybe he senses Michael’s anxiety or maybe he’d just been preoccupied before, but his face softens and he offers a warm, soothing smile.

“I”m sorry, beautiful,” he murmurs, and Michael feels like his body and mind are sinking slowly into a warm, sweet-smelling pool. “Step forward for me.”

Michael steps closer and Alex’s fingers immediately curl around his ankle, squeezing lightly.

“I’m gonna be down here for awhile,” Alex says, voice clear, but a tad strained. “Stay still for me, sweetheart.”

Michael breathes deep, lets the weight of the command sit heavy on his shoulders, straighten his spine, anchor his feet to the ground. And then he lets himself float, mind clear and body featherlight, Alex’s touch guiding his movements and keeping him grounded. Maybe ten minutes pass, maybe an hour. Michael is only sure of the light press of Alex’s grip on his ankle and the brush of his fingertips across a shin or up his thigh. Alex is quiet, diligent as he works, but the occasional gentle squeeze and soft, “There you go.” is all Michael needs to know he’s done good.

At some point, Alex’s hand slides up his leg, gripping tight on his calf. Michael expects to be guided into a different position or angle, but instead, Alex groans and adjusts his own stance, cupping the back of his right thigh and glowering when he briefly loses his balance and digs blunt fingernails into Michael’s calf to steady himself.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing his palm over the crescent moons indented in Michael’s skin.

“It’s okay,” Michael replies, looking down assuringly at Alex.

Alex begins to rise slowly, his mouth a tight grimace, and Michael realizes he’s sweating lightly. He lets his arm jut out subtly, bending slightly at the elbow, and he watches out of the corner of his eye as Alex grips his forearm tightly to pull himself the rest of the way to standing. Circling Michael slowly, Alex slips behind him and grasps Michael’s hips. He could be checking the fit of the garment’s waist, but his usually busy fingers are still and he’s pressing into Michael where they’re connected, shifting his body weight from his right side to his left and using his grip on Michael for balance. In the silence between them, Michael hears his labored breathing, feels the heavy puffs on his naked back.

“Rest for a minute, Captain,” he says softly, “no one’s gonna see.”

Alex squeezes Michael’s hips and Michael feels the damp press of Alex’s forehead between the blades of his shoulders. Scanning the room, he checks that no one is paying them any attention; between the countdown to runway and the minor disaster happening with a team’s dress across the studio they aren’t on anyone’s radar.

“Take your time,” Michael whispers, “no one’s looking.”

Alex’s breathing steadies after another minute, falling in sync with Michael’s own. The rustle of a pill bottle is loud to Michael’s ear after the stillness of their shared moment; he hears the pop of a cap and feels Alex lift and tilt his head back, then more rustling as the bottle is capped and goes back into, Michael assumes, Alex’s pocket. He waits. Alex chances a soft kiss to the back of Michael’s neck, then appears in front of him looking rumpled and tired, but steady.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he says.

He looks down, fixing his attention on the front clasp of the garment, and Michael wonders if that’s the most Alex is going to say. Michael’s already decided he’s not going to press him. But after a beat Alex begins to speak.

“I lost a quarter of my right leg, amputated just under the knee on my last tour,” he says, voice pitched low, tone detached and clinical. “That was a little over a year ago. I have a prosthesis and some days I use a crutch. I do physical therapy, but it only takes you so far.” He adjusts his shoulders, takes a quick look around, and continues. “There’s pain. Some days it’s manageable. Others…” He breathes out. “I’m private. I don’t want my personal business turned into some kind of after-school special.” Alex raises his head and fixes Michael with an intense, searching gaze. “This is a lot. You can take your time to process everything, and if you don’t want to continue our— as we’ve been, I understand. But I’m asking for your discretion either way.”

Michael meets his gaze openly, steadily.

“I’ll do anything you ask me to,” he says. “I don’t need time. I want you. I want to be what you need.”

Alex smiles and his hand twitches at Michael’s waist. His let the back of his fingers brush against Michael’s abdomen, a gentle caress that’s all warmth and no heat.

Michael tilts his head closer and whispers, “What do you need, Alex?”

“I need fifteen minutes,” he answers, “and I need a reason to sit down.”

Michael grins, cocky and sure and drawing attention to himself as he rears back and says loudly, “I just don’t get this look, man. Maybe if I could see the sketches? You could give me some insight?”

Smirking privately at Michael, Alex lets a well-practiced annoyance pull at his features as he rolls his eyes dramatically and turn away.

“Over here,” he snaps, gesturing to his work station. Michael leans on the table next to Alex’s stool as he slides onto it, breathing a quiet, grateful sigh and taking a long swig of the water Kyle had left for him, subtly massaging his thigh.

“I’d do that for you, you know, if I could,” Michael murmurs, shifting closer under the guise of examining a sketch and letting his fingers dance over Alex’s knee. “I can promise a very happy ending.”

Alex snorts, pressing the back of his hand to his lips and swallowing a mouthful of water with a gasp, shoulders shaking with laughter. Michael shoots him a dirty grin.

From his place behind the dress form, Kyle makes a face like a carp and a noise like an offended bull.

He glares at them from around his work and says, “This is why I take so many damn coffee breaks.”

#malex fashion au #malex #rnm #malex fic #rnm fic #dom/sub elements #alex manes #michael guerin #kyle valenti #my fic #kylex brotp

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fogsrollingin · 5 years ago

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📚 Link to my ficrecs catalogue! 📚 Now here’s some new & miscellaneous ficrecs 👍🤗 ✧ Category: Gen ✧ All I Needed to Hear by Weesta. Rated PG-13, Gen, 2k words. Summary: Sam has a migraine and Dean helps him feel better. Gen fic. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3757282/1/All-I-Needed-to-Hear I loved this fic just bc there were so many nice wholesome moments of inventive caretaking on Dean's part. Aromatherapy, heat packs, back rubs, aww. Dean’s the best brother ever. This fic has been sorted into my misc genfic reclist migraines h/c reclist ✧ It Sounded Like the Truth by Weesta. Rated PG-13, Gen, 2k words. Summary: Dean is on a supply run and a sick Sam is alone when someone breaks into their motel room. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/8859455/1/It-Sounded-Like-the-Truth I read this fic years ago and it still sticks with me as such a scarily realistic snapshot of Sam and Dean trying to just deal with sketchy motels and addled-junkie neighborhoods. Also there’s brother cuddles at the end 😁 Also just FYI this author is on AO3 at ao3.org/users/weesta but these fics haven’t been x-posted; they’re only available on FFnet afaik rn. This fic’s been sorted into my kidfic shmoop reclist ✧ Missing pieces by Mamapranayama. Rated PG-13, Gen, 32k words. Summary: Preseries AU. Sam is seriously injured while saving a friend at Stanford and is left without a literal leg to stand on. Rated T for language. Complete https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7575286 A solid hurt!Sam fic that ‘fixes’ the estrangement of the Winchester family during the Stanford era. Sam has to get his leg amputated, he gets a touch of a Vicodin addiction, Bobby and Dean are there for him. There's John Winchester's A+ Parenting trope in this fic but there's reconciliation at the end that feels good. This fic doesn't go too deep and there’s a lot of time skips but I'd still say it definitely gets the job done for hurt!Sam & comforting!Dean fans! This fic’s been sorted into my misc genfic reclist ✧ Focus by vansenwest. Rated PG, Gen, 14k words. Summary: His father is dead, but his brother is alive and he needs to focus. AU. Stanford. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6266701 This was such a fantastic interesting & emotional version of the pilot where Sam and Dean meet for the first time bc their dad’s died, not missing. Dramatic af but anchored by the skillful writing of numbed grief by the author. And there’s one part that follows Jess's perspective and it’s brutally sad 😭 This fic’s been sorted into my misc genfic reclist ✧ Of Beginnings by Aytheria. Rated PG-13, Gen, 19k words. Summary: It’s the Apocalypse and the pagan gods aren’t just going to roll over and let the world end. One of them has a plan, something the angels and demons won’t see coming. Sam and Dean Winchester certainly don’t. https://archiveofourown.org/works/3727255 Influenced by Gaiman's American Gods, I think!!! Very clever and fun to read buildup on the why (Janus's perspective) and the how (the website) the boys become gods. I particularly adored the last parts of this story, Sam and Dean discovering/exploring their new powers (and accepting the offerings! 😂) This fic’s been sorted into my misc genfic reclist

✧ Category: Sam/Dean ✧ Polaris by dimeliora. Rated NC-17, Sam/Dean, 59k words. Summary: An intervention of pagan forces splits the brothers when they are young. Growing up apart and alone what will they do to be reunited, and how will they fight what is considered their destiny? https://archiveofourown.org/works/783632 Also probably inspired in part by Gaiman’s American Gods. Fascinating story with so many riveting parts to it, from their childhoods to Utre Dean's mother figure goddess, all the American Gods feel to it, then thwarting yellow eyes & going to save Utre in a labyrinth of her psyche. So well written and engaging! This fic was sorted into my miscellaneous sam/dean reclist ✧ Facta non verba by dimeliora. Rated NC-17, Dean/Sam, 14k words. Summary: Dean is ten when Sam stops speaking, and the rest is up to him. https://archiveofourown.org/works/686628 Really thoughtful and sweet hurt/comfort wincest with mute!Sam and fantastic sign language details. Even though there’s underage intimacy, Dean+Sam wait until they're both consenting adults which felt pretty wholesome. And it was actually less angsty than I thought. Overall, just a deeply pleasing fic to read. This fic was sorted into my miscellaneous sam/dean reclist ✧ Further and Further Out by Cottonmouth. Rated R, Sam/Dean, 42k words. Summary: John never disappeared before the pilot episode, so Dean never went to Stanford to find Sam. Two months later and they discover the demon went after Sam after all… Alternate Reality, graphic wincest in later chapters https://www.fanfiction.net/s/3740163 Psychic!catatonic!Sam & devoted!stubborn!Dean finding him and taking care of him?! Uh YES PLEASE. There's a scene of metaphysical energy that totally reminds me of some of aceofhearts61s' fic and I loved it! This fic was sorted into my miscellaneous sam/dean reclist

#spn ficrecs #spn genfic #wincest #spn fanfic #spn fic recs #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction recommendations #my spn fic recs #sam/dean #my fic recs #sam winchester/dean winchester #dean winchester/sam winchester

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danaan13 · 5 years ago

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Today is my birthday. It's also been one week since a very hard decision had to be made, that changed my life very suddenly, and very painfully. The following is going under a cut. It’s also really long. My apologies to any mobile users that might get the full post anyway. Scroll really fast. I'm going to be talking about the loss of my dog. Some of it is traumatic. So warnings for injury, death, cars, insurance shit, and lots of feelings.

This post is 85% for me and 15% for anyone who's had questions since my vague posts a week ago. I have no blame or ill feelings for anyone that needs to keep scrolling. This post is going to be a lot. And I understand if one doesn't have the energy or the headspace for it. But a lot of of this is writing for my personal mourning.

One other thing: I go over events with the vet we saw. I'm not looking for different diagnoses, or different opinons, or debate, about what the vet said, or the decision we made. As I said, this post is for me to mourn. For me to record what happened. Maybe someone else would've done something differently. I don't know. We made the decision we thought was best.

And with that:

One week ago, my spouse took our dog for a walk in the evening. This was our normal routine. Newton, our dog, loved it. She was an australian shepherd mix, and naturally had all kinds of energy to work out. Even at eleven years old. It's 6 in the evening. It's pitch black out. My spouse has a bright orange, relfective rain jacket on. Newton is wearing a bright orange doggie vest, a collar that had a glowy blue led strip all the way around, and a leash with a reflective string. By our thoughts, safety was accounted for.

Their normal route took them past the shopping center that's a block and a half from our home. My spouse sees a truck sitting at a restaurant parking lot exit, as if waiting on traffic, before attempting to turn. Spouse believes they're going to continue to wait, and starts to cross the front of the exit, along the part marked as a sidewalk. Spouse is directly in front of truck, when it starts up and hits them. And pins Newton under the wheel.

The driver rolled down the passenger window to yell at my spouse. My spouse was yelling at him to move off our dog. A witness, who heard our dog screaming, from inside the restaurant, comes out and bangs on the man's driver window till he rolls it down. He finally backs off of Newton. They move her aside. My spouse was in that kind of shock where emotions shut off. They start giving orders. You call 911. You get that man's insurace. Someone get pictures. Etc.

And then the man suddenly drives away. Doesn't say a word. Doesn't leave insurance. Doesn't stay for the police. He ran.

By this point, one of the witnesses already has clear pictures of his vehicle and license plate. He's reported to the police, and they put out a call to find him.

Spouse calls me shortly after this. Call our vet. We got hit. We need to get Newton to a vet. So I call our vet. It's 6:30. They're closed for the night. But they were there for accounting stuff. They give me the number for the emergency vet. I call ahead. Tell them we'll be coming, but that I don't know what the injuries are. Just that a car was involved.

I go hop in our car. Drive a block and a half to the scene. There's two fire trucks. There's police cars. Traffic's doing that bottlenecking thing. I park and run over. Instantly get hugged by the witness who'd gotten involved. My spouse is sitting on the sidewalk. One piece. Looks okay. My dog's wrapped in sheets. She's awake. Looking around. What I could understand of her body language was a mixture of pain, but excitement because there's people paying attention to her. And oh how Newton adored every ounce of attention she could beg for.

The witness, we'll call her S now. S volunteers to come with my spouse and I to the emergency animal clinic. She sits in the back of my car while the firemen load poor newton in. Spouse comes with me, even though the firemen wanted them to go to the ER. We agree to go to the ER once we got Newton settled. S's family, two men who I presume to be husband and father, possibly, follow in their car behind us.

We get there. The vet techs wisk Newton off to the back. They need to do xrays. They need someone to stay and talk out costs. S volunteers to take Spouse to the ER. Spouse agrees to go. So I stay at the vet by myself. They settle me in a room, where I text friends updates about all this. I'm scared. And all I wanted was to hug my dog.

The vet shows up after a bit. She's very calm, very kind, and amazingly empathetic. She explains that Newton wasn't succumbing to the medicine as quickly as they'd like. She's too excited. Too many new people to meet. Gets excited every time someone comes into the room. Classic Newton. So, they only got the xrays from the one side at that time.

Her spine is fine. But a hip is shattered. There's shards. One hip is also dislocated. My heart's in my stomach. Vet explains that if it's just the one leg shattered, they can amputate. But if it's both, then it's not good. She explains that the dislocation would have to be fixed via surgery. It can't just be popped back in. She explains that our town doesn't have an orthopedic surgeon for dogs. We'd have to go to one of two major cities, two hours away. The vet then explains that she'll get better xrays, once the meds kick in and they can roll Newton over without causing her more pain. So, she draws up the treatment plan for the next twenty four hours. I leave the deposit for the cost of the care. She says she'll call me when she's got more data. And when she's talked to surgeons offices.

And then I go to the ER, trying to not cry because my dog will probably never run or jump, ever again. She's an aussie. They run. They jump. They're energetic. Newton would bounce all over the place in front of our patio door, to greet our neighbors as they walked past. She was constantly knocking down blinds from our hanging blinds there. She loved to play fetch. We've got a long hallway we'd throw tennis balls down, and she'd go chase them and run back. She'd never do any of that again.

I get to the ER. I tell my spouse. They're heartbroken. I call our auto insurance, at the nurse's request, to start that process, while we wait for the doctor to come back from the xrays. When the doctor comes, he says Spouse is fine. No breaks, fractures, or internal injuries. Might have bruising show up in a day or two. So, we're given pain medication to handle that. To note, no bruises have yet appeared, a week later. Spouse physically feels fine. Emotionally is another matter.

So, we go home. We cry. We try to settle down. It's been two and a half hours since my spouse left the house to go on that walk. I make my posts here. We make posts on Facebook. We get an outpouring of concern, love, and prayers, from friends and family alike.

By midnight, I get a call from the vet. They have the rest of the xrays. Both hips are injured. One shattered, one fractured. And then there's the dislocation. There does not appear to be any internal injury though. She'd gotten ahold of both surgical centers in the two nearby cities. Both hospitals can do surgery. But they both would require about ten thousand dollars to do it. And, they both note that Newton is eleven. She's classified as a senior dog, despite her energy and good health. She'd never be the same. Therapy after surgery might not be enough. The neat wheels some dogs get, might not be enough. There's no guarantee that her quality of life would be enough, that she wouldn't suffer.

So, I talk to my spouse. And we're breaking. She's been our family for eleven years. We call back. Make the decision, get ready, and go to the clinic. We get to hug her and pet her. We get to give her a few last good treats. We cry. And we get to hold her as she goes to sleep for the last time.

And then we go home again. We still don't know if they've arrested the driver. There isn't a report on the police website yet. We manage, somehow, to sleep. Not very well on my part. By the next morning, there's a police report. The man was arrested and charged with a hit and run.

I try to call our auto insurance back. The adjuster we were assigned to the nigh before, is out of the office for the weekend. So, I wait and then call back on Monday. We start that whole process. She starts contacting the driver's insurance. We talk to the police department and get told we can get ahold of the city prosecutor in a week. We start the process to get a lawyer.

We celebrate Christmas with our son. He doesn't live at home now. Got his own place. And a dog of his own there. He brings her over when he comes. And for a few hours, we're able to cuddle and play with a sweet dog again. It's not the same. It hurts a little. But it heals a little too.

Today is my birthday. And today I get to go pay the company that handled Newton's cremation. And pick up the clay pawprint that they made for me. Happy birthday to me. I know my Newton is no longer in pain. And that she was her beautiful smiley self, right to the last moment. I will miss her forever. But I know that we'll be okay. Eventually.

If you've read this far, and you feel the need to do something, or say something, then feel free to tag me in posts of cute dogs or cats, or other animals. Or, if you're wanting to do a more monetary action, maybe donate to organizations like the Old Friends Senior Dog Sanctuary. That's what I'm doing for my Facebook Birthday Fundraiser. You don't have to give through mine specifically. You don't even have to give to them in particular. Heck, you don't even have to tell me about it. I just appreciate that there are groups like theirs, that can provide good quality of life, to senior dogs, who have that chance.

And for anyone wondering if we're going to get another dog, we are. We put in an application at our local humane society. It might feel fast. But it's so quiet in here now. We need someone to carry Newton's torch onwards. We've looked at a few dogs already. We've not found our one, yet. But we're looking.

Thank you for reading all this. I'm sorry if this post was difficult for you in anyway. I've got a lot of mourning left to do. So for now:

Goodbye my sweet, silly girl.

Newton 2008-2019

#long post #content warning #cw #goodbye my sweet girl #dana in mourning

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nightpcrker · 6 years ago

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for his own good. [part one]

Hey. So this is my first time writing in a long time and I just wanted to give it another shot. I don’t know what came over me, but here it is. And also, this will probably have several medical inaccuracies so. But let’s try to enjoy this, shall we?? Let’s go!

———————

“Mister Stark? Can you hear me? I-It's Peter!” His voice sounded so young, so weak, so terrified. His mentor figure, no scratch that, his father figure was dying right in front of his eyes.

It’s not like the feeling wasn’t new to him, by any means. This is a boy who watched his parent’s plane go down on the news at age six as his young sobs were muffled by his aunts hip, as she tried to offer any comfort to the newly orphaned child, who was far too young to understand what was going on.

This was a boy who heard the sound of a gunshot fill his ears at only 14, as his uncle bleed out right under his hands, forever staining them in the crimson colour that will forever haunt his nightmares.

Tony was just one name on the list of many parental figures 16 year old (21 year old?) Peter Parker had lost. It seemed as if he was cursed. Cursed to lose any parental figure he got close with.

And now, here he was again, letting the feeling of fear, denial, and loss come over him like a tsunami for the third time in his short life.

The left side of Tony’s face was charred due to the energy surge the infinity stones sent through his veins as he heroically snapped his fingers to eliminate the mad Titan who had apparently killed the teen along with half of all life five years ago. Not that he could see it, with his eyes being filled to the brim with unshed tears blocking his vision, but he could smell it. He smelled something burning.

He hated it. He hated it with a passion.

He wanted to fix it. That’s all he wanted to do in that moment was to fix it. Fix everything. But he couldn’t. Nobody could.

Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, father, was dying.

And all Peter could do was do his best to say goodbye.

“Hey. We won… Mister Stark. We won Mister Stark. You did it, sir, you did it.” He hated how his voice shook like a child’s. He hated how someone else he loved was dying. He hated how he couldn’t get the gauntlet off Thanos all those years ago. He hated how he couldn’t get the gauntlet across the battlefield to the makeshift quantum tunnel. He hated how he didn’t do enough.

He hated how it was his fault.

“I’m sorry… Tony…” Peter had never called him Tony before. But in this moment, knowing it would be the last time he ever had the chance to, it felt right.

He felt an armoured hand grab his shoulder and gently pull him up. Truth be told, he completely zoned out after that. He was too lost in his own thoughts to hear Pepper’s last words to her husband, which as another thing he hated. But it’s not like he could help it. He found the sound of Tony’s heartbeat with his super heating and he intended to listen to it until it wasn’t there anymore. It kept his sobbing to a bare minimum, knowing that he was still alive, despite knowing it wouldn’t be for long.

So he listened.

Ba dum.

And listened.

Ba dum.

And listened…

Ba dum.

Until…

Nothing.

The sound of his mentor’s, his father’s heart had stopped.

The light of the arc reactor faded out.

Tony was gone.

Peter let out a scream.

—————

Tony woke up to a bright white light in his face.

Honestly? That’s what he expected. It’s all he could hope for. He was dead after all. Heaven was the best case scenario.

It wasn’t what he preferred. He would’ve much preferred to stay on Earth for at least 30 more years. See Morgan grow up, see Peter graduate, see Harley become the best darn mechanic Tennessee has to offer, see Nebula finally learn what it’s like to feel loved, fully repair his relationship with Steve, grow old with Pepper...

But the minute he snapped his fingers, he knew he was never going to get that.

He just hoped he would get to see Natasha again. And his darling mother, Maria. Maybe even Yinsen, tell him how he didn’t waste his life.

But then, he felt something.

Pain.

Intense pain coursing through his left arm.

That couldn’t be… this was heaven for crying out loud. You weren’t supposed to feel any pain here. You were supposed to be at peace.

Unless…

“Tony!” He heard a familiar voice scream. “Tony, oh my god…”

He groglily turned his head to see Pepper, his beautiful Pepper, run up to his side.

He was so confused. He was dead. Pepper was alive. And if she wasn’t, there would be hell to pay.

He felt her soft hands on his face, as he looked into her emerald eyes. She looked just as confused as he was, but happiness and relief hid that beautifully. The raw emotion on her face was the exact same as what he saw when he first landed on Earth after being left for dead in space all those years ago.

She gently pulled him into an embrace, the same way she did then, careful not to hurt him. He breathed in her vanilla scented hair and planted a soft kiss on her cheek.

“You’re alive…” She whispered so softly you could breathe and miss it.

Wait.. what?

He was… alive?

How could that be? No human could ever survive that much power!

“I’m… wha—“

“Mister Stark! Glad to see you awake.” He heard the click of heels enter the room. His gaze shifted from one woman to another, as he saw a professionally dressed Asian woman come onto the scene.

Helen Cho.

Doctor Cho.

That’s when it hit him. He was truly, honestly, alive.

He was in rough shape, he had finally taken the time to take in his surroundings and realize that his arm was missing (he then proceeded to make the connection that the pain he felt earlier was phantom pain), and he was hooked up to several machines, all of which keeping him going no doubt.

But he was alive.

But…

“How?” He asked Cho, with as much strength as he could muster.

“Let’s just say we’re Banner was able to carry you here in time. Your heart stopped, you know. And even though we were able to get it started again, we still thought you were a lost cause.” She said as kindly as possible, Pepper’s sniffles still filling the room. “In fact, we were planning on pulling the plug tomorrow.”

Pulling the plug? That meant…

“You were in a coma for over a month.” The doctor answered his thought for him.

He swallowed bile at that. He couldn’t stand the thought of his family being in limbo for that long, how long they must have spent lying awake, wondering and worrying.

He almost felt like death would’ve been easier on them.

“But, you pulled through last second! Doesn’t surprise me. You always were a survivor, Mister Stark.” Cho said in a voice that was somehow professional and cheery at the same time.

Survivor.

He survived this.

“Unfortunately, your arm was a lost cause and we had to amputate it.” She said as her tone shifted to one more appropriate for the news she was sharing. “But using the technology they used for Mister Barnes’ arm, Wakanda’s royal medical team was able to fabricate you a fully functioning new one. It’s metal, but it’s something.”

Thank god. He doesn’t know what he would do without his arms. He certainly wouldn’t be able to tinker anymore. Or hug his daughter properly.

His beautiful, beautiful daughter.

Morgan.

He couldn’t wait to see her again.

He couldn’t wait to see all of this wonderful, darling children again.

“Thank you, Doc.” He said weakly, Pepper still kneeling next to him and holding his hand, brushing her fingers over his softly.

Helen just sighed. It was a sad sigh.

He knew that didn’t mean good news.

“Don’t thank me yet.” She spoke softly, as if she was about to say something devastating. “The rest of the world, still thinks your dead.”

He couldn’t help but let out a weak chuckle at that, though it sounded like a strained breath. “Yeah, so did I up until about three minutes ago, jeez no need to be so dramatic about it.” He retorted with his usual snark

“No, Stark. We let the world mourn for you. For privacy’s sake, and in case you didn’t make it to begin with. The only people who were made aware of your comatose state were Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, & Happy. Everyone else thinks you’re six feet under. There was even a funeral held.”

Oh.

“Wait, why only those four? What about Harley, or Peter?” He pressed, letting anger come over him.

He couldn’t stand the thought of his sons mourning him, when his heart was still beating. Especially not Peter, who had lost too much already.

“We decided that the less people that know the better, Mister Stark. We didn’t want this getting out to the public.”

“Oh god…” He sighed, briefly letting go of Pepper’s hand to run his only one through his hair in frustration.

“Well, maybe this is a good thing, right?” His wife softly suggested. “I mean, living the quiet life. No cameras, no responsibilities, just a nice life by the lake…”

“Are you suggesting I fake my death?” He asked, almost offended at the idea.

“I mean, that’s the only way you’re gonna ever be able to truly retire.” She retorted, still sounding soft and airy and in awe that he was here, breathing.

Deep down he knew she was right. She always was.

“I’ll give you some time to think on it. Rest up, sweetheart.” She softly whispered, getting up and placing a kiss on his forehead before leaving the room with Helen, being truly left alone with his thoughts.

And boy, did he have a lot of him.

He was still processing the fact that he was alive, and now he had that decision to make.

Tell the whole world your still alive & be bombarded with even more press and paparazzi than ever before as you’re probably now viewed as the world’s saviour or live the quiet life by the lake with your loved ones with no responsibility other than making sure Morgan is happy and healthy.

Despite it being a clear no brainer, he still decided to think on it.

And his mind wandered to Peter Parker.

The genius kid who just so happens to be a superhero on top of it.

The kid who he loved with all his heart, the kid who he invented time travel for, because he couldn’t live in a world that didn’t know his bright smile and contagious laugh.

The kid who wormed his way into his heart and broke down his walls, revealing a heart behind the sarcastic yet ever stoic exterior.

The kid who made him want to have one of his own.

He thought about how much he loved Peter Parker…

Before he realized how bad he was for him.

He was the one who dragged him into this life, introduced him to experiences that no doubt have him PTSD for life.

Despite how hard he tried to shield him from it, how hard he tried to bench the kid, nothing ever worked.

He was determined to help out, to make a difference.

And look where that got him.

Dying on an alien planet, light years away from home as he begged Tony to save him, before crumbling to dust in his arms.

Tony swore never to let that happen again.

In that moment, Tony swore to protect him.

Even if that protection meant never seeing him again.

Because damn it, he couldn’t let anything happen to that boy ever again.

And it’s not like this was the first time Peter lost a father figure.

Tony knows he doesn’t deserve it, he doesn’t deserve the pain again…

But odds are he already felt it. And he couldn’t take that unrelenting pain back, even if Peter knew he was still alive.

And Peter? He was strong.

So, fucking, strong.

Tony knew that eventually, Peter would get through it. He had to.

He’s done it before, hasn’t he?

So, as much as it broke him, Tony decided he would do it.

He would fake his own death.

And keep it from Peter.

It broke his heart. But he knew he had to.

For his own good. He told himself.

For his own good.

@agib-2002

#anna writes #im writing for some reason wow #for his own good #based on agib #irondad #irondad fic #angst #idk how to tag shit #enjoy #endgame compliant #somewhat anyway #sort of a fix it #sort of not #what happens when an editor tries to write

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snowbellewells · 6 years ago

Text

A Year in the Court of Misthaven: Part V “Becoming One”

At long last, the next addition to my “Year in the Court of Misthaven” Lieutenant Duckling series. I’m sorry it’s taken so long, but this one really took some doing. However, I hope you will enjoy this. It’s a step out of my comfort zone, in that I attempted to write a legitimate love scene. That said, this is probably the first piece I feel like should be rated M, so if that is a concern I wanted to let readers know up front. (I hope it isn’t too cringe-y, but I did try my best.) As always, this is for @kmomof4 who wanted to see more of this universe beyond the original one shot. If nothing else, I’m hoping you’ll like it, Krystal! :)

from the beginning of this series...

Part V: Becoming One

By: @snowbellewells

Now that their pledged troth was once again assured, Emma could happily show Killian the preparations which had been made in his absence for their wedding celebration, and begin to gain his approval, opinions, and preferences on those things and upon the details she had refrained from deciding without him. Whenever possible, Emma had sought to choose colors, food, and decor which she had believed Killian would prefer - or knew that he liked - still, now that he was at her side once more, she wanted her fiancé to have his part in the festivities and to know that how their nuptials were carried out was as much up to him as it was to her. Their wedding day was his as well after all, and she wanted her lieutenant to feel it so.

Life returned as much to normal as possible around them - at least as much as it would ever be for the Princess and sole heir of Misthaven and her intended consort. Their court physician had finally declared, not only Killian, but his brother as well, in the rehabilitative stages of their recoveries; no longer in danger of infection, further blood loss, or relapse, but instead working to regain their strength and adapt to life with the lasting ramifications of their injuries. To that end, Killian had worked with the physician, along with numerous assistants and craftsmen, to come up with some sort of prosthetic he could wear in place of his amputated hand. Though wooden models designed to look like a hand had been offered him, they had not the ability to move and grip which would be needed if he were to return to any sort of naval activities. In the end, he had settled on a sort of metal hook for everyday use which looked not much different from ones that could be found on the rigging of ships. Most of his everyday tasks could be handled better with such a utilitarian instrument, and though there was a fake hand chosen to wear at more formal occasions, learning to use the replacement which suited him best was all with which Killian, or any of those who cared about him, were concerned.

Though Killian had hand and arm exercises to perform, which could frustrate and pain him, he was as diligent in completing them as in any task he had ever undertaken. His ability to return to naval service was as yet uncertain, but if the outcome could be achieved through sheer determination and effort, he would be well on his way. Emma couldn’t help traitorously thinking to herself that his having to stay safe within their own kingdom was not such a horrible thing, but she also hated to think what it might do to her sailor’s pride, and - almost - his sense of self. She would never truly wish him to be kept away from the wind and waves he loved, only that he would always return to her hale and whole - or, better yet, that she could venture forth with him.

Liam had a longer road of recovery to tread, but the eventual outcome was also much clearer. Killian’s elder brother and Captain should, once his strength and function were restored, as they were assured would occur given proper time, be able to retake command of his vessel in her Majesty’s royal fleet. It had been a frighteningly close call; he had lost almost more blood than any single man could spare. To Killian, who was still forced to relive the immediate aftermath in gory, vivid detail in his worst nightmares, it had seemed his brother’s very insides were littering the ship’s deck in horrifying red resplendence. In the end, however, he had not lost any major organs, nor did there seem to be evidence of permanent ill effects once he could fully recoup the weakness and blood loss.

Two of the brothers Jones’ most regular visitors continually warmed Emma’s heart with their arrival. One, of course, was Belle. The petite brunette had always been helpful and kind to Emma, able to find exactly what the Princess sought in moments when she came to the castle library on a mission, and able to keep up a candid and spritely conversation with the young royal whenever Killian, Liam, Ruby or Graham had not been available to do so. Clearly she felt a more than casual concern for Captain Jones’ recovery however, which Emma had not seen coming. Sill, the other woman was often already seated by Liam’s side when Emma and Killian reached his room in the mornings, either already reading something to him, sharing breakfast, or simply sitting with him listening to the early morning bird songs outside.

Killian had already been released to return to the apartments he and Liam had made use of since they were children, rather than having to remain in the hospital wing. Though he liked to spend as much time as possible with his brother, doubtless knowing Liam must feel anxious and useless with his forced convalescence, and Emma felt no hardship in joining him in his visits as long as she was welcome. She had found herself growing even closer to Belle in the interim.

One morning, the had even found the pensive librarian fast asleep in the overstuffed chair at Liam’s bedside, head resting on folded arms while he was awake, hand raised as if almost ready to brush it over her rich, mahogany tresses when they had made their entrance just before his breakfast tray. Liam’s hand had pulled back so quickly Emma had needed to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing both at the motion and his flushed, sheepish expression as well. Belle, however, had not roused, and the elder Jones brother’s gentle, rapt glances over at her whenever he thought they wouldn’t notice were pathetically obvious and endearing.

Emma hadn’t stayed long that morning, meandering down to where her mother and Ruby sat in the sunroom making plans for ceremony and reception color schemes, flower arrangements, and seating. She knew that it would already feel crowded in the room if Killian tried to genuinely speak with his elder sibling as he needed to, and she also knew Belle well enough to not wish the other woman rapidly becoming more friend than pleasant acquaintance to be distressed by waking to find herself ‘asleep at her post’ or caught ‘neglecting her duty’ or whatever ridiculous notion the conscientious brunette would concoct. Giving Liam a truly happy smile and bending to kiss her fiancé’s cheek where he had settled at his brother’s opposite elbow, she had slipped from the room with a promise to return within the hour.

The second heartwarming recurrent guest, the one who made Emma’s chest swell almost beyond what she could stand without bursting, was her own father, King David. From the moment of their return, the man had been anxious to be apprised of both Jones brothers’ conditions and progress, anxiously questioning doctors, nurses, and even household staff when he could not visit the castle’s sick wing in person. Emma knew part of it was concern for her - her father not wanting his beloved daughter to suffer the loss of her partner and chosen mate, it went beyond that as well, to a depth that reminds her once again just what a good heart this man - once a shepherd whom True Love made a King - possesses and makes her adore her papa even more than she always has. He and her mother took these two orphan brothers in, raised them as their own, and their reaching adulthood has not made the crown regents any less attached to or concerned for their charges.

Though he does not tend to linger, probably sensing that both young men wish to be back at their duties onboard ship and do not wish for their monarch to see them as weak, the King is also more than obviously making his support and concern known. The two boys he raised alongside his precious daughter, whom he has watched grow into brave, honorable young men proudly serving his wife’s kingdom, hold a special place in David’s heart - as an adoptive father… and as a soon-to-be father-in-law. He will be certain that they both receive the very best care which can be provided, and clearly wishes to see Killian and Liam improving daily. She has always been her father’s darling, and daddy’s girl down to her bones, but if possible, his care for her fiancé and his brother made Emma adore her papa even more.

Slowly but surely first Killian, and then eventually Liam as well, began to venture from the recovery wing and back into as much of their daily lives as possible. Emma thrilled with any little jaunt Killian made alongside her, whether it be to the kitchens to test the batter for various cakes Granny Lucas was testing for their wedding reception, venturing to their secret garden arbor overlooking the sea, or even down at the docks where he laughingly started teaching her to fish. Though it might take him longer than before to accomplish some tasks with one hand, he was coping, and it did Emma’s heart good to see.

Unfortunately, she could also see quite well that the missing hand and the arm left behind still pained him, much as he might try to hide it or to appear as if everything was fine. At times sharp twinges seemed to strike him unawares, and he would wince or jerk in reaction before schooling his features to hide it. Emma in turn, could not help but to reach for him, wanting to soothe the ache, to offer comfort, to do anything to help. Despite the discomfort or distress he might be in however, Killian would not suffer her to touch the truncated limb, nor to see it without the brace that covered the amputation site. Though he had thankfully stopped trying to convince her to move on from him or that they should no longer marry, it would take a fool not to see that he still feared the full extent of his mutilation would disgust her or finally cause her to turn her back.

Nothing could be further from the truth; yet, Emma didn’t wish to push her lieutenant too hard or too far. He had been through a horrific trauma, one that - as much as she might wish to aid or lessen - he must deal with in his own way. When his pained reactions occurred she bit her lip firmly, forcibly holding back either comforting platitudes or questions about what troubled him. She genuinely attempted to allow him the moments which fooled no one to school his infinitely expressive features and pull the mask back into place as though nothing were wrong. The tautness of his voice betraying pain and tension despite his projected nonchalance nearly made her heart crack and brought tears to her eyes, but she always found the strength to hold them back, if only to stay near him and to perhaps distract her sailor from the torment he suffered in silence.

Early evening on the day before their wedding at last, they had been fishing at the docks and were walking back to the palace over the weathered wooden planks of the dock, a small bucket of their day’s catch over his whole arm, and her small, delicate hand tucked into his other elbow as he led her gallantly home for the night, when she noticed him shifting uncomfortably, his lips pressed together tightly against any sound. To some it might seem peculiar to go fishing on the eve of their nuptials, but both were anxious in their own ways, and being together, doing something simple and familiar was the best pastime for them it seemed. All was ready, prepared, not a single loose end left to be tied, and so they had slipped off to the waterfront.

“What is it?” Emma asked gently, worry creasing her brow in concern as she looked up into her beloved’s face; his dark brows pulled low over eyes scrunched near closed in intense pain, his shoulders hunching slightly in spite of his best efforts, and the truncated limb pulling in toward his torso unconsciously, even with her fingers still resting upon it.

Killian shook his head at her question, almost as though he had not the breath to speak as much as he wished to avoid giving straight answer. He moved them forward several more steps, before a low grunt of misery escaped under his breath, and he tripped slightly in his next step.

Her concern had not abated since her question went unanswered, and Emma was immediately anxious for him once more as he faltered. Not brooking any sort of opposition, she pulled him to the side of the path by his good hand, taking the basket from him first. Once off the walk and out of the way and attention of passerby, Emma pressed Killian onto a bench placed along the way, and knelt before him, peering up into his face with an intent scrutiny he couldn’t avoid. “It’s your arm, isn’t it?” she murmured sadly, already well aware she was right. “What can I do?”

She waited, hoping that he would not dismiss her concern, put up a front and pretend all was well when that clearly was not the truth. Her breath nearly caught in her throat, choking her on a gasp when he surprised her by meeting her gaze head on and answering with honest vulnerability.

His voice was a pant as he doubled over slightly in the seat, the blue of his eyes slightly diluted by tears she saw gathered but which he refused to let fall. “Aye, phantom pain…” he hissed, the words choppy as he forced them out. “The doc warned me about it...feels as though my hand...though it’s not even there...is burning.”

The explanation was simple and blunt, but Emma could easily sense the agony unspoken behind her sailor’s mere words. “It’s going to be alright, Killian,” she promised, forcing herself to project a calm she didn’t feel in hopes of helping him. “I can’t imagine what it feels like. I won’t pretend I can. But you are going to be alright.”

He nodded bleakly at her words, clearly using all his might to hold back a tormented sob.

Pressing on, Emma raised herself up just enough to rest her forehead against his, hoping to gently offer the contact and lead his breathing to slowly match her own at such close proximity. One hand slipped beneath the collar of his button-down shirt to rest over his heart, ignoring the way her own pulse stuttered and then tripled in speed at the feel of warm skin and coarsely curling hair across his chest, and instead further urging him to draw deep, steadying breaths. “Please, Killian, tell me what I can do to make it better.”

He knew exactly what would help, had done it in his solitary chambers on many an occasion though he had never been willing to allow any other to perform the task or even see his stump uncovered as such action necessitated. He did not intend to have his beautiful princess, his own pure paragon of perfection, be the first, though he had to grit his teeth to keep from telling her what would bring him ease. However, one glance at her determined and beseeching expression and how close she was, as if trying to read his face through sheer proximity, also alerted him to the fact that his princess would not be easily denied.

Brokenly, he finally answered in hoarse tones, “Sometimes...if I uncover it...and massage the stump...working those muscles can relieve some of the pain...but you don’t…” Already shaking his head, he began to pull away from her in hopes of dissuading her suddenly tenacious hands as she ran them up his arms to his shoulders, dexterous fingers slipping beneath the collar to seek out the straps and buckles holding the molded leather sheath over his blunted forearm.

Killian tried once more to protest, desperation rising within him as he felt exposed, out in the open, and more and more certain with each rapid heartbeat that once she truly saw the extent of the carnage, what - to him - seemed the mangled stump of flesh where once his other hand and wrist had been, that she would at last understand his fear and be disgusted enough to indeed pull away, leaving him wrecked and ruined. “Please, Emma…” he pled futilely, knowing it was no use, that there was no changing her mind once that particular furrow of determination settled upon her brow. “There’s no need, Lass. You shouldn’t have to see… Once I’m back in my room, I can…”

But his Princess was having none of it, shaking her head in denial of his excuses and pressing on, until he felt her unhook the buckle which held the entire contraption upon his shoulder. The release of pressure in itself was enough to ease some of the throbbing that radiated up and down his arm, even as it caused him to suck in a tight breath, feeling his doom about to unfold as hook and brace fell away into her careful hands before she gently set them aside next to him on the bench.

Her next move though, startled him enough to snap him from his dread and terror and transfix him, unmoving and completely attuned to her will. Even as her hands moved back to the end of his shortened forearm, wrapping with a soothing, gentle warmth over the scarred pink flesh, her eyes never fell to take it in; her gaze remained firmly and completely locked on his, promising that she was right there and that she would never leave. With a firm, but still tender, grip, Emma began to knead his stump expertly. Her face never changing to register disgust or regret, only that loving concern which had always been there any time he was hurting or troubled since he was seven years old and her father had brought he and Liam home. Her touch seemed so helpful and so assured in fact that he wondered if she had not researched different massage techniques or questioned the doctors and nurses at her family’s beck and call, in order to be ready if she might be able to help him. And he was then hit by the obvious realization that of course that was exactly what she had done. Why would he have expected anything else?

Ever so slowly, though he knew in truth it had been mere minutes, the pain ebbed at her calm, sure ministrations. Looking up at his lovely princess in wonder, Killian drew a ragged breath, hardly able to believe her goodness and devotion as the panic and fear receded. “You truly are a marvel, my Love,” he murmured, stunned voice soft and affectionate.

Emma shook her head slightly, a teary, lopsided smile lighting her face as she responded, “Did you really think I’d let you suffer if it were in my power to help you?” Her dainty hands still smoothed over his tormented flesh, easing him as she continued.

Several more minutes passed with them simply gazing into each other’s eyes, then gently the princess’ fingers trailed down to clasp her lieutenant’s other hand and to brace on her knees and stand. Pulling lightly, she urged him up after her. Wordlessly she turned back toward the palace once more, and Killian followed with their fingers intertwined, without hesitation.

Though wondering what his headstrong beloved had in mind, Killian didn’t question, merely walked behind her as they entered the courtyard and slipped through the entry hall. For a moment he thought Emma might be taking him to Doc, but as they began to climb the grand staircase, the idea was discarded. No one stopped them, even as they made their way along the second floor toward her apartments. Neither of them spoke, but then, Killian was not sure he would be able to anyway. He had just decided that she must be seeing him safely to his own room, wanting to be certain he was well and able to rest, when she pulled him to the right, drawing even closer to the royal family’s private wing, before leading clearly to her own apartments. The realization struck him, and his mouth went dry while his heart began to pound.

At last they stood outside her bedroom door, still silent in the gathering dusk, and Emma turned to look up at him, her beguilingly dark lashes fluttering over the transfixing green of her eyes and drawing him closer rather than taking his leave as he knew he should.

“Come in with me, Lieutenant?” she asked, biting her lower lip in playful query as she gazed into his startled face, unable to agree to something which might attach scandal to his intended bride just a day before the wedding, but equally unable to deny her. As if sensing his indecision, Emma ran her nimble fingers under the loose sleeve of his shirt, ghosting over still raised and somewhat tender scars and knowingly traced her pretty pink tongue over her upper lip in anticipation, pressing her advantage. “If you would, I could take good care of you…”

Though he knew that claim was large made of need and bravado, having only their own curious forays together to guide them, in that moment, Emma was a temptress Killian could hardly resist. He practically trembled as she continued to run her fingertips over the skin of his maimed forearm, jaw clenched so tightly to hold himself still that a muscle visibly worked in his cheek.

Emma raised her other hand to cup his cheek soothingly at the sight. Her heart stuttered to think that she might have caused him more pain and distress, or… was she wrong? Did he no longer want her?

He didn’t allow that thought to linger, instead startling her when he shook his head in frustration and backed away from her, dislodging her delicate touch and desperately searching her eyes with his own. “W-what are you doing t-to me, Emma? We can’t…” His chest heaved, and Killian downed a lungful of air before he could continue. “Stars above, do I want to… but you should take tonight… now that… now that you’ve really s-seen the damage… and be certain you don’t… want to back out while you still can?” His face fell to study the rich carpet at their feet with those words and the next were nearly inaudible when he added, “I would understand if you did.”

However, it is that declaration which galvanized Emma to action. Not allowing her face to fall with the return of his fear that her love could be so fickle, and without another moment’s hesitation, seeing clearly that it was not an issue of wish or desire, but that her brave, beautiful lieutenant was still trying to look out for her, at the expense of his own heart, she drew near to face him once again. He still feared her feeling trapped in their union, that she could not still want to bind herself to him, but in truth there was nothing she could want more. If she couldn’t convince him with sweet reassurance and heartfelt vows, then she would show him in a way that was impossible to doubt.

Killian was thrown slightly off balance by the way Emma suddenly latched onto his good arm and pulled him into her chambers, quickly closing the door behind them before they were seen, and then pressing him against it with her own body as she delved her hands into his dark, messy hair and kissed him for all she was worth. Still more than a bit disoriented, and not at all certain how to respond to her onslaught turning his body traitor to his mind, Killian was struggling to right himself, and mentally fighting not to surge forward and take over the kiss, spinning them to press her against the door and ravish her as she seemed to be demanding.

Neither of them had any wealth of experience beyond what they had explored with each other, and yet, as the emotion that had always been present between them swelled and began to guide them, hesitance and insecurity melted away. Now fully kissing his princess back, Killian just managed not to carry her across the room and press her to her mattress - but only just. Instead, his arms rose, meaning to cradle her precious face as he continued worshipfully drinking from her lips. His right hand did just that, calloused thumb stroking over her soft, porcelain cheek. Unfortunately, he caught sight of his blunted left arm and the mass of scars covering it as it rose to her face as well, and he jerked it back instinctively, hating the vision of it against such pale perfection.

Emma felt him flinch away, even as he tried to steady himself and continue kissing her. The catch in his throat and the tremble she felt where she clutched his shoulders gave him away, no matter how little he might want pity.

“Killian,” she murmured, her lips still brushing his, soft as rose petals and full of the solace only she can give. “What is it?”

He shook his head, having already tried to explain it to her, and knowing she would only argue with his fear now, even if it proved true once she genuinely looked at the ravages to his body bared before her eyes. Squeezing his own shut to avoid her searching green gaze, Killian instead rested his forehead against her own, drawing in her sweet scent and trying valiantly to memorize every detail in what he is sure might be the last time he was ever able to hold her so close.

As if needing nothing further to read his mind, understanding dawned on Emma as she took in her sailor before her. Taking a definite step back, she reached for his hook and its brace where it had fallen to the floor at their feet. Upon her picking it up and pushing it into his grasp, the air left his lungs in a rush; he was sure she had now awoken from her blindness and was about to send him away as he had feared. But then Emma, his stunning princess, caught him by surprise once more.

With only the barest of whispers to break the charged silence between them, she guided his arm across the space between them to place the sharpened metal point of the hook at the edge of her gown’s bodice, before biting her lip and looking up at him through her lashes with determined and sultry fervence. “Go ahead, rip it,” she commanded hoarsely, only the barest quaver to the words. “I want you to… and I need you to believe me.”

In truth, one hard downward swipe would slice through the material that covered her swiftly rising and falling chest, baring Emma completely to his eyes for the first time, but Killian had to stop himself, had to bring this back under control. It was folly, and could ruin her if anyone found out, even if they were to be married on the morrow. And not only that, he shook his head and blinked rapidly in an effort to clear the haze of lust her actions had brought before his eyes, beyond that, he had meant to release her, not make her more inclined to coddle him than ever.

When she saw that even with this further incentive Killian intended to balk, to cling to his blasted honor while it tore him apart, a spark of fiery ardor kindled in Emma’s green gaze, not giving up in her mission for even a second; instead, he had merely pushed her to retain the lead. “Killian,” she spoke again, her voice passionate and sincere as she took his chin between her fingers and forced his eyes to meet her own crackling with resolve. “I mean it. I want every part of you… Just you. No one else. That hasn’t changed… and it’s never going to.”

Wrapping both her small hands around his one holding the hook, she pushed downward in guidance until, with a sharp tear, the fabric gave and soon the rip sliced down the center until her dress fell open and Emma stepped from the folds of fabric to stand before her slack-jawed lieutenant. His eyes were round with wonder as he reached forward and then pulled back, as if aching to touch her with all the reverence and love she could read on his face, and yet, at the same time not quite sure he should truly be allowed to do so.

For the first time, the certainty on Emma’s face wavered, and a slight tremor ran through her limbs as her intended continued to stare in appreciation but made no movement forward. It was all she could do not to cross her arms protectively over herself, but her resolution held her fast as she urged once more. “Touch me, Killian. Please…”

This time the gentle plea in her sweet, beloved voice seemed to press Killian forward, finally breaking him free of the hesitance which had held him back and allowing him to close the distance between he and his princess until they were practically nose to nose. With the most tender gesture it seemed she had ever felt, Emma’s breath caught as he brought the gleaming curve of his metal appendage up to lightly brush a blond strand of her hair over her shoulder adeptly, and then ran the steely edge down her neck, out along her shoulder, and then over the outer curve of her breast and along her side to pause at her waist. It was now his chest rising and falling rapidly with the speed of his breath as his eyes followed the same paths along her body, seemingly heating her skin with his gaze as he did so.

“You’re so beautiful…” he rasped, his voice a raw husk of its usual timbre. For a moment, they merely gazed at one another, finally seeming in perfect accord, each loving the other so much no flaws or scars merited notice. Then, as if afraid to break the spell, but having to move, Emma raised one hand to brush her fingertips along that same long-healed scratch high on his cheek; a move of affection to ground herself in the familiar before venturing on.

“So are you,” she whispered sweetly, meaning every word and marvelling at how with those long, dark lashes mirroring the light blue, his strong jaw and the tilt upward of his soft, full lips, how he could ever doubt it. Letting her hand trail down the side of his face to his chest, the other one joined it, soon pushing his jacket from his shoulders to the floor and then going to work on the buttons of the loose-bloused shirt beneath.

Killian seemed to have finally given himself over to her will and the heat of the moment, merely shuddering at the sensation of her hands darting within the shirt once opened, skimming over his ribs and the quivering muscles of his stomach before shoving it from his arms and letting it fall to the floor atop the crumpled jacket.

Before he could protest or pull back within himself once more, Emma quickly grasped her sailor’s shortened arm, still reddened from the brace, but healed over and, to her, no deterrent in the slightest. Bending her head, she pressed her lips to the scarred flesh, lingering in what she could only hope might be a soothing kiss, holding his arm close, caressing the skin and cradling it to her chest.

A sort of half-whine escaped his throat, and then, as if the last of his restraint had at last been shattered, he surged forward, mouth claiming Emma’s and taking her over, just as she had hoped. Mindlessly, he was moving her backwards toward her fine canopy bed and leaning over her as her knees hit the mattress and they both sank down upon its soft surface.

Soon his firm, well-muscled legs were pressing against her own bare thighs, the pleasant weight of him hovering over her enticing, but also using just enough care not to crush her or squash the air from her lungs. His hand and left elbow were bracketing her shoulders, only awkward for a moment at the slightly unbalanced length of his arms before her clever lieutenant adapted and dove back in for another breath-taking kiss Emma could hardly match. Her heart beat wildly, near frantic in its exaltation as he continued to drink from her lips like a man who had been dying of thirst finally led to water.

Raising up only slightly, then sitting back on his haunches to study her, there was a darkening hunger in Killian’s eyes that she had never seen before. “So beautiful, my Love,” he whispered, bringing his hand to the side of her face, where she caught it in her own to hold close. Then he was bringing his bare forearm down her other side, taking a slow, leisurely path all the way from her neck to her hips, tingling flame and electricity skittering through her pores as he continued. It felt as though her brain was misfiring, unable to truly process all the sensations he was creating within her. He paused only slightly before his hand began to inch from her waist, where his scarred forearm remained steadingly reassuring her, over to her inner thigh and up toward her center, where she was practically trembling, vibrating for him, and for what came next.

Still, he waited, gaining her full and coherent attention before ascertaining once more, “Are you certain, Emma? Is this truly what you want?”

In spite of how badly she needed his long, graceful fingers to continue their quest, she was also practically clenching her thighs as much as possible against the desire running through her, merely to keep herself from flying into a million pieces. She nodded vehemently, trying to convey how much she wanted even though no words would come. “Yes… please…” she finally managed to grit out. “I c-can’t stand it if you s-stop now…”

Killian’s eyes seemed to light with an almost devious twinkle behind the way they had darkened to midnight hue. When his tongue darted out to swipe along his lower lip, his eyes leaving her face to watch where his fingers ghosted over tender skin, previously unseen by any other, her stomach lurched in a way that was intense, rattling, but not unpleasant. She felt moisture seep from between her legs, where his pointer and middle fingers were now deftly playing, tracing along her opening and dipping within in a touch that made her legs tremble, and her hips rise to him in supplication, whining fruitlessly for more as he looked both intent in his foray, focused on eliciting yet more sounds and feelings from her, and curious, as if she were a riddle laid out before him that he hoped to study from every angle and master completely.

Soon both those probing fingers were inside her, stroking so that Emma was now writhing beneath him, pressing her lips together to hold back more pitiful begging sounds than she had already let escape as she thrashed her head from side to side on the pillow.

Stilling his ministrations, Killian leaned down once more to press a kiss to her chin, her mouth, her forehead. “Please,” he whispered in her ear, before rising once again to watch his digits resume their rhythm along her inner walls as if entranced. “Don’t hold back any sound you want to make. I wish to know what pleases you.”

Emma’s hands had fisted in her sheets in desperation as he ceased his deft swipes and brushes, but when he upped the speed of his strokes, pulling his fingers nearly from her completely then back in, his stump all along stroking over her hipbone as if to soothe and keep her in place all at the same time, Emma’s hips began to move in response, trying to meet a thrust that wasn’t truly present yet, but that her body instinctively knew, as old as life itself. When Killian’s thumb at last joined in, pressing effectively against the small spot that made light and color burst behind her eyelids, Emma couldn’t stop the cry that tore from her throat as her entire body from fingertips to the ends of her hair to her very toenails seemed to seize in euphoria, crest and then burst. She went limp on the bed, shivering in the aftermath. It was like he’d had one of his beloved maps, she marveled, half consciously, only to guide him over her body instead of across waves. She didn’t know how Killian had done it so easily, but she was little more than a melted puddle in his hands.

“Alright there, Princess?” he asked, voice somewhat strained, but a tinge of pleased humor present as well.

This time, words did escape her. Emma merely cracked one eye open enough to regard him dreamily and hum as she attempted to brush one hand along his arm before it fell back to the bed.

“Hmm…” his deep voice hummed low enough to almost be to himself. “Good to know.”

Emma watched for a moment, appreciating the sparkling affection in his once more light, sea-blue eyes, the shock of dark hair that had fallen over his brow, the way his tempting, hair-covered chest heaved almost as much as her own, and the tight set of his sharply cut jaw. She loved him so much, and he had just made her feel so good - better than she had known she could feel - and she wanted to tell him so, wanted to make him feel the same, if only she could bring all her limbs back under her command and string a full sentence together.

Her eyes fell to his quivering stomach muscles, and then to where a thick bulge stood out within the breeches which still covered his lower half. Sense returned enough to her to realize that of course he had not yet reached the heights he had just made her ascend. They had yet to find completion together, and she reached forward with as much curiosity as he had earlier, and begin to work clumsily with the unfamiliar fastenings of his waistband.

Of course, her faithful, honorable betrothed had seen to her pleasure first, but she did not intend to leave Killian wanting - not after the satisfaction he had gifted her. And she wished to finally be joined with him fully and completely, in every way possible.

Killian’s larger, surer hands quickly covered hers and rapidly undid the buttons she had fumbled with, shimmying the pants over his hips and divesting himself of them entirely with a flick of his foot. Emma almost giggled aloud, regardless of what they had already done, at the image of his last article of clothing flying through the air to land haphazardly on her floor. However, the sight of her fiancé, her love, bared before her, nothing hiding any part of him, stilled the breath in her throat and the laughter on her tongue.

Just as he was in every other way, Killian uncovered was magnificent. True, she was also a bit intimidated, not sure now how the member she saw would fit where his fingers had so deliciously only a short time ago. Yet, though she swallowed hard, feeling her pulse pound a bit more erratically, she also trusted this man she knew as well as she knew herself. He would never hurt her, would sooner die himself than see her harmed. And she could see the straining state he was in and knew had to be painful. She no sooner wanted to him hurt than he did her. He had given her such gratification, could she not do the same for him? Despite her trepidation and uncertainty, she also wanted to know, craved that connection with him, that final bond they had yet to experience.

Her eyes drifted up from his rigid manhood, following the trail of thick dark hair up his lean torso to the darkly curling thatch covering his well-formed chest. She caressed his toned shoulders and arms with her gaze, having a hard time not rising to meet him, wrapping her arms and legs around him and never letting him go.

She found that her voice had deserted her altogether, but she beckoned him to her once more. This time as Killian swept in to kiss her ardently, tongue stealing forth to duel with her own, she noticed the quivering in his arms, the exertion showing on his face along with his love and devotion. He was holding himself back, but it was nearly all he could do. Making up her mind, Emma craned her neck slightly to catch his stare once more. When she was certain he read her resolve, her decision, and her heart’s desire clearly, she spoke at last. “Go on, Killian. I’m ready…. I - I want to be yours. You told me not to hold back, but you needn’t do so either. I belong to you…. now and forever.”

The sound that escaped him then was almost a growl, plunging back in with teeth and tongue to kiss her more fervently than ever. It seemed his hand and his stump were everywhere, no longer holding back in the slightest. Something about the stiff propriety to which he held himself loosening at last, took away the bit of breath she had regained.

In the next moment, Killian had rolled them so they faced each other on their sides. His eyes darkened to a deep cobalt again with desire as they searched for just a second before trailing nips and licks along her neck and across her collarbones, even as his shortened arm drew her leg up to rest it over his hip, opening her to him intimately. Pausing only briefly, Emma’s heart pounded at the way he whispered against her ear. “I’ll try to make this as good as I can for you, my Love. There may be pain for a bit, I’m told. Just hang onto me, aye?”

Emma nodded wordlessly, already clinging to him tightly as he shuffled just a moment to get them in place. She felt him at her entrance only briefly and then he thrust home, making everything else center at that point inside her until nothing seemed to exist beyond where they met. She felt stretched, filled, and there was a sharp pain against which she bit her lip and tried to hold back a few rogue tears.

Killian of course, ever watching her and seeing to her comfort, was already brushing his lips across her face, murmuring assurances, apologies, and kissing away those tears, even as he began to move in a steady, rolling pace that he couldn’t hold back any longer. Even as she winced slightly, anxious to adjust, Emma also felt something building beyond the initial discomfort. Warmth and sensation swelled and grew, pleasure vibrating within as Killian stroked places inside she hadn’t even known to exist.

Soon she was gripping him so tightly she knew her nails must be leaving indents on his flesh, moans and pleas for more mixed with his name falling from her mouth in shameless desperation. By the time the center of pleasure pulsed and burst rattling her to her core until she fell boneless from the heights, her eyes were squeezed closed and she was gasping for breath as Killian stilled his rocking motion, trembling in her loose-armed embrace as he found his own release.

As spent as he was, Killan still had the thought to gather her close as they both regained their breath, bundling her against his chest and nuzzling his nose against her earlobe. “Are you… alright, Emma?” he questioned earnestly.

She nodded, interlocking her fingers with his where his good arm rested beneath her. “I am. Very much so,” she assured him breathily. Snuggling closer still, their legs entwined, the sheet just barely pulled up to their waists, Emma stroked her fingers along his forearm, revelling in the intense connection she felt after what they’d just shared.

Probably she should urge him to catch his breath, then be up and back to his own rooms until the morning. Yet, she did no such thing. When Killian’s breathing evened out and his eyes slid closed, she studied his gentle, handsome face in sleep, his worries about their end finally defeated. Tracing a hand over his brow, she closed her own eyes too. When slumber came to her as well, Emma’s last thought was that she didn’t want to spend even one more night without him. Tomorrow they would be man and wife, but they had already become one.

Tagging a few others who may enjoy: @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @searchingwardrobes @spartanguard @laschatzi @effulgentcolors @let-it-raines @darkcolinodonorgasm @winterbaby89 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @jennjenn615 @bmbbcs4evr @blackwidownat2814 @gingerchangeling @branlovestowrite

#cs ff #cs EF au #lieutenant duckling fic #year in the court of misthaven #part five

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