#i literally. put effort into trying to make the anatomy and muscles of his arm look good

[kwyoz]

did i actually draw out both of johnny's arms when his one arm is cybernetic. somebody gaslight me into forgetting i gave him two normal arms instead of just one before i start sobbing.

[aforrestofstuff]

Chapter 149 Expert Review Time

Hey gamers what’s up time for another CHAPTER 👏 REVIEW 👏

It was looking kinda bleak last time for pretty much everyone so I’m hoping things improved this time around, but it seems Murata and ONE are kinda going through their “I’m going to put my characters through the MOST” phase so… that feels unlikely. But nevertheless… still excited to see my favorite boys.

The 10000th Psychic Sister cover. Murata, I’m begging you. There’s literally like 30 other characters to choose from. I know you like drawing boobs but imma need you to put the pencil down for a minute and take a walk because this just ain’t IT.

“Summer is coming” it is July. Summer has been here for ten years. I’m so fucking hot all the time. Everything has been evaporated out of me and I’m literally a raisin.

The Psychic Sisters covers are just so devoid of life a lot of the time… I wouldn’t mind if it was them fighting or engaging in everyday activities but when they’re posed for the camera and deliberately placed there to look sexy it just sucks all the human out of them. The cover/splash page is a great chance to show characters in a new light!!! It’s mostly set away from the story so you can do whatever you want! Choosing to make 80 fanservice covers is just wasted opportunity for what could be additional character development. It’s gotten to a point where even the smegma-slinging bitchboys on Reddit are complaining about the excessive sexy covers…. When PussySlayer384756 complains that there’s too much tittage being shown, that’s how you KNOW we’ve got a problem. Now, idk how the fan climate is in Japan but I can’t imagine they’re feeling much different over there either.

Also, her anatomy is… janky. Her tit is bigger than her head, her belly is too long, and she’s got like 4 spare ribs. Like, I’m by no means an art expert but it doesn’t take a chef to know the soup is shit, you know what I mean? I feel like page after page of Murata drawing obscene muscle men has made him rusty on what should be (somewhat) normal-looking people.

Darkshine learns what TRUE peak male performance looks like.

You’ve gotta wonder how Darkshine even got to the S-Class to begin with when he pussies out of nearly every single fight… except the one where the opponent was literal water. Everyone says that he just joined the association for additional validation, and I believe it… this boy is not cut out for actual hero-ing. 99% Of the time HE’S the one who needs a hero.

It kinda bothers me how useless he’s been post-Garou fight, especially when we spent like an entire chapter trying to console his ass. I get that’s part of his character and development… but it’s begun to slow things down. We get it. We don’t need to see him be insecure every time a new enemy pops up. One was enough. We would’ve gotten the same effect if he just sat out the entire time post-consolation, because everything that’s happened to him on the surface has been kinda redundant.

Here comes the boooyyy 🎶🎶

Nice callback. I’m glad Metal Bat is finally here. Bitch runs slow as fuck.

It’s nice to see him act on his own agency instead of orders from the hero association. He’s clearly much happier when helping out on his own accord, and has a ton of initiative too. The chapter he got with just he and King meeting up and slingshotting themselves to the fight was really a breath of fresh air from all of the fighting. It’s moments like these where ONE remembers that people like OPM for the characters, and not necessarily the pretty action sequences. I really like this duo. I like Metal Bat. I like it when they’re given time to be themselves and not just vessels for the next fight scene.��

I know I said I wanted the heroes to die but Murata I’m begging you please don’t kill the child. You can kill Puri, though. I hate that fucker.

Child Emperor regularly visiting and eating with Bofoi even despite being his lab assistant would be a lot cuter if Bofoi wasn’t the human equivalent to a dog turd. I might’ve overstated that… seems like Bofoi is just using him as an errand boy. The clear lack of respect he has for CE is very indicative of his character and is not necessarily a bad thing plot-wise, but I would still like to beat him with a cane. Additionally, it’s clear that he’s not going to help the heroes here. At least, I don’t think so. His “fuck them kids” attitude seems to be a pretty big pillar in the building of his character and I doubt ONE would jeopardize that just because he’s written himself into a corner. Oh, well. We’ll see.

It’s very sweet that even when near death, CE still thinks of Zombieman. Aaaaghh it’s so GOOD when the characters actually LIKE each other. I know realistically not everyone is gonna be friends but man… it would be a lot cooler if we got more insight on their chemistry. Pleaz have more Metal Bat-and-King-esque chapters. I wanna see how everyone gets along.

Also, the concept of Puri just manifesting drilling powers and carving through solid rock with nothing else but pure strength and determination is so funny. A little convenient, sure, but I really don’t care because it’s actually done well. Their reunion scene is hilarious. More stuff like this pleaz….

I don’t even know what to say about Genos here. Dude, I know you made an oath to protect Tatsumaki or whatever, but there’s no shame in a good bail. You can’t even bail anymore because your damn legs are gone. See, this is what happens when you make promises. The secret to keeping your legs intact is doing the bare minimum. Hope this helps ❤️

He’s making a valiant effort but… I’m afraid he just ain’t gonna do much while roleplaying as a worm. Maybe he’ll make a chrysalis and come out as a butterfly. Wait, that’s caterpillars. Fuck. TATSUMAKI IS A GONER, BRO. WE NEED YOU TO BE THE DEUTERAGONIST!! IF YOU DIE WE LOSE 70% OF MERCH SALES NOOOOOOOO

Local man has a heart attack in front of thousands of little monsters and somehow saves the world, more at 5.

King I’m begging you please get that shit checked out that’s not NORMAL.

Yeah, I like this conclusion. Very tasteful cliffhanger. I mean we know King ain’t gonna do shit but SOMEHOW black sperm is gonna get punted like the little cumstain he is. Can’t wait to see the events that unfold next chapter… it seems like every scene that involves King turns out to be really funny and I’m super looking forward to black sperm seeing Jesus.

Also, a little off-topic but I just really like the way Murata inked his pants. Got a real comic book feel to it. I mean, he’s just really good at drawing clothes overall (save for Fubuki’s body-tight dress that is 100% not how women’s clothing works but I digress). Fucker understands fabric physics like I understand how to make a bomb ass chicken parm. I respect it.

In conclusion, lower everyone’s expectations of you and you might get to keep your arms and legs. This has been Life Lessons from Forrest. You now owe me 50$.

[jinkicake]

Human Anatomy

Ushijima’s med student s/o uses his muscles to study anatomy.

Ushijima x Reader

This is for anon who requested this!! I hope you like it and yes I did add some smut LOL! ≦(._.)≧ I made this a female reader, only because of the smut so I hope that is okay! Anatomy is fun! Hopefully the terms I used make sense, I haven’t taken anatomy in like four years. TT

WC- 2,198

~~~

The large books in front of you stare tauntingly and you can’t help but glare back. You’re currently situated in front of the couch trying, keyword trying, to work on your latest anatomy unit.

“Wakatoshi~” You whine and craw onto the couch to sit with your boyfriend, wrapping your hands around his broad shoulders. You nudge your face against the crook of his neck and as your nose brushes against the delicate skin a stroke of genius hits you. “Wakatoshi can I use you?”

The large volleyball player glances at you before looking back down at the magazine that has had him preoccupied. He thinks to himself, with hopeful eyes like that, how can he say no?

“Sure.” Granted his consent you place a peck on the edge of his jaw before running over to the kitchen to grab sticky notes.

“Okay in the unit I’m working on we’re studying the major anterior muscles and so you, beautiful,”  You pause your explanation to send your boyfriend a cheeky wink. “are going to be my model.” Ushijima only nods and you get to work right away, writing each of the major muscles on individual sticky notes.

“It’s a win-win, I get to study and I get to touch you! Canceling out the thing I hate most with the thing I love most!” You tell him and are so distracted by writing down the names that you don’t notice as your boyfriend moves behind you. Arms wrap around your waist and Ushijima pulls you so your back is flush against his chest, his face resting in the crook of your neck.

“You’re so cute.” You smile at his actions before laying all the notes out randomly.

“Okay, you can either stand up the whole time or lay flat on the couch.” You order but Ushijima makes no moves to get up, his arms are still locked around your center. “Come on Ushiwaka.” You taunt playfully and he lets out a groan before moving to rest on the couch. “Good boy.” Ushijima can only smile when you kiss his cheek as a reward.

A few moments go by and you stare blankly at the sticky notes, the words are starting to look like a new language. Slowly you turn around to look at your boyfriend who is peacefully staring at the ceiling. You place your hand on his shoulder and grab for one of the sticky notes.

“You know this could be easier for me if you were bare.” You innocently lift up his shirt. “That way I can actually see what I’m working with.”

Ushijima’s side-eye does not go unnoticed but either way, he does exactly what you say.

“Wouldn’t it only be fair if you were just as nude?” His words catch you off guard and you can’t help the squeak that leaves your lips.

“Wakatoshi don’t tease me!” You watch as he lays back down and instantly you push his gym shorts up to meet his large muscular thighs. “Now I can work!”

Ushijima watches you as you run your hands all over his body, quickly sticking the notes in their designated positions. Your fingertips are so soft and leave feathery touches in their wake as you move them up and down his body. Each time you place a note down you also give a soft kiss to the respective area. As focused as you are, Ushijima almost feels bad for enjoying your touch as much as he does, his mind even starts to wander.

With only a few sticky notes left you pick up the one labeled 'pectineus’ and almost instantly a dark smile appears on your face. You put that one back down beside ‘adductor longus’ and choose to save those two for last. Actually having a body to label in front of you makes studying easier, not only can you see what is in front of you but seeing the names attached really helps stick it in your memory.

You will admit, you’re having too much fun for someone who is just placing down sticky notes. When you pick up ‘rectus abdominis’ you turn and blow on the exposed skin covering Ushijima’s abdomen before placing the sticky note down. Flattening your palm for extra emphasis, grinning when you feel his happy trail tickling your wrist. You glance up at him once before placing a soft kiss just below the sticky note. It takes everything in you to hold back your tongue because as much as you want to lick his bare skin, you won’t, you’ll end up getting distracted.

“You’re enjoying this too much.” Ushijima comments and when you look up at him again, you can practically feel the blood flowing out of your nose. His arm is up and covering his eyes, the flex in his large bicep makes you want to fall flat on the floor. That, however, is not your priority at the moment.

“Wait, wait, the sticky notes will fall you have to be still Wakatoshi.” You grip at his arm and bring it back down to his side, when you look back at him he is already staring at you. Interest clouding his olive eyes. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Ushijima tilts his head gently and the innocence in his actions contrasts how sinful his body looks laid before you.

“Like I’m two seconds away from tearing your shorts off.” The confession leaves your lips as if you’re discussing something as simple as the weather and Ushijima has to refrain from grabbing you and settling you down on his lap. At this point, fuck the sticky notes.

“I’m almost done, you’ll get a reward for being such a good model, be patient.” You blow gently against his ear before turning around to grab another sticky note. You can’t help but giggle at the way Ushijima stiffens as you run your index finger along his chest, your nail lightly digging against the skin. With a wide grin that you can’t contain you pick up the last two sticky notes and place them on their respective positions on either side of his inner thighs. You look up at Ushijima and keep your eyes locked as you lower your face to rest above his crotch. You mouth hot kisses along his inner thighs, giggling when you notice the large bulge in front of you.

“Worked up from this? So cute Wakatoshi~” You tease before running your lips on his length over his gym shorts. Slowly you move your hands to rest right on top of his thighs, gripping the muscle tightly before resting your head on his hip. “You want to know what my favorite muscle is?” You wait for a few seconds, Ushijima makes no effort to answer and you give him a pointed look. “The rectus femoris.”

Ushijima only stares down at you with a blank face, his body tense with having you so close to him like this. The tall ace puts two and two together and figures out you’re talking about his thighs.

“My thighs?” His low voice causes you to bite your tongue to hold back a moan, you can't help but shiver at what his voice does to you.

“Sit up.” You command and hop off the couch, staring down at him with hard eyes and not doing much to hide the pleased smile on your lips. Ushijima watches you carefully before sitting upright in the middle of the couch, his eyes follow you as you sink between his knees. Instantly your hands are glued to his thighs, studying them with such interest before moving your mouth to bite each of the sticky notes littering his lower body off.

“Take them off, don’t be shy.” You pluck at each of the sticky notes on his arms, chest, neck, and simply throw them on the floor beside you. Ignoring Ushijima as he rolls his eyes at the mess you’ve created.

Your hand trails down to sneak under his shirt, pressing your palm flat over his happy trail. You lower your hand into the warmth of his shorts, barley resting your palm over his member. You giggle at the hardness you already feel, the warmth spreading over your palm like a wildfire. You glance back up at the boy just as you cup him and squeeze, aching for his reaction. In return, all you get is his eyes widening and chest heaving with each breath. Your hand begins to fondle the bulge gently, applying pressure with each movement of your wrist.

“Let me hear you Wakatoshi~” You coo. A hum of approval is released from your mouth as you continue to you feel him, your fingertips dancing towards the tip. Easily you spread the excess precum over his length, hand running up and down along his cock. This time when you glance up at him, his brown head is leaning back against the couch and the lip you so desperately want to bite is encased by his teeth. You quietly giggle to yourself while you continue to jerk him off, your thumb flattening over his slit once you reach the tip. Finally, finally, you get noise from him. A groan is released from his delicate lips and his hips jerk and push through your fist. You tightly grip the base of him, hearing another sigh of pleasure fill the air. You want to tease him you really do, however, giving him the pleasure he deserves sounds so much more appealing.

“Fuck (Y/N).” Ushijima pants and tries to push your hands off of him.

“W-what?” The big frown on your face makes him instantly regret his actions but the regret disappears as soon as he grabs your biceps to pull you on top of him. Placing you so that one of his legs rest in-between your own and as soon as he presses his lips to yours, his muscular thigh pressed against your center roughly.

You sigh against his lips and a twitch of pleasure runs up your spine causing you to grip his broad shoulders tightly. Large, warm hands squeeze your hips pulling you to grind on his thick muscle.

“Wakatoshi,” You sigh moving your hands to rest on his chest, lightly scratching against his exposed chest. “Have I ever told you how much I liked your thighs? I don’t think I have.”

This was not new news to your boyfriend, he picked up the obsession you have with his thighs even before the two of you started dating. How many nights he spent cumming to the image of your eyes holding him in place while you squirmed in your seat, he doesn’t know. Your soft whine breaks him from his thoughts and he flexes his thigh underneath you.

“I really, really love them.” Your chest begins to rise and fall as you start to pant due to the pressure building up within you. “I literally get myself off to the sight of them.” Now, this was something Ushijima did not know. It makes sense, really, but when he starts to think about his girlfriend late at night back-arching due to her own fingers while she thinks about his thighs? His brain momentarily freezes.

“My love, stop talking.” Ushijima lowers his head to slot his lips over yours trying to catch any noises that come out your mouth. He knew if he let you continue on the way you were talking he would have come in his pants untouched before you, who was actually getting touched. He couldn’t handle the embarrassment. The vibrations from your whimpers of pleasure spill into his mouth as you speed up your pace on his thigh. The feeling of his large build beneath you, tightening with every delicate touch of your fingers, paired with his hot mouth on yours almost becomes too much for you. Slowly one of his hands moves from your hips, trailing alongside your body before cupping your breast. His hand slides under your shirt to pinch one of your nipples almost painfully and you arch your back, pressing into him in response. It all becomes too much and you can feel your wetness dripping onto his bare thigh.

“Give into me (Y/N).” By now you know this is not up for debate, by now you know this is a command. With Ushijima’s lips now on your neck, his fingers pinching and tugging your nipples, his thigh flexing deliciously against your clit, you know you’re finished. You feel a shortness of breath as a wave of pleasure rushes over you and you fall limp in your boyfriend’s hold. The hand on your hips keeps you grinding into his thigh to elongate the pleasure and you sigh happily into his collarbone.

“Wakatoshi.” You moan and lightly kiss at his neck before sitting yourself back up to stop your hips from moving. Ushijima only pulls you onto his lap, his cock brushing against your folds through your thin shorts and you cry out at the sensation, your body still sensitive.

“Come here, let me take care of you.” With his lips brushing against your ear and his throbbing member resting underneath you, you know this night is far from over.

[eclecticstarlightconnoisseur]

Edinburgh to Boston - Chapter 3 The Flight - Part 1

Hello all,

As promised here is Chapter 3.  Just so that you know part of my real life leaked into this chapter.  I have been studying for my Advanced Cardiac Life Support recertification this week.  I have been practicing with the simulations and going through the algorithms all week including shocking the characters.  So Claire is acting out for me in the story. I have ACLS on the brain.

I hope you enjoy the Chapter.

I give you:

Edinburgh to Boston

Chapter 3 - The Flight - Part 1

James found Claire standing by their seats struggling to put her carry on into the overhead compartment.

"Here, Beauchamp, let me help ye with that." James took the suitcase and easily slid both their cases into the compartment.

"Thank you, Fraser. That was most kind of you. I don't know how I would have managed." Claire looked up at James coquettishly through her eyelashes and flashed a charming smile.

"Ah...yer welcome. Anytime at all." Christ, is she flirting with me?

May as well be a gentleman. "Beauchamp, umm, which seat would ye like, the window or the aisle? It doesna matter to me which seat I have."

"Oh no, James you must take the aisle seat. You would have more leg room it wouldn't do to be uncomfortable during such a long flight." Claire placed her hand over his squeezing gently.

She felt it in an instant, the heat of the man as well as something else altogether.  It was an intense feeling, coursing through her hand, snaking up her arm, centering in her chest diffusing outward warming her body. It was like a radiant glowing sun growing, expanding, discharging heat and energy. Then there was something else. Something she could not put a name to but it pulsated, throbbed feeling primitive, primordial, something more...something dangerous, perhaps, possessive.  She never felt anything like it before. The sensations threatened to consume her, devour her. Isn't that what the woman said, he wanted to devour me? Could the old lady have been right? Could there be something between us?

Claire quickly removed her hand from James as if she had been burned. No, Claire decided. No, she decided she had let the old lady get into her head and she had to stop those thoughts now before things got out of hand.

She is flirting with me! Tiny beads of sweat formed on James forehead and upper lip. He ran his finger along the collar of his blue dress shirt trying to let a little air in.

"A bit warm in here is no’ Beauchamp?" James asked as he took his suit jacket off feeling the cool air of the cabin brush across the sweat-dampened shirt molding to his back. His hands were damp too. Surreptitiously he rubbed them against his suit leg hoping that she wouldn't notice what he was doing. He dropped gracelessly into his seat placing his jacket over his lap, his head slumping back against the headrest.

Claire turned to look and her eyes went wide with shock. James had turned a rather unhealthy pasty color much like the color of day-old parritch. Sweat formed on his face and he looked a right mess.

"James, are you ill?" Claire asked a worried expression splayed across her face. "Do you feel faint?" "Are you having a heart attack? Do you feel chest pain?" She was becoming nervous and concerned. "Here let me see if you have a fever."

Her cool hand came to rest on his brow causing him to shiver at her touch. The man was a furnace, not with fever, but with his own body heat. She swiftly took his wrist checking his pulse, fast but regular. Breathing deep but again regular.

"Here let me help take off your tie."  Nimble fingers made quick work of removing James' tie and opening his collar. She began to fan James furiously with the magazine in the pocket of the seat. If she fanned any harder, she would have caused a tornado.

The woman will no’ stop touching me! "I'm fine, Beauchamp."

Her hand is sae soft, sae cool. I wonder what her bonny wee hand would feel like on my…

It was in that moment that James understood that settling his jacket across his lap was a very fortunate thing, as his traitorous anatomy would have put him in a very embarrassing and compromising position.

James closed his eyes, exhaled a deep, low, anguished groan. In an effort to gain control over himself, he began to mentally pray. Lord, I need ye guidance for the challenge I am to face. Grant me ye wisdom, strength, and direction.

Claire took James’ groaning to mean he was worsening. He didn’t look any better either. It seemed that he was growing paler by the second.

“James?” There was no response. “James!” Claire gave him a little shake. He still did not respond.  His pulse was strong and regular.

Fearing that the worst might happen, she signaled the flight attendant who popped up next to her like the jack-in-a-box.

Adopting her surgeon's persona, "I am Dr. Claire Beauchamp and this is Dr. James Fraser. Dr. Fraser is not well. I need your assistance." Claire proceeded to tell the attendant what she would need and gave her an imperious look sending the young woman scampering off.

With all her strength, Claire grabbed the blue button-down dress shirt and yanked it open sending the buttons flying in all directions like tiny projectile missiles. James' chest was exposed; it was toned, well muscled with copper-colored hair lightly furring his chest. I want to touch him.  

By this time the flight attendant returned carrying the AED.

The sound of tearing fabric prompted James swift return to consciousness; he looked at Claire, saw what she was doing and grabbed both her wrists.

"Beauchamp," James said very calmly, "What in hell are ye about? Have ye gone mad?"

Claire startled as if she was watching Lazarus rise from the dead.  Her eyes glistened with tears creeping toward the edges.

Her mouth quivered, moving wordlessly at first, "You...You're alright then?" Her face contorted with relief.  Claire’s hands cupped his cheeks tenderly and stared at his face searching for an answer to her question.  "I thought...I thought I would lose you," she said in a shaky voice. "I thought you were going to die. I had the AED here just in case." One hot fat tear escaped her eye striking James on the chest.

"Hush lass, dinna weep, it's alright, it's alright," he soothed."I was just taken queer for a moment, but I’m alright now. But does that mean if I am taken so again, ye'll try tae undress me once more?" he said while quirking an eyebrow at her and giving her a little chuckle.

Claire took hold of herself, appreciating James’ effort to try to make light of the whole matter allowing her time to regain her composure. She blotted at her eyes and sniffed.

"Don't get any ideas in your head from this Fraser. It just means that I am relieved you're not dead. I wouldn't want to have to go back to the chief and try to explain this. And by the way, be very grateful I didn't try to shock you," Claire huffed glaring at him as if this were all his fault.

“Aye, Claire, I am truly grateful ye did not. It would have hurt like hell,” he smirked.

Both she and James profusely thanked the flight attendant for her assistance and watched her walk off grumbling.  

James stood took down his suitcase, rootled about, found a new shirt and marched to the lavatory with all the dignity he possessed. He passed by where Harry and Maizie were sitting. Harry raised his hand signaling James to stop.

"A moment lad after ye've made yerself presentable, aye?"

James really did not want to talk to Harry again. He thought that Harry was trying to fill his head with ridiculous ideas. He decided he would just walk by.

No such luck.  Harry was waiting for him outside the door. Harry gave James a firm push back inside the lavatory, stepped in and locked the door. There was barely enough room for both large men to stand. James standing at 6' 4" and Harry at 6'; the room was positively claustrophobic.

"Ye ken horses lad?"

What does that have to do with anything? "Aye, I do. And what of it?"

"The lass loves ye, that I ken; it's just that she's scairt, like a young filly that's been misused ye ken.  Someone has hurt her, and hurt her bad. Ye ken what ye need to do with a scairt hurt filly? Be gentle with her."

"Mr. MacLennan, may I ask ye what ye do for a living, sir? Are ye a matchmaker? If so, I dinna require yer services."

"Why I'm a kilt maker,” replied Harry proudly. “And to answer yer other question, no, I am no’ a matchmaker.  Just a man who believes in the power of love. May I ask the same of ye sir, what is yer occupation?"

"I'm a heart surgeon."

"Weel lad, ye may ken how to repair other people's broken hearts. But ye have a long way to go to fix yer own and that lass. Mind what I say to ye." Harry gave James a look imploring him to heed what he said and left.

A kilt maker was giving James love advice. He thought he must be going soft in the heid.

*************************

As Harry pushed James into the lavatory, Maizie took off from her seat rushing up to speak with Claire.  She found Claire picking up the buttons from James’ shirt that had been scattered literally everywhere.  The buttons not only contained the threads in the holes but pieces of the shirt itself was still attached.

Maizie spoke to Claire tenderly, “Lass, are ye alright? And yer lad, is he alright then?”

Claire looked up taking in the genuine concern written across Maizie’s face. “Yes, we’re alright. I guess you saw what happened.”

Maizie chuckled, “Ye caused such a stramash that I think the whole plane kens what happened.”

Claire was mortified. Her face glowed a lovely shade of rose reaching to the tops of her ears. She covered her face and uttered a small sob.

Maizie, in her best grandmotherly gestures, pulled Claire to her bosom and gently cradled her head against her shoulder. “There, there lass, ye meant well.  Ye were only protecting yer man.”

“He’s not mine,” Claire said whimpering against Maizie’s shoulder.

“Aye, lass he is. Ye just dinna ken it and neither does he. What kind of work do ye and yon man do?”

Claire looked at Maizie, tears running down her cheeks, “We’re heart surgeons.”

“I kent ye for a smart lass. I’m going to give you a bit of advice, be yerself, lass, no’ his doctor. Hmmm? All he wants is ye. He loves ye, I am certain of it.”

“But what if he doesn’t like what he finds? I’m afraid I could lose him as my friend.” Claire did not know why she was confiding in this woman who she had known for all of 10 minutes. There was something about the force of her personality that compelled trust.

“Claire, give the lad a chance. He is a special one. Lads like him dinna come along every day.” Maizie gave her a knowing look, “I ken his type well. Trust him.”

Maizie lifted Claire’s chin up.  She inspected Claire’s face, removed a clean but crumpled tissue from her sleeve and wiped away Claire’s tears. Maizie held the tissue to Clare’s nose, “Now blow.” Claire did as she was told.

“Besides, ye are building memories with the lad. Even if ye dinna think them to be good just now.  Ye will laugh at them in later years. On this ye can be sure.” Maizie smiled and winked at Claire.

Claire leaned toward Maizie, gave her a kiss on the cheek, “Thank you Maizie, for everything.”

“‘Twas nothing Claire.  Here,” Maizie handed Claire the buttons she was holding.

“I needta get back to my seat or Harry will worry I ran off with another man.” Maizie gave her a wink and turned hurriedly walking back toward her seat.

Claire sat down, wondering how she would apologize to James.

*******************

Maizie made it back to her seat before Harry came out of the lavatory. Harry took his seat next to Maizie and nodded his head.

“Ye spoke with the lass?”

“I did and ye were right.  She was hurt by someone. Who, I dinna ken. I think she was hurt bad though. She is afraid to lose him.  I told her to just be herself. Did ye speak with him?”

“Aye told him I thought she had been hurt before and was scairt. I told him that he needs to be gentle with her.”

“I think we gave them the best advice we could have. It’s all up to them now,” said Harry with a shrug.

“Aye, ‘tis,” Maizie agreed.  All we can do now is hope for the best.” Harry and Maizie’s hands intertwined. Harry raised her hand to his lips and kissed her wedding ring. “Tha gaol agam ort, mo chridhe.” Maizie looked Harry with such love and devotion and said, “And I you.” She kissed him sweetly on the lips.

*********************

James returned to his seat making himself comfortable after a harrowing start to his trip.

He found Claire sitting there serenely, although it looked as if she had been crying before.

“Fraser, I want to apologize for all the trouble I caused you.  Of course I will pay for the shirt I tore.” Claire blushed at the mention of the shirt.

“Dinna fash, Beauchamp. It’s nay bother. I ken ye were trying to help.  I’m glad of it.  Always kent ye would be there for me. Even if ye kill me in the process.”

Claire gave him a wry smile and gently jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow.  “Thank you for understanding.”

He laughed, smiled graciously at her, and patted her hand ending the matter.

The jet made its final turn on to the runway. With a roar of the engines the jet began to gain speed, gaining momentum leaving the terminal buildings behind in a blur. The jet thrust forward, cutting through the air freeing itself of its earthly bonds and suddenly it was airborne.

Finally. They were on their way. James relaxed into his seat sinking down as deeply as he could and he drifted off into what would become a fitful sleep.

Claire, too, yawned and stretched. Sank down into the cushioned seat, curling into herself as best as she could.  Soon she was carried off by Hypnos into the land of sleep.

There was music and dancing. Claire was in the arms of a tall red-headed man dancing around the room with the other couples. The music was fast; she was spinning and twirling about.  The man took hold of her by the waist, lifting her up spinning them around. Her head tossed back in a joyful laugh. He stopped and lowered her down, sliding her body over his. Her messy curls damp from exertion clung in ringlets to her face and neck. “I love you,” she whispered bringing her lips down to meet his. His lips were soft, warm, and tasted of whisky. The kiss warmed her to her core, setting her body on fire for him, only him.  She knew she never wanted to be anywhere else, with anyone else for the remainder of her life. James.

[born-in-the-wrong-multiverse]

Literal Baby Blues

Title: Literal Baby Blues

Square: De-aging for @clintbartonbingo

Warning: Language

Pairing: None

Summary: When Clint ‘volunteers’ for an experimental procedure to make himself sixteen again for the sake of a mission, no one could have predicted how horribly wrong it could all go.

"You absolutely promise this won't be permanent?"  "I swear it. Forty eight hours, max. It'll wear off gradually over the last couple of hours but until then, you'll be sixteen again."  "Greattttt. Because that's every grown man's greatest fantasy, to be pimply with a squeaky voice right before he's even had his growth spurt all over again." Clint was understandably a little unhappy about the whole situation. He'd drawn the short straw, though, and now he had no choice but to follow through, no matter how hard he might try to talk his way out of it. "How do you even know this will work in the first place? I'm guessing you didn't exactly use yourself as a guinea pig, Banner." Looking up briefly from the monitor he was observing as he calculated the dosage based on Clint's weight and height and current age, Bruce nudged his glasses up a little higher on his nose, delaying the need to answer. "Well...I mean...the mice responded well." Clint damn near shrieked at him. "Mice?! You mean you've only tested it on rodents?!" "Well," Bruce muttered, "Every scientific theory has to start somewhere." "And now you're back to calling it a theory!" Clint's eyes bugged out of his skull, backing away from the workbench hastily. "You're joking, right? About this whole stupid idea?" When Bruce shook his head, eyes full of sympathy, Clint slumped dejectedly, reluctantly resigning himself to his fate. Whatever it might be. "Fine," he grumbled, "Just make it quick so I can get this mission over with and go back to being a full grown man with all his short and curlies again." Scrunching his face up as he pinched the bridge of his nose, Bruce just nodded, doing his best to bleach that image from his brain as he instructed Clint to sit down and lay back in the chair. "You'll likely experience a little disorientation, your balance will be a little compromised to begin with until you adjust, but your mind will be your own. You'll have all your memories, all your personality and...quirks...will be intact." "Oh, I suppose you and Pym just asked your little mice subjects to clarify all that for you in a handy little questionnaire, huh?" Ignoring Clint's little outburst, Bruce drew back on the syringe as it filled with the serum that would revert him back to his teenage body. "Okay? Ready?" "Do I look ready?" Clint muttered, his eyes wide with trepidation and displeasure. Bruce shrugged. "Not really."

Over the course of the forty seven minutes following the injection which flooded Clint's veins with the highly experimental solution, the Avenger's body shrank, in both height and muscle mass. The battle-weary creases at the corners of his eyes smoothed until they were no longer a visible reminder of the seven layers of hell he'd survived. The scruff on his jaw and chin retreated, leaving only the faintest hint of fluff on his top lip, while his voice lost its tenor. Almost disconcertingly, however, his nose still heralded the crooked memories of every time it had been broken in a fight, and the reminders of innumerable gunshots, stab wounds and other miscellaneous injuries still scarred his skin. "Aw futz," Clint croaked as he tested out his resurrected, under-developed vocal cords. Looking at himself in the mirror, he cringed, resisting the urge to reach up to squeeze the zit that itched next to his left nostril. "Forty eight hours, right?" For a moment, Bruce didn't respond. He was gawking awestruck, foremost at the serum's success, but also at the sight of sixteen year old Clint in all his gangly glory; he hadn't grown into his limbs, yet, and the years of hard work put into his physique hadn't yet passed. He hadn't expected the scars to remain, either; he had, foolishly he now realised, assumed that the formula would have somewhat regenerative properties. "Banner! Don't stand there staring at me like I'm your Frankenstein's monster success story; answer me! Forty eight hours and I can go back to normal, right?" "Right!" Bruce snapped out of his reverie, nodding emphatically at the teenaged Hawkeye. "So, better make them count. Unless you want to have to go through this whole thing again." Eyes wide, Clint squawked a curse. "Not a futzin' chance." 

It started slowly at first, so gradually it was imperceptible to the naked eye. The crackling pop of his maturing voice started to shift up an octave instead of dropping one. The shoes that had fit perfectly that morning started to slip off his feet with every step. The fuzz on his lip receded one hair at a time without him so much as lifting a razor. It wasn't until his gums painfully swallowed his wisdom teeth forty two hours in that Clint realised something was horribly wrong.  "Fix this!" Clint shrilled at Bruce as he stormed into the lab with all the fury his now twelve year old self could exude. "I'm supposed to be getting older, not younger!" Bruce's eyes expanded in perfect synchronicity with his jaw dropping. "I...none of the test subjects experienced anything like this. I'm not even sure what...I mean...I can't fix what I don't understand, Clint." "Then understand it! Figure out what's happening and fix it!" the younger version of Clint Barton snapped, his voice no longer squeaking with the effort of pushing words past vocal cords that were still figuring out their role in this world. “An hour ago my balls were still right where I’d left them and now they’re back up somewhere between my bladder and my spleen along with the pitch of my voice! Fix it so they drop back down where they belong or so help me God, Banner...” Squashing down the absurd instinct to deliver an unnecessary anatomy lesson, Bruce exhaled slowly. Bracing himself for another outburst, he held his hands up, palms out so as to placate the already irate archer. “Give me time. I just...I need some time to run tests and figure this out, but I promise, I can fix this." He paused. "I think." "It's the 'I think' part that worries me," Clint groaned. He was almost certain that in the five minutes since he'd walked into the lab, he'd shrunk another inch, and the pre-pubescent blemishes had faded from his now perfectly smooth skin. "I swear I'm losing two years every couple of minutes now. If you don't fix this before I'm back in diapers, I will sink my milk teeth into you!" "Six hours," Bruce pleaded, "And that's if I take a lot of shortcuts. But I'm going to need at least six hours to run tests. I'll need blood, hair and a cheek swab. To begin with, at least." Gritting his teeth, Clint scrunched his now nine year old face up in contempt. "I'd even jerk off into a cup if it would help but I'm not sure I'm even capable of that any more." Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bruce rubbed his eyes with the pads of his thumb and forefinger, his glasses resting on his knuckles as he sighed. Admitting he needed at least six hours to even run the tests was one thing, but trying to tell Clint that he would need adult supervision for the duration of those six hours was going to be another thing entirely. 

"Gimme the goddamn drink! I'm teething and have nappy rash that itches worse than a case of the clap because someone -" the piercing pair of literal baby blues shot daggers in Bucky's direction, "- forgot to powder my ass!" At two years old, it was disconcerting hearing that sort of language spouting from Clint's tiny, but not yet completely toothless mouth. The team that wasn't hunting for answers in the lab was officially stuck on babysitting duties. While Clint retained his memories and his ability to speak, his fine motor skills were on the decline, resulting in the need for a little more help getting around. Pym had suggested it was possibly only a matter of time until even his vocal cords reverted back to being unable to form sophisticated sounds, too. Clint hadn't liked that, and was in the middle of a particularly foul mouthed tantrum as though to make the most of what time he had left to do so. "Well next time tell one of us you need to crap yourself and we'll take you to the bathroom so you can do it in the big boy's potty instead," Bucky smirked, clearly still not over the trauma of changing his teammate's dirty diaper, and still cursing Tony for suggesting that they draw straws for it, too; especially when he was positive Tony had somehow cheated. Just because he looked like a toddler didn't mean it was any less Clint. "Besides, you can't metabolize alcohol any more. So, suck it up. Have a binky instead." The look of pure rage blazing in Clint's eyes when Bucky tossed a pacifier in his direction was enough to force Steve's hand, as he stepped in and lifted Clint into his arms. "Okay, that's enough out of you. I think you need a nap." "No I do not need a nap!" Clint protested, but even as he did so, he yawned, snuggling into the crook of Steve's neck and shoulder. "I am a grown ass man. Grown men don't use binkies or take naps or...or..." "Shit in diapers?" Bucky teased, eliciting a tempestuous shriek of indignant wrath from the two foot tall, blond haired boy with eyes bluer and colder than icicles as he tried to fling himself from Steve's arms in an effort to sink his sharp little fingernails into Bucky's face. “Okay,” Steve laughed, drawing the word out slowly as he wrangled Clint in his arms, “Enough. Just because you look like a baby doesn’t mean you need to act like one.” Watching with an eyebrow raised in bemusement, Nat piped with an affectionate taunt in her voice, “This is Clint we’re talking about. Acting like a baby is sort of what he does best.” Clint shot a furious look in her direction, but with his plump infantile features, the scrunched up button nose and pouty lips only served to remind Nat of a Cabbage Patch doll, making her own face contort with the effort of holding back her laughter. Sucking in a breath to try and calm herself, Nat looked at Clint sympathetically, walking over to take him from Steve’s arms and cradled him close to her chest to try and comfort him. “Just hang in there a little longer. Banner, Pym and Stark are all working on a way to reverse this, but you gotta be patient. They can either do it fast, or they can do it right. Which would you prefer?” “Both,” Clint muttered. “Can’t we just get Strange to do his magic wizard thing and take me back to before I agreed to this nonsense? So I can use my brain for once and refuse to do it at all?” Glances were exchanged between the group; the idea had been floated briefly, but was quickly rejected. The mission itself had been a triumph, and a diplomat’s sixteen year old son had been saved from a politically fuelled abduction attempt. Any effort to distort the prose of history could undo all that hard work, and none of them were willing to take that risk. “You know why we can’t do that,” Steve sighed softly, “Just...be patient, like Nat said.” Tears welled in Clint’s eyes, and for a moment, it was easy to forget that there was a man in his mid-thirties trapped inside that baby’s body. His bottom lip trembled, and his eyes screwed shut, sniffing loudly as he tried to force the sob of despair back down his throat before it could escape. Fat, lazy tears of pure frustration slipped down his cheeks as he looked around the room at each of his teammates, silently pleading with them to help him. He knew they were doing all they could, but he was losing hope. When he opened his mouth to speak again, all that came out was a few babbled, incoherent syllables. “Oh no...” Nat’s hand flew to her mouth as it dropped open in horror. None of them knew what would happen if Clint continued to shed months of his life in mere minutes, and it was clear now that he didn’t have many months left to lose. “We’re going to get you back to normal, Clint. Until we do, we’re going to look after you. You’re going to be okay.” 

Moments after the now four month old baby Barton fell asleep in Natasha’s arms, Bruce summoned Steve to the lab. The sombre look on his face wasn’t promising. “He’s stopped growing younger,” Banner frowned, cleaning his glasses on the hem of his shirt, “But...we still can’t figure out how to reverse it. Barton’s antibodies should have kicked in and essentially started eating at the serum as it attached itself to his cells, but, the serum was too strong. We could try giving his immune system a boost, but if his white blood cell count raises too high, then...that in itself won’t be good, either.” Looking Steve in the eye, Tony folded his arms across his chest, and shrugged. “The alternatives are to either let him grow up all over again,” he quirked an eyebrow at the look of disbelief on Captain Roger’s face and held his hands up, demanding patience before he continued, “Or we keep looking. The solution is here,” he tapped his temple and shrugged again, “We just need to dig around in the grey matter to find it. Until then, I guess we all just signed up for Parenting 101.” 

[cavern-of-bells]

Lords switch bodies w/ MC

So instead of working on the giant bowl of word soup that I have been stirring for probably over a month now (My very first attempt at any sort of fic, ever), I have decided to completely avoid it by drumming out some more HCs! These ones are mainly SFW (unless you work at a church or something), and were just a fun idea I was thinking about yesterday. I have the nagging feeling that there may have been an event story or someone else’s HCs involving this topic, but this trope is in pretty much everything, so hopefully if it’s been done by someone else it’s not too similar. Let me know if there’s another I should be aware of so I can link it!

Anyway, the title pretty much tells you what you’re getting. MC and Lord _____ wake up only to find they’ve swapped places! What ever could happen next???

Proofreading? What’s that? Grammatical errors ahoy!

Tagging the people I have in the last few posts: @sinfulinsecret @yoolee @af-fection @small-and-nerdy @sengokugenkigirl @han-pan @tentori21 @saizoswifey @otome-microwave @duerme07 @hajeema @eroticincubi @viridian99 @belxsar

Nobunaga is thrilled. Now this is the kind of amusement he’s been looking for. He doesn’t care one whit about how you being in his body might make him look, but he is definitely delighting in making you take actions much bolder than you normally would– sauntering up to the dais and plopping yourself in his lap during mealtime where everyone can see; winking and licking your lips at him from across the room.

You just know this dude would jump at the chance to get jiggy with himself, and that he does. And boy does this end up being embarrassing for you– seeing him maintain composure in your body much more easily than you do. “You always scream just from this? I’ve taken it easy on you all this time thinking you were feeling it much more intensely. I’ll have to keep that in mind once we’ve switched back.”

Mitsuhide wholeheartedly believes that this is divine retribution. Penance he must do to atone for all the times he has been rough with you in bed. “Take me now as I have done to you, so that I might feel all the pain I’ve inflicted upon you.” You kind of roll your eyes because if you switch back anytime soon, it’s still your body that will be sore in the end. Instead you suggest showing him the way you like it. You proceed to do your best mimicking exactly the way he always makes love to you.

Yukimura is predictably flustered asf when he realizes the state of things, but once he gets through the arduous challenge that is changing into day-clothes with minimal nosebleeds, his focus shifts swiftly to his comparative lack of physical strength. “How can you do anything like this? What if you’re attacked and I’m not around to defend you?” He gets straight to training to build up your core muscles and hopefully forge some muscle memory for some defensive moves. You think it’s sweet that he’s going to such lengths for you, but secretly curse him once you’ve switched back and your whole body feels like jelly. It doesn’t help that he never lets up on your training after this. (Though you do feel more confident in your ability to sock any would-be-attacker.)

Saizo is absolutely going to take advantage of this learning opportunity as a means to improve upon his Lover’s Guide. What other expert on the art of love has had the chance to experience sex with both sets of anatomy? You can be certain he is going to have sex with you in this state, and will likely convince you to utilize this time to improve your own skills in the bedroom by experiencing firsthand what feels best. Rest assured that there will be no escaping Saizo once this ordeal is over with, because you just know he has fine-tuned his already uncanny ability to pinpoint every last weak spot you have and unravel you. 

Masamune stares back at his own face in quiet shock. You have no idea how long he’s been looking at you, but by the time you wake, he’s still watching with a worried look on his face. The two of you watch each other for some time after that, and by the time you snap out of it and realize it’s not a dream, the first thing he does is say “Sorry.” You tell him not to apologize and that it isn’t his fault, that it’s just some weird thing that happened and you’ll just have to try to cope with this reality until some way out presents itself. 

Fortunately, both of you are rather shy and quiet, so it isn’t too difficult to maintain an aura of normalcy. The closest you got to being found out was when Shigezane swung his arm around your (as Masamune’s) shoulder, and Masa scowled and batted his hand away. Shigezane chuckles and assures you “Doll, is that jealousy I detect? Don’t worry– I’m not trying to steal your man away, no matter how adorable he is. He is my own flesh and blood after all.” You watch as your own face flushes from across the room. You’re not sure whether Masa’s more embarrassed by the cheeky wink he just received, or by his own temporary lapse of self control. Things go pretty uneventfully after this and before you know it, you’ve gone back to your room. It gets a little hot and heavy, but you don’t get very far– both of you agree that it’s just way too weird looking at yourself, so you promise to make up for it once you’re back to normal.

Kojuro is much less perturbed by the switch than you are. “We’ll just need to take on each other’s duties until we can figure out how to get back to our old selves.” There may not be any particularly challenging duties to fulfill on his part for the time being, but there is no way in seven hells you are allowing him to set foot into your kitchen. Although he insists he can manage, he doesn’t concede until you threaten to tie him up. He finally agrees to stay in your room for the day, and you explain to the retainers that “MC isn’t feeling well.” However, Masa’s gotta eat. You sneak off to the kitchen when you’re sure there will be no one there, and prepare some quick bites. You think you’re off scot-free, but learn much later that Shigezane witnessed the whole thing. To this day he brings up the time he saw Kojuro cook something edible, but nobody believes it happened.

Toshiie can hold his own in a kitchen and ensures things remain running somewhat smoothly, but he keeps absentmindedly running your hands over your hips and/or grabbing your butt, and it’s driving you nuts. When you hiss at him to stop doing that, he gets embarrassed and stammers out an apology, but sure enough, five minutes later, he’s doing it again. You retaliate by acting particularly dog-like around others, but much to his chagrin, nobody seems to notice anything being off about him. This makes you feel bad so you stop.

Hideyoshi also lets your hands wander wherever he pleases, but he is completely unapologetic about it. “How often is it that I get to spend the whole day within reach of you? You’re just so cute I can’t help it.” Once again, you try to get your revenge by making him look especially silly, but everybody is already used to Hideyoshi playing the fool for laughs. Even he joins in, clapping and requesting you do this trick and that dance. Later, he pulls you aside and gives you a kiss, telling you that even when you look like him, you’re still the cutest girl he’s ever seen.

Mitsunari is furious and it’s all your fault! How is he supposed to protect Hideyoshi in this state?? Sure, YOU don’t have to worry because he actually knows how to carry himself like a respectable woman, but you? You have all the grace of an elephant and the reflexes of a sloth. This is sure to end in disaster.

After a very intense lecture, you were finally allowed to begin your day. 

Turns out that you ended up being the better actor of the pair. Nobody questioned your behavior even once, while people repeatedly asked him if he was feeling well, and that he seemed a bit stiff. 

Mitsunari is understandably disappointed in himself, agonizing over just where he must have gone wrong, and how on earth was a dullard like you able to pull him off so well?? You comfort him by saying it was just because you love him so much. He blushes and pouts and confesses “Well I love you that much, too– it’s not fair that I can’t portray you just as well.” For this reason, he continues practicing your personality long after you’ve become yourselves again.

Ieyasu has you filled with dread even before you have to go out and face the world. “Make a fool of me and you shall regret the very day you were born.” Well acting like his usual, biting self got him to say some very insensitive things to someone you considered a friend of yours, but being cordial to people got you in just as much trouble! You give up your efforts to put on a facade and just behave as you would normally treat others, and hope for the best. 

Meanwhile, his retainers (with the exception of Tadatsugu, who sheds a single tear of pride that his boy has finally grown up) are very disturbed by their lord’s new demeanor. Yasumasa is completely creeped out, Toramatsu senses impending doom, and poor Tadakatsu doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he is no longer subjected to Ieyasu’s divine cruelty. That is, until he realizes that being deprived of the punishment he desires most is the cruelest punishment of all! He swoons. 

In the end, your punishment is ten years-worth of the most disgusting chores. A small price to pay, you figure, when you notice that Ieyasu gets along just a little bit better now with his people than before.

Kenshin is not fazed one bit. He is delighted to have the opportunity to walk (quite literally) in your shoes. After all, such a chance doesn’t arise in most lifetimes! He is eager to spend the day with you, just exploring and feeling what it’s like to be each other, but is sorely disappointed to find that you feel too guilty to ditch the work Kanetsugu has given you. Kenshin mopes and sticks by you anyway, while Kanetsugu thanks every god he can think of that Kenshin is actually taking his responsibilities seriously for once and has not brought any new junk home today. Luckily, you finish your tasks earlier than anticipated and spend the latter half of the day enjoying one another’s company. After you’ve switched back, Kenshin still mentions from time to time that he misses being so soft, but fortunately you’re still beside him so he can feel whenever he wants.

Shingen is not bothered at all by his condition, much to your surprise. He takes it in stride. “After all, many of the strongest people I’ve known have been women,” he says as he throws a wink to you. He is confident the matter will work itself out in the end, and that for the time being, you may as well make the best of it. He promises he will help you through any duties he has that seem daunting to you, and is more than happy to do his part assisting in the kitchens. He may be a lord, but he does not place himself above any menial work. 

His personality remained the same as ever, though, which grew pretty embarrassing at times, particularly when he decided to step in on a conversation in order to give Yukimura some advice about ladies. Apparently he had forgotten that he was still in your body because you watched on in horror as he began to demonstrate some …things. Poor Yukimura would not speak again for an entire week.

[extraplanaire-blog]

i want the k aaaaaaaaa

time to die meme ! // accepting // @mujonainu5) eyes gouged out eye gore my favourite ☆ ～(‘▽^人)

this is really long i got excited.

Constant regeneration is very exhausting, but of Lovecraft has one use it’s dogged perseverance.

A skill which Akutagawa does not possess.

The mafia hound stands hunched, one head of [rashomon] taking guard of his stomach and providing support for the boy that leans over it, the other still managing to stay upright, eyeing Lovecraft threatening.

Lovecraft does not like dogs, and these fabric mutts are no better. (They take even larger bites out of him than flesh dogs do, they’re worse.) The fabric dogs have done their best at their master’s command, taking off limbs (and head, once, which actually gave Lovecraft several minutes of pause as he attempted to reform it), trying to run him though, so forth. Reforming his body always worked, and the poor, stupid child always left large enough pieces of Lovecraft where it did not take him long to reassemble himself from a temporary death.

(Mark the number of people in this city who have killed him up to two, and Akutagawa did it over & over & over & over & over–

                  but fortune does not favour bemired strays, now does it.)

Akutagawa coughs violently, doubled over his pet beast and spattering the ground with crimson when he finally moves his hand away from his mouth. Lovecraft almost manages to feel pity on him– would it not be easier to die? Would it not be easier to simply subject to what Lovecraft has been tasked with? Lovecraft has already stated he is not going to kill Akutagawa, but the boy’s response seems to have nearly killed him already, before Lovecraft could properly act.

Pride, or something similar, an open maw at Akutagawa’s back to kill him if he runs.

What a waste (he rather liked this boy).

(He liked the boy’s pride, too, but ah well.)

Lovecraft continues his dogged path forward, holding one dissolved arm half-up, the tentacles emerging out of his coatsleeve gathering to attention and making their way much quicker to Akutagawa. He stares, eyes solid black, his human form in shambles. (It’s too much effort to ensure he is correctly reforming time after time after time. It’s easier to just let the muscle fibers in half his throat remain tentacles.)

Akutagawa coughs again, hard enough to only narrowly avoid retching. The rashomon behind him readies itself, then darts forward, maw open.

Teeth connect with tentacle, ripping yet another chunk away from Lovecraft’s body. But there’s more, there always are, and the ones that Rashomon missed curl just behind its head, more follow further down its neck.

Lovecraft beheads it, and the beast crumples to a shred of coat in the wind.

“I am so tired…. Tired, hungry, let’s get this over with.” Lovecraft’s voice is hoarse, and the words are out of sync with the minimal movement of his mouth. “Hold still… it’s not death.” The one consolation he has to offer in the hopes of making this boy stop being so violent, though he knows it’s really not going to work.

The only reason the rashomon head isn’t back and continuing to bite at his is because Akutagawa doesn’t have the energy to reform it, it’s too much effort to stay standing that no room is left for fighting more directly.

Akutagawa spits blood at him in between ragged breaths.

Lovecraft is unaffected.

Persistence hunting is such a hassle.

Work is such a hassle.

Lovecraft mutters such to himself as he trudges to Akutagawa, who has receeded as far as he can go amongst the port. When he’s only a few meters away, he hears Akutagawa curse, mutter something. The hound in front of him disappears, running into the ground, and Akutagawa is left hunching over himself, wheezing.

The coat runs up in spikes, ramming through Lovecraft’s feet and anything else they can get high enough to reach every few steps. It doesn’t hurt. He’s too far gone for things to hurt, Lovecraft only notices it in the tugs of resistance as he tears skin through around the spires, tentacles wearily tugging themselves out of extradimensional space into his body to repair the wounds so he can continue walking.

Tentacles curl towards Akutagawa, their mass mindless and unaffected by the spikes that keep emerging to puncture through them as they wind around Akutagawa’s feet and upward until he’s restrained.

Akutagawa bristles as Lovecraft approaches– quite literally, the fabric of his clothing becoming sharp and abrasive in a last resort that does nothing. Lovecraft stops to stand in front of the mutt.

Akutagawa glares at him, the inability to fully reform Rashomon and the blood left smeared around his mouth not a deterrent at all to his fury.

“I’ll kill you, I–” he rasps, cut off by a sharp hack.

“You already have,” Lovecraft replies. How many more times must the kid try and kill him. “Leave it alone, I need to rest….”

Akutagawa would not have left it alone, were it up to him. It is not up to him. Lovecraft digs in his coat pocket, unconcerned as a tentacle winds its way nicely over Akutagawa’s mouth.

A nice muzzle.

A better muzzle once Lovecraft’s tentacle has enough grip to curl over his teeth, take purchase about his lower jaw and wrench downwards until there’s a nicely effective crack.

He won’t have to deal with Akutagawa talking, this way, and all he gets now is muffled screaming at him.

Lovecraft can deal with that.

No situation is perfect. Sometimes things have to be noisy.

It’ll stop being a problem once he just finishes his job. It is merely a simple maiming. Only difficult in that killing people is so much easier and requires so much less complexity, but he’s already here.

He pulls a borrowed switchblade out of his pocket. “This is a warning,” he informs Akutagawa absently, looking at the blade as it flips outward. Lovecraft sighs. Yes, that is all Akutagawa is– though the mafia will probably kill him themselves.

Or something.

That’s not his problem.

Lovecraft squints at the mass of tentacles around Akutagawa. Ah. Yes. That’s where his other hand went. He needs more fingers, though, they have nicer purchase than tentacles. A few seconds before his right hand reforms, rising out from where it vaguely should be within his coatsleeve, tentacles parting and more wrapping around Akutagawa from under Lovecraft’s coat body to account for the ones that left to make Lovecraft’s hand.

He flexes fingers experimentally. There we go. It works.

New hand lies against Akutagawa’s face, despite the boy’s best efforts to angrily shake him off. Lovecraft pulls Akutagawa’s face back, pulling eyelid open as the boy screeches muffled threats and whatever other panicked nonsense at him. Lovecraft doesn’t pay attention, instead noting that fingernails are quite useful in keeping the kid’s eye open.

The wonders of humanoid anatomy.

The knife is pressed against the outer corner of Akutagawa’s eye; the kid leaning backwards doesn’t do much to help him. The kid tears up involuntarily, unsurprising, but still keeps the anger in his eyes and gaze fixed on Lovecraft, which is more surprising. He’s a strong kid. Too bad.

Switchblade digs in, popping open sclera. It is not the cleanest enucleation ever done, blood and vitreous fluid waste little time falling down Akutagawa’s cheek as Lovecraft wiggles the blade further in. Messy and imprecise, he’d very much like a smaller knife. A scalpel would be nice.

But he’ll work with that he has, and what he has is digging a thin knife in an arc around a kid’s ocular orbit until he scrapes bone. Something-something cut the ocular nerve without jarring it too badly.

It bleeds a lot, blood dribbling out of the socket and taking pieces of eye with it. It shows no sign of clotting, either, after Lovecraft finally procures one incredibly mangled eye.

The remains of the organ are flicked to the ground among the rest of the blood pooled around Akutagawa. Lovecraft wonders to himself if the kid’s going to bleed out before the mafia finds him or not (a question only relevant because if the kid’s going to be dead when found, all the effort put into mangling him would be quite a waste).

Irrelevant.

Instructions were to maim and blind, and he’s not done with that yet.

It’s only the subdued rocking of the kid that shows Lovecraft that he hasn’t passed out yet, blood loss taking its toll on Akutagawa’s already-exhausted energy. He mumbles against muzzle, something muffled and uncertain in tone (fearful? angry? Lovecraft will think angry).

Lovecraft sighs and moves on to the next eye. He mutters in return to Akutagawa about being tired as the kid’s muffled noises increase in volume and frequency.

He pats Akutagawa’s cheek once before wrenching the kid’s eye open, in some poor facsimile of consolation. (It’s what people do, to convey some emotion right? Yes. A consolation– you’re an alright kid, too bad you were decided to be the sacrifice.) It’s more difficult the second time, Lovecraft has to wipe blood off his hand, then Akutagawa’s cheek where his thumb left it, as things keep slipping. The entire lower half of his hand is coated in blood and it makes things much more difficult than they need to be, in terms of gripping things. Not much time is wasted, because Lovecraft’s starting to be concerned about the continued dripping of blood from Akutagawa’s  right eye socket (it will be such a waste of effort, such a waste of effort, if he exsanguinates before Lovecraft can set him on his merry way to the nearest Mafia hive.

It’s messy, Lovecraft doesn’t care. The knife makes a neat, deep arc after being shoved into Akutagawa’s left eye, to renewed noises from the kid. Another pull downwards, scoring against the skull, and about three-fourths of Akutagawa’s left eye joins the right on the ground.

“That’s good enough,” Lovecraft murmurs wearily to himself. It’s not like the third of the retina left could do anything. He did what he was told. The mafia hound is blind. Blood wells up in the socket, falling around Akutagawa’s eyelid as it drops with Lovecraft’s release hold.

A little like crying, but thicker. More colourful. The blood overwhelms the real panicked tears, anyways.

Lovecraft’s hold on Akutagawa lessens, and the boy does nothing but murmur, barely conscious, and buckle forward. He’s narrowly spared from falling facefirst to the ground and, in all likelihood, drowning in his own blood (if anyone were to have that fate, Akutagawa’s destiny would find a way to ensure it was him). Lovecraft frowns. Must everything be left up to him? When will he be free to rest… there is so much work to be done.

He listens to Akutagawa’s breathing as he picks the boy up about the midsection, tentacles dragging him off as a parcel behind Lovecraft.

Where to go… he was told to make a statement, but without the boy to wander off (humans are less resilient than he thought), Lovecraft isn’t certain where to go.

(If only he read Alcott’s reports on where the Mafia seemed to localize.)

He settles for where he dimly recalled the guild ship last being docked, before it exploded. It’s nearby enough, and still within port mafia territory.

Trailing Akutagawa’s blood behind him, Lovecraft wanders off until he finds a building he’s pleased to set Akutagawa against.

He regards the boy carefully. He’s still breathing, but not very well. Lovecraft pushes his head back to see if it’ll make the unconscious body sit up straight, but that fails predictably. Oh well. A message was written, a message was sent. Not everything can be arranged nicely.

Red still sticks to his heels, leaving tracks as he ambles off back to the ocean, job effectively completed. Mafia’s move now.