#its just so much stimulus after i get home from work that i just wanna be a mole in my hole

[jouster-ari]

:)

[shirtlessfelix]

KINKTOBER DAY 4: Phone Sex

𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 | EXPLICIT

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 | Danny Johnson (Ghostface) x Reader

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑 | Forewarning that this is quite crude lol. Danny's a nasty sunuva-bitch, so I wrote him as such. Enjoy! <3

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 | 861

You're alone tonight since Danny called and said his boss had to keep him in late to finish some articles he'd promised. "Nothin' too crazy, I'll just be a couple hours," he'd said, but a couple hours has turned into seven, and you're wishing he was in bed with you. Not just because you miss his presence that you've gotten used to, but tonight you're feeling especially lonely, and in more ways than one.

How cruel it is for your body to be craving him when he isn't even there, and the visual stimulus you'd typically enjoy just isn't cutting it. The temptations when Danny comes to mind is too great to ignore, so you turn over in the dark and unplug your phone from its charger. Once you've sat up against your pillow, though, you start to second guess yourself.

What if he's driving home? Then you'd look silly. He couldn't still be at work, and if he is, you'd want to sock his boss in the jaw. What's one phone call? you wonder, hurriedly unlocking your phone and calling Danny, slightly out of breath from how nervous you're becoming.

"Babe?" he answers. "What's the matter, you okay?" He's out of breath too.

"Hey, yeah... I just, um—" You let out a chuckle, embarrassed beyond belief now that you've really committed, then bite your lips into a straight line.

"I'll be home soon."

"No, I know. I just... can't stop thinking about you, that's all. I'll let you work."

"No, don't worry about that, I'm done here. Actually, I've been... running around a bit. Thought I'd take a jog, you know how I get after working too long."

You bite your lip. "You know, if you came home, I could help you loosen up." Danny doesn't say anything for a moment, but his voice becomes low and soft.

"Oh, could you, now? Am I missing out on anything?"

"Not yet," you say, biting your finger with a smirk.

"In that case... what're you thinking about?"

"You, didn't I say that?"

"Oh, I must not have heard... what, do you want me to spank you like I did the other night?"

"Danny!"

"Do you wanna spank me instead, then? I wouldn't mind that." His tone makes you laugh, out of embarrassment and the fact that you're really thinking about it now. Just the sound of his voice, deep and sultry and buttery-smooth, is already making you weak in the knees.

As he keeps talking, you stand up and go over to the closet to grab one of the tens of black leather gloves he keeps. Surely he won't mind if one of them gets a little dirty; you just want to feel like it's him about to touch you, teasing up the side of your inner thigh and towards your middle.

"Oh, wouldn't I love to be eating you out right now..." The gloved hand slips into your shorts. "You touching yourself yet, dollface?"

"Mhm," you tell him, his glove cool against your skin before your arousal makes it warm. You don't tell him that yet.

"Thinking about my tongue inside of you?" Words fail you as a moan slips through, and Danny chuckles on the other end. "In that spot you really like it... hot and wet on your skin, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Mm... mhm..." You're biting your lip hard, legs slightly spread apart as you keep rubbing yourself to his voice, imagining his head in between them as he laps at you like he says he would. "Then what?"

"Then what? Well, I know how much you like it when I finger you." This makes you laugh.

"I do like when you do that."

"Then would you let me fuck you real good?" he asks, and the moan you were holding in comes out when you try to answer him calmly. His chuckle on the other end turns you on even more, and your hand is rubbing that much faster, desperate for the release that his voice is giving you. "I'll take that as a yes."

Your breaths become louder as you moan into the phone, just going at it in the hopes that you'll be able to go to sleep since Danny's still not home. "Still touching yourself?" he asks, and you moan out a yes. "Stop."

"What?" You do and close your legs, panting with your hand still pressed tightly against you. "Why?" Then, you hear the front door open and the jingle of his keys, and he hangs up the call. Your face all flushed, you're embarrassed to see him rushing into the bedroom with a smile on his face and his tongue between his teeth.

"Danny's home," he says to you, and you wrap your arms around him as he jumps at you excitedly. He kisses you before noticing the glove. "No, no, don't take it off... it's sexy." Without much more warning, he pulls down the covers and hurries to get your shorts down.

"Danny—oh, god!" you moan, Danny sinking his face and tongue into you just like he said he would. You're too lustful to notice the blood under his fingernails.

[wevegottogetaway]

Thanks fo’ saving my ass (Part 2)

There is a part 3 coming, I think these two deserve the...culmination, but I wasn’t sure if I could have it ready soon enough. Stay tuned for more, hope you enjoy! x

Part 1   -   Part 3*

It starts with a resounding bang. A back curving over maple hardwood; taut muscle stretching soft cotton fabric; twin jades squinted in concentration; a shoulder blade protruding briefly for one swift determining movement. Red, blue, yellow, purple, orange phenolic resin scattering across green worsted wool like a dozen pinballs simultaneously kicked in various directions.

It ends with the deep echo. A ball falling into emptiness before meeting rock-bottom; the release of a soft withheld breath; firm flesh unflexing with satisfaction; two sets of glossy eyes meeting in a knowing look. "Nice break, Styles. Stripes it is," y/n happily comments once Harry leans back from the pool table.

Gibson’s is full of rowdy chatters, tipsy laughs and fulsome smiles. Strangers bonding for a night of undiluted carefreeness, clicking drinks after merry drinks in honor to their new ephemeral best friends. All sorrows have been forsaken on the coat rack at the entrance,  hung in insouciance, leaving nothing but good spirits to sit at the tables and loiter near the bar. Everything about this place is warm and nurturing, a cosy embrace after a tedious day, a home for the people that lets them nurse bottles and wounds alike, and sees them leave later on, cheerful, relaxed and healing. It took but a second for Harry to understand why y/n is so fond of the place and he was not surprised to find her on a first-name basis with the barmaid, the two of them catching up on life while she was preparing the drinks.

Now, fifteen minutes in, they’ve happily made their way to the vacant timeworn pool table at a secluded corner of the bar, drinks and grins in toe. The space is only lit up by a single lamp hanging from the ceiling, casting daedal shadows along the walls and across the table’s carpeted surface. The subdued light and music crooning in the background make for a suggestive atmosphere, air thick with limitless curiosity and enticing promises.

The corner of Harry’s lips quirks in a wry smile and a bold glint takes residence at the crease of his eyes; the telltale sign of a burgeoning idea brewing up in his cheeky mind. "What’dya say we make this a lil more interesting?" The offer is served with a raised brow, a hand on his waist, and one foot perched on its toes over the other as he leans against the cue.

From across the pool table, y/n is quite endeared at the sight but her response comes out in fake offense,"oh I’m sorry, am I boring you already?"

"Quite the opposite actually." His head tilts the slightest bit to the side, gaze unwavering from her face in a mission for persuasion.

Her lips grimace as she tries to suppress a betraying smile to no avail, "fine, I’m listening."

He grins victoriously at her inability to keep a straight face, his limbs dislodging from his casual pose. "We take turns," his motions at the space between them. "F’we pocket, we get to ask one question. No bullshit answer, jus’ the truth." His eyes are wide as he gauges her response.

"A question, huh?" she takes her time to contemplate the proposition just to watch him squirm in impatience. "Damn, for a sec I thought you were about to suggest strip-pool." She sends him a playful look as she walks the length of the table to step closer to him and have a better look at his chiseled features.

"I mean, m’totally down but might be a bit unfair on your part," his eyes briefly trail down her body in silent conveyance of her single-piece attire. He’s got much more material to shed before exposing skin than she does.

"Wouldn’t you like to know." The suggestive retort has Harry’s stomach churn with humid passion, the question of just how many layers she’s wearing exactly, playing with the most lascivious parts of his brain. "Not that it matters, you’d be butt-naked before you’d get a nip-slip."

"Overestimating yourself?"

"Just giving you fair warning," she shrugs in nonchalance running her fingers along the edge of the table, "so you know what you’re getting yourself into."

When she lifts her head back to connect their gaze again, she finds him biting at his bottom lip to contain his signature smirk, "no worries there, darlin’. M’all willing." He almost punctuates his retort with a salacious wink but decides to save it for a more opportune time. Something tells him he’s in for a long evening, not that it’s any cause for concern. Like he said, he is very much consenting to anything her heart desires to do to him.

"Good to know." Y/n quips back with a smile before leaning on her hand resting upon the pool table. "What’s your question then?"

For a moment, Harry forgets he just broke the rack and successfully sent a plain purple ball in one of the table’s pocket, taking him one step closer to victory and granting him one question as per his own proposition. He quickly gathers his reeling thoughts before settling on an easy inquiry, fingers fiddling with the desire to sketch every bit of her character. "Right um, do you have other hobbies besides playin- or should I say, winning pool?"

She wants to slap- or should she say, kiss the smug look off his lovely face, but her answers airs in the same level tone she employs at work, "yes I do."

It’s not enough for Harry’s archeologic curiosity though. He’s barely dusted off the ground beneath his feet to reveal the hint of new groundbreaking findings; armed with sieves and brushes, he is eager to dig a little further, "and what might those be?"

However, y/n is quick to rebuff him, "uh uh, that’s two questions."

Indignation soars through his straightened posture, as he cries out a faint ’what? no!’ and her own ego grows two size at her cunning deceit, "gotta up your game if you wanna keep that perky bum intact, Styles."

Earlier words resonate in the confines of his outfoxed mind then, you can kick my ass at that game of pool as promised, and he tries really hard not to think about the promise following them. Instead he counterattacks in obvious diversion tactic, "that’s twice you’ve mentioned my ass in the past 5 minutes, perhaps I should read into it?"

"I guess you’ll have to wait and see," she lithely deflects as she grabs her own cue with a determined look etched upon her face, "my turn now."

With powerful strides, y/n navigates around the table to position herself at the most promising angle for a score of her own. Once she has both her target and the cue ball in firing line, she tunes out every last bit of stimulus encompassing her; the muffled sound of the music, the sticky oxygen filling up her lungs with sensual tension, the charming presence of the beau intently ogling her every move.

It barely takes her a couple seconds of intense concentration before a sharp thump is bouncing off the table and piercing through the air. The shot is so accurate, clean-cut, vigorous yet graceful and elegant all out once, Harry finds himself mesmerized by her skills more than the subtle form curving out from her bent posture.

The satisfaction is evident in her traits as she straightens up to face him, a pleased rictus forming at her lips. She doesn’t let any suspense unfurl before she cashes in her prize, "so what’s up with the muffin deliveries? You a stress-baker or summat?"

It’s a puzzle that’s been boggling her mind for while now; ever since the first time she watched him gallivanting around the office, handing out kindness and freshly baked goods for the small price of a friendly smile; it’d been a reoccurring thing ever since. The recollection has Harry’s cheeks warm up to a bashful shade of vermillion at the thought of admitting the reason behind his action: he’d bake a basketful of cakes just so he could give her one without exposing himself. Being straight forward with his infatuation may have been unfeasible at the time, but there was nothing against inconspicuously indulging the sweet tooth he knew she had, right?

"I dunno, just like seein' people smile, and everyone likes a good muffin, right?" His answer teeters on the ledge between veracity and evasion, the genuine ‘they were all for you’ being replaced by a less naked truth.

Y/n nods at his answer and waits until he is about to aim for another shot to voice her musings out loud, "mmm, they are quite delicious." Her attempt to distract him turns fruitful when his ears perks at her sultry voice right as he pointedly knocks the white ball with his cue. It’s off by an inch but a near-hit doesn’t help assuage his frustration, "fuck."

"Oh bummer. Guess you’ll have to pass," y/n can’t help but to tease him.

And the pout on his lips does nothing to quell her amusement, "bollocks, you distracted me."

"I did no such thing," she denies before taking his place at the table. The odds are in her favor, a perfect alignment offering itself to sink the blue striped ball right into the closest pocket. And because y/n never misses a clear shot when she’s handed one, that’s exactly what happens. Tucking the cue back at her side, she mulls over the hundred questions titillating her mind and settles for another pass at him,"is this suit the most extravagant you own and if not, what are the others like?"

Harry scrunches up his nose at yet another dig taken at the expense of his clothes, his voice pitching a halftone higher than usual, "hey, s’nough outta you, leave my suits out of it." There is a pout puckering at his lips and y/n giggles at his theatrics when he brings his hands to his chest in a protective gesture. This man and his suits…

"Somehow I don’t believe you give a single fuck about people’s opinion on your fashion choices."

"Very true. But I do value your opinion." For a brief moment, humor and wit give way to vulnerable sincerity as the two of them lock eyes over the pool table. A shy smile graces y/n’s lips, her heart faltering at his sweet sentiment before Harry gently breaks the consuming stare-off, "well, if you’re lookin’ fo’ more extravagant, I actually have a canary yellow flared suit that goes with a violet dress-shirt." And just like that, they found their way back to confidential banter.

"Damn, now I have to see it."

"One day if you’re lucky," this time he does wink at her, and this time he doesn’t let her enchantress juju distract him from the task at hand. As soon as the balls vanishes from the table, the question flies out of his mouth, "do you really find my suits obnoxious?"

Y/n pauses at the inquiry and tries to read into his eyes. She inspects the bright emeralds for  any unsuspected insecurities and when she finds none, she sends him a simple smile, "I love them. I just enjoy too much your reactions when I give you shit about them." Her chuckle tugs at Harry’s lips, before she lets honesty flooding past hers, "you got such a great sense of who you are, Harry, it just shows in the way you dress. I admire that, don’t let that go."

Interiorly, he’s heart is jumping in somersaults at possibly the kindest compliment someone’s ever granted him, the fact that it came from her only sending his beating organ into more acrobatics. Exteriorly, he returns her tender smile and mutters a timorous ‘thanks love,’ before watching her pocket another ball.

This time she doesn’t have to mull it over, "why did you wait?"

"Huh?"

"When we kissed earlier, you said you’d wanted to do it for a while. Why didn’t you?"

Her words are bare of any reproach as they both lean on their side against the table, inches apart from each other. It’s a fair question; one that she doesn’t really own as the word could have easily tumbled out from his mouth instead. It’s him on the spot though, and while he didn’t quite expect to broach such hazardous matters over a game of pool, he appreciates the openness of their bond. "I dunno, you always seemed so attached to boundaries at work, always so professional, I didn’t think you’d want me to make a move."

"I secretly did," she whispers.

"Yeah?"

"Mhm."

Goosebumps race down Harry’s arms as he takes in her confession and the way her teeth are  nipping her lips into a darker shade of pink. His eyes are drawn to them, the urge to close the gap and have her moaning in his mouth growing harder and harder to ignore, "fuck that’s sexy. You’re sexy."

The praise washes over y/n like a cold shower after a scorching day at the beach; startling shivers at first, golden skin tingling, and then all-encompassing relief. She loves how unfiltered he is with her, baring his thoughts to her just as they come, no editing, no secret agenda, no diffidence. Just her pure effect on him plastered across his beautiful face and candy-coating his words with a thick oozing layer of honeycomb syrup.

Leaning the slightest bit towards him, she tempts him with a near-kiss, almost dipping her lips in exquisite spongy fudge, but stops just as their breaths starts blending in one hot mess, "your turn," she purrs against his lips tantalizingly, before stepping away.

Harry looks like he is now the one in need of a cold shower, eyes pinched closed as he tries to compose himself, "right," he clears his throat. It takes him a bit more time to regain enough focus to make a successful go at the game, but once he’s got a good hold on the cue, a stable breath and a clear view of the shot, he takes it with ease and fortune.

As soon as he straightens up, he erases the distance between them, a determined look hardening the subtle lines of his face. "Did you ever think about me like I thought about you? At work, did you ever see me pass in the hallway and it took everythin’ you had not to follow me and kiss me senseless in the copy-machine room while no-one was watchin’?"

"Fuck. The thought might have crossed my mind once or twice," y/n confesses in batted breath. It’s clear the scenario isn’t so much a fabrication of his mind made on the spot as it is  a confession of his own experience, and the thought has the air in her lungs going scarce, as though she’s reached the apex of Mount Everest.

Harry isn’t fending off the heated tension much better, fingers twitching around his cue as he’d rather have her underneath his fingertips instead. He takes one look at the ceiling to stave his yearning some and draws in a deep breath."This is killing me," he whimpers while his lips skim over he skin of her forehead. "Go on, take your damn shot so we can be done with this game."

"It was your idea," she reminds him wryly. All of it, really; coming here, playing pool, playing 20 fucking questions, this heated hodgepodge of salacity and virtuous adoration is all his doing.

"I miscalculated."

"Poor you," y/n gently mocks is disgruntled attitude before scoring another ball, or as she likes to regard, another question, another opportunity to further tease at his already crumbling countenance, "what about you, Harry, do you ever think about me? At work… or otherwise?"

She already knows the first half of the answer and only voiced the double-entendre to rile him up, so she’s quite stunned when he whizzes, "too fucking much fo’ my own good."

The pained expression on his face is almost comical for y/n, she can’t resist probing at his despair, "me too." He groans at the flowing visuals he can’t ban from his filthy mind before she gestures towards the pool table in a gentlemanly way, "and that’s your cue," they both share a chuckle at her silly pun.

If Harry wasn’t so lost in a whirlwind of lustful thoughts, he would revel in the way their intellects seem to dovetail on all fronts; humor, banter, seduction, sincerity, nothing is lost in translation, they seem to talk in the same love language. From teasing digs and dirty innuendos to play on words or heartfelt confessions, they know exactly which frequency to tune in.

"Fuck, I can’t see straight," he laughs as he misses a shot for the second time, and y/n quickly takes over his spot around the pool table. Settle, relax, aim, breathe, shoot; another point to her flawless record. She turns to him, looking intently at his blown irises to stir up the flame already inhabiting them, "was it good?"

"Mind-blowing," he answers without unlocking their eyes, and the whole conversation is starting to get to her too. Her thighs rub against together, knuckles turning white around her cue as she tightens her grip and Harry has to bite his lips to contain a moan. He tries to distract himself by taking his turn in the game, and burst out in laughter when he pockets the ball and y/n cries out, "blue ball in the pocket! I feel like their might be a subliminal message somewhere but I can’t quite put my finger on it"

Once they regain their breath from laughing, tears of joy actually peeling from the corner of their eyes, they go back to staring at each other. It’s Harry’s turn to ask a question, and the anticipation had y/n fidgeting under his consuming gaze. She expects him to bounce back on the previous question, but to her surprise he decides to take a different route, "tell me darlin’, if I were to kneel at your feet and look up that pretty dress right now, what color your lil panties would be?"

The question sounds boyish really, yet instead of rolling her eyes at him, her core clenches around emptiness at the thought of having him between her legs right this moment, "can’t answer that, sorry."

"Oh come on love, you gotta say. Them’s the rules," Harry tries to coax the answer out of her but she’s not budging.

"Sorry, Harry. I’d tell you if there was anything to tell." His eyes widen at her lewd implication, the revelation of just how many layers away she is from being in the nude, coming into light. Damn, he would have gotten much more than a nip-slip.

"Fuck me, I need to sit down for a mo’."

She laughs at his dramatic response before picking up her cue, "you do that, in the mean time…" The rest of her sentence is cut short as she positions herself at the pool table, and the next sound cutting through the humid atmosphere comes from the ball falling into its target.

"Jesus, do you ever miss?"

"I don’t play to lose, Styles," she quips back. "Now, what’s your biggest fantasy? Aside from shagging in the copy-machine room, that is."

Harry takes one step closer, gently backing her against the table with one hand encasing her at either side of her waist. As he towers over her, his ardent look ignites a fire at the pit of y/n’s stomach, flame licking all the way up to her heart and down to her toes. Her core throbs before the words fall out of his supple lips like maple syrup on a stack of fluffy pancakes. "Right now? Bend you over this pool table and have my way with you."

"In front of all this people?"

"What d’you think is stoppin’ me from doin’ it right now?"

"Manners?"

The retort earns her a deep chuckle, as he shakes his head in disbelief, "fuck y/n, I lost my manners the moment you kissed me."

The raw admission sends a shiver down her spine, before she regains her full bearings and pushing his cue against his chest for him to grab, "your turn."

Barely moving from his spot nestled against her, he successfully sends the ball down the drain and doesn’t waste any time before asking in the same sultry voice, "favorite position?"

‘Why are y’asking?"

"Future reference," he announces confident.

"Well in that case, kinda like this…" she brushes against him as she bends over the table, ass jutted out on one side, before adjusting the angle of her cue and aiming for the pocket, "…when everything aligns and it just sinks…" bam, she propels the sphere in one strong hit "…right through." She finishes her demonstration with a score and a suggestive smile, only but one ball left for her to obliterate; the eight ball. "Are you ready to lose, Styles?"

"Dunno, is that your question?"

"Yes. I got everything I want to know already."

"Then I don’t fucking care about losin", s’not the game I wanna play anymore," he trails a finger down the skin of her back, goosebumps erupting at his touch. He is stopped by the tip of her cue pressing at his chest, slowly pushing him back from her space, and his hands meet this air in surrender. She’s got a wicked smile on her lips and a title to uphold after all, "last shot, make it count."

Harry takes the shot hastily, half expecting another miss, but the solid yellow ball disappears into the table’s corner in a vibrant crash. Eyebrows raised and shallow breath, he pivots back towards her, "please tell me this is turnin’ you on s’much as it’s turnin’ me on?"

"Yes," she rubs the exposed skin of his chest, eyes leaving his face to trail down his torso. "I’m just better at hiding it," she brings her lips to his ear, "physically or otherwise apparently." Then she leaves a loud smack on his cheek and goes around the table to sink the last ball standing in the way of her victory. In true y/n fashion, she completes a faultless round with one last graceful hit that leaves Harry transfixed by her dexterity.

"Damn, you are the queen of pool, I’m bowing down to you. Any final question?"

She lays the cue down on the table before coming up to him, "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Take me back to my place?"

His head falls back on its neck, eyes closing in deliverance, "fuck yeah." This whole night may have been the most intense and rousing foreplay he’s ever experienced, he can’t wait to deliver good on his own promise.

➪ Masterlist

[mummacalavera]

Ok where does the momma calavera au starts? How did Yang lose her arm in this? I wanna knooooow

TW: Grimm attack, child hurt.

I am very glad you asked. I have two main Mom!Calavera AUs. The first one is the 'slice of life' or 'real life' style, in which the setting is our own world, where she adopted the kids through the foster system and has to struggle to care for all of them despite little money and other social problems.

The snippet I posted is the second version of Mom!Calavera AU, in which we are in Remnant. In a very problematic Remnant, with the Grimm threat growing each day.

In both AUs Yang lost her arm very young. In the real world, it was the result of a disease that couldn't be stopped due to negligence, ignorance, and poverty. It was actually Maria who took her own savings to get the treatment done and the doctors said they would need to amputate. Things got more expensive than expected, she ended up with awful debts, and Yang blamed her for taking her to the hospital in the first place. Despite suffering from the disease, Yang at least had the arm and she thought that if no doctor ever saw it, things would just work out on their own.

Maria was very understanding of her spite and worked carefully to mend their bond in the following year. Yang went back to acting normal with her after a while, but she still had bad days. They couldn't afford prosthetics so Yang had to deal with a lot of unwanted attention from very early on.

In the Remnant version, things were more... Terrifying. Maria was returning home late at night when she heard a child's cry. At first, she thought it was an animal, whoever it was seemed to be far into the woods and she almost chose to ignore it. The possibility of being a child however convinced her to go check.

She knew it was risky, but she wasn't just going to leave a little one in the dark alone knowing about the monsters roaming everywhere. She found a bloody track that lead her to a four-year-old baby Ruby, already exhausted from crying and screaming, hugging the limp body of her sister whose arm was still being chewed by a half-dead Grimm, bleeding out on the ground. Its fur was keeping both kids from freezing in the night, and its wounds did not look like they were made by weapons. Ruby had actually used her Silver Eyes, burning the beast enough to almost kill it. It was all result of terror and panic, but neither she nor Yang would even remember that.

The six-year-old blonde was falling in and out of conscience due to the intense pain and shock. She had lost too much blood already and had no strength to react or drag herself from under the beast. Her body had already sunk far in the mood and she had to keep lifting her head to keep her face from being under the moody water -- which she wasn't able to do when blacking out.

The smaller one sometimes shoved the little hands inside the half-dead Grimm's mouth to take her sister's arm off of there, but she wasn't strong enough.

Both were so dirty and terrified. Maria reacted fast, pulling Yang's face out of the puddle and checked her breathing. She had to let Ruby crying and screaming for a little more to save the blonde one's life. She finished the Grimm and pulled the kid from under it. She threw Yang over her knee, with the kid's stomach laying against it, and forced the kid's head down before hitting her back hard to force the water out of her lungs. It took some agonizing seconds and a lot of strong blows before the blonde reacted and began to vomit all the mud and water.

Maria held her hair up and kept holding her in place to make sure Yang would spit everything out. Still, due to her weakened state, Yang's body began to slow down again. It was like her lungs were too tired, and she began to roll her eyes, going limp, but Maria was not giving up. She gave a hard slap on the kid's butt and pinched her cheeks to wake her up and force her to cry. Yang squirmed and seemed to try to ignore it before breathing in to start sobbing, hurtful cries growing slowly as she regained a little strength from all the harsh stimulus.

Reassured that the blonde was not at immediate risk of dying, Maria put her down for a second. She used her coat to improvise a sling and put Ruby there, hanging the baby girl on her back. She tried talking comforting words to soothe Ruby after Yang was breathing again, and even manage to make Ruby follow her instructions to go into the sling. She then got the eldest in her arms and made her way back to her village, going directly to their only Doctor.

With the help of Sara, the most competent doctor she ever knew, she got both children cleaned up. They fed Ruby and got Yang ready for a fast surgery. Maria and Sara had barely any anesthetics around so they drugged the kid with what was available. Due to a complication in the middle of it, Sara and Maria had to wake Ruby up and draw some of her blood to keep Yang alive. Maria improvised puppets made of stockings to help to calm the child down while they got a needle in her. By morning Yang was stable and sleeping with her baby sister beside her.

Sara asked Marie what she would do now, and Maria could only answer that she didn't know, but she would keep the children for as long as she could, and make sure both would heal well.

I really want to write these properly but it takes a whole lot of effort and time, so I'm never sure if I will manage. Anyway, here is the long answer that I really wanted to give. I will write more about these verses and post them here, they are my fave personal AUs.

Hope it wasn't too confusing. I won't mind answering anymore questions if you have =D

[remindme2breathe]

NO- it’s not an option

I am in the process of Selling my home (beyond the process I guess, we are in the middle of closing escrow!!! Woohoo!!!) I’ll be honest, it took 4 days to sell my home, so I hope what I’m saying doesn’t sound like a complaint, this entire entry should be the complaint, ha, ha, just kidding- kinda. My home is smaller then my next home (which is also in process, 3 weeks!!) but it doesn’t lack comfort. Although I have never been a true fan of this particular home, it has allowed us to experience a lot of family-like ‘adventures’ (don’t worry, you’ll hear about some of those sometime in the future). My new home is sitting pretty on 4 and a half acres of clean, flat land! My home has enough bedrooms for EVERYONE to have their own space! This next home is a blessing that I can never describe with all the words in the world. Not only is it gorgeous, but thanks to the help of my parents, I got it all on my own! All they really did was sign, but I managed to save, fix my credit and get approved all on my own. Being grateful doesn't even begin to compare to the actual feeling! What did I do to accomplish that? Refused to let anyone convince me that NO was an option. 

There are 3 things I’ve said to my kids more then necessary. 1. Quiting is not an option 2. Being rich doesn’t mean your successful 3. Always be of service to people

What do I do for a living? You’d be surprised how many people actually thought I was involved in something illegal... no, really... You’d be surprised! It’s gotten so old that now all I do is smile and nod. I’m not telling you this to make anyone think I’m showing off, no, it’s not about that. I don’t like to struggle, I hate to work, and I don’t understand financial technical terms like dows and percentage and whatever other fancy words they wanna use to shine up the real process. Let me tell you what I did, but first let me give you the scale in which it’s impacted my family. 

I grew up with working parents, both held full time jobs, their own businesses, investments, and had the ability to raise my siblings and I with the little luxuries we wanted (the occasional toys r’ us runs, little things like that). They were financial STABLE, but not rich. They opened their own business about 10 years ago and now both are worth about 3 million each, or so says their business person. I saw first hand the struggle my parents went through when they started up their business, my mom even said that there was a handful of times that they didn’t even have money to buy us food. But when success came for them, it came fast! 

When I turned 16 I took a dab at DJ-ing. Yes, I really was THAT cool back then! I did that for about 4 years. I worked for an actual radio station when I was 17 1/2, I did all their overnight programming and special events. At 18 at these big events I thought I was at the top of everything! My paychecks I spent on myself! All of it! Every dime. It was as through I was allergic to money and needed to spend it quicker then when I got it. My dad then brought it to my attention about my non-existent money management skills. He was right. What was my solution? Open a savings account? No, I’d still spend it. Save hard cold cash? Nope, I’d spend that too. I had to do something. At 18 money beckoned me. I decided to start doing side jobs; weddings, quinceaneras, anything! All that money I’d hand over to my dad and asked him not to give me a dime no matter what I tell him. WHO KNOW HE WOULD TAKE THAT SO LITERALLY! But it worked, I would save about 2800 every month, give or take. And some months he wouldn’t see anything- com’on! I had to have a life too! At 18 I graduated High School and started school to get my nursing degree. At age 20, with only 10 months left to graduate I got pregnant. I worked as long as I could and tried to do as much in school, I didn’t want to be a statistic! I will not be a number on the ‘’lets blame the baby’’ list! I was determined. AND I FINISHED! Once my baby was born I quit the radio station because it was more important for me to be with him then to be in clubs at night. After he turned 1 I decided to get into my field. I was lucky and got into an ER right away. It was exciting, super fast paced! The problem was the 12 hour shifts! I wasn’t being a baby... I wanted to be with my baby. While I worked there I continued to give my dad cash to hold, it wasn’t as much as before (because raising a baby comes with extra costs). But it was imperative that I saved because now my fear was providing for my child. But the hours were tough, mentally and physically, I went part time after 3 years. One day I had a patient that completely changed my life. PUT A PIN IN THAT!!!! He’s worth the story! Anyway this patient ended up influencing me way more then I could have hoped for! This man was put in my path for a reason. 

Closer to today: Last year I asked my dad how much I had finally saved. I never asked him because I was worried I’d be tempted to use it wrongly. Mind you, this was a savings I have accrewed over a span of about 22 years. I never kept track, I never wrote it down. This money had to be OUT OF SIGHT AND OUT OF MIND. I saved $264,464.10, that means I managed to save almost 12,000 a year! A little over $1,000 month! AGAIN!!!!! I didn’t do it religiously! I remember when the $0.10 happened: I TOLD YOU! Sometimes I wasnt able to, but my system was the following: I would carry $60.00 in cash every week on me for any little thing we might want, eating out, treats, toys, medicine, etc. A WEEK! That number went up when I had more people around me. I kept 1,000 in my bank account after bills at all times (this was also never garenteed: THESE BILLS CAN GET A LITTLE OUT OF HAND! If I had over 1,000, I would withdrawl and give it to my dad, no matter the amount. All the change that was under $5 (bill) I would save in an envelope I kept in my dresser and would seal and turn that change over to my dad at the end of the month (that change adds up QUICK!). Any extra cash- tax refunds, these stimulus... it is wasn’t I always had like a paycheck, it was considered extra and I would send it on its way. HOWEVER!!!!! YES I’VE BEEN TEMPTED! I STILL HAVE THAT TEMPTATION! My dad said to invest it to make money on it. Yea, that’s nice but no. I’m too impatient to wait for someone else to put my money to work. Well, I guess I kinda ate those words: here’s what I did. I have a close family friend who has tons of friends all of which could use a job. I made 3 businesses with $10,000 each. THIS WAS A STRETCH! But it’s do-able for WAY LESS!!! I just couldn’t help over buying, geez! 

Long story short, I started a gardening company. I do nothing but cover costs and pay wages. I collect on that and let me tell you- AMAZING. If you intend to do this let me disclose the following: People can be shitty! People CAN steal from you especially is the customers pay cash. PAY YOUR WORKERS WELL AND THEY WILL TREAT YOU WELL! I supply them with the extras. My kids fill refrigerators with snacks and waters or sodas. We supply uniforms at no cost, they get paid time off of two weeks, and rain or shine they get their salary! My son also said MOBILE CAR WASH is good too! There we went, now him and his friend run that truck. They make money, I make money. The 3rd one is a Pool Cleaning Service. This one was a little work because most people with pools have friend references. But this actually holds up pretty good. All three trucks are on my property by 8 pm, my son will fill the tanks, check the interiors, and supplies for the next pick up date. It works out. 

Doing this has allowed me to stay home with my kids. I have been a house mom for the last 8 years. And now, I’m buying my 4 acre property! Thank God! 

It’s tough, especially because I like expensive things! I love to spend, I love to travel. And believe it or not, I was still able to.

Wow, if this wasn’t an epic RAMBLE, I don’t know what would be! Sorry in advance. I’m so excited! I can’t wait to move! Hopefully someone has a small savings that they want to put to work and maybe this helped you get your mind thinking. 

[wolframsparks-blog]

Pity

"CHIRP! CHEEP!"

You're a tiny fluffy foal. You've just entered a cold, uncomfortable world. You can't see a thing- it's all dark, and every now and then there's a blurry flash of red. There's something yicky covering you, loud humming noises everywhere and it smells really not-pretty. You cry out for help, hoping for something to come and save you.

"Kylie's foal."

You hear something else- deep, murmuring. You can't understand what it means.

"Just the one foal? Well, nice change from the constant miscarriages, I guess." There's a pinch on your tail that makes you squeal, then a rushing sensation, and you can feel your entire body is now off the ground. You flail in distress, waving your little leggies around and swinging to and fro.

"Colours are nice. Great result for a first-time mother, in fact. Beautiful golden tail, mane will grow out the same colour soon enough. Light brown coat with reddish patches. Not overimposing, like the blue and hot pink bullshit the mares seem to like."

"Well, it works in our favour, doesn't it?"

You're flicked hard in the ribs. It really, really hurts, and you yelp in pain. "Alright, little guy. Off to see mummah."

Mummah? It's the first word you've recognised. It somehow makes you feel better. You don't know why, but you feel like mummah is something big and warm and safe. You feel yourself being taken away- you hope it's to see mummah.

"Babbeh! Kywie haf babbeh! Gif babbeh, babbeh nee' mummah!"

You're rested back down on another surface. It's gritty and even more uncomfortable than the last, but there's a new smell here that catches your attention and you start to wriggle towards it. Then something pushes you the final inch and you come across some sort of lump that you instinctively suckle on. It's delicious! You slurp the thick, sweet liquid as fast as your little body allows you to.

"What do you think of your first baby, Kylie?"

"Kywie wuv babbeh!" You still don't understand what's being said, but somehow you know this voice is mummah.

"Look, Kylie. You know how we talked about new mummahs and daddehs, and how good babies get the best mummahs and get to live in big houses with lots of toys and a pretty saferoom?"

Mummah starts to shake up and down a little. "Kywie wememba!"

"Well. You see, humans... humans are more likely to want to be a new mummah or daddy to a fluffy if they think that fluffy has been abused. Hurt. If they think the fluffy has had a hard time." There's a pause. "So we want you to be mean to this baby. Say mean things to it. Tell it it's ugly, an ugly, dumb, poopie baby. Hurt it, if you need to. Feed it and clean it, just be really mean to it as well."

"W-wha? Nu! Nu wan be meanie ta babbeh! WUV babbeh!"

"Kylie, you love this baby?"

"Yes! Wuv babbeh mowe dan anifing!" Something shifts around you, and you find yourself buried in a world of warm, soft fluff.

"So you'd do anything to help this baby get a lovely home with a nice mummah or daddy?"

"Mummah do anifing!"

"Well, being mean to this baby will help it get that. A saferoom to play in. Walks outside. A name. More toys than you can imagine."

There's an uneasy silence as you carry on suckling greedily.

"O-okayee... huuhuuhuu... mummah be meanie ta babbeh."

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

You've finished drinking the tasty milkies and had the yicky mess wiped off you by mummah. Now you're lying on your own. Is mummah still here? Where is mummah? You peep and chirp desperately, too weak to stand.

"Why don't we try the song now, Kylie?"

"Huuhuhuuu... nu wan..."

"You want what's best for your baby still, don't you?"

"Huuhuuhuu..." you feel your mummah's voice come closer.

"Mummah hate babbeh, babbeh am stoopi, babbeh poopy babbeh, hope babbeh... huuhuuu... hope babbeh dwown."

"That's a good girl. Now. I'm going to leave for a minute. I want you to carry on singing that song. Do it for your baby, it's what's best for it."

There's a banging sound, then silence, then you're lifted up and you feel yourself covered in mummah's warm, soft fluff and squeezed tight.

"Nu wowwy babbeh... mummah wuv babbeh weawwy! Mummah nu wan be meanie to babbeh huuhuu..."

You wriggle deeper into mummah's grip and chirp. You don't understand what mummah's saying, but her voice right now calms you anyway.

"Mummah wuv babbeh, babbeh wuv mummah, babbeh dwin- EEEEE!!!"

You're violently grasped and lifted away from mummah. You have hurties all over your body now, and you're so scared!

"Congratulations, you stupid bitch. We've been patient with you and let you keep trying to have babies because you wanted to. Honestly, after this many miscarriages any other breeder would have you disposed of."

"G-gibe babbeh back!"

There's a THWACK, and a loud, piercing "SCREEEEEE!". "You couldn't do a simple task that we asked, so we have to take your baby away. I hope you enjoy going back to having babies that die while they're still inside you."

"STAP! HUUHUUHUU! MUMMAH WIWW BE MEANIE TO BABBEH, JUS' GIB BABBEH BACK! BABBEH NEE'- EEEEEEEEEEEEP!"

You hear mummah's cries fading into the distance. This doesn't feel right. Why are you leaving mummah? You want to be back in mummah's warm fluff! You don't like this!

"What now?"

"I have an idea. Meet me back in rearing room two."

You spend a while longer wriggling around as you feel yourself carried further, until you come to a stop and you're left helplessly dangling by your tail.

You hear chirping and cheeping, but it isn't from you. Are there other fluffies like you close by?

"Ready?" The voice softens. "This is Elena. She doesn't have a sense of smell- pure luck for us. Dumb as anything too. Watch this."

You're placed down somewhere. The chirping is closer this time. You wriggle around, and you come into contact with some more fluff, which you nestle into.

"Oh my God, Elena!"

"WHA'? Wha happen? Why wake Ewena?!"

"Look! You've had another foal! You must have had it while you were sleeping!"

"Wh-wha?" There's a sound of something shifting, then you chirp as you feel something softly nudge you. "Dis am Ewena's babbeh?"

"Hang on, let me check." You're lifted up, then there's a sniffly sound. "Yes, Elena, this is definitely your baby. I'm sure of that."

There's another sniffly sound, and you're placed back down. "But it also smells bad. Like a poopy baby."

You're nudged a few times more. It's not very comfortable. "Dis bad babbeh?"

"Yes. It's a bad baby."

You're nudged, more violently this time. "Mummah nu wan yucky poopie babbeh!"

"Hey, now, Elena. Remember what we said before about bad babies?" There's a pause. "We said that mummahs have to take care of all babies, even bad poopie babies."

You're shifted back a little. "Okayee... mummah take cawe of poopie babbeh. Bu' nu wanna. Is wowstest babbeh."

"That's fine. Just clean it every now and then and give it milk. I'll be very, very disappointed if you don't."

You feel yourself propped against another fleshy lump, and you latch on and begin to suckle. The milk isn't anywhere near as nice as the first drink you had; it doesn't taste of anything in particular, with a more watery feel, and you finish all of it quickly.

“That was fast.”

"Yeah. Foal smell's a stimulus for lactation. Elena here doesn't produce as much milk for that reason, so we might be pushing it by bringing a third foal into the mix. Hopefully this works out."

You burp and wriggle around until you find some fluff and cuddle up into it.

"Come on, don't give me that. Looking at me like I don't know how convoluted this seems. Trust me, nothing empties wallets like a foal describing how its own mother mistreated it."

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

You're a brown-and-red fluffy foal. You live with your mummah, a sky-blue fluffy with a creamy-coloured mane and tail, and your two siblings. Bestest babbeh is a colt, a slightly darker shade of blue than mummah with the same cream tail. Neks-bestest babbeh is an orange filly with a pinkish tail. You're worstest babbeh, or bad babbeh, or poopie babbeh. It always gives you bad heart-hurties whenever they call you that. You don't understand why mummah doesn't love you.

"Mummah wuv babbehs... babbehs wuv mummah..."

You're waiting patiently for your siblings to finish their fill of milkies. You're so jealous of them, their little tails wagging behind them as they greedily suckle as much milkies as they like, occasionally mewling between slurps.

All of a sudden, a brown lump falls to the floor behind bestest babbeh.

Bestest babbeh burps. "Sowwy mummah... nu mean make poopies..."

Mummah leans over, almost knocking neks-bestest babbeh away, and hugs bestest. "Nu wowwy babbeh. Was accsiden'! Wowstest babbeh wiww cwean."

"Nuuu!" you whine. "Nu wan cwean poopies!"

"Dummeh babbeh!" Mummah yells, still clutching bestest. "Cwean poopies ow nu get miwkies!"

You hold back tears as you waddle over to the poopies and nudge them with your nose. The litterbox is all the way on the other side of your enclosure, and you leave most of the poopies in a brown smear on the floor as you push them over. You can smell it on your face too. You struggle to get what little is left up the side of the litterbox. But eventually mummah seems satisfied, so you return to her for your fill of milkies.

"Nu!" Mummah boops your nose, and you cry out in pain. "Babbeh covad in poopies! Yicky!"

You hang your head meekly. "Mummah cwean babbeh?" Mummah gives lickie-cleanies every day, and even though she gives more attention to your two siblings, she makes sure you're kept clean too.

"Mummah nu wick poopies!" Mummah boops you again. "Babbeh take baffie!"

You tremble. Mummah made you take a bath in her water-bowl before, and it wasn't nice. "Pwease nu m-mummah..."

"BABBEH TAKE BAFFIE OW NU GET MIWKIES!"

You walk over to the water-bowl and dip your hoofsie in it. It's even colder than you remember. Your tummy rumbles. You don't have another choice.

"EEEEE! Cowdie!" You try to edge into the water slowly, but miss your footing and stumble straight in. You splash around for a while before you're able to drag yourself out, damp and sobbing. Then you stumble over to mummah for what feels like the longest walk of your life and suckle the rest of the milkies that are left.

"Babbeh stiww hungwy..."

Your mummah doesn't reply, playing with bestest babbeh in her hoofsies and giggling. Mummah not loving you is always the worst part. You don't understand what you did wrong for mummah to not love you- babbehs are FOR love and huggies, after all. Every time she says mean things to you or ignores you you get a painful sinking feeling in your heart that's worse than any boops of hoof-hitties.

Desperate, you waddle back to the water-bowl. There's a food-bowl next to it with what's left of mummah's dry oat nummies. You bend down and take a bite. It's not nice. It feels like when you get mummah's fluff in your mouth by accident. But right now you're so hungry that you scoff it down.

All of a sudden, you feel yourself being lifted. "EEEEEP!"

“Goddamnit, Elena, what the hell is this all over the floor?”

“Babbeh make poopies, su wowstest babbeh cwean!”

“For fu- and you made him clean up in the water bowl again? What did we tell you about that the first time? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Because this baby’s big enough to eat adult feed now. He won’t be staying here any more.”

Your mummah looks shocked. "Babbeh weave mummah?"

"Yes, Elena, this baby's leaving. The other two will probably be going soon as well, so I'd enjoy your time with them before that happens."

You catch a glimpse of mummah, looking worried and clutching bestest babbeh tightly, as the man takes you away and the only other fluffies you remember disappear behind a door forever.

You're in a long, warm-looking room with lots of boxes on each side. Each one glows a dim yellow, with woodchips covering the bottom, a litterbox, a pretty-coloured bed at the back and a few toysies. On closer inspection, most of them have fluffies inside. There are more fluffies than you've ever seen, red, green, pink, white, some sleeping, some running around aimlessly, some tapping against the no-see wall at the front and yelling "PICK FWUFFY!" or "WAN NYU MUMMAH!"

"Eye-level. Best seat in the house, kiddo. You're welcome." The man opens the door to an empty enclosure three rows up and drops you inside.

"Babbeh neva see mummah again?" You ask.

"No. You're never seeing mummah again."

You sniffle. You feel like you'll miss mummah, even though she was always a meanie to you.

"Babbeh haf odda fwuffies fo' pway an' huggies an' singies?" You ask, taking note of all the other fluffies around you. Maybe they'll be even better than mummah. Maybe they'll love you and be really nice to you.

"You get thirty minutes of playtime after breakfast every day and an hour in the afternoon. Now," the man says, "why don't you make yourself at home here. I have other things to do."

You don't understand what that means exactly, but it sounds like you'll get to play with other fluffies soon enough. You hope that's the case, because it's really lonely where you are now.

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

"Look at this little guy!" A strange lady is bending over towards you and giving you nice scratchies all over. "What's your name?"

"Nu have name nice wady," you reply, as politely as you can. "Am jus' wowstest babbeh."

"Well, that's not nice!" The lady replies in shock. "Did your mummah call you that?"

"Yus... mummah say babbeh am wowstest dummeh babbeh an' awways be meanie ta babbeh." You struggle to hold back tears. 

“Well, if I took you home, I definitely wouldn’t call you that.”

"Wady be nyu mummah?" You blurt out. You've had a lot of different people you've never seen before approach you, and you know by now that it means they're thinking about being your new mummah or daddeh.

Suddenly, one of the other fluffies on playtime jumps in. "NU TAKE DAT FWUFFY! Pick fwuffy, am bestest fwuffy! Weawwy weawwy wan' nyu mummah!"

"GET BACK, YOU", one of the regular humans snaps at the other fluffy, so aggressively that it even makes you scaredy. The nice lady seems to notice that it scares you and gives you soft strokies under the chin. You push against her hand affectionately.

"Oh, how much for this one? He's simply adorable," the woman asks. You can smell her strong, flowery scent, and her voice soothes you and makes you feel safe. You really, really hope this lady takes you home.

"Ninety for this one."

"NINETY?" The woman jumps up. "Oh, I'm very sorry, little one. I don't think I can afford to be your new mummah."

It takes all the effort you have in your body not to cry as the woman walks off and starts to take interest in other fluffies in the play area. You creep away to the corner, hoping nobody notices you.

You don't get to play with other fluffies as much as you'd wanted. Almost all the time you spend is alone in your enclosure. You've been here for so long that you're bored of what few toys you have in your pen. The play area has more, but they're all raggedy and broken and there's so many fluffies around that it's impossible to get your hoofsies on them. The fluffies aren't as mean to you as mummah, but they still aren't very nice and won't play with you ever.

The humans start putting the fluffies away for the end of playtime, one by one, while you're still sulking in the corner. Cries of "WAN MOWE PWAY!" and "NU TAKE FWUFFY!" ring out. Eventually you're one of the last fluffies left.

"Son of a whore," one of the humans says. "I really thought she'd take him. Are we just mad? I mean, is it really unreasonable to ask for a price less than a hundred for an animal that can fucking talk?"

"When there's others going for forty, maybe," the other replies. "We'll have to lower the price on him."

"Damn, damn, damn.” The first man sighs. “We weren't all wrong. The colour scheme and history of abuse are generating interest, just fractionally less than we need to sell him. I was really hoping we'd be rid of him before his mane turned."

"How long do we have?"

"Well, it wasn't even visible a week ago. Perfect golden mane. Now there's puke green around all the roots. It'll probably have covered all of it within another week."

One of them lifts you up in his arms and you ready yourself to return to your enclosure. "Once it covers it, he'll be down to forty. Maybe less."

"Well," the other human replies, "we could... we could send him to Hyde."

"I was having that thought myself," says the human holding you. "They DO tend to fetch more over there. He could be ideal."

There's a moment of silence between the two. "OH NO!" One shouts. "It looks like you have an infection, fluffy!"

You perk up. "Wha'? Wha' mean?"

The man holding you plays with your leggies. "Yes, you have an infection! Oh, no, we'll have to get the vet to look at this."

You're quickly carried down the long room through a set of doors, then through another, reaching an dull-looking, nasty-smelling white-and-grey room. There's a dark man dressed up in a funny-looking way waiting in one corner.

"Hyde, how's it going," says the man bringing you in. "We think this one has a... uh... INFECTION."

The dark man looks at him, then at you, and prods your leggies. It doesn't hurt, but it's uncomfortable. The whole room is uncomfortable. You don't know what you're doing here or what's going on, and it sounds bad.

"Yes, that's an infection, alright."

"Wha' fecshun? Wha' mean?"

"It means that you're in danger! You have 'sickies', and it could end up killing you!"

Your tummy turns over itself. "FWUFFY GET FOWEVA SWEEPIES?! NU!"

"Shh, shh, it's OK. Right now the sickies are only in your leggies. We're going to send you to sleep- short sleep, nice sleep, like at night-time- then we're going to make the sickies go away and save you."

You understand most of that. "M-mistuh make fwuffy betta?"

"Yes, I'm going to do all that I can. There's going to be a sharp scratch, then you're going to fall asleep.

Sure enough, there's a terrible sensation in your shoulder, and before you can cry out, you feel your body weakening and your eyes start to shut.

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

You slowly open your eyes. Some memories start to come back to you. You remember the dark man in funny blue clothes, who's standing in front of you now. You remember the 'fection. Did the man make your 'fection go away?

"Wuh... wuh..."

"Shhh, shhh. It's OK, fluffy. Your infection is gone."

You breathe a sigh of relief. "F-fankoo mistuh..."

The man doesn't have a happy look. "I'm sorry, fluffy, but we had to do something very serious to make your infection go away."

You're confused. What did the man do? You try to stand up, but your leggies feel funny. They're all really itchy, too.

"I hope you know that this isn't the end of the world. We did what we had to do to save your life."

You're leggies aren't budging, no matter how hard you push. You look down to see what's going on, and you have a horrible revelation.

"WUH-WAA-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! WEGGIES! WEGGIES! WEGGIIIIEEEES!!!"

The man tries to shush you and calm you down, but you keep on screaming and screaming for your leggies. You pant and look around desperately until you run out of breath and all you can manage are short bursts of air, somewhere between sobbing and sniffling. This isn't right. This must be a scary dream.

"Will you take him away?"

"Sure," says one of the other men still in the room. You’re lifted up, still wide-eyed and gasping for air. Looking down, you can see where your legs used to be now. They're thick masses of bruised and swollen skin, some crusty, almost black blood still coating the area, with vaguely cross-shaped scars held in place by what look like metal wires.

You're walked down a different room with two of the men. Thoughts race through your head, more than you can handle. You think of not being able to walk wherever you like. You think of never being able to play or give huggies again. You don't even think you've had proper huggies before. The last thought makes you sadder than anything.

"Do people actually buy these ones?"

"Cuidado, cuidado. Español. Don't want to say anything incriminating in front of the fluffy."

The humans carry on talking between themselves as you're carried into yet another long room.

<<It has an appeal. Fluffies run around and get lost and break things. People think a fluffy with no legs is the same but without those problems. Not always the case, of course.>>

This room has lots and lots of boxes on each side. The boxes are larger than where you used to live, each reaching from floor to ceiling, but narrow, with old dark-green-painted wood on either side and a lattice of metal wires at the front. Most have fluffies inside, and most of the fluffies you can see are missing leggies.

"WAN MUMMAH HUUHUUHUU!"

"WHY TAKE WEGGIES? WAN WEGGIES BACK!"

"HATE DIS! HATE DIS! TAKE FWUFFY WAY WAAAAAAAH!"

The further you go in, the louder the chorus of wailing fluffies becomes, and the acoustics of the room gives it a spooky, unnerving emptiness. You can hear every pitter-patter of the man's footsteps on the floor.

<<People don't like intentional amputation, though. The fluffies have to believe that there was a valid reason for it, so that the buyers do, too. So, on a lot of occasions, they'll only take three legs, or two, or take something other than legs. Less suspicious that way.>>

The two men stop, and you dangle in front of a pen with a miserable-looking black fluffy. This one has his two front legs missing. His rump is raised in an awkward-looking position.

"N-nyu daddeh?" He asks meekly, tears staining his cheeks.

The two men move on. <<My God, this place is miserable.>>

<<That's the idea. Customer sees a sad amputated fluffy in a comfortable pen, they think there's nothing they can do for them. Customer sees a sad amputated fluffy here, they think 'how sad, I bet he would be happier if I took him home and gave him somewhere pleasant to live'.>>

You keep going until they reach an empty pen, right at the very end of the room in the darkest corner. In the pen next to it, a blue fluffy, who looks like he's had his entire back half mangled and two back legs removed, wails incoherently and bangs his head against one side of the pen.

The man places you in your pen, facing towards the entrance. The ground is rough and gives your tummy and leggies hurties. There's a food-bowl in front of you and a litterbox right behind you. That's about it. It's narrower than it looked from the outside- even if you had leggies, you don't think you'd be able to turn around.

"Welcome to your new home, fluffy," the man says, closing the front entrance. All that's left to look at is the tall metal gate in front of you and the crumbling grey wall behind it. "Sorry about the infection. We did what we had to do to make sure you didn't die."

You cry as the two men walk away, leaving you alone with the choir of moaning fluffies. You're not even sure that forever sleepies wouldn't be better.

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

"This one at the end? Forty-five. For eighty you can also get a bundle of extras, which I highly recommend- video guide on owning handicapped fluffies, few toys, some specialist equipment for amputees and entitlement to a free full checkup in the first six months."

"I'll go for the eighty deal, sure." The strange lady picks you off the ground and hugs you. You cry tears of half-sadness-half-joy as you're held in your first-ever huggie, unable to hug her back.

"Great! Follow me, I'll get the paperwork sorted out front."

Mummah carries you away from your pen. You're so happy to finally leave it behind.

"How did you lose your legs, fluffy?"

"Mistuh say... huuhuu... fwuffy haf 'fection... fwuffy take sweepies, den when wake up nu haf weggies..."

"Oh, I'm sorry," the lady says. "And you've been here ever since? Well, don't worry. Mummah has a big house for you to live in, and soon I'll get you some toys, and a saferoom and a cozy warm bed. How does that sound?"

You notice one of the fluffies in the pens look devastated as he overhears mummah. You're just so glad that you've been chosen. "Yes, fwuffy wike dat, mummah. Wuv... *sniff* wuv mummah."

The man in front walks new mummah over to a bright, colourful room. Your eyes are so used to the dim grey room that it's almost hard to look. You're dropped on a counter and the man gives some paper to mummah which she starts scribbling on.

One of the other men shows up.

"Hey."

"Hola.”

<<What's the situation?>>

<<Kylie miscarried again. She's clearly not working out as a broodmare.>>

<<No. Have her sent to Hyde, he'll arrange to transfer her to the milk-bags.>>

New mummah hands the paper back to the man. "What were you two talking about?"

"Just some things that happen here. Bad things." He strokes your back. "Things we can't talk about in front of the fluffies. They're sensitive animals."

"Fair enough," says mummah. She lifts you up and hold you in front of her. "You don't have a name, do you?"

"Nu... nu haf namie. Mummah gif?"

"Hmm... how about Autumn?"

Tears start to form in your eyes. "Awtum... w-wu... wuv... huuhuuuhuu..."

Mummah pulls you in and hugs you. "Oh, there, there, Autumn, it's OK. You're OK now."

"Awtum sowwy... nu knu why cwy..."

"It's OK. Let's just go home. How does that sound?"

You nod your head and smile, and mummah places you in a carrier and takes you away. You're still crying. You don't know why, but you still feel sad. But mummah's right. It'll all be OK once you get to your new home. You'll never have to feel sad again.

[the-uptake]

The Uptake, The 704. 2|0|0|-. Book One, Chapter Eleven. Part 1 (Parts 2 & 3)

Tw: Limb injury.

A fresh yard site could provide a change of scenery to clear his head, right?

Every time he came home without Galen in tow, it became that much harder for Torber to keep from their family that he’d found Galen. For six months, the Miners believed Galen had left or died. For two weeks, Torber had known otherwise. Though he’d brought Galen a cake on his eighteenth birthday, Torber had not mentioned to him that the whole family had gone to the Pyre Block earlier that same day; in order to deliver the gift, Torber had cut out after their visitation under the guise of needing some time to himself. He wondered how much longer he could keep up what essentially amounted to a double life, how much longer he could keep lying to his family about something like this. But how could he explain to them what had happened, if he didn’t completely understand it himself?

The complex duplicity of his situation led to a lapse in concentration. A piece of rebar tumbled off the drift he was working. It slammed down on his hand. He failed to stifle hollering about it. A couple other stalkers called out to check on him. He called back an all-clear. He ignored the sharp, throbbing pain several minutes. But, his hand had begun to swell up, and he couldn’t move two of his fingers on that hand. He gnashed his teeth beneath his respirator, and mentally skirted the certainty that he’d broken it. He’d only been on site at that yard a few hours at best, but the pain was too much for him. Seeing Bell about it would cost more than it was worth. Clouded by spite he snatched up the rogue piece of rebar and headed home.

With his respirator and goggles pulled down around his neck, Torber ran down in his head what first aid he could toss together in the apartment. He struggled one-handed to lockpick his own front door, fumbling with his trifold to put the pick back in its place then return the wallet to his back pocket. Such a dexterous task was that much more difficult lacking the use of one’s dominant hand. Though he bee-lined it to the bathroom to dig in the medicine cabinet, briefly he reeled from the mental whiplash of momentarily perceiving the way his bed sheet had been wadded up to resemble Galen.

He flung the rebar down in the hall in a reverberating frustration that his stress was getting bad enough to be making him see things.

The medicine cabinet yielded a bottle of antiseptic to deal with the nasty grinding cut he’d gotten from the rebar, but he didn’t find anything bigger than bandaids, so he went to the nightstand drawer to locate an old shirt he could cannibalize for a bandage. As he dug absently in the drawer, he realized the bedding was neither the same color as what he’d seen in his peripheral nor in the same shape, and he instantly snapped to his feet at the sound of rustling in the living room. He caught Galen trying to sneak out the door unnoticed.

“--Hey” was all Torber could stutter out in startled objection.

Galen froze, relieved it had been Torber but still caught in the act.

“What ya doin’ home?” Galen asked sheepishly, pulling his hood down.

“Slag why I’m here--why YOU here!” Suddenly his hand didn’t hurt so much.

“I... I come by s, s, sometimes. Didn’t wanna fess it.”

“How long y’been comin’ around--?” Sooner than process the fact Galen was standing in their apartment right in front of him, Torber couldn’t help but catastrophize the train wreck of anybody else coming home to find Galen here, and he was fast to devising ways to hide him quickly.

“Jus, s,s usst a few times. I... I, maybe four times now.” Galen looked up at the door anxiously. “Can I go now?”

“Y’really wanna--” Torber trailed off, biting his tongue. Galen wasn’t ready to come home yet, but here he was coming home anyway. “Yeah, it’s fine. Y’stay much longer, y’likely t’run into the kids.”

Galen couldn’t help but feel guilty for being uncomfortable staying, and he lingered, eyes on Torber’s feet. He quickly noticed Torber’s hand.

“Ya dreg, I knew it was bad y’was home middle the day! What happened!”

“Ain’t nothin’, man. I’ll manage.”

“Nothin’ my ass. Lemme see.”

Torber hesitated, but held it up with a sorry look on his face.

“I was tryin’ t’find a bandage or somethin’ t’wrap it.”

“Gotta better idea. Do one better. ...Slag f’that don’t look broken.”

“I ain’t goin’ t’the Clinic, Gale.”

Galen’s internal speculations halted, whether his brother’s injury had been the byproduct of a negotiator fistfight, and his face tightened at the mere mention.

“Ain’t nobody goin’ back to the Clinic.”

Tone alone put the hairs on Torber’s neck on end; he knew better than to ask for clarification.

“What’s y’bright idea then?”

The metahuman discarded his chance to get out of the house and started digging in the still open drawer of the nightstand. He held up a tee-shirt.

“This one ok?”

“I don’t-- yeah, that’s fine.”

Torber watched passively as Galen helped him clean and wrap his dominant hand. Then Galen’s gloves came off and he wrapped his hands around Torber’s wrist. The pained concentration in Galen’s face left the elder brother speechlessly questioning what was wrong.

“Gotta work up a sweat,” Galen replied, reading Torber’s slack face. “Gonna make y’a cast.”

It didn’t take long before the metahuman managed to coax the stimulus to sweat, his forehead shining in a brassy high contrast to his pallor as liquid metal began to pour from his palms and saturate the torn fabric. The finesse with which Galen worked reminded Torber of someone sculpting very soft clay: Galen coated his wrist, hand, and index, middle, and ring fingers, but did so with an open, skeletal structure which allowed the skin to breathe. He stopped after he’d applied a solid layer, not more than a third of a centimeter, then held the arm out for it to dry. At first, the sensation had been cold, and now as it hardened Torber’s skin felt clammy. He shoved down the compulsion to comment on the sulfurous smell of the moisture evaporating from the layer of metal. As it dried, the metal took on a turquoise and white crust patina with sharp contrast flecks of a golden yellow.

Galen licked his hand clean, trying to compartmentalize the effect lapping up even those small smears of metal was having, to prevent himself from getting worked up over it; the thought process produced a detached demeanor to the instruction he gave next.

“Give it a couple more minutes t’set up nice, an’ we can wrap the other half of the shirt around it so it don’t look as weird.”

Torber turned his arm this way and that best he could, gawking admiringly at the makeshift cast as he adjusted his knit cap with his free hand.

“Dude I can see your fingerprints in it. This is so. Wow.”

“I didn’t figure I needed t’really smooth it out much.”

“--This’s copper, ain’t it.”

Galen choked up and withdrew from him, flushing deep blue in the face.

“I, I, I had t’leave mostuvit in the alley after, but. I. I. Yeah.”

Trying to diffuse the stupid question, Torber pulled him into a hug.

“Hey now, I don’t mean nothin’ by it. This is so chouay. Thanks.”

“I, I hope it helps.”

“It already feels a ton better, man.”

Galen looked up at the alarm clock in the bedroom, and reached into his pockets to retrieve his gloves with a resignation.

“It’s, like, not even fifteen minutes ‘til they get back from s, s, school.”

A long silence followed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Gale, but I really don’t think y’should just be sittin’ here when they get here.”

“I’ll lea--”

“No, no, no.” Torber held onto him tighter to prevent him from squirming away. “I mean, I think I should talk to ‘em first. Give ‘em a little... context. The way y’came t’me, I figure it’d... Well, I don’t know how I’d set up some forewarnin’ or nothin’, but maybe not catch ‘em totally off guard any rate.”

“I, I, I, --I was real lost that night,” he apologized, swallowing hard at the reminder of how badly he’d screwed up the night he’d approached Torber. “Ss, still lost. Less, s lost now, but, s, still.”

“Bro, if I was still upset about it, y’think I’d a kept comin’ back t’see ya?” Torber laughed genuinely at his own pun: “Don’t sweat it.”

“That was bad.”

“Gotta smile outta ya, though.” He took Galen by the shoulder and started walking to the living room. “I think y’could hide out in the far end of the closet. ‘Til Dad gets home.”

“I, I dunno--”

“Y’can take a nap, maybe,” he continued, opening the left half of the folding accordion door and parting the hanging clothes. “It ain’t too cramped.”

Galen didn’t have any more time to object, panicking as he heard running footsteps bounding up the stairs and down the hall, and he shoved himself down into the corner as fast as possible. Torber practically slammed the door behind him.

Vana pushed the door open, holding it for her brothers as she continued her story.

“--an’ that’s why Jim is a jerk. I’m tellin’ ya, he won’t stop it even if y’tell Ms. Prendergast on him.”

“I’ll punch him for ya,” Orpi offered, tossing his backpack down against the closet door. “Oh, hey Torb. Y’sure are home early.”

“I, ah, yeah. Ha. I was a klutz and hurt my hand.”

“Is it broke?” The other two backpacks joined the pile.

“Nah. Got cut up pretty bad, though.”

“Y’don’t need stitches or nothin’?” Galen could see through the slats of the door that Vana was trying to get Torber to show them his hand, but he wouldn’t let them get very close. “What y’got on it? That’s real hard an’ it smells weird.”

“--I wrapped some yard junk on it. It’s clean, promise.”

“The door’s open.”

“I’m gonna be fine, Ruti.” Though accustomed to the phrase, Torber couldn’t not stare off at the closet door, and ultimately broke off to dig in the right side of the closet in the kids’ toys to diffuse his nerves. “Why don’t y’tell me what all y’did at school today? Vana, what’s your classmate doin’ that the teacher’s ignorin’?”

“She ain’t ignorin’ it. He ignorin’ her. He a jerk, Torber.” She dragged out her cars and loop-tracks, and started building a track while she talked. “He won’t lemme play with my other friends if they playin’ with him. Like, today. He told me he didn’t want a girl playin’ Space Force with ‘em. I wanted t’be Commander Gorsch! Dean an’ Patrick wasn’t bein’ mean about it, but the instant Jim says a word they clam up. An’ it’s always like that.” The sound of a car wreck punctuated her irritation.

“I told ya, I’ll punch ‘im if y’say so,” Orpi repeated, sitting at the folding table by the closet.

“I’ll punch him too,” Ruti seconded, sitting down on the floor next to him.

“Nobody’s punchin’ nobody,” Torber grunted, sitting in the other folding chair opposite Orpi. “Orpi, you especially. A teenager ain’t beatin’ up a slaggin’ eight year old, man. For shame.”

“He bein’ a dreg to my lil’ sis.”

Galen couldn’t handle hearing them all in such close proximity to him, not having heard their voices, seen their faces, in so long. He sank back against the back corner of the closet, as far back as he could, and buried himself in the hanging clothing again, trying to tune it all out while he mentally rehearsed for when he’d eventually reemerge. But, no amount of preparation felt adequate. He’d nearly drifted off, finally letting himself be comforted by the sounds of his family, to hear the front door swing open.

“Daddy!” Ruti ran up and latched onto his leg.

“Hey buddy,” Dolom smiled, patting him on the head and trailing off. “Torber, y’leave y’phone at home or somethin’? Been tryin’ t’raise y’all afternoon.”

“I, no-- Slag, I didn’t even realize y’texted me.” Torber shot up from the couch from where he’d been watching TV with the kids, and walked up to him. “I screwed up my hand earlier. Came home t’take care f’it. An’ there’s... somethin’ else, came up.”

“Are y’ok? I needed y’help with a deal, found a canister of Carbamex I need t’unload. Y’know how bad my nerve is, gettin’ ridda blacklist stuff.”

“--I’ll be fine, Dad. I’ll help ya unload it first thing in the morning. But about that thing that came up... Y’should probably sit down.”

“What? What is it?”

“--I found Galen.”

A long, heavy silence. Suddenly the father understood why Torber had been so severed from reality not to notice his phone getting blown up. Dolom’s head whipped around in concern at the younger ears hearing any more details.

“We can finally put him t’rest, then. ...Y’sure it’s him?”

Torber screwed his face up and threw his hat on the coffee table, starting to pace.

“--No, I found him. Guess it’s more accurate t’say he found me.”

“What! He ok?”

“Told ya he flaked,” Orpi muttered under his breath. Vana punched him in the arm hard. “OW! What’s that for!”

“...Thank you. That, I approve of. Galen had every reason t’flake. He, he was scared. An’ it’s... understandable. He... don’t quite look like himself anymore. --But he’s still Galen. An’ for however scared he is, last thing he’s wanted was t’scare us. I was scared at first, t’be truthful. So yeah. I found him. An’... he’s here.”

“Since when!” Vana cried out, exasperated. “We been home for two hours! Just us here!”

Galen took it as as good a cue as any to open the closet door and scoot forward through the clothes, making certain his hood stayed pulled down as he slumped against the frame of the door. He looked up anxiously to see everybody piled over the back of the couch, staring in shock.

Ruti was the first to unfreeze, running up to Galen and cramming himself up in his lap. Recovering from the near-tackle, he got a death-grip on his youngest brother and gnashed his teeth, sniveling.

“The slag y’doin’ in the closet, twip!!” Orpi roared, doubling over laughing at him. “Y’been in there half a year or somethin’!?”

“Sh’up, twip--” Galen choked out.

“--Galen where y’even been--” Dolom couldn’t hold it back anymore and stood, his approach prompting everyone to pile into the floor around Galen.

Torber stood off from the rest, still struggling with directing conversation. Reunions weren’t exactly something negotiators typically handled. Besides, he’d already had his reunion with Galen, and didn’t want to interfere with theirs.

“EW! Y’need a bath.” Ruti groaned with a fake snarl, playfully pushing him away. The roughhousing knocked his hood back, and suddenly they were all back to staring at him again.

“I--”

“Told y’all it was gonna take some gettin’ used to,” Torber chirped flatly, uncertain how well things were going.

On to Part 2 »»» || On to Part 3 »»»