#my current one got a swollen battery

[homoerectusindeed]

i feel like snapping my phone in half would heal me

[darbyoakana]

An Overlord's Tail - Chapter 3

An Overlords Tail Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

Summary: You move into the Hotel. Alastor's shadow is a pest. Warnings: No warnings. This story is 18+, minors can fuck right off.

Other Notes: none

Darby Link Tree

____________________________________________

Chapter 3: Celebrations

“There is no time like the present to forget the past, my dear.” He cupped your face in his free hand. You placed your hand on top of his and closed your eyes. 

You struggled today, with the poor amount of sleep you got the night before and how low your emotional battery was running. You had been staring at the same document for over 20 minutes now. And Alastor had taken notice. It infuriated him. He could smell Vox on you. Your eyes were swollen and puffy from crying. He’d spent all week tormenting you without a single tear yet that idiot Vox could get this kind of reaction out of you? Unacceptable. He wanted to be the one making you cry, watch your face as warm streams leak from your eyes, because of him, for him. Just for fun. And it would be, because of how strong you were. You were thick skinned and it would take work to chip away at you. Alastor felt excited, he hadn’t found much interest in the people around the hotel, not like this. He wanted to crawl inside you and corrupt you from the inside out. He wanted to replace every memory of Vox with a better one of himself. He would own you, eventually. He was certain.

“Not your cheery self today, eh?” Alastor teased. 

“Huh?” You snapped out of it, quickly wiping a tear about to fall. “Oh, sorry. Uh, rough night.”

“Maybe it would be in your best interest to reside here at the Hotel? If your current living arrangement is proving to be… distracting.” 

“Would that be you accepting that I’m a good fit for this position?” you teased.

“Hmm. Well, I do have to admit, you’ve gotten a lot more done around here than most,” he pulled a hotel key out of his pocket, handing it to you. “A room has been made ready for you.” 

You knew Alastor wasn’t just handing out kind gestures, this was a low-key shot at Vox, taking something he wanted away from him. But he was admitting he didn’t want to get rid of you. And with how fragile you felt at the moment, it felt like kindness. 

“Thank you, Alastor.” Taking the key another tear escaped, running down your face. 

“He’s not worth your tears, darling,” he wiped the wet streak off your face with a claw. “Trust me on that.” 

Alastor licked the salty moisture off his finger as he walked away. 

Angel and Husk offered to help you move. It didn’t take very long, you didn’t own much. You left the mattress since there were much nicer beds at the hotel. Your life was a total of five boxes. It made you feel a little pathetic. You stopped to take in the apartment one last time. You hated this shit hole and yet you felt sad leaving it. Maybe it represented the last bit of the life you were leaving behind. Was this a real reason you didn’t move into the hotel sooner? Even if you didn’t keep the job you could stay and take a shot at redemption. Why did this hurt? Angel placed a sympathetic hand on your shoulder. You wondered if this was similar to how he felt leaving Valentino and coming to the hotel. 

Your room was much bigger than you pictured, it was a corner room with a beautiful view of Pentagram City. You couldn’t help but notice your room was right under Alastor’s. You unpacked your clothes into the wardrobe and placed your toiletries in the bathroom. The tub was huge, you could not wait to take a hot bath. Your apartment had a tiny shower stall, whenever Vox left you alone at his penthouse you could always be found in the tub. Now you had one of your own. Another thing you didn’t need him for, a small victory. Lastly, you unpacked your small VCR TV and VHS cassettes. You were a 90’s child at heart, while you died in 2015, you held on to the few nostalgias you could find.  

After putting on your pajamas you wandered down to the kitchen, you were so busy moving that you forgot to eat. Your fuzzy bunny slippers shuffled on the carpet. As you reached the lobby Angel called out for you from the bar.

“Hey toots! Come over here and celebrate with us!” 

“Celebrate what?” you asked

“Being free from, well, you know. Might not feel like it right now, but you took a huge step in a new direction today,” Angel smiled at you. “You should be proud of yourself.” 

“I agree with Angel. Good for you. Can I make you a drink?” Husk asked. 

“A Dirty Shirley please.” 

Husk slid the glass over to you. You didn’t really enjoy sweet things that much but your grandma used to make you Shirley Temples as a kid. And the vodka evened out the sweetness of it. You plucked the cherry from the drink by the stem and raised it to your mouth. A black blur flashed in front of you and it was gone, you were left holding the stem. Alastor’s shadow cackled and swished away. 

“Yeah….” you looked confused. “I’m not sure what that’s about.”

“Yah didn’t think Alastor was going to stop tormenting yah, did yah?” Angel laughed “Maybe his shadow’s got a crush on you. Haha,” Angel paused for a second. “Wait, can you fuck a shadow?” 

“Sorry to say kid, but the more he bothers you, the less he bothers us,” Husk chuckled. 

“Well, that sounds like I’m doing you all a favor…” you said slyly. “I’m going to remember that for later.” You winked.

One drink turned into three or four. You had forgotten what it was like to have friends, work had consumed you fully for so long. And any extra time you had usually was spent with Vox. For once you were enjoying yourself. But the fact that you still hadn’t made it to the kitchen was catching up with you. The drinks were hitting you hard.

You said your goodnights and shuffled to the kitchen, knowing if you didn’t eat something tomorrow would be even less pleasant. Just a snack, something easy. You spotted a box of cheese crackers, bingo. You fumbled with the package as you made your way to your room. Not paying attention to things around you, you hit the floor with a thud and a yelp. Alastor’s shadow had tripped you. You lay on your back, groaning. 

“Oh dear me, you poor thing,” Alstor stood over you, smiling. 

“Hey, Peter Pan. Do you want to reel in your shadow? That thing is a fucking menace.” 

“Whatever do you mean? I think you might be intoxicated my dear. And quite clumsy.” 

“Both can’t be true? Pfft.” 

“Oh come now, he just likes you! That’s all.”

You stumbled as you got up, snatching the cracker box off the ground. You continued to struggle, pulling at the bag inside the box. You pulled hard and slipped, your hand hitting your face. 

“For fucks sake.” You grumbled, slouching against the wall with a groan. 

You didn’t notice but when you fell you bit your lip. You lightly touched your finger to the swollen area, and with a hiss, you pulled away quickly, a smear of blood on your finger. 

“Hahaha. You are such an interesting specimen.” He grabbed your hand, looking at the blood on your finger. “When it comes to your work, you are collected and methodical. But yet, somehow, in your personal life- well I haven’t seen a mess like you before.” He licked the blood from your finger. 

“Ok.. Ew,” you pulled your hand away. “Well that tends to happen when you ignore yourself and focus purely on work,” you sighed, pulling at the bag. “Being a workaholic is much easier than addressing your feelings.” 

Alastor leaned his arm against the wall, trapping you in between. You didn’t consider this a sexual move. You knew enough from Vox’s bitch fests that Alastor wasn’t particularly interested in sex. You assumed he was just trying to make you uncomfortable. But his face was incredibly close to yours. You hid your bleeding lip under your teeth, slightly worried he’d lick that too. Instead, he ran a claw across the bag in your hand, opening it. You looked down at the bag and then back at him, delighted. He was pleased to see your face light up, like a child receiving a new toy. You popped a cracker in your mouth with blissful satisfaction. 

“Oh. I’ve been meaning to ask you - “ Realizing you were talking with your mouth full, you paused and swallowed. “Is there a way to soundproof my room?” 

“And what, pray tell, would you be doing that requires a measure such as that?” He leaned in, smelling your hair. You ignored it. 

“Nothing interesting, unfortunately. But I do like to listen to music loudly. And with absolute certainty, I can say that you wouldn’t enjoy it.” 

“How considerate of you.” He ran a claw through your hair. “Very well.” He stood straight and headed towards your door.

“Oh.. right now? Alright.” 

He opened the door for you, following behind. Aggravated. Did you not care about your personal space? How was he so far off the mark with you? You might be accustomed to working for overlords but were you not at all frightened of him? You still smelled of Vox and it further flamed his annoyance.

“Did you not move your things here?” He asked, looking at the bare room.

“I did,” you pointed to the VCR TV on the dresser and sat on the bed “I don’t own much. Workaholics tend to live at work,” you stopped to think. “Haha and now I am literally living at my work.” 

“This is outdated, is it not?” Alastor picked up a VHS

“Correct. The last VHS was made in 2006,” you shrugged “It’s a comfort thing I think. A reminder of better days.”

He found it charming that you also held onto the past in similar ways that he did. He read the back of the VHS cover in curiosity. 

“I think you’d actually like that one.”

“Oh?” 

“It’s about an FBI agent hunting a serial killer that likes to wear his victim's skin. And to do so she needs the help of another killer, who is a cannibal.” 

“Hmm. I suppose if I was to watch one of... these… that premise does sound appealing.” 

You jumped up and pulled open the dresser drawer. It was full of VHS tapes. 

“This one, he kills his victims in their dreams. This one is about a serial killer who gets trapped inside a doll. This one is about zombies. These three are about vampires. And this one, one of my favorites, the killer psychologically torments people over the phone before stabbing them to death.” Alastor couldn’t help but notice the genuine smile you had on your face, sharing your videos about murder. He found it very endearing. “If you ever want to watch one, tell me. But I know TV isn’t your thing.” 

“I appreciate the offer either way.” And he did, with the exception of Charlie’s silly group nonsense, Alastor was rarely invited to join others in activities. He didn’t mind that of course, he being the cause of why no one asked. But for whatever reason, your invitation seemed authentic. “Well, let us take care of the task at hand.” 

You sat on the bed and watched. Alastor placed his hand on the wall and a green shimmer rippled through the room. The thought that there was a place in the hotel where no one could hear you scream was thrilling to him. He was more than happy to accommodate your request. He watched your drunk-slited eyes follow the magic along the walls, following it over the ceiling and eventually tilting too far and falling backward onto the bed. Alastor laid down on his side next to you, propping his head up with his hand. 

“You don’t hold your liquor well, do you?” 

“Never really have, no,” you laughed and rolled to your side to face him, struggling to keep your eyes open. You giggled. “Once at a work party, I threw up on Valentino’s fur coat. He was soooo pissed. He and Vox didn’t speak, for like, a week.”  

“If you don’t mind me asking, what did he do to break your trust?” Alastor asked. 

“He uh… I caught him hypnotizing me. I was looking through footage for another project and came across it. Turns out he’s been doing it for a while. And now I don’t know what is real and what isn’t.” You let out a heavy exhale. “It’s really fucking with me.” 

Alastor felt a slight pang of guilt before shoving it back down with the rest of his feelings he chose to ignore. Vox hurt you badly by manipulating you and Alastor aimed to do similarly, if not the same. The gentleman, the man his mother raised, felt that guilt. But just for a moment before it was washed away by the man, the monster, Alastor had become. 

“There is no time like the present to forget the past, my dear.” He cupped your face in his free hand. You placed your hand on top of his and closed your eyes. 

You woke, groggy and hungover. You remembered talking to Alastor. When did you fall asleep? When did you get into bed? You rolled over, there was a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand that you didn’t remember getting. You thought about the affection Alastor gave you the night before and cringed a little. You were sure he’d give up on that too eventually.

It was Saturday. You and Angel had plans to go shopping. You realize you didn’t actually own enough regular clothes to cover the whole week. You put on shorts and spaghetti-strap top. If you could rely on Hell for anything, it was that it was always hot. You put your long hair in two messy buns on your head. 

“Hey there Sailor Moon, you ready to hit the mall?” Angel called out to you as you entered the lobby. 

“Fuck yeah I am” 

You spent a large portion of the day at the mall with Angel. 90’s fashion was popular again on Earth and it had trickled down to Hell. You were ecstatic. It felt a lot like the days when you and your friends would be mall rats, with no money, and nothing to do, so you’d hang out at the mall all day. Angel was entertaining and it was nice feeling like you had a friend. You felt reenergized, having a day to yourself, doing things just for you and no one else in mind. You did find it interesting that people stared. You’d forgotten how famous Angel was, it felt a lot like being friends with the popular girls in school, which you weren’t. You ate at the food court, cautiously, still feeling a bit hungover. Afterward, you got your nails done at the salon. Angel was kind enough to pay for everything until you got your first check.

Arriving back at the Hotel, you and Angel dragged in several bags of shopping therapy. Say what you will about it, treating yourself did make you feel a lot better about things. You took a long bath with the new products Angel recommended, including a bright pink fizzy bath bomb. You ended the night watching movies with Angel and Husk in the entertainment room. Lucifer made popcorn and joined in around the second movie. Charlie and Vaggie followed. 

You looked around at this new group of people. No, a new group of friends. And for the first time in a very long time, you felt like things might be okay.  

But what was that Alastor said about hope? 

[talatomaz]

chased away by shadows | hailey upton x fem!reader

a/n: i didn’t include a love confession but i did reference it. after 8x11, we saw how hailey reacts to those words and honestly, i get it bc i’m kinda the same so i just changed it up a bit.

not a huge fan of this and there’s not as much hailey x r as i initially wanted but oh well, hope you still like it anon

(feedback/positive comments are appreciated)

requested by anon: “hi! can i please request a hailey upton x intelligence love interest reader please? it’s been a really rough case and reader is quite depressed and hailey comes over and reader ends up falling asleep safe and warm in hailey’s arms and in the morning there is a love confession maybe? hope that makes sense, thank you x ”

warnings: mentions of assault, death, murder. usual canon violence

word count: 1.6k

masterlist | navigation | request rules

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Upton and I will take the front. Burgess, Atwater, secure the back.”

You ordered, whispering into your comms.

It had been a rough couple of days.

The Intelligence Unit had caught a rape and murder case with seemingly no witnesses or leads to the sick bastard who’d done this.

Like the rest of your team, you were damn near losing the end of your rag at the lack of leads and it didn’t help that this brought up some unwanted memories from your past.

You shrugged them off, not wanting to get emotional at work but it was difficult. Especially when you had no idea who you were looking for.

But you’d managed to catch a break as one of your CIs had contacted you, telling you that they had heard about some gang member who’d been boasting about “having fun with a chick before popping her off”.

After some further investigation, you’d managed to identify the man. He had a rap sheet about as long as your arm, including prior battery and assault charges.

It was only when Halstead had found out that he was holed up in a supposedly vacant property that you’d all geared up, armed to the nines because you knew the kind of heat this gang carried.

“On my mark.” Halstead said into your comms.

He waited a few moments for you all to get into position. You were standing behind Hailey, your hand on her arm, alert and ready to conduct your search.

“Be careful.”

“You too.” You replied softy to your girlfriend.

You’d been dating for the past 6 months, having fallen into bed one night after a evening out at Molly’s. You’d both agreed to keep it a secret as it was a one-time thing but what you both didn’t realise at the time was just how much you liked one another.

It had soon become a habit. The two of you sleeping together after everyone gathered for a social call at Molly’s until one evening, Hailey told you that she liked you and wanted the two of you to be more than just sex.

You were surprised to say the least because there was never any indication that she liked you. In fact, you thought she was out of your league considering how beautiful and smart she was. But you decided to take the leap and you were so glad you did because you loved being with her.

Not that you’d told her those words yet, mind you.

It was a tough thing to say, for you anyway, especially after your past alongside the lack of any emotional attachments with your parents. And you knew Hailey had her fair share of trauma too, the majority of which you learned after you and Ruzek overheard her telling a suspect they had in interrogation.

And although your relationship wasn’t without its flaws, it had pretty much been smooth sailing since the moment you’d got together. No unnecessary drama or bullshit.

That was the last thing the both of you needed in this type of job.

“Now.” Halstead ordered so you gave a quick nod to the blonde before yelling “Chicago PD!” as Hailey kicked the door down.

There were a few offenders in the house who tried to run when you’d entered and as Hailey and the rest of the team went to secure them, you made your way up the stairs to see if there was anyone else hiding out.

Your arm was extended, gun clutched carefully in your hand, finger just next to the trigger, ready for any indication of movement. Reaching the landing at the top of the stairs, you entered one of the bedrooms. As you stepped through the door, someone jumped out and hit you in the head with a bottle. It shattered upon contact with your skull and the force threw you as you groaned in pain.

You began fighting the male, who weighed at least 100 pounds more than you, so it was no small feat. You wrestled with the gun he’d aimed at you before kicking him in between his legs and throat punching him.

As he coughed to catch his breath, you grabbed your gun that had fallen out of your hands and aimed it at the man crumbled on the floor. Ignoring the way blood seeped from your wound and down your face, you yelled, “Chicago PD. Stay down or I will drop you.”

Staring down at him, you realised that it was the man you’d been looking for and when he looked up at you with a sinister smirk on his face, you wanted nothing more than to shoot him where he lay.

But you had more self control than that so, instead, you kept your gun trained on him and called downstairs for back-up.

In less than a minute, Hailey and Jay were right beside you. Jay handcuffed the suspect and you re holstered your gun.

“Baby, are you okay?” Hailey asked frantically, her hand gently cupping your face as she examined the cut on your forehead.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” You said, releasing the breath you didn’t realise you’d been holding.

“Are you sure? You’re bleeding pretty badly.”

You winced when Hailey touched the wound.

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s fine. Come on, let’s go.”

                ✧── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

After apprehending the suspect, Hailey had forced you to be checked out by one of the paramedics who’d arrived to take care of one of the offenders that Kevin had shot. They’d cleaned and stitched the wound and told you to take some paracetamol for the pain.

Now you were currently watching Voight and Halstead take lead on interrogating the man who’d attacked you at the house.

The man was so vile that you had to force yourself to not jump through the two-way glass and smack him silly. He’d copped to the murder but wouldn’t admit to the rape, sitting there with a smirk on his face.

“She wanted it rough. She was a slut. I just gave her what she wanted.”

The words continued to ring in your ear as they were words that you, yourself, had once been told. Forcing the bile back down your throat, you watched as Voight moved to stand behind the man, his hands on his shoulders.

“I’d watch your mouth if I were you.” Voight said, the threat lingering behind his words.

Your hands clenched into fists as he continued to speak.

“I ain’t gonna apologise for banging that whore. She got what she wanted.”

You could feel your anger boiling until it threatened to consume you so you left the viewing room and briskly walked to your desk.

You grabbed your coat that was hung on the back of your chair and ran out of the precinct; ignoring how your girlfriend’s eyes bore in your body as you hurried out of the building.

She decided to let you go, knowing that you needed space for a few hours.

                ✧── ･ ｡ﾟ★: *.✦ .* :★. ───✧

When you got back to your apartment, you fell down onto your couch, picked up one of the throw pillows and screamed into it, your frustrations coming to a blow.

You went from screaming to crying out of anger and old pain until you felt a hand on your shoulder that startled you. You hadn’t even realised Hailey had used her key to enter your apartment.

“Oh, baby.” Hailey murmured when she saw how red your eyes were.

She placed a soft kiss on your cheek and went to your freezer to grab an ice pack. She wrapped it in a table cloth and gently rested it over your eyes, the coolness soothing your swollen eyes immediately.

You tried to take the ice pack away from her but she simply tsked at you; too tired to fight, you instead relished in her taking care of you.

“Sorry.” You mumbled, finally gathering the courage to speak.

“It’s been a rough couple of days, honey. No one blames you for your reaction.”

“That’s not why I’m so...so angry and why I’m like this.” Your voice barely louder than a whisper but Hailey still heard you.

“What do you mean?” The blonde asked, furrowing her brows in concern. But her eyes told you that she already knew what you meant and that made your heart hurt.

“I just-I. It was a long time ago, back in high school. I’m over it but cases like these just bring it all back up, you know?” You sighed, deciding to remain ambiguous whilst knowing full well she knew exactly what you were referring to.

“Oh, baby,” Hailey repeated as she wrapped her free arm around you and pulled you close.

“The guy ended up confessing not long after you left. Voight stuck him in the cage and he ended up having a change of heart.” Hailey told you as she placed soft kisses on your forehead.

Your derived snort was muffled as your head was buried in Hailey’s chest but she heard you and chuckled in response.

“You’re safe now, y/n. You’re safe with me.” Hailey whispered, breaking the peaceful silence that had filled the room.

Her words brought a sense of calm to you as you sighed contently in her arms.

Gently removing the ice pack from your eyes, she put it on the table before lifting your chin up with her finger, bringing you in for a deep, reassuring kiss.

“I-I’m glad you’re in my life, Hailey” You said, catching yourself before you said those three words. You weren’t ready to say them aloud just yet and you had a feeling that your girlfriend felt the same way.

The blonde smiled knowingly, kissing your lips once more before hugging you close to her as you both got comfortable on the large couch you were still on.

“I’m glad to have you in my life too.”

[an-sceal]

Sleeping Sickness (Cobra Kai Fic)

Unfinished and abandoned, but going through this I can see seeds of each of the other stories/series I've written since then. This was written before I'd seen all of season 2, and any of season 3. I ultimately binned it because in my headcanon there's no way Johnny would have let Kreese be around his students if he'd at ALL recognized what he went through as abuse.

CW: vague mentions of child abuse, child s**ual abuse, s**ual assault

Johnny

He doesn’t remember the drive from his apartment- had he been at his apartment? Didn’t he come from the dojo? That’s not unusual, the autopilot, but moreso than it used to be. He hasn’t gotten behind the wheel loaded in months. Buzzed, which, yaddayadda, but not blind drunk. For a second he doesn’t know where he is, and then LaRusso’s perfect fucking life swims into focus and he groans.

Leaning against his steering wheel hurts too much, pulls things in places he can’t think about right now. Johnny opens his door and stumbles out of his car, winding up on his hands and knees when he can’t swing the low exit with anything approaching grace. LaRusso’s driveway has a crack in it, unavoidable in earthquake country, but it’s incongruous with the shadow of perfection cast by LaRusso’s house.

Johnny shouldn’t be here, but he doesn’t know how to leave.

You can leave anytime you want, Mr. Lawrence. I’m not keeping you here.

“Fuck you, old man.” Johnny pulls himself to his feet, running a hand through his hair. His clothes feel constricting, seams digging in, buttons chafing his skin, but they’re holding him in, keeping the world at least that much farther away from him.

Johnny stands on the front step and tries to make himself knock. Or he thinks he does.

He doesn’t remember.

Daniel

He and Amanda are sitting together on the couch in their pajamas, about to turn off the news and head to bed when both their phones ding with a motion alert from the front door camera. Daniel glances across the living room toward the foyer and sees that the light has come on over the front step. He goes to check it out, expecting to chase the Shermans corgi out of the bushes again, and finds Johnny Lawrence standing two feet from his front door.

Johnny’s hands are clenched into fists. Daniel would take it as a threat, but Johnny’s eyes aren’t tracking him, aren’t assessing a place to strike. He narrows his own, but the only thing he can smell is the wisteria and night blooming jasmine that climbs the trellis over their entry way.

He waits for Johnny to say something. And waits. He’s about to shut the door and go to bed when Amanda speaks. “Would you like to come in, Johnny?”

Daniel glances sideways at her, but she’s not looking at him, not even to scold him for his lacking manners. She’s got a pinch between her eyebrows that wasn’t there a moment ago.

He backs away from the door to make room, but nothing happens. He waves a hand into the house. Same. He glances at Amanda, and the tightness around her eyes has become a small frown. Daniel clears his throat softly.

“Hey man, are you okay?”

He doesn’t get an answer, but as Johnny brushes past him on the way into the house he can smell beer. At this point the man is probably 5% alcohol by volume whether he’s been drinking or not. There’s nothing sharp to the smell, nothing fresh or hinting at a brown bag with an empty bottle on this lawn.

Amanda has already led their guest into the living room by the time he’s done locking the door again. He takes a seat beside her on the sofa, Johnny at an angle on the loveseat across from them.

They wait again. Daniel is already thrumming with the low-grade buzz of whatever it is that gets under his skin every time he sees Johnny Lawrence, and in the late night silence it’s easy to pretend it’s annoyance.

“Are you going to say--”

Amanda puts her hand on his knee, just as Johnny cuts him off.

“Would you take my kids if I close the dojo?” Johnny’s voice is wrecked. He sounds like he’s been smoking a pack a day for 40 years, or come down with strep throat and tried to gargle it away with battery acid.

Daniel’s jaw clicks shut. He… What now?

“That sounds painful. Let me get you some water, at least.” Amanda slips away toward the kitchen, placing a hand lightly on Johnny’s shoulder as she goes. Johnny flinches.

Daniel meets his thousand-yard stare with suspicion, still trying to nail down what flavour of wasted this might be. Maybe it’s drugs, but he can almost imagine the denial, the pitch Johnny’s voice would take on. “I’m a drunk, asshole, not a junkie.”

“They need someone--” Johnny breaks off into a small coughing fit, grimacing, and Daniel is starting to wonder if he’s got consumption or something. That, or maybe he’s high, and this is all a scruffy blonde hallucination.

“They’ve got you,” he allows, because he’s too tired to make it sound like an insult.

Something changes in Johnny’s face, under the obvious bruising and around his bloodshot eyes. He gets sharper, somehow, more in focus. His breath stutters, jaw clenching before he winces and squeezes his eyelids closed. He shifts on the sofa, obviously trying to adjust to whatever injury he’s currently favouring, and that same wreck of a voice is so much more at home now, so in keeping with the defensive way he holds himself.

“Can’t do it. Need someone to keep them safe from Kreese.”

They aren’t friends or anything, but Daniel knows enough to see how much it costs Johnny to be there, to ask that, to admit to wanting any help at all. He suspects if it wasn’t for his kids, Johnny would slink off into the hills like a coyote.

Where the hell did Amanda go, anyway?

Johnny’s gaze has dropped to his own hands, and Daniel follows it. A few of his knuckles are bloodied, and one finger is darkly bruised. There’s something under his fingernails, but it could be anything. Daniel tells himself that firmly. It could be anything. It’s blood.

“He’ll hurt them,” Johnny rasps, his large hands working over each other without a care for the obvious injuries.

It’s only because Daniel is staring at Johnny’s hands that he notices the fine tremors rippling through his whole body.

Johnny

He knows he’s fucked up by coming here, to Daniel with his permanent and well-earned grudge. To Lady LaRusso and her sharp-eyed sympathy. He knows. They’re going to see through him, realize his failure and fix it, and then he’ll leave.

Nausea cramps at his stomach again when Amanda comes back from the kitchen and hands him a mug of tea. What is it with fucking tea? This stuff smells like weak ginger ale and grass, and Johnny has to press his other hand over his mouth to make sure he swallows back the bile that rises in his throat. His throat feels…

It feels like nothing. It’s all nothing. He can get through this.

The mug is hot, and it feels good against the finger he thinks might be dislocated, maybe broken. The tea scalds his skin when he shakes a little too obviously, and someone takes it away. Someone is talking to him. Someone is asking him things he doesn’t know the answers to. Is he okay? Fuck yeah, he’s awesome- it’s the rest of the world that sucks. Is he hurt? Nothing hurts because everything hurts, and anyway he can’t draw a deep enough breath to explain that.

People are talking to him, blue eyes, brown, and he just needs it to be nothing again, so he covers his face with his hands and tries to block it out. But that’s for pussies anyway, and nothing happened.

“Hey, hey, stop that.” LaRusso’s wrapping a hand around his wrist, gently, but not the gentle of something delicate. Gently, because he thinks Johnny is dangerous, a cornered animal about to bite. Which he is. He’s biting his hand, making a noise, Jesus fuck, what kind of man makes that noise?

The renewed taste of blood in his mouth is such a welcome relief that it almost calms the monster caught halfway between his gut and his throat, trying to claw its way out of his chest.

There’s a firm hand on his forehead, pushing his hair back. Amanda is sitting on the coffee table in front of him, directing his face so all he can see hers when she puts both her hands on his cheeks and makes everything go still for a second.

Daniel, Daniel fuckin LaRusso, who once kicked him in the face and ruined (saved maybe) his life, sits down next to him and puts an arm around his shoulders. And he fucking lets him.

Amanda presses against the sides of his face again, steady and trying to make him look at her. He does, for a second, before he gets fascinated by her earring and looks there instead.

“We’ll do yes or no for now, okay?”

He nods, his lower lip caught between his teeth.

“Is one of your students in trouble right now?”

They think he’d be here, if one of his kids was-- Johnny shakes his head.

“Do you need a doctor?”

Fucking people and their health insurance, like you can just go see a doctor any time you want. If he’s still pissing blood next week he’ll do a drop in at the Planned Parenthood and pretend he thinks he’s got VD.

His throat tightens at the thought, then his stomach, and he tries to tell them he’s going to puke. He must manage something, verbal or not. LaRusso shoves some fancy ass decorative bowl under his face, and Johnny drools into it like a dog who ate grass. His body wars- stomach wanting to expel, throat too swollen to allow it, and his lungs and ribs caught somewhere between, stabbing him with every hitching attempt to get a handle on himself.

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay.” The last thing he should want are hands on him. He should be fighting. He should be, but he’s already lost tonight. He’s lost.

Johnny throws up in Daniel LaRusso’s stupid bowl, on his stupid couch, in his stupid house. Daniel’s stupid warm hand is on his back, rubbing gentle circles between his shoulders. Daniel’s beautiful wife is petting his hair. He thinks he maybe got blood on her robe.

The last heave feels like it tears something in his abdomen, and he welcomes the fresh, white-hot pain. It doesn’t erase the rest, but he’s a body built for endurance. This, at least is something real to live through, not some pansy panic attack.

After a minute the bowl disappears, and he swallows the noise he makes when the warmth at his side goes with it. Amanda holds the mug up for him to drink from, and he doesn’t even take it from her, just swallows and pretends it’s not the second most disgusting thing he’s had in his mouth tonight.

Her attention is all on setting the mug on the table next to her when Johnny manages to grind out what he came here for. “It was just supposed to be me. But he’ll pick favorites again.”

The clear-eyed horror on her face is instant, and he wants to apologize, to make her understand that it was supposed to be safe. That it’s his fault Kreese did those things, his fault he let it happen, his fault he was weak and needy and made a grown man want him those ways. Johnny is the problem. His kids were never supposed to be involved.

Amanda tries to touch his face again, but he jerks away. He’d let her before, but now he realizes she might have rested her fingers on the filth smeared all over him, that he brought that here, to them, these people who owe him nothing and don’t even really like him. He’s a carrier, a plague rat. And all he can do is try to keep Miguel and the rest of them safe from the disease that’s been in him since the first time his sensei told him he was good and he knew he’d do anything to keep feeling that way.

“Is he still…” She always has the right words, but she’s clearly at a loss for how to ask someone who punches everything that pisses him off if he’s such a pussy that an old man is giving him the bad touch.

The numb reality settles over him, so much colder than before. He hit his knees like he was 14 again, swallowed John Kreese’s poison like a willing little bitch. “He swore it was just me, that he’d never-- that I’d always made him-- They weren’t part of it. I did what he wanted.”

The sound of glass shattering against LaRusso’s million dollar tile floor doesn’t even make him flinch.

Daniel

Daniel sweeps up the glass carefully, watching the upstairs hallway to make sure neither of the kids comes down. By the time he’s got everything in the trash, he’s pretty sure he didn’t wake them. From the kitchen, he can see Johnny hunched miserably on the loveseat, and Amanda perched next to him, one hand on his shoulder. She’s speaking, but he can’t hear what she’s saying.

He’s surprised he can hear anything at all, when the rush of blood to his head is still pounding in his ears. His mind is spinning a million scenarios, each more disturbing than the last, and it’s fucking him up on a fundamental level that his grounding point is the knowledge that Johnny goddamn Lawrence would probably throw himself in front of a bullet to protect one of his students. Daniel doesn’t understand how that can co-exist with the way he allowed Kreese into his dojo, even supervised.

Don’t you, though? He might be three decades older, and Terry Silver hasn’t emerged from the shadows to twist him up again, but the knowledge that a mentor could use you against your own better judgement isn’t all that hard to recall. For the millionth time, he wishes he could talk to Mr. Miyagi.

Then again, Mr. Miyagi wasn’t some kind of mystic. He was just an old man who’d seen a lot more pain and life than Daniel. The single most important thing Mr. Miyagi had given him was kindness in the face of his own anger and self-doubt. It wasn’t an ancient karate secret-- it was just compassion. Humanity.

At the end of the day, sharing that with Johnny couldn’t be that hard, could it?

[readyourimgaines]

The Little Things

Summary: Derek knew fully well that moving in with Spencer was going to bring around some changes. Dr. Spencer Reid was different and Derek loved him for it. There were little quirks that the doctor showed at work and some Derek was still learning. So there must be some at home.

And a special thanks, of course, to @chaoticgremlinwholikescheese​ for helping me compile this list!

1. Alphabetizing Movies by Title

“Pretty Boy?” Derek was crouched down in front of their TV looking for their movie while Spencer did the dishes. The latter hadn’t seen Happy Gilmore and Derek couldn’t let that stand. 

“Yeah?” Spencer called from the kitchen. 

“I can’t find it?”

“What?” Spencer stepped away from the sink and went to the living room. Water dripped from his fingertips. “The movies are alphabetical. It’s between Hamlet and Ice Age.” He went to Derek’s side and gestured to the movie. “I was going to order them by director, but Hotch said most people don’t know directors very well. Which is a shame because J.J. Abrams destroyed Star Trek but Guy Riche-” 

Derek pressed a kiss to Spencer’s lips with a fond smile. Spencer blinked. 

“Sorry,” the doctor blushed. 

Derek just chuckled. “You know you’re adorable, right, Pretty Boy?” 

“You may have mentioned it a time or two,” Spencer laughed. 

“You can tell me all about directors later,” Derek promised. “I know a bit about the mainstream guys, but not a whole lot.”

“All you really need to know is that J.J. Abrams kills anything he touches and Peter Jackson doesn’t get as much attention as he should.”

*****

2. Morning Rituals

One thing that Derek very quickly learned about Spencer was that he 

had a specifically timed morning ritual when not on a case. And that if it was broken or disturbed, the whole rest of the day would go down hill like a train on greased tracks. 

He woke up at 6:17, was in the shower by 6:25, eating breakfast by 7:00, his bed made by 7:30, and shoes on his feet by 7:32. The last half hour before they left at 8:00 was free game. 

The first morning in their new place was the roughest. Spencer went 

about his usual morning, but Derek didn’t usually wake up until 7:45 because he took less time to get ready and ate in the car. So when Spencer finished breakfast and went back to their room to make the bed but Derek was still asleep… He paced for the next fifteen minutes and his head nearly went through the ceiling when Derek’s alarm went off. 

Spencer almost had a panic attack as he fumbled his way through making their bed and cramming his feet into his shoes. Needless to say, the extra half hour was spent- in vain- trying to calm the doctor down. None of the rest of the day lined up properly and Spencer was on edge and fidgety. Hotch even had to gently remind him to focus a few more times than the usual redirection of infodumps. 

That was the first and only time Derek didn’t follow Spencer’s morning routine. He found the same day that Spencer had a much simpler night ritual: Snack (sometimes) at 10:10, teeth brushed by 10:25, in bed by 10:35, reading until (supposed to be) 11:18, and then lights out. This routine was much more flexible and relaxed.

Derek found waking up and going to bed at the same time every day made the former much easier. He also found that Spencer reading to him most nights- no matter the book or topic- was very relaxing. And of course there were nights when Derek read to Spencer.

*****

3. Sugary Coffee

Derek took a sip of coffee from his travel cup and whistled. “Think I got yours, Pretty Boy. There’s enough sugar in this to hype up a six year old’s birthday party.” 

Spencer braced himself and took a sip of the coffee in his own cup. He was pleasantly relieved when the bitterly sharp taste expected never came. “I-I put sugar in both of them. I wasn’t thinking,” he said sheepishly. 

Derek shrugged. “You know what they say: I’ll try anything once.” He chuckled. “I’ll just brush my teeth for an extra three minutes.” 

Spencer scoffed as he got into the passenger seat of Derek’s car. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll like it. You don’t get the caffeine drop when the eight hour half-life is over.” 

“Is that why you put so much sugar in coffee?” Derek raised an eyebrow, thinking he already knew the answer. 

“And coffee tastes like battery acid. I’d rather drink vinegar than black coffee.” Spencer shuddered. 

Derek chuckled but didn’t say anything else as he pulled onto the street.

*****

4. Cuddly Sleeper

Even though Spencer wasn’t huge on PDA like Derek was, he sure was a cuddly guy. The second the door closed, he was a six foot koala. That included in bed- but usually not until after he was asleep. 

Some nights, Spencer would fall asleep reading. So Derek would take his book, close it, gently remove Spencer’s glasses, and turn out the lamp. Nine times out of ten, Spencer was curled up against his side before Derek was asleep himself. 

At first, Derek found himself wondering why Spencer wasn’t nestled against him before sleep took him. But after a while, it sunk in that the doctor unwound by reading. 

The look on Spencer’s face when he curled into Derek’s side always sent the older man over the moon. The absolute peace on the doctor’s face. One night, Derek almost woke Spencer up laughing. Derek rolled over to out the lamp and Spencer had gripped Derek’s arm tighter and whined in his sleep. Derek then had to assure his boyfriend- in soft whispers as to not actually wake him up- that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Spencer never thought to question why his book and glasses were gone when he woke up.

*****

5. Leaves Books Everywhere

Anyone who had a 30 second conversation with Spencer- anyone who glanced at Spencer- could tell the man read more than he did anything else. 

Derek picked up the doctor’s satchel once and was moderately surprised the slim man hadn’t dislocated his shoulder with how heavy the bag was. But Spencer didn’t only keep books in his bag. No. They were all over the place. 

Their bedroom, the craft room where Derek made floor plans for his renovations, the kitchen, the dining room, the living room. Even both bathrooms and the basement. 

When the two first moved in together, Derek debated building an extension onto the living room for a library. He still debated it from time to time (just in case). But as time wore on, Derek grew to appreciate the countless (if seemingly random) books around the house. 

Spencer would read when Derek was working on floorplans, so Derek would read when Spencer worked on an academic paper or consult. 

“What’re you reading?” Spencer asked one night, finally looking up from his notebook. He was writing an essay on how handwriting analysis could help catch a serial killer and/or rapist. 

“I don’t even know,” Derek chortled. “Uh..” he looked at the cover, “it’s Introduction to Law by Joanne Banker and Yvonne Ekern.” 

“Oh! Hotch loaned that to me yesterday,” Spencer noted. “I should get that back to him soon.” 

Derek just shook his head. “You know, Pretty Boy, I didn’t read this much in college.”

Spencer smiled. “See? Maybe there’s a good side to not spending thousands of dollars on building a library,” he teased.

6. The Nightlight

In the bedroom, in the outlet closest to the door was a nightlight. But not just any night light. This nightlight made the move in the front pocket of Spencer’s satchel. 

“So what’s the story behind this platypus, Pretty Boy?” Derek had to ask one night as Spencer turned it on. “Because you’ve had this since before we were dating.” 

“My uh- my mom’s went on a sort of field trip with her hospital a couple years ago. It was on one of her good days. She saw this in the aquarium’s gift shop and bought it for me.”

“That’s pretty cute,” Derek encouraged. He knew Spencer didn’t open up about his mom often so Derek tried to learn everything he could about the woman during the rare occurrences. 

“We named him,” Spencer laughed. “Alfred Nicholas Brian Reid.” He giggled. “I just… He helps.”

*****

+1. Bleeding/Infected Hangnails

Spencer usually had something to stim or fidget with. A strip of paper, a pen or pencil to twirl, a shirt with a loose thread, something. On the off chance that he didn’t, the doctor somehow decided that his fingers were good enough. If Spencer didn’t have a hangnail, he’d start one. 

This was the one and only thing about Doctor Spencer Reid that Derek Morgan hated. He could see the minute flinch when Spencer held a utensil wrong and it pressed on the swollen skin. He heard the soft hiss when Spencer got tomato or orange juice in the broken skin. 

What Derek hated even more than that was when the hangnail would get infected. The skin around the nail or turn a greenish-yellow and harden. Which, in turn, gave Spencer another thing to pick at. 

“Pretty Boy, you gotta stop,” Derek sighed. He’d gone into a convenience store to get them something other than coffee- but tastier than water- to drink. While inside, he bought a box of Band-Aids and a tube of anti-bacterial cream. 

Spencer snapped out of his daze. “What?”

“Picking at your nails.” To prove his point, Derek took Spencer’s hand in his to show him, as well as to stop his current picking. “I know you’re worried about the case, Baby, but we’ll catch the son of a bitch and put his ass behind bars like we always do. You gotta stop destroying your hands.”

“I didn’t realize I was,” he admitted. 

“I know,” Derek said softly. He applied the cream and a Band-Aid to each finger that needed it (five in total between both hands). “We just gotta get you a couple of those fidget cubes Garcia has.”

Tag List: @mayonnaiseismycomfortfood​

[exodusmc]

Trouble

Genre: Roommate au, frenemies to lovers, smut

Words:  2591

Paring: Sehun x reader

Warning!: Drinking, mentions of fighting, unprotected sex, fingering, slight pet naming, denied orgasm, making out, hickeys.

a/n:  I’m planning to write a roommate au for all exo members, like in parts but it won't necessarily  be dependent on each other. I don't know if it make sense. :)  

Gif is not mine 

Annoying. He was so annoying. The tall man stared down at you a giant smirk, fingers holding a cup with who knows what. Straight black eyebrows pointed down, complexion slightly more pale than usually due to him being drunk. 

“Sehun, what the fuck?”a snicker left him, body swaying as he leaned forward, reeking of alcohol and smoke. 

You were currently standing in the doorway to some guy’s house, burning holes in your roommate. Chanyeol had called you and asked you to get the younger home or else he would get beaten up, but you were a little late. His raven hair laid neatly even with the evidence of a fight, left cheek swelling. People from inside the house glanced at the two of you, the popular troubled boy and the nice girl dressed in a sleeping shirt and pants. You were fuming for the fact that you had to come all the way here when you could be sleeping. 

“Hi kitten, to what do I owe the pleasure?”his speech was slurred, irritating you further. Grabbing his wrist you were practically dragging the boy to your car, having none of it.”A little rough aren't we?”

Sehun laughed, stopping once you forced him down on the seat and accidently knocking his head. A pout formed on his lips, eyes trailing over you as you pulled out, planning murder. This wasn't the first time you had to get Sehun from a party, no it happened almost every time he went out. The boy loved to cause trouble and did what he could to get on someone’s nerves, you were practically a nurse now because of all the time you helped him. 

“Next time Chanyeol calls and beg me to get you, I will refuse!”you snapped at him, getting more worked up at his giggling. Sehun didn't take anything serious but you had seen a different side of him, a side which made you wake up at 1 am or treat his wounds. 

You still remember the time you walked in on him crying, how broken he had looked. Someone hurt him badly and you didn't ask, only held him. It had made you crazy after a while, the fact that you didn't know who hurt him, never in a million years did you think you would promise to kill the one who did it to him, to protect him. 

“But that’s exactly what you’ll do, kitten..”Sehun smirked, licking his lips. A chill ran down your spine, the small amount of empathy you had for him disappearing. Curse him and his good looks!

You weren't gentle in the way you made him sit down on the couch, mumbling threats the whole time. Sehun watched as you made your way around the apartment, collecting what you needed. It made him feel warm. You were taking care of him, he had your attention. 

“Be quiet, or I’ll stuff a sock down your throat..”the cleaning alcohol would sting but he had gotten used to it, your touch soft against his skin. 

“Wow, I feel like I get to know all your kinks tonight..”the boy whined slightly when you pressed harder at his bruise, fire in your eyes. 

“Yeah and I’ll even perform one if you don't shut up.”

“Oh, I’m intrigued. May I know what?” 

“Ropes and a gag. I’ll tie you up in bed and leave you there as I sleep in my own..”Sehun smiled. He liked bickering with you but he couldn't deny that what you were saying wasn't attempting. His mind flashed with images of you tied in different positions, eyes in a haze. They were sinful and made him slightly warm. You noticed the way his eyes darkened and huffed out, not believing him.”Not a chance big boy. I was joking and if you so much as do move in your bed, I’ll throw you out the window.”

Sehun stared as you placed everything back, orbs traling your figure. Your clothes didn't show of anything, leaving him fantasizing about what was under. It wasn't the first time but he had never been so obvious about it. Your hips pressed against the counter your were standing by, alcohol overpowering his natural scent. Sehun’s hands found their way to your waist, face resting in the crock of your neck. Heat, all you felt was heat. His nose dragged across the delicate skin of your throat, stopping under your ear. 

“You’re so feisty all the time but awfully quiet now..Why’s that? Do I make you shy?”it was close, you losing it, but as his hand wondered lower and his lips pressed lightly against your skin, did you snap out of it. 

“Sehun! Go to bed!”shoving him of, you were running away. Your body felt like it was burning as you slid down your door. He had been so close, pressing against you in ways he shouldn't. A moan had been bubbling in your stomach  and now were you aching. 

A sigh in relief left you when you reached for your vibrator, thanking God that you had changed batteries in it. You were forced to finish what Sehun started or you would never fall a sleep. The boy, however, was standing in the kitchen, smirking, but he too felt the effects of teasing you. His pants were too tight. He would fix it himself this time but that didn't mean you were free. Sehun knew he could get you tomorrow, having to just point out a gash on his torso. Laying in bed, the both of you took care of your problems, thought traveling to the other as pleasure laid quiet in the night. 

-

You weren't much happier when you woke up the next morning. Sure, he would tease you all the time but he had never been like that, so forward. You didn't change as you got out of bed, too hungry. Sehun was still asleep and you thought about checking on him, maybe he didn't remember yesterday and it wouldn't be awkward. Knocking lightly, you heard a groan and some shuffling, before the door cracked open. Sehun glared at you with one eye open, black hair a mess. His lips had a natural pout but it was intensified now, making you smile without thinking. 

“Hungry?”he nodded, following you like a puppy. He hadn't asked about yesterday but you still couldn't stop thinking about it. 

After taking painkillers, was his head resting against the table, locks displayed. You giggled lowly, starting with breakfast. The boy fell asleep again, only waking up when you poked his shoulder. There was something very domestic about eating with him,even if he looked slightly out of it. 

“So you’ll help me with the last right?”Sehun’s question had you raising an eyebrow.”You know..we never got to check if I had some more bruises..”

He didn't look up at you but you saw the ghost of a smirk roll over his lips, proud over his smoothness at reminding you about last night. Even if you fought it, the blush still managed to grow over your cheeks. That smug little shit. 

“I feel sore on my side…”you didn't have a chance at telling him no, the boy was already dragging his shirt of before you could breathe. Sehun flexed, thriving in your parted lips and wide eyes. He knew exactly what he was doing.”..here..”

Pointing at a small purple mark, he smirked. Your gaze stayed too long on his chest, giving you away. 

“That’s not even a bruise!”

“Well it hurts!” Sehun pouted at you, leaning back to stare you down with dark orbs. Tension filled the air and the sexual frustration you felt made you annoyed. 

“S-Sehun I..I don't even know what you want me to do!”your mind was chanting to ignore him and his body but he wasn't making it easy, arching in ways to show off his assets. 

“You never had a problem helping me before! Why is it different now!?” the two of you weren't shouting but your voices had risen in tone, disbelief dripping from them.”What did I do? You always say you’re unfazed by me so why not know?”

He stood up rather fast, stalking towards you as you tried stuttering out an answer, which you didn't have. Why was it so hard looking at him when you had seen him almost naked before? Was it because of yesterday? Or were you going crazy? His arms caged you against the same counter as before, only you were facing him now. Sehun stopped right before your lips, breath fanning over them in a teasing way. You felt weak, desperate for him to touch you, to do anything.

“Why?”his voice was so low, licking up your body, standing just out of your reach.”Tell my why Y/n..”

You lost it, arms circling around his neck as lips clashed together. The kiss was a mess, passionate, but a mess. Sehun brought you closer, pressing himself against you until there was no more room. You could feel his bulge, stiff by your thigh. His mouth worked hard, electing low moans between kisses from you. When you had to breathe, were you panting with swollen lips, but Sehun couldn't wait. His lips went for your neck, kissing and sucking at your skin until marks formed. Hands moved all over you, stroking and kneading, before they rested under your butt, urging you to jump. He stood in between your legs, kissing your lips, as he sneaked his hands under your shirt. You didn't wear a bra so he instantly felt your breasts, pinching your nipples. His actions made your back arch, fingers pulling his hair, making him groan.

“Let’s get this of kitten..”Sehun’s voice was strained, sweat forming by his hairline when he grabbed your shirt, pulling it over your head.”..better..”

The cold air made goosebumps form on your skin, his gaze piercing you. Lips attached to you again, leaving bruises down your throat and collarbone, until he got to your chest. Moans left you, an ache and wetness build between your legs. Your hips started grinding down on the counter to get some relief, nails clawing down on Sehun’s back. The boy groaned against your skin, cock hardening  so much it started to become uncomfortable. As his mouth left your nipple, a string of saliva formed, glistening in the light. Your chest was heaving up and down, eyes hazy as you watched him stare up at you through his eyelashes. His orbs were so dark, it was like staring into space. 

“I can do more right kitten? I can touch more?”you nodded, head falling back when his fingers pressed against your clothed heat. Your sleeping pants were stained because you didn't wear underwear and maybe you would have been embarrassed if you weren't so needy. 

Sehun grabbed the waistband of your clothing, dragging them down from your body, which was more than willing to move for him. Your wetness dropped down on the counter, making him groan, fingers digging into your thighs. He kissed your lower stomach, digits slipping through your folds, teasing your hole. A whine left your lips at his teasing, eyes closing just after you saw his smirk. You were so wet and he was not doing enough, just watching you squirm. 

“S-Sehun...please!”mewling out your pleading had him almost growling in arousal. Sehun loved the way you looked, how your body moved for him. He couldn't wait to be inside of you. 

“Please what kitten?”tears formed in your eyes, his smug voice driving you insane.

“Please touch me!”never did you think you would be begging your roommate to fuck you but when his fingers finally dipped inside of you, could you cry. He moved in and out of you, stretching you open as an orgasm grew in your stomach. You never got to fall over the edge, his now slick fingers left you before your relief came. Tears fell from your eyes, your pleasure simmering away.”No!”

“I’m sorry kitten but I want you to come one my cock..”his fingers dipped inside your mouth, smiling as you weakly sucked on them, tasting yourself. Now, were his touches softer, lips kissing away the falling tears.”...I’ll make you feel good again, I promise..”

Sehun’s voice was smooth, falling easy from him as he left feather kisses on your face. Your body, however, was still stiff and fiery from the lost orgasm. He watched your haze, smiling, hands moving to undo his pants. They dropped with his underwear, cock springing free and hitting his stomach. A groan left him at the feeling and your eyes widened at his size. His member was big, head red and leaking precum. It made you whine again, hole clenching around nothing. 

“I’ll be right back kitten, just need a condom..”he was about to leave but your hands grabbed him, keeping him there, too needy to even wait for him. Sehun raised an eyebrow at you, wondering if you didn't want to do it anymore.”..Kitten?”

“D-don't..don't go get it, just do it..”a smirk took over his confused expression, hands spreading your thighs a little more. 

“You sure kitten? We need to be safe..”he purred by your ear, kissing right under it.  

“I’m on the pill…”Sehun hummed and unbeknownst to you, had he positioned himself by your hole. His head slipped inside of you, making your walls squeeze around him and him groan loudly.”Sehun.”

You moaned out, arms bringing him closer to you as he bottomed out. Your whole body was shaking, his scent inclosing you. Sehun felt you clamp down on him, breath stuttering out as you practically dragged him deeper in. 

“K-kitten relax a little..”he was your anchor, the only thing you could hold on to. The counter under you wasn't cold anymore or your body didn't feel it at least.”..God so tight..”

His movements were slow, cock rubbing you on the inside so deliciously. Moans and skin sound echoed through your kitchen as the day proceeded, breathes turning to pants. Your denied orgasm was rebuilding fast, hands clenching at his wide shoulders. Sehun licked up your neck, speeding up until he was pounding into you, chasing release. Your back arched, black dots forming in your vision. He had you on the edge, so close and when his fingers rubbed over clit, were you cuming. Your orgasm was so strong it forced him to stop moving, walls pulsating around his cock. With a slack jaw, were you letting out sinful sounds, heart hammering in your chest. Sehun growled one last time, fingers prolonging you pleasure as his other hand wrapped around his cock, moving up and down. He came with a low moan, cum shooting out and landing on your stomach. Your back fell against the could wood, gaze out of it. 

“I like you..”Sehun murmured by you ears, slightly out of breath, forehead resting on yours.

“What? You do?”being in your post orgasm state made you believe you heard him incorrectly, even if he was so close. 

“Why do you think I got in so much trouble? It was so you would come get me.”a small gasp left you, hand hitting his naked chest. 

“That’s a really stupid way to get my attention!”he giggled at you, bringing you to him, until his lips rested by yours.

“But it worked, didn't it?”

[dabis-azure-songstress]

You Set Me on Fire (Bakugo x Reader)

Pairing: Jealous!Bakugo x Fem!Reader (Reader will use my OC’s quirk, but it’s all you, babes ;))

WARNING: NSFW, swearing, Bakugo losing his temper and raging with a feisty Todoroki, crossdressing

Summary: Bakugo’s girlfriend, Y/N, seems to be getting a bit too close with a certain peppermint boy and it really gets under Bakugo’s skin when he’s trying to train and spar.

My characters are always aged up and are around their twenties in the events of this story. I hope you enjoy and feel free to make a request or send me some asks!

NSFW below the line. Continue at own risk.

The day was calm, despite being an extremely warm Summer day. You had just finished training hard and sparring with Todoroki, which had ultimately resulted in quite a burn to one of your hands. Shoto had instantly felt terrible of course, not meaning to have caused such a nasty burn from a bit of his lack of control. He’d gotten extremely worked up and caught off-guard as you’d nearly struck him with a lightning bolt up close that was even hotter than his or Dabi’s flames. The two of you currently sat on a bench to the side, watching the other spars and small chit-chatting back and forth. You were both pretty quiet as opposed to the rest of the class and your boyfriend’s fiery personality. “I…I’m sorry that my carelessness caused you agony.”

You laughed softly. “Don’t worry about it, Shoto. You didn’t mean to. I’m honestly glad you took fighting me seriously. It made me feel good about myself.” He nodded slowly at you, gently taking your burnt hand into his cooler right one softly. It had taken you months to get close to him after you arrived at the class and get about as close to him as Midoriya. It helped that you weren’t seeking him out just to fangirl and try to hook up, even though he was quite attractive in his own right.

“This might help…at least a little bit. You should still go get it checked and taken care of though…” You smiled. “Thank you, Shoto. I will don’t worry.” Then you felt it. That stifling energy coming toward the both of you. “What are you two doing?” Bakugo asked and folded his arms as he eyed you and Todoroki’s conjoined hands.

“What the hell are you holding hands with my girl for, Half and Half?” Here it comes. He was starting to pick up into a rage like a tornado gathering debris. Shoto stood up slowly. “What does it matter? She was obviously enjoying sitting with me and holding my hand until you came over here and ruined it.” Shoto teased.

“SHE’S MY FUCKING GIRLFRIEND, YOU ICY HOT BASTARD! YOU KEEP YOUR DAMN HANDS TO YOURSELF!” Bakugo snarled. It was your turn. You stood up slowly to try to explain the situation and show him your hand, but Bakugo pushed you gingerly out of the way. That was it. You’d had enough.

“SHOTO! KATSUKI! STOP IT! RIGHT NOW! You want to fight? Let’s do it.” The boys pregnant paused and stared at you. “I want to fight him. Not you, Y/N.” Bakugo retorted. “I don’t care. Shoto is my friend, and I’m going to put you in your place. Shoto didn’t do anything wrong. He was trying to cool down my burnt hand as a nice gesture for causing it in the first place. But you won’t shut up and listen, you big dummy.”

“You’re making a big mistake. You know I won’t back down if you challenge me.” Bakugo graveled, gloved fists clenching. “Even if you do beat me, I won’t regret it. I’m going to fight you with everything I fucking have, Katsuki.” Todoroki grabbed your hand carefully as you pulled your glove back on. “Wait. You shouldn’t fight him with your hand already burned like that…” You pushed his hand from yours gently and he sighed in defeat. There was no way he could cool your temper.

“Fine. You’re on. Want to make this interesting? You beat me, and I’ll do whatever you want. And vice versa. But you definitely won’t beat me.” your boyfriend barked. “You’re on, asshole,” you growled, tired of his cocky attitude. “Alright, you asked for it.” You followed him carefully to the field.

Your mind began to sift rapidly through different thoughts as you two faced each other with a fair number of yards between. You were scared and your stomach was churning. Was this really a go- You stopped your thoughts immediately and shifted to analyzing the situation. Bakugo was fast, he hit hard, and he was good at range. He was dangerous up close and further away. Your lightning was a bit slow to fire off beside the palm shots and you knew he knew that. You always had to stay a few steps ahead of him because that’s what he was going to try to do to you.

He’s going to try to come at me fast, hit hard, and he’s right-handed. He knows about my El-whip and everything I can do. I have to catch him by surprise. You two watched each other carefully as you both slid into your stances and you flicked the battery on the back-right side of your belt on for energy. Then the battle began in a blur. You noticed quickly the ball of light he was beginning to form in his hands as he slowly outstretched them. “Shit.” You cursed lowly.

You pulled your hands behind your back and lowered your head, eyes shut tightly to defend from the light. Bakugo fired off the Stun Grenade and at the last second you forced your hands forward in front of you, producing a periwinkle colored barrier called Galvanic Covalence. You knew he was quickly closing the distance between you now as you focused on blocking the Stun Grenade he’d fired at you, but he wouldn’t dare chance an explosion by attacking the hazardous barrier you’d formed. He’s coming…I’ve got to reabsorb the energy.

You pulled the barrier down and swiftly prepared for the brunt of his attacks. Bakugo had moved close and personal exactly like you’d predicted. “You’re going down now!” he howled. Shaking, you did your best to push yourself back and out of the way as he swiped at you with hard punches and mini explosions. It was quickly beginning to really piss him off. I’ve got to do something and use my battery wisely.

“That stupid Icythot will never think about touching you again!” he growled and then you saw it, he was reeling back for an AP Shot: Auto-Cannon. I’ve only got one chance at this…He wouldn’t dare attack my barrier because it’d explode…So maybe I can use my L-Shot or barrier up close to turn his own firepower against him. Bakugo noticed something didn’t seem right as you started running straight for him and into his shot, but he still wasn’t surrendering. “What the fuck are you doing!? You better move your ass unless you want to be burnt!” You shook as you felt the heat of the blast barreling toward you.

You only had one chance, or he was seriously going to harm you. “Fuck. Hey, babe. Boom.” You smiled. You placed your hand in front of you and his eyes widened as you formed the ball of periwinkle lightning into your palm before you released it straight into the front of his blast. “Are you crazy!? FUCK!” The lightning collided with his explosion and detonated an even larger one, both of you trying to get out of the area but it enveloped you both.

---

Your ears were ringing, and your vision blurred as you pulled yourself up slowly from the ground beneath your stomach, arms quivering weakly and from the adrenaline rush. Obviously, Katsuki hadn’t used his full power and neither had you. You had gotten extremely giddy though, so maybe you’d used more than you thought. You looked around to see the surrounding area had been shielded protectively by a familiar wall of ice and Bakugo was behind you, sitting tiredly and holding his head. He looked pretty beat up, covered in gashes and dirt.

You wobbled as you pulled yourself to your feet, ringing still in your ears and you slowly made your way to him. “FUCKING IDIOT! WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING!? COULD’VE KILLED US BOTH!” he shouted as he slowly pulled himself to his feet. “I was serious…and I wanted you to see me.” You whined. “Babe…Y/N…I do see you. You’re amazing all around. I was taking our fight seriously too. I know you’re amazingly strong and more than worthy enough to go toe to toe with me. You really caught me off-guard though. Geez.”

You teared up softly and grabbed his hand, wincing badly. You’d forgotten all about Todoroki’s burn mark during the fight, but not the reason you were fighting. “Shit, did you hurt your hand?” He swiftly pulled at your glove, revealing the swollen and angry red mark. “You really did burn your hand fighting that half and half bastard, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. But he didn’t mean to and he was trying to just help me get the burning to stop when he was holding my hand, you freaking numb-skull.”

“Don’t call me that! You’re just as hard-headed!”

“Well, you wouldn’t listen, asshole!”

He growled again and you stared at him. “You owe me an apology, you know. You know I only love and have eyes for you…” You saw his jaw clench and he huffed loudly. “I know! Just…shut up! I got jealous, ok!? You’re only supposed to hold my hand!” You blushed furiously and giggled softly. “Let’s go get cleaned up, Y/N.”

“Wait! Who won?” You watched him sigh and lower his head slightly. “Let’s settle for a tie, and I’ll do whatever you want.” Your heart felt full. You hadn’t even won, and he was giving you your prize.

Todoroki did come to check on you along with a few others that had gathered to watch the spat. He even inquired whether Bakugo was alright, surprisingly. The two of you helped each other clean up and treat each other’s wounds before you both headed back to your shared apartment. Katsuki flipped the lights on as you both entered. “So, what would you like, ‘Suki?” you inquired, bumping into his back as he stopped to set his bag down.

“Mmph. Honestly, I’m so tired and hungry. I just want some damn food.” You laughed as he plopped down on the couch and you set to trying your best to make him a nice meal. “Sooo, what do you want?”

“Well…”

---

“Haven’t you hurt my pride enough today!? What the hell!? I am NOT coming out of this fucking bathroom! No way!” You giggled wildly from your spot on the bed. “Aw, c’mon ‘Suki baby. Please.” You purred. You heard a growl of frustration and possibly a noise that sounded like him hitting the wall. “Don’t you dare fucking laugh at me, you evil witch!”

You continued to laugh loudly until the door finally creaked open and you saw his spiky blonde head peek out, crimson eyes narrowing on you. “C’mon. All the way, babe. I want to see you~” He cursed loudly before he finally stepped out, smoothing the apron on top of the maid skirt carefully and entire face flushed. “How the fuck do you wear these underwear? I feel like my ass is trying to devour it.” he choked out shyly.

Your eyes widened as you stared at him. “You really put those on?”

“It was what you wanted as the deal…”

You giggled and felt extremely touched, standing to go investigate your boyfriend. You circled him slowly taking in the classic maid outfit and the shiny pair of Mary Jane heels on his feet. He shifted uncomfortably, cursing and grumbling lowly. You grabbed his hand and yanked him to the bed quickly. “H-HEY! Wait! I can’t fucking walk in these damn things!”

You pushed him back quickly, causing his skirt to ride up his thighs dangerously. “Oh baby, I can’t believe you really did this for me~”

“I-I love you…ok…?” he sighed, looking away very red.

“I love you too. Which is why I’m going to make this so worth your while.” He stared at you curiously as you pulled off his heels and began to trail kisses up his leg. “Hey. I’m not some little bitch, y’know.”

You snickered and pulled his skirt up higher, revealing the gorgeous pink lace of his thong. Poor Katsuki couldn’t bear his embarrassment any longer and covered his face with an arm. Your face burned up worse than your bandaged hand. The tiny undergarment was barely able to handle all of him, but it sure looked sexy~

He moaned softly as you gripped him through the delicate fabric. You peeked up at, meeting one bright eye watching you intently. Pulling the panties down, you sucked him into your mouth slowly and deeply. Another soft moan. Gently you massaged the base of him and sucked more into your mouth, coaxing him to full engagement.

“Shit. I’m glad I got those off you before you were too hard. That would’ve been even more comfortable.”

“Damn right.”

You returned to his length and sucked the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue sensually and heatedly. He groaned out in pleasure and twisted a hand into your hair tightly. “Oh, come on. You can do better than that. You kinky girl. Suck it like the fucking slut you are. I want to see your poor little cheeks stretched so wide and those beautiful e/c eyes just begging me to fuck your little throat.” You moaned around him as you swallowed him down, nearly gagging from his width, but you relaxed and held yourself together.

Then you looked up at him. He was leaned up on his elbows watching you with that fiery gaze of his full of searing lust before his hand in your hair began to guide your mouth on his length furiously. “Fuck. Your mouth feels so damn good,” he growled. He thrust his hips into your mouth violently and caused you to drool before he pulled you off with a slick ‘pop’. “Alright. I’m getting out of this outfit and then I’m going to fuck you so goddamn hard, your adorable little pussy and mind won’t be able to handle it. You better be naked and in position or I’m going to rip your fucking clothes off you.”

You licked your nips and nodded, following his instructions before he returned his attention to you, spread eagle in your bed. “Now that’s what I like to see. Such a good girl.” His body covered yours gently as he captured your lips feverishly. He didn’t even break it as he pushed fully into your silky and dripping depths. It was you, gasping for air and moaning at the thrill of being stretched wide.

“K-Katsuki…” you whined. “Hold onto me. I’m not feeling very patient right now. Enjoy the ride, babe.” he smirked darkly. Bakugo began to thrust wildly and deeply, and all you could do was find purchase with your nails in his back and moan loudly. “Shit. You’re so fucking hot, babe. So fucking tight. Dammit. Your sexy pussy is swallowing me whole.” You moaned and twisted your hands into his hair as he kissed you again.

You were beginning to feel yourself reeling toward the edge of a marvelous orgasm before he pulled away from you, groaning at the loss of contact and cock twitching roughly. You whimpered loudly. “Hands and knees. I’m not done with you yet!” You shifted quickly before a loud smack resounded through the room. You moaned out as an ass cheek burned.

Cupping your chest, he slammed into you roughly once again. New position hitting your inner walls in new sensations. Moans ripped themselves from your throat as his hands forcefully pounded you back against his pelvis, sure to leave bruises the following day. “Such a good little slut. Just let me take care of you like no one else can. I’ll be sure to fill you up so full. You won’t be able to walk for a week.” he snarled into your hair and ear.

You were spiraling toward your end once again, face entirely flushed and both of your bodies sheened with sweat from the vigorous fucking. “K-K-Katsuki…ngh…. I’m going to…”

“Fuck. Do it. Me too.”

You shuddered violently as the force of your orgasm hit you like a freight train. The cry that left your lungs was strangled and Bakugo roared loudly as your body clamped down around him. He felt extremely hot and lost himself in a cry of his own as your orgasm milked his own hot and milky release as he bottomed out. You huffed in relief as your cheek hit the bedding below, butt still in air and Bakugo struggling to continue to hold himself up. You were way too spent to even manage to lay correctly.

Bakugo sighed comfortably before he withdrew himself and you felt the bed move. You were already dozing by the time he came back to scoop you up and nestle you beneath the covers against his chest. “Mmm, ‘Suki…” you mumbled contentedly. “Fuck. You really do keep me in place. Ya got me fucking pussy-whipped and I don’t want it any other way.” The two of you chuckled softly and the happy rumbles in his chest were soothing.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“Mmmmmm…?” you lulled.

“Good job today. I love you and I’ll try not to get so jealous next time, but don’t think I’m just going to let anyone fucking touch you without my permission.” You hummed softly in acknowledgment before you both allowed yourself to finally rest after the draining day.

[prorevenge]

Wanna harass my girlfriend?

TL;DR at the bottom

Back in high school I was dating my current GF. Shes gotten better throughout the years but in high school she had bad anxiety, Im talking fear of public speaking so bad she can't present in front of people at all , shes overly concerned with her appearance and what others think of her and a bunch of other stuff. Now theres this girl who has been harassing my GF (we'll call her becca) since day one of high school for no reason, we will call her FB(use your imagination for what it stands for),

It all started on the first day of school at an assembly, while a person was giving an important speech FB and her friends were being obnoxious and loud, Becca then turned around and very politely asked them to keep it down, FB then proceeded to verbally attack her and Becca just said stfu no one cares and turned back around, FB proceeds to be an obnoxious prick the rest of the assembly by shit talking her and kicking her chair, FB and Becca lucky had no classes together as Becca is in all honors and FB is in all 'slow' classes. Nonetheless after school when FB would see my GF she would harass her and call her names and shit.

Fast forward a year and there has probably been 15 separate incidents of verbal assaults on Becca from FB, I met her and we quickly hit it off and started dating, about 1 month goes by when me and my GF are hugging after school when we encounter FB, FB being well a FB quickly started talking shit saying shit like ew and go somewhere else and insulting me, particularly I didn't care and i said was "Can you stfu? If you don't wanna see it don't look or leave" now at the time i didn't know then history between my GF and FB. FB starts to insult my girlfriend and where as my girlfriend had always just never acknowledged her I was different, I went off on FB and we were in a verbal altercation for probs 3 minutes before my GF snapped and insulted her. The insults then went from focused on me to her. I finally said something that shut her up and she was silent. I could tell my GF was very upset and as we were walking away FBs friends came out of the bathroom and insulted her and that was the straw that broke the camels back

My Girlfriend had an anxiety attack for a couple minutes till I was able to calm her down. That combined with other unrelated events were pushing her towards a mental breakdown, lucky I was able to prevent it. This enraged me, during the fight she was constantly threatening me with acts of harm and it really did seem like she was about to hit me. I used this to my advantage.

Not wanting to cause Becca any harm I did this alone, I 'accidentally' tripped her in the hall. I did it in such away that it looked like an accident. She instantly started getting up in my face, shoving me and verbally assaulting me, I merely grabbed her hands and pushed them away as she tried to push me. This was all I needed to get her to hit me. She started punching me and I kinda let her. After she punched me several times I took her down and put her in a headlock and pinned her down till the hall monitor got there and took her to the deans office with me.

Me never once hitting her I got off scot free, however I wasn't done there, I knew my parents would press charges, I had a busted lip, a swollen eye and my nose was bleeding a little. Because there are cameras everywhere it was pretty much an open and shut case especially because I did nothing that deserved that kind of response and me pinning her was self defense, her family had to pay financial compensation for my injuries which also included headaches that lasted over a week as well as a fine. FB got charged with assault and battery but oh no, this wasn't over, this was just the beginning.

A while after, I think a month, FB being an idiot and probably forgetting that I would press charges again sees me and Immediately started attacking me because I got her charged with assault and battery. She did a little more damage this time, busting my nose and hitting my head against a wall giving me a minor concussion. She again got charged with assault and battery and even had to do a some time in jail or was on probation I cant remember. She also had to pay a hefty amount in compensation, I never knew the actual number but it was a lot more then before because my injuries were more severe. (Sorry if the legal details are vague but I was never really told anything more then she got charged with assault and battery, had to pay fines)

The school responded this time by forcing her to transfer to the other school in the district, this was great news not because she's gone but because of how horrible that school is to 'poor' people. To understand this my school was the 'poor' middle class school and the one FB was transferred to was the 'rich' upper class school. This school was known for bullying people of middle class especially those that are female and FB was just that. I found out from an old friend that goes there that she was harassed and bullied everyday till she graduated, thats 2.5 years of harassment.

tl;dr: girl was bullying and harassing my girlfriend for over a year and even caused her to have an anxiety attack and put her on the verge of a mental breakdown, so i got her charged with two accounts of assault and battery as well as getting her transferred to another school where she was bullied for two and a half years.

(source) (story by CampingStories)

[celestialvoid-fanfiction]

Our Last Moments, Together

Stiles and Scott have been taken by the Grave Digger and buried underground. The team has eight hours to find them.

Scene stealer, based on BONES season 2 episode 9.

Stiles let out a weak groan as he blinked his eyes open, his head pounding and the air hot filling his lungs as he drew in shallow breaths. His eyes were heavy as he blinked them open, the muffled sound of a radio reaching his ears. He could see the green glow of the car radio, his surroundings lit by the dull light of the overhead light.

He pushed himself upright, wincing at the searing pain that tore through his body. His hand shook as he lifted it to the back of his neck, feeling the tender, bruised skin and the swollen welt.

He turned off the radio and fell back against his seat, bursts of light filling his darkness as he tried to focus, tried to remember what had happened. He was investigating a case: two boys – Ethan and Aiden Steiner – were buried alive in a silo, held at ransom but their father had been too late.

There was a quiet groan from the back seat.

Stiles wheeled around, his eyes focused on the figure slumped in the back seat.

“Scott?” he gasped. He pushed himself out of his seat and climbed in between the front seats, looking at his friend. His heart lurched into his throat when he saw Scott’s leg; his shin had been torn open, blood soaking the leg of his pants. The metallic stench was sickening. “Scott, what happened to your leg?”

Scott let out another groan. He blinked his hazy eyes open, looking around. “Where—where are we?”

“We’re buried alive,” Stiles answered. “I think he got us.”

“Who?” Scott asked.

“The Grave Digger.”

  Derek pressed play on the voice message, the distorted voice ringing through the speaker.

“Stiles Stilinski and Scott McCall have been buried alive. Wire transfer eight million dollars to the following Grand Cayman account or they will suffocate to death. Upon receiving the wire transfer I will provide you with Stilinski and McCall’s G.P.S. coordinates. You have eight hours. This will be my last communication.”

“He learnt from the Steiner boys,” Derek said, his voice tense. “He got two of them. He cut the deadline in half.”

He glanced over to where Isaac set up his tablet, a timer set – eight hours from when Derek had gotten the message – and ticking down.

“But why is he demanding so much?” Lydia asked. “He’s always been so understanding about how much the person he’s demanding the money from can raise in the time given.”

“I don’t know,” Derek said. “All I know is Stiles was on his way to the library before heading home.”

“Scott went after him to tell him something,” Allison added.

“So what do we do?” Isaac asked.

“We keep investigating the case,” Derek answered. He turned to Isaac. “I need you to find out what it was Scott wanted to tell Stiles. Lydia, check the evidence again, see if there’s anything we might have overlooked.”

“What do I do?” Allison asked.

“Call Melissa,” Derek said. “Let her know what’s going on. I’ll call Stiles’ dad.”

  “Where are we?” Scott asked again, his unfocused eyes taking in their surroundings.

“Buried,” Stiles repeated. “Underground.”

“I don’t remember how I got here,” Scott said.

“I think the Grave Digger ran you down when you tried to stop him from taking ma and then pumped you full of drugs to ruin your short-term memory,” Stiles said.

“Same as Ethan Steiner.”

Stiles nodded.

Scott looked around at the interior of the car. “How long have we been down here?”

“I don’t know,” Stiles admitted. “Two hours, I think.”

“So let’s say this vehicle has twenty percent oxygen, two people…” Scott shook his head. “My brain’s not working.” He dragged his hand down his face. “If we started with twelve hours of air, we’ll be unconscious in ten,” he said. “After that, if no one pays the ransom, we’re…”

“Dead,” Stiles finished. “We’re going to be fine.”

Stiles pushed himself back into the front seat, grabbing his bag from the foot hole and emptying it on the passenger’s seat. He emptied his pockets and began to sort through what they had.

“Two bottles of water, a mini first-aid kit, ibuprofen, a digital camera with a backup battery, a book, some pens, and a cell phone with no battery,” he listed.

“Two,” Scott corrected, digging his phone out of his back pocket and passing it to Stiles.

“Two cell phones with no battery,” Stiles said, setting the phone down on the seat.

“And this.” Scott pulled a small vial out of his pocket.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow. “Perfume?”

“For Allison,” he explained. “Nothing says ‘I love you’ like perfume, right?”

Scott flinched, wincing.

“What’s wrong?” Stiles asked.

“My leg,” Scott wheezed, tears pricking his eyes.

Stiles shuffled back between the seats, helping Scott lift his foot onto the centre console.

“I think you might have compartment syndrome,” Stiles said, studying Scott’s leg.

“Is it terminal?” Scott asked. “I mean, within the next few hours?”

“No,” Stiles answered. “But it is going to get painful.”

“More painful than now?”

Stiles nodded. “Slip-into-shock-and-die painful.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about it?” Scott asked, the dull light casting shadows across his worried face.

“There is,” Stiles said. “But I’m not a doctor, Scott.”

“I know, but if anyone can do it, Stiles, it’s you.”

���It’s fifty-fifty, Scotty,” Stiles said. “If I do this, then I could send you into shock and kill you sooner.”

“The upside? Me not breathing doubles your survival time,” Scott said reassuringly.

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not interested in surviving that way.” He let out a measured breath. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it.”

“Can you walk me through what you’re going to do?” Scott asked. “So I can ready myself for it.”

“I’m going to make a long incision in the fascia and squeeze the blood out to release the pressure in your leg,” Stiles explained.

“How long is a ‘long incision’?” Scott asked. “Actually, don’t tell me.”

Stiles grabbed the book from the passenger’s seat and a pen, passing them back to Scott.

He didn’t have to be told what to do, he took the pen and tore a page from the book, hastily scribbling a note before folding it and slipping it into his pocket.

Stiles opened the mini med kit, finding bandages and gauze. He grabbed another pen, using his phone to smash the plastic to a sharp point. He rolled up Scott’s pant leg and poured some water over Scott’s leg, clearing away some of the dry blood.

“Wait,” Stiles carefully dug into Scott’s wound, pulling out a sliver of blood soaked, coloured aluminium.

“What’s that?” Scott asked.

“Evidence of what happened to you,” Stiles said, grabbing the book and setting it between the pages.

He shrugged off his jacket and rolled it up, sliding it beneath Scott’s ankle. He turned back to Scott.

“Ready?” he asked.

Scott pulled up his shirt, bunching it in his mouth and biting down into the fabric. He wound his arms around the arm rest and the cushioning of the back seat, digging his fingers in.

“It’ll be best if I do this fast and without empathy,” Stiles said. “And don’t try to fight passing out.”

Scott nodded.

Stiles let out a measured breath. He pressed the jagged edge of the broken pen against Scott’s leg, pushing down until it broke the skin.

Scott cried out, his screams muffled by the shirt in his mouth. Tears streamed down his face as Stiles tore open his leg, blood streaming from the wound. His cries died out as his eyes fluttered shut and his body fell limp against the car door.

  The blaring horn woke him with a start. He bolted upright with a gasp, wincing as throbbing pain flooded his head.

“Shit,” Stiles gasped, clutching a hand to his chest. He let out a heavy sigh. “Thank God, I didn’t kill you.”

Scott offered him a weak, reassuring smile. “How long was I unconscious?”

“A while,” Stiles answered. “How’s your leg?”

“Better.” His brow furrowed with confusion as he looked over the shoulder of the driver’s seat at Stiles. “What are you doing?”

“Hot-wiring the phone to the horn to give it enough of a charge that we can send a message,” Stiles explained.

“From underground?”

“We get radio reception,” Stiles pointed out, nodding towards the car radio. “Direct current of the 12-volt will burn out the circuits in a 4.2-volt cell phone in a microsecond unless I jury-rig a resistor. That might buy us just enough time to send a single burst transmission. Derek or my dad can trace it to the nearest cell phone relay tower.”

“Smart,” Scott said. “Where did you learn this stuff?”

“Parrish,” Stiles answered. He glanced over his shoulder with a panicked expression. “Please don’t tell my dad.”

Scott let out a quiet laugh. “Your secret’s safe with me.” He watched Stiles for a moment. “And what message shall we send, ‘Goodbye’? ‘Nice knowing you’?”

“What are we surrounded by?” Stiles asked, ignoring his question.

“Pain, despair, and a subsoil accumulation of agglutinate aridisols.,” Scott answered.

Stiles looked over his shoulder, levelling his gaze on Scott.

“Ash,” Scott reiterated. He grabbed a handful of the dirt that was scattered across the back seat and sniffed at it. “Hits of nitrogen and sulfur.”

“So, where are we?” Stiles prompted, turning his attention back to wiring the phone.

“Coal country,” Scott answered. “Virginia.”

“We need more than that,” Stiles said.

“Pass me the laser pen” Scott said.

Stiles reached over to the seat beside him and passed it back to Scott.

“We need benzophenone.”

“What?”

“Benzophenone,” Scott repeated. “It’s in soaps, plastic packaging, sunscreen.”

“We don’t have any sunscreen,” Stiles replied.

“The perfume,” Scott said, pointing to the vial on the passenger’s seat. “And the camera.”

Stiles passed them both back.

Scott used his teeth to pry open the perfume’s lid, pouring it into the handful of dirt he had cupped in his hand.

“It smells nice,” Stiles said.

Scott set the empty vial down and picked up the camera, switching it on. The camera whirred, the flash blinding as he took a photo of the handful of dirt. He looked at the photo displayed on the digital screen, straightening with excitement as he said, “I know where we are.”

“How fast’s your texting?” Stiles asked.

“Lightning quick,” Scott answered.

Stiles passed him back the hot-wired phone. “You have about four seconds to enter a message and hit speed dial. You ready?” Stiles asked, holding his palm against the worn leather of the car horn, waiting.

Scott drew in a deep breath, his thumbs over they keypad. “Ready.”

“Three, two, one.” Stiles slammed his hand down on the horn.

The baring sound filled the small space as Scott rapidly typed the message. The phone sparked, electricity crackling as the rancid smell of smoke burnt their nostrils.

Scott yelped as the current shocked his hands and the screen went black.

Stiles took his hand off the horn, the two of them staring at the dead phone. “Did… Did it send?” he asked.

“I think so,” Scott answered, uncertain.

  “Eight million?” John repeated, stunned. Fear and helplessness filled him. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

“I do,” Derek confessed. “My family has bonds and property. If we can’t find them in time, I’ll pay.”

“I can’t ask that of you,” John said.

“Stiles is my friend,” Derek said. “I want him back too.”

John opened his mouth to say something when Derek’s phone chimed.

He fished it out of his pocket. His heart skipped a beat when he read the name.

“It’s Stiles,” he called out, quickly writing out the message on the nearby whiteboard for everyone to see.

6   7   16     M1.4

“Does it mean anything to anyone?”

They shook their heads.

“They’re getting low on oxygen,” Lydia said. “Hypoxia leads to confusion.”

“It’s Stiles,” Derek interrupted, his voice firm. “It means something.”

“It’s not a G.P.S. location,” John said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Isaac said quietly.

“IT does matter,” Derek snapped.

The boy shook his head, pointing at the timer.

0.00.03

0.00.02

0.00.01

0.00.00

“We’re out of time,” Isaac rasped.

“No,” Derek growled. “We can’t give up.”

“Derek—" Lydia said quietly.

“This is Stiles and Scott we’re talking about. They can be idiots a lot of the time, but they worked out how to do this—” He gestured at the code on the whiteboard. “You think they didn’t they somehow found a way to extend their air supply? I’m not giving up until we find them.”

“Who was it meant to get to?” Allison asked, her eyes focused on the code.

“Stiles’ phone to mine,” Derek answered. “So, it was meant for me?”

“But it means nothing to you?” Allison asked.

Derek shook his head.

“What if it wasn’t Stiles texting?” Isaac asked.

“It was Scott,” John offered.

“So, it’s meant for Allison,” Lydia said.

“But it’s numbers,” Allison said. “So, it’s meant for Lydia.”

“Scott would have written poetry for Allison.”

Lydia stared at the code, her jade eyes misted with thought. “It’s not math,” she said. “Six, seven, sixteen: carbon, nitrogen, and sulfur on the periodic table. They’re buried in coal-rich soil.”

“Keep going,” Derek encouraged.

“The mineral components in coal are all the same. It’s the organic components that provide a unique fingerprint. They’re called macerals. They fluoresce at different levels. A reflectance of 1.4 is quite rare, suggesting a high concentration of inertinite.”

“Tell me you know what that means,” Derek pleaded.

Lydia’s eyes lit up. “I know where they are.”

  Stiles slumped against his seat, skin soaked with sweat. His lips trembled, hot air dancing across his lips. His eyes were growing heavy and his vision as blurring. He felt lethargic, his body aching as he pulled his shirt up and wiped the sweat and dirt away from his face.

He grabbed the broken pen he had used to operate on Scott and climbed into the back seat.

“What are you doing?” Scott asked, watching Stiles pull down the flap in the centre seat that opened up into the boot.

“Hoping for a miracle,” Stiles whispered as he reached into the darkness. “Don’t talk. Save your breath.”

His hands patted the old carpet until his fingers brushed up against something solid. ‘Thank God’, he mouthed as he reached further into the boot and pulled the spare tyre forward. He grabbed the broken pen and slammed it into the side of the tyre, grunting as he strained to pierce the thick rubber.

There was a quiet hiss.

Stiles pulled the pen out, listening to the air that rushed out of the punctured tyre.

Stiles and Scott both leaned towards it, drawing in breaths as relief filled their body.

“That’s not going to last us,” Scott rasped. “Why prolong the inevitable?”

“Derek will find us,” Stiles whispered.

“You have a lot of faith in him,” Scott said.

“Not faith,” Stiles replied. “I’ve seen what he can do. I know he’ll find us.”

“We’re buried underground, running out of air, we have no idea if our message got out there, let along if anyone understood it; what you have is faith,” Scott said.

Stiles couldn’t help but smile a bit.

Scott nodded to the punctured spare tyre. “How long will that ask?”

“Long enough for me to try one last thing,” Stiles said. “But it’ll kill us.”

“What is it?” Scott asked.

“The air bags.”

“They aren’t actually full of air,” Scott pointed out.

“I know. I’m going to use them to blow our way out of here,” Stiles said. He climbed back into the front seat.

“Using the explosives from the air bags? That could defiantly kill us.”

“So will doing nothing,” Stiles pointed out.

  “I’m scared to ask where you learnt this,” Scott said.

“Parrish,” Stiles answered. “He was int eh bomb squad before he got a transfer.”

“So, what’s going to happen?” Scott asked hesitantly.

“I’m not really an explosives expert but the dash might shape the charge enough to blow out the windshield,” Stiles answered. “If we’re less that four feet below the surface, the charge could blow is to freedom.”

“And if we’re buried more than four feet beneath the surface?” Scott asked.

Stiles hesitated for a second before answering, “Then the concussion will turn out brains to jelly.”

Stiles tore a page out of the novel before passing it back to Scott again. They were both silent as they wrote their letters, folding them up and shoving them into their pockets.

“Try and get as far away from the explosion as possible,” Stiles said, watching in the rear-view mirror as Scott carefuly moved his leg, laying himself out across the back seat. Stiles set the explosive on the windscreen.

“Care to join me?” Scott said, jokingly holding his hand out to Stiles.

Stiles chuckled as he climbed into the back seat again. He reached into the front seat and picked up the wires.

“So, this is it?” Scott whispered.

Stiles looked down at the wires in his hands, tears welling in his eyes. “This is it.”

“You should get in the boot,” Scott said, taking the wires from Stiles’ trembling hands. “You’ll be safer in there.”

Stiles shook his head. He looked at Scott, tears trailing sown his cheeks. “Scott, you’re my brother. So, if you’re going to do this…” he shuffled closer, setting his hand on Scott’s. “…you’re going to have to take me with you.”

Scott fought back tears as Stiles pulled him closer, hugging his friend one last times.

Scott detonated the charge.

The last thing he remembers is the sound of muffled soft rock on the radio before the thundering bang tore through him, agony flooding his head. There was a deafening rumble as dirt flooded through the broken windscreen, the weight bearing down on them.

Stiles fought the instinct to fight back, trying his best to hold his breath as the darkness crashed over him.

It felt as if his lungs were consumed by a raging inferno, the jagged claws of firebirds tearing at the tissue as they tried to dig their way out of his chest. His pulse thundered in his ears, deafening. He tried to move his body, but it was no use; the weight bearing down on him was too much.

His body grew weak, his lips trembling as he fought to hold onto his breath.

Finally, he let go.

He felt the tension fade away as the darkness consumed him.

  “Stiles…”

The voice seemed to drift about in the nothingness. The deep, husky voice seemed so familiar, so soothing.

“Stiles, open your eyes. Please, open your eyes.”

Stiles let out a weak groan, coughing up the dust and ash that filled his lungs. Strong arms held up upright as he slowly blinked his eyes open to the glaring sunlight.

Slowly, his vison came into focus, looking up at the man that held him.

He had a square jaw that was darkened by stubble and wore an old black leather jacket that was covered in dust. He ran his hand through his thick, dark hair, trying to tame the mess that was tousled by the wind. His fingers raked his hair away from his face, exposing his pale green eyes.

Derek.

Stiles let a sigh of relief fall past his lips.

“Scott,” he muttered, straining to look around.

Allison and Isaac were nearby, holding onto Scott he coughed up lungfuls of dust.

“He’s okay,” Derek reassured him. “Paramedics are right behind us.”

“He needs a hospital,” Stiles rasped.

“And so do you,” Derek replied.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said dismissively.

“You’re going to hospital,” Derek said with finality.

Stiles reluctantly submitted, letting his body weaken in Derek’s arms. He looked across the dusty ground at Scott.

He was alive.

They’d made it out alive.

  Stiles jumped at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him. He spun around to see Derek standing a few feet away with his hands buried in his pockets and an unamused expression on his face.

“I went to see you in the hospital, they said you discharged yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Stiles lied.

“No, you’re not,” Derek said.

“The doctors pumped me full of painkillers and antibiotics. I’m fine,” Stiles said. “I need to get back to work.”

“You need to rest,” Derek argued.”

“This guy’s still out there, Derek. He’s not going to stop,” Stiles snapped, turning to glare at Derek.

“And we’ll stop him,” the man promised. “We’ll start tomorrow. All of us.”

Stiles turned away from him, letting his shoulders sag as he let out a defeated sigh. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.

“I can’t… I can’t sleep,” he admitted.

Derek took a step closer. “I thought they gave you something for that?”

“No, I mean, every time I close my eyes I feel like I’m back in that car, except…”

“Except what?” Derek asked.

“Except this time, you’re not coming; this time you don’t find me in time,” he said. He couldn’t bring himself to look Derek in the eye, his mind racing as he began to ramble, “You know, when you’re drowning, you don’t actually inhale until right before you black out. It’s called voluntary apnoea. It’s like no matter how much you’re freaking out, the instinct to not let any water in is so strong that you won’t open your mouth until you feel like your head’s exploding. Then, when you finally do let it in, that’s when it stops hurting. It’s not scary anymore. It’s actually kind of peaceful.”

“Hey,” Derek whispered, crouching beside Stiles and levelling his gaze with his. “I’ll always find you,” he promised.

Stiles smiled weakly.

“Come home with me,” Derek said softly.

Stiles blinked in shock. “What?”

“You can sleep at my place tonight,” Derek said. “That way, when you open your eyes, I’ll be there.”

“Really?” Stiles asked.

A sweet smile lifted Derek’s lips. “Really.”

[AO3]

[clawabiding]

Hakon Katlasch

(CW: violence, boners, some nsfw content)

Breathe, he told himself. Breathe!

At a certain point, shock and trauma reduce the body’s ability to perform its basic autonomic functions. Respiration is the first to go, but it’s the pyramid of failures to follow that stills the aether and invites death. Most often, something vital to life breaks in the living body long before this point, some mechanism key to existence is pulped or mulched or crushed or split and it isn’t a matter of an overwhelmed system grinding to a halt, it’s an abrupt stop. An immediate end. The conscious mind simply has to catch up. 

It was a blessing and a curse that Hakon, built as he was, could take a tremendous amount of battery before he lost consciousness. It let him survive these moments through rote and practice, dedicating what little awareness remained in his beating-swollen brain to the manual control of his lungs and respiratory system. Even as darkness welled up around his mind, threatening to swallow up all that remained, he could will every last fiber of himself toward a singular goal: breathe.

And breathe he did, slowly pumping the bruised bellows of his lungs until the fire of mind grew hot enough to tell him where he was. Thanalan. Ul’dah. Near the Gate of the Sultana. An alley. The floor of said alley. As memory came crawling back, nursed to life by the cooling cobbles beneath his tortured muzzle and swaddled in the chilly evening air, something molten and furious welled up the Hrothgar’s belly. 

Anger is good kindling. It starts a flame, can even sustain it for a short while, but fury burns hot and burns out and you’re left with ash and ash alone. Fury got the Hrothgar halfway to his feet before the blanket of pain, all tangled with the spurs agony, fell across his shoulders and he sagged to one knee. Consciousness flagged and might’ve, were he not so used to the liminal place between awareness and darkness, brought him back down to the cobbles. Instead, he wavered and waited, hand braced against something hard and splintered, either post or box, he was without the faculties to know which. 

Eventually, his eyes acknowledged the low light of nearby street lamps. Dizziness and lethargy made his blurry vision swim and his aching head throb, adding to the list of maladies he was trying desperately to inventory. When these spells ended, he drew himself up and took a few moments where the most pressing matter was simply remaining upright. Then, after a brief inspection of the worst of his injuries and the conclusion there wasn’t anything so broken it wouldn’t heal on its own, he limped his way to the greater thoroughfare. 

It wasn’t late enough that streets of Ul’dah were quiet. This far from the Exchange and the Adventurer’s Guild limited the number of merchants and their wily marks, bawds and their eager johns, but not the number of people on their way to become this or exactly that. Hakon knew he looked awful because even the busy evening folk were gawking at his mangled state. He made the decision to move toward the Steps of Thal and the Gladiator’s Guild, where such rough and tumble sights were not so uncommon. 

Passing a young woman clad in something Thavnairian -- and inappropriately breezy for the chilly evening -- the Hrothgar briefly lamented the slim chances of unpaid companionship in his disarray. When his business was done, perhaps he’d have time and gil for the sort of massage that would slake the many needs of his battered form. Something healing, with steamed towels and hot mouths more inspired by his gil than squeamish about his sorry appearance. The thought made him frown.

Between the daydream and his nearness to the Coliseum, he couldn’t help but remember a time when his fights, win or lose, ended with a talented chirurgeon and a throng of fans curious to see a Hrothgar up close. At the time, the “fans” of his losing matches were of a notably lesser quality than those of his triumphs, but still satisfying, and his healers less proficient, but still skilled, and never were the losses as sorry as waking alone in a cold alley, on the brink of nothingness. How brazen and proud he was back then, reluctant to partake of beautiful luxuries if they were anything less than perfect. Memories slid to the foreground of these thoughts: a miqo’te with lashes so long they tickled his stomach; a hyur with dark and oiled skin and hair like queen’s mane; a roegadyn -- a Sea Wolf, she called herself -- with dimples as deep as the scars on her knuckles and an all-too-fascinating accent.  

Now, in addition to his ever increasing list of maladies, he was hard enough to make the subligar creak when he walked. He entertained thoughts of abandoning his current plan and scraping together the coin for a quick romp behind the Quicksand. It would clear his head and his pipes, but it would certainly sap him of what remained of the evening’s conviction. A day of rest might give his assailant time to relocate. That wouldn’t do. Hakon kept on his path until the Gladiator’s Guild and the Coliseum were behind him, forgotten as slowly as his memories of fame. 

Half an hour later, Hakon stood in the saloon-style doorway of the mostly-empty dive, scanning the few faces who’d chose a place like Dry Sagolii over a more respectable tavern. It didn’t take long to find his prey, who sat among his Hellsguard peers with his back to the door. Their raucous laughter brought a spike of intensity to Hakon’s slowly fading headache, which was the perfect onus to get this started.

The Dry Sagolii was a small place and it took barely three strides to cross from the door to the table where the Hellsguard sat. The two seated in front of his prey were just taking notice of Hakon when he planted a hand hard on Bold Caldera’s shoulder. Caldera was broad and heavy set with little hair on his head and a lot of hair on his face. Despite being as pink as the sky over a setting sun, the color immediately drained from the roegadyn.

“Cald,” rumbled Hakon, his voice as dry as the desert where the bar took its name, “Tell your friends to fly, we need to have words. Business.”

At this, the first of the pair, a tall woman -- taller than Hakon -- with a scar that reached across her nose, stood from her seat with every intention of finishing whatever job had started turning Hakon inside-out. The second roegadyn wasn’t long to follow, and both Hellsguard had enough watery ale in their systems to ignore the pointed look from the Sagolii’s hyur barback. But Bold Caldera quickly raised his hands in an effort to calm his fiery companions.

“Mouse, Nest…” said Caldera, voice clipped and sloshed with ale, “...it’s fine. Just leftover biz. Go, uh, I dunno... get some air.” And after a moment, when the two still hesitated, “Get whatever, but get it now.”

And then it was just Bold Caldera and Hakon Katlasch at the small table, with one weary barback looking on from a distance. By that point, Hakon’s hand had tightened to the point of nails digging pointedly into the bald roegadyn’s leather jerkin. It took a moment to pluck his claws from the hide, and another to seat himself in Honest Mouse’s chair. It gave Caldera a chance to regain some composure, but the worry never quite left his eyes and Hakon’s eyes never quite left Caldera. Two seconds of lingering silence passed between them and Caldera broke it first.

“Katlasch,” Caldera said, hands splayed palm-up on the table top, “I guess took it too far, huh?”

Caldera tried to be disarming but his grin had the charm of something wet and fetid. Hakon Katlasch continued to survey the Roegadyn with unsettlingly swollen eyes, their lids bulging around the meat of the iris in a way that made the Hrothgar look like he were perpetually squinting. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing a line of splittle and blood across a muzzle of white fur, but didn’t speak.

“Business, right? Just business. Gil in your hand and you make me look good. You did your part, obviously, and I--” Bold Caldera paused to fish a small, jingling bag of coin from a shirt one size too big for even his large torso. Bound with a wagoneer’s knot, the kind you had to cut instead of untie, it had clearly been set aside for something. “--did mine.”

For this, thought Hakon, feeling a loose tooth with his tongue. 

The bag slid across the table, ending its path just in front of the seated Hrothgar. Hakon hoisted it, tested its heft, and quickly deposited it somewhere on his person. He still didn’t speak, letting the Hellsguard continue the conversation he and Hakon shouldn’t be having. 

“I know I fucked up, I know it, but I’d never won a fight like that, I’d never been such a godsdamned hero in front of the other Valiants. I was high on it, Katlasch,” sweat and spittle made Caldera’s excitement all the more palpable, “I spent the rest of the afternoon with my hand up Mouse’s shirt.”

“You stole from us,” Hakon finally spoke, cutting him off before Bold Caldera’s story went somewhere he couldn’t easily forget, “If you wanted to break me you should have paid to break me. You should have stopped when you got the show you paid for. You should have stopped, but you didn’t. You are a debtor.”

“And I’ll pay you back, I’m good for it,” tried Bold Caldera, but the Hrothgar interrupted.

“No, not indebted to me, Caldera,” said Hakon, a broken smile broad on his face, “Indebted to them.”

“But I will gladly handle tipping the scales back into place.”

--

Breathe, thought Hakon, though he didn’t really expect Bold Caldera would do so. He wasn’t much of a fighter, despite what the Valiants now believed. Caldera wouldn’t know how to tell his lungs to work, his heart to beat, his mind to stir. He would let go like too many wounded men let go. 

The Valiants would honor Bold Caldera above his station if they honored him at all, and that meant Hakon’s part in the transaction remained complete. He would sleep well tonight, beneath the Traders’ merciless eye, but not yet. Tonight was a triumph. And triumph meant he would be picky about his healers and his whores.

[lovemesomerafael]

El Amor Todo Lo Puede         Chapter 43:  The End Of The Rope

Read Chapters 1-40  Chapter 41  Chapter 42

Rafael was seated in his usual chair at Forlini’s, having a drink while he worked on his opening statement for the trial beginning in a couple of days.  He didn’t expect this one to plead out, which is why he’d worked until 11:00 pm in his office, and was still working on it here.  He’d just needed to stretch his legs, maybe get a little change of scenery to keep his mind sharp.  Unfortunately, he had the misfortune to sit down and order a drink before he’d noticed Peter Stone down the bar.  Stone was currently having a rather heated conversation with a guy Rafael hadn’t seen before.  It was distracting, to say the least.  One more reason to detest that guy, Barba thought.  He was going to have to finish his drink and leave.

He heard a scuffle and looked up to see Stone push the guy he was arguing with. It wasn’t much, just a shove in the chest, but it was clearly intended to start something.  Hay, por el amor de Dios.  ¿Seriamente?[1]  Fortunately for Stone – and Rafael – the guy had the sense to hold up his hands and back up. But he didn’t leave.  

Rafael indulged in a major internal eyeroll.  How can she be in love with that sodden imbecile?  I’d have thought she’d have better taste.  He went back to his legal pad and his opening statement.  In a fortuitous moment, he happened to hit a groove and forgot everything for a while as he came up with a brilliant analogy to use.  If he did say so himself.  

CRASH!  The sound ripped Rafael back to the present.  He looked toward the noise and saw Stone looming over the guy he’d been arguing with, who was now prostrate on the floor with a split lip.  ¡Joder!  Ever politically-minded, Rafael knew a brewing tabloid headline when he saw one.  For the sake of the D.A.’s office, and the reputations of everyone who worked there who wasn’t currently plastered and trying to start a fight, he was going to have to stop this before it started.  Barba and Jack, the bartender, reached the combatants at the same time.  

Jack stood in front of Stone, wisely not confronting him directly or trying to grab him, simply interposing his body between Stone and the man on the floor.  Barba extended a hand to the guy and helped him up, also wise in his choice to position himself at the man’s head so that, when he stood, he was a good six feet from Stone.  Barba solicitously helped the man brush off and straighten his clothes, handing him a linen napkin use on his bleeding lip.  

“Hey, buddy, you OK?  Why don’t you take a seat at this table, and I’ll get you some ice and a drink.  OK?”

The man was a little stunned by the whole series of events, and not drunk, as Rafael had naturally assumed.  He was a little tipsy, but apparently he was mostly just stupid.  Not understanding who Rafael was, but acknowledging to himself that Peter Stone could easily take him in a fight and he needed a graceful way out of this, he acquiesced and sat at a table, facing away from Stone.  

Jack had been busy, too.  Stone was sitting, shaking his right hand as though it hurt, and appeared to be willing to behave, if not yet calm.  Unlike the other guy, Stone was extremely drunk.  Blotto.  Rafael wondered how long he’d been here.  He watched Jack go back behind the bar and put some ice in a towel, then come back down the bar to hand it to Peter for his hand.  

“Can I get another one of those, for the other guy?  And a Bud Light?”  Even in the current circumstances, it was hard for Rafael to order such a thing without a shudder.

When Jack went down the bar to get the ice, Rafael followed him.  “I’m going to give you a number.  Call Laura Parker.  Tell her to get here as fast as she can.”

“Don’t need it, Counselor.  I already called her.  She should be here soon.”

“Clearly a master of your craft,” Rafael smiled.

“Thanks for your help.”  Jack handed Rafael the towel filled with ice and the beer.  

“Don’t thank me yet.  I still have some rather delicate work to do.”

Rafael gave the ice and the beer to the man, whose name was Carl Dunfee, sympathetically telling him that he’d be back in just a few minutes.  Dunfee shrugged.  He wasn’t quite sure why the dude was coming back, but whatever. Maybe he owned the bar or something.

Rafael went and stood close enough to Stone to hiss into his ear.  Mierda[2], the guy smelled like he had been aged in a cask for twelve years.  Not a bad idea, Barba thought.  

“You know who I am?”

“Of course I know who you are,” Stone slurred, annoyed.  

“Then you know that you pulled that stunt in front of the wrong witness. So listen to me, and listen well. I’m only going to say this once. I am going to try to keep your ass out of a sling.  You don’t deserve it, and I’m sure as hell not doing it for you.  I may not be able to do it at all.  That moron gets the idea he’s got your balls in a vise and a tort case worth some money, your life as you know it is over.  Understand?”

Stone huffed and drank the last of whatever he had been overindulging in. He didn’t look at Barba, but he had the sense – no, simple survival instinct, Barba thought, this booze-soaked git had no sense, at least at the moment - not to speak.

“So you are going to sit here, and you are going to keep your mouth shut.  You will do nothing.  Nothing, you understand?  And when Laura gets here, you are going to leave without a word.”

“Laura’s coming here?” The look on Stone’s face was deep chagrin coupled with what could only be called fear.  He looked as if Barba had announced he’d called Stone’s mother. Stone was still spoiling for a fight, the way only drunks can be, but Rafael’s threats appeared to have penetrated the alcohol fog, at least for now.

“And if you give her one instant of trouble, if you make one more asinine move tonight, I will instruct her to arrest you and you’ll spend the night in the drunk tank.  Clear?”

Stone again chose not to respond, but looked daggers at the bar in front of him.

One down, one to go.

“Sorry, man.  I know that guy.  He can be a dick.  My name is Rafael.”

“Carl.  Dunfee.”

Rafael purposely hadn’t given his surname and was careful not to use his usual firm, take-control handshake.  He wished he had casual clothes on, but at least he’d hung his jacket and vest up in his car. “What was that about, Carl?”

“Guy’s a blowhard. Thinks he knows baseball.”

“Baseball.”  It took all Rafael’s strength not to express his exasperation.  

“Yeah.  And he hit me, man!  Look at this.”  He showed Rafael the towel, which had a fair amount of blood on it.  His lip, though swollen, looked like it had stopped bleeding.

“C’mon, man.  It’s not that bad.”  

Dunfee was a bit disappointed in Rafael’s reaction to his injury.  “Dude punched me!”  

“Yeah, I saw that. But he’s pretty soused.  Between you and me, I’m surprised he didn’t miss you entirely.  Lucky for you, it was such a feeble attempt.”

“He knocked me down.”

Rafael laughed, as though the guy had taken a pratfall for his amusement.  “Yeah.  Wish I’d have had my camera out.  You shoulda seen your face!”  

Laura arrived at that moment, wearing clingy but faded sweatpants and that tattered old jeanjacket of hers over a plain white T-shirt.  She looked like she’d been in bed when Jack had called and hadn’t bothered to brush her hair before running out the door.  Rafael shook his head to stop the image of Laura in bed from fully forming in his mind.  She walked over to Stone and an agitated, whispered conversation ensued.  She tried to take his arm as though to escort him out, but he pulled his arm away and didn’t move.  

Carl Dunfee was beginning to feel like a little bit of a fool.  Had he looked stupid falling down like that?  He’d had the idea that he’d been brutally punched and violently knocked to the floor, like a Schwarzenegger movie.  But this Rafael seemed to have seen something different.  Maybe it seemed worse than it was.  He’d been thinking maybe he could sue the guy, or the bar, but he didn’t want to look like a pussy.  

“Yeah, guy’s big, but he hits like a girl,” Carl tried.

“I’m not surprised, pretty boy like that,” Rafael smirked.  

“Right?”  Carl was warming up to the idea that nothing much had happened, because that drunk guy in the suit wasn’t so tough.

As they made small talk, Rafael watched Laura plead quietly with Stone, then get angry, then go back to pleading.  Stone was getting louder again.  

Rafael stood up.  This was getting really fucking old.  “Hey, looks like your friend’s giving his girlfriend a little bit of trouble.  I’m going to see if I can help out.  Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, I’m going to get out of here.  See ya’,” Carl said, giving a dismissive head toss in Stone’s direction as though to mock his idea that he could hurt Carl.

Just in time, Rafael thought.  He stepped over to where Laura was standing next to Stone, who still sat on his barstool. He put on his most severe Senior A.D.A. face.  

“Tell me you are not refusing to leave,” he snarled at Stone.

Closer up, he could see that Laura had tears in her eyes.

“What’s it to you?” Stone whined irritably.

“Your entire career. Because unless you walk out of here right now, I’m going to have you arrested for drunk and disorderly, assault and battery, and anything else I can think of while you’re drying out at the Tombs. I seriously dislike having to repeat myself.”

“Fuck you,” Stone muttered, but he got up from his barstool.  

Laura mouthed “Thank you” behind Stone’s back with look of tired, discouraged gratitude.  Rafael acknowledged it with a nod and watched them walk out the door.  He waited to see them get into the cab, or whatever car had brought Laura, but they stood on the sidewalk, Laura looking both ways down the street.  Her back was to him, but he thought he saw her wipe a tear. As she pulled out her phone, Rafael went out the door to stand next to her.  

“What?”

“I told the Uber guy to wait, said I’d pay him in cash for the time.  I should’ve known he wouldn’t when he made me end the trip here.  He said something about getting more money if there and back was two trips.  Fuck!” She was clearly barely holding it together.  

“Stay here.  I’m around the corner.  Give me five minutes.”

The exhausted, defeated look on her face tore at him.  He actually caught himself starting to reach out to her to comfort her.  He cleared his throat and went back in to pay his tab and collect his things.  

When he pulled his car to the curb outside the front entrance of Forlini’s, he could see that things were still tense between Laura and Stone, but he seemed to be fading.  What an asshole.  If he passed out and made Rafael drag his sorry ass into his apartment…

The drive to Stone’s apartment building was quiet except for Laura’s occasional directions to Rafael. Stone was still apparently conscious, but in that pie-eyed state where it’s hard to make sense of what’s happening. Quel asno[3].  

Due to the late hour, and the fact that it was a weekday, Rafael was able to pull up in front of Stone’s building.  When Stone tried to get out, he lost his balance just outside the car, causing Laura to sigh heavily and get out to help him.  Rafael wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to help, too, until he saw how heavily Stone was leaning on Laura, and how much trouble she was having getting him to the door. Stone was huge compared to her. Rafael swore colorfully and got out.

He stepped up to Stone’s side, opposite Laura, and put Stone’s other arm around his neck, so that he and Laura were supporting Stone between them.  Stone was so out of it now that he said nothing all the way up to his apartment door.  Rafael noticed with a painful pang that Laura had the key to Stone’s apartment on her key ring.   For just a moment, he flashed back on the night he had taken his own key back from her. At this moment, she looked about as miserable as she had that night.  

They dragged Stone to his bed, where Laura pulled off his jacket and tie before they let him fall gracelessly onto the mattress.  Laura silently lifted his legs onto the bed, removed his shoes, propped him on his side with some pillows, and covered him.  Then she went to the bathroom, coming out with a glass of water, a bottle of aspirin, and a towel.  Every move was automatic and efficient.  Practiced.

“How many times have you done this?”  Rafael couldn’t stop himself from asking.  He was appalled.  

She didn’t answer. Instead, she opened a door just outside the bedroom, took a bucket from what looked like a linen closet, and set it down next to the bed.  

“OK,” she said, her voice a quiet sigh.  Rafael followed her back out of the dark apartment and they silently returned to his car.  

As they drove, Laura began to wipe tears from her eyes.  At first, she tried to be surreptitious about it, but they were soon falling too fast for her to do anything but pull a tissue from her jacket and wipe them. Glancing over, Rafael could see that she was biting her lip, and appeared to be trying to hold her breath. One quiet sob escaped her.

Rafael stroked her hair, just once, and said, “Go ahead and cry.  There’s no one here to hear you.”

At that, she covered her face with her hands and bent double, huge sobs beginning to wrack her body. Rafael reached over and opened the glove compartment, pulling a small packet of tissues from it and handing them to her.  She continued to cry uncontrollably, long periods of loud, staccato cries mixed with gasps for air and moans of despair.  It wasn’t until they turned into Rafael’s parking garage that she regained enough control to sit back up, groaning loudly, head on the headrest and eyes toward heaven.

“This is so humiliating,” she choked.  “I just… I can’t do anything!  He won’t talk to me, he won’t listen.  And I hate that you saw him like that.  That’s not who he is.”  

Rafael pulled the car into his parking spot and turned off the engine.  He leaned over, put a hand on either shoulder, and pulled her into his arms across the storage box, cupholders, and gearshift that divided the seats.  She rested her head on his shoulder, then buried her face in his chest as she began crying in earnest once again.  He just held her, stroking her back and her hair.  He occasionally brushed a kiss across her hair, wanting nothing more than to crush her to him.  

He had no idea what to think.  How long had it been this bad?  How many times had she been called to take Stone, drunk and belligerent, out of a public place?  He understood, from what she had told him, that she felt like she owed it to him for her own past behavior toward him.  He could also see tiny glimpses, a touch here, a look there, a well-deserved retort that was nonetheless bitten back, that she truly, genuinely cared for Stone.  But, even to Rafael’s jaded and suspicious eyes, it didn’t look like there was anything romantic or sexual between them anymore.  

He let her go as soon as she quieted and began to push away from him.  

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “This isn’t your problem.”

“Let’s get you home,” he replied gently.

When they got out to the street to walk the block to their apartment building, Rafael wondered whether she would let him take her hand.  Probably not.  She had her hands in the pockets of her jeanjacket, anyway.  The late October air had a definite bite to it, this late at night.

“Thank you, Rafael,” Laura said sheepishly as he held the building’s door open for her.  “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

“I’m glad I could help,” he said, daring to grasp her shoulder lightly for a brief moment. “You did save my life a while back.”

Her small exhale couldn’t really be counted as a laugh, but he was glad he’d lightened the mood even a fraction.  They entered the elevator when it arrived, and pushed the buttons for their floors. When the doors closed, Laura crossed her arms across her body, hands on her waist, as though trying to give herself a comforting hug.  Rafael couldn’t stand that small, sad, lonely gesture.  He stepped toward her and took her into his arms.  She immediately put her arms around him.  As the elevator slowly climbed, they stood together, just sharing the warmth of closeness.

“I’ll walk you to your door,” he said into her hair as the doors opened at Laura’s floor.  He walked close beside her down her hallway, offering whatever comfort his presence would be to her.  

She opened her door when they reached it, then, standing just inside, turned to him.  Taking his hands in hers, she looked up at him.  “I don’t have words to tell you how much I appreciate… everything you did tonight.  Thank you.”

“That’s what friends are for,” he said, looking down at her with such adoration that her eyes were pulled to his, becoming locked into his gaze.  She wanted to stay there, with him looking at her like that - like he cared for her, like she was precious to him – forever.  She felt her soul filling with something that it had been starving for. He drank in this contact, this connection he’d been aching for, with a thirst that consumed him.  Just looking into her eyes couldn’t fill his heart fast enough.  He took a tiny step toward her, leaning in, so slowly she could hardly believe it was happening until their lips touched softly.

Standing in her doorway, holding hands, they shared a soft, tender kiss that was far too important, too full of meaning and shared emotion, to have much to do with sex.  

When it was right, their lips parted, and they stood close together, foreheads touching.  

“Feliz noche.[4]”  Rafael whispered.

“Dulces sueños.[5]” Laura answered.

He squeezed her hands and turned down the hall, taking the stairs to his own apartment.

Somehow, they both understood that the kiss hadn’t changed anything.  It had simply confirmed that, regardless of the hash they’d made of things, the bond they shared was unbreakable.  It was Rafael’s way of being there for Laura, and Laura’s way of accepting.  Neither of them expected to be able to go to bed with quiet minds and sleep contentedly.  But they did.

[1] Oh, for the love of God.  Seriously?

[2] Shit

[3] What an ass.

[4] Good night.

[5] Sweet dreams.

[stone-man-warrior]

April 6, 2021: 4:59 pm:

============================================

A walk to the mailbox was painful.

It’s a beautiful spring day outside, and is completely ruined by the Canadian terror army occupation of the area.

Lately, I can plainly see that all of the inhabitants in the area behave as an army. It has not always been so obvious as it is now, but with the absence of Richard Chartrand and his family terror cell, and the subsequent terror occupation of his house at 376 Jackpine, it’s very clear that the people who are at 376 from time to time are terror soldiers, they rotate on duty there, they are jockey vehicles from 376 Jackpine to other addresses such as the Strong terror cell at 3747 Russell Road and the Sunflower terror cell next door to Strong’s, they switch cars, then return to go to 598 Jackpine and/or 601 Jackpine.

There purpose on Jackpine is two-fold, is to keep me contained inside my home and to make continuous attempts to kill me to take my property and my Identification.

I saw activity of different vehicles at Chartrand’s 376 address, and I saw someone driving the Cynthia Manning Red Toyota Rav-4, old original model. The woman who was driving may or may not have been Cynthia Manning, she got out of the car to check her mail, and I had a look to see who was driving, but, sometimes the person who is driving that Rav-4 has long red hair down to the waist, and other times the long red hair is much shorter only to mid-back length, as was the case today, Cynthia Manning’s hair is sometimes one foot shorter than it is other times, and today she is a foot short of hair.

The Manning terror cell has occupied the 598 Jackpine address for a few years now, the gate is made of wrought iron and has a wrought iron name plate welded into the gate, it says “Dr Eoff” on the gate. Dr. Janet Eoff is a hard core terror general who works as an emergency room doctor at the Asante Health Three Rivers Medical Center at 500 Ramsey Ave in Grants Pass since the terror take over of Asante Health took place. In the time the Manning’s have occupied the 598 address, I have never been able to get a look a Cynthia Manning’s face. She always covers her face with her long hair, hands, or objects, even when she follows me to the Walmart and I see her lurking around, she covers her face and leaves the store when I see her following me around in there. I think it’s possible that Cynthia Manning and Janet Eoff are the same person, a big red wig of hair is all there is that is much different to the appearance of the two women, and sometimes the wig is longer than other times.

US citizens are lured there to the Asante Three Rivers Medical Center with injuries that are resultant of other terror attack they are subject to, such as the poison leg attack I experienced in my home a few weeks ago. The citizen go to the hospital unaware that the medical facilities have all been hijacked by the Canadian/SAG/Britain terror army, they are tortured there, forced to give assets access information, and contact information of family members at the hospital. The victims are killed there, while the hospital pretends to do medical procedures, they bill the victims insurance, and kill the victim, make a profit as a side effect of the murders, then SAG arranges a look-a-like to take the victims place in their homes. The murders happen invisibly, no death reports are generated, just billing for the procedures that never happened. The look-a-likes take the place of the victims, and they vote as they are instructed to for the shills that SAG arranges on the voting ballots.

The local terror soldiers use the word: “Trake” when the want to talk about the Asante Three Rivers Medical Center, the term: “Trake” is derived of the older name of the hospital as it was about ten years ago: “Three Rivers Community Hospital” and that was abbreviated to “TRCH” for nursing classes offered at the Rogue Community Collage (RCC). The nursing classes there are sponsored and supported by the Asante Hospital, so all of those classes are called: “TRCH” classes, and that is why the local terror soldiers say: “Trake” when they speak of the Asante Three Rivers Medical Center Hospital.

I am confident to say that the entire area on Russell Road and Jackpine has all been taken over and is occupied by smaller MedDems terror cells of the Asante Health, giant terror cell. That change has been slowly taking shape over the past five years or so, and I would mark the beginning of the MedDems terror takeover of this area as the day that the Monroe terror cell took possession of the 434 Jackpine address, a house that was willed to me by my friend who was killed by the terror army, and then stolen by the Josephine County Courts, I was never allowed to take possession, and the probate hearing was manipulated, I was not invited, was unaware of the hearing until after it took place. I was willed both 434 and 520 Jackpine by James Nicholas Watson and his wife Kathy Watson who also was killed by the terror army, they owned both 434 and 520 Jackpine.

There are no signs of any help.

There are no helpful people anywhere around here, only murderous terror army soldiers who happen to look like innocent church goers, because that kind of uniform works real good for terror take over of USA.

=======================================

6:20 pm:

The Horrible Poison Attack on my leg update:

There is not much healing going on. As the wound heals in one place, it opens back up in a different place.

This injection wound here is the slowest, it started out as two tiny red dots, and has a strange, alien wound look to it. It grows slowly in size over time, and it has gained a lot of other satellite sores around it, as well as a lot of that red skin color like the other side has so much of.

I have found that when I am able to massage the swelling out of my foot by manually trying to move the blood or liquid out of the foot and up into the leg, that is when the red color surrounds the wounds the most. I can see that the result is the swelling goes down, the fluid goes to this area on the ankle, and also at the other side of the ankle. Those satellite sores begin to form when I do the massage to move the fluid from the foot to the leg. I am trying to get the poison to circulate with the blood, to let my body filter it out, otherwise the fluid that makes my foot look so swollen just stays in my toes and hurts too bad to leave it there.

Here, my foot is not so swollen, I have been massaging the liquid out towards the leg quite a lot, I spend a lot of time just trying to move that poison out of where it’s pooled up and to get the stuff to circulate. When it does circulate, I get chest pain, and my other leg gets sores on it from where the poison is somehow drawn to the ankle/shin areas, and stays there.

This is what it looks like after I clean the wounds, then take a walk for five to ten minutes, and wait a half hour before taking the photo.

Those small sores at the top of the shin are getting bigger. There are about five little puncture wounds from the attack that won’t heal. All of those have a hole in the center where the poison liquid pools up, and that hole is about one-eighth inch radius and about the same in depth. Those five little puncture wounds are more painful than the bigger wounds by far, those tiny little sores hurt so much that they prevent me from sleeping, and, prevent me from even trying to sleep. I have to get up  to try anything at all to make the pain stop.

This below is the other leg, it gets the sores on it when I do the manual massage to move he fluids around, trying to get the poison to circulate. The poison is some kind of harsh acid, I suspect I was injected with automotive battery acid, and the stuff in the toes is a different poison, I think it could be Freon that is used in air-conditioning units.

I have been doing a lot of manual massage to make the poisons circulate with the blood, and when I do, these small dots happen on the other leg, and it makes chest pain that lasts about an hour. My hands get real cold when the chest pain is happening.

I cannot get medical help in Oregon.

The only reason for that is because I am a US Citizen, and the hospitals and clinics, medical facilities of all kinds were hijacked by the Canadian terror army. They don’t treat US citizens for health conditions anymore, they only treat the conditions of the Canadian terror army and the Screen Actor Guild leaders of the terror army.

US Citizens are killed when the seek medical help in Oregon.

That is what the Corona Virus fake disease is all about, it’s a ploy and set of shell language for use to kill as many US Citizens as is possible. news media personalities are the people who do much of the coded terror command marching orders.

Please send US Military to Oregon to stop the terror take over of USA.

Please send medical services to Oregon.

===============================

7:26 pm:

Worth a mention:

I have been wearing a yellow sweatshirt for quite awhile during this difficult time with the poison symptoms. When I wear my yellow sweatshirt, I notice that the current Deb Monroe also wears a sweater that is the same color yellow as is my sweatshirt, I also have noticed that the Deb Monroe yellow sweatshirts is borrowed by others who wear the current Deb Monroe’s yellow sweater, but I have noticed that the current Deb Monroe’s yellow sweater is only worn at Monroe’s terror cell at times when I am wearing my yellow sweatshirt.

The Monroe’s are fooling the people I need to speak with, and they are using a yellow sweater to do the foolery, that suggests that the Monroe’s have camera contact with the people I have been trying to reach to get some help, for decades.

Yesterday I saw two different people wearing the current Deb Monroe’s yellow sweater, one was the current Deb Monroe, and the other was a female that I did not recognize, someone who had a small two year old child at Monroe’s terror cell.

One of the fake stories told by local authorities to fool federal officers who insist on being fooled all of the time, is that the Current Deb Monroe is my daughter and is also my caregiver nurse person.

My daughter is either dead or is thousands of miles away, or is held captive by the terror army, and I do not require a care giver, the terror army simply uses that caregiver story whenever they are attacking a disabled Medicare beneficiary.

Meanwhile, the federal officers look on, observing the terror take over of USA a they are watching it happen, it’s a fools folly, and no one gets any help.

==============

9:08 pm:

Out of desperation and need for life saving medical help, I ask anyone who can read this to please contact US Military to ask them to read this account, and to send help to stop the terror army from advancing farther.

Just find an Officer of a US Military base, give them this link:

https://stone-man-warrior.tumblr.com/archive

Please mention that the 911 Emergency Phone is not working, is controlled by terror army special operators, they send assassins to people when terror activities or murder is reported. People in need of help are killed when 911 Emergency Phone service is used, so that is important. If the 911 system was functional, I would not need to ask for help this way.

Please send help. There is no other way for me to get a message out of Oregon, this account is the only means I have. I have a phone, but the phone systems and cellular companies are hijacked, calls don‘t go to the places dialed.

Please send help.

==============

9:26 pm:

I want to explain how the poison attack on my leg with injection of two different poisons was done in two separate layered ways, I suspect the layering is part of a universally used method, a sort of blanket way that the SAG/Canadian terror army operates in duplicate and in layers, to make a situation that is extremely difficult to understand, solve, recognize, and in the case of poison attack, is very difficult to diagnose if a real doctor were available to make a diagnosis.

It’s important that if some people were to come to Oregon to try to offer help, or even if such persons read this account, they would need to understand the duplicity, the multi-layered way that I was attacked and poisoned, so, please be advised of these conditions:

About five years ago, the Monroe terror cell took possession of the address at 434 Jackpine Drive, is next door to my property.

The Monroe terror cell has a A-1 Exterminators Pest Control Van parked at the address 434 Jackpine much of the time, evenings and weekends mostly is when that A-1 Exterminators Van is there. The Monroe’s have access to poisons used by a Pest Control company. Even if the poisons on board the A-1 Exterminators Van are not the kind used for Pest Control, it would be difficult to know the difference between Pest Control poisons and other kinds of poisonous substances.

Bottom line on that A-1 Exterminators Van (A-1′s address is on 7th Street in Grants Pass)  is that there is a van with poisons in it at Monroe terror cell, and the people who operate the A-1 Van are “Licensed” to have, transport, use poisons, and the van with the poisons has been parked next to my house for a few years.

About at the same time that the Monroe terror cell took possession of 434 Jackpine, that is the same time that I began to see symptoms of an itchy rash on my ankle. That itchy rash is not the rash that I have now, and that is why I am spending this time and energy to say that the terrorism is layered, it’s important, and the layering is practiced in all forms of the terrorism, not just limited to introduction of skin rash poisons.

So, for five years I lived next to where terrorists who have a van licensed to transport poisons is at, and I developed an itchy rash as a result over a long period of time, and the itchy rash grew big.

My only complaints were that the rash was itchy and the rash bleed easily with even a light touch of scratching at it.

I began to complain to the fake doctor at Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon about the itchy rash that bleeds easily. I was offered no help and told that the rash was poison oak, and I was billed extra for the doctor visit having been escalated to a “Moderate” time in the exam room, and billed for a “Moderate Complexity” appointment. I asked for help with each regularly scheduled visit to Pain Specialists of Southern Oregon, and no help was ever offered to remedy that itchy rash that bleeds easily when scratched at.

Then, in around the second week of February, terror soldiers came into my house, I believe one of them was Juseph Myers, a neighbor terror soldier that I have reported much about in this account. Myers lives at 560 Jackpine, and is a General of the terror army, is close friend of David Letterman, who has been known to visit the Myers and stay there for up to a week at a time. Juseph Myers is part of Green Jello Terror leadership, and is part of NBC/Universal/Comcast terror cells.

The intruders came into my home, I was asleep, the door was locked, they had a key, the only people who have had possession of my keys is the County Sheriff. The keys came from the Sheriff for Juseph Myers and at least one other terror soldier to inject my leg with the poisons.

As I reported before, the thing I saw, the weapon with the poison in it, was a two-part stick of some kind. I saw two parallel lengths of some ridged material, could have been wood, I don‘t know. The two parallel stick-like objects were striking my leg in rapid succession when I woke up.

I suspect their was a fight, but my memory of those events that night are limited to seeing a silhouette of a mans figure in a dark room striking me repeatedly with an object. I recall some words that I spoke at the time I was awakened that way. I’ll save the words for a possibility of an interview with public safety persons. The fight was recorded by the Monroe terror cell, and I am aware of the existence of audio from that night’s events.

The layering that needs to be considered is that I already had that one itchy rash, and had asked for help from a so called doctor, and there is a medical record of that doctor diagnosing Poison Oak, when it was not poison oak, but was from repeated exposure to the poison gases that Monroe terror cell subjects me to over time.

The result of the injection is the rash I have now. The weapon was made of two parallel sticks, about 18″ to 24″ in length, was some kind of specially made syringe that makes two poison injections with each time it strikes the victim.

The injection attack was such that the itchy, easy to bleed rash that was present for about five years, all went away, is gone, while these other symptoms I have been explaining and photographing have completely made me immobile. unable to walk very far, not able to get food at the grocery store without great risk of further attack, as that is also a characteristic of the Canadian/SAG terror army attack scenarios, they do “Chip Away at the Stone” terror take downs, by weakening the marked victims with a series of ongoing attacks that are designed to make injury, until such time that compounded injuries overwhelm the intended victims.

Layered terrorism is important to understand as a universally used tactic of the Canadian/SAG terror army.

Please send help.

[droneseco]

Bosma Aegis: Affordable and Secure Smart Lock

Aegis

9.70 / 10

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Overall, we really like the Aegis smart lock by Bosma. It’s a great product at a reasonable price. While it might not be for everyone, we’re confident that most smart home owners will be satisfied by Aegis’s exceptional performance and top-notch quality.

Key Features

Auto Lock/Unlock

AES 128-Bit Encryption

Remote Unlock

Phone Unlock

Easy Installation

Door-breaking Detection

Fingerprint Unlock (Requires Bosma Sentry Doorbell)

Access Management

Bosma App

Amazon Alexa and Google Home Integration

Door Open/Close Detection

Specifications

Brand: Bosma

Connectivity: Wi-Fi/Bluetooth

Integrations: Amazon Alexa, Google Home

Compatible Locks: Most Deadbolts

Battery: 4 AA

Keypad: N/A

Pros

Installation is extremely easy

Alexa Integration works well

Door Open/Close Detection is Surprisingly Accurate

Added Security with ~80Db Break-In Alarm

Retain Current Keys

Cons

Chimes At Open/Close

Slightly Askew When Installed Properly

Jams If Door Not Completely Closed/Swollen

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It used to be that you only had a few choices when selecting great smart home products. However, the last few years have put several fantastic new companies on the map. One of those companies is Bosma. Until recently, its product line included smart doorbells, intrusion sensors, and smart lighting. Now, the company’s newest product, an interior-only smart door lock called the Aegis—yes, like Zeus’ famous shield—aims to provide both homeowners and renters with the convenience of a smart lock.

But can this new device secure its place among significant competitors like August and Wyze? We're answering that question, along with a few others in this full Bosma Aegis smart lock review.

To celebrate the launch on April 6th, for one day only you can get 50% off the usual purchase price on Amazon with our exclusive coupon code 50MakeUseOf.

Meet the Bosma Aegis

The best way to describe Aegis is to call it an upgrade to your current door lock. The thing that makes the Aegis different is that it will allow you to retain your keys. It does this by replacing only the inner portion of your existing deadbolt. This setup is similar to both the August Smart Lock and the Wyze Lock, which are Aegis’ two most prominent competitors.

For those familiar with the August Smart Lock, the design of the Aegis is eerily similar. It uses a similar mounting plate, a similar rotational design, a matching set of plastic inserts for the deadbolt’s cam bar, and even similar packaging. But this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. A broader selection of the same products often improves both quality and choice from a consumer perspective.

Additionally, Aegis offers built-in door detection, which can alert you if your door has been left open. Aegis does this without the use of stick-on magnets or additional sensors. For security, Aegis sends all data via AES 128-bit encryption. This extra level of protection keeps would-be data sniffers from potentially accessing information that could lead to a break-in.

The Aegis also supports both Amazon Alexa and Google Home. So, if you’re looking to control your smart lock with your voice, the possibility is there. Currently, the Aegis is for sale on Bosma’s website for $119 by itself and $249 if you bundle the lock with the Bosma Sentry video doorbell.

Who Is the Aegis For?

Because the Aegis doesn’t require permanent alteration of the door lock, this product is great for renters and homeowners alike. The device is also great for those with a mix of tech-savvy and non-techie folks living in their home.

If, for example, a family member would prefer to operate the Aegis lock using a standard key, they can. Meanwhile, those smart home users who would rather have the flexibility of an app can choose to forgo the keys altogether.

And, if you’d like to use biometrics with the Aegis, Bosma also manufactures the Sentry Video Doorbell that recognizes fingerprints to operate the smart lock without the need for a phone. We weren’t able to test the doorbell, but it looks promising.

However, if you’re looking for a smart lock that works with Apple HomeKit, the Aegis does not currently offer support. That may change in a future release, but for now, Aegis is limited to Amazon Alexa and Google Home.

Related: Smart Home Products to Install When Moving to a New Home

What’s in the Box?

Inside the Bosma Aegis’ upscale packaging, there is the lock itself, the Bosma Gateway, four AA batteries, a set of three adapters, a length of painter’s tape, and an instruction guide. While I don’t usually comment on an item’s presentation, I feel it is essential to acknowledge the aesthetic appeal of Aegis’s packaging. To me, it just looks like a classy product.

Assembly and Installation

The Aegis smart lock is effortless to install. I had this lock set up and configured in less than ten minutes. The installation is as simple as applying the strip of included painter’s tape over the deadbolt’s front portion, removing the supporting screws from the back of the deadbolt, and installing the mounting bracket. Choose the adapter that works best for the cam bar, slide the lock portion on, and slide down the wings to secure.

It’s a surprisingly simple installation, and this is great for those who aren’t super handy. When getting the lock together, the only trouble I had was that I didn’t realize the battery compartment’s cover was magnetic at first.

Initially, I thought that the tabs inside the body of the lock were what fastened the cover to the assembly, and I tried to press-fit the cover together. After struggling for a few moments, I rotated the cover, and it magnetically snapped into place. While this wasn’t much of an issue, I think that Bosma might want to add a note about magnetic cover attachment in its instructions for the unit.

Once installed, you must connect the Aegis to the included Gateway device. This process is simple and consists of plugging the device into a power outlet, holding down a button until the light on the Gateway blinks, and then activating the lock. Again, this was straightforward.

Bosma also offers an app that is necessary to calibrate the lock. This application walks the user through calibration, and Bosma has taken every step to ensure that this process is foolproof. Anyone should feel confident that they can install this lock without any trouble.

Related: How to Install A Smart Door Lock

Testing the Aegis

After installing the Aegis, I spent a week testing the smart lock to see how it performed under ideal and less-than-ideal situations. I first tried the app’s lock and unlock functions from different locations in my house. As long as the wireless network was up, the lock functioned perfectly every time. I even tried rapidly locking and unlocking the Aegis to see if I could confuse it and cause it to jam. I could not get this to happen even after about a half-hour of constant locking and unlocking.

Next up, I tried to see what would happen if I “broke into” my home while the Aegis was active. One of Aegis’ key features is its “door-breaking” detection. This detection alerts the homeowner if someone is attempting to force the door open. I installed the Aegis on my back door, just so the neighbors wouldn’t think I was crazy, and subsequently tried to breach the door by kicking it a few times.

Once the Aegis registered the impact, I received an alert to my phone, and a siren sounded from inside the door. Bosma claims this siren is 80Db, though testing the alarm up close found the sound between 68Db and 76Db. Aegis’ siren also only lasted a few seconds, but it was loud enough to hear on the opposite side of the door when closed.

While this siren alone might be enough to deter would-be thieves, I think the more critical element is the notification that I received. If I had been out running errands and gotten this notification, I could have easily contacted the police. I think this is a remarkable feature, and I appreciate Aegis’s added security, without any extra equipment to purchase.

Next up, I wanted to see how Bosma’s offering performed when faced with a common issue in New England—door swell. The problem with swelling doors is that they often don’t close completely. Instead, there will be slight friction between the deadbolt and the strike plate on the door frame. I pushed and pulled my back door to emulate this condition until the deadbolt would not move smoothly past the strike plate.

As I feared, the Aegis motor engaged, extended the deadbolt slightly, and jammed after being unable to push quickly past the strike plate. To remedy this condition, I pressed against the door until the deadbolt could clear the strike plate, manually locked the door, and then tried to unlock it. At this point, the Aegis got a bit cranky, but once the strike plate was clear, the deadbolt slid into place.

This test wasn’t the most scientific, but it is worth mentioning. If your doors are prone to swelling, then this smart lock might not be the best choice for your home. On the other hand, if your front door doesn’t stick and has plenty of clearance, Aegis works excellent.

Finally, I wanted to see how this lock would work with Amazon Alexa integration. For that, you have to download the Bosma skill in the Alexa app. After setting the skill up and setting a passcode, I could lock and unlock the Aegis by asking Alexa to do so. Additionally, passcode integration ensures that no one outside your home can gain access by invoking your smart assistant.

Download: Bosma Skill for Amazon Alexa (Free)

What Do We Love About the Aegis?

I think there is a lot to love about the Aegis, but the primary draw is using this lock for different applications. If you’re a renter and don’t want everyone knowing that you have a smart lock, Aegis will fit the bill perfectly. Its removable nature also means that it’s easy to swap out when you move. That means you can take it with you, from home to home, without any loss of function.

The included Gateway is also a nice feature for operating this lock remotely. That means if you want to give access to friends or family while you’re away, then you can do so with just a few taps on your screen.

Aegis has also got to be one of the most straightforward smart home products I’ve ever installed in my smart home. I wish some of the other products that I’ve purchased over the years were this simple to get up and running. If you can use a screwdriver, you can add Aegis to your home in a matter of minutes.

What’s Not to Love?

There are only a few minor complaints I have about this smart lock. The first is the position of the lock when closed. On the outside of the hexagonal shell of the Aegis, there is a Bosma logo. In a perfect world, that logo would be parallel to the ground when installed. However, because of some play in the lock shell, I find that the unit turns a bit past the parallel mark when the deadbolt extends.

This issue also results in the Bosma logo on the lock’s rear button sitting slightly off-level when my door locks. Bosma has addressed this issue by stating that end users can rotate the mounting plate of the Aegis by around 20 degrees either toward or away from the edge of the door. In my case, adjusting the bracket didn’t help. It’s a minor issue, but if you’re the type of person where everything has to be perfectly aligned, then this might be a problem for you.

Secondly, I wish there were a way to disable the chime this lock makes when you open and close the door. Again this is a minor gripe, but I would prefer the lock not to play music, or at the very least to have some type of volume reduction option.

Aside from these two minor issues, I feel that the Aegis smart lock is a fantastic value. If all of Bosma’s products are this high-quality, then the company has a very bright future ahead in the smart home industry.

Related: The Best Smart Doorbells For Your Home

Can You Repair the Aegis Smart Lock?

Unfortunately, no. You cannot repair this smart lock. However, Bosma does offer a one-year warranty against any kind of manufacturer defects. This warranty seems to be in line with other smart lock manufacturers.

Should You Buy the Aegis Smart Lock?

Overall, we really like the Aegis smart lock by Bosma. It’s a great product at a reasonable price. While it might not be for everyone, we’re confident that most smart homeowners will be satisfied by Aegis’s performance and quality. It’s an excellent option for anyone who isn’t looking to break the bank and for those stealthy smart home ninjas hoping to recover every penny of their security deposit.

Bosma Aegis: Affordable and Secure Smart Lock published first on http://droneseco.tumblr.com/

[zefurrwrites-blog]

Commission - The Great Outdoors

Nothing quite like the great outdoors. Just be sure to leave cursed objects alone: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/25090119/ -----

“This shot is no good either ugh” Travis said exasperated. He’s deep inside the Outskirt Woods filming the sightings of a possible new animal species. “The lighting sucks in this take too and I didn’t even have the right video filter” Travis muttered poking around on his camera. The sun was starting to set making any sort of filming impossible at this point without his night vision camera. “Annnd of course I left that one at home” he said sighing. He packed away his equipment and made the short hike back to his cabin. The cozy log building coming into view after climbing the hill back. It was dark inside when he opened the door so he set aside his things and lit the lantern on the wooden desk and lighted the fireplace. Travis tossed a piece on firewood on the kindle to keep the flame going and rubbed his hands together by the flames. After that was done, he turned his attention to the information board he made. With the room well lit, it was much easier to see. The board was littered with newspaper clippings and internet article snippets. They all had one account or another of people saying they saw some sort of man-beast hybrid in these very woods. Travis lived for this kind of stuff. Chasing these mysteries either to prove or debunk them. So far it’s been nothing but debunked stories. But the paranormal was out there and he was still psyched to find out what goes bump in the night. But with so many eyewitness accounts piling up, he had faith that this would be the one that turns out to be true. Smiling to himself, he reviews a few of the reports. Most of the sightings were in the area he was in now so he rented out a nearby cabin. The owner had failed to mention to lack of electricity but it had decent plumbing. Luckily, Travis had planned for this and has many spare batteries for his phone, camera, and laptop. This wouldn’t be his first trip without access to charging after all. Tomorrow, he’ll start anew covering more ground than he was able to today. Getting there in the afternoon didn’t give Travis much time to explore.

Unfortunately, the next day didn’t pan out despite Travis’ renewed optimism. He covered every square inch of the woods and didn’t find one trace of this “beast”. “I’m starting to think those eyewitnesses were full of it” he said sighing. The sun was out and bright that afternoon. Travis’ hat protected him from the rays in his eyes and luckily he thought to pack plenty of shorts. He decided to press onward anyway still hopeful that will the amount of daylight left he’d be able to find something worth capturing. As he was walking he reviewed some of the footage he already captured. After looking he figured he could at least make a short documentary. “It’s no ‘monster’ but at least it’s something” he thought. Just then Travis felt his foot hit something and looked down on the ground. A little wooden totem lied at his feet. The wood working looking very exquisite. “Oh wow this is cool” he said picking the trinket up. He figured it to be one of those souvenirs you get from gift shops. It has a slight threaded through a small loop at the top to be worn as a necklace. “Well, finders keepers” Travis laughed. He set his equipment down to free his hands as he took the old looking string off the totem. He tookt he string from his own necklace and threaded it through the loop. It fell around his neck clinging on the coin already there. “No monster but I found a cool gift” he thought heading back to his cabin.

What he saw when he got back to his cabin was less of a gift. It was ransacked, mostly. His equipment mostly left undamaged besides a few chipped screens. Those’ll cost a pretty penny to replace. But all of Travis food was either half eaten or taken. “Freaking bears” he grumbled annoyed.   He spent the better part of the evening cleaning up the mess left behind and reinforcing the cabin’s door to prevent a repeat performance. All the wild fighting an itch he figured was due to bugs. The next day Travis had another dilemma on his hands. The thieving forest dwellers got to his entire stash of food leaving him with nothing eat for the remainder of the excursion. He remembered the owner of the cabin mentioning something about fish and looked through the back closet. Travis found some fishing poles and bait. He also remembered seeing a river further down the hill. Taking the rod in one hand and the bucket in the other, he headed out the door closing it behind him. He took a deep breath noticing a variety of smell he didn’t notice before. It made his nose tickle. The appendage looking slightly darker than before and more bulbous as if swollen. Oblivious, Travis keep on down the hill. It didn’t take long to find the river. He stood at the edge and set the bucket down next to him “I guess all those summers fishing with Grandpa Barney finally pay off” he said smiling. Travis hooked some bait on the lure and casted his line in the river. The bob dropped with an audible plop and rippled the water around it. “And now to play the waiting game” Travis said to himself sitting back.

As he waited, Travis wiggled his legs back forth stretched out on his butt. He hadn’t had a bit in a while. His feet were started to cramp up from his current position. It was like his sneakers had a vice grip on his toes. Those weren’t the only things feeling constricting though he noticed. His shirt and shorts started feeling along more snug than when he put them on this morning. “Man I guess I’ve let myself go” he said looking down at his distended belly. He was always this big, right? Travis shook his head of those thoughts as the rod shook. “I got something!” he shouted triumphantly. He started to reel the line in slowly remembering all the techniques his grandpa taught him. “Give it some slack…..now reel in for the kill….some more slack….reel” he repeated. He started drooling thinking of how good the fish would taste. He could hardly waited to sing his fangs- no, teeth in it. Much larger hands tightened their grip on the fishing rod as brain hair started covering the tops of them. The same hair was spreading out from underneath Travis’ shirt and shorts. “C’mere fishy fishy fishy” Travis said dazedly. His new, longer tongue slipped out of his mouth and licked his growing muzzle. Just then a loud tearing sound could be heard and Travis finally felt relief in his feet. Clawed toes pokes through his destroyed sneakers plumping up and gaining a rubbery padding on the sole. By now the fur-like hair had overtaken much of Travis’ upper body spreading up to his face now. The fish finally reeled in, Travis sat down on a much bigger rump exposing a rub of growing flesh by his tailbone. His nose sniffed the morsel as darkened more as he did to a complete black. His shirt couldn’t support his new weight and started tearing all over. The same happening to his short starting from the back as his newly ursine butt poked through the tattered remains. The same black padding covering Travis’ soles poked through on his palms as his fingernails darkened and extending out into claws. As Travis leaned in to take a bite of his catch his face extended out more and more closing the distance rather quickly as he took a triumphant bite. His clothes lie on the ground, ruined, with his hat only remaining atop his head. The strange totem he picked up earlier seemed to have grown with him and the string fit perfectly around his much larger neck. Travis finished off the fish rather quickly but he stomach growled for more. Equipment forgotten, he headed into shallow end of the river to try out a new way of fishing. Coming to Outskirt Forest, the young cameraman hoped to uncover its hidden mysteries behind strange sightings. While those may have been a hoax, he found a much better mystery. It’s a shame he never recorded it. Not like his new mind or hands could ever figure out how to work a camera. After satiating his grizzly appetite, Travis abandoned his gear to find shelter in the woods. At some point the totem string snapped and dropped from around his neck back onto the forest floor. END

--------- If you like my work consider buying me a ko-fi http://www.ko-fi.com/zefurr   FA: http://furaffinity.net/user/zefurr & http://furaffinity.net/user/zephyr10101

[halcyon-books]

An essay

Note: This article by Carol Davis was published in Overground in 2016.  The article was written many years ago, and none of the comments are current.   Overground was founded in England in 1988 by Margaret, a woman devotee  I maintained a correspondence with for several years.  Women are more open regarding their feelings than are men.  I met Richard, one of her co-founders, at a Fascination Weekend in 1990, and we had a long chat.  I also met Carol at the Fascination Weekends.  My book is prominently displayed in one of Carol’s videos, lying on a beach towel beside her.  

One-Legged Stardom by Carol Davis

Notice: Carol Davis' website "Amputees Are Beautiful" and CD Productions are now closed. However, we consider that her story remains compelling enough to have its place on this site.  Some of her videos are still available on YouTube.

Introduction

There is really nothing very interesting about the story behind my becoming an amputee. I wasn't stalked and maimed by a crazed attacker who blew my leg off with a shotgun. I wasn't involved in an accident where doctors worked feverishly to save my mangled leg. No, all that it was that made me a member of this unique "sorority of one-legged ladies" was a losing bout with cancer.

Actually, I should refer to it as a winning bout with cancer, as I'm still here - writing this - 15 years after it all happened.

My name is Carol, and as I mentioned, I'm an amputee. My left leg ends abruptly in a stump about six inches long. It took me a long time to feel comfortable referring to it as my stump and I used to simply call it my "little leg". But a lot has changed since those early days of adjusting as an amputee, and I've learned about many new things. One of the things I've learned was the fact that many men find amputees to be extremely attractive because of their missing limb, not just in spite of it.

Although I've had my story told in another publication about six years ago, that was before I began producing videos about amputees for those men who find amputees to be especially attractive. This is the story about my experiences of "stardom" after corresponding with thousands of men about their attraction to amputees and what I've learned about the men who share this attraction.

My Life before the Amputation

I am the oldest of five children and the only girl. My younger brothers were all very athletic, and it was natural for me to be interested in physical fitness. Before I lost my leg, I was quite active and enjoyed all sorts of sports, including skiing, swimming, bicycling, and ice and roller skating. I was on my college swim team, and I received several medals for my efforts in the free-style and back-stroke.

After college I got a job teaching math and science. I began dating a fellow teacher whom I had been car-pooling with. Things seemed to go well, and we were married two years later. We were happy together and although we had our differences, for the most part we got along quite well.

It was in the summer of 1978 when my husband and I took a cross-country driving trip to the west coast. During the trip I noticed that my left knee became stiff after a few hours in the car. At the time I had been exercising heavily, both working out at the health club and bicycling ten to twenty miles every day. So when my leg started to hurt I figured that I must have pulled a muscle which may have been aggravated by being cramped up in the car for long periods of time, and I didn't worry too much about it.

But after our trip, my knee didn't get better. It got worse. Not only was my regular exercise routine of jumping rope painful, but just moving around became a chore. Climbing stairs was particularly difficult. My leg became so weak and sore that climbing stairs made me feel very old. I remember thinking that I felt like a cripple.

I decided to see my doctor about my left knee. My doctor referred me to a circulation specialist who couldn't find anything wrong. I was referred to four different doctors before one of them ran a battery of tests. He thought he saw something in an X-ray and recommended I have a biopsy. He didn't seem too concerned, so I didn't worry either.

A week later the doctor called to say the results were back from the lab and that I should come in for a consultation. In his office, he told me he wasn't too sure about what the results meant, and recommended that I go to Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston for further testing. He said that "Mass General" had doctors which were more specialized in this area. I agreed, and he set up an appointment.

In Boston, the doctors repeated all the tests that my doctor performed. These tests took a week, and on Friday, with my husband and mother present, my doctor finally told me what was wrong. I had a malignant bone tumor in my knee, the same cancer as Ted Kennedy, Jr. had developed. I was told that the recommended treatment was chemotherapy, after amputation of the affected leg. Mine was to be amputated at mid-thigh.

For some reason I was not terribly stunned by the doctor's news. After a week of being poked and prodded by a team of seven doctors, I felt a growing feeling that something was seriously wrong. So, although the news was bad, it didn't surprise me that much.

I was told I had a choice - that I could decide not to have my leg amputated. But I was also told that without amputation, there was little chance that I would live longer than a year or so. My doctor said one of his patients with the same type of cancer had died less than two years after refusing to have her arm amputated. He told me that losing a leg wouldn't be as bad as it seemed - that I would be able to lead an otherwise normal life.

Only One Choice to Make

My choice was clear. I wanted to live, even if it meant losing my leg. I gave my consent to the surgery, which was to be performed the first thing Monday morning. That night and for the rest of the weekend, I kept thinking about what was going to happen on Monday morning. I kept looking down at my legs and wiggling my toes. As I fell asleep I would try to imagine what it would be like to have only one foot - what it would feel like not to have a left knee, ankle, and foot. I spent a lot of time thinking about this over the next two days.

Monday morning arrived and my husband and mother walked beside me as I was wheeled to the operating room area of the hospital. Here I waited alone in the hallway, lying on my back, waiting for the operating room to be made ready. I remember waiting a long time - then it finally hit me. They were really going to amputate my leg. I was going to wake up with my leg gone! I began to cry. A nurse who was passing by in the hallway apparently heard me crying and stopped by my bed. She glanced through the papers at the end of my bed which contained information regarding the surgical procedure, then slowly put them down. She seemed to understand what was going through my mind. She said nothing, but with the understanding that only a mother could have, she patted me on the head and held my hand. It seemed to console me. In addition, after several minutes of crying, my nose had been getting very stuffed up. I was concerned that my stuffed-up nose might cause complications with the anesthesia, so I made an effort to stop crying, and I was pretty well calmed down by the time the nurses came for me.

They wheeled me into a small room and put an I.V. needle in my arm. Then I remember them moving me into the brightly lit operating room and I was lifted onto the table. I remember seeing a nurse injecting something into the I.V. and I found myself rapidly losing consciousness.

My New Life as an Amputee

When I woke up I was in a lot of pain. It felt as if someone was pinching and twisting my toes and pulling my foot as hard as they could. I had a pinching feeling in my calf, too. It was almost unbearable.

For the next few days, I drifted in and out of consciousness. Every four hours I was given morphine injections, and it felt wonderful as the drug spread though my body, seeming to dissolve the pain. After a few days, the pain slowly subsided and the doctors began substituting other pain killers for the morphine. However, I still felt as if something was twisting and pulling at my toes and foot and pinching my calf. I tried to reposition my left foot to get more comfortable in the bed, but my foot wouldn't move. It was a strange sensation because I could feel my toes, my foot, and my ankle cramped in a very uncomfortable position. I had to look under the bedsheet because it was so hard to believe that my leg was really gone! What I saw under the sheet was a heavily bandaged area where my left leg had been. It was strange - even as I looked at it and could see where my leg now stopped, I could feel my entire leg - my foot, ankle, and even my toes.

Some may find it hard to believe, but I was up and walking a few days after my amputation. The doctors had put a plaster cast over the bandage and attached a metal pylon to the cast. With the aid of crutches, which I had been already using to keep the weight off of my knee before the operation, I was able to walk on the pylon. I learned to get around fairly quickly although the cast was bulky and had to be attached with an uncomfortable velcro waist belt to hold it on.

I remember very clearly the day my doctor took off my bandage to remove the sutures. I had no idea what my stump was going to look like. I didn't look down until he had removed the sutures. What I saw was very swollen, and the skin was soft and kind of puffed out between the stitches, so the end was bumpy, with kind of a scalloped outline rather than a smooth curve. My stump was about six inches long. I laughed and told him "At least you could have stitched it straight." He seemed shocked that I would joke about it - but after a few seconds he laughed, too.

I was in the hospital a total of six weeks. After the amputation, every day I went for physical therapy and training for new amputees. I was taught to wrap my stump to shrink it down for a prosthesis. I lifted weights and worked out on a machine to strengthen my upper body. I also did exercises on a floor mat to strengthen my leg. One of the exercises called for me to lie on my back while a physical therapist would apply downward pressure on my stump and I would try to lift it. It wasn't long before I could lift my stump effortlessly, and no amount of pressure by the physical therapist could hold my stump to the mat. I was surprised to find that my stump became so strong. My therapist told me that my stump needs to be strong if I was to be able to use a prosthesis well. One of the hardest parts of physical therapy was negotiating stairs: going down stairs the first time on crutches terrified me.

It took me a while to adjust to my new body without a left leg. The day I was discharged from the hospital, my parents drove me home and helped me up the steps to my front door. Unfortunately, the storm door was locked from the inside, and I waited, standing outside leaning on my crutches while my parents went around the back to open the door for me. When they opened the front door, I stepped forward - with my missing left leg! I just stuck my stump out and toppled over. I fell hard, putting my hand through the glass storm door cutting my hand badly. This was a very natural mistake to make. I could still feel my leg, and in the excitement of arriving home I just forgot that it wasn't really there. I was embarrassed at having done such a dumb thing, but after having spent six weeks in the hospital, I wasn't about to go back for such a stupid mistake, so I wrapped my hand in a towel until the bleeding stopped.

My Real Trials Begin

After leaving the hospital I began two years of chemotherapy. It was far worse than the amputation. Three days after my first treatment, all of my hair fell out. My hair fell out twice in the next two years, but that was nothing compared to the nausea and weakness which I experienced.

And there was something else troubling me: My husband was acting differently toward me. Sure, he was very sympathetic and supportive through my entire ordeal. But it was clear that my amputation had changed our relationship. Our sex life ended when my leg was removed. He couldn't accept the way my body looked. He wouldn't even talk about it. I can't say for sure that my amputated leg was the only reason he didn't find me desirable any more, but it was certainly a major factor.

My husband began to stay out late and drink a lot. He didn't want to look at me anymore. I talked to a few doctors about this and they said that I should give it some time - that he'll probably get over it. He never did, and we divorced three years later. My husband had always told me that one of the reasons he married me was because of my "great legs", and he just couldn't accept the fact that now I had only one, and would need to use crutches or a prosthesis for the rest of my life.

My husband's reaction to my amputation had emotionally scarred me very deeply. After our divorce, as I was getting undressed one evening, I looked in the mirror at my lop-sided body and my stump hanging out of the left side of my panties and thought about how ugly he must have found it. I understood that he could not change the way he felt about my appearance with only one leg and an ugly stump, any more than I could grow my leg back. I thought that it would be all but impossible to ever again enter into a relationship with a man. I felt that I was an incomplete woman - that no man could ever desire my body again. Luckily, I was wrong.

My family and friends adapted to my amputation much better than my husband did. At first they felt sorry for me and wanted to do everything for me. I convinced them that I wasn't helpless and that I could do things for myself.

My amputation changed my life greatly. I had to learn to walk all over again - with a prosthesis, first with the aid of two crutches, then one crutch, and finally a cane. I still use a cane when I'm wearing my prosthesis.

My New Activities

I got interested in skiing again about six years after my amputation. I had skied a few times before when I was able-bodied, but skiing on one leg was new to me. By attending a handicapped learn-to-ski clinic, I met and talked with other amputees. We discussed and learned from each other a lot more than skiing. For the first time, I got to see other amputees. I saw stumps - both arms and legs missing. And nobody seemed ashamed of the way they looked. It didn't take me long to feel at ease in my ski outfit with the pinned-up left pant leg. It was worth it. Skiing was fantastic! I discovered a whole new feeling of mobility.

Of course, the equipment I use is slightly different than a normal skier. I use an "outrigger" on each arm. Each outrigger is like a forearm crutch with a little ski on the bottom. A mechanical trigger controlled by a line from the handle allows me to flip the skis up so I can use the outriggers as crutches when I need to walk.

It took me eight years to get the courage to go out without my prosthesis, other than on the ski slopes. Actually, I didn't have much of a choice. I had plans with a friend to vacation in Florida for a week. The airline and hotel reservations were already made, and the day before our flight, some fluid from the hydraulic knee of my prosthesis leaked through the cover in the back of the knee. It made an unsightly black spot in the soft foam cover, but worse, I found it difficult walking with the prosthesis and I was worried that it might get worse. My prosthetist took a look at it and said that I'd have to leave it and that it would take a few days to fix. So I went on vacation without it, and used crutches instead.

It was to be a blessing in disguise. That week, I walked along the beach barefoot for the first time in eight years. I can't describe in words how emotional it was for me to feel the wet sand between my toes again! My crutches sunk a bit in the sand as I cried silent tears of joy. It's the little things in life that mean so much, I thought.

But that week was to be another turning point in my life. Here I was, in public, among strangers, without my prosthesis. My prosthesis - my only link with appearing physically normal. What must these people think? Does the sight of me crutching along the beach turn them off? Does the sight of my cotton jumpsuit with the pinned-up pant leg make them want to quickly look away? To my surprise, they didn't even seem to notice. They didn't stare or point at me, or even look away. They didn't care. I felt as if I was accepted the way I was!

After I felt comfortable without my prosthesis, it wasn't too long before I mustered up enough courage to wear a light summer dress or a short skirt with a colorful top. After all, it was almost Easter and rather warm in Florida at the time.

I absolutely love to travel. Whether flying or driving cross-country, I love to visit new places. If I travel alone, which I do occasionally on business, I wear my prosthesis - because while using crutches I can't manage to carry even the smallest items. If I'm traveling with a companion, I'd rather leave my leg at home and use my crutches. It's so much more comfortable sitting in an airplane seat without the cramped feeling I get when wearing my prosthesis. I can also walk much faster with crutches than I can with my leg on, and I feel much less clumsy.

In the summer I love to swim. I feel very much at ease in the water. As I mentioned, long before I lost my leg, I was on my college swim team. After I lost my leg, it didn't take me long to try swimming again. I wasn't sure that I would still be able to swim, but swimming was a part of me and I had to try. To my relief, I was still able to swim quite well. At first I felt a little lop-sided in the water and my balance was totally different, but I quickly adapted to my body's different bouyancy. I also had to fight the habit of kicking with my missing leg - it didn't really help my swimming very much to kick with my little stump. I found that my speed and power in the water were greatly reduced - with only half the "kicking" power, I swim a little slower but I still have more endurance in the water than most people.

I've always loved to swim and learning to swim again with my new body wasn't all that difficult. But finding the courage to be seen in a swimsuit was another matter. About a year after I lost my leg, I tried swimming again in my parent's pool. I wore a one-piece swimsuit, but I also wore blue-jeans over the swimsuit. I didn't pin up the empty pant leg, but just let it drag in the water. I was happy to be swimming again, but I didn't want anybody to see my stump.

Then came an opportunity to go skiing in Colorado. I had never skied Colorado, but had heard many great things, and it was an opportunity I didn't want to pass up. I knew that the resort at which we were to stay had an outdoor hot tub. I didn't want to miss the hot-tubbing parties that sometimes occur in the evenings after a hard day on the slopes, but I was afraid of appearing in a swimsuit and showing my stump, and I didn't want to be seen wearing jeans in the hot tub. Then I had an idea. Before the ski trip, I went to a local sport shop and bought a solid red exercise body suit - the kind with long pant legs and stirrup loops for the feet. Instead of leaving the left pant leg loose or pin it up in back, I decided to turn the leg inside-out and then fasten the stirrup loop of the left leg to the back of the bra I was wearing underneath. I also wore a white cloth belt with it. It looked good and I felt comfortable in it. And it didn't bother anyone, either. Actually, I was surprised to receive several compliments about it that evening. It wasn't long after that ski trip, on a trip to Hawaii, that I was able to appear in a real swimsuit all by itself, first in a one-piece swimsuit, then later in a bikini. I had finally overcome feeling self-conscious about my body.

While I was in Hawaii, I tried scuba diving for the first time. It was a beach dive from Hanauma Bay, and it was a unique experience for me. Because it was a beach dive (instead of a dive from a boat), I needed help getting in and out of the water, especially with the heavy tank on my back. The fish that live in the bay were very beautiful, and of many colors. I had only one minor problem. Because of the weight of the air tank and my somewhat lopsided body, I kept falling off to my one side if I stopped moving through the water. So I had to keep kicking the flipper to avoid turning over. But it still was a lot of fun.

My activities can be summarized by the three S's: Skiing in the winter, swimming in the summer, and shopping all the time. The phrase "born to shop" really describes me quite accurately. Everywhere I travel, I love to visit malls, boutiques, and craft shows. I like shopping for gifts, clothes, and especially shoes. I've always had this thing for nice feminine shoes, and it hasn't changed - even after I lost my leg. I buy flat-heel shoes if I plan to use them with my prosthesis, but I can't resist the sexy look and feel of high-heels, especially with a short skirt. I have a pair of rosewood crutches which were made a little taller than normal, so I can wear a heel. It makes me feel very feminine to be able to dress up in a short skirt and high-heel shoe - something I didn't do for over eight years after losing my leg.

Other Feelings

I've had to learn to deal with strangers and to accept being stared at occasionally, although most people are polite. Children are very curious. They often stare at me in supermarkets and malls, but that doesn't bother me. Kids sometimes ask about my missing leg in the cutest ways. Young children are so puzzled to see only one leg emerging from my skirt or shorts. They sometimes just stoop down and look up trying to figure out where my other leg is. Once, last year, while vacationing in Yellowstone, I was standing at a store counter, and a little girl was staring up my empty shorts leg. She just stared until she noticed me looking at her. Finally she asked me where my leg went. I replied that it had gotten sick and the doctor had to take it. She nodded, seeming to understand, satisfied with my answer. Then she asked, "When's he gonna give it back?" Just then her father came over and pulled her away, apologizing to me and muttering something to her about it not being polite to stare. Adults are much more uptight about it than children. I don't think kids should be discouraged from asking questions. I think if children were allowed to satisfy their curiosity about disabled people, they would grow up with much healthier attitudes.

Of course, that's my opinion as a teacher. At the start of every school year, when I have a new class of fifth-grade students, I explain to them about my missing leg and my prosthesis, and tell them that if they have any questions about it, they should feel free to ask me. I have been asked a lot of interesting questions from kids, like: Does it hurt? Can you swim? Do you take it off when you go to bed? What does it feel like? Do you feel like you can still wiggle your toes? I answer them truthfully, never considering any question too silly.

I've continued to be physically active. I've now skied about 100 times as an amputee, and I also teach other amputees to ski.

Several years ago, I tried riding a bicycle again for the first time in nine years. My ten-speed bike has only one pedal, and the pedal has a toe-clip on it so I can pull up on it as well as push down. I found that riding a bike with only one leg was not really that difficult. I need to hold on to something to help me balance while I'm getting my foot into the toe-clip when I start, and I make very sure that when I stop that I lean and get off on the right side of the bike, but otherwise riding a bike feels very normal to me. I rode three miles the first day I got back on a bicycle, and I often use my bike to get some exercise. Besides, it's a lot of fun.

Discovering Devotees

I had talked with many professionals who prepared me for my new life as an amputee, but nothing that anyone told me prepared me for what I later found out on my own.

It was on one of my ski trips that I found out that there were men that didn't find the sight of an amputee to be repulsive. It delighted me when I found out that, in fact, some men actually find an amputee to be physically attractive - even sexy! I had a hard time believing this at first - how can something that I consider so ugly - my stump - be seen as attractive by others? But it was true - a friend showed me a magazine article about this phenomenon.

Becoming an amputee is a very traumatic experience for anyone, but I think it is especially difficult for a woman because of the emphasis on cosmetic beauty that is placed on women by today's society. With my various videos, I hope to show to any woman who has undergone or is about to undergo an amputation, that not only does life go on, but that it can be just as rewarding for an amputee as it can be for an able-bodied woman. Just because your body is different, doesn't mean that it is unattractive and undesirable. Beauty is very much indeed, in the eye of the beholder.

Although I don't share many of your feelings about your fascination - I don't find my lack of a leg "sexy" in any way - it gives me a special feeling to know that in the eyes of many of you, that I am still a "complete" woman.

My Videos

In 1988, I was featured in my first video, "Ten Years After". This video was a documentary about my life on one leg and how I coped with things on a day-to-day basis. My second video, "Eye of the Beholder", addressed the phenomenon of amputee-attraction and my views about it. My most recent video, "Per Your Request", is a culmination of suggestions from the thousands of letters that I've received from my viewers over the past six years.

In addition to videos featuring myself, I have produced two videos of other amputee women, including a below-knee amputee named Tamra, and I have ongoing productions for at least five other amputee women who want to be featured in a special-interest video. I have recently announced a sixth video about a double-leg amputee named Carla.

My videos are all done in good taste, and none of them feature nudity of any kind. One of the girls, an amputee named Debbie, decided that she wanted to model some lingerie for her viewers, and she received many favorable comments about her provocative modeling scenes. All of the models who have appeared in videos that I produce receive all of the profits from the sale of their videos, and Debbie used the money she received to purchase a high-tech prosthesis which her insurance company wouldn't pay for and she otherwise couldn't afford. Debbie also offers photographs of herself.

Since making these special-interest videos, I have learned a lot about the tastes of these special men. With each video tape that I send out, I include a questionnaire that asks about which scenes they liked and which they didn't, along with any suggestions they might have for future videos. Although these men all have the same attraction for women who are missing a limb, their tastes vary widely with what they want to see in a video tape. Some men are attracted to ladies who are missing arms, others are only interested in those with multiple amputations. It is clear to me that no matter what shape you are in or what parts you are missing, that there is someone out there who is attracted to you.

As I try to please as many of my viewers as I can, my videos contain a lot of variety as far as my activities and outfits that I wear. Some of the men that write to me want to see me wearing my prosthesis or one of my peg legs, but most prefer to watch me walking with crutches and just doing everyday activities that I enjoy. Many of my viewers liked scenes of me modeling various clothes - shorts, dresses, pants, high-heels, and especially swimsuits.

Questions, Questions

Since releasing three videos about myself and two videos of other amputee friends of mine, I've learned quite a bit from the many men who write to me about my videos. I'd like to share with you some of what I've learned about the special men who find amputees so attractive, and also answer some of the questions that I'm most often asked.

Q. Can you still feel your missing leg as if it's still there? I can't feel my leg anymore unless I concentrate on it. It took about a year before those funny feelings went away. Maybe my brain adjusted to the fact that part of me wasn't there any more. Sometimes, while lying on my back with my eyes closed, I can feel my entire leg - knee, foot, and even my toes. This feeling disappears as soon as I try to move my "phantom" leg.

Q. What does it feel like to have a stump? That is probably the most difficult question for me to answer, because it is a very difficult feeling to describe in words. Also, over the years, my mind has adjusted for my missing leg and it feels differently now than it did when I was a new amputee. My stump feels a lot different than my other leg. For one thing, it's extremely light. I can move it effortlessly. My stump is also much more sensitive to touch than my normal leg. There is nothing quite like the feeling of a stump-massage from a willing gentleman. It is a feeling that is wonderful to experience, yet impossible for me to describe in words.

Q. Does it bother you when people stare? Not anymore. Besides, not too many people stare, except for young children, and I'm very willing to talk to them to help make them feel more comfortable about it. I don't want the child to think that there is anything wrong with asking about it, and I feel quite at ease talking about my missing leg with children. I've occasionally noticed a guy watching me from a distance, but now I know that he's enjoying watching me - not pitying me.

Q. Have you ever forgotten that your leg was gone and tried to walk? Yes, even a year after my amputation, I forgot and stepped out of bed in the middle of the night, trying to walk to the bathroom. I took a step with my short leg and fell right over. Luckily, I didn't hurt myself.

Q. What do you think of guys that find amputees attractive? I think it's great. I can't change the way I am. I'm always going to have a stump where a normal woman would have a nice looking leg. I'll always feel a little inferior to other women that have two nice legs, but it has helped my self-esteem so much to know that there are lots of men who find me attractive just as I am.

Q. Are there any ADVANTAGES to having only one leg? Well, only a few, but they don't offset the disadvantages. For one, I can save money on buying pantyhose. When I get a run in them, I just turn them around with the run on my stump side and I can still use them.

One of my admirers has given me several pair of pantyhose that he has custom-tailored for me. They have the stump side cut off and sealed closed. When we go out on a date, he is turned on by the fact that while I sit, my stump is nicely enclosed in tight-fitting nylon while it lies on the seat under my dress or skirt. I can always get his attention if I should happen to casually move it under my skirt or dress.

Other "tricks" I've learned are a different way of folding up my empty pant leg. I used to fold the pant leg up on the side or the back and pin it to my waistband, but I've found that if I turn the pant leg inside out and pull it up inside, it looks nicer.

I can also save money on shoes. There is one department store that will sell two different sizes to people with different sized feet. That same store will sell a single shoe for half the price of a pair of them. I also swap shoes with some amputee friends of mine who are missing the opposite leg that I am.

Another advantage of being "handicapped" is that when I go on a ski trip, I usually get a discount on my lift ticket. Also, when there are long lift lines, I can cut through the "ski school" line and not have to wait in the long lines. Oh, one more thing about skiing as an amputee - I never have to worry about crossing my ski tips!

Shoes, Shoes, Shoes

I've always loved high heel shoes, and that hasn't changed, even now that I can wear only one. I think that a high heel shoe makes a woman's leg look more shapely. I've been told by several guys that I look more "statuesque" when I'm wearing a single high-heel shoe. Wearing a high heel as an amputee can be somewhat precarious at times, especially when walking down a staircase or an escalator. At times like those, I like to have someone assist me by holding a crutch for me while I use the handrail.

Many of the men who write to me have a fetish for shoes, especially high heel and spike heel shoes. Most of the men who write to me consider themselves "leg men", and say that they feel a woman's legs are the most attractive part of her anatomy. Of the men who write to me, I get as many compliments about my remaining leg as I get about my stump.

Where are the Amputees?

Several of the men who write to me have asked me where I find the amputees who appear in my videos. As these men point out, amputees are not a particularly common sight.

All I can say is that we are out there. As far as my videos are concerned, most of the amputees who appear in them have been referred to me by some of the men who correspond with me. These men have shown my videos to the ladies and mentioned that they could earn some additional income by modeling in a video of their own. Each of the men who has put an amputee woman in touch with me receives a complimentary copy of her video or photo sets. In addition, I offer him the opportunity to assist me with the filming process if it's convenient for him.

Those Who Stare

Some men have asked me how I feel about being stared at, and if it bothers me. I get stares from children all of the time. They are so curious. They can't understand that I don't have a left leg and it really gets to them! Some of the younger children will actually stoop down to look up my empty shorts leg or my skirt to see if I'm hiding it under there. It usually embarrasses their parents, but I explain that it's okay and that it's just their natural curiosity.

I occasionally notice a guy who is watching me, but if I happen to look in his direction, he usually turns away, pretending he wasn't looking at me. I sometimes wonder if these "watchers" are devotees, or whether they were simply curious.

On a few occasions I have been approached by a stranger who just came up to start a conversation, and I have also been contacted by some of my viewers when they've seen me out in public. Once, I was at the airport on my way out of town, when one of the parking police at the airport approached me and asked me if I was Carol Davis. He said that he enjoyed watching me in my videos, and we talked for a little while.

My Feelings about Devotees

One of the questions I'm most often asked is how I feel about "devotees".

With a few exceptions, almost all of the devotees I've met, whether at organized meetings or other places, have been very nice gentlemen. Most of them are no different than anyone else you might meet. Also, most of the men who write to me seem to be quite intelligent, and I enjoy hearing from them about their feelings. I try to answer each letter personally, but I sometimes fall behind, so if you write to me, please forgive me if I don't get back to you right away.

What I find very sad is the fact that most men who are attracted to amputees have at one time or another experienced extreme feelings of shame about what they find so attractive. Until they discover that other men also share their feelings, they think that they are quite strange, even perverted, to get pleasure from a woman's amputation, especially in light of the fact that it caused her so much trauma and unhappiness in her life.

I wish there was something I could tell these men to let them know that it's okay to find amputees to be attractive and desirable. After all, they didn't cause me to become an amputee, so why should they feel guilt or shame?

What I've Learned about Devotees and their Preferences

Let me share with you some of the feedback I've received from the men who have written to me and those who have answered the questionnaires that I've sent out with each of my videos.

First of all, most of the men are attracted to SAK amputees. About 20 percent of these men are ONLY interested in SAK amputees, and not interested in women with other types of amputations. Some of the men who write to me have a preference for left or right leg missing, and a very small minority are interested ONLY in a woman with a specific side - left or right - amputation. One of the men who is only interested in RAK amputees explained to me that he had a memorable relationship with an amputee as a young boy, and that she was missing her right leg. He went on to tell me that ever since that time, he had fantasized about what it would feel like to be an amputee, and it was always the right leg that was missing in his fantasies.

Double AK's are also in demand among these men. Arm amputees and multiple amputees - those missing several limbs are also thought of as erotic. The success of Tamra's video notwithstanding, most don't care for BK amputees. However, from the response that Tamra received from her viewers, there are exceptions to this rule.

Most of the men who buy my videos are only interested in watching activities that I perform without my prosthesis, whether I'm using crutches or hopping, or even crawling on the floor. Others are more interested in my prosthesis, and watching how I put it on and walk with it. However, these men are in a minority.

In addition to the level of amputation being a factor, some of the men are interested in the adaptive equipment used by the amputee. A surprising number of the men who write to me have a fixation on the crutches that I use. Of those that have expressed an interest in crutches, most of them prefer the underarm or "axillary" crutches. They tell me that they look more elegant and make me look more attractive. Some of the men prefer the Canadian forearm-type crutches. It seems that most of the men who prefer the forearm crutches are from Europe, as these crutches are more common there.

Some want to see me using my prosthesis, and a LOT wanted to see me use my peg leg. Only a few men are interested in wheelchairs, but I was surprised to know that they also exist. I've recently been in touch with quite a few men who are attracted to women who wear leg braces, and I have plans to feature a brace-wearing woman in a future video.

Even among the largest group of men who prefer AK amputees there was some subtle sub-preferences. Some men prefer hip-disarticulation amputations and some prefer very short stumps, while others (although a much smaller number) liked longer AK stumps.

Peg-legs are a mixed bag. The men who responded to my questionnaire were about evenly split on whether they enjoyed watching me wear a peg leg. A small minority of the men, about 20% of them, liked to watch me wear my prosthesis, while the others only wanted to see me on crutches and on my peg leg.

Regarding peg legs - I've always thought that they were only for those who couldn't afford a real prosthesis with a flexible knee. But I've discovered that a peg leg can actually be useful when doing housework. It is much lighter than my prosthesis and I don't have to worry about the knee giving way when I don't expect it. I have a much better "feel" for where the tip is placed, and I don't have to concentrate as much when I'm walking with it, although I must swing it to the side when walking, since it doesn't have a knee to bend. The biggest problem with a peg leg is when I need to sit down, especially in a car. I understand that some peg legs have a knee that can be unlocked and bent, and that some pegs can actually be detached for use in a car.

The responses I've received about my peg legs have been either very positive or very negative. Some guys absolutely love to watch an amputee wearing a peg leg, and other men absolutely hate it. It seems there is no middle ground on the subject of peg legs.

As I mentioned, some of the men who write to me are especially interested in women who are missing both legs, especially DAK amputees. The men who have a fixation or fetish about crutches, however, don't care for DAK amputees in general, probably because a double-leg amputee can't use crutches. I have recently released a video featuring a double leg amputee named Carla. While many double leg amputees use a wheelchair for mobility, Carla uses two prostheses. Some double leg amputees, including Carla, can walk on their stumps. Another amputee woman I know - Tina - who normally uses a wheelchair, can actually walk quite well on her stumps, taking little tiny steps when she walks on them. Tina may be featured in a future video of her own.

Although SAK and DAK amputees are by far the most popular with the men that write to me, there is also interest in arm amputees (both above and below elbow) as well as below-knee amputees, although interest in BK amputees is a lot less. I don't know why this is the case, as the men who like arm amputees seem to enjoy both above-elbow and below-elbow amputees about the same. It seems that as far as leg amputees go, "less is more".

Pretenders and "Wannabees"

Many of the men who write to me tell me that at one time or another they have fantasized about being an amputee themselves. A surprising number have admitted that they have also pretended to be an amputee in private, tying up their leg to "experience" what it feels like to be an amputee.

A relatively small number of men have said to me that they would like to actually become an amputee themselves. I also know some men who have succeeded in obtaining an amputation for themselves, and they have done this in a variety of ways, from chainsaws to shotguns to a freight train. One of these men even had a doctor perform his amputation in a clinic. Most of the men who have a desire to become an amputee themselves have said that they would never have the courage to actually do anything to cause it to happen, but if an accident should happen, that they would be able to accept living the rest of their life as an amputee - even welcome it.

In Closing

I still don't understand exactly what beauty these men find in my one-leggedness, but I do know that there exist MANY men with this special fascination for women with missing limbs, and I'm very glad that this phenomenon exists. After all, I'm going to live the rest of my life with only one leg - why shouldn't it be okay for men to like me just the way I am?

If any of your amputee readers might be interested in being featured in a video of her own, please have her contact me. In addition to making some extra spending money, being featured in a video just might be the opportunity she needs if she's looking for that "special guy", as many of the men that write to me are very marriage-minded and looking for the girl of their dreams.

I have a brochure that describes the videos that I currently have available, and it includes color photos from scenes of each of the videos as well as an order form.

I am always happy to hear from those with similar interests. If any of your readers would like to correspond, they can write to me at the following address:

© OverGround 2016

  C

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

Regenerate Nine Day: Just hold on

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 12/?.

Pairings: Human!Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler.

Synopsis: "He was walking to his car, passing close to a small dark alleyway when he heard a small cry. He stopped, surprised, and listened. It could just have been a cat, but if it wasn’t, he had to make sure of it."

A/N: Today is Regenerate Nine Day (9/9) and so I've decided to repost all the one-shots I've written about the Ninth Doctor, whether they are DW verse or not to celebrate this fantastic Doctor. The first shot to be post is a rewriting of Journey's end.

“A hero is somebody who is selfless, who is generous in spirit, who just tries to give back as much as possible and help people. A hero to me is someone who saves people and who really cares.” - Debi Mazar.

JUST HOLD ON:

It was late that night and Maxence Spitz had just stopped working. He was working as a home nurse and had been visiting his patients all day. Now he was exhausted and really wanted to go back home. Maybe he would find some pizzeria or fast food open all night to eat something before going straight to his bed. Today had been a long day, but he wasn’t complaining. He loved his job and he loved people, he loved hearing their stories about their everyday life. He was a good listener and people often talked to him about everything, saying that he always knew what to say to them. There were things he didn’t know though, some questions he couldn’t answer and that always left him a bit sad but he couldn’t do much about it except learning, and learning was also something he was good at. But sometimes the theory wasn’t enough to face the reality of things. He was gonna learn it just now. He was walking to his car, passing close to a small dark alleyway when he heard a small cry. He stopped, surprised, and listened. It could just have been a cat, but if it wasn’t, he had to make sure of it. His instinct was telling him it wasn’t just a stray cat, and if someone needed him, he had to go and see. There was another small cry. It was definitely human. Maxence pulled out his phone and switched on the torch. He started walking in the alleyway, calling out for whoever was there. The whimpers stopped as soon as the person heard him. He kept looking though. Someone needed help and he was surely one of the right persons for this job. He listened closely to everything around him, trying to find where the whimpers had come from. He was leading the small light of his phone around the dark alleyway that was stinking with long forgotten rubbish. His phone beeped and when he looked at it, he realised his battery was low. His phone was gonna shut off and he would be left in the dark. He cursed under his breath and started looking his pockets and into his medical bag if he had any torch. Why would he when he had a phone? He was muttering at how stupid he was not to have taken his pocket charger when anyone could need him and call him at any time. He finally managed to find a small torch in the bottom of his medical bag and pulled it out. He switched off the phone light and put it in his pocket. He was left in the dark for a few seconds, and in that few seconds, he heard noises. Like someone trying to get up and run away, but slumping back on the floor instead. His professional instinct was already on the alert. He knew someone needed his help. So, he switched on his torch and kept walking in the alleyway. He felt like he was in a damn movie. One of those where the dark alleyway was full of monsters waiting to get their hands on him. No one knew what the darkness was hiding, and that was why so many people were afraid of the dark. Maxence had been one of those people when he was younger, but now it wasn’t bothering him anymore. Even if the dark alleyway was currently sending shivers down his spine as if some threat was really hiding in the shadows. He took a deep breath, trying to get a hold of himself. He knew how to defend himself. If anything came out of the shadows, he would be able to fight it. At least a little. He wasn’t really a fighter. He just knew how to defend himself if he was attacked. His mother had insisted for him to take some self-defence lessons since he was always going home so late. Until now nothing had happened to him, but it was reassuring to know how to react if anything happened. He sank more into the darkness of the alleyway. His small torch was just giving him enough light to see where he was going but it was barely lightning the darkness. They were too deep. As he was walking further into the darkness of the alleyway, the smell of rubbish became stronger and unbearable, but there was another smell. A smell he knew too well. A smell of sweet metallic pungency. A smell of blood. He walked a bit faster, pushing away the smell of rubbish to focus on the smell of blood. Someone was hurt, and as he walked past two huge wheelie bins, he heard the whimpers again. He stopped and pointed around the two bins. The whimpers were more audible now, and there were whimpers of pain for sure. The light of his torch caught the tip of a foot. He steered up to find the body of a small woman hunched up there, between the bins, hiding in the darkness not to be found. Maxence immediately kneeled down close to the woman and looked for a pulse. There was one. A strong one. Good. It meant she was still alive. His professional side took over him, and he started examining her with the small beam of his torch. He stuck it between his teeth and carefully turned the woman over so she would be facing him. He almost dropped his torch when her face came into the light. Her face was swollen in most places and bruises were already forming. Her bottom lip was cut, her nose was bleeding and there were dried tears on her cheeks. An earring must have been ripped off her ear considering the wound he could see. He continued his exam, looking for fractures, more important wounds, and he found more bruises and even old scars. This woman had been beaten badly, and that wasn’t the first time it happened. She needed to be taken in charge quickly. He pulled out his phone. It wasn’t off yet. He could still call the emergency services for them to give him some help. He was dialling the number when the woman weakly grabbed his hand and looked at him with pleading eyes. He had thought she was unconscious, but she was still clinging to the consciousness and when he looked into her eyes – at least, the one she would keep open a bit – he saw a look of pure terror. She tried to talk, to plead with him to do something, or not to do anything. Her voice was so weak. “Please” she begged him, “please, don’t.” She didn’t want him to call the emergency services, and he didn’t understand why, because she obviously needed help. “I don’t want him to find me” she added, her lips barely moving. He didn’t know what to do at the present moment, and before he could take a decision, his phone shit itself off. The battery was dead. He quickly thought and realised that the only way to help her was to do it by himself. He had everything he needed and even more in his car to do the first aid, and he would have more light in his car. He put his phone back in his pocket and tried to gather the woman in his arms but she struggled weakly against him for him to let her go and not to touch her. She tried to scratch his skin, to hit him, to make him go away from her. He backed off immediately and raised his hands to show her he wouldn’t hurt her. “It’s okay,” he said quietly, the torch lightly preventing him from speaking. “I’m a nurse. I just want to help you.” Maxence detached the badge that was hanging to his medical bag and showed it to her. She took the badge in her trembling hands and looked at it in the weak beam of the light. ‘Maxence Spitz. Home nurse.’ The man was the same as the one on the picture. She held the badge tight in her hands and looked at him. Could she really trust him? She was so tired now, and her eyes were slowly closing. “I have to take you to take you to my car. There’ll be more light, and I’ll be able to help you there.” Before she could give him an answer, she fainted, still holding his badge tight. He picked her up and carried her to his car. According to her reaction when he tried to help her, he could tell she was in a state of shock, and that it was better for her not to see too much people when she would wake up. He decided to bring her back to his flat and to take care of her there. He would think later about what to tell her when she would wake up. One thing at a time. The first thing to do was heal her.

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When the woman opened her eyes later, she was highly confused. She whimpered because of the pain her body was feeling and looked around her. She didn’t know the room she was in. She didn’t know where she was and she was unable to move. Her body hurt too much. Where was she? Her breath became heavy as she started to panic. She noticed that she was holding something really tight in her hand. A badge. She looked at it, confused. Who was this Maxence Spitz? She would remember if she had met a man with such blue eyes. She lightly turned her head to see the man in question sat on the ground, the head down on his chest. He was most likely sleeping, but why was he on the floor? Had he watched over her for all the time she was out? There was an open medical bag on the floor close to him, and a lot of things were out. Maxence Spitz – if it was really him – didn’t seem very dangerous or mean. Well, he was deeply asleep so she couldn’t really tell. The position wasn’t comfy to him. She moved a bit and let out a small cry of pain when she lightly got on his side. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t stay in the home of a man she didn’t know. Not after what she had lived. After a few efforts, groans and whimpers, she managed to sit up. The man never moved. His sleep was so deep that he wasn’t bothered by the noises she was making. She was about to get up when a phone rang. Maxence woke up with a start and got up, rushing to another room. She heard him pick up the phone and apologised for him being late and told the person that he would ask his colleague to come so he/she wouldn’t have to wait for too long. After that, he called that colleague, rushed to his bathroom and she heard the shower running. She was surprised to say the least. He was reacting fast for a man who had spent the night sleeping on the ground, and he seemed to have totally forgotten that she was even there. It was good in a way. She could get away from here before he was out of the bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and sighed. Moving was really difficult. It would take ages before she could reach the front door, and she didn’t even know where it was. She noticed that her hands and arms had been healed and bandaged. There was a somehow cold bandage over her ribs. She raised a trembling hand to her face and brushed her fingers over her wounds. Her face was less swollen, and it was a bit cold. Probably ice. She looked at the badge once again. A nurse. A nurse had saved her from spending the night in the cold and brought her here to take care of her. Here probably being his home. She looked around. She knew she wouldn’t be able to run away from here. Where would she go anyway? She had nowhere to go. She had no home anymore, and she couldn’t go back to her mother in that condition. She had to stay hidden for a while but she had nowhere to go. Tears started pouring down her cheeks. She was alone in this. She had no one left who could help her. No one she could trust. She only had that guy, Maxence, who had saved her while she was in that alleyway, but she didn’t know if she could trust him. She looked at the badge once again and put it down on the bedside table. More tears rolled down on her cheeks. She wanted to cry over the failure that was her life, but her ribs were too painful. If she cried for real, it would be worse. Her pain was less intense than usually though. Maybe meeting that nurse was a sign of fate in the end. Someone had sent him to her to fix her. She closed her eyes briefly and her stomach growled reminding her that she hadn’t eaten for days because she had been deprived from food. Her stomach hurt because of it but it was the last of her troubles right now. The water had stopped running. Maxence Spitz would soon be back to take his things, and he would see that she was awake. She heard him leaving the bathroom and getting ready in another room. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. She waited for him, trying to wipe away her tears. She didn’t want him to see her like this. She looked miserable enough already. She didn’t feel ready for the questions he would have for her. She wasn’t ready to tell him what had happened, how she had gotten in that alleyway, who did this to her. “Oh, you’re awake.” His voice was soft and gentle. He kept his tone quiet so she wouldn’t be afraid of him. He was in the doorway. She noticed that he was keeping a distance between them. Maybe he knew. Maybe he had found out. Maybe he had just suspicions and wanted to make her feel safe and protected. He wouldn’t hurt her. Somehow, she knew it. If he had wanted to, he wouldn’t have spent the night healing her and watching over her, right? “How are you feeling?” She was feeling like shit, really, and she remained silent. She didn’t know what to answer him. She didn’t know if she could trust him, even if he had stayed up all night to take care of her. At least, he didn’t get too close to her. He was keeping a respectful distance, and she was thankful for it. She didn’t look at him either. Her eyes were locked on the tip of her feet. Thanks God, he hadn’t undressed her and had managed to heal her without looking her small and unhealthy thin body. She closed her eyes, tears still rolling down her cheeks. How was it possible that a man she didn’t even know was her saviour? He had saved her from the threat and brought her to his place, where the violent man she had fled from wouldn’t find her and finish her off. Even if she didn’t know Maxence Spitz, she couldn’t deny that he had saved her life, and that he was keeping her safe. “You shouldn’t be up quite yet. You’ve been badly injured. You need a lot of rest now.” “I’m Rose.” Her voice was croaked and a bit muffled by the sobs she was holding back. She still refused to look at him or to make any move towards him. As safe as she knew she could be there in a place her boyfriend wouldn’t find her, she couldn’t stay here. Maxence Spitz surely had a life with friends, family and maybe a girlfriend. Now that she was awake, he would send her away. She was still a bit weak though. More tears ran down her cheeks. “That’s a nice name. I’m Maxence, but you already know. You’ve never wanted to give my badge back. You’ve kept it in your hand all night.” “Sorry. I didn’t mean to… You need it to work, I guess.” She grabbed the badge and tried to get up to give it to him. Her eyes were still locked on her feet. She felt very weak and her body was still trembling. The pain rushed through her body when she tried to walk and her legs gave way. She was too weak, in too much pain to even move. Maxence caught her before she fell to the ground. His reaction had been really quick. He had nice reflexes. Rose flinched when he touched her and her body tensed, but he was very soft, very gentle with her when he sat her back down on the bed. “I’m sorry,” she apologised. “It’s okay. You don’t have any fracture or real major damages, but you’ve been badly hurt. Your body reached its limits. It needs time to heal now.” “Why did you save me?” Her voice was no better than earlier, it was even worse. Now, he was close to her. He had crossed the distance between them for her not to hurt herself more in her fall. She was thankful for him to have saved her, to be so gentle to her, but she was pointless. She was nothing and no one. He shouldn’t have lost his time saving someone that would die anyway. “This is my duty. I committed to helping the people and saving their lives when I could do it. You needed my help.” “You could just have dropped me into a hospital.” “You told me not to. Not explicitly, but you did.” He remembered her words. She had begged him not to call the emergency services. She was afraid of someone, of a man. She hadn’t wanted him to find her, and she knew that if she was brought to an hospital, he would find her there. Her reaction of fear when he had tried to help her was enough for him to understand what had possibly happened, but he didn’t ask. He wouldn’t ask. She would tell him if she wanted to. He usually had to call the police when such a case was coming to him, but he needed her agreement to do so. “So, you brought me to your place.” “I have more equipment here than in my medical bag. If I have suspected that you have any fracture or internal damages, I would have had to bring you to the hospital. I watched over you all night, I know you’re okay. Just a few bruises and some cracked ribs. All you need is some rest to heal faster. And some food and warmth too.” “Thanks.” Rest, food and warmth. Everything she needed to get better, and she didn’t have any of that. She couldn’t even get back to her flat. Mickey would finish her off if she did, and she didn’t want to go back there. Not anymore. She was done. She was just so exhausted of it all. Maxence’s next question surprised her and she felt her heart beating faster because of the fear. “Do you have any family or friend I could call? Someone who could watch over you for the next few days and call me or any other doctor if you need something?” The first person she was thinking about was her mother, Jackie, but she couldn’t go back to her mom’s flat, not in this condition. She wouldn’t be as gentle as Maxence and would call the cops as soon as she would see her face. They would all ask her questions she didn’t feel ready to answer to. She obviously wouldn’t go back to the flat she was sharing with Mickey, and she couldn’t go to Shireen either. “N-No,” she stuttered, swallowing her tears. “I have no one.” “Well, I guess you can stay here,” he offered. “If that’s okay for you. I’ll watch over you.” She bit her lip and finally looked at him in the eyes. Hers were puffy and bloody, the left one was swollen, and tears were still pouring down her cheeks silently. His were the same exact deep blue she had seen on the picture of his badge, and they were also full of concern and gentleness. She sniffled. “What would you do that?” “It doesn’t bother me.” He shrugged lightly. “Most of the time, I’m working and there’s no one here so you would be alone, but I can call my colleague and ask him if he can replace me for a few days until you feel better.” “You’d do all of that… For me?” “Yes, I would.” A small wave of warmth filled her heart to his words and she stopped holding back her tears. She started sobbing, even if it was painful for her. He sat down next to her on the bed and slowly took her against him, gently rubbing her back until she was done crying. When she felt better, he helped her to lay back down in the bed and tucked her in. He called his colleague while making breakfast, and managed to get a few days off to take care of Rose. She was thankful for him to be so gentle and caring with her, and it almost made her cry when he brought her a full breakfast. She ate with a big appetite while he was putting all the things back into his medical bag, hung his badge back on it and put it close to the front door to take it when he would have to go back to work. He was a very organised man. He was also very respectful of her. After she ate, he offered her to take a bath and she chose to trust him enough to allow him to see her naked even if that was embarrassing. Without his help, she wouldn’t be there and she wouldn’t be able to do anything. When she was all clean and relaxed, she called him – he hadn’t stayed in the bathroom with her – and he helped her getting out of the tub and drying herself off. He gave her a T-shirt and shorts of his and checked her wounds and took care of them again before she got dressed. He brought her back to the room and turned the TV on, leaving the remote control close to her while he was going back to the kitchen to cook a meal for when she would be hungry again. They both ate in the bedroom, and when she decided to take a nap later, she asked him something she would never have dared asking to any other stranger: she asked him if he could lay down close to her and hold her while she slept. She had expected a refusal to be honest, and she had felt really embarrassed to ask him such a thing but Maxence Spitz was spreading warmth and safety and comfort around him, and she needed all of this to protect herself from the nightmares she knew would haunt her mind. He accepted though, and slowly got into bed. He had been surprised by her demands but if she needed him to do so, he didn’t see any reason to refuse. He got under the blankets and, after a hesitation, Rose cuddled close to him and closed her eyes. Maxence gently wrapped his arms around her and held her while she slept against him, her warm breath brushing over his chest. He fell asleep too at some point, but he never let her go and comforted her when the nightmares hit. Physically, she would be better in a few days. Psychologically, it would take weeks, or months, or even years. Rose stayed at Maxence’s for the few days her body needed to be better. Those few days were the best she had ever had in her whole life. Maxence was very gentle and caring and he took great care of her during those days. He never asked her any question about what had happened and just helped her to get better. He was absolutely amazing. Rose had never thought that such a man could exist. She had thought many times that it was a dream, that he didn’t exist for real, that her nightmares were actually her reality, but he proved her wrong every time. He was totally real, and he was fully dedicated to her until she felt better. Which was scaring her because the day she would feel better would the day he would get rid of her. She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want to leave the man who had saved her and taken care of her so well. The day when she finally felt better came, and it made her sad that she had to leave and get back to her sad life. She picked up his landline phone while he was in the bathroom and started dialling the phone number of her mother. She was the only person she had left. She would be the only person able to protect her from Mickey. She didn’t want to go back there because she knew how her mother was, and she knew that Mickey would easily find her. She swallowed, about to call her mother, when Maxence came out of the bathroom. “What are you doing?” “Calling someone to pick me up.” “Do you need anything? I can drive you.” “No.” She shook her head. “I just… I just don’t want to abuse your hospitality. Now that I’m feeling better, I have to leave.” Even if she didn’t want to, she had to. She couldn’t abuse her hospitality, couldn’t keep on taking all his attention and time. She had to leave and go back to her small sad life. She had been pampered for days by an amazing man and now, she had to leave it all behind her. He looked a bit sad to hear that from her though. “Oh, you’re not bothering me at all. I like having someone at home with me… Well, errr…” He blushed, very embarrassed by what he had just admitted. Rose blushed just as much as him when she heard his words. She hadn’t expected him to want her to stay around in his flat. They barely knew each other after all. Just a few days together didn’t even make them friends. But he wanted her to stay. That’s what he was saying, right? “I thought you didn’t have anyone.” “I lied,” she admitted, hoping he wouldn’t get mad. “I-I have my mom but…” “You didn’t want her to see you in the condition you were.” “Yeah.” She was surprised to hear that his voice was still quiet. He wasn’t angry at all. She looked at him in the eyes. No anger at all. He was just surprised, but he wasn’t angry. She was so used to have been beaten for so many things like this that she had almost expected Maxence to yell at her for lying. But he didn’t. “I understand. She would have gotten too worried.” “She would have asked a lot of questions, and called the cops, and…” She looked down. “He would have found me,” she muttered. “You know who he is, don’t you?” “I do.” “And he knows where your mother lives.” “Yes, he does.” “It’s not safe to go back there, then.” “But I can’t stay at your place. I have to leave and go back to my family.” “Or you can call your mother and tell her you’re fine and safe, and stay here until the right time comes.” He looked down to the ground, his face still red because of the embarrassment of what he was implicitly asking her to do. He wanted her to stay. He really liked the few days they had spent together in his flat. Rose was quite an interesting person and he didn’t want her to get hurt again by whoever did this to her. “You really want me to stay?” “I want you to be safe.” “…” “And like I said, I won’t be there much because of work so it will be as if you were alone.” “Is that what you really want?” “I never want to find you so hurt in an alleyway ever again.” His words surprised her and her heart started beating a bit fast. She didn’t know why she was reacting this way. She never wanted to be dumped into an alleyway after her boyfriend thought he had killed her, but she was sure that he now knew that she was alive and hiding somewhere. He had probably come back in the alleyway to ‘find’ her and make himself the hero of the story, but he hadn’t found her body and no one had talked about a dead body found in an alleyway. He would be mad the day he would find her, and she wouldn’t survive that day if it ever came. “Mickey…” she started, swallowing the knot in her throat. “Mickey’s my boyfriend. He did this to me.” Her hands were trembling on the phone she was still holding. Her bottom lip quivered as she was trying to hold back her tears. She had been here for days. She felt like he had to know the truth, to know who she was running away from, and why she didn’t want to go back to her mother’s flat. “At first, he was gentle and loving and caring, and soon, he started being violent. Every time… Every time something was frustrating him, he took it out on me. I was thinking it was my fault, that I’ve done something wrong and I tried and tried to get something right done, to please him, but there was always something wrong, and he always felt the need to beat me. He thought I was dead the night you’ve found me. That’s why he abandoned me there. But, he knows that I’m still alive now, I guess.” She was crying now and she refused to look at Maxence in the eyes. She didn’t want to see what he was thinking of her – even if he had never judged her during the few days she spent in his flat – now that he knew the truth about why she was in that alleyway that night. But he didn’t say a thing. She heard him move and soon, he was close to her again. His arms were wrapped around her waist and she griped his shirt, sobbing at the memories she had brought back. Maxence was smelling of mint, and aftershave, and it was somehow comforting. “No one should treat a woman this way.” There was a hint of anger in his voice and she flinched when she heard it. He felt the sudden tension in her body and slowly rubbed her back. He pushed his anger towards Mickey away and kept her close to him until she stopped crying. That wasn’t a good idea to let her go back to her mother if that guy knew where to find her. He wanted her to be safe, and if it meant that she had to stay here, if it meant that he would be the one watching over her, then be it. “Call your mom and tell her you’re safe and fine. The decision of staying here or going back to her belongs to you.” He didn’t let her go until she felt better, until she decided to call her mom to tell her that she was safe. She chose to stay in the end, but asked Maxence if he was really okay with this because after all, he didn’t know her, and he repeated that he would be glad if she stayed here, that he would always make sure that she was okay and safe. She still was deeply shocked by what had happened to her and she needed someone to talk, a friend. And he wanted to be her friend. It took months for Rose to get better in the end. She started going outside a month after she had been found in that alleyway, but she never went alone. She was always with Maxence, almost clinging to him, and looking around to be sure Mickey wasn’t there. When Maxence was working, she was taking care of his home, keeping it clean, filling the fridge – she was always hiding herself under a hoodie when she had to go out – and giving some money to help him with the bills. Maxence was the one cooking and bringing her small gifts when he came back home. He was a good friend, and was taking good care of her. He was showing her how a man should be treating a woman, even if he didn’t notice his way of acting with her, and she slowly fell in love with that man who had saved her one day when she had thought it was the end of everything. She never told him about her feelings. She didn’t want to ruin their beautiful friendship. She didn’t want to ruin the weak balance she had finally gotten in her life. Mickey had never found her and she never heard of him ever again. She didn’t know where he was, nor what he was doing, but she kept looking over her shoulder to be sure he wasn’t around. He never was, and Rose kept clinging to Maxence. He was her safety, her best friend. He was the sweetest, and the most caring and gentle person she had ever known. She couldn’t help but falling in love with him, with the amazing man he was, and she never gave him any hint of what he was feeling though he was asking her questions about why she was looking so distraught sometimes when she was cuddling into him in front of a movie, but when she was smiling, he always forgot his questions. She was still sleeping in his arms. It never changed. She felt protected when he was holding her this way, and with the time passing by, the nightmares disappeared slowly. They came back from time to time, but Maxence was always there to comfort her and make her feel safe again. She was calling her mom almost every day to reassure her and talk to her about how amazing Maxence was with her. When she wanted to see her, Maxence drove her there in the morning and picked her up after his work. Jackie had never met him, but she really wanted to meet the man who had saved her only daughter from a certain death, the man who was keeping her safe every day and taking care of her like Mickey should have taken care of her. Jackie was as thankful as Rose for what Maxence had done for her daughter, and she wanted to thank him for this. They decided that Christmas Eve would be the perfect day for that first meeting between Jackie and Maxence. The three of them would celebrate this Christmas together, and Maxence was really anxious at the idea of meeting Jackie. Rose had talked a lot about her mother to him and she seemed impressive. He chose to wear a white shirt with black jeans and a red tie. Rose was wearing a simple black dress with two golden lines around her waist. Maxence had bought it for her a few days ago. He had bought most of the clothes she owned in his flat. Since she couldn’t go back to her flat, he offered to buy her everything she needed until she could buy them by herself. They had gone to her flat when she was sure Mickey wasn’t there and she had picked up most of her stuff back. It wasn’t much, but there were things her mother had offered her that she wanted to have back, like the golden necklace with the small rose she never left since she had gotten it back. It was snowing when they left for Jackie’s flat and Maxence was very careful on the road. They might not be able to go back home after the Christmas dinner, but it wasn’t a trouble. They would sleep together in Rose’s single person bed if needed. Rose knew her mother had kept her room intact for when she was coming back. They got to the Powell Estate safely, and Maxence grabbed Rose’s hand while they were climbing stairs to Jackie’s flat. His other hand was carrying a bag with some food and drinks. It was his participation for the dinner. Rose gently stroked his hand with her thumb. She knew he was anxious, but everything would be fine. She knocked on the door instead of just coming into the flat. Jackie opened the door quickly and let them in. “Mom, this is Maxence, my saviour. Maxence, my mom.” “This is a real pleasure, ma’am.” “Same for me. I’ve heard a lot about you.” “Lots of good, I hope,” he joked. “Never a bad word, I swear.” “She told me a lot about you, too. I was being really nervous to meet the mom of such a wonderful girl.” Rose blushed lightly and smiled. She took the bag from Maxence’s hand and brought it into the kitchen while her mother and Maxence were talking. She didn’t see Jackie hugging Maxence and thanking him for taking care of her little girl so well. His anxiety vanished as the evening went on. They had a great Christmas Eve together, and it was all perfect. When midnight came, they opened their gifts – there wasn’t much, but they all had a little something for each other – and Maxence and Rose ended up under some mistletoe that Jackie had discreetly placed there earlier. She knew for Rose’s feelings, Maxence just needed a little help to see them, and Jackie was sure that he wasn’t indifferent to Rose. She watched them as they blushed, and almost cursed when they both hesitated, and tried to avoid this tradition. Maxence finally chose to softly kiss Rose’s cheek. “I can’t hide them anymore, Maxence,” she murmured. “I’ve known them all along,” he murmured back. “I just didn’t want to push you into something you didn’t want.” “I want it now.” Maxence smiled at her, but she was the one kissing him first. She leaned towards him and pressed her lips against his, shyly. She closed her eyes and relief filled her mind and heart when he replied to that kiss. He caught her bottom lip between his and she parted her lips. He slipped his tongue in her mouth and played with hers as he wrapped her into his arms. Her hands were tightly gripped on his shirt. Rose Tyler had never been so certain of anything before: Maxence Spitz was the man she needed, a man she could love without fear, a man who would take care of her as if she was a princess, and that’s all she could ever ask for after what she had gone through.

Chronicles of a better man © | 2016 - 2018 | Tous droits réservés.

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In the next shot:

One day, her mother did some cooking for the penniless people Rose was taking care of and put it into plastic boxes. Rose was in charge of bringing them to another village while it was still pretty hot, but the shortest way to reach that village was to cross the forest. There were a lot of legends about that forest, and one of them was saying that it was inhabited by a wolf whose fur was as dark as a night without stars, whose eyes were as blue as the clearest sky. That wolf was the keeper of the forest and was keeping everyone out of it. Its howl to the moon was as beautiful as sorrowful when it resounded in the silence of the night. Some people were saying that this wolf used to be a human being centuries ago who had been cursed after he committed the worst crime a human could commit: the murder of another human being.

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