#tw: amputation

[meltedmush]

Sorry! 😭

[dragonnova]

Resonance: Prologue pg. 11

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tbh it has been a bit since I've had to post trigger warnings, so if I missed something I should have added, I'm sorry. My comic will have blood, but it will be kind of artsy-flowery blood. And this is the end of the Prologue!

The set up is complete, now onto the story!

[redeyeingirs]

Tw: horror maybe(?)

[chiscribbs]

Updated Future Donnie Concept Art!!!

So, I've been hesitant to try my hand at designing an Apocalyptic Future version of Donnie for a while, for a number of reasons - mainly that I just didn't have a clear idea of him in my brain yet and the thought of attempting to update his already pretty perfect design was highly daunting - but I finally caved and decided to take a crack at it. A couple months and several revisions later, I'm actually genuinely happy with the result. I'd still consider this "concept art" more so than a final design, elements of it could definitely be improved, but I really do like the concept as a whole - I think it could work!

The main goals I had in mind while working on this were: A. Must fit the character/look like something Donnie would canonically wear and still be easily recognizable. B. Must work in the Rise world & style (i.e. not be overly detailed or have too complex a silhouette.) C. Must fit in with the other (canonical) Future Rise designs.

I was also thinking about what problems Donnie might be trying to solve, which is what inspired the belt (more info on that below). All-in-all, although there might still be a few kinks to work out, I think I managed to come up with a pretty solid base design for my favorite Warring Warrior Scientist (Jr.)

Some additional character tidbits under the cut.

Also, I can't draw mechanisms to save my life, so just pretend those vague ninpo-gun-things make sense lol

Donnie has a mechanical prosthetic leg. How'd he lose that leg? Up to interpretation - my working theory is that it was a minefield accident that occurred when he was trying to blow some Krang dogs to Timbuktu. Naturally, since it's Donnie and they are in the midst of an alien apocalypse, he designed the leg to do a whole lot more than just help him stand without falling down. It's a multifunctional tool that contains a plethora of secret uses - including, but certainly not limited to, sawing off ugly Krang faces. It's essentially his new tech bo.

Bonus leg tidbit: Casey Jr. saw him deploy the saw blade in battle once when he was little, he then proceeded to beg for a saw-leg of his own to fight the Krang with. Donnie, realizing that amputating a perfectly healthy child's leg is probably not that most morally acceptable option, instead made him his own "sawing stick"(AKA, his motorized hockey stick)...which the others then made him wait until Casey's 10th birthday to give him.

The belt that Donnie's wearing here is a prototype of his latest invention. Its intended purpose: to deflect the Krang's mystic-blocking attacks, allowing them to use their ninpo in close combat. It took a lot of risk-taking to collect the necessary information to create such a device, and he experienced a number of way-too-close calls (one of which may or may not have resulted in that large gash across his plastron), but he finally managed to crack the code and pinpoint the frequency of the Krang's sound waves. He's testing it out right now to make sure that it works and is safe to use, but once it's out of beta, he plans to mass-produce them for every mystic-wielder in the Resistance to use in battle. He believes it could turn the tides of the war...unfortunately, the device never makes it out of beta, as he dies before its completion.

Donnie's gloves are fashioned after the ones his dad used to wear in his Lou Jitsu days (with some modifications, for comfort and to make working with screens a little easier and less annoying.) The material they're made out of is far more durable, of course, since he's working with them near-constantly and under varying conditions. But maybe he designed them to look like this as a way of keeping his dad's memory close, similar to Leo's sword hilt?

Ironically, Donnie uses his ninpo probably the most consistently out of all the brothers (even though Mikey uses his to the greatest extent, hence his rapid aging). He's constantly using it to check on the base's security status and multitask while working on other projects. Because his ninpo takes a good deal of brain power to operate, it puts a significant amount of strain on his nervous system and this causes frequent complications. Seizures, spasms, and blackouts become a semi-regular occurrence - especially in the latter part of his life. Donnie does his best to manage them, but the workload makes it almost impossible to do so properly. Mikey is able to help with these attacks when they happen, but Donnie - not wanting his brother to overuse his powers any more than he is already - usually opts to just ride it out and save the mystic healing for people who need it. The exception to this rule being when he's in the middle of an extremely important procedure and can't stop long enough to let the attack pass naturally, then he has no choice but to accept Mikey's aid.

This is probably needless to say at this point, but much like Leo and his other brothers, he is a giant. Equal in height to Leo (if not slightly taller, even without the goggles.) The doodle in the top-left corner of the sketch page where he's next to April is meant to be them sitting, so don't take it as anywhere near an accurate representation of their height comparison. It is not, he dwarfs her by several feet, lol.

[katsutacle]

your sun and moon

[mj-iza-writer]

Warning: Eye Whump and Amputation mentions. Drugging Sorry I forgot this before.

Whumpee jumped when their cell door opened.

"M-may I ask who is coming in?", Whumpee whispered. A blindfold had been tied to their head from a recent eye removal surgery to help stop on infection from spreading.

"It's Dr. Yeld and two guards. Whumper would like to run some tests, so we are taking you to the lab. I need to ask the typical questions", Whumpee felt the scientist pat their head, "are you ready?"

"Yes sir", Whumpee nodded.

"To begin with... How does your head and eye sockets feel?", Whumpee allowed the guards to begin shackling them.

"They ache a little and feel crusty and itchy", Whumpee whispered hoarsely, "I think the blindfold is stuck to the crust, I tried hard not to touch it, like you said."

"Okay I'll make a note to change that for you", Dr. Yeld wrote a small note, "why do you sound so hoarse? Do you feel sick?"

"I-I couldn't find my water, I felt around a little in here, but I think it's missing", Whumpee frowned.

Dr. Yeld looked around, "you're right, I'm sorry that happened. We'll get some water before the test."

Whumpee nodded, "please and thankyou."

The last few questions were asked and answered satisfactorily.

Whumpee allowed the guards to lead them to the lab.

"Dr. Yeld", Whumpee whispered as the guards strapped them in, "I'm scared."

"It's okay Whumpee, Whumper said it's going to be minor tests today. Nothing big. I think they want to see how you're healing as well."

Whumpee nodded, "okay, may I have water?"

"Yes of course. I'll be right back", Dr. Yeld stepped away.

Whumpee felt a part of their back start to itch.

"May I have help?", Whumpee requested to anyone listening.

After a minute, Whumpee realized they may have been alone or people around were too busy to help the lab rat.

Whumpee was strapped down onto the metal slab table in a vertical position.

They started to wriggle around in an attempt at scratching their back.

Suddenly, Whumpee's hands slipped through the straps, and they fell to the floor. Their feet tangled into the straps and twisted opposite their natural direction. They hit the floor with a thud.

"Ah, ah, oww", Whumpee cried out, only drowned out by an alarm.

Whumpee heard guards running to them, but they were preoccupied by the shooting pains running up and down their legs.

"He-help, help.... help me please", Whumpee cried out.

Whumpee winced as the guards lifted them up. Their legs were unstrapped and they were laid on the ground.

"What the hell is going on in here?", Whumper's voice could be heard above the alarm.

"The test subject attempted to escape", one of the guards announced.

Whumpee's head shot up quickly, "n-no I didn't."

Whumpee heard someone approach, dress shoes clank against the tile floor.

Whumper knelt down and placed two fingers under Whumpee's chin to lift their face, "then why are the alarms going off? Why are you on the ground Whumpee", Whumper questioned.

"M-my back was itchy, and no one was available to help me. I was wriggling around on the table to try to itch it. Then I fell", Whumpee winced, "m-my legs hurt."

Whumper reached another hand up and patted Whumpee's head, "so my little rat wasn't trying to run."

"No Master, where would I go?", Whumpee whispered.

Whumper chuckled, "good point Whumpee", Whumper stood, "Dr. Yeld, please check Whumpee's legs, and let's see what happened. Today's test will be rescheduled for now."

"I'm sorry Master", Whumpee felt someone starting to pick them up.

"It's okay Whumpee, let's get your legs taken care of. Then I'll check your eyes", Whumper sighed, "I may have to talk to my staff and see why you aren't being taken care of."

"I'm a rat Master, that's why", Whumpee sighed.

"You are... but you are my lab rat, and I expect my staff to take care of you", Whumper frowned.

Whumpee now lay on the metal table again.

"Don't move Whumpee, we're scanning your legs", Dr. Yeld ordered.

"Yes sir, ma-may I have water after this", Whumpee pleaded.

"Oh geesh, Whumpee I'm sorry", Dr Yeld frowned, "just two seconds and done."

Whumpee felt a straw press in between their lips. They quickly drank.

"Careful Whumpee, you're going to ch..", Whumper was interrupted when Whumpee started to choke, "see."

"I'm sorry.... thirsty", Whumpee struggled to catch their breath.

"I don't see any breaks, but you more than likely sprained both legs", Whumper frowned, "you did a number on yourself. See these strains here."

"I didn't mean to, I don't know how I fell. I think my hands slipped", Whumpee whispered.

Whumper stepped over to the table Whumpee lay on and looked it over.

"Try to slip your hands back into the straps", Whumper ordered.

Whumpee quickly did as they were told.

"Someone didn't do a good job strapping you in", Whumper frowned as they watched Whumpee's hand go into the strap with minimal struggle, "who were the guards who helped you bring Whumpee. I need to have a chat with them."

Whumpee shook, "please don't kill them Master."

"I won't kill them, but they may find themselves fired from this lab", Whumper sighed, "I don't like when my little rat gets injured by someone else, especially when it messes my plans up."

Whumpee felt someone sitting them up. They allowed their body to bend to the persons will.

"Let's put them in a soft cast for now. Revisit an x-ray and muscle scan in a week or so. Whumpee, let us know if you have any strange pain, just like normal", Whumper started to leave.

"Master?", Whumpee whispered.

Whumper stopped and turned, "yes Whumpee."

Whumpee shyly fiddled with their fingers, "may I, uhm, may I go outside today?", they kept their head lowered.

"Whumpee it's cold out right now, plus you'll have cast on your legs", Whumper walked back to the table, "I forgot to check your eye sockets."

Whumpee felt Whumper lift their head, and start removing the blindfold.

Whumpee whimpered a little as the cloth was gently pulled from the wound.

"I don't like that it's sticking to the wound sight", Whumper frowned as they took a closer look, "Whumpee I will allow you to pick something fun though, you have had a harder week then we normally give you."

"May I have chicken nuggets for lunch", Whumpee asked excitedly.

"You know what, you absolutely can", Whumper chuckled, "how about I order you chicken nuggets, fries, a dessert, and you can even have soda pop today", Whumper rubbed Whumpee's cheek gently, "how does that sound."

Whumpee melted into the touch, "that sounds yummy", Whumpee moaned tiredly.

"Is my lab rat sleepy?", Whumper chuckled.

"Yes Master, it's difficult to sleep now", Whumpee yawned.

"Hmm", Whumper hummed.

Dr. Yeld set to work wrapping the bandages on Whumpee's legs, "please Whumpee try your hardest not to walk on your legs. They definitely need some rest, you don't want to stress them", Dr. Yeld watch Whumpee nod.

Whumpee reached their hand up to touch where their eyes where.

"Ah ah", Dr. Yeld warned, making Whumpee jump, "don't touch there. That is still fresh, you could cause another infection."

"I'm sorry, it's just weird. It's not even pitch black like you'd think. It's nothingness", Whumpee explained, as they tried to touch the area again."

"Don't touch Whumpee", Dr. Yeld grabbed Whumpee's hand and pulled it away, "I don't want to straightjacket you."

Whumpee nodded, "I'm sorry."

Whumpee heard Dr. Yeld step away.

They sat quietly and listened to the multitude of sounds in the lab.

Suddenly Whumpee felt someone stop in front of them. They were handed a bag and a cup, then the person seemed to climb up on the metal table and sat beside Whumpee.

Whumpee felt confused.

"I-I'm sorry.... who's their? A-and what's this", Whumpee shook.

"As promised, your chicken nuggets, fries, and drink. I have your desert chilling in the freezer for when you want it", Whumper's voice sounded as though they were smiling.

Whumpee quickly opened the bag and pulled out a handful of fries.

"Thankyou Master, I appreciate this gift", they grinned before stuffing their mouth.

"You're welcome Whumpee", Whumper chuckled.

Whumper studied Whumpee while they ate, "I see Doc bandaged your legs."

"Yes Master", Whumpee nodded, "they said not to use them as much as possible."

Whumpee reached up absent mindedly and scratched around the wound on their eye.

"Whumpee... don't touch your eyes", Whumper tried to pull the hand down but was too late.

Whumpee screamed in pain as Dr. Yeld hurried over.

"What happened?", Dr. Yeld pulled Whumpee to lay down.

"It stings", Whumpee cried. Tears started to come out of Whumpee's eye sockets.

"I bet you they bothered it, but got salt on the wound from the fries", Whumper held Whumpee's hands down so they wouldn't do it again or fight Dr. Yeld from disinfecting the wounds."

"Ow", Whumpee screamed, "it hurts."

"I know Whumpee, I wasn't quick enough to stop you", Whumper frowned, "when Doc gets you cleaned up we will put an eye cover on you, I found a better one that hopefully won't stick."

Whumpee shook violently as they were cleaned up.

"Let's place Whumpee in their cell. Let's do a straightjacket for right now", Whumper started to let go. I'll go in and finish feeding them. Then they can have their dessert and I'll put the new eye cover on them, it needs to get cleaned before they wear it."

"Please no straightjacket", Whumpee pleaded.

"I'm sorry Whumpee, it's for your own good", Whumper turned and walked away.

Whumpee sobbed as the straightjacket was buckled, "I'll be good", they pleaded, "please I don't want this."

"I'm sorry Whumpee. You keep touching your eyes. If you keep doing that, they won't heal", Dr Yeld patted their shoulder, "I know you don't like this fact, but you really don't get a choice on the matter."

Whumpee fell quiet except for their sobbing.

Dr. Yeld frowned when he realized what he said, "Whumpee I-I'm sorry.... I."

"Why did I lose my eyes.... was it your fault?", Whumpee shuddered, "because I didn't get a choice."

"I-I don't know why that infection happened, we had to remove the eyes though, it would have spread, and could have killed you."

"What life d-do I have anyway... I'm just a measly lab rat", Whumpee sobbed as they were lifted from the metal table and placed in a wheelchair.

"I didn't even get to eat all of my special treat either", Whumpee cried a little louder.

Dr. Yeld felt guilt crawl up his throat and leave a knot, "I'm sorry Whumpee, but Whumper did say he would go to your cell and help feed you the rest of your meal. You even get a desert, isn't that exciting?", Dr Yeld reached for the cup of soda, "here have a drink of your soda", Dr Yeld held the straw for Whumpee to drink.

Tears continued from small gaps while Whumpee drank a few sips. Their breathing was labored.

"Why am I still able to cry without my eyes?", Whumpee asked while they were wheeled through the hall.

Dr. Yeld was deep in guilty thought on how to make this up for Whumpee.

"Dr. Yeld? I thought he came with us", Whumpee sighed.

"I'm sorry Whumpee, I was just wondering how to make this up to you", Dr. Yeld walked beside the chair, "what was your question?"

"Why am I able to cry without my eyes?", Whumpee asked again.

"We were able to leave your tear ducts in tact", Dr. Yeld smiled, "you still have the ability to produce tears and cry."

"Oh", Whumpee kept their head down.

Whumpee was laid on their mattress in their cell.

They rolled over and tried to sit up.

"Ugh", Whumpee sighed as they fell back down, "I can't see. I can't walk. I can't use my arms."

The cell door opened again, and closed.

"I heard you were pretty upset", Whumper talked from the entrance, "Dr. Yeld and a few other scientists and guards felt bad."

"I'm sorry Master, I didn't mean to say all of those mean things", Whumpee tried to sit up but fell back again.

"I know Whumpee, you're having a hard time settling in again. You've had a busy week, and today didn't help with your legs getting injured", Whumper stepped over and knelt by the mattress. They lifted Whumpee so they could sit up.

"Thankyou Master", Whumpee sighed in relief.

"Alright I'm sitting down next to you, let's finish your lunch", Whumper plopped down on the mattress, "let's see how you feel after this. You can have the dessert later if you're not hungry."

Whumpee nodded, "may I have another drink please?"

"Of course. You are doing so well with your manners", Whumper held the cup for them, "I'm very proud of you."

"Thankyou master", Whumpee squirmed excitedly.

"You're welcome, it looks like you have a few more nuggets. I think your fries were all gone before the eye accident", Whumper held a nugget to Whumpee's lip.

"If you don't feel like dessert I have a packet of gummies you can have instead. Maybe we can go that route, have your dessert later tonight", Whumper grinned.

"Yes Master", Whumpee agreed.

"Alright that was your last nugget", Whumper chuckled, "how was your lunch.... is it what you wanted?"

"Yes Master", Whumpee smiled, "thankyou."

"Here are the gummies", Whumper fiddled with a packet, "I have a few sour ones as a treat. Your face is funny when you eat sour candies."

Whumpee smiled, "thankyou."

Whumper started to put the candies one by one in Whumpee's mouth.

Whumpee made a face, "that one is really sour", they gasped.

Whumper chuckled, "I know."

Whumpee felt tired after a few minutes.

"Master I'm sleepy", Whumpee interrupted Whumper from their rambling.

"I know Whumpee", Whumper sighed, "I slipped you a gummy to help you go to sleep."

Whumpee struggled to get away from Whumper.

"No, no... none of that", Whumper held them down, "you can't use your legs right now. Earlier you said you were having trouble sleeping, I can't have you being tired unless I'm testing something that requires you to be tired."

Whumpee sobbed as Whumper pulled them to lay down. Their head now rested on Whumper's lap.

"It's just a light drug, I need you to sleep", Whumper rubbed Whumpee's head, "you'll wake up in a few hours. I'll let you have your dessert then."

Whumpee heard the door open.

"Ah, Dr. Yeld, you brought the eye cover", Whumper grinned.

Dr. Yeld looked at Whumpee sadly then handed the cover to Whumper.

"These are nice, and padded. They should lay on your skin nicely and not get stuck to the wound.

Whumper lifted Whumpee's almost limp body and slid the covers on their head and over their eyes.

"There we go", Whumper adjusted the tightness.

After a few minutes of hearing Whumpee's snores. Whumper rested Whumpee on their pillow and covered them up.

"I-I didn't know you were serious about drugging them", Dr. Yeld watched Whumper as they stood.

"They need to sleep, it is harder for blind people to sleep sometimes. They are getting use to this new life", Whumper sighed, "I wasn't acting out of anger and meanness. I truly need them to sleep. I do care for my lab rat. Though I know I have a weird way of showing it."

"I said something to them though, I wanted to apologize", Dr. Yeld frowned and watched Whumpee's steady breathing.

"Oh I heard what you said. I was quite amused actually", Whumper laughed, "I guess you will need to wait until they wake up."

Dr. Yeld made an angry face at Whumper.

"Will you ever tell them you're the reason they got that infection? You're the reason they lost their sight.", Dr. Yeld crossed their arms.

"No, and neither will you. You've done some horrid test on them yourself, remember. If you say anything, I will kill you."

Whumper walked past Dr. Yeld as they exited the room, "remember our agreement and your place in this lab."

"Yes Master", Dr. Yeld cowarded away and looked back at Whumpee.

"Come along", Whumper stood by the door, "we have plenty of things to do."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems @lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

[thomothysdoodles]

oscar, i am so sorry—

don’t worry, i don’t even feel it anymore.

16: NECROSIS

Swamp | Wound Cleaning | "No, I can't feel anything."

[batwynn]

When they come back wrong... or not at all.

[russet-writing]

“Look at them… Look at them, Whumpee.” Whumper snarls against their ear. “Is this what you fucking want?”

Whumpee doesn’t reply— They can’t. Before, they had been struggling with all their might: grinding their heels against the rain-slicked ground, clawing at the unforgiving hand gripping them by the scruff of their neck.

But now…? Now they were frozen. And their eyes, wide as saucers, were locked on the person lying on the shed floor. Only… calling it a person was almost laughable. It was a mere lump on the floor. The stumps of what used to be its limbs were disfigured, scars that had improperly healed. The small patches of skin visible from underneath its tattered blanket were painted with ugly bruises and deep lacerations… some had scarred over, others looked “fresh”. Undoubtedly infected, but new. The sight of this person— this thing that had once been human— curled up in this ramshackle shed.

The words die in their throat… The fight in Whumpee drains.

“Do you know how easily this could be you?” Whumper continues, ragged panting having settled into slow, trembling breaths. “Do you know how much restraint it takes to be patient when you act like a fucking child?” They catch Whumpee roughly by the jaw, forcing them to crane their neck to make eye contact.

Their next words are a whisper, deadly and demanding.

“If you try some shit like that one more time… you will end up just like them…” Their eyes search Whumpee’s intensely as if daring them to slip up, make a mistake. “Do you understand me?”

A breathless beat.

“I understand.”

“Good.” Their jaw is released and Whumpee’s knees nearly give out. But Whumper had already settled their attention on the heap of flesh in front of them, one hand reaching for their pocketknife. “Now get back inside… I need to relieve some stress.”

[meltedmush]

[dragonnova]

Resonance: Time Ripple pg. 1&2

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Each Chapter will have a short "bumper" (or lead-in) that will document small shifts to the timeline caused by F!Leo. I will go further into this later, because "Spoilers". A side note I will delete later: I'm trying to work out a regular posting schedule. I pre-release pages on Patreon, because my patrons are saints and they're the reason I'm able to dedicate time to work on this passion project. I plan on releasing pages a week in advance on Patreon and then release them publicly here (and unlock them there).

[agentsanders]

"Might get fired for using the 3d titanium printer unauthorized. But fuck it. Look at my new leg. Doesn't it look awesome? And it's so lightweight."

[scholarofgloom]

[onlythegoodpretzels]

Blood Duty

Kotallo this time! With a fic and a WIP of art!

This is for Whumptober 2024's prompt surgery!

On AO3: Blood Duty (3447 words) by OnlytheGoodPretzels Chapters: 2/2 A marshal under a knife is always dangerous, no matter how much he understands. Dekka will take him through it.

(I could not finish this illustration for today, ohmygod Tenakth tattoos.)

Or, if you like, read it under the cut:

Dread climbed Dekka’s armor when she saw the mismash of paint colors shambling up the path. Lowland and Sky together, squadless, was never a good sign. Neither were any Tenakth moving so slow.

A runner split off, pelting to the Grove’s palisades. “Chaplain! Treason!”

His white-rimmed eyes were enough for her to vault down to him, catch his arm. He was young, Sky Clan. Curse Tekkoteh for sending dregs! “Steady, soldier. What ---?”

He lurched out of her grip, waving wildly backward. “Regalla, at the Embassy! M-Marshal Kotallo!”

Shit.

Dekka hadn’t registered the white between the two lowland warriors. Kotallo’s lines bent wrong and crooked. He couldn’t be walking. “Report inside.” She pushed the warrior up the stairs, already running. “Chief’s guard, with me!” Please, if they carried him this far, let him be alive.

Fury flew in Dekka’s hands. Regalla, always sure there hadn’t been enough blood!

Ten above, Kotallo was walking. Or he was hobbling, arm wrapped wrestle-tight around a warrior’s shoulders. The other Tenakth huddled close around him, but didn’t touch his left side. Dried blood smudges covered him from chin to leg, garish and dark in the lush lowland green.

Kotallo’s eyes were barely a clenched line in his face. Sweat canyons carved through his paint. Every muscle stood separate in his neck.

And he clutched his left arm tight to his side, and wrap sheds around it were blood-black.

Shit shit shit.

“He needs a medic!” the warrior holding Kotallo gasped as Dekka reached them. “We-we did what we could, Chaplain, but I’m not sure --”

“R-Regalla -- Aghhhh!” Kotallo fought his eyes open, his growl gutted and hoarse. Hate made his skin look like stone. “D-declared war. We --- the Carja -- dea -- aaagh…” Dull choked gasps cut him off and his legs trembled, forcing him to hold tighter. The third time he tried for breath a dull cracked cry shredded out instead.

But it was his arm that commanded Dekka’s attention. He dug it tighter to his ribs, crusted blood glistening against his marks. The angle of it…the rolling twitch it dragged along his jaw, mouth open in a silent retching quiver…his hand was gone.

And though he looked toward her, Kotallo’s eyes never focused.

Dekka blocked out the rest of the conversations. The chief guard commander could handle the rest, but not this. They might still lose a marshal yet. “Quiet, soldier.”

Kotallo squinted, weaving dangerously, trying to find her. She came to his side and reached in slow to press her thumb to his headdress. Just as she had years ago setting his first marshal mark. “Your chief will take his report when he’s ready.”

Even that little force tipped him.

But Kotallo winced, swallowing raggedly. “D-Dekka…”

“Yes.” Dekka grit her teeth, feeling his gasps rattle on her fingers. Were the others she’d marked gone? She couldn’t worry about them now. “You made it. Regalla didn’t strike here.”

Kotallo snarled, low and choked. The rawness of it twisted in Dekka’s feathers, anger clenching her arms until the fronds hissed. Regalla thought sending pain like this to their doorstep would frighten them. What it would do was sing vengeance, like the fury burning in Dekka’s hands now at the thought of Kotallo limping all this way.

“Ch-chief?” Kotallo twitched, grimace carving deeper. Trying to straighten up, the idiot. 

Dekka pressed knuckles to his breastplate. “Safe. Hold Still.” The force of his shaking ached in her wrist.

Orders still worked, thank the Ten. Kotallo stilled, eyes open but darting. “G-good…good.” He must know she was there, though, because he let the chief’s guard heave him onto the stretcher when it came. Kotallo howled but he didn’t attack anyone. That was the best they would get today.

Dekka waited just long enough to be sure he was down. She had to speak to Hekarro, now.

______________________________________________________________

The shadow of war hunched over the Grove as Dekka hurried to the sleep rooms. Teharra’s report was clear and curt. The broken remains of Kotallo’s arm had Bristleback hate leeched in. The hasty field job, cut and cauterized, saved his life this long. But blaze in the wound had done its work, too deep to pry out.

For him to survive, they had to cut the attack off at the source.

This, and then Regalla.

Hekarro’s grief held him impossibly still when she left him staring at the throne room flickers. “Call him back,” had been his orders. “We can’t lose him too.”

Dekka had no intention of losing anyone else. The tags laid at the base of the throne bit so sharp. She’d give Hekarro her full report later. He was with the survivors now, though it sounded like they’d been trapped at a distance while Kotallo fought in the thick of it. And Dekka had her own calls first. A marshal under a knife was always dangerous, no matter how much he understood.

She could hear the right hut twenty paces off. Rough, sharp groans clouded the air. Dekka ducked inside.

“The Chaplain will be here -- “ Teharra’s face lit up with relief. “It’s alright. She’s here.”

Dekka nodded, setting down her bow loudly and slowly. “Kotallo.”

Kotallo sagged against the dark. He curled, hand wrapped across his knees, holding himself up as if by the grip alone. Each time he gasped he twitched, bowed tighter around his wounded limb. Armor and ornaments scattered the rug around him, so he hadn’t stopped Teharra removing them. Or hadn’t managed to. But now he looked coiled, a burrower ready to strike.

He looked up, gaze drifting slow and dull.

Good. So he’d been aware enough to drink Teharra’s liquor. They wouldn’t be able to do this at all without something in him to blunt the pain or his strength.

Teharra nodded. “He’s had a flask, but he won’t take more.” He sighed. “Marshals.”

Dekka smiled despite the tight pang in her chest. “Always at the ready, as much as they can be.” Hopefully one was enough for Kotallo. He rarely drank more ale than brought his brash back out for spars, and Teharra’s brew was rust-bitingly strong. She was glad he’d been aware enough to accept that much.

Dekka stepped closer. “Marshal. Ready?”

“Read…Ready.” Kotallo scowled, fighting against the slurring words. He squinted at Dekka, fist clenched. “Ch…chief?”

She’d only heard bits and pieces from the survivors on her way out. An ambush. Machines tearing through the marshals, Regalla’s traitors on their backs. This close, Dekka could see the dark seep of bruises in Kotallo’s marks. Cuts glinted in the blue-black stain ringing his left arm and side. The same impact echo showed dark and edged in the gap of his sternum and all the way down at his knee between the white bands.

Something enormous crashed into him, or blows all swung from the same side.

It must have been terrible.

“Planning our retaliation.” Dekka made sure he met her eyes. She wondered if he didn’t remember or was so worried he had to ask again. “He’ll want to see you after this.”

Relief hazed across Kotallo’s face. He was young enough for Hekarro’s approval to fill a void Dekka could only just remember. Maybe it would help him through this. Still, Kotallo hissed, slumping. Violent quivers ran across his bruises. “H-he…nhh--it’s bad…”

Sky Clan and their understatements. Dekka nodded. “I know. We’ve had worse.” She hoped that was true, but truth wasn’t her goal here. She moved slow, watching for strikes, and touched Kotallo’s strained knuckles. “Teharra needs to work. Lie down.”

Kotallo’s brow and nose clenched pain-low before he fought them flat. He sighed raggedly, the sound catching each time his bruised side twitched. Were the ribs broken? A snarl-shape trembled into his lip as he glanced at his arm, then turned sharply back to her. “Watch…” Kotallo’s voice broke and he winced, the pain crumpling back into his face. “Watch for machines…she…”

He finally released his knee to catch Dekka’s thumb. He shivered, fighting not to fall without the brace, a fight he would clearly lose. “She had machines…c-controlled them…somehow.”

Chills ridged up Dekka’s back. She needed to know more about that, but not now. Now she needed to answer Kotallo’s fear. She returned the handclasp, keeping her voice firm and even. “I’ll keep watch. I promise.”

Kotallo searched her face. His expression changed sluggishly, from drawn to relieved to exhausted. He braced against her hand. And when he started to fall again, he stopped fighting it.

Dekka held on, pulling to slow his fall, but Kotallo still whimpered through grit teeth hitting down, left arm slipping. Teharra ducked into the gap, stabilizing it and guiding it down. That set Kotallo growling shrilly, glancing wildly in too many directions as he tried to find what was hurting him.

Dekka let him go. No sense making him feel more trapped. “The chief’s guard will take care of it. You just have to focus.”

Kotallo panted, blinking dazedly toward her. Then he arched, keening, clawing at the rug as Teharra peeled the wrap off his mangled arm. Dekka winced, bitter taste in the back of her mouth. How long had he been stifling that sound whenever someone jostled him?

Bared, the destruction was gut-twisting. The stitches at Kotallo’s bloody wrist couldn’t hold the wound closed fully, so bone glinted at the end. The skin was mottled purple and black, darker at the wrist. Ragged scabbed gouges bent the swollen flesh in awful spirals up his forearm. Like he’d been processed by a Scrounger. They rippled and wept as he flinched. The smell of bleed and tear hit like a punch.

Teharra caught her eye and nodded before he bent down. Dekka swallowed. She’d seen many machine wounds and every single one looked inhumanly awful. If the medic thought it was possible, her duty was simple and clear.

Kotallo hissed through setting the tourniquet. He searched the room sluggishly, breaths tight and ragged. The position on his back made it worse. That worked in their favor.

When Teharra brought down his knife, Kotallo howled, recoiling, but he was choked enough to fall back almost instantly, coughing. Each time Teharra shifted Kotallo gurgled, searching shakily for Dekka, a low unyielding sound deep in his chest.

He wouldn’t be able to do this without something to hold.

Dekka leaned over him. It was hardest when there was nothing to fight. Tenakth Kotallo’s age had rarely uexperienced that kind of pain. “Soldier, I need that report. What did this?”

Kotallo twitched, relief fighting into the sweat and bruises on his face. “R -- hhhghh --” His chest spasmed, stomach to neck. “Regah -- !“

Blood, bubbling fresh. Kotallo roared, teeth creaking they clenched so hard. Teharra pinned his shoulder, shushing softly as he dug his knife in again.

 “Regalla.” Dekka broke eye contact long enough to spit on the ground. “Yes. How were you hurt?”

“ B--bhhh. Khhh--aghhh!” Kotallo flattened into the rug, kicking frantically as the blade chewed into him. Dekka pinned him, hands flat to his chest, the shattering force of his spasms jarring up and through her to ground in the dirt. “Brist -- khh! Bristle-b-back…”

Kotallo suddenly snapped his head down, hand writhing against Dekka’s knee. “Javv--AAAH! I w-wouldn’t let…” The words rushed out like he couldn’t bear them in his mouth. “H-he didn’t --- N-no!”

By the Ten! The pain was setting him off, forcing him to see what he had in battle. Dekka realized with a start her hands were flat over the bruise on his chest, where something struck him so hard it painted him black. She cursed and pushed harder. “What happened to the Bristleback, Kotallo?”

“S-sp…!” Kotallo choked, fighting weakly against her, but not enough. Not enough to jostle Teharra, or knock the glow-blade off course as it came down again, sizzling. Kotallo’s scream felt like it split the arena walls.

Dekka focused on the jagged thrum of the sound from Kotallo’s bloodied ribs up her arms, deep into her bones, right into her heart. Let it lodge there. She’d take it. She’d listen to what Regalla did to their soldiers, swallow it down bitterness and all. And she’d send it straight back into that traitor’s chest when the time was right.

Let everyone hear it. Let Hekarro hear it and be ready this time.

Lulls in bloody work like this were short and sharp. Teharra switched tools. Kotallo sagged, streaming sweat. “S-spear,” he gasped, slow and toneless. “Sp-spear. Ja--h-he speared. It pinned me.” His knuckles knocked against Dekka as if to push, but he was too uncoordinated. His wild searching of the hut intensified, tears caught in his paint. “C-can’t get loose. C-crush.”

Dekka hadn’t though she could feel more ache, but there it was. These bruises were from a Bristelback burying Kotallo? Like he was already dead as the sand drank his blood? The image chilled all the way to her spine. No wonder the warriors who saved him looked so haunted.

“It’s not here.” Dekka risked letting go one hand to brush Kotallo’s face, drawing his head down to the rug looking at her. “I have you.”

Had Regalla missed him then, down beneath the machine?

Kotallo winced, blinking hard, heaving. Shudders ran all the way down his ribs. His eyes focused violently as Teharra shifted. “D-Dekka…?” A broken bark of sound, clawed out hoarse and frayed.

Damn, so brave. “Yes. That’s right.” Dekka shuddered. The bone-biter flashed its jagged teeth in the corner of her eye, lighting Teharra’s rigidly focused face. She held it separate, looking only at Kotallo. “Yes. The Bristelaback. How did you evade Regalla, marshal?”

She didn’t really want to know if her old sparring partner found other downed marshals, or what she did to them. Regalla could be cruel and now she was beyond all honor. But Dekka hadn’t been in that bloody dirt, so she wasn’t going to fall short of those who were.

Bone grating sounded like nothing else.

Kotallo fought, joints snapping with the kind of desperation that made lizards bite after their hearts stopped beating. Dekka caught his hips with her knee, pinning his torso with an arm bar dug in at the collarbone. Kotallo wailed and roared, pulse sputtering against her fist at the crook of his ear. But even though he bared his teeth animal-sharp at the pain, he couldn’t move her.

Thank the Ten she could hold him. And she hated it so much. Kotallo was stronger than her. Dekka hated that he wasn’t right now.

Kotallo writhed beneath her even though he couldn’t break through. Dekka didn’t think he could see her, and she could only hope he wasn’t seeing the Bristleback. His white smudged on her knuckles, bleeding off in the sweat. Like Regalla tried to wipe the marshals’ stories down into the sand she thought belonged to her.

“Out -- “ Kotallo suddenly clutched at her sash. “F-fire hair, n-neverseen---” When she looked his eyes were glazed, forced almost closed by the deep gouges the pain tore in his face. But he was focused. Holding on to what he saw. Words bubbled out like the blood spatters Teharra burnt closed. “Neverseenoutland--aaah---f-foughtch-challenge--Gr--AAAH!”

An outlander?

Dekka tried to shift enough for him to feel her tug in return. “A Carja challenge Regalla? Brave.” She leaned down, holding him through the spasms.

She didn’t think Kotallo could feel anything through the sawing teeth. But she had to try.

After interminable time and screams, Teharra shifted at her shoulder. Roasting flesh smell roiled much closer to Dekka’s face than before. She looked, letting the glow-blade sear its echo-ache on her vision to watch it press to the curve where Kotallo’s elbow had been and now was carved away. The blood was so red it seemed like it would never allow another color, even though Dekka knew that wasn’t true.

Teharra nodded, gratitude tight in his face as he set the glowblade aside and took up his needles. He set to closing the flesh around the new end of Kotallo’s arm, stitching the muscles back home.

Before Dekka could respond, Kotallo slumped under her, breaths watery and ragged, full-body trembling. She lurched up so she wasn’t crushing his chest. “Kotallo?”

He muttered, still trying to answer her, but no words formed in the sounds. Dekka pressed her palm to his cheek and sagged with relief when skin-warmth met it. So no blood-chill, thank everything. She tapped his cheek. “Kotallo!”

Teharra’s wounds weren’t like battle hits. They could shock even the strongest warriors into strange states. Maybe losing the bone was more than Kotallo could hold like this.

Kotallo flinched, bumping Dekka’s hand. He slid one eye open. Pain-drunk now, loose and shaky as new-walking cadet, he nudged closer. It took a long time for any recognition to bleed over his face. Kotallo wheezed, fingers twitching. “G--Grudda…”

The desert champion. Certainty stabbed into Dekka. The braggart joined Regalla. “He isn’t here.”

Kotallo bared his teeth in something like a smile, though it couldn’t reach the grooved pain lines in his face. “H-he’s dead.” He clutched his hand to his ribs, panting so fast it shook him. “Ahh--at least---I saw…that…”

Dekka let her full scowl out. She had no patience for Kotallo’s brand of dramatic, regardless of whether he was conscious or not! She clasped his thumb, hard, pulling him away from the bruises. “You’re not dying today. And if you did, I would make you sharpen every weapon in the Grove.”

Kotallo flinched, fumbling in her grip. Confused. The tangle of needles and cut and fingers was probably more than he could parse right now. But he returned the grip. So faint it felt like a brush of wind. “Y…yes…Ch…”

His strength was almost gone. He’d spent so much just getting here, and then making the Ten proud under Teharra’s teeth. Dekka felt him losing cohesion, fingers slackening. She forced herself not to panic. Kotallo was breathing. He showed no sign of stopping. If the pain took him under, it would be a reprieve for all of them.

Still, she hated him fighting to see her. Dekka pressed her thumb to the deep pain lines in Kotallo’s forehead, joining her sweat with his. “The chief still needs your report after this. He’ll want to know what happened to Grudda.”

The pressure nudged Kotallo’s eyes closed, as she’d hoped. He shuddered, each breath he took climbing into her wrist. “S-she…killed…him.” A faint smile dragged at the corner of his mouth. “S-strength…o-of the…Te…”

He went still, head sagged into her hand. Finally, finally out. He still protested faintly to each dip of Teharra’s thread, but the sound was so soft it was barely a hum in Dekka’s fingertips. She let herself breathe, and stay. And wait.

The thick blood smell leveled, pierced with balm-sour and char.

She checked Kotallo’s pulse, even though she could see him breathing perfectly well. “Teharra?”

Teharra wrapped his tools. “He’s survived this far. He should be clear if he wakes up tomorrow.” He paused, reaching to run his hands over his face, but caught it before he smeared himself bloody. Instead, he blinked at Dekka. “He will…”

Dekka took a moment to turn to Teharra, fully meet his eyes. She didn’t want Regalla’s fear to reach any farther than it already had. “Yes. He knows we need him.”

Teharra nodded, teeth grit. Seeing a marshal carved this deep shook him, even after all he’d seen. Dekka had her work cut out for her once she finished here. Teharra stood, lifting the bloody wrapped bundle of Kotallo’s arm. “I’ll report to Chief and see to this. If…he’ll ask for you.”

Dekka shook her head. “He won’t. There are no marshals to keep the Watch. No clanmates he’d recognize.” She traced the mountain lines on Kotallo’s forehead, trying to smooth some of the pain there. “Tell Chief I’m ready to report. And send anyone in need of guidance here to me.”

Teharra saluted. “Walk with the Ten, Chaplain.”

“And Hekarro can wait for you to wash!” Dekka called after him. She settled, half an eye on Kotallo’s short, wincing breaths. They all needed her. Everyone in the Grove, even Hekarro. And she'd do it. She’d see to them all. That was her duty as Chaplain. Tonight this was the tip of her spear.

Dekka gathered Kotallo’s breastplate off the floor. Sitting by his head, so he’d see her if he woke, she picked the dried blood out of the tines. By morning, maybe this would be something she could give back to him, for all the things no one ever could.

[irenadel]

Fear Leads the Way

Darth Maul x Reader Filthy porn ahead, Darth Maul and Savage Opress and Reader, eventual pseudo-threesome, but only sexy cuddles for Savage because he's got The Trauma, eventual robodick but right now we're dealing only with Ken Doll Maul. Therefore: TRIGGER WARNING TALK OF AMPUTATION AND LIMB LOSS. Nothing detailed but you have been warned. Chapter 1 of Force knows how many.

It was true what they said, that wild animals were more often afraid of you, than you of them.

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 1

It had begun out of wariness. And Maul’s always short temper when his decisions were questioned, especially decisions he wasn’t entirely confident in. If it bothers you so much, he had snapped at his brother, stay and stand guard. That was usually how it went with Maul and Savage. Shut up and stand guard, was the principle through which they both operated most of the time. Savage seldom objected because he did, always, on some level, want to keep an eye on his brother. It eased some ache within him he did not even want to think about.

And for all his snarling and protests, Maul would agree. It was always better when Savage stood guard. Better strategy. More firepower. Safer.

(Less lonely)

You did not seem to share the brothers’ enthusiasm for a rear guard. At least not in this particular situation.

You had said nothing, though. You weren’t in the habit of questioning Lord Maul of the Shadow Collective and Maul, in turn, often ignored the degree to which you were always still a little terrified of him. You’d been snatched off the streets of Nar Shaddaa to work your magic on Lord Maul’s cybernetics. A present meant to court favor. A trifling bauble. A girl too afraid to do much more than her job for a long time. When he didn’t pointedly ignore it, he spent considerable time and effort convincing himself it was just right and proper that you should be afraid of the sith lord who ruled your life.

But it hadn’t been easy in this particular case.

It had been a mistake, a sign of weakness, Maul decided, to let himself grow used to the certainty of your touch. It had begun with the strong, firm hands you had ran over the tender places between where his cybernetics ended and his flesh began. It had gone beyond anything he should have ever allowed when, still cowed and unsure, but in that moment somehow fearless, you had uttered words like prosthetic genital replacement, sensory recovery, advances in brain and limb nerve arrays. He should have beheaded you then and there. Nipped this in the bud and sealed it with your blood.

Instead he had let you talk to him about the nerve endings of his forearms, still very much alive and intact to feel the tips of your fingers ghosting over them. He had let you stutter about flesh grafts and possibilities, illustrating each suggestion with a tentative touch. He had let you take a traitorous hand to the soft, vulnerable skin of his ears, its sheer sensitivity forgotten years after that initial reckless vanity that had made him pierce them.

There had been a shame and wariness in you he had not understood and then that impossible, naked audacity that had brought your questing fingers to his lips, to his chest, to a hard and aching nipple you had ministered to with nails and tongue and teeth. And then you had been impossible to contain. Because the same knowledge that had made your work on his cybernetics invaluable, had let you crumble him apart like clay. He’d let you press the heel of your hand to the back of his neck that day, the skin on his shoulder blades suddenly, uncomfortably alive, eager to be touched because it had never been touched with tenderness, with pleasure instead of pain.

You had tried to flee him that day, having stepped over a boundary that had never existed between coerced attendant and frightening patient. And he’d snatched you back with one awful, terrible gesture of his impossibly strong arm and you had stayed there, precariously hanging off his body. A body that had seemed so fragile a second ago and now stood horrifyingly solid underneath your hands.

Savage had been there too, as always, watching his brother’s back whenever a vulnerable position demanded it. But Maul had been too focused on the warm proximity of your body and the sudden overpowering aroma of your sweat and arousal, to pay attention to his looming baleful figure. You had not. You had watched with increasing wariness as the tendons on his neck had stood out in stress and horror, monstrously thick and powerful like starship cables. His angry glare had narrowed the moment he’d heard his brother’s first pained noise: a low, deep keening against your neck.

And you had feared, not without reason, that Savage could have killed you then and there. Could’ve used the Force to shake the life off you and thrown you against the wall like an abused ragdoll. You’d watched both of the brothers and knew them capable of that and worse… but for Maul’s second pained noise: a ragged, impossible please against your lips. You had not cared for death in that second, forgotten in the heady realization of what your patient needed, of the whole, absurd, delicious horror of it. Your responsibility to him, your fear of and desire for him, his furious brother watching…

Let him watch, you decided recklessly.

You’d kissed Maul then, after a furtive whisper on the erogenous quality of mouths and he had responded so immediately, so hungrily that you had forgotten about anything else. You had kissed him and he’d almost made you come solely with his mouth on yours, just through his single-focused, aggressive pursuit of the taste of your pleasure, thick in your mouth, gums and tongue.

Savage had not killed you that day, but he had insisted on talking to his brother afterwards. He, so often conciliatory and willing to let things go, had argued with a Maul still half swimming in the hitherto undiscovered waters of sexual desire, that there were things he needed to learn. It had almost been a fight like the one they’d had about zabrak horns and oil and overbathing. Maul being so used to dry, flakey skin and the certainty that if it had been important, Darth Sidious would have informed him, had refused to change his grooming habits for months.

This time Savage insisted.

“It’s just the pheromones,” he’d said to his brother. “Get rid of her.”

There were things said between them about the Nightsisters, about Nightbrothers that disappeared, with a grin instead of a grimace, things that sounded to Maul like superstitious bantha shit. You were not a Nightsister and he was a sith lord. He was in danger of nothing except perhaps getting distracted from his goals. He’d conceded that to Savage and had managed to keep away from you for a whole month, via sheer ornery pride.

It was your apology that got his attention that second time. He had stubbornly relegated you to background noise since the first incident. Haughtily ignored your anxious looks the way he had ignored every distraction Sidious had ever sent his way, pleased that it worked to mollify Savage as much as it had ever worked with his master. The dull ache of your work on his cybernetics was as easily dismissed as your stony silence while he talked to the other leaders of the Shadow Collective. When you had spoken up before he had cowed you into silence and, furious and tight-lipped, you had not repeated your mistake often. 

“My lord,” you had said, choking on the honorific in a way you had not before you’d know the taste of Maul’s tongue. “This will hurt.”

He had clenched his teeth at your intrusion, attempted to overlook its impertinence and then been caught entirely unawares by your firm determination to be acknowledged.

“I’m sorry,” you had said, looking to meet his eyes, venom gone from your look and replaced with the half-fearful, half-softened gaze that had haunted his few moments of peace ever since you’d touched each other that day. You had worked unobtrusively before, as quick and thorough as you could and here you were, trying to get a go-ahead he had never required of you before. “Brace yourself.”

It was tiresome. It was unnecessary. He had known it was coming and had dismissed it, any recalibration of his cybernetics’ digestive aid always created a feedback loop not unlike quick but unrelenting bursts of abdominal cramps. He would have done it himself with help from Savage, but his brother was away, dealing with an upstart Hutt rebellion and he’d had no time to spare for shutting down individual systems so he could bear the agony while working on the whole thing. It was easier to channel that pain towards cowing unruly underlings. Intimidation did not require the razor sharp focus of mechanical work.

Except now. Now he was uncomfortably aware of the careful, slow quality of your work, of your hands where he couldn’t feel them. The cramps lasted a second and then you proceeded. Now, he was annoyingly, half-attentive at all times of what you were doing, figuring out what you were turning off and bypassing at every turn to make sure to keep the pain at a minimum while working… wondering when you would actually touch him.

It was maddening, a karking waste of time.

He’d hissed at you to get on with it, nevermind the cramps, but still been unable to regain focus on the strategy at hand. He’d been forced to dismiss everyone with a snarl, and stared you down, afraid again, unsure again, but still holding his gaze.

Get to work, he’d meant to snap at you.

Stop staring at me, would have worked as well.

Instead, he’d let the small, childish voice inside him, always wary, always ready to fear the worse, but still indomitably willing to risk punishment for the taste of something sweet, request what he hadn’t even known he wanted a moment ago.

“Touch my back.”

Again.

No, not a request, a desperate wail that came out like an order growled through gritted teeth.

You’d let out a breath you hadn’t meant to hold and Maul was inundated by the overpowering stench of your desire, his mouth watering at the thought. Immediately, it conjured phantom sensations, reminding Maul of his own, of the furtive times of his apprenticeship when he’d been terrified and young and burning so badly he’d risked touching himself just to keep desire at bay. Savage had said something about manhood and Nightsister rituals and Maul being lucky to have forgotten what prickling, overwhelming, unquenchable need felt like before he’d met a woman who could use it against him. To have had that safely amputated with his legs and all the rest, stolen from him, put away where he couldn’t reach it.

Maul didn’t feel lucky. He didn’t feel safe or as serenely removed from his own furious, adolescent loneliness as he had before. He felt adrift like he had then, desperate, ready to force you to touch him if you would not do it willingly. But when you capitulated it didn’t feel like that either.

It was worse.

He’d let out a shameful, agonized cry, nearly a sob, because your hands on his back were gentle, were careful, were good. No one ever touched him there, in the center of his back, a place he seldom reached for, which seldom required maintenance or thought. And now it was alive under your hands, sweet stars, under your lips which had immediately, no hesitation, sought out his burning skin and he could almost remember what it had been like to climax, unexpectedly, horrifically and absolutely unprepared for it, when he had been young and angry and unaware of what he had. Except he had been alone then and you were here now, your lips pressed to the place where his shoulder blades met, your hands holding his throat so tenderly it hurt, your own panting frantic because you wanted him and he knew it, just like Savage had said (warned) he would. And he had no control of it, just wanting and wanting and hunger, and surely, surely that was enough, that was sithly, because it did taste like the Dark Side, tacky and thick and slow like burnt molasses, when he turned on you and pinned you down so he could rut in between your legs, grinding a sensationless codpiece against the juncture of your thighs, so deeply frustrated the Force crushed the door of the meeting room to echo him.

You held him against it, did not let him lose the thread of this impossible, horrible desire, as you struggled out of your work jumpsuit, wrapped your legs and arms around him and whispered soft, filthy encouragement in his ear. 

“Please oh, please, please, please,” you’d said so quietly he felt it more than heard it, your warm, humid breath making him shudder. He hadn’t known how much he would need your eager, ready submission. How good it would feel to hear you acquiesce, hear you surrender, hear you beg. “I can’t,” you’d stuttered, as much at a loss as he. “I’m so wet for you, please, talk to me, I’m so close, talk to me and make me come.”

That he could feel, not against the gaping absence where his genitals had been once, but desperately snaking a hand between your bodies, your wetness soaking through the leather of his gloves, nostrils suddenly flooded with the stinging, musky aroma of your sopping sex. He would have dived between your legs, would have devoured the source of his distraction, gotten rid of this shameful weakness and run you throw with his lightsaber for good measure, but you held him and all he could do was obey your sweet, keening moans, as gone as he, your own nipples fervently pressing against his chest, your mouth warm and soft against the tender skin behind his ear, your nails scratching that terrible, wonderful spot at the center of his back. And he was rutting against you again, grinding and almost feeling it, whispering his own fervent filth, because it helped coalesce the stabs of want, just like you said it would, diffused as they were all over the remains of his body. It helped to tell you he was your lord and master and have you desperately agree. It helped to hold you down as he was pumping his codpiece against your wet, eager core, to squeeze your throat and tell you, nothing explicit because he knew so little of it, but what he wanted of you, what he felt you were doing to him, return it a thousandfold because you deserved it, for teaching him to want this, to need it, to cling to it like he had clinged to life and breath when he was a child and Sidious was killing him slowly.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he’d growled at your throat, a promise of payback, a threat. And you were coming and he was hearing you come and he could almost feel it himself, dizzy and bright painful white like combat meditation. He didn’t know if it had been like that before Lotho Minor, before Naboo, before Kenobi, but it was like this now and he was swimming in the white, hot-searing nothingness of it, of your moans, of your smell and your wetness and you were his, his, his, like his lightsaber, like his destiny, like Savage and it was a freefall, as terrifying a freefall as any possession had ever been for Maul, something to cherish always becoming something you could lose.

[cipher-zoo]

So we know Benn Beckman took Kid's arm, right? And we know Benn did and does use a rifle (okay, technically he mostly uses it as a club on screen, but here is to assuming he does fire it every now and again) Now, of course, I have no idea if a rifle would be strong enough to separate someone's arm from their body or hurt it enough that it needs to be amputated but this is One Piece, so I'm just gonna assume.

Anyway, what I am saying is: Do we think Benn used his rifle to take Kid's arm and as a follow up: Do we think Kid had to use his own powers to clean the shrapnel from the wound?