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#amputation tw
nerdpoe · 7 months
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Joker, in an effort to traumatize Batman once again, cuts off Red Robins hands right in front of him.
Only for Red Robin to grow them back by the time he turns around.
Joker stares at the new hands.
Red Robin stares at the new hands.
Well shit. Kid's a meta.
Basically, AU where Tim's a meta that has the power to regenerate limbs like a lizard regens it's tail at an accelerated rate, but he didn't know because like. How? Would he know?? I base this AU on the grounds that Tim still gets regular injuries and no infections despite not having a spleen, so clearly he regrew his spleen.
@simplestoryteller
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spookyboywhump · 8 months
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I am of course a big fan of all the scary and violent whump potential that could come from red room whump but whenever I think too much about somebody live-streaming torture I always end up getting ridiculous. Whumper doing give aways if they hit a certain number of views. Telling people to like and subscribe. What platform are they using for this activity. I am making myself laugh.
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*wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat*
Do you ever think about how the firework at the Red Festival was so powerful it also caused Technoblade himself to lose hearts? Do you ever think how that translates to the crossbow malfunctioning and him burning his hands, perhaps even blowing off a finger or two? Do you ever think how nobody decided to check up on that and instead Techno was pressured into the whole pit thing? Do you ever think about Techno with bleeding, injured hands getting into a barehanded fistfight which would only make those wounds worse and then leaving and nobody even bothering to go after him or help him??? HELLO AM I JUST MENTALLY INSANE?
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frenreyofficial · 1 year
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ACT 3 STREAM ANNIVERSARY. YIPPEE
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fallenclan · 8 months
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i've decided that i love drawing kittens. they're like roly polys to me
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py6oto · 7 months
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some more doodles!! sorry for the doodle spam. i wanna animate but i cannot. i cope by doodling instead.
2023.08.29
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melodyofthevoid · 11 months
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Bodies are Business and Business is Good
Tw: blood, torture, amputation, etc. (It’s Heather) 
Word Count: 3,326
There were fewer things more satisfying, Heather thought, than the slight hiss of the gas lamp in her work office.
A frankly wonderful modern invention, much more controlled than simple wax candles and less likely to blow out at a moment’s notice when she had her back turned or was in the middle of delicate work. Natural light wasn’t exactly an option, not here. And her clients tended to demand their money’s worth.
Plus, it was so nice to listen to the small intake of breath when her victims realized she was there. And the narrowing of their eyes as she became fully visible.
She turned the key and struck a match, blinking as her own eyes adjusted to the light, bouncing off of the thick carved stone and cast iron tools lining the walls. The vials and jars just waiting to be filled. And, shining off of the few exposed scales of the exhausted mer panting and strapped to her operation table.
As expected, they flinched when she descended the stairs, pulling at the restraints with all of their might. Clearly not enough, but a valiant effort.
“Apologies for the delay, but since you so stubbornly held onto your disguise, it put a damper on my evening plans the other day. I’m sure you must be thirsty.”
The angel fish snarled, flaring their bright yellow tail and thrashing harder, their scales– iridescent– bright blues, yellows and greens that would make for excellent amulets or accessories.
She made a note to get more leather and wire for the necklaces. Accessories sold well. Not as well as her other products, but well enough. A status symbol to those who were in the know.
“Fuck off- you- you-”
“Bitch? Monster? I’m sure I’ve heard it before. Believe me, I have.”
A well in the back, hidden by a few boxes, caught her victim’s eye as she walked over to it, grabbing a nearby bucket and pumping it full. Saltwater smell filled the air, overpowering the metallic tang of Heather’s tools.
The mer eyed the bucket, thrashing less as she approached. Ah, good. Maybe this one would be cooperative. Or somewhat more cooperative.
“Actually… Before we get started, and I let you have this, I have a simple question for you. Do you happen to know the location of any other mermaid colonies? You don’t have to tell me all of them, just one or two.”
Any relief that the mer–oh what was their name again? It didn’t really matter, the mer’s relief vanished, eyes narrowing to slits and their fins flaring out.
“Tell you- no. Fuck you. You and your dog won’t get your hands on any more mer- not if I can help it.”
“Well, you’re right about one thing, he is something of a dog, look at you.”
She ran a hand along their tail, ghosting over the gashes that lined it. Wounds that’d barely scabbed over during transport. Other bruises and scratches marred their skin and fins. Heather scowled. Charles was new, but that didn’t excuse abject incompetence.
This would put something of a dent in what she could sell. Charles would be compensated accordingly.
“I told him minimal damage, and yet here you are. Can’t even follow basic directions right. But I digress. If you won’t offer what I need, there’s no sense in dragging this out.”
Heather mulled over where to start, eyeing her knives and branding rods. Carving took longer, but risked too much thrashing for a clean cut. Fins, for all of their use, tore rather easily if not handled properly.
Morro —ah, right that was their name— looked to be healthy enough that draining them first wouldn’t end in them bleeding out entirely.
The needle it was then.
“Now where did I put it… ah, here it is.”
She hummed under her breath, pulling out three glass jars, and her needle, cleaning off the point of it and eyeing Morro’s exposed forearms. A good thing that they were tense already. That certainly made things easier.
A particularly exposed vein on their right arm made for the perfect target and Heather couldn’t help the shiver that went down her spine as the metal slid into the skin, flesh giving way to the needle’s piercing point. So satisfying.
Immediately crimson blood filled the glass tank of the gun, flowing down to the tube and filling up the first jar. The lifeblood of her operation, so to speak. So many customers, all vying for that most viscous and vital of her products. And who was she to deny them when she was living testimony of its efficacy?
Of course she’d never give away all her trade secrets for her longevity. She wasn’t born yesterday.
Or even within the last half century.
In any case, the blood flowed easily, and already one jar gleamed with it. Full to the brim. Switching one out for the other, Heather placed it off on a table, taking a moment to admire the flicker of the gas lamp light against the glass and crimson. Perhaps one day she’d find some other substance, a gemstone, a resin, something that could capture the beauty of her craft.
She doubted it though.
With a second jar nearly filled, Morro’s skin showed the effects. Ashy, almost clammy in places. Their gaze unfocused and any attempts at thrashing much weaker than before. Reaching the limits of what they could give today.
Heather switched out the jars one last time, watching the stream slowly taper off as their breathing slowed down and body relaxed against their will. For their trouble, she poured some of the sea water in the bucket over them, giving them a pat on the shoulder as she extracted the needle from their vein and bandaged the wound. Some blood sluggishly seeping through the gauze.
“You,” Morro slurred, “you’ll pay for this. Indra will hunt you for the rest of your days.”
“Mmm, is that so? Tell me, how long do you think I’ve done this work?”
Her captive didn’t respond. Only glaring with bared fangs.
“Believe me, if your goddess really gave a damn, I’d think she’d have taken notice by now. I’m not going anywhere, and for the time being? Neither are you.”
“The debt will be paid- MHMPH!”
Heather tied the gag tighter, rolling her eyes.
“That’s enough out of you. I’ll spare myself the usual theatrics. Feel free to still scream though, I don’t mind. You’ll give me what I want either way.”
Finally, Heather could get to the real work.
Choosing the right knife to start with always proved to be the most taxing part of the work. She’d tried typical fish scalers in the past, but those were better suited for the fishmongers and fresh markets. The scales she worked with required more work than that. But on the other hand, using the back of the wrong knife chipped and damaged the scales, and no one wanted to buy half a scale.
Heather’s fingers danced along the different blades, intermittently picking one up, twirling it, feeling the heft and then setting it back down, moving on to the next one. Eventually she settled on her favorite, a long curving blade, sturdy and sharp. Tempered steel reflecting her own dark gaze back at her.
Starting from the base of the tail, as she’d done a thousand times before, she wedged the back end of it underneath the first line of scales, and pushed upwards.
The previously limp mermaid jerked up, a muffled yelp coming from beneath the gag. Of course, Morro barely possessed the strength to so much as twitch. Too tired to fully put up a fight, but Heather tightened the straps on their tail anyway. With that secure, she continued pushing up, the shining iridescent angelfish scales now tinted red at the base as they fell to the floor below. They’d be cleaned and polished later.
Despite the gag, Heather winced as the mer tried to shriek, to throw her off through the only means they had left. Admirable if it weren’t so annoying. She took a step back and stood back up, towering over her prey. Cooing with a voice as sickly sweet as she could make it.
“Oh relax, this isn’t even the worst part. But we can get to that if you want. It might make this seem pleasant in comparison. How does that sound?”
Morro shook their head, but she’d already flipped her blade around and dug it into the membrane of the main tail fin, slicing through with no resistance. The bright yellow would make for a lovely trophy for the right buyer.
It was a little too bright for her tastes though. It clashed with the decor.
Hitching breaths came from above, strained and hissing through clenched teeth. The poor thing was trying to keep themself calm even with the gag. She laughed, cutting through the dorsal and pectoral fins next, setting them aside to dry.
Muffled moans and cries left Morro and Heather checked their cheeks to see if there were tears. A frustratingly rare commodity. Not that they did anything but clients always wanted them. By all means she could just sell some sea water, but she had standards.
She clicked her tongue to see that there were no tears. A shame.
With the last of the fins removed, Heather spun her knife back around and continued peeling away the scales, with far less reaction this time, which was also in and of itself a shame. She liked the fight so long as she could still do her job. Heather’d done Morro a mercy if anything. After an amputation, pulling a few scales probably felt like nothing. Like pulling nails off of a hand freshly devoid of a few fingers.
Sometimes though, the sudden lack of fight signaled an end to that night’s session. Ignoring her subjects too much could be costly.  Brushing the last few whole scales into a second bucket, Heather stood back up, examining her work.
Morro was slumped over, exhausted from the strain and blood loss. Wiping any excess off of her knife on her apron, Heather did her usual checks, pulse, reflex, breathing, etc. They were still alive, which meant that she’d get at least a few more pints out of them by the time they eventually kicked the bucket. It’d be such a waste if she only got one day’s worth.
They’d hold out longer than that, she’d make sure of it.
With a sigh, she got out her needle and thread, stitching up the gashes Charles left and cleaning out the wounds. Bandaging up the stump near the tail. No infections, and no potential loss. The blood was no good from a dead mer.
As much as she liked the final processing steps, she still had other orders to fulfill, and going out of her way to catch another prospect? A waste of her time and resources. Nothing wasted, not if she could help it. 
Her hairnet came off, as did the gloves and apron, all placed in their proper places far enough away that any nearby officers couldn’t smell the fresh blood on her. She needed to replace the shirt though. Again. The price she paid for wearing white.
Ah well, no skin off her back. She disposed of any evidence once or twice a year. Fireplaces served a variety of uses.  
A quick shower and a change of clothes left Heather feeling far more accomplished and relaxed now that the euphoria of her work had passed. There was a certain… thrill to it, to the slice of flesh under her knife. But getting lost in that feeling led to less than precise work. In less vials of blood and damage to the organs she needed to sell later. So, for the sake of her own work, she had to take breaks. Balance was key, and experience taught her well.
Maybe for the evening she could fully unwind with some luxury time. She’d just have to find that bottle of wine and those chocolates she’d been saving.
The glasses were in the cabinet of her office, so here was hoping that there weren’t any last minute visitors. She’d had enough business for the day.
Though as she entered the room from the back, she sighed. No such luck.  
A certain red-haired captain stood in the main lobby, smoking a cigar. Blowing rings of smoke into the air with his usual air of disinterest. Odd, he’d delivered her fresh supply not even a year and a half ago. Confusion outweighed her irritation at the intrusion. For now.
“To what do I owe this visit, Captain?”
Fachnan exhaled, tapping the stray ash onto the floor. Sullying it.
Asshole.
“Ah, Heather. I was hoping you’d stay in that dungeon for a little while longer. I find it’s easier to take in your trophies without you drooling all over them. We were stopping here for a short time and well, I figured I’d drop by.”
“Mhm…sure.”
The twitch in Fachnan’s hand and dart of his eyes didn’t exactly scream “casual chat”.
“Why’re you really here, and make it quick. You’re getting ash all over my perfectly good carpet. I do try to keep an air of respectability here.”
“My apologies, your majesty, I’ll be sure to clean your lair to a shine.”
Heather’s jaw tensed, teeth close to grinding. Unnecessary stress meant unnecessary aging, deep breaths in, deep breaths out. She forced herself to relax, schooling her expression into neutral disdain.
“False deference doesn’t suit you, Captain. I’d get your nose off of the floor before I lose my patience.”
“Fine, fine. Since you’re in a hurry I’ll make it quick.”
Fachnan gestured wide, splaying himself across the couch in her office with all the grace and respect she’d come to expect. Letting out a sigh, Heather grabbed the first open bottle of wine she could find and poured some out. Counting down the minutes until he left.
“The reason for my visit is simple, I want to do you a favor.”
She arched her brow, sipping at her glass.
“You’ve just been a source of income for me, Lady of the Sea. Owe at least some of my success to you. I’ve got a tip you might be interested in, for a small price, of course. Can’t just give this sort of thing to any ametuer.”
Actively sending Charles out on another hunt before she could properly chastise him for damaging this merchandise? She’d pass.
Besides, she paid Fachnan for tangible work. If she threw her fortune any idiot who walked in promising a lead, she’d have exhausted her coiffers long ago. Her decades of experience were worth far more than what one measly captain thought he knew.
“Charming, but I’m not looking to take on another project or search for one at the moment. Frankly, I don't like drawing more attention to myself than necessary. You know how these new officers get, all bright eyed and full of belief in ‘law and order’. The guard’s changed in the past few years, and I’m not exactly looking to make any waves at present. The fewer bodies, the better.”
She sipped at her wine once more, mulling over the best way to politely but firmly tell Fachnan to fuck off. Alone time was calling her name like the sirens she cut to ribbons.
“Well that’s a shame. Here I thought you were interested in a shark mer. Guess not then.”
With an inhale, the wine went down her throat and Heather choked and coughed. It burned all the way up to her sinuses, but nothing compared to the spark of interest. Still catching her breath, she unlatched a compartment in the desk behind her, pulling out a sharpened knife and setting it on the wood beside her.
He could lie or take out his sword if he wanted, but her reputation spoke for itself. There’d be one winner here.
“I see I have your attention then,” he smirked, “I’ll admit, the gold was a bluff. This one’s on the house.”
“Bullshit. What do you want?”
“Fine, this mer in question is something of… a thorn in my side. You taking care of her would be doing me a service, Madame Butcher. She appears to be a hybrid, if that sweetens the deal.”
It did. Quite a bit in fact.
“And you’re sure about this?”
“Dead certain. Last saw her face off the coast of Paign. Goes by the name of Delta. About seven feet tall, blue fins, blue coat, she’s fairly hard to miss. Has a whole crew of mer from what I could tell.”
A whole crew… she let out a breath.
“No shit. Typically I don’t get in the middle of feuds, or do bounty work for that matter, but just this once? I think I can agree with that. In fact…”
Heather stood up, walking over to a mahogany cabinet, carved with intricate flowers and vines. An inherited piece, and not even a forced one. They’d handed it over after the funeral, which was well and good. Natural causes were less messy to deal with generally speaking. She pressed the central-most flower’s petals and the compartment toward the bottom opened up, shining vials revealed within it.
“A gift, to a valuable partner. For your health.”
She held out a crimson vial. Heart blood.
“I’d like to keep my more reliable freelancer at sea for a few more years.”
Seconds ticked by, and Fachnan shook his head, “No, like I said. This one’s free. I just want her gone.”
Pirates and their honor codes. She rolled her eyes and set the vial back into its case.
Although speaking of…
“By the way, how’s that associate of yours doing? Changed his tune yet? I know he’s got quite the reputation for finding what he’s looking for. I’d like to use his expertise.”
Deep lines set into Fachnan’s face as he glanced away. Shoulders lowered. His bravado evaporated leaving behind only bitter salt.
“He and I won’t be seeing each other any time soon, gods willing. My only hope is it was quick.”
Ah. So it was like that then.
“I see, I apologize. I’ve been rather busy as of late, haven’t kept up with the times. My condolences for your loss.”
He grit his teeth, expression darkening further.
“It was his decision. We parted ways some time ago. He knew the risks of going soft, and look where it got him.”
“Well, that is how it is sometimes. Connections come and connections go. Time stops for a lucky few.”
The dots weren’t hard to connect, as hard as Fachnan fought to keep his aloof persona intact. Whatever drama or series of events led to this, frankly she didn’t care. What mattered was her prize. He could mourn his lost flame all he wanted on his own time.
With the last of his cigar fully gone, Fachnan stared at the embers before standing up from the couch, lifting his chin to look down at her. She met his gaze with a smile every bit as sharp as her tools.
“I’ll be heading off then. Send word when you need my services again.”
“Oh I will, don’t you worry. Thank you for stopping by, your help is much appreciated.”
He didn’t respond, only turning for the door and leaving Heather alone with her wine and her thoughts. Her smile stretched wider across her face and she let out a laugh, growing in intensity as euphoria set in.
A shark. A shark hybrid.
Looked like she’d have to clear her schedule to ensure that this… Delta could get all the attention that Heather could offer. Get the care and quality work that she deserved as the future crown jewel of her collection.
Morro could be rest assured that their suffering would be brief. She had preparations to make.
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nerves-nebula · 10 months
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Raphael’s Amputation Saga:
Warning, I had absolutely no idea how to end this one
——
He shouldn’t have been playing alone. He knew that, in the back of his mind. If any of the others tried to do what he was doing he would chase them down and drag them back home.
But Raph was different. He was bigger and smarter and stronger. He could find his way back because he was older and he knew how to not get lost. Plus, Leo had gotten Mikey and Donnie to play a game of knights and dragons with him and Raph hated that game. Leo always made him be the dragon. He didn’t like being the dragon. The dragon was the *bad guy*.
He also knew which sewer grate usually dropped all the coolest toys. From above he could hear human kids yelling and laughing, but he knew not to look. Looking meant someone could see him.
So he waited, holding onto his tail as he splashed in the water. It was getting really long, just like Dad’s. He liked using his tail to copy what Dad’s did, practicing to make it move the way Dad moved his when he taught them their ninja stuff.
He could swear he was getting better with it every day. He didn’t trip on it as much and he was good about making sure it wasn’t dragging where Mikey could step on it (even if Mikey thought it was funny). He could move it around easier, too! Donnie and Leo played a game to see who could jump over his tail longest while he was wagging it and it was the funnest most greatest game ever.
But now he was waiting.
He held his tail in his mouth as he bounced in the water of the drain pipe, giggling as he went. Maybe no one would drop a toy today. That would be sad, but at least he had some time to play by himself!
If he didn’t get any new toys today maybe he could come back and sneak up when it was dark. Sometimes kids forgot toys on the playground itself and he could take them to share with his brothers. Donnie was really good at fixing anything broken, too, so he could just grab anything!
Maybe he could convince them to play superheroes again and they could-
Something terribly loud happened up top. It was sharp and painful, banging multiple times. Something smashed against the grate of the drain and Raph froze, terrified.
He bit down.
He didn’t know why he bit down, but he did.
Raph knew he had sharp teeth. He’d bit Leo once when he was mad and Dad had had to give him stitches. Leo had been angry and scared for days after.
He didn’t realize just how much his bite hurt.
He kept his teeth clenched, though. Why wasn’t he letting go? Why couldn’t he let go?
His teeth sunk deeper into his own flesh.
The noises up top were still loud. He could hear some people screaming. He couldn’t understand their words but they were loud and there were so many and everything smelled like blood- so much blood.
He didn’t remember getting home. He must’ve let go of his tail at some point, but his mouth still tasted like blood.
He looked down at his tail. He must’ve dragged it through the water because it was less gross than he thought it would be, but it was still bleeding.
He had to hide it. Dad hated when they got hurt. He’d been in big trouble when he bit Leo and Dad would be so mad that he’d hurt himself. How could he do that? Why did he do that? Why didn’t he just *let go*?
He ran to the bathroom and tore into the first aid kit. They had to keep lots of stuff in it because Mikey was really good at getting scraped up and Donnie got sick a lot, so it wasn’t hard to find some bandaids to cover the bites.
He whimpered as he stuck the first bandage, the fabric soaking through with blood almost immediately.
He was gonna need a lot of bandages.
His tail wasn’t getting better. The bleeding had stopped but now it was turning gross colors and it was turning black. It hurt really bad, too.
Thankfully, Dad hadn’t noticed yet. He had been a lot more cagey lately, determined they didn’t leave the lair. Apparently whatever that loud thing was the other day was actually really bad and dangerous. He pretended to be scared to hide in his room but his tail hurt so bad he couldn’t help but cry.
The gross colored bit was spreading too. At first it was just in the scab, but by now it was spread almost halfway up his tail, making it hard to move it at all without hurting really bad. Worst of all, the bite started smelling bad and was oozing some gross stuff that he knew was bad.
He cried, hating himself for running away. He should’ve just listened to Leo and played the dragon. If he was a dragon he wouldn’t be hurting. He wouldn’t be hiding from everyone under his bed, sobbing, wishing he could curl his tail around him for comfort.
Donnie had already come in to check on him, but Raph had been able to get him to go away. Mikey and Leo wouldn’t be as easy to convince, and if Mikey or Leo found out he was hurt then they’d tell Dad and Dad would yell at him.
He was already in pain, he didn’t want to be yelled at.
He clutched his teddy bear close, burying his beak it its matted fur, staining it with more tears.
“Red! Why didn’t you say anything?”
Raph wailed, clinging to Draxum’s neck hard enough to start choking him.
“Why the hell did you let it get this bad?” Draxum hissed, trying to pull Raph’s arms looser around his neck while not dropping the already injured child, “This is terribly infected! Spirits alive, the end of it is practically already dead.”
In the end, Mikey or Leo didn’t have to find him. Draxum stopped by for a random visit and came looking for him. Now Mikey was crying and Leo and Donnie were holding him, looking at him like he was dying.
“What the hell do we do?”
“Well first we need to clean it and see how bad it is. Fuck, this is *not* what I meant when I said I had a doctorate, rat.”
The tub’s water was cold. He cried as the water touched his burning hot tail, painful and so shocking his vision went white.
Dad and Draxum continued to argue.
One of them grabbed his tail and pain laced through his body, ripping up through his spine, and he passed out.
When he woke up he was cold. He had a blanket placed over him and he was laid on the couch. He carefully moved to look at his tail.
It wasn’t better.
Someone had wrapped it in some white bandages, but he could see the gross ooze seeping through, and it still hurt.
He whimpered, pulling the blanket over his head, trying to hide.
“You have to consider that it will have to be removed.”
That was Draxum. He was using the voice he used just before him and Dad started yelling.
“Removed? And who will do that, Draxum? You?”
Dad was also using his going-to-yell-soon voice.
“Would you prefer the infection spread?” Draxum snapped, “It’s no wonder that it got infected in the first place, you’ve made your home in a den of filth.”
“Yes, let’s change the subject from you wanting to mutilate my child to the state of the home I’ve struggled to build for said children.” Dad hissed and something smacked against the stone.
“They are my children too!” Draxum finally yelled, “You think I want to remove his tail? I’m not the one who let him play in disgusting waters!”
Raph sobbed, quiet and muffled beneath the blanket.
They wanted to cut his tail off?
He wrapped the blanket tighter around himself, sliding off the couch, whimpering when his tail slid down onto the floor.
It hurt, but he didn’t want to lose his tail.
He could fix it.
He always fixed it.
Whenever Mikey got infections they cleaned them with cold water.
He knew where to get really cold water.
He could fix his tail and come back and show Dad and Draxum and they’d stop yelling and be so proud of him for fixing the problem all alone.
Maybe they’d even give him a reward for being brave and smart.
He stumbled across the lair, heading towards the east, where the coldest water was.
He could fix this.
Raphael was gone.
Splinter had lost the kids before, usually while they were playing, and he’d had his fair share of heart attacks from searching for the missing turtle.
This was different.
Raphael was ill. Not like Donnie, who got sick practically every other week, but actually ill. His tail was severely infected and the fever resulting from it had him delirious. He talked in his sleep and cried more in the past day than he ever had in his little life. The sound was both grating and heartbreaking.
He didn’t understand how this happened. Or, even worse, when. As much as he was loathe to admit, Draxum’s words stung and he was overly aware of all the unclean spaces of their lair. He would have to have the boys help him clean from now on. Their little hands would be able to clean the harder to reach spaces easier.
“This way.”
Draxum held some mystic compass in his hand. They’d had to dig one of the filthy bandages out of the trash for the magic to connect to Raphael, guiding them through the sewer tunnels to find where the boy had wandered off.
He couldn’t quite tell if he was furious at his son for wandering or terrified that perhaps he was having another delirious episode induced by the fever. Perhaps it was both.
Draxum lead them down a tunnel, his leggings pulled up and cinched tight around his thighs so they wouldn’t get soaked in the frigid autumn waters. They moved as quickly as they could, only communication through directions and an occasional grab of the hand.
(He did not enjoy holding Draxum’s hand through this. It was not comforting and did not help him through his panic.)
He swore they would never find him. They had been running through the sewers for what felt like hours. Would Raphael even be alive at this point? Would they be able to revive him? Would he lose one of his children? Would he have to explain to the others why they would never see Raphael again?
“He’s here.”
Splinter’s breath stuck in his throat and he dropped Draxum’s hand, hurrying forward into the tunnel. He could smell his boy, his nose twitching as he hurried forward, almost falling onto his hands as he forced himself to keep moving, to find his baby, his little boy-
Raphael was curled in on himself, half submerged in the frigid water. His face was under the water, oh fuck, what if he’d drowned?
He grabbed him, dragging him out of the water and off to the side of the tunnel, unable to hear anything but the blood in his ears and the frantic pounding of his own heart. He checked for a pulse, for signs of life, anything to tell him that his child was alive.
Raphael coughed.
Splinter nearly sobbed.
Raph wasn’t allowed to play for a long time.
Dad tried to explain to the boys as best be could, but Mikey didn’t understand. Donnie got sick all the time and he was able to keep playing after a few days. Leo got hurt constantly and he never had to stop playing. Why couldn’t Raph play with them?
“Raphael is very hurt and needs to heal. Playing could make it worse. Leave him alone.”
Playing never made anything worse, though! And Raph was the best to play with because he was so big and his shell was super easy to climb and his tail was the best jump rope ever.
Leo listened to Dad, but he clearly wasn’t happy about it. Mikey had found him sitting in front of Raph’s door a few times, claiming to be “guarding” him. Mikey knew he was just waiting for an excuse to go in.
Donnie locked himself in his room. Whenever Mikey snuck in he found Donnie on his computer, looking at things with way too many words for him to care. A few times he managed to get Donnie to take a break and play with him, but that usually didn’t last long.
Mikey missed Raph.
So obviously the only logical conclusion was that he had to go see Raph.
From an outside perspective, it wasn’t actually that hard. But to Mikey it was a super dangerous stealth and infiltration mission with probably dire consequences. His obstacles: Leo and Dad. He’d have to distract them both if he wanted to get into Raph’s room.
He hurried to the kitchen, digging through the pantry until he pulled out Leo’s favorite cereal. With a mischievous giggle, he upended the box, dumping it onto the floor in a big mess, leaving the box aside before running off again to hide.
Sure enough, eventually, Mikey heard Splinter shout for Leo, sounding very upset. Leo hurried off from his spot in front of Raph’s door. Mikey dashed over, sliding in without a sound. He flapped his hands, grinning as he tiptoed over to Raph’s bed.
“Raphie?”
Raph didn’t respond.
He circled around so he could see his brother’s face, and frowned when he found he was asleep. It was the middle of the day!
“Raphie.” He pushed his hand against Raph’s nose, “Raphie, wake up.”
He grinned when his brother’s eyes finally slid open and landed on him. His pupils were HUGE, but he looked at Mikey with familiarity. He trilled, soft and sad, his hands moving slow to reach out for Mikey’s.
“What’s wrong?” Mikey climbed up onto the bed, laying down next to him, “Are you hurt?”
Raph chirped an affirmative. He wrapped his arms around Mikey, resting his head against Mikey’s plastron, churring sleepily.
“You can’t play?”
Raph shook his head.
“Oh. Can I stay and nap with you?”
He nodded.
“Okay lemme get comfy.”
They adjusted a bit, laying down together so Raph could hold onto Mikey like a big teddy bear, and Raph quickly fell back asleep.
Mikey didn’t. His mind was going way too fast, so instead he imagined cars racing on the back of Raph’s shell, humming their engine sounds as Raph snored on his chest.
He didn’t understand why Raph couldn’t play, but it was easier to accept after seeing him himself.
Mission successful!
Draxum watched Michelangelo sneak into Raphael’s room from his spot in the corner. He went completely unnoticed, glancing up from his book as the children spoke for just a moment before curling up together. Splinter would want him to chase Michelangelo off, to let Raphael rest after his amputation, but it seemed the usually overly-excited child was willing to be calm and so he saw no harm.
Plus he really didn’t want to deal with any crying.
Later he would chide Michelangelo for breaking the rules, but for now he supposed it was okay.
——
I loved writing Splinter being scared for Raph’s well-being. Dude’s just trying to keep four kids he never asked for alive and now one of them is sick and missing???? Shit fuck fuck shit oh fuck oh shit
Featuring half-decent Dad(?) Draxum.
-Monster Anon
FUCK I FORGOT TO POST THIS when i first read it SOBB
no but i fuckin !!! LOVE THIS!!! I love the way Mikey's little kid brain doesnt really understand until he sees raph SSOBBBb Raph leaving to try to fix it and cause he's scared of draxum & splinter shoutinggg, guhhhghasgdhsdf
and LEOOOO keeping GUARDDD aUAGHAUDG
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Text
Chapter XXVI - The Crow and the Dove
CW: explicit graphic non-con; aftermath of major amputation; major character trauma; majorly injured whumpee; major chronic pain levels in this one; horror; captivity, chains, collar, non-con touching; slavery whump; intimate whumper; sadistic whumper; defiant whumpee; compulsion; conditioning; fucked up thinking patterns; begging; carewhumper; but hey, loads of comfort at the end
This is both among the most horrifying and the most comforting pieces I ever wrote in my life. The duality of woman, I guess.
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The thing was, brave pronouncement aside, Kai was still exhausted out of his mind. Injured, too, the ripped wings in his back sending waves and waves of pain through his whole body every time he so much as breathed.
He saw no point in trying to break out of his bonds, in trying to get out of his chains, in the state he was in. No point in crawling off that bed - to do what, break the window and disturb the marble chessboard? Ruffle some papers, rip the curtains and throw a chair into the fire?
Pathetic. That would be pathetic, and a waste. Besides, he didn’t doubt the door would be locked - and if not locked, then guarded. And even if it wasn’t, he would still not have been in the state to make his way through floors and floors of the Tower to attempt to get out of the front door either, since he clearly could no longer fly off into the sunset as he so much wanted to. His apartments in the Tower located on the third to last floor of the monster’s lair, just below Kyriel’s rooms above.
No point making trouble, in short.
Kai slept, therefore, and then slept some more. Trying to dispel all worries from his mind, to bring some of that inner peace and determination that he had found inside himself into his dreams. The boy having made peace, however one could in his state, with the condition he was in - knowing that he needed his strength, he needed everything he could muster, to survive what was ahead.
It was going to be a long run, one for which he needed everything he got.
Still, it was like walking into a nightmare when the boy heard the lock of his bedroom door softly turn within the wood. The sound reaching him in his sleep, banging like a crack of lighting in his mind - the familiar claws of trained fear digging into consciousness through his throat.
Kai’s blood froze, cold sweat breaking on his brow. The boy hearing the door softly close behind him where he laid, naked and collared and chained, as his torturer approached.
Steel, drawn behind his back.
A whip, dragging on the floor.
A smile, cruel and horrendous, as he forced himself down his throat-
Kai repressed a whimper, his whole body beginning to shake as he listened, like in a nightmare, to the slow, calm weight of Kyriel’s steps on the rugs. As he heard the brushing of the tips of his wings dragging on the floors, the approaching monster’s feet - the familiar sound of Kyriel’s steps filling Kai’s ears like a roar. The boy’s stomach tightening, his heart lodging in his throat - Kai able to tell, by now, the exact location and moods of his torturer by the sound of his feet alone.
He didn’t sound angry, didn’t sound hurried. His movements calm, if anything, self-assured.
Fingers, fingers on his face. A knife, deadly and sharp and black, sinking deep inside his chest. His power, his magic, clawing from the inside out, exploding out of his flesh - 
Kai flinched, dizzy with terror, as the mattress dipped next to him. His whole body freezing, breath coming little and thin-
His wings, his wings, his wings-
Blood, blood on the stones. Screaming, a hand in his hair, the monster hunched over him as he thrust into him. Knives in his guts, blood as the only lube he’d been allowed-
Soil, piling over him. Heavier and heavier, thud after thud, closing on him. The light narrowing further and further away as he sunk, as he was buried alive in the ground-
It took Kai everything he had to repress the bidding scream of horror inside him. Kyriel slowly raising a hand to brush his hair - the boy flinching, unable to help himself, as his torturer’s fingers touched him.
The monster hummed, the sound reverberating in Kai’s lungs, pleased.
“I see you are awake, sweet.”
Kai’s fingers tightened in the sheets, the boy refusing to move another inch.
It was all he could do without threatening to scream, without beginning to weep. Without snarling, without trying to turn, to claw the monster’s eyes out - knowing that the angel hadn’t asked him a question, and so he could refuse to speak.
Kyriel laughed, low, above him.
Amused. He was amused by it all.
“Look at you, how good you can be for me now,” he praised, only a tinge of mockery in his voice. “How is your back?”
Kai flinched again, hate and fury exploding in his chest - the boy twitching, pain whipping through his whole spine, as the angel brushed the delicate skin in between his shoulder blades.
He whimpered, unable to repress the sound.
“…hurts-“ the boy panted, bit out through gritted teeth. His fingers tightened further in the sheets, hands shaking and sweat breaking all over him. “Magister.”
The monster hummed again, smiling over him. Watching, assessing, as his prisoner trembled in the sheets.
His hand moved lower, to the bottom of his spine. 
Kai flinched, cold horror washing anew over him. He bit the sheets below him, silver eyes opening wide - his breath hitching, body freezing once more.
Kyriel’s hand cupped his rear, dipping under the throws covering him. He squeezed, proprietary and slow - watching him, the voluntary and involuntary reactions both.
Kai only trembled, refusing to make a sound.
He knew, like he had known all along, that this was coming. For what other reason would indeed Kyriel leave him naked in a bed, if not to have him ready for this? He understood, he wasn’t dim. He hadn’t thought, not for a second, that waking up in his childhood bedroom meant that he would be spared from this. He was still collared, was still chained, even when he could barely fucking move - and so this was a test, it was Kyriel checking if Kai had broken, or if there was still fire inside him. To see what he would do, how he would react to his captivity, after months of conditioning in the dungeon. After the angel had buried him alive, after he had taken his wings-
Kai closed his eyes, breathing raggedly through his teeth. He refused to whimper, to let the monster see the shame, hate and despair filling him.
Let him see broken. Let him think him defeated. 
This was a long game, after all. One he meant to survive.
“Good,” the angel murmured, low above him, his hand warm on his skin. “Good, sweet.”
Kai had never felt more like a horse, his master slowly petting him up and down as if he was a skittish, ready to bolt thing. The boy holding himself still by will alone, even when the dragon, his whole being, wanted to lash out and explode.
He was collared and chained, beaten down to the core. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions show.
Kai flinched, unable to stop himself, when Kyriel’s fingers dipped lower to brush the outlines of his hole.
He whimpered, tensing in the sheets. But didn’t move, didn’t try to resist.
The angel’s smile widened, the fucker pushing deeper with a nail in.
“Very good,” he murmured, grinning. “Very good, sweet.”
Then, he climbed onto the bed, pushing the throws back to fully uncover Kai’s maimed, exhausted body. One knee on each side of him, towering over him.
The boy twisted, shivered - tried weakly to protest.
“No.” He meowed. “Wait-“
It only took one hand, the smallest of pushes in between his shoulder blades, to snatch a scream out of his throat. To push him back face down in the sheets - pinned, unable to move.
“Sssht, love.” A belt, unhurriedly undoing behind his back, wings rustling to adjust their weight. The familiar feeling of the monster’s member, hot and hard over his cheeks. Knees, widening his legs - Kyriel mounting him. “Be good. Be my clever, clever boy. You don’t want to go back downstairs, do you? To the altar, or underground?”
Kai’s heart was very much, very firmly, lodged in his throat. The boy’s terror, his horror, palpable in the air.
“No,” he whimpered, and he didn’t know if it was an answer or plead both. “No, but-“
The boy cried out, terrified, as the angel nudged at his hole.
Oh, he’d known this was coming. He’s known it, had he not? He understood what the collar around his throat meant - what being a trophy, a captured thing, entailed. What he would have to endure in this long game of theirs to survive - but he was injured, in so much fucking pain he could barely move-
He was going to die, if the angel fucked him now.
The monster cooed, low, his smile widening at the sound of the boy’s broken voice. His tip rubbing, hot and obscene, against his prisoner’s hole - relishing Kai’s tension, the clinking of the chains around his wrists.
“I will heal you after, what about this?” Kyriel promised, a soft whisper in his ear. “I’ll make the pain go away, if you are good for me now.” And then: “you have been sleeping for three days. I need my fill, sweet.”
It took Kai everything he had to swallow down the bile, not to be sick there and then.
Three days.
And Kyriel - it was Kyriel, the one that was complaining about it all.
The boy cried out, still, when the monster breached him with the tip of his cock. When he spread one cheek with one hand, lining himself behind him, pushing deeper inch by inch - purposely slow, purposely horrifying, waiting to see if Kai would kick or fight back. An arm falling next to the side of his prisoner’s face - the monster heavy, holding himself up on an elbow next to him, caging him.
Kyriel moaned, hot and wet into his ear, as he slowly slipped into him.
“God, you are as tight as the first time I pushed you under me,” he breathed, digging in - cock painfully stretching, burning Kai inch by inch.  “You have healed in the right places, have you not sweet?”
The boy only let out a sob, a broken ragged thing, burying his face in the sheets. He panted through the tears, through the reverberating pain in his spine - gritting his teeth, trying not to whine.
Then, Kyriel started to move.
Kai screamed, the sound broken and hoarse. The pain in his back brilliant and blinding, exploding as Kyriel begun to scrape inside his ass-
“No, no, no, wait,” Kai wailed, fingers clawing desperately at the sheets underneath. “Please, Magister, wait, no, please-“
Kyriel’s fingers wrapped over his mouth, silencing him. The boy crying out, agony flashing bright over his spine, as another violent thrust rocked through his core.
“Ssshhht,” the monster hushed, pulsing deep inside him. “Be good, Kai. Be good for me.”
The boy’s eyes filled with tears. Silver glinting in the light like the diamonds around his wrists, his caged power seeping through as they fell down his cheeks.
The runes on his back flared, the compulsion caging him.
Trapped. He was trapped, pinned like a bug, unable to get away. His body seizing, serving for his torturer’s pleasure - no mercy, no resistance in words or deeds even possible like this-
Kai tried to bite, pushing against the anguish blossoming in his chest. The boy defiant, desperate, trying to sink his teeth the fingers silencing him.
His jaw seized, immediately stopping before he could even attempt it. The runes burning red on his back, activating the order never to harm, never to even attempt to harm the monster thrusting into him-
Kyriel didn’t even seem to notice, thankfully. The fucker resuming to move inside him, each thrust sending blinding, brutal pain down Kai’s spine - his torturer’s cock spearing through him and through his wounds. Kai sobbing, gasping breathless against the monster’s fingers as he drilled into him - first slowly, deep and savouring every inch, then faster and faster until he was grunting, and Kai screaming hoarse under him-
Kyriel panted, staccato breaths in his ears, as he penetrated him as deep as he could reach.
“Oh, yes Kai,” he grunted. “Cry, love. Cry for it.” He pushed forward - wet, squelching, bottoming out inside him, the boy screaming as he kissed the crown of his head. “This is what you are made for, sweet.” He panted. “Made for me.”
Kai’s eyes rolled into his sockets, the pain reaching a blinding peak.
He must have passed out, must have at least blackened at some point, for Kyriel was panting and rutting wetly inside him the next time he came to. Squelching, familiar heat filling him.
The boy made a broken, gurgling sound when his torturer slipped out of him. Feeling like his back, the space where his wings had been, had been split open by fire.
“Good boy,” the fucker panted, spent, looming over him. Russet hair falling over his shoulders and face, brushing Kai’s skin under him. “Good, good boy.”
Kai cried out, jerking weakly in his chains, when Kyriel put a hand in between his shoulder blades again. His legs trapped by the angel’s weight still sitting over him, his hands chained at the sides of his head.
“Shit,” the monster cursed, immediately stepping off him - “sorry,” he murmured, and Kai thought he must be close from passing out, must be hallucinating, for he had never heard Kyriel apologise before. “I did say I would heal you, did I not?”
The boy begun to cry in earnest, ugly broken sobs wracking through him, when the monster hoovered his palm over his back. When the healing magic, that soothing fucking balm, started seeping into his wounds. Kai gasping, twitching as the pain slowly begun to dissipate from his spine - the boy panting, white hair plastered to his head, his whole body shivering and trembling beyond his control. Until the agony subsided, bit by bit - until Kai could breathe, for the first time since waking up in that bed, without wanting to scream.
The wings wouldn’t just heal, wouldn’t just grow back. Not without access to his power, he thought - but it didn’t quite hurt as much anymore.
Kai sobbed, breathless and without control, when it was over. When Kyriel had finished hoovering his palms all over his back and stepped fully off him - as he tucked himself back into his breeches, sighing at his broken, sprawled prisoner on the bed.
“Ah, Kai, always so dramatic.” The angel reached forward, a hand ruffling the boy’s hair. “Do we need to start with pain tolerance in your training, you think? See how long you can hold the screams in?”
Kai flinched, silver eyes wide and unseeing, curling protectively over himself. Tears, a silver river of them, streaming down his cheeks.
Brutal. That had been brutal. Even as Kyriel had been relatively gentle, in the scale of all the things he’d ever done to him - using only his body and no other tool, even gently easing himself in. Even when he hadn’t purposely split him open like he often liked to - Kai rocketed, his insides a mess of sharp, broken shards, with the aftermath of it.
This was going to be his life. The battlefield of this long game of theirs.
“Oh, Kai, Kai.” Kyriel’s voice was almost gentle, almost kind, as the angel reached out to him. Kai flinching, whimpering under his breath - his torturer grabbing his shoulders in his arms. “Let’s put you back together, now, shall we?”
The boy almost shouted, a new vein of pain flaring deep inside his back, as Kyriel pushed him up to sit in an upward position. His hands clawed at the sheets, arms trembling - the angel grabbing a handful of pillows, throwing them against the mahogany headboard. Gently leading the boy to sit against them next, his back lying over them.
Kai’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking, the boy covered in sweat.
“Good, good,” the fucker murmured, tucking him in - Kai watching him behind a veil of pained tears, panting and trying not to be sick. He sat with his back to the headboard, naked and slick with everything that had just happened in between them, gold and diamond chains still glinting and rattling around his wrists. “Let’s put some food into you now, sweet.”
Kai’s stomach flipped at the thought, even though the boy knew with all reason that he was starved, after god knew how long he’d spent in that grave, the three days of unconsciousness in that bed.
God, his body wouldn’t die on its own, wouldn’t it?
The boy flinched, too many rounds in the dungeon spent screaming when Kyriel insomuch as lifted a finger not to, when the angel raised a hand towards his face. The monster smiling, catching that involuntary reaction of his - brushing a strand of hair away, tucking it behind his prisoner’s ear.
The boy let himself be petted like a doll, the collar tight around his throat.
He knew better than to protest, than to try to fight back. Was awfully aware of the frail state of his back, of the tightness of his constraints. Knew all too well that temporary care could turn into more torture, whether it was the type that made him scream or made him want to drown and disappear. 
Kai only watched, silent and pale, as Kyriel smiled and then called for the slaves.
He remembered, for his time when he’d been Kyriel pupil, the outlines of the floor. Knew that they were on of of the highest levels of the Tower, his old childhood quarters being just below Kyriel’s ones. His prince apartments taking over one third of the fourth to last floor of the monster’s lair - his bedroom, living rooms, bathrooms and wardrobes sharing the space with Kyriel’s private library, what had once been a small armoury. Knew where the two tall, white stately doors Kyriel had come from before led to, had recognised the sound of the lock on the door.
Kai watched, tensing naked in the sheets - the boy covered by dark throws and the collar and chains alone - as those same doors opened to two small figures, two shrouded and collared slaves pushing forward a trolley. Barely more than children from their shape, and on their silver trays…
There was so much fucking food. 
Kai flinched, Kyriel turning to dismiss the slaves as soon as they had rolled the thing to the side of the bed. The two figures bowing and retreating on their steps without ever turning to show the angel their backs. The monster humming pleased, turning towards the spread on the silver thing.
The tray was covered in a veritable spread of goodness. Bonbons and sandwiches and patisserie of all sorts and shapes - blinis covered in caviar, crème fraîche and plates of lobster benedict. Tender sausages on freshly baked and buttered bread, scrambled eggs with white truffle slices casually sparkled on it - saffron coloured French toasts, thick slices of brioche pan fried and golden and smelling of heaven. Croissants with crispy bacon and butter on the sides, chocolate spread with silver cutlery to lay it on fat, golden raised pancakes - what looked like gold leaves sparkling in between the most precise, finely cut fruit salad Kai had ever seen in his life, a silver pot with something within that looked like light soup. Accompanied by a massive coffee pot, a diamond-looking French press holding it - and tea, biscuits, panna cotta and scones, bonnets, panettone slices and fruit and chocolate cake to the side.
Kai watched it with disbelief, his stomach reviving itself despite the pain, the horror of the past hour and weeks.
That was more than he’d ever eaten in years. Richer than almost anything he’d ever seen in his whole life - the life of a peasant kid in the northern lands consisting of berries, herbs and fish, and not much else. The rations at the time of war among the nobility being reduced in the human principates as well - not with Kyriel sending plagues to eat the crops and corrupt the soil to sustain their growth. Not when all resources were forced on keeping as many able-bodied men fighting as it was possible to-
Kyriel winked at him, catching his gaze.
“You are out of the dungeon, boy.” He picked up a cup, a porcelain and blue and gold painted thing, pouring him tea. Hot, steaming, smelling like life. “And my people eat well.”
Kai’s eyes filled with tears, a lump in his throat threatening to make him choke.
Yes, Kyriel’s slaves ate well in their lands. Even when they were only that, slaves - forced to bow to an immortal conqueror that would never age, would never change, whose immortals ate human flesh to sustain themselves. For they were at peace, but had to walk on a narrow line - had to fight not to be picked for the yearly tithe, the sending of people to the bottom of the Tower for the Fallens’ feeding. But they were comfortable, that Kai knew - Kyriel a good shepherd of his lands, maintaining fair law and order and fostering opportunities for growth, meaning and enterprise in his people. Supporting private land ownership, small businesses and schooling and universities - even opening shelters for the poor, knowing full well that the majority of the yearly tithe came from those desperate enough to end up there. Those that were supposed to be the shelters from violence, the abandoned children on what had once been churchyards, were now the beginning of the meat grinding machine.
The boy closed his eyes, accepting the tea with trembling hands. He brought it to his lips, again not making a sound - until a small, broken whimper escaped his throat as he tasted the exquisiteness of it. The liquid like ambrosia, rich and light at once, sweet and fruity and smelling like fresh mint and life. Warm and refreshing both - shooting a lighting of energy in his exhausted, traumatised body.
Kai drank it all greedily, silent like a tomb, Kyriel ready to refill his cup once he was done.
The boy watched him with infinite wariness, the angel only smiling placidly at him.
The monster proceeded to spoon-feed him some soup that tasted like borscht next, taking his time with every movement, every care. Dabbing the boy’s lips with a cloth when Kai spilled some of his food, forcing him to go slower from then on, not to throw himself at the meal least he got sick after so many months of deprivation - but allowing him to have a second bowl of soup when he asked it, generously dipping fresh buttered bread in when he’d thought Kai able to stomach it. Letting him drink everything down with more tea, the pot magically refilling no matter how much he poured, how much Kai drank in his bed. The angel closing the meal by offering him some of those heavenly smelling pancakes and scones - Kai almost weeping, the taste and texture the best thing he’d ever sank his teeth in, when he pliantly parted his lips to let Kyriel feed him.
“Good job,” the fucker praised, by the end of it all. The richest, most decadent parts of that meal left untouched - just a promise of more to come, least Kai upset his stomach with them. “You can have more later, when you feel like it. As much as you like.” He put the plates away, on the still overflowing trolley of dishes that now made Kai ache whenever he looked at them. “I have no interest in keeping you starved from now on.”
Kai hated how grateful that made him feel - a traumatised, human part of him always terrified he’d never have enough to eat. 
The boy forced himself to speak, voice as rough as if someone had scraped his vocal cords with sandpaper, over and over again a thousand times.
“Thank you, Magister,” he whispered, knowing full well this care, this comfort, wouldn’t last - and that it would demand payment of some sort.
The monster smiled, for once not an ounce of maliciousness in his gaze, ruffling Kai’s hair with one hand.
“You are very welcome, sweet.” He straightened, still sitting on the bed next to him - Kai shuddering, naked and chained in that mausoleum in which no time seemed to have gone through. “Let’s talk about rules now, shall we?”
Kai flinched, even though he knew he had no business in flinching still. 
“I know my rules, Magister,” he objected, infinitely wary - his shoulders tensing, stomach twisting at the thought. His stupid body readying itself to spring, as if he could get away from that bed, as if he could escape and flee the angel if he turned his rage on him.
Kyriel’s smile widened, all sharp teeth.
“Ah, but there are more rules, sweet.” He took one of the boy’s hands in his, patting the back of it. Kai flinching again, the smallest of things. “Your other rules are, let’s say… Your guiding compass, as my pupil.” His smile widened another inch, watching Kai’s eyes darkening at what he called them. “These other are house rules.” He clicked his tongue. “Rules of coexistence.”
Kai somehow doubted that coexistence implied his survival, if he was ever to break them.
The boy straightened his back, doing his very best to keep his expression neutral, not to let any of the nausea and disgust churning in his stomach show as the angel proceeded to lay down what were, in fact, the rules of his captivity. House rules indeed perhaps, what the fucker expected from him now that he’d decided to grace him with letting him out of the dungeons.
Not all of them were enunciated with power, Kai’s head left reeling and spinning in trying to remember them all. The boy having no doubts, no doubts at all, that failure to obey those that were ordered without the compulsion would be used as an excuse to apply some exciting punishment on him. Kyriel’s eyes glinting, hungry and malicious, as he laid them out for him.
Kai wasn’t to leave the Tower. He couldn’t roam outside of his rooms, either, unless given explicit permission to, and even then he had to take care to ensure his movements were going to be limited to the library, the breakfast room, and Kyriel’s apartments. There was a passage connecting the two together, a set of hidden stair that would bring Kai from his bedroom to his torturer’s, and the angel expected him to be there and kneeling at eleven every night. They were going to see about his battle training later in a few weeks, once he’d recovered, to see if access could be extended to the arena and the weapons within. In the meantime, Kai was to resume his studies. For this purpose and his mental stimulation, he could help himself with any book he may wish to consult, provided he took good care of them and did not attempt any of the spells in it. He was forbidden from teaching said spells, any spell actually, to any other person in the attempt to make them cast the magic for him instead. He might entertain himself with whichever leisure activity he wished to pick up, on condition of asking permission first (which could be denied, and Kai had no doubts his torturer would greatly enjoy doing so) and his health allowing it. These activities were to be confined to the spaces he was allowed in - but he could write, paint, and even sing if he was so inclined. Of course, Kyriel would inspect whatever Kai would produce, although he would spare being his audience in case of singing until Kai felt confident enough to deserve it (it was heavily implied, then, that if Kyriel were not to enjoy the performance, Kai would heavily pay for it). The angel, in his magnificence, would provide the materials and support for whichever hobby of his, even teachers if Kai so wished. They would gruesomely die if he even as much tried to think about using them to escape or communicate to the outside world, of course, but still. Kai was to be healthy, happy however possible, and keep himself well groomed, well washed and dressed all along. Speaking of which, breakfast was to be served at 8 every morning, and Kai was expected to attend. He wasn’t allowed to starve himself, to harm himself in any way or form, and he was to report how often and in which manner he’d thought of escaping at the end of each day. After dinner, ideally - which, by the way, that day was going to be at eight.
The boy watched his torturer with a mixture of hate, disgust and sheer disbelief, the runes on his back tightening their hold on his will. His mouth drying, choking him.
“You want a report,” he spelled out, slowly, “of my thoughts?”
The angel watched him, a small smile on his lips.
“Why,” he drawled, leaning back, “can you deny me?”
Kai flushed, disbelieving, feeling the cage tightening tighter and tighter around him.
The answer, of course, was in his silence alone.
There was nothing he could deny Kyriel. Nothing in the world, the compulsion as tight as it had ever been on his skin - the boy forced to bare his throat for the killing blow if his captor demanded it of him. Even his mind, apparently - Kyriel demanding off him the closest thing to actually owning his thoughts would be. The knowledge of them, so that he could know where to better hit.
And there was no point, really, in fighting it.
“No, Magister,” Kai whispered, hoarse - face twisting in disgust, the boy not quite able to dissimulate the hate in his gaze. “Of course.”
The monster smiled, a cat toying with his meal, at him.
“Good boy.” He reached forward, pinching his prisoner’s cheek. “Glad to have you home, sweet.”
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whumppmuhw · 5 months
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I've had a scene rotating in my head for days and I need to get it out but it's so late right now and I need to sleep so here's a snippet
...
"Whumpee, I've taught you that a servant should always accept a punishment, no matter who it comes from, correct?"
"Yes, master. However...she was going to cut off my arm."
"I know. You've said that enough times already. But for a time, she was your master, and so it's her duty to dole out whatever punishments she sees fit."
"..."
"Though, Whumpee, you're right. I don't like the way she abused you either. She won't be allowed back here."
"T-thank you, master, I'm sorry for causing trouble-"
"None of this was your fault. However, don't forget you are expendable. I really don't care what happens to you, but it would be a real shame to lose such a good servant. Especially not to someone like her."
"I'll be good for you, master, I promise-"
"I know. You have been. We'll sort this mess out, and then things will return to normal. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Yes. I'd much rather be with you."
"Good."
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phoenixyfriend · 1 month
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Ffs New York
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squidthesquidd · 6 months
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Goretober day 3: amputation
more giratina possesion au cus this shit happens frequently in this <3
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abhainnwhump · 1 year
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Frankenstein Whumpees
For those whumpers who got a little too carried away in the lab. (Content Warnings: Noncon body modification, death, resurrection, dismemberment, gore, amputation.)
The classic. Whumper kidnaps Whumpee to experiment on and uses the body parts of other Whumpees to do arts and crafts. Dead or alive, your choice.
Stitches and nails for pure aesthetic reasons.
Lobotomies. If they look like a mindless monster, act like a mindless monster, and sound like a mindless monster, why wouldn't they be a mindless monster?
Ripping off limbs and leaving them off.
Whumpee died under all the torture. Whumper either is too attached or refuses to let Whumpee go that easily.
Animal limbs. Adding tails, paws for hands/feet. gluing fur, replacing limbs, ears, and eyes.
Cutting out their tongue and/or vocal cords so they can only make groaning sounds.
Whumper is a sucker for Halloween, but doesn't like any of the monster costumes in the store. So they do the rational thing and turn Whumpee into the monster. What happens to Whumpee when the Halloween season is over?
Whumper collects people like Pokémon cards with unique features. Heterochromia, dyed hair, six fingered hands, etc. Then they combine those traits into one.
Once Whumpee is freed (if they're freed), what do their friends think? What does Caretaker think? Do they sympathize with Whumpee or call them a monster? Help them adapt or kick them out?
Whumpees who hate themselves or are insecure about their body after what happened. Maybe they use a lot of makeup or heavy clothes to cover it. Plastic surgery if the surgeon is brave enough.
Bonus: Whumper screaming "IT'S ALIVE!" once they're done with Whumpee. Whumpee just wants five more minutes of sleep.
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a-reader-and-a-writer · 5 months
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There Never Was a Choice
AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 4. Betrayal, 6. Forced to Hurt Someone Else, 13. Crushed, 14. Field Medicine, 16. Amputation, 29. Forced to Choose Fandom: For All Mankind, Ed Baldwin, f!reader Summary: When an accident on Jamestown Base leaves you trapped, Ed must make an impossible decision. Word Count: 3702 TW: Amputation, Heartbreak, Depression, Begging, Betrayal, Language, Implied Age Gap in Relationship Notes: Thank you to @loverhymeswith for the GIF and ask that inspired this fic! 💖 Part of @ailesswhumptober's event
Takes place between season 2 and season 3
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Even before he opened his eyes, Ed heard the screaming. It was a high-pitched keen of agony that was reverberating all around the tight enclosed space. And while he knew he needed to get up—to go investigate—the back of his head was throbbing so fiercely that he didn’t even want to open his eyes for fear of making it somehow worse. All he wanted to do was sink back into the dark numbing abyss and sleep off the pain.
“Get this goddamn thing off me!”
Ed’s eyes snapped open before quickly recoiling from the light. However, he blinked away the pain and forced himself up onto unsteady feet. All desire to succumb to unconsciousness evaporated the moment he heard your agonized voice and realized it had been you screaming this whole time. Instead, a fresh wave of adrenaline and dread pushed him forward towards the crowd of people on the other side of the room.
As the other astronauts noticed him approaching, they silently moved aside, everyone avoiding his gaze. And it was then that he finally saw you. 
You were lying on your back in a pool of blood that was slowly growing larger. At first glance, you seemed relatively fine. There were some small cuts on your face and arm but nothing that would put you in the kind of agony he had heard moments before. But then Ed noticed your left arm disappearing beneath a pile of twisted metal beside you. He had no idea where the debris had come from, however, it had clearly trapped your arm beneath it. 
Your face was pinched in pain but as soon as you saw him standing there, it softened slightly. “Ed,” you moaned, reaching out toward him with your freed arm. He quickly knelt down and took your hand in his. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” he asked incredulously. “You’re the one currently pinned beneath heavy machinery.”
“Yeah, well, it’s obvious I’m not alright. But you hit your head in the explosion and that can’t be good for you, old man.” You were trying to stay upbeat and your usual snarky self, but underneath the forced levity, Ed could hear the pain and fear in your voice. 
“I think we both know there’s not much up there worth damaging,” he joked back, trying to keep the same false lighthearted tone as you were. Squeezing your hand tighter, he added, “But I’ll be alright and so will you. Just wait and we’ll get you outta there.”
You snorted. “Where am I gonna go?” 
But then a shiver of pain ran through your body. Your face twisted into an agonized grimace as you squeezed Ed’s hand so tightly he felt his bones crunch in your grasp. However, he made no move to stop you. Instead, he brushed the hair off your face with his free hand and waited for your pain to fade. 
Once your grip lessened some and you seemed to relax, Ed murmured, “Hey, I’ll be right back, okay? I just need a minute then we’ll get this figured out. Hold on.”
You nod and reluctantly let go of his hand. As he stood up, Ed grabbed the closest person to him and pulled the young man across the room so they were out of your earshot. The man seemed flustered and unsure of why he had been dragged away, but Ed put up a hand before he could speak. 
Glancing down at his suit, Ed saw his patch read “N. Corrado” and after scouring his still foggy brain for a moment, he remembered you mentioned your friend Nick was coming to the moon on the next rotation along with the supplies. Considering this man had just arrived two days earlier and was the only astronaut Ed hadn’t recognized, he was pretty sure he must now be speaking to your friend.
“What happened? Start at the beginning.” Nick opened his mouth but Ed interrupted once more. “I need the quick and concise version.”
And that was what Nick gave him. 
They had been trying to update Jamestown and expand the base with new equipment they had just received from Earth a few days ago. Ed had obviously known that part. But what was news to him was that while trying to install the new air system, one of the oxygen tanks exploded, damaging not only the new system but the equipment around it as well. The team managed to throw up the emergency shields so the base wasn’t in danger of depressurizing or losing air, but there had still been two injuries in the accident.
One of the pieces had been thrown off and hit Ed in the head—hence his headache and unconsciousness—and they had carefully moved him to the other side of the room so he was out of the way while they dealt with the real problem…you.
You had been right next to the tank when it exploded, sending you, the remains of the tank, and several other parts of the base flying across the room. It was a miracle the debris had only landed on your arm and not the rest of you, otherwise they would be planning a funeral rather than an extraction.
Ed took in everything Nick said with a growing dread in his chest. That equipment was incredibly sturdy and heavy to ensure it could withstand the deadly conditions on the moon. If there was a leak or crack in any of it, it could mean the death of the entire base. Because of this, the metal was three times thicker than necessary just to be on the safe side. This was why everything had to be moved with loaders and other transportation equipment—all of which were too large to fit inside the base itself. And since you were currently pinned in one of the inner rooms of the base—
Another one of your wails filled the room as the rest of the crew tried again in vain to remove the debris. Ed buried his head in his hands, wishing there was something he could do to stop your pain. But falling apart wasn’t going to help you. Right now, you needed him to suck it up and be the leader he had been sent on this mission to be. 
So, taking a deep breath, he looked at Nick and asked, “So, what have you been trying to do to free her? Can we just turn the gravity off so we can push it off her?”
Nick shook his head. “We still don’t know how much damage the explosion caused. There’s a chance if we turn the gravity off, we won’t be able to turn it back on.”
Ed scrubbed his hand over his face. “Well, what about the saws we use for moon rocks? Can we cut the metal into smaller pieces and move them off?”
“We tried but it didn’t work on the metal.” But then Nick hesitated and Ed could see he wanted to say something else. 
“What? What is it?” When Nick still didn’t reply, Ed took a step forward and growled in his face, “Corrado, we are not leaving her there to bleed out, so tell me what you are thinking.”
Nick swallowed heavily, then mumbled, “I’m not saying we leave her. Well…Not all of her.”
The meaning of Nick’s words hit Ed like a punch to his chest. Clenching his jaw firmly, he shook his head. “No. No, we’re not doing that.”
Nick bowed his head. “Sir—”
“No! We are not cutting off her goddam arm! Do you understand me?”
“I do,” Nick muttered meekly. But then he took a deep breath, raised his head, and looked Ed straight in the eye. “But I don’t think you understand, Commander. She’s losing blood and we can’t stop that until we can actually get to her arm. And even then, we can only stop the bleeding temporarily with what we have with us here. Which means she has to go home but it takes almost two days to reach Earth in the emergency shuttle. So we need to get her out of here right now if she has any chance of surviving.”
Having finished what he needed to say, Nick withdrew into himself once more as he averted his gaze from Ed’s. Mumbling softly, he added, “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just….she’s a good friend and the best astronaut we have. I understand how horrible this decision is and if there was any other way…” 
Ed sighed. “No, you are right. I was just reacting to the situation without thinking it through. But we don’t have a choice here so we’ll do what we have to in order to save her life…Even if she hates us for it.” Nick squeezed his eyes together tightly, and Ed placed his hand on his shoulder. “It’ll be alright, son. I’ll be the one to tell her. Just…just get the others ready. She’s not gonna take this well.”
Nick nodded and quickly scurried back to where the other crew members were gathered around you. Ed watched him whisper something to the medic whose head shot up and he looked at Ed. Ed nodded his consent before slowly walking over to your side once more.
You smiled as he knelt down beside you, but it was weaker this time. Pain and exhaustion had sapped your will to put on a brave face and seeing that was the final push Ed needed to know he was making the right decision. 
Squeezing your shoulder, he said, “You need medical attention as soon as possible. I was hoping…God, I was hoping we had more time or another way, but you’re losing too much blood so we have to take the only option that will free you immediately.”
“You guys had a plan for getting me outta here just like that and you hadn’t done it? What kind of friends…” Your joke died in your throat as you watched Ed bow his head. It took a moment, but Ed felt you tense beneath his hand as soon as you realized what he was saying. Your eyes grew wide and you shrunk away from Ed as much as your pinned arm would allow. “No…you can’t mean…you can’t do that.”
Ed tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “Believe me, this is the last resort. We can’t move the metal off of you which only leaves us with one option.”
“No, Ed, please! If you take my arm…that’s the end of my career. They’ll never let me in space ever again.”
He shook his head sadly. “It’s better than the end of your life if I don’t. I’m sorry. If there was any other way—”
“No! Don’t! Please! Ed…Ed, if you love me, you won’t do this.”
Ed felt every eye in the station suddenly focused on him. There of course had been rumors about the two of you—the hotshot commander and his brilliant prodigy—but there had never been any proof…until now. For two years, the two of you had managed to keep your relationship a secret but now the cat was out of the bag. However, he didn’t have time to deal with it right at that moment. Once he got you free and home safely, then he could worry about the repercussions of your relationship. Right now all he could focus on was saving your life.
Brushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, Ed murmured softly, “It’s because I love you that I have to do this. I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 
He nodded at the medic who had just stepped up next to you. The medic drove the syringe he had prepared while you and Ed were talking into your arm even as you thrashed and begged for him not to. Almost instantly, your body fell limp and your eyes rolled back in your head as the tranquilizer took effect.
For a moment, an eerily silence filled the base. All eyes were still turned to Ed, waiting for him to give the final confirmation that they should proceed. What needed to happen was horrible enough, but the fact Ed had to be the one to make that call, that he had to say the words that would change your life forever, was almost too much to bear. 
Leaning over, he pressed his lips against your sweat-drenched forehead and said a silent prayer to a God he hadn’t believed in for over a decade. Then, turning to the crew, he mumbled, “Do it.”
Unable to watch what happened next, Ed turned his back to everyone and walked to the other side of the room as one of the saws buzzed to life. Even without looking, he could hear the pitch change as the saw began to bite into your flesh and bone. 
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Ed had tried to visit you every day since the two of you had landed in the escape pod and you were rushed into surgery but there had been one complication after another. Your body was still used to the conditions on the moon after having been stationed there for the past three months. Even a completely healthy body took time to readjust from that, but yours had been traumatized before reentering the atmosphere only to be then thrown into the immediate chaos of anesthesia, operations, and pain. It was no wonder they almost lost you on the table three times but somehow, mercifully, you pulled through in the end.
It took almost a full day for you to wake up after surgery but when you did and saw what had been done to you, you lost it. According to the report, it took three nurses to keep you from ripping out your IVs and tearing your stitches. It even got to the point where they had to sedate you for your own safety. And Ed had to learn all of this secondhand.
He had been examined to make sure everything was alright from where he hit his head, but then they had forced him from the hospital. Apparently, word had already gotten back to Earth before the escape pod had about his relationship with you and it was determined he should be kept far away from your recovery until there was an investigation to make sure no improprieties had led to the accident. But thankfully, Molly was slipping him any information she could on your well-being.
However, every update he got just broke him more and more. This shouldn’t be happening, not to you. You…who was on the path to lead the human race to Mars and beyond as the most talented and intuitive astronaut he had ever trained. You…who had been dreaming of exploring the vast unknown of space for longer than you could remember. You…who had turned his life around when he was spiraling into his own personal blackhole and rekindled his love for his job. 
You……who he had fallen hopelessly and completely in love with.
It seemed impossible that not so long ago you were both lying naked in his bed, your head resting on his heaving chest as you leisurely ran your fingers through his damp hair. The two of you had talked about what would happen after this mission including the very real possibility of moving in together, consequences be damned. Ed had never seen you so happy or peaceful. 
But now—
Five days after returning to Earth, Ed was finally told you had been taken off the sedatives and he was given permission to visit you. As he walked down the empty halls towards your room, he briefly wondered if Shane had taken his last breath in a place like this. So sterile. So white. So cold and unfeeling. God, he hated hospitals!
Reaching your room, he paused outside your door as he got his first glimpse of you since returning to Earth. 
Your left arm had been severed just below your elbow and layers of gauze covered the end so Ed was unable to assess how well the surgeries had gone. You were hooked up to several machines to help you readjust to being back on Earth as well as ones you needed after your operations. All of it seemed fairly standard and not too concerning. But your eyes…your eyes were a different matter.
Ed had first fallen in love with your eyes. Not the color or anything like that, but the flames blazing within them. It was a fire that burned as brilliantly as the brightest star, born out of determination and drive. And quickly, he had become addicted to your light. 
But now when he looked into your eyes, there was nothing. Just the cold emptiness of space.
However, he tried his best to push that thought aside as he stepped closer. “Hey, sweetheart. You feeling up to a visitor?”
You made no indication that you had heard him. You just continued to stare out the window with that same blank, emotionless gaze. It wasn’t an invitation in the slightest, but you also hadn’t told him to fuck off and leave you alone as Ed had expected, so he slowly stepped into the room.
As he came around the side of the bed and into your line of sight, your eyes shifted slightly to avoid looking at him yet you still didn’t turn your head or make any move to hide from him. Once again, a fairly promising sign.
Ed sat down on the far end of the bed, his hand resting just a or so inch from your blanket-covered legs. He smiled softly as he asked, “How are you? I-I wanted to come see you as soon as you got outta surgery but they said…they said it wasn’t a good time. But, uh, Molly says the doctors think you’ll be able to leave by the end of the week. That’ll be nice, huh? Getting to go home to your own bed?” 
You didn’t move or make any acknowledgment of his words so Ed changed the subject in the hopes of sparking some reaction. “And I know it won’t be the same, but I’ve already talked to Margo and she has a few positions in mind for you once you’re ready to come back to work. Obviously, you’ll need some time but just because you can’t go back to space doesn’t mean your career at NASA is over. You can work in Mission Control, or become one of the instructors, or Margo said you might even qualify for Chief of the Astronaut Office. I guess that would make you my boss, then.” Ed forced a chuckle as he tried to keep the mood upbeat. “It’ll be nice to work together again, even if in different positions. They know about us now—after what you said at Jamestown I couldn’t hide it—but I think it’s gonna be alright. A little slap on the wrist but nothing I can’t handle. So once you come home, we can start on those plans we had. Maybe find a new house or apartment. You know, a fresh start for both of us. I think that’d be good—”
“Please, Ed. Just go.”
Your whispered words washed over him like a freezing rain. “Sweetheart, I—”
“Please. Leave me alone. Go and don’t come back.” You squeezed your eyes together tightly as tears began slowly streaming down your face. “I don’t ever want to see you again.”
Ed felt his world shatter around him. He knew you would be upset that he had made the call to amputate your arm, that it would take time for things to go back to the way they were—if they ever did at all. He had even prepared for the possibility you wouldn’t want to see him right now. But he never imagined you would want to cut him out of your life completely. 
Sliding over so he was seated right next to your uninjured arm, he said, “Listen, I can’t even imagine how you are feeling right now but I’m here for you. I wanna help however I can and I know you’re gonna come back from this. Just don’t cut me out—”
“Ed, if you’re not out of this room in the next 60 seconds, I’m calling security.”
He blinked in utter shock as he finally realized how serious you were. But, surprisingly, what hurt even more than your threatening to have him forced from the room was the fact that your words and expression were still as lifeless and flat as ever. The you he knew—the you he loved—would have been screaming, snapping, hissing with anger as you threw him from your room. But now? It seemed as if your spirit had been left with your arm back on the moon.
“Okay. I’ll go.” Leaning over, he pressed his lips against your forehead and whispered, “But you know how to find me if you change your mind. Anytime day or night, I’ll be there. Just please…don’t give up on us.”
Ed straightened up, sniffing as he wiped the corner of his eye, and forced himself to walk towards the door. It was killing him to leave you alone like this, so broken and numb, but it didn’t seem as if you were giving him any choice. He just hoped, given time, you would relent and allow him back into your life. 
But just as his hand reached for the door handle, you softly whispered from the bed, “There is no us—not anymore. You made sure of that.”
Without turning around, Ed said in a firm, clear voice, “I don’t regret my decision, not as your commander or as the man who loves you. And if we really are done because of what I did, I still wouldn’t change a thing. At the end of the day...there never was a choice. Because I would rather live in a universe where you are alive to hate my guts than one where you loved me but I let you die. And nothing you say will ever make me feel differently.”
And with that, Commander Ed Baldwin walked out of your life—though he still held out the slightest of hope that the door had not locked behind him.
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Taglist: @loverhymeswith,  @bewitchedignition, @tavners, @merlehs, @sunshineflowerchild789, @shanimallina87, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @katjnordstrom96, @mayhem24-7forever, @green-socks, @princessmisery666, @deppresseddyslexic
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tweekspaperhat · 1 month
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im tired guys. think im gonna go to bed.
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echoingalaxies · 9 months
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A nonhuman Whumpee's wings/horns are cut off, and Whumpee is devastated, as well as in tons of pain. Their lost body parts have been something they most loved about themselves for their uniqueness; They've always been taught by their human peers to be proud of who they are, even though most people would not look past their looks and get to know their heart. They still never expected anyone to be this hateful. This cruel.
So Whumpee's friends go out of their way to build them prosthetics, as realistic as they can, with their very limited resources. The wings go on and off like a backpack and the horns are attached to a headband. They want to give Whumpee an opportunity to look in the mirror and see their old self. They can lean against the wall with wings on again or rub their horns against a friend's shoulder to show affection. The friends are trying to show Whumpee how despite what happened to them, there are still people who love them as they are.
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