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chiscribbs · 7 months

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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.

#rottmnt #donatello hamato #rottmnt donnie #rise donnie #future donnie #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt future timeline #tw: amputation #Sort of. You don't see anything but if half a leg freaks you out best not to look.#fanart #concept art #character design #chiscribbs #Heavily referenced Krang because Idk how to draw them yet WOOTWOOT

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batwynn · 6 months

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

#Sterek #Teen Wolf #horror comic #demon!Derek Hale #horror #Tw: undead #Tw: major character death #Tw: murder #Tw: body horror #Tw: blood #tw: possession #tw: amputation #tw: eye horror

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russet-writing · 7 months

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“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.”

#tw: amputation #whump #whump drabble #drabble #defiant whumpee #multiple whumpees #fed up whumper #threats #whumpblr #whumblr #my writing

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agentsanders · 3 months

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"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."

#starter #headcanon #tw: amputation #tw: prosthetic

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irenadel · 8 months

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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.

#darth maul x reader #star wars #darth maul smut #TW: Limb Loss Talk #TW: Amputation #savage x reader if you squint eventually #kendoll darth maul for the time being #eventual robodick #my writing #iresmut #fear leads the way

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cipher-zoo · 4 months

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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?

#one piece #one piece headcanon #eustass kid #benn beckman #tw: amputation #manga spoilers #slight manga spoilers

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deiaiko · 1 year

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Y̸͇̖̪͕͗͂͑́̑͘ͅŏ̷̟͓͑̍̌̍̾͛̕ų̶͙̝̳̗̗͇̐̓̋̉̀̐͘'̷͙͙͖̲͓̖͠ͅr̴͙̤̘̜̮̋̽͋̑̐̊͂̓̚ę̶͖̬̺̜̜͈͎̽͌͜ ̶̙̗͕͓̲̝̈̊̽̽̕͘g̴͖̫̰̼͓̯̳̓̂̍̈o̸̡̡̙͇̮̙͎̥̠͉̾i̶̻̼͔̿n̵̙͓͓͚̗͛̒͑̓͌̈́̑̐̀̚ͅg̵̙̗̲͍̳̬͎͙̏̂̽̓͆̚ ̶̘͔̪̊t̸̢͚̩̙̭̩͇̣̜͐̄̉o̶͚͎̰͈͈̚ͅ ̷͚̹̪́̏̒̕͜ͅp̷̺͑̓́̇͐̈́́̊͘͝a̶̛͉̞͚̮̯͗̓͝y̶̨̛̺͉̟̺̝̑́̌̕

Happy B-day @jusalilweird! <333

I offer you the Twin AU BamKhunViole + eldritch AU + hurt/comfort?/whump + birbbb. I hope your brainworms like it.

(Without text under the cut)

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manofbeskar · 1 year

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Commission for this fic!

My commissions are currently open :)

#my art #commission #star wars #fennec shand #din djarin #boba fett #krrsantan #tw: amputation

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n3on-graveston3s-calling · 3 months

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Born to Break

Word Count: 2,454

Rating: Explicit

Characters: Akagami no Shanks | Red-Haired Shanks, Benn Beckman, Yasopp, Lucky Roux, Eustass Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, Original Male Character

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Injury, Amputation, Hysteria, Canon Compliant Violence, Vomiting, Waterboarding, Attepmted Drowning, Angst,

Author's Notes: For @febuwhump 2024 Day 3: Bite Down On This.

PLEASE PAY ATTENTION TO THE WARNINGS. This gets gnarly. And it's canon-compliant, taking place during the two year timeskip in which Eustass went in with two arms and came out with one. Thanks, Beckmann. With a healthy dash of KidKiller because i love them.

Oh, right. Do y'all remember that scene in episode 67 of the original Naruto series where Gaara is screaming hysterically during the exams about his blood?

Yeah. Keep that in mind for me, will you? You'll know when it comes into play.

You can also find this on my Archive.

Summary:

“Captain!” Heat called from behind them. They’d covered them in water- had splashed them once, twice, three times before ducking his head under the water of the river. Waterboarding him, drowning him, snuffing out the fire that they spewed regularly. That’s why he couldn’t help, Killer thought as Shanks relented, stepping away, blade pulling free of his throat. “Captain, get up!” Heat called out once more. “What did you do?” Killer whispered as sat up slowly, body screaming in anguish. His ribs were certainly broken; how many? He couldn’t tell, but breathing hurt, moving hurt, his arm was bloodied and oh, god, was that blood surrounding Eustass? “What did you DO?!” He howled, launching himself to his feet only to be met with the muzzle of that damned sawed off shotgun that Beckmann used.

Sometimes, you really underestimate how things will go.

The sound of footsteps was loud in the silence that followed after the clash. The movement caught Killer’s attention first; he glanced up towards Shanks, who watched with an almost smug expression. That spiked something in him, some dormant fear that prickled with anxiety, that had his hands sweating, had his heart racing in his chest. He shifted, attention turning towards where his Captain should have been. The ground was dry, too dry; dust was kicked up with every small movement. With the blood and sweat that was in his own eyes, it was hard to see, hard to make out what he was seeing.

Beckmann was walking away- no, walking towards him. That’s why Shanks was so smug, pinning him with his foot on his skull, his blade at his throat. Anytime he swallowed, the steel dug in a little more, drawing forth scarlet that trickled slowly down the length of it. His breath caught in his throat as the dust finally cleared away, giving way to… Kidd? Why was he on the ground? “What-” he croaked out, only to groan as Shanks pressed his weight into his foot. The pain was excruciating, his jaw clenching as a yell pulled free from somewhere deep within him.

“What did you do?” Killer whispered as sat up slowly, body screaming in anguish. His ribs were certainly broken; how many? He couldn’t tell, but breathing hurt, moving hurt, his arm was bloodied and oh, god, was that blood surrounding Eustass? “What did you DO?!” He howled, launching himself to his feet only to be met with the muzzle of that damned sawed off shotgun that Beckmann used.

His finger was on the trigger.

His arm was black; coated in Haki. Haki- Beckmann had Haki?

Shit. Killer blinked hard beneath the mask, trying to clear his vision. “Heat, what do you see?” He asked their third mate, who was silent. Silence was never a good answer. “Heat, answer.”

“I uh…” The waver in their voice was enough to set them all on edge. “I don’t think-”

“An arm for an arm, though your captain wasn’t the one to cost me mine.” Shanks answers in a near-chipper manner from behind him. “What will he do now? The Captain of the Kidd Pirates, beaten like a bad dog. But that’s what you all are, aren’t you?” The chuckle that escapes from Shanks is nothing short of sinister. “You come here to challenge us, to challenge me… For what reason? I have nothing to give you.”

An arm. Beckmann took Kidd’s arm.

“I-” Killer began to retaliate verbally before a sound caught their attention.

It started softly. Like a pained whine from a dog, high and reedy and nerve-grating. “My arm,” Kidd whispered, his gaze trained on the limb sitting on the ground three feet in front of him. It bled, oozing garnet onto ivory sand. He could see the bone standing out; shattered mid-way, nothing near a clean break. This wasn’t a break. That was his arm. Those were his fingers, painted black. Those were his rings.

That was his arm.

His arm.

“My arm.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he blinked once, hard. His heart was hammering in his chest so hard, he could see the remnants of his shirt moving with each beat. “My arm.” He repeated, dazedly. Adrenaline was starting to leave his bloodstream, sweating out through his pores. The pain was odd. He could feel his arm, still- no, no, he can’t. That’s only his mind thinking that he can feel it, that he can feel the sensation of his fingers twitching, of the nerves dying, of his hand growing numb and cold because the blood isn’t returning, it’s leaking out on the ground and oh, gods, that’s his FUCKING ARM. “MY ARM!” He screamed as reality set in. He reached over to the freely bleeding stump, fingers meeting torn flesh and muscle and fatty tissue that just hung limply, and shattered bone that pricked at his fingertips. “MY ARM! YOU TOOK MY ARM! MY ARM! MY ARM! MY ARM!”

“Ah, the hysterics.” Shanks hums, cleaning Gryphon on the edge of his trousers. The steel hissed as it returned to its home within the sheath.

Wire was stilled in the grasp of Lucky Roux, blood trickling down his forehead as he stared at Eustass. They took his arm? His arm ripped clean off. How the fuck did Beckmann do that? Did he have a devil fruit? Haki? He felt sick to his stomach, turning in Roux’s grasp to gag once, twice, before the bigger man released him to allow him to spill the contents of his stomach.

“I could finish him off,” Shanks offered Killer, reaching out to settle his arm around his shoulders, pulling him back against himself as if he were some friend, some companion. “What do ye say, lad? I finish off yer Captain, you lot come an’ join me and my crew?”

“Fuck you.” Killer spat, shaking in his grasp. “Fuck you.”

“Not my type.”

Beckmann snorts as he turns the gun, aiming now at Kidd. “One shot to the head, all it takes.”

“NO!” Heat screamed, pulling himself free from Yasopp, rushing forward to stand between Beckmann and his Captain, who was muttering under his breath about his arm. Hysterical; they couldn’t blame him. “Please- spare him. Spare us.” They pleaded, falling to their knees before the two men. “We won’t come after either of ye again. Just- spare him, spare his life. Please.”

Shanks and Benn study one another; a silent conversation between Captain and First Mate, something Killer was familiar with. He and Kidd did that often, knowing the other well enough to not have to use verbal language. “Fine.” Shanks shrugged, grinning as he released Killer, and stepped back. “I’m tired of this anyway. Find us in the New World, if yer Captain survives. I’d like a rematch, there. Get stronger.” Brown gaze settled upon Kidd, taking in the damage Beckmann had dealt. “You’re in the big leagues, now.”

And just like that, it was over.

Killer rushed forward, falling to his knees in the blood soaked sand before Kidd. “Eustass?” He whispered, reaching up to cup his cheeks, dragging his head up. His pupils were blown; his skin was pale with blood loss and shock. “We gotta get you up. It’s gonna hurt.”

“The arm-” Eustass tried to argue.

Killer shook his head. He didn’t argue as Heat came round the other side. It took a moment of figuring out where hands could rest before they had him up and balanced between themselves. Wire did grab the arm, wrapped it up in his jacket. The Red Haired Pirates went back towards the beach; they retreated to the town.

Eustass Kidd passed out two minutes into the walk, much to the alarm of his crew.

─────────────────────

The next time he came to, he was laying down on a cot in what he assumed to be a doctor’s office. He blinked hard, eyes squeezing shut. Everything felt dulled; his head lulled to the right, meeting with a white wall. Huh. To the left, then. Ah, that’s better. A room! Killer is standing, talking to some dude in a white coat. Doctor, he hopes and assumes. Wire is sitting across from him in some chairs; Heat is slumped against his shoulder, their eyes closed, breathing even. Sleepy, sleepy Heat.

Eustass looks down to his torso. Bruising already beginning to bloom; he can feel a cracked rib or two, certainly. Drip, drip, drip. What was dripping? Did someone leave a faucet on? He huffed, going to sit up, only to find himself suddenly unable to. Something was holding him down. What? He frowned at the black straps that held his shoulders and chest. Why was he pinned?

“Hey, doccccc,” he drawled out, slurring his words like a drunkard. “Wha’s happenin’? Why cannae I… Shite.” He winced at the sudden flare of pain. What the fuck? “Wiiiire?”

“Eustass-” Killer began, stepping over as Wire shook his head. Heat woke up, then. Rubbed at their eyes, smearing their eye black. “You need to stay still.”

“Why?” He didn’t WANT to stay still. He needed to piss. “I need t’tae a leak.”

“You-” Killed glanced back. Wait, where was Killer’s mask? Why could he see his pretty blue eyes so clearly? Why was his lip split open? What-

The fight.

It all rushed back suddenly, playing out in the forefront of his mind. Eustass reels from the memory, from the pain that also returns in a weird, dulled form. “My arm,” he whined, head lifting to look at the bloodied bandages that covered the stump. “He took my arm!”

“I’m afraid there’s still work t’be done, lad,” the doctor murmured, coming to stand by his head. Eustass looked up, ruby gaze frantic as he searches this strange doctor’s face. His eyes were lighter than Killer’s, hair a mousy brown. “I’ve got to close you up.”

“You can’t reattach it?”

“No, laddie. I cannae.”

Oh. Kidd swallowed roughly, looked to Killer who reached up, cupped his cheek. “I’m not leaving the room.”

“Okay.”

“Bite down on this.” The doctor placed a block in his mouth. Wood, thick, slotted between his jaws to allow his teeth to clench down onto, grind into.

His breath started coming quickly, then. Chest rising and falling rapidly as Killer was forced to move, to stand at his head while the doctor moved further down. He couldn’t watch, didn’t want to watch, squeezed his eyes shut as Killer settled his hands on his shoulders.

Killer watched, instead.

He’d seen his fair share of amputations over the years. Things got bad back home; sometimes, you do what you must to survive, even if that means sawing through your own leg because it’d grown necrotic. That was the fear, here, that Kidd’s stump would grow necrotic. Stump. That’s what it was, Killer realized as the doctor- a man named Ronan- removed the wraps. Already soaked through, a small puddle on the floor had formed. The bandages landed with a harsh splat on the ground. He looked beyond, gaze settling upon the bone saw that sat on the table.

They should have called Law.

But Trafalgar was Gods know where, now. A hundred meters under the water, probably. Or less. Or more, Killer didn’t know how that weird ass yellow submarine worked.

Ronan sprayed the stump with water. Kidd hissed, whined, whimpered, wheezed at the sensation.

“Can’t we knock him out?” Heat asked from the side.

“I did. He woke up.”

“Killer?” Heat pleaded, and Killer shook his head.

“The pain will knock him out in a minute,” Ronan added as he grabbed hold of the bonesaw. “Or the shock.”

“Are you sure you’re a doctor?”

“As sure as you are that you’re a pirate.”

Killer shut up, then. Lips pressed tightly together, the bolt of pain like lightning from his split lip. His helmet had been cracked in more than one place; it would need to be repaired, eventually. But not right now. Not now. No, now-

He felt like he would puke.

The saw settled on the exposed bone. At least three inches of bone was still exposed after Ronan had cut away the “skin flaps”, as he’d referred to the loose skin. Eustass had been under for that. Ronan began to move his arm back, forth, back, forth.

The scream that escaped Eustass had every hair on Killer’s body standing on end. It warbled, high and pained and oh, Gods, he wished he would just pass out. Just pass out, pass out, pass out now. Please, Gods, please! Eustrass tried to pull away, but Killer held him in place.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Killer whispered over and over as Eustass sobbed, tears rolling from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Captain.”

Eustass fell limp. For a brief moment, Killer assumed he’d just died. No- no, he was still breathing. It was a relief, then. He wouldn’t be able to feel any of this. The bone was cracking beneath the saw, falling away after ten minutes of consistent sawing. Ronan worked quickly, suturing and cleaning and doing things that Killer wasn’t really sure of, but the bleeding had slowed, and if Kidd died, he knew where to find this doctor.

─────────────────────

It was dark when Kidd woke again. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton, his head felt just as heavy. The bed beneath him was soft, though; it didn’t rock with the movements of waves, meaning he was ashore. He groaned softly as pain rocked through him. “Shite,” he hissed, reaching up to rub at his face.

His arm didn’t move. His left arm didn’t move.

He looked down in confusion and saw empty space and blood speckled bandages instead. That’s right- he’d lost the arm. Beckmann had ripped it off of his body. Movement drew his gaze up, watching as Killer stepped in. Maskless, bandaged, hair tied up in a messy bun. “Eus?”

“‘M awake.” He grumbled, rising up with a hiss and far more effort than it should normally take. His back settled against the headboard. “Where are we?”

“Same island we’ve been on. It’s-... It’s been a week.”

“A week?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Kept you loaded up on pain killers. You uh…” Killer rubbed the back of his head. He had been asleep in the other room. “You needed them.”

Eustass frowned as he stared at his partner. Killer shifted his weight. “C’mere. Bed’s cold.” He huffed, watching Killer carefully climb into the right side. He didn’t wait for him to settle, leaning in against him heavily. “Beckmann ripped off my arm.”

“He did.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“We are.”

“We are gonna wipe those shitty little rodents off the map.” Eustass muttered, eyes closing. His breath started to grow uneven; the hint of a sob escaping. “I’m gonna fuckin’ kill them all.”

Killer didn’t speak as he wound his arms around Eustass, pulling him close, lips pressing to his temple as Kidd broke down. Yes, they would kill Shanks, and Beckmann, and Yasopp, and Lucky Roux. They would all die for what they did to Eustass. To his Captain. His partner. His world.

Killer would make sure of it.

#febuwhumpday3 #one piece #eustass captain kidd #massacre soldier killer #febuwhump2024 #kidkiller #heat one piece #wire one piece #akagami no shanks #benn beckman #tw: graphic depictions of violence #tw: blood #tw: amputation #tw: waterboarding #post marineford #this hurt

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koryandr · 2 years

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Look Killian Jones is full of scars, tattoos, and body hair and you can’t take that away from me.

Poses: Kibbitzer

#killian jones #captain hook #my artwork #kory draws #ouat #once upon a time #fanart #tw: amputation #tw: scars

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mata-aetara-if · 1 year

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mc and the leaf ros were all around 8-ish during the time nine tails attacked, do any of them have any particular memories of that night? did they change at all in personality or motivations? (mostly bc im thinkin it makes a real tasty flavor option for the mc to really commit to being a medical nin after All That 👀👀

yes! so mc and the ro's were about 10, not a big difference but still ~

in general, i think the 9 tails attack scared all of them, but also made them all want to protect their home, and grow stronger even more, each for their own personal reasons

mc: so mc the night of the attack was at their dads restaurant across the road from the hospital helping him clean up late. mc & dad then ran straight to the hospital where mcs mom still was, this was when mc saw a lot of severely injured people and what caused them to want to learn medical ninjutsu

asahi: the uchiha clan lives on the outskirts of the village, so not really near the attack. the only thing asahi saw was literally the 9 tails because he huge. asahi didn't witness any of the destruction in the moment, just after it was over and walking through the village for the first time after

niko: they were taken along with a lot of other villagers to a bunker for safety, they didn't witness much. their parents did join the fight on the front line, they learned later that their dad had been killed by the 9 tails

shikako: she was terrified during the attack, a majority of her clan joined the fight and played a big part. her mom decided to stay with her while her dad went to fight. they stayed in their home rather than trying to venture to a bunker, as there was destruction everywhere outside. they were both safe during the battle and her biggest fear was her dad not coming home, which he did after everything was over

inoru: the yamanaka clan also played a huge part in the fight. inoru was actually at chogas house during the attack so both of his parents went on into the battle hoping he was safe. while his parents were on the front line a building collapsed on top of them causing his dad to have a severely crushed / broken leg which led to amputation.

rona: the inuzuka clan also played a significant part in fighting. ronas dad forced her to go to a bunker for safety while he went to fight. rona, probably the most mature 10 year old, was helping calm the other kids down in the bunker

jun: because jun and his parents are part of the side branch, they protected the main branch, while the entire clan helped evacuate villagers and get them to safety. while they were doing so, one of nine tails tails did a sweep of the area they were in and a building was about to fall on top of jun, when his mom pushed him out of the way. she did not survive. juns personality changed the most, this was the point he became more closed off and resentful towards the main branch

chai: chai only has guy, as their dad died years earlier. and when the 9 tails attacks guy is around 14. him and the other young ninja his age were put in a protective barrier to keep them safe and were not allowed to help the fight. chai was on her own and as much as she wanted to help she was forced to go to a bunker to keep her safe, the whole time wondering if her brother was okay

mokoto: the aburame clan was spread out in the village, some helping evacuate, some helping fight. mokoto and their mom (not being a shinobi) made it to a bunker for safety, hoping that mokotos dad was safe wherever he was

#i did not proofread this #its 2:30 am im sorry lol #tw: death #tw: amputation #ask #anon #ro asks #ch: asahi #ch: niko #ch: shikako #ch: inoru #ch: rona #ch: jun #ch: chai #ch: mokoto #info

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