Huh, Autor thinks, once he's no longer toppling. Her arm shouldn't be this fat. Unconsciously, he gives an experimental squeeze.

Thanking her for catching him is his next step. But before his gaze reaches her face, it catches what, exactly, he steadied himself with.

"!" he squeaks.

Autor jerks his fingers away from said spherical globule of flesh and claps his palm over his mouth, only to tear it away as if his lips are on fire. He has a face to match.

Death would be a sweet mercy, he would think, if he were at all capable of thinking at the moment.