#fandom: original work

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

The Healer

Nuisance

Warnings: Lady whump, heavy blood loss, painful healing

This one is a fill for my shiny new BTHB.

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Four in the morning. Four in the fucking morning, and Merridy still wasn’t back. Cedric sat at the table in the living room, an untouched glass of alcohol in front of him. In those last hours, his mood had changed back and forth; from annoyance that she hadn’t told him she was going out, over worry that something might have happened to her, to anger that instead of sleeping, he sat here worrying about nothing. It had to be nothing, right?

He didn’t know how often she sneaked out. The only reason he had checked on her today was a late visit of Laurent. Knowing that she often retreated to read for an hour or two before bed, he had planned to ask her if she wanted to join them for a quick round of cards. But instead of finding her with her nose stuck in a book or asleep, he hadn’t found her at all. The study room—her room, for the time being—had been abandoned, her bed untouched.

Cedric had spent the hours before that in the living room, so he was sure she hadn’t left through the front door. To reach the kitchen, and the hidden entrance to the sewers, she would have had to cross the living room as well. Which meant that she must have left the house climbing out of a window of all things! Why the fuck hadn’t she just told him she wanted to go out, instead of sneaking out like that? Did she think he would forbid her to do so? She wasn’t a prisoner, godsdammit.

And what if she hadn’t left on her own?

Cedric raised his head, meeting Laurent’s gaze, who looked just as grim as Cedric felt. There was nothing either of them could do. No point in raising an alarm if she had merely sneaked out to… what? Spend the night somewhere else? With someone? She didn’t seem like the type to do that. Yvan had agreed with that assessment, before he had gone to bed. He had been worried as well, but one of them had to be awake in the morning, and it was generally advisable for that to be the one who worked with fire and glowing metal. 

“What if she—” Laurent started, but Cedric shushed him with a quick gesture.

Hadn’t there been a noise?

He leaned forward on his chair, hand already reaching for his cane. There it was again. A knocking sound, so quiet, he wasn’t sure if he had just imagined it. Even if he had imagined it, getting up to check was a welcome distraction from staring holes into the polished wood of his dinner table.

He crossed the distance to the front door, bracing himself on his cane with his left so he could pull it open with his right. Someone stood outside, leaning against the door frame. Cedric blinked, trying to convince himself that what he saw was real, not merely his imagination showing him what he wanted to see so much. Four in the morning, and she came home as if nothing had fucking happened.

“Do you have any—” Cedric’s annoyance only lasted for a moment. Something was clearly wrong. “Merridy? What’s…” 

She raised her head. Her gaze was glassy, unfocused; she didn’t seem to see him at all. When she let go of the door frame, she wavered. Cedric grabbed her arm, to keep her from toppling over. The fabric under his fingers was cool, somehow damp. He didn’t get a chance to wonder about it, for her legs gave way under her. He dropped his cane so he could catch her, lowering himself to one knee as she slumped against him. There didn’t seem to be any strength left in her; he couldn’t even tell if she was still conscious. When he raised his hand, to get a better grip on her, his fingers came back red.

Fuck fuck fuck.

“Merridy. What happened?” 

She didn’t reply. Her head lolled against Cedric’s chest, and he held her closer, feeling how she trembled. He looked up to find that Laurent had appeared behind him. The man took one look at the scene, then hurried past Cedric, vanishing into the night. A part of Cedric was aware that it was necessary to check if there was danger around, but he still wished Laurent could have helped him instead.

Whatever. He could do this. With one arm still around Merridy’s shoulders, he pushed the other under her knees, picking her up. Cedric wasn’t particularly strong, but she was so fucking small. Still, his ankle did not enjoy the additional weight.

He ignored the pain, taking small, careful steps, carrying her into the living room. Running out of strength, he set her down on the sofa a bit more roughly than he had planned, but she didn’t stir.

“Merridy…”

Fuck, where should he start. 

Cedric sat down on the floor next to the sofa, taking all weight off his right leg. His sweater was stained with blood, as were his hands. Too much blood—not that any amount would have been good. He had to figure out how badly she was hurt. In the light of the living room’s glowing crystals, the black fabric of her sweater was glistening. As he tried to lift it at the hem, he realized that it was all but shredded. Carefully, he pulled a few scraps of fabric off, revealing the bloody mess beneath.

The sound of the front door closing made Cedric whirl around, but it was only Laurent coming back. He brought the discarded cane with him, leaning it against the far end of the sofa.

“Didn’t find anything. If she was dropped off by someone, they didn’t wait for you to come to the door.” 

Laurent crouched down next to him, looking at Merridy, but making no attempt to touch her. “Any idea what happened?” he asked, his gaze lingering on the shredded fabric on her arm.

“I don’t know.” Cedric pushed some of the shreds aside, revealing the torn, bloody skin beneath. “I don’t even know what kind of weapon or creature could cause such injuries.”

Laurent nodded curtly. “I’ll wake up Yvan, then I’ll go find a healer.” 

He got up, and started for the stairs without hesitation. Cedric was glad at least one of them was able to keep a clear head, because it was harder and harder for him to keep his composure. What had she gotten into? What if it was his fault? If someone wanted to get back at him, just like Jean when he had killed Colette?

He reached for Merridy’s hand, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. What else could have happened? She never left the house, didn’t know anyone. How would someone like her have made any enemies? 

Hasty footsteps came down the stairs, pulling Cedric out of his spiraling thoughts.

“What happened?” Yvan asked, trying to fix his shirt, which he must have put on the wrong way in his haste. Laurent hurried past him, towards the front door.

“I don’t know.” Cedric cleared his throat, hating how unsteady his voice had sounded. “She couldn’t… She’s not conscious. There’s a lot of blood, and I… I don’t know what to do.”

Helpless. He felt helpless. All his magic, all his might, and there was nothing he could do to fix this. He hated it. Yvan crouched down next to him, and Cedric shuffled to the side, to give him more room.

“Mhm. Hm.” The noises Yvan made as he touched her forehead and felt for her pulse at her wrist weren’t exactly reassuring. “She must have lost a lot of blood.” 

He got up, grabbing one of the cushions and shoving it under her legs, so they were slightly elevated. While he was at it, he ran his hand along her pants, finding them intact. The only blood on them was where it must have soaked into her waistband.

Yvan put his hand on Cedric’s shoulder. “Try to get her shirt off, find out if she’s still bleeding. The faster the healer can get to work, the better. I’ll prepare some water.” 

Cedric nodded, taking a deep breath while Yvan went into the kitchen. That, at least, was something he could do. He looked Merridy over, wondering where to start. She had a bag slung around her shoulder, the strap wrapped tightly around her torso. The moment Cedric tried to loosen it, she opened her eyes. Her hand twitched towards the bag, too weak to grab it.

He let go of the bag to take her hand instead. “Merridy?”

At the sound of his voice, she turned her head. Slowly, her eyes seemed to focus on him, her gaze becoming clearer until she… smiled. She really fucking smiled at him, as if she didn’t lay bleeding and barely conscious on his sofa.

“What happened?” he whispered. “Who did this to you?”

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. She furrowed her brows, trying again. “No. No one. Ta…” Her hand in his twitched, pulling towards the bag. “Take.”

Cedric’s gaze fell onto the bag. He didn’t really care what was inside, but it seemed to be important to her. It was heavy as he lifted it, to pull the straps over her head and out from under her. He reached inside without looking, and his fingertips found something round and smooth. Crystal, his magic supplied, latching onto it.

The moment he pulled it out, his heart seemed to skip a beat. He had seen sketches of the object before, had heard descriptions, but it was so much more beautiful than he had ever expected. The crystal was perfectly clear, each gemstone a masterpiece in itself.

And there was no fucking way it should ever have been in her possession.

“What did you do?” he whispered.

Merridy’s eyes were half closed again. “Got it… for… for… you.”

There was still the hint of a smile on her lips, despite her bleeding out on his fucking sofa. For him. For him. Cedric could have screamed. It was his fault, but in a way he had least expected.

“You did what?” He didn’t want to shout, but it had come out louder than intended. “How? Why?”

He had spent weeks trying to find a way in. Weeks after which he had been convinced the only way was to either find a trustworthy chaos mage with the right domain, or to infiltrate the staff that was hired to help with big receptions. Yet here she was, a little bookworm and failed pickpocket, just… getting it for him.

“Wanted… help.”

“But how? How did you manage to do that? Who… or what…” He didn’t dare reaching for her, his fingers hovering over her as he asked, “What the fuck happened to you?”

“Fen… fence.” 

Her voice was so quiet now, he had to read her lips more than he could hear the word. Forcing his thoughts to focus, he tried to make sense of it. He had spend hours and hours scouting the place, so it wasn’t hard to recall the layout—and the fence around the fucking house. He had never truly considered going over it, so he hadn’t paid it much attention, but he remembered the sharpened spikes on top of it.

“Did you climb it?!”

He had definitely lost control over his voice at this point. She couldn’t be that reckless, could she? But she obviously had been that reckless. He had no explanation for how she had gotten into the house after that, not to mention to find the globe and make it out again. 

“Have you lost your mind? What if someone saw you? What if someone had caught you?” His voice failed him, his throat impossibly tight. What if you had died?

“Don’t… don’t shout.” Her voice, weak as it was, was trembling, and tears glistened in her eyes. 

Cedric swallowed. He had to calm down. Too vivid was the memory of how terrified of him she had been in the beginning. The last thing he needed now was for her to be scared of him. He reached for her hand again; the left hand, which wasn’t a bloody mess. 

To be fair, it was unlikely someone had seen her and followed her to his house. No one would wait this long to storm it, giving him time to hide the proof of the crime. But she could have died. Bleeding out on the streets, or after getting arrested. In her condition, she would have been dead in the dungeon long before he would have even learned what had happened to her.

“Shh. It’s okay,” he whispered, brushing his thumb over the back of her hand. Nothing was okay, but it would be. “Laurent is looking for a healer. You’ll be fine.”

“No. No healer.” 

“Yes healer.” Cedric didn’t know what her problem with healing magic was. During her recovery, he had humored her stubborn refusal to be seen by a healer for her foot, not least because that had meant a few more weeks until she could even think about leaving. But this, this was so much worse. “You need help. More help than I can give you.”

She didn’t say anything else, but the trembling of her hand increased. Cedric cupped it carefully, looking up at Yvan who returned with a bowl of water in one hand and a few towels in the other.

“We’ll have to take off your clothes and take a look at your wounds,” Yvan said. He placed the bowl on the coffee table and gestured for Cedric to give him some space.

As soon as Cedric let go of her hand to stand up, she whimpered. Her eyes fluttered open, but didn’t stay open for long.

“I’m right here,” he mumbled, settling down on the sofa above her head. “I’m here.” He took her searching hand, a lump forming in his throat when she instantly relaxed. Yvan was the gentle one; it was unsettling, seeing her display her trust in him so openly. Trust he wasn’t sure he deserved.

Cedric kept holding her hand while Yvan got to work. With a pair of scissors he must have brought in the pile of towels, he cut the shredded remains of her shirt, pulling them off carefully. Her stomach looked like a fucking bloodbath beneath, but once Yvan started to wipe it off, it became clear that most of it had already started to dry. A few of the deeper cuts still seeped blood, but it wasn’t an alarming amount. 

“What happened?” Yvan asked.

Right. He had been in the kitchen, when… 

“Barbed wire fence,” Cedric said between grit teeth. She must have dragged herself right over it. Yvan’s expression was a mirror of his own horror at the thought, but he didn’t say anything, merely continuing his work in silence.

Above her stomach, bloody cloth was wrapped around her chest. Yvan cut those wraps as well, revealing unblemished skin. The red smears on her breasts must be from where the blood had leaked into the bandages, because there were no wounds to be seen. Thank the gods.

While Yvan got up to fetch fresh water, Cedric remained sitting. He wouldn’t leave her alone until she was patched up and safely in her bed. Perhaps the bleeding had mostly stopped, but she was obviously in bad shape. Her skin was ice cold, her hand trembling in his. Her breaths came way too fast, even if she had calmed down, was barely conscious again. He had so many questions, but all of them would have to wait. 

By the time the front door opened, Yvan had exchanged the water multiple times. Merridy’s legs had only shown a few scratches, so he had wrapped her lower body into a blanket. One of the towels covered her upper body, bright red spots spreading slowly on some parts of it.

Laurent entered the living room, closely followed by a young woman in dark gray robes. Her black, frizzy hair was bound back, and she was slightly out of breath. The two of them must have hurried.

“Tania. I’m so glad to see you,” Cedric said.

She wasn’t the best healer he knew, but she was discreet—and she was a woman. Cedric wondered briefly if she was the first one Laurent had been able to find at this hour, or if he had chosen her on purpose. Knowing his friend, the latter seemed a reasonable assumption. 

“Wish I could say the same.” Lips pursed, the healer looked at the scene, her gaze lingering on the bloodstained towel. “What’s the problem?”

“Multiple lacerations, heavy blood loss,” Yvan said matter-of-factly while getting up. “I don’t think there’s any internal injuries, but it would be better if you made sure.”

“Do I want to know what happened?”

“No,” Cedric said.

“All right.” Tania put her bag on the coffee table and sat down on the spot Yvan had abandoned. The moment she turned her attention towards Merridy, her demeanor shifted. “Hey,” she said, her tone no longer harsh. “My name’s Tania. What’s yours?”

Cedric waited a moment, to see if Merridy would reply, but her eyelids only fluttered. “Her name’s Merridy,” he said quietly, stroking a strand of hair at her temple.

“All right, Merridy. I’m gonna check what I’ll be dealing with. Don’t…” The moment Tania lifted the towel, her voice faltered. “Don’t worry,” she continued, a forced smile on her lips. “I’ll fix you up in no time. But first I’ll make sure there are no hidden injuries.” 

She folded the towel and put it on the floor next to her before raising her gaze to Yvan. 

“Yvan? I’m gonna need some boiled water, warm, and some more clean towels or whatever you can find.”

Yvan nodded and headed for the kitchen, while Tania put her hands on Merridy’s stomach. She closed her eyes, clearly focusing on her magic. There wasn’t anything to see, and Merridy didn’t react, so Cedric looked around, clearing his throat. 

“Laurent.”

When his friend gave him a questioning look, Cedric nodded in the direction of the bag. Watching Laurent’s eyes widen as he picked it up and peered inside could have been funny, if not for the situation at hand.

“Take it somewhere safe. We’ll stay low for a day or two, then we’ll contact them. If word spreads, they might approach us before that.”

Laurent nodded. “Got it. You take care of her, and let me worry about the rest.” He wrapped the strap of the bag around his wrist a few times. “But Cedric…” His gaze wandered to Merridy and back to Cedric. “If you find out how she managed that. Please let me know.”

As Laurent left the room, Cedric turned his attention towards Merridy and the healer. Tania raised her hands, her expression less grim than before.

“No internal injuries, just a couple of bruises in the making. That’s good. Ah, Yvan, thank you.” She took the bowl of water from him, putting it next to her on the floor. “I’m gonna have to make sure the wounds are clean before I close them, and that…” She trailed off, grabbing her bag. 

Tania pulled a bunch of little vials and jars out, until she found what she had been looking for. A vial holding a green liquid, so dark it was almost black. She filled half of it into a tiny glass before holding it out to Cedric.

“Can you give her that to drink? It will help with the pain. At least a bit.”

Cedric nodded, taking the glass. He lifted Merridy’s head, then shuffled closer, so he could prop it against his thigh. He waited until she opened her eyes before he put it to her lips, tilting it slowly. Merridy grimaced, but didn’t complain.

“I’m… cold,” she whispered when the glass was empty and Cedric had taken it away again. Her teeth were chattering just as much as she was trembling.

“I know. I’m sorry.” He took her hand once more. Her fingers were ice-cold. “You will feel better soon.”

While Tania started cleaning the first wound, Yvan went to the fireplace, to throw a few more logs onto the embers. Cedric decided quickly that it was an entirely bad idea to watch. He wasn’t particularly squeamish, but watching the healer dig around in the wounds, to find whatever fibers or dirt might be stuck inside, was too much, even for him. Even with his eyes closed, he could still smell the blood, and feel the way Merridy squirmed under the healer’s touch. She was trying her best not to scream, but her choked sobs were just as hard to bear.

“Can you help hold her down?” Tania said after Merridy had twitched a bit too violently.

Yvan looked just as grim as Cedric felt as he sat down at the other end of the sofa, putting his hands on Merridy’s legs, near her hips. Cedric placed his right hand on her shoulder as well, but kept holding her hand in his left.

It seemed to go on forever; cleaning a wound, pulling out fibers of black wool, scraps of moss and flakes of rust. Healing the wound, agonizingly slow. Moving on to the next. With time, Merridy’s movements grew weaker. Tears still ran down her cheeks, and she still twitched weakly whenever the healer had to pry open another cut, but her body seemed to be at its limit. She wasn’t truly conscious anymore, but Cedric didn’t let go of her hand, didn’t stop stroking the hair at her temple.

The sun had already risen by the time Tania closed the last wound. Her brown skin had an ashen tint, but the gleam in her gray eyes was unbroken as she looked at Cedric.

“All done. Time to get her into some fresh clothes, and into bed. Do you have any…”

“I’ll get something,” Yvan said, making his way up the stairs.

Cedric hadn’t moved in what felt like hours. Merridy’s hand was still in his—or again, after Tania had healed some scratches on her left arm, none of them as deep as the others.

“Will she be all right?”

Tania leaned back against the coffee table, rolling her shoulders. “I think so. She lost a lot of blood, so she will need a lot of rest in the coming weeks. Especially in the first days it would be better if she wasn’t alone.”

“That won’t be a problem. She’s living with me for the time being.”

Tania merely acknowledged it with a nod, not asking any questions. When Yvan returned, he handed her a folded bundle of clothes.

“All right, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Why don’t you go do something in another room for a moment. Clean up or whatever.” She paused, before she added, “Both of you.”

Cedric didn’t want to leave Merridy alone, but he saw the reason behind the healer’s request. It hadn’t been necessary to take off her underwear for the healing, but it was still soaked with blood.

He carefully put Merridy’s hand down before he stood up, picking up his cane as he did so. His legs were stiff, his ankle aching, but his attention was fixed on her. Between the healer’s potion and exhaustion, she had fallen asleep a while ago. She looked so vulnerable; tiny between the cushions, with way too pale skin and dried tears on her cheeks.

When he started to walk towards the kitchen, Yvan caught up with him, putting an arm around his shoulder. Cedric leaned against him the moment they were out of sight, and Yvan pulled him close. Neither of them said a word for several minutes. Cedric closed his eyes. The exhaustion was starting to catch up with him now, the tension slowly fading.

“Can you stay home today?” he asked without thinking about it. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, with his guilt, with the question of how he should face her once she woke up.

Yvan hummed his approval just as a quiet rustling sound made Cedric look up. Tania was standing in the doorway, leaning against it in a clearly tired fashion. 

“I’m done. She hasn’t woken up, and I don’t think she will for several hours. You should all get some sleep. I sure will.” She pushed herself off the door frame and started to walk. “Oh, and Cedric?” she said, already halfway across the living room. “You owe me for this one. Big time.”

That he did. Cedric sighed, leaning his head against Yvan’s chest. The front door opened and closed, then everything was quiet.

“Should we let her sleep in our bed tonight?” Yvan asked. “That’s better than the floor. You can take the sofa, and I might as well stay up.”

“No. If she wakes up, she should be someplace familiar.” Cedric lingered for a few more seconds, before freeing himself from his husband’s embrace. “I’ll make sure everything’s ready. You can follow me in a moment and bring her.”

When he started to walk, he looked down on himself. His gaze fell onto his sweater, stained with dried blood. As soon as Merridy was in her bed, he would change out of those clothes, and they would all get some sleep. And when she awoke, he would find out what the fuck had possessed her to do something as reckless as breaking into a house for him.

[ID: The banner shows a broken window, outside which the sun sets behind an iron fence. The sky is bright yellow and orange. The title nuisance is written across it in scribbled looking letters with a orange to yellow to orange gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup​​​​​​ @freefallingup13​​​​​​ @kixngiggles​​​​​ @badthingshappenbingo​​

#Nuisance #whump #fantasy whump #lady whump #badthingshappenbingo #prompt: barely conscious #fandom: original work #my writing

[chrysochroma]

@badthingshappenbingo prompt: roadside surgery

Title: Dovetailed

Fandom: Original Work

Prompt: Roadside Surgery

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 1384

Warnings: Blood, Improvised Surgery, Mild Gore

Summary: Vanessa and Phoebe are taking a drive when a stray bullet shatters their window. The staple gun in their backseat happens to be the best option for first aid.

Read on AO3

Phoebe and Vanessa had spent about an hour together in a car, driving mostly in silence, on a quiet back road surrounded by trees.

Vanessa rested her elbow on the door’s armrest. “It’s kinda peaceful out here,” she said, looking at Phoebe.

Phoebe glanced over at her, then studied their surroundings before returning her eyes back to the road. “You’re not wrong.”

Vanessa looked out the window, watching the trees fly by as they drove past. Then she turned back to Phoebe, placing her hand on top of the other girl’s. Phoebe made eye contact, flipping her hand over to better hold Vanessa’s.

Vanessa returned the grasp on her hand as she spoke. “I actually really like this,”

Behind her, the distant sound of shouting and rustling came from the forest. Phoebe’s eyes darted to the window, the rays of the setting sun blinding her. She barely registered hearing gunshots before the passenger side window shattered. Vanessa’s nails tore into Phoebe’s hand, nearly making her scream in unison with the other girl.

Vanessa ripped her hand away from Phoebe’s, bringing it to the open flesh on her stomach and clamping her other hand over the gash on her thigh. A line across her body erupted into pain, burning its way through her surrounding nerves and freezing her face into an expression of agony.

Phoebe jumped forward, one of her hands going to cup Vanessa’s face in an attempt to comfort her, while her other hand went to the still uncovered cut on her shoulder. Vanessa jumped away at the pressure, and Phoebe withdrew instantly, almost terrified of the fresh blood now streaking across her palm.

“Sorry!” Phoebe instantly regretted the harm she had done, regardless of the fact that it was accidental.

Vanessa groaned, her breathing becoming ragged. “It’s fine, just do something,”

“Right- yeah.” Phoebe spun around, eyes darting around the cars interior, looking for anything that might be able to help. To no success, she turned back, her eyes filled with confusion and fear. “What do I do?”

Vanessa’s breaths started to become more steady, more determined. She released the seat belt restraining her and lifted the bottom hem of her shirt, analyzing the wound. The rogue bullet had cut a deep gash across her shoulder and abdomen, finally cutting across and embedding itself in her thigh.

“We just need something to close the wound and stop the bleeding.”

Phoebe looked down at Vanessa’s leg. “What about the bullet?”

Vanessa shook her head. “Just leave it in. Trying to take it out could make this worse.”

Phoebe nodded before looking around the car once again and eventually returning to Vanessa for more guidance. Vanessa grunted in frustration, running through a list of everything they had just bought at the craft store they went to, trying to determine if anything could be of use. A lightbulb went off in her head.

“The staple gun,” She gasped.

“What?” Phoebes eyes widened in concern.

“It’ll work, I promise. Just get it.”

Phoebe shook her head but complied, leaned into the backseat where the shopping bag was stored, fished out the item in question, and tore at its packaging. The blood from Vanessa’s shoulder was still on her hand, and it smeared around the inside of the car as she moved. Phoebe’s rapid breaths filled her ears as she fumbled with the staple gun, trying her hardest to help the girl bleeding out next to her. She flipped the package over once more, determined to find a way to rip it open. Vanessa reached up, encasing Phoebe’s trembling hands in her blood covered ones. “You can do it. Please.”

Finally, the plastic gave away, allowing Phoebe to free the staple gun.

She looked into Vanessa’s eyes. “I can’t.”

Vanessa’s reply came without hesitation. “Yes you can.”

She reached up and grabbed Phoebe’s hand, taking hold of the staple gun as well.

Her grip was weak, but determined. “I’ll help you.”

Phoebe’s eyes were full of fear but she complied, letting Vanessa drag the gun down towards her stomach.

“You just gotta pull the trigger,” Vanessa murmured.

“No,” Phoebe protested. “It’ll hurt you!”

“I’m already hurt.” Vanessa tried to muster a smile. “It’ll be worse if I bleed out, Bee. Please,”

Phoebe shook her head, still refusing.

“You don’t have to do it by yourself. I’ll help you.” She grunted, trying to wrap her fingers around the trigger. “You just have to help a little. Just a little bit, Honeybee. I promise It’ll help. Just-“

She gasped, jerking back as a staple got fired into her stomach.

Phoebe’s eyes widened and she dropped the gun, letting it fall into one of the cup holders.

Vanessa exhaled through clenched teeth, trying her best to not show the pain she was in. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Keep going.”

“No. No, no,” Phoebe refused, backing away and covering her face with her hands, but not bothering to stop the stream of tears rolling down her cheeks. “I hurt you,” she sobbed.

“No, Phoebe. It’s fine,” Vanessa insisted. She leaned forward and fumbled for the cup holder where the gun had fallen, wincing as she moved.

Phoebe saw the pain on Vanessa’s face and immediately pushed her back into her seat, leaving her hand on her shoulder for a moment before dropping it and picking up the staple gun once more.

“Fine- I’ll help. Just let me do it.”

She held the staple gun like it was a bomb with its fuse lit- both clumsily and terrified.

“You just have to tell me when- when it hurts so I can stop, okay?” Phoebe sniffled. “Promise?”

Vanessa smiled, hiding her crossed fingers under her leg. “Promise.”

Phoebe nodded, repositioning the staple gun over Vanessa’s stomach, about a centimeter away from the first staple. She looked up from the gun and into her girlfriend’s eyes.

“I love you,” She whispered, then squeezed the trigger.

Vanessa gasped and tensed up, then let out a slow exhale and looked Phoebe in the eyes. “I love you too.”

Phoebe smiled, and even though it was barely a grin and only there for a second, Vanessa’s world lit up, seeming to block out the pain.

Phoebe moved the staple gun and looked back up at Vanessa. “I love you.”

The staple gun let out a sharp bang sound as the staple fired into Vanessa’s stomach.

“Love you too.”

The staple gun moved.

“I love you.”

Bang.

“Phoebe, since the day I first met you,”

Bang.

“I’ve been in love. You’ve brought joy to my life in ways-“

Bang.

“You can’t even imagine. You make my life so much better,”

Bang.

“And I’m always so much happier when I’m around you.”

Bang.

“You always seem to know the perfect solution, and even when you don’t-“

Bang.

“You are willing to help. You motivate me-“

Bang.

“To not give up and do more with my life.”

Bang.

“You inspire me to be a better person,”

Bang.

“You are so incredibly kind-“

Bang.

“And even more loving.”

Bang.

“You’re the best girlfriend I could’ve asked for.”

Bang. The final staple made its way into Vanessa’s flesh.

“Thank you.”

Phoebe looked up and paused for a second before speaking. “You were lying, weren’t you?”

Vanessa gave a small shrug and held up her crossed fingers. “Maybe?”

Phoebe sighed with a mixture of exasperation and relief. “You should be lucky I love you,”

Vanessa laughed, then winced. “We should probably bandage this,” she said.

“Yeah. Uhm…” Phoebe looked around for a second, then down at the edge of her shirt. She grabbed the hem and ripped a few strips off of the shirt. Then, carefully, she covered each line of staples in a layer of cotton and tied them in place.

Vanessa’s teeth were clenched through the whole process, regardless of how gentle Phoebe was trying to be.

As she finished tying the final knot, Phoebe made eye contact with her girlfriend. Vanessa smiled through the pain, looking up at Phoebe.

Vanessa sat up as much as she comfortably could, and Phoebe leaned down enough to bring their faces together. Their lips met, and both of them melted into the others’ embrace.

Phoebe and Vanessa held each other, simply sitting there on the side of the road, content in each other’s arms.

#bad things happen bingo #prompt: roadside surgery #fandom: original work

[mirasmirages]

Flowers

For the July Break Bingo squares "Hanahaki" and "I don't want things to change"

Ao3

Warnings: child whump, mentions of past child abuse (non-graphic), thoughts of suicide

When the girl was sold, it didn't make her sad. She was used to it by now. 

She went home with the lady, who gave her to a man, and then the man gave her to an old woman, and then she was given back to the man. An endless row of faces just like always. She didn't care. 

The man gave her a name. She was used to that too. Every new place came with a new name and new rules and new people to hide from. Her name now was Valerie, which the man had said had been his mom's name. He had asked her if she liked it, and the girl had told him yes. 

The man made her sleep in a big room, in a bed that was as soft as anything she had ever felt. There were blankets and books and a teddy bear that was bigger than she was and the man said she was allowed to touch all of it. The girl didn't touch anything unless she had to, and at night she lay as still at possible, wide awake and alert, waiting for something to happen. 

The man's name was Henry. Mr. Henry went to work every day, and when he did, he left the girl with the old woman, who was named Maria. Ms. Maria made her eat a lot and asked her to draw things for her. The girl was careful not to let her guard down, and only ate exactly what she was told and drew exactly what she was told. 

*

In the room the girl slept in was a big closet. It was supposed to be for clothes, but there was plenty of room for the girl to hide in there, which she did at night sometimes. It was safer there, rather than in the big open room. When she hid, no one could find her, and that was almost as good as if she could be invisible. 

The girl would have liked to be invisible. If she was invisible, no one would be able to tell if she was doing something wrong, and maybe they would forget she was there completely. And if they forgot about her, then they wouldn't want to hit her or kick her or put out cigarettes on her skin or all the other things adults liked to do. Mr. Henry and Ms. Maria hadn't done that to her yet, but the girl knew it was only a matter of time. 

*

The first time the girl made Mr. Henry angry was because she was hiding. She was in the closet curled up in a tight tiny small ball and Mr. Henry couldn't find her in her bed or under her bed or behind the curtains or anywhere, and she knew when he opened the closet door that this was when he would hurt her. He grabbed her arm painfully and dragged her out to stand in front of him. The girl screwed her eyes shut and held her her breath and waited for what he was going to do. Mr. Henry put his arms around her and held her to him really tight, and it kind of hurt, but not the way she was used to. The whole rest of the day, she kept expecting him to punish her, but he didn't. 

*

The second time she made Mr. Henry angry was when she played with one of his guns. She had found it under the couch one time when she was hiding, and had taken it out with her when she was done. She had seen many guns in her lives, but she had touched very few. This one was heavy and black and there was a little piece on the top that moved when the pushed on it. When Mr. Henry saw her, he yelled at her to give him the gun and to go to her room, and she ran as fast as she could to hide in the closet again. She could hear voices in the living room, but she didn't listen to the words, only to the footsteps so she knew when they were coming for her. This time, Mr. Henry looked in the closet right away and didn't yell at her at all. He just stood there, until she dared look up at him and found him looking back. 

They looked at each other for a long time, and the girl didn't look away even though her body was so tense with fear that it could have killed her. 

And then Mr. Henry asked, "Do you want to learn how to shoot?" 

*

He took her to a shooting range, where she wore plastic glasses and ear protection and learned how to hold the gun in a safe way. Mr. Henry got her a small gun that wasn't too big and heavy, and then he told her that from now on, they would lock their guns in a safe instead of leaving them around the apartment when they weren't using them. 

*

Mr. Henry taught her to fight, too, with a punching bag in the gym, and Valerie got used to hearing her new name. So many people were using it for her now. It was Mr. Henry and Ms. Maria, but also Mr. Richard who was Ms. Maria's husband, and then Ms. Maya who was the lady who had bought Valerie and given her to Mr. Henry, and Mr. Aaron who was Ms. Maya's husband, and Gavin and Leo who were Ms. Maya and Mr. Aaron's children. So many people, and they all spoke to her and used her name and none of them yelled or hurt her. 

*

The girl knew it wouldn't last. She had been sold many times, and she knew better than to think anyone would keep her. She reminded herself of that, over and over, even as the room she slept in seemed less dangerous with each passing night, until one night she fell asleep in the bed. 

She woke herself screaming, and then Mr. Henry was rushing into her room with a gun in his hand. He looked wildly around the room. 

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking wildly around the room. "What happened?"

Valerie didn't know how to answer. She had never woken up like that before. There was almost nothing that could make her scream. 

Mr. Henry lowered his gun and came to sit at the edge of the bed. "Did you have a nightmare?"

He hugged her, and she was shaking crying, and she couldn't stop. But Mr. Henry didn't get mad or strangle her to make her quiet, he just held her until he was gone in the morning. 

*

She woke up with a sore throat. It felt like something was stuck there, and it didn't help no matter how much she coughed. Ms. Maria asked if she had a cold and touched her forehead, and said she wasn't hot, so Valerie supposed that meant she was cold. Ms. Maria told her to lay on the couch and drink tea until Mr. Henry came back home. 

*

The pain didn't go away. Valerie was coughing all the time, and one time, it was so bad she thought she was going to throw up. She covered her mouth with her hands like the grown-ups told her, and when she looked, there was a small, white petal there, stained with red. 

She held the petal in her hand and felt her stomach sink with nausea. She knew what this meant. She had seen people with the flower sickness before. They coughed and coughed and then they died. Sometimes it took a long time, the flowers slowly growing bigger until the person choked on them, and sometimes it didn't happen like that. 

The girl could still remember the blood spreading across the floor after the woman was caught hiding her illness. 

Valerie knew what this meant. It mean she was no longer worth keeping. 

No one was in the room with her, so they didn't know she was sick. They didn't know she was sick yet. As soon as they knew, they would get rid of her, so Valerie put the petal in her mouth and swallowed, even though it hurt, so no one would find it. If she could hide it, she could stay a bit longer. She would hide that she was sick until she died, she decided. Then she wouldn't have to be sold again. 

*

She wondered what it would be like to die. Would it be like sleeping? Or would she be awake, like when she was drugged, unable to move or speak or anything? Or maybe she would turn into a ghost, and could stay here forever, invisible. That didn't sound so bad. She would be a ghost and hide in the wardrobe and no one would even know she was there. 

*

When she hadn't stopped coughing for over a week, Mr. Henry wanted to take her to the doctor. He even tried to grab her arm and force her, but Valerie screamed and kicked and twisted until he lost his grip, and then she ran into the bathroom and locked the door until he promised they could wait a few days. 

Valerie had coughed up a whole little rosebud that morning. She didn't know exactly how long it would take for her to die, but hopefully it would be less than a few days. Less than it would take for Mr. Henry to take her to the doctor. 

But Mr. Henry didn't wait like he had promised. The next morning, instead of bringing Valerie to the doctor, he brought the doctor home. 

Valerie tried to hide under the bed, but Mr. Henry pulled her out and held her still and forced her to open her mouth so the doctor could look. Valerie screamed and struggled with everything she had. It had been a long time since she had been held like this, all hard and painful and scary. She was helpless, and Mr. Henry and the doctor were just like any other adult who could do anything they wanted to her. 

"I'm done," the doctor said, and Mr. Henry loosened his grip. 

Valerie twisted away and looked for anywhere she could hide. Under the bed didn't work, and the closet was too close, and she was too big to hide under the carpet even though that's where she most wanted to go, so she went to the furthest window and wrapped the curtains around herself until she was completely gone. 

The adults were talking, but Valerie closed her eyes and covered her ears and pretended no one else was there. Pretended nothing had happened. That no one knew that she was sick, and that she wouldn't be sent away. 

She didn't know how long it had been when Mr. Henry rustled the curtain. 

"I'm sorry I tricked you," he said. "Can you come out?"

Valerie didn't want to, but then Mr. Henry said "Please," and started untangling the curtain, and she didn't fight. 

When she was free from the curtain, Mr. Henry sat on the floor in front of her and didn't say anything for a long time. Valerie could feel the itch in her throat that meant another flower was coming, but she pushed it down. She didn't want to be the first to break the silence, and especially not like that. 

"Did you know I used to have a boyfriend?" Mr. Henry finally said when he spoke. Valerie hadn't known that, but she didn't move. "It's a really long time ago, and I liked him a lot. But there were some people who didn't like that I was dating him, so I broke it off, and told him I hated him. I thought I was protecting him. And after that, I started having this weird pain in my throat." 

He reached out to take Valerie's hand, but she flinched away just enough that he gave up. 

"It didn't happen so quickly for me, but after a while I started coughing, too, just like you. I pretended nothing was wrong. I started dating a woman and got engaged, and I was miserable. I was lying about what I was feeling, and those lies made it possible for the flowers to grow inside me, and they would have killed me if I had kept going." 

This time when he reached out, she didn't flinch, and he tucked a piece of her hair gently behind her ear. 

"There are some secrets that are dangerous to keep," he said. "They take hold and grow until they destroy us. And I don't want you to be destroyed, Val, so please. I don't know what's bothering you so much, but you have to tell someone."

The itch in her throat was growing into pain, and she held her breath. 

"It doesn't have to be me. Whoever you want, just tell me and I'll get you to them. But you have to talk to someone."

She couldn't hold it in anymore. The flower was pushing up her throat, and she covered her mouth and coughed loudly, painfully, over and over, until she felt dizzy. She had tears in her eyes when she pulled her hands away to reveal the head of a white rose. 

Now he knew. He had known already, because of the doctor, but now he really knew. He knew that she wasn't worth keeping and now he would send her away. 

Mr. Henry took her hands in his. Her hands were so much smaller than his. The flower didn't even look that big compared to his hands. 

"Please, Val," he said, and his voice sounded strange. "Just tell me. Whatever it is, it's okay. Just tell me, and you'll feel better, and we'll figure it out." 

Valerie had never seen anyone get better from the flower sickness. Mr. Henry said he had, but ... Valerie hadn't really understood his story, and she didn't really want to get better, anyway. Getting better meant that she wouldn't die before she was sent away. And she was so, so scared of that. 

She blinked, and a tear fell down her cheek. Mr. Henry wiped it away with his thumb. 

"Is it really so bad that you can't tell me?"

Valerie's lip quivered. The words were as stuck in her throat as the flowers were. Her breath hitched. 

"I ..." she started, then sniffled. Mr. Henry's hands were warm around hers. "I ... don't want to leave." 

New tears sprang from her eyes when she said it. She didn't want to leave. Not by being sent away, but not by dying either. 

"I don't want to leave!" 

She threw her arms around Mr. Henry's neck and held on tight. Please, please, please, she thought. I don't want to leave!

Mr. Henry put his arms around her back. 

"You're not going anywhere," he said, stroking her back. "But Val ... where do you think you're going? Why don't you want to leave?" 

Valerie was sobbing against his shoulder. 

"When you sell me," she cried. "I don't want to go!"

Mr. Henry's arms tightened around her, holding her closer. 

"I'm not selling you," he said. "I promise. I'm never selling you, and I'm never sending you away." 

He let her cry in his arms until she was exhausted, swaying on her feet when he released her. 

"You're not going anywhere," he told her again, wiping tears off her face with his sleeve. "I can prove it to you." 

Don't believe him, she told herself. This is where he sends you away.

But she let him take her hand and lead her down the hall to his office. 

He opened the safe and took out a piece of paper and handed it to her. 

"Do you know what that is?" he asked. 

She shook her head. 

"It's your birth certificate," he said. "I had it made after you moved here. It says I'm your father, and no one will know it's not true. I wouldn't have done that if I wasn't planning on keeping you." 

She stared at him. He was her father?

"You don't have to call me Dad or anything, if you don't want to," he said. "But that paper means that if someone tries to take you from me, I can get you back. No one is going to own you ever again." 

Valerie didn't really understand how the paper worked, but she knew that papers were important. Adults could be very serious about them. 

"Never?" she asked. 

"Never ever," he promised. 

#July Break Bingo 2023 #JBBingo2023 #Fandom: Original Work #Ship: None #Mira writes #OC: Henry Baker #OC: Girl/Valerie #This is the one I'm most proud of so I really hope you like it!

[ocpotluck]

Happy Holidays @foxesandmagic

#ocappreciation #ocpotluckholidayexchange22 #oc: mathias francis #type: drawing #fandom: original work #submitted by: dolce-elegy

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

I think this is my favorite of my 2019 drabbles

Dear Mellah:

Consider this my “suicide note.” But don’t worry. I’m fine.

Remember how excited I was to get the Time Machine Project? To point a telescope toward the sky, and actually see into the future-- to scan the time scales of the Universe in both directions!

Mellah, it’s been twenty years. I can’t keep looking. The research grant is ending. They’ll want their report by the end of next month. And there’s no sign of humanity out there.

They won’t like that. If I don’t fake my death, they’ll make it real.

So burn this letter.

I love you.

Originally written 18 January, 2019

#drabble #science fiction #fandom: original work

[verkja]

This is a fill for the ‘Public Execution/Torture’ prompt on my BTHB card. It involves a character from my ongoing longer story, but you don’t need to have read that to understand this. It takes place around five years before the start of the main story, anyway.

CWs: Hypothermia, captivity/confinement, starvation, dehydration, betrayal, torture, graphic hand injury, non-graphic whipping, gags, mild-ish mouth whump, asphyxiation, self-harm (to escape restraints), suicidal ideation, mediaeval fantasy-typical psychological mistreatment of a child? Not sure how to tag that last; a child sees some violence, which is normalised in this setting.

This was meant to contain mostly physical pain, but it turned out to have a lot of angst as well. It is somewhat gory, but SFW.

Words: About 5K

‘You’ve got three choices: Leave the wizard behind, hand him over to us, or turn back.’ The guard crossed his arms. Around him, his comrades shifted their weapons meaningfully.

Mures glanced over his shoulder in case any of his companions had ideas about stabbing him in the back, and mentally ran through an incantation he hoped would incapacitate both the guards and his fellow mercenaries. They were in an extremely dangerous area of marshland, and the only safe way ahead lay through the domain of a local lord.

Turning back wasn’t feasible, because the company’s current contract was time-sensitive. They could go around, but even with a party of eight, that would be quite risky. Alone, it would be suicide, which was why he fully expected his companions to attack him - they’d know he had no chance of going back or around on his own, so being left behind and handed over were equally death sentences.

Laurent, the company’s leader, exchanged looks with a few of the others before addressing the guard.

‘We’ll find another way,’ he said. ‘Abandoning a companion would be against our code.’

Mures was so surprised, the words of his prepared spell vanished from his mind without a trace. While the company had never been especially hostile towards him, nothing had suggested they considered him anything more than a useful, but ultimately disposable, asset. Most of them had been together for years, too, while he’d only joined recently because they needed a spellcaster for this job.

‘Suit yourself,’ said the guard, shrugging. ‘I wouldn’t be caught dead out there, but then I wouldn’t be reckless enough to keep a dark wizard around in the first place. Guess that’s why they pay you more than me.’

The party was quiet as they headed back the way they had come. Mures kept waiting for one of them to object, or for Laurent to laugh and say they’d been playing a joke on him. Instead, they walked in silence for a short while before stopping to make camp. It had already been close to sunset when they’d turned around.

The sorcerer hesitated by his bedroll as the others prepared for sleep. After a few minutes of conflicted uncertainty, he approached Laurent.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Turning back at the border was - er, it was a very generous decision on your part. I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you don’t regret making it.’

‘I’m pleased to hear that,’ said Laurent. ‘As long as you work for us, we’ll have your back. This company doesn’t sell people out.’

Mures couldn’t reply for a moment; his throat felt tight. ‘Thank you,’ he said again once he could speak, uncomfortably aware he still sounded a bit choked.

He returned to his bedroll with an unaccustomed warmth filling his chest and burning behind his eyes. In the three years he’d been working as a mercenary, this was the first time he’d been truly included as a member in a company which valued loyalty, and wasn’t just a loose collection of people working on the same mission.

It wouldn’t come to anything in the end - they’d split up when the contract was done and he’d never see Laurent or the others again - but right now, they’d taken a risk because they thought he was worth it. They were mistaken. Even so, he found himself smiling so widely it hurt as he drifted off to sleep.

When he woke, it was still dark, and someone was winding a rope around his wrists while someone else pinned him down; a third person gripped his throat with enough force to prevent him from breathing. He tried to yank his hands away, but the rope pulled tight and the person holding it tied it off with a grunt of satisfaction.

‘Can he cast without using his hands?’

‘Not sure.’ That was Laurent’s voice. ‘I don’t think so, but might as well be safe. Someone get me something to - no, not a cloth, he might choke on it. That’ll do.’

The hand strangling him let go, and he instinctively took a deep breath. Someone shoved a hard object - it felt like a chunk of wood, maybe part of a stick - into his mouth as soon as he did, then wound a piece of fabric around his head to keep it in place. They tugged the edge of the cloth down below his nose to ensure he could breathe. This was less of a relief than it might have been under other circumstances.

An arm looped under his shoulder and yanked him upright. Looking around, Mures saw half his companions standing nearby with expressions of mild relief while the others packed up their gear. The faint light slipping over the hazy marsh suggested it was just before dawn.

Laurent stood a few steps to the left, brushing his hair back from his eyes. ‘Sorry about this,’ he said, ‘but it’s the best option all around. I’ve seen your spellwork, and I didn’t fancy risking that by leaving you at the border. Better to let the guards deal with you while we continue on.’

The sorcerer glared at him, trying to convert all the fear and hurt he felt into anger and direct it at the mercenary leader. It only sort of worked.

As the company headed back towards the border, Mures tried to think of a way out of the situation. When they’d first set off, he’d refused to follow, but a speartip set lightly between his shoulder blades had quickly put a stop to that. He could try grovelling - while verbal begging was currently impossible, if he dropped to his knees and maybe cried on Laurent’s boots they’d probably get the message - but he had nothing to offer that he hadn’t already promised the night before, and this wasn’t a personal enough affair that playing to the mercenaries’ pride would do anything.

He could push himself backward onto the spear. It wouldn’t be the neatest way to die, but whatever the lord of the lands ahead had in store was probably much worse. In fact, he didn’t know why Laurent hadn’t just killed him to begin with; maybe it was some sort of honour thing that applied even to him, where company loyalty clearly did not.

Thinking about that, and how happy he’d been last night, made his eyes burn; he blinked rapidly and focussed on the gradually brightening sky to distract himself. No, he wouldn’t kill himself yet. While he deserved to die, the other mercenaries did not deserve to kill him after what they’d done this morning. Everyone involved in the ordeal was a bad person.

There was a different guard waiting at the narrow bridge crossing into the lord’s domain, slouching against a railing. She stood up as the company approached, looking alarmed but intrigued, and gestured to the soldiers on the other end of the bridge.

‘Good morning!’ Laurent called when they drew near. ‘We were here last night; they said we could pass if we gave you the dark wizard, here?’

‘Uh, yes, I suppose,’ the guard said. She directed her comrades to grab Mures by the elbows and haul him off to the side. ‘What changed your mind?’

‘Nothing, we just wanted to be safe about it. Always planned to hand him over, so you can tell your friend from yesterday they pay us for our smarts, not our recklessness, hm?’

‘Uh, sure.’ The guard straightened her feathered cap and coughed as the mercenaries headed over the bridge. A few of them gave Mures apologetic glances as they passed, but most ignored him. Laurent was already chatting with a comrade about the road ahead.

The guards didn’t seem entirely sure what to do with the sorcerer. After a brief debate, they led him down the road to a stable, where they threw him over the back of a mule and set off for the lord’s castle.

It wasn’t a comfortable trip. The edge of the mule’s saddle dug into Mures’ ribs, and every step jolted the stick or whatever it was against the roof of his mouth, and irritated the splinter that had made its way into his tongue. He was almost relieved when they arrived and handed him off to a pair of rather more official-looking guards, who dragged him downstairs to a small but sturdy dungeon.

Once there, they replaced the rope around his wrists with a pair of iron shackles, then removed the gag. In doing so, they both drove the splinter in deeper and tilted it enough to rip slightly.

Mures spat out blood and fragments of bark. ‘I don’t know why your lord’s bothering with me when he clearly doesn’t care about border security. The guards at the bridge are utter incompetents.’

One of his captors sniggered. ‘You’re right there, I’ll grant you.’

‘Oy, my sister’s stationed at the bridge,’ said the other mildly, ‘you watch your tongue.

‘Dark magic’s a capital crime in this area,’ he explained to Mures. ‘Oughtn’t to have come this way if you knew that.’

‘Obviously I did not know,’ the sorcerer hissed. ‘Why don’t you just leave me at the border, then? I’ll find another way to go.’

It would be dangerous, and probably fatal, but travelling through the marsh alone was preferable to waiting on the lord’s mercy or, more likely, lack thereof. At least whatever killed him would probably be quick.

‘No, you’re in for it now,’ the first guard assured him, tugging on the shackles to make sure they were too tight to slip off over his hands. She shoved him into a cell; he couldn’t catch himself with his hands behind his back, and hit the stone floor hard on his knees and then one shoulder. He bit his lip, not as a result of the fall but to balance out the pain afterwards; the landing had jarred his bad knee, along with what felt like every other joint in his body.

‘Lord should come to a verdict in a few days,’ called the guard with the sister as he headed back upstairs with his partner. ‘Enjoy the peace while you can.’

The lord took longer than a few days. Judging by the light outside the narrow dungeon window, he took about six. It was long enough that Mures stopped feeling hungry, although he hadn’t eaten since his last night with the mercenaries. Water wasn’t a problem - the cell had an ingenious system of grates in various places which allowed for a tiny, continuous stream to run along the wall - and he’d managed to move his shackled hands to the front of his body by easing them under his legs, so he’d been able to pull the splinter out of his tongue as well.

He couldn’t escape the cell, but it really was almost peaceful. It would have been more so if he were not most likely waiting for execution, and if the reason he’d ended up there at all didn’t creep back into his mind every time he began to fall asleep. Still, his heart sank when the guards eventually reappeared. They were less amiable this time, roughly shackling his hands behind him again and not responding to his half-hearted jabs at the accommodations.

It was a cloudy day, at least, so the sunlight didn’t sting his eyes too badly as the guards pushed him up the stairs. They brought him along the road away from the castle, just past a copse of gnarled trees, to a clearing where a crowd of people were gathered in an informal circle. Most were peasants, judging by their garb, while the drowsy-eyed man in tilsent robes was probably the lord, and the comparatively well-fed people flanking him seemed like officials of some kind. There were a few more guards of the more competent-looking sort.

One of the officials began reading a document aloud. Upon realising it was just a general condemnation of dark magic, Mures stopped paying attention and assessed the situation instead. Running clearly wouldn’t work. He wasn’t notably fast to begin with, and currently his legs felt like jelly. There was no river he could try to jump into to get away. He couldn’t use magic with his hands shackled, and simply asking the lord to let him go would probably make things worse rather than better. Mures knew quite well he wasn’t a likeable person.

At least it didn’t look like they had set up for an execution. Despite the many trees, no one was carrying a rope as far as he could see, and there was a distinct lack of axes and chopping blocks. One of the guards held a whip, but that was fine, not good but not too bad as far as torture methods went. There was only so much they could do with it before killing him, and he doubted they were committed enough to actually do that in such a visceral way. The only thing that concerned him was a chain he saw hanging behind the official currently speaking, which presumably connected to something -

‘-and shall be hung in chains until three weeks past his death.’

Oh. Well, then. Apparently he’d underestimated the lord’s brutality. Criminals were usually not gibbeted until after execution, as a warning to people passing by. Perhaps this was an exception made for especially despicable prisoners such as dark wizards, because it amounted to a slow death by exposure.

The chain was connected to a cage, as Mures saw when the official closed her scroll and stepped to the side. It was a little less than half the height of a person, mostly cylindrical, flat on the bottom and rounded at the top. Bars ran around it horizontally and vertically, the square gaps in between about the size of a hand with fingers spread. A latch, currently open, allowed one side to swing outwards.

Before he could contemplate the cage any further, his escorts shoved him into a clear space some ways in front of the lord, and the guard holding the whip got to work. In a way, the pain was a welcome distraction, since it kept him from focussing on the extended and miserable fate awaiting him.

In another way it was extremely unwelcome, because it hurt a lot. Mures curled into a ball, but since his wrists were shackled behind his back, the whip still struck his hands and arms. The guard, fortunately, didn’t seem very enthusiastic, and his strokes weren’t targeted to maximise pain.

Despite this, by the time the guard stepped back to allow a few of his comrades to pick the sorcerer up, Mures was shaking and felt like he was about to faint. He didn’t - couldn’t - resist as they forced him into the cage, pushing his knees against his chest so he was sitting folded up inside it. They unlocked the shackles, keeping a firm grip on his wrists, and yanked his hands through the gaps in the bars, skinning his knuckles on the rough iron. Refastening the shackles outside the bars, they swung the cage shut and closed the latch.

The sorcerer snapped out of the daze he’d been in after the whipping as the guards hauled on the chain, lifting the cage off the ground so it hung from a large tree. The peasants in the crowd, who had watched the proceedings mostly in silence until now, gave a few hurrahs for the guards’ efforts and then proceeded to jeer at Mures. He couldn’t make out most of the words, but they didn’t seem to be particularly insightful comments.

‘I suppose this is your idea of a well-spent afternoon,’ he said loudly, hoping it actually was afternoon and hating how his voice shook; he should’ve waited until the effects of being whipped wore off before speaking. ‘You don’t have anything better to do with your time? Harvesting things, or herding your livestock, or anything other than -’

He was cut off by part of a cabbage hitting him in the face. It wasn’t especially painful; this was because it was soft and slippery with rot. Mures grimaced and shook his head to dislodge it from his shoulder, where it had fallen, but was interrupted by a second cabbage and then a turnip, which hurt significantly more, also aimed approximately at his face.

After a few more abortive attempts to speak, all thwarted by various types of produce, Mures gave up on responding to the audience’s abuse and rested his face against his knees. This worked until the peasants gathered enough courage to approach and poke him with sticks and farming implements, at which point he went back to insulting them because there was no more point in trying to protect himself.

At last, as the sun drowned in the waters of the marsh, the peasants lost interest and headed home for the night. The lord and his officials, along with the guards, had departed some time earlier.

Mures shut his eyes and leaned his head against the bars, letting out a ragged sigh. His whole body hurt - from whiplashes, bruises, and the strain of flinching away from so many impacts in such a confined space. He hoped the peasants were satisfied with the entertainment they’d gotten today and wouldn’t return tomorrow, but wasn’t optimistic about it.

As the pain faded from sharp agony into a duller ache, his thoughts turned away from his immediate circumstances and wandered down less pleasant paths. The sorcerer tried to keep his breathing calm as the inevitability of his impending, prolonged death sunk in for the first time since he’d realised what was going to happen to him. It was terrifying, but still preferable to reflecting on how he’d ended up imprisoned to begin with.

He didn’t sleep that night. Though it was summer, and quite warm, the iron cage was cold, and his recent period of starvation left Mures even less able to regulate his body temperature than usual. By morning, he was exhausted - and on top of all the other discomfort, his knees hurt from being bent so sharply.

If he pushed against the bars behind him with his shoulders, he could take some of the weight off his heels and tailbone; if he leaned forward as much as possible, he could straighten out his neck. But no movement he could make allowed him to significantly change the angle of his knees, and his feet couldn’t fit through the gaps in the bars due to their placement. It didn’t help that one knee was prone to aching anyway after another torture-related incident years ago.

The day passed with terrible slowness. To his surprise, the crowd of peasants did not reappear; the only visitors he had were a few birds, a young farmer who spent a couple of minutes prodding him in the neck with a stick, and a lot of flies, which swarmed around him to feed on the rotten vegetable matter from the previous day’s fun. He exchanged barbs with the farmer, but his voice was hoarse from lack of water, and he wasn’t sure how much of what he said was audible.

The next night and day were much the same, though he did manage to sleep for a few uneasy hours. By the third sunset, Mures was drifting in and out of awareness, dehydration and exhaustion confusing his sense of time and space until he forgot whether he was hanging from the gibbet in the marsh, or locked in the dungeon in his old tower, or in a different dungeon where he’d been briefly imprisoned about a year ago.

In more lucid moments, he cried a little about what had happened with Laurent’s company; he’d tried to avoid thinking about it, but at this point he lacked the energy to maintain any kind of mental defence. It didn’t hurt that they’d handed him over to the guards; it hurt that for a few hours, he’d believed that they wouldn’t. He’d been foolish not to try incapacitating them as soon as the border guard had made his offer - maybe he would’ve failed, and died as a result, but at least it would have been quick and he wouldn’t have had the chance to think that someone valued him.

Some time after the last of the light was gone, Mures jerked awake to discover it was raining. Chilly water ran along the bars of the cage, drenching his robes and stringy hair; he was shivering hard enough that his bruised wrists chafed against the shackles. At least dehydration was no longer a problem, but freezing to death wasn’t a significantly more attractive prospect.

It wasn’t less attractive, either. Mures half-hoped the warm summer night would grow colder and end all of this. He hadn’t gotten to see the things he wanted to before dying, but he was going to die anyway, so it might as well be quick, even if he didn’t really deserve that.

The night did not get colder. Mures remained freezing and miserable throughout the endless hours before dawn, but he did not die, and the rain gradually faded away as the sun rose. It was abominably cheerful. There was even a rainbow. The sorcerer muttered a curse at the incongruous weather. It did little to improve his mood. The water had restored his mental clarity, but he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

Around noon, he was distracted from contemplating his increasingly bony kneecaps by a light impact on his left foot. Craning to the side, he saw a few blades of marsh grass slip off the toe of his boot and fall piece by piece to the ground. Near the base of the tree serving as a gibbet stood a young child, who had apparently thrown the clumsy missile.

‘Shove off,’ he said, voice a cracked, thready rasp.

The child - a girl, he thought, small and very grubby - shook her head and lobbed another handful of grass at him. This one flew more accurately and hit him in the face. While it didn’t weigh enough to be painful, having wet grass stuck in his mouth and clinging to his damp hair wasn’t especially pleasant.

‘Stop throwing grass at me,’ he hissed. ‘What are you doing here in the first place?’

‘My sister said you died and my brother said you didn’t die yet, and they’ll give me a sweet for coming to see,’ the child informed him. She threw another bunch of grass, but missed completely this time.

‘Yes, well, I haven’t died yet. Why are you throwing things at me?’

‘Everyone threw vegetables at you before because you’re bad.’

‘You saw that, did you?’ Mures sighed.

‘I was there.’

He couldn’t really argue with the straightforward reasoning. ‘Go ahead then, I suppose. I’ll just… have grass on me. Fine.’ Shutting his eyes, the sorcerer rested his forehead against his knees.

‘Why were you bad?’

He turned his head to one side. The child had sat down at the base of the tree; she was still ripping up handfuls of grass, but absently, and didn’t seem intent on throwing them.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked.

‘Why did you become an evil wizard?’

‘I…’ That was a difficult question. He could say he hadn’t had much choice, but that wasn’t true; he’d always had an alternative. If he hadn’t been so fixated on seeing something better out in the world - if he hadn’t read all those folktales and gotten the idea that there was something better to see - maybe he would have killed himself long ago, and done everyone a favour.

However, he didn’t think he should tell the child that. Mures had very little experience with children, as they tended to avoid sinister towers, and usually lacked the funds to employ mercenary groups; and he hadn’t had much of a childhood himself. Still, it was probably best not to suggest suicide as a means of escaping problems to someone at such an impressionable age.

‘I didn’t think I could become anything else,’ he said instead.

‘Stupid,’ said the child. ‘You should’ve become a farmer. What’s wrong with your eye?’

‘What do you think?’ he asked tiredly. What was wrong was a cataract that had formed after blunt trauma, but people often assumed the cloudy lens was the result of dark magic.

‘It’s because you’re old,’ she said after a moment’s contemplation. ‘Granny has two white eyes. You only have one because she’s older than you. I have none because I'm not old yet.’

That was… certainly not true, but it was a much kinder explanation than usual, or than the real one. ‘I like that idea,’ he whispered, blinking back tears.

The child seemed to take that as confirmation, because she wandered away shortly afterward. Mures cried for a while and then fell back asleep; last night’s rain hadn’t allowed for even interrupted rest.

The next morning, a group of shepherds stopped on their way past the gibbet. They taunted him for a while, but he couldn’t muster the energy to respond. When they grew bored, they switched to throwing rocks at him. 

One of them got out a sling, letting her cast missiles with significantly more force. Mures choked on a scream as a stone struck his left hand, snapping what felt like every bone inside it. He hoped the next one would hit him in the head and either knock him out or kill him, but this didn’t happen. Not long after breaking his hand, the shepherds left and he was alone again.

And he was much worse off than before, because in addition to hurting a lot, the broken hand offered a choice that he didn’t really want to have. The bones were shattered badly enough that he could feel them shifting and scraping against one another, moving in ways they weren’t supposed to - ways that changed the shape of the hand significantly enough he was pretty sure he could pull it through the shackle if he tried.

Mures didn’t want to try. Forcing his hand through the shackle would hurt, and then he’d have to get out of the cage, and try to focus enough to escape before anyone else came along, and all of it would hurt, and he was tired, so tired, and he just wanted to stay where he was until he died and got all of this over with.

But there was still a ruthless spark of hope in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go out, no matter how much he wished it would. If he didn’t even try, he’d die knowing that he might have been able to see at least one thing in his life that was worth seeing if he’d just been a little braver.

He braced his shoulders against the cage and used his uninjured hand to grab the cuff on the opposite wrist. Taking a deep breath, he pulled his left arm up and forwards as hard as he could. There wasn’t as much resistance as he’d expected. His hand squished in a deeply unsettling and painful way, and then it was out, and he could move his arms freely.

Half-coughing, half-sobbing, Mures used his right hand to undo the latch on the cage. His shoulders screamed at him, and as soon as the door swung open and his feet slid out, his knees and waist joined in. The change in position threw the cage off-balance, and he tipped out of it and fell to the ground.

The pain was almost enough to make him pass out, but not quite. Digging his nails into his arm, he tried to gather a semblance of composure; when his mind was roughly in one piece again, he cast a spell to access the small pocket between dimensions in which he stored his most valuable items. From this he fetched a tin of magical salve, almost empty, and used the very last of its contents to restore his left hand to working order.

He didn’t move for a while after that. It would be wise, he knew, to try and massage his joints or even just stretch until he could at least approximate standing, but it took over an hour before he could bring himself to attempt it. By the time he heard someone approaching along the road, he was just about able to sit upright without immediately collapsing in agony again.

The traveller was a peasant leading a mule, which was pulling a small cart. He didn’t notice Mures sitting beside the road until he’d drawn quite close, and by then it was too late for him to do anything.

The sorcerer had never especially liked blood magic, but it was undeniably useful in a pinch. He took control of the blood running through the unfortunate peasant’s veins and used it to lift him into the air. When the man tried to scream, Mures immobilised the blood vessels in his lung tissue, preventing even the beginnings of a sound.

He threw the peasant off to the side of the road and dragged himself into the cart, which contained radishes. The mule seemed undisturbed by the change in circumstance, perhaps because it had happened so quietly, and started moving again willingly enough when he directed it to. He held onto the blood spell as long as he could without risking permanent damage to the farmer, then let it fade.

Though he’d never liked radishes much before, after over a week without food Mures found them quite appetising. He steered the mule away from the road and well to the side of the lord’s castle, following a smaller path that led onward through the domain. The route passed by a few fields and cottages, but as long as he stayed low in the cart, he just looked like any other resident taking a break as he transported the latest harvest.

From what he remembered, the lord’s domain stretched to the edge of the marshland, and the lands after that were moderately safe. If he could make it that far he could set a course for a nearby city, and perhaps pick up a new contract with a new group. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t run into Laurent and company on the way.

_______

There is a sort-of illustration for this piece here, showing Mures waiting in the cell.

#mures gets a harder time than the other characters because he's so much *fun* #it's a compliment really :') #whump writing #my writing #cw:torture #cw:starvation #cw:hand injury #cw:captivity #cw:suicide #cw:mouth injury #cw:asphyxiation #cw:gore #or references to all the above #hypothermia #bthb #badthingshappenbingo #prompt: public execution/torture #fandom: original work #gibbeting #gets its own tag because i did a research post about it

[transhuman-priestess]

#this is for fun please don’t take this seriously #writing #fandom #fanfiction #OC #original work #Ivy Michaels writes

[loneswaggingranger]

Fandom: Original Work (Inspired by wedding jitters by Peren (Periazhad)

Prompt: You Said You Would Let Them Go

Rating: M

Content Warnings: Implied/Referenced Past Rape Non/Con, Threats of Rape Non/Con, Attempted Murder, Captivity, Prisoner

Summary:

"Hm," Talamai curls a hand in her hair and wrenches her head upwards. The gesture is not painful enough to be cruel, it just cements her true place in this kingdom, in a body that no longer belongs to herself.

She is an assassin in the country of Iroc, and a traitor to her homeland Landvais. 

@badthingshappenbingo

#fandom: Original Work #a03 #bad things happen bingo

[kenjiii-arts]

A morning doodle :>

#slasher #slasher fanart #slasher fandom #bubba sawyer #bubba #leatherface #leather face #texas chainsaw massacre #slasher art #slasher sketch #digital art #fanart #art #original art #artwork #artists on tumblr #fanartwork #original work #artist #my art #red #oc stuff

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

The Return

Nuisance

Warnings: Heavy blood loss

Four months later, this is finally the continuation of The Heist, which I wrote for the “Barbed Wire” prompt of my first BTHB. I had always hoped to write the rest of the story, and am very happy it has finally happened. As such, it’s only fitting that this one will fill another prompt :D

This one is a fill for my shiny new BTHB.

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Merridy leaned against the branches of the bush, trying to calm down enough so she could get up. There was nothing she could do about her injuries, so she let the remains of her sweater settle back on her stomach. Blood ran down her side, leaving a cold trail on her skin until it seeped into the fabric. She tried her best to ignore it.

Eventually, she couldn’t wait any longer. She wasn’t quite sure how late it was—the bells didn’t toll the hours of the night, to not disturb sleeping citizens—but she had entered the house far after midnight. She had to make it back to Cedric’s house before dawn, lest someone would see her and notice her desolate condition.

Her limbs were barely able to support her, shaking from exhaustion and pain alike. Once she had pulled herself to her feet, she clung to the sturdiest branches of the bush for a moment, trying to catch her breath. Standing up straight had never been this hard. Everything in her screamed to curl up, to keep as much strain as possible off her torn skin and mistreated muscles. She shifted the bag, to make sure the globe wouldn’t come to rest against any of her injuries

The first step was the hardest. The next one came easier already. The momentum kept her going, putting one foot in front of the other, focused on nothing but the next step. The way hadn’t seemed that far when she had taken daily walks around the area, scouting out the house; neither had it when she had set out for her heist after sunset. Now, walking back on unsteady legs, each step a struggle against weakness and rising nausea, it seemed impossibly far.

The damp fabric of her sweater slowly sapped the warmth from her body, and the fading adrenaline left her aware just how much everything hurt. She grit her teeth and forced herself to walk on, even as exhaustion started to take over every clear thought, leaving her knees weak and her hands shaking. One of them she clamped around the bag, while she used the other to steady herself against the walls of the houses she passed. Somewhere in the distance a shutter slammed closed, and much closer to her, someone shouted. 

Merridy froze, suddenly aware for the first time that she might not be alone. What if someone would see her, had seen her? What if she led someone directly to Cedric, with the proof of the crime she had committed right there in her bag? Heart beating up to her throat, she looked around.

The night, normally a welcome ally, was suffocating. Anything could loom in the deep shadows, anyone could be watching her. With every step she took, the feeling of being followed grew stronger. It was only an echo of her unfounded fear, she tried to tell herself, there was no one around. It didn’t work. Every fiber of her being wanted to run, to find a place to hide, and with every passing second, it became harder to fight the urge. She couldn’t run, not in her condition, but she could hide.

But first, she had to make sure that if someone was following her, they wouldn’t see where she went. A few steps further, she slipped into the side alley opening up next to her. It was still a more affluent neighborhood, each house sporting a narrow front yard, framed with fences and decorative walls. One of those walls was low enough for her to climb over, the windows in the house behind shuttered and dark. 

Merridy ducked low, crossing the distance between the street and the few marble steps leading up to a raised main door. In the shadow beneath the stairs, she made herself as small as possible. Her heartbeat hammered in her ears, making it hard to listen for any sign of pursuers. All she could see from her spot was a part of the front yard and a small strip of the street behind the wall.

Minutes passed. Endless, dark, excruciating minutes. There was no sound other than the distant call of a bird, and no movement save for a lone scrap of fabric dancing in a sudden breeze, a flicker of pale white in the night.

Still, she kept waiting, arms wrapped around herself. Her sweater was cold and wet, sticking to her skin. She knew it had to be blood, and the thought scared her. She didn’t dare to find out if she was still bleeding, but she feared she was. Merridy leaned her head against the back side of the stairs in front of her, utterly exhausted. The touch of the marble was cool against her skin. If she rested a moment, perhaps she could gather some strength for the path ahead.

A dull, throbbing pain in her head brought her back to awareness. She flinched, luckily not enough to hit the stairs in front of her a second time; slipping off and slamming against the stone must be what had woken her up in the first place. She raised her hand to rub her forehead, wincing as the movement caused the rest of the pain to flare up once more. There didn’t seem to be a spot on her body that wasn’t bruised or torn.

She didn’t want to move, but she had to. How long had she been dozing off for? How late was it? After making sure she was alone, she clamped her fingers around the edge of the stairs, dragging herself up. The warm trickle down her stomach made her whimper quietly. Had she been bleeding all this time, or had the movement reopened her wounds? It didn’t matter. Neither was good, if she was honest. 

Looking up, she found that the sky was still dark, no hint of approaching dawn above the roofs of Caldeia. But for how much longer? She had to get back to the one place in this godforsaken city she knew she would be safe.

The rest had given her no new strength. On the contrary, she barely managed to climb back over the wall, all but collapsing onto the street on the other side. She was freezing to the core, leaving her already aching muscles stiff and tense. Each step was agony, each breath a fight against the quiet whimpers trying to escape her lips. The world was a blur of shadows and cobblestones, calling her forward, and forward, and forward. 

She raised her head, and she didn’t know where she was. Too tired to think, and knowing that she’d never get up again if she stopped now, she kept walking. Cobblestones turned into coarse sand littered with long dead leaves. The shadows retreated, only to return looming over her, rustling in the breeze.

Step after stumbling step, Merridy moved on. Roots protruded from the ground, more than once almost succeeding in making her fall. One time, she caught herself at the last moment, but slammed her arm against a tree trunk in the process. It started to bleed again, if it had ever truly stopped. 

Afraid to leave a trail of blood behind, she pressed her arm against her stomach, the strap of the bag wrapped around her wrist to keep the globe from bouncing against her hip with every step. Her pulse fluttered in her wounds and pounded in her head, while her heart hammered in her chest. The rhythm was unsettling, just like her breaths were too shallow, too quick. 

Merridy blindly stumbled along what could have been a path, bracing herself against any tree she passed, scraping her skin on their rough bark. Until there were no more trees. A few steps further, the cobblestones returned. A part of her was aware that she must have crossed the park near Cedric’s house. If that was true, it wasn’t that far anymore. She was almost there. Almost.

Merridy blinked against the darkness trying to claim her vision. Somehow, the world felt dull. Flat. Out of focus. Clinging to a wall with trembling hands, it took her way too long to find the familiar house at the corner, showing her the way. She stumbled on, barely lifting her feet. Each step felt like it would be the last, like she could go no further, and yet each one was followed by another. It wasn’t that far anymore, she told herself, over and over again. It wasn’t that far anymore. 

Finally, she reached the right street. Had it been day, she would have been able to see Cedric’s house already. As it was, she kept her gaze rigidly on the ground, to not stumble and fall on those last few dozen steps. When she eventually raised her head, to check how far she had come, she could see light behind the thick curtains of his living room windows. It didn’t matter that there shouldn’t have been light at this hour, the promise of warmth and safety was like a siren’s call to her.

Climbing up onto the porch cost her all of her remaining strength, bruising her shins when she missed the stairs three times in a row. Merridy leaned against the wall next to the door, willing her stiff fingers to let go of the bag so she could raise her hand to knock. There was no way she’d get the door open by herself; she hadn’t taken her key with her, too afraid to carry anything on her that would link her back to Cedric in case she was caught, and her hands were shaking too much to even consider picking the lock instead.

While she waited, her gaze fell on the wind chimes next to the door. She focused on them, desperate to distract herself from how nauseous she felt, and from the overwhelming urge to crumble to the ground and never get up again. The chimes consisted of a bunch of irregular shaped glass shards, suspended on threads so thin, she couldn’t see them in the darkness. At night, the colors were muted, barely discernible, but Merridy knew each shard by shape, remembered the way they sparkled in the sunlight. She recalled them all, one by one: The red one with the jagged edges. The purple one, shaped like a drop. The golden one, long and thin. The green one. The blue one. The orange one.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the realization trickled in that she was home.

She had made it. 

Not quite as planned, not unscathed, but she had made it. She had gotten the globe, heavy in the bag at her side. Cedric wouldn’t be thrilled about the state she was in, but he would surely take care of her, if only to stop her from bleeding all over his house. Merridy allowed herself to close her eyes and slump against the wall, fingers grappling weakly at anything to keep her from collapsing. She had to hold out just a moment longer, then she’d be able to rest. Just. A moment.

The sound of the door opening reached her subdued, as if her ears were under water. She raised her head, and her world started spinning, a wave of heat rushing against the bitter cold holding her captive. Words. Words that didn’t make sense. Angry. Shocked. Worried. It was fine, she wanted to say, but the reassurance didn’t find its way from her thoughts to her lips.

She should get inside. Away from the street. The moment she loosened her grip on the door frame, her knees gave way under her. She braced herself for the impact, but she didn’t fall. Cedric caught her. A grip, painful around her bleeding arm. Fabric, soft under her flushed cheeks. An arm, wrapped around her, holding her. She let go of everything that had kept her upright, sinking against him. 

Everything would be all right.

[ID: The banner shows a broken window, outside which the sun sets behind an iron fence. The sky is bright yellow and orange. The title nuisance is written across it in scribbled looking letters with a orange to yellow to orange gradient. All other images are purely ornamental lines. End ID.]

Tagging: @dont-touch-my-soup​​​​​ @freefallingup13​​​​​ @kixngiggles​​​​ @badthingshappenbingo​

#Nuisance #whump #fantasy whump #lady whump #blood tw #badthingshappenbingo #prompt: adrenaline crash #fandom: original work #my writing

[chrysochroma]

“show us some good entertainment”

@febuwhump 2024: Day 1: helpless

@badthingshappenbingo: forced to hurt someone (card is at the end)

Rating: Teen And Up

Words: 1,122

Fandom: Hermitcraft

Warnings: Gladiators, Blood, Violence, Injury, Broken bones

This is based on @amethystfairy1 ‘s Traveling Thieves AU, particularly “And I'll use you as a warning sign, that if you talk enough sense, then you’ll lose your mind.” I highly recommend it!!

read on Ao3

Ren stumbled forward as he was shoved into a small, airlock kind of room, then flinched as the gate slammed down into the ground behind him. A low growl started to emit from his throat as he crept towards the back of the cage and pressed his back up against the cold metal grate that surrounded him. He closed his eyes as his muscles tensed up, listening to the screaming and chanting and stomping of the crowd above him. His heartbeat was steady and true as it ricocheted through his skull, pounding against his brain and ears.

The shadow of the barred gate to the arena slid over the ground in front of him as it was cranked open. The braziers in the arena cast their light into the cage, but failed to reach Ren, hiding in the shadows.

Across from him, on the other side of the arena, the grate finished retracting into the ceiling and an avian stepped out, their wings folded behind them. Their face showed no emotion as they spread their wings, a pattern of gray, black, and white, and launched themself into the air. They circled the top of the arena as the crowd’s screams cheered them on, yellow eyes locked on Ren’s open cage. Their razor sharp talons shone in the firelight as they circled, until they cocked their head to the right and tucked their wings in, diving towards Ren.

Just as the avian’s eyes narrowed, focused in on their target, Ren launched himself out of the cage straight at the avian, tackling them out of the air. The pair hit the sandy floor of the arena hard, kicking up a cloud of dust around them. They rolled around the arena as they grappled with each other, Ren’s claws and teeth slicing through their flesh as they fought back with their talons and wingtips. Ren managed to pin the avian’s wings to the ground just as their talon cut a deep gash down his calf, forcing him to withdraw. Blood soaked into the sand beneath them as the pair pushed themselves apart, both still keeping their eyes focused on the other.

Pain shot up Ren’s leg as he watched the avian stand, the crowd around them demanding a fight. The avian wiped a trail of blood off their face, smearing it across their cheek. Their wings spread out behind them as Ren lunged forward, and they both shot back into the center of the arena, ready for more.

The masses surrounding the arena walls watched intently, sharply, ravenously, like they were starved of entertainment. They had giddy smiles on their faces, all blanketed by the smell of alcohol and blood. They were a good crowd—engaged, invested—what more could a performer ever want?

Ren did his best to block out the noise of the spectators as he studied the golden eyes of the avian coming ever closer. In those eyes, he could find nothing except conviction, and just a sliver of fear.

Ren’s claws carved through the meat of the their shoulder, catching the top of their wing in the process. Just a second after, the avian’s talons raked across his stomach, spraying more of his blood across the floor. They launched themself back into the safety of the sky and Ren stumbled back, pretending not to care about the gashes in his chest and leg, or the trail of blood that he was leaving around the arena. He tilted his head up to watch the avian as they circled above him. One of their hands was pressed over the shoulder Ren had cut open, in an attempt to staunch the bleeding. Their eyes were directed at the ceiling, maybe hoping to take their mind off the fight.

Below them, Ren limped to the edge of the arena, rivers of blood flowing down his chest and leg, staining his pants red. His eyes tracked the avian through the sky as he reached the wall, turned, and shifted his weight onto his back foot. They pushed themself forward with another stroke of their wings, and Ren shot across the arena, his claws digging into the dirt to drive himself forward. His legs screamed like the crows all around him as he lunged forward and exploded into the air, launching himself ten feet straight up, his outstretched claw swiping across the wing and side of the avian. He fell back towards the ground, claws dripping with blood, and rolled to absorb the impact of the fall. Behind him, the avian slipped out of the sky and tumbled back into the sand, a mess of feathers. They covered themself with their sand and blood covered wings, a few feathers strewn loose around them. Ren watched as they fought their way up to their hands and knees, breathing heavily, the ground claiming more and more of their blood.

Slowly, patiently, Ren stalked across the arena, towards the shaking avian who was still struggling to stand. He flipped them over with his foot, forcing them to retract their wings in order to keep them intact. He stepped on the feathers of one of their wings and looked down into their shining eyes.

He recognized the avian from the first day he had been in the arena. The two had never spoken, never traded names, never exchanged any more than a glance. Yet, Ren felt a sense of familiarity in those golden eyes of theirs. Even though they were nowhere near friends, or even acquaintances, he was grounded in their eyes, and that wan enough for him.

He knelt down over them, still focused on their honeyed, glossy eyes. He was breathing slow, the tempo like a metronome against the avian’s gasps. He dropped his voice low, so only the two of them could hear.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he began.

They looked up at him. Their eyes were a bit unfocused, and their breathing was erratic, but their voice was clear and true. “Not my wings.”

Ren nodded. His expression wasn’t quite determination or focus, but more along the lines of reluctance. “I’m sorry. This will hurt.”

Carefully, methodically, he reached down to the avian’s forearm and snapped it in half. A crack rang through the arena, echoing in the ears of the bystanders. He looked back into their sunset eyes, now filled with tears, and stood.

Ren stood in the firelight, victorious, a faint sneer on his face. The same low, frustrated growl from before the match rippled through his throat as he glared into the crowd. They screamed for an encore, demanding even more of him. They craved bloodshed, and Ren knew that he would always indulge them, because what other option did he have?

#writing #creative writing #hermitcraft #febuwhump #febuwhump 2024 #febuwhump day 1 #traveling thieves au #bad things happen bingo #fandom: original work #prompt: forced to hurt someone

[mirasmirages]

Making Friends

For the @julybreakbingo squares "Collection" and "Engage"

Ao3

Arwa was bored. 

She had finished her pancakes and sat swinging her legs while Mom and Auntie Amara talked about all sorts of boring stuff, like the news and politics and the wallpaper Uncle Nadir had chosen for his new apartment. Arwa couldn't understand why they cared about any of that. 

Since they weren't paying attention to her at all, Arwa decided to find something better to do. She slipped off her chair and went to the most interesting thing in the diner: a little girl sitting in a booth near the counter, with a coloring book and crayons all over the table. 

"Hi!" Arwa said. "My name is Arwa, what's yours?" 

The girl looked up, but didn't say anything. She just stared at Arwa like she was waiting for something.

"What are you drawing?" Arwa asked. The coloring book was open to a page with a horse which had as much color outside the lines as within them. 

The girl didn't answer, just kept looking at her.

"It looks pretty," Arwa said. "I like this purple color. Can I sit with you?"

The girl was very shy, so Arwa took her silence as a yes and climbed up next to her on the bench, sitting on her knees now that Mom wasn't watching and making her sit properly.

"Do you wanna see my marbles?" 

Arwa took out her velvet pouch of marbles and carefully poured them out on the table, making a barrier with some of the girl's crayons so they wouldn't roll off the edge. 

"I have even more at home, but these are my favorites." She picked up the marbles one by one and explained what made them special. "I like this one because it sparkles, and I won that one from a girl in my class at recess, and my uncle gave me the big orange one that looks like Jupiter. Did you know Jupiter is the biggest planet? I wanna get marbles that look like the rest of the planets too, but my brother said that's stupid because Saturn has rings and marbles don't have rings, so I told him he's stupid and I can make the rings myself. And this one is the most special of all of them." She held up a small, blank marble. "It looks boring, but it isn't because I got it from a soda bottle! It's this special kind of soda from Japan that uses a marble instead of a lid, and you have to push the marble into the soda to open it! And after I finished the soda I wanted to take the marble out but I couldn't, so I asked my brother to try, and he couldn't either, so we looked it up online and figured out you have to set the bottle on fire, so we did that and my uncle got really mad because we coulda burned the house down, but we didn't so it's okay, and now I have the marble! You can hold it if you want!"

Arwa held the marble out to the girl before she noticed that one of the waitresses was standing by their table watching them. 

"Hi," the waitress said with a big friendly smile on her face. "Nova, did you make a friend?"

The girl didn't say anything, and suddenly Arwa got a bad feeling in her belly. Maybe the girl wasn't just shy. Maybe she didn't like Arwa or the marbles and just wanted her to go away and Arwa hadn't noticed because she never noticed when people wanted her to go away, even her teacher said so, and her brother and her classmates all called her annoying and now the girl thought so too! 

She was just about to swipe her marbles back into the pouch and leave when the girl nodded. 

"You did? I'm so happy for you!" said the waitress, and turned to Arwa. "What's your name?"

"Arwa."

"What a beautiful name! My name is Delia, and this is Nova. Nova doesn't speak much, but it is so nice of you to play with her! Is that your mom over there?" 

When Ms. Delia went to talk to Mom, and Arwa turned back to Nova. 

"Your name is Nova? That's pretty," she said. "Did you know it means star? My name means goat, but no one knows that unless I tell them. My mom says my name fits me because I climb on everything, and my brother says it fits me because I'm as stubborn as a goat. Did you know that when a star explodes it becomes a supernova? And then it becomes a black hole!"

Nova didn't say anything for their whole conversation, but that was okay, because Arwa could speak enough for both of them. She talked about space and names and her family and animals and ranked Nova's crayons by how much she liked the colors. Ms. Delia gave them a big cookie to share and Arwa told Nova how lucky she was to have a mom who let her eat sweets on a normal day, but then Mom said Arwa was allowed to eat her half of the cookie and she felt pretty lucky herself. 

When it was time to leave, Arwa sorted through her marbles and picked a purple one with glitter in it. 

"You can have this one." She held the marble out to Nova. "It sparkles like stars, like your name, see?"

Nova hesitated, but held her hand out, and Arwa dropped the marble into it. 

"This means we're friends," she said. "That means you can come to my house if you want and I can teach you how to play marbles." 

She would have waited for Nova to reply, but Mom was getting impatient and Nova hadn't said a word all day, so after a moment of hesitation, Arwa gave Nova a hug before running out after Mom. 

#July Break Bingo 2023 #JBBingo2023 #Fandom: Original Work #Ship: None #Mira writes #OC: Girl/Nova #OC: Delia #OC: Arwa #I didn't make Arwa she came to me in a dream #Any bets on whether Arwa will be diagnosed with ADHD at some point in her life?

[evenlyevi]

Memories

#illustration #plants #digital art #autumn vibes #foliage #art #nearly decided to color this green but went warm tones for a change #also aaa hello sudden influx of new followers thank you for enjoying my work!! #original #non fandom tag

[girlboyburger]

today i realized i could draw anything i want, so.

i drew myself a girlfriend

#cow is poly like me so i can draw infinite partners for it and i don't know why i havent capitlized on that yet #also not technically today i posted this like two days ago to my alt twtt but its sfw so i can post it here too #my art #sketch #oc: cow #furry #anthro #fursona #furry fandom #clean furry #oc #the original idea was a butch bull w a weird gender but then i realized i was attracted to her so. mine now #living out that one post thats like #a gay dude and a lesbian who are BEST friends and also dating the same person but not #each other because they are a gay dude and a lesbian but their mutual partner has a weird enough gender for it to work #its me i'm the mutual partner with a weird enough gender #aweaaeeaA #no name for the bull yet btw but i might just call her bull to match w cow lol

[pita-cu-jem]

For my first fanart for tgcf it came out pretty cool💪

Its based on a fanfic that I read But it can also be applied to the original book

And I just put a link to my Twitter in my bio, you can check out my drawings ther too

#art #artists on tumblr #small artist #digital art #digital artist #drawing #my work #original work #fanart #tgcf #tgcf fanart #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #mxtx tgcf #fanfic #fandom

[joshua-beeking]

Reason why I am extremely worried over the state of Twitter right now as an artist because it's where I got my main audience. No other site have that reach and dark times are coming for artists that cannot rely on Youtube, instagram or tiktok because none of those sites were made for them...

#I wish Tumblr would work but it only work for fandom stuff #or takes #its not made to promote original stuff #Twitter