#cauterization

[letthewhumpbegin]

The Boys, s2e6

[promptsforyourwhumpfic]

Whump Prompt #1336

Anon asked:

Prompts for a character (with fire powers) having to cauterize a comrade's wound?

I have a few:

"Hold them down. This is going to suck."

"On three?" / "No no, just surprise me, I'll just tense up otherwi- OW!"

"I know, I know, It'll be over soon." The character with fire powers says, they hate the fact they're inflicting so much pain but it's a necessary evil if they want the whumpee to make it to the doctor/healer.

"Just do what you have to do." / "I don't want to hurt you." / "I'm already hurt. You'll be helping." / "I just wish there was another way."

Maybe the character with fire powers worries about losing control, as emotion and stress affects their magic. Maybe the whumpee is left with a larger scar than necessary because of it, and the character is now always reminded of the event because of it. How does the whumpee feel about the scar? Do they love it? Or do they secretly resent it/have to come to terms with it?

Bonus: "Ssh, sshh, I know, I'm sorry. It's alright it'll be over soon."

[jumpywhumpywriter]

"I Want You to Scream" -- Hero Tortured by Villain, Intimate Whumper part 3

Warnings: chains/restraints, severe torture, blood, cauterization, iron rod branding, knives, intimate whump, etc.

"My, you sure are tense," Villain giggled as he shivered again.

Hero made an effort to still himself, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing he was afraid -- but his body betrayed him, and he couldn't stop shaking, small tremors wracking his whole form. He wasn't just afraid, he was terrified. Such a new feeling for the typically fearless hero.

It was worse now that he couldn't see what Villain was doing. So much worse. He didn't know what to expect. What to brace himself for.

But it certainly startled him when he felt soft lips kiss the back of his sweaty neck -- a characteristic theme for Villain, he'd noted, before the real torture started. Pleasure for her before pain for him.

Villain's warm breath ghosted over his skin as she pulled back, and Hero cried out in surprise as a sharp blade bit into the back of his shoulder, unexpectedly with no warning.

Villain started slicing methodically into Hero's back, driving maddening screams and wails from him as she began her artwork.

The pain was unbearably intense, and Hero didn't even try to suppress his screams. There was no way he could hold back the sounds of his suffering. All hope of maintaining composure was long gone.

A rough hand tangled in his hair, shoving his face down into the pillow that muffled another ragged shriek as Villain's weight shifted, allowing her access to a new patch of untouched skin on his lower back that she dug into without hesitation.

It must have gone on for hours, because Hero passed out several times, before snapping awake shortly after each time to even more agony as Villain viciously carved elaborate, elegant designs into him until his flesh was a fancy mosaic of blood and injuries.

His struggles were losing steam, his screams devolving into agonized whimpers and choked sobs as he cried helplessly into the pillow, staining it with tears. His whole back was on fire, and he could feel trails of his own blood rolling down his sides to hit the mattress. The white bedsheets turned red with Hero's blood as they soaked it up.

"Nnnhhh... Please... Please no more..." Hero moaned pathetically, twitching weakly beneath Villain. He was only half-conscious from the splitting pain spearing his body. He sucked in a raspy breath of air as Villain grabbed his hair and wrenched his head back as far as it would go, making it hard to breathe.

Hero's eyes fluttered, going in and out of focus before he managed to lock his gaze onto Villain's blurry face, peering dizzily at her. He must have lost a lot more blood than he thought.

He could see Villain's mouth moving, but couldn't comprehend what she was saying, too out of it with pain.

Then, all at once, the weight on his back disappeared, along with the hand in his hair, and he was distantly aware of the room's door slamming open.

In his peripheral he could see several figures barge in, and through the buzzing haze in his mind he recognized them as his teammates. They had finally found him.

A rattling breath of relief escaped Hero. His friend's horrified shouts were muffled and warped to him as his hearing went, before his sight followed a heartbeat later. The last thing he was aware of was someone taking the metal cuffs off his wrists before the darkness claimed him completely.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba

[whumpbug]

this little fic is heavily heavily inspired by this post from @whump-kia because i just couldnt get the idea out of my silly brain so i brain vomited onto my notes app

context →

kinda sorta wilderness/sci-fi/apocolypse setting.. it honestly could go all ways but the important factors are 1) they are in a team 2) there are enemies they are on the run from and 3) there isnt really magic healing or anything available

i wrote it as medic kinda being the most competent one in general while leader and teammate are frazzled as hell at the situation and could be read as newer to the team but that isn't necessarily my intention!

whumpee: Medic

caretaker(s): Leader and Teammate

[all characters gender neutral]

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The room fell silent. All eyes were suddenly trained on Medic who threw open the door and staggered in.

With a dagger wedged in their side.

The team had been on the run from enemies for the better part of a week now. Even though they weren't completely in the clear, the team was completely worn out. They all needed a good rest.

They were setting up camp at one of their many bases, and Medic offered to scout the area alone. Leader honestly didn’t think it was a good idea, but they were too preoccupied to think to argue it further.

Now, they sincerely wished they had.

“Medic.. oh god, oh god” whispered Teammate.

“Ambush,” They explained. “It’s.. it’s okay, I took care of it..” Medic replied cooly, but the color was quickly draining from their face. Teammate frowned and continued questioning them, but Leader heard none of it.

Leader took a shaky breath, but their feet were planted. They couldn’t move. They were frozen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. No, Medic was untouchable. Medic was steadfast and reliable, always there when the team needed them.

Medic wasn’t supposed to go out like this. Medic wasn’t supposed to get hurt.

Leader’s breathing hitched again. Their head was reeling. What were they going to do?! No one on the team was qualified to fix this other than the person dripping blood all over the floor, yet it was still Leader’s job to do something. It was too much, it was too—

“Leader.”

Medic’s voice cut through the room like a knife through butter.

“I need you to listen to me. Carefully. Can you do that?”

Leader swallowed the lump in their throat. They nodded.

Medic took another step forward, only for their foot to catch on the ground, sending them stumbling forward. Teammate caught them by the upper arm and unceremoniously lowered them to the ground.

“Alright,” Medic began. Their face was scrunched up in pain. “Leader. I’m going to walk you through how to fix this, okay? I'm going to be fine.”

“Right. Right, I can help you.. just- just tell me what to do.” Leader said, forcing their voice to remain steady.

“Do you see that fire poker over there? I’m going to need you to grab it and stick the end of it into the fire. We want it to get really hot, okay?” Medic explained methodically.

If it weren’t for the blade sticking out of Medic’s middle, you’d think there was nothing even wrong with them. They seemed like everything was under control. They really seemed fine.

But not to their team.

No, their team didn’t miss Medic’s pallor, the way their eyebrows were pinched together, the way the sweat was beading on their brow. Their team didn’t miss the way their hands were trembling, the way their gaze was glassy, and the way they were slumped against the wall, seemingly sapped of their strength.

Medic was fighting to hold on, but it was a losing battle. They really didn’t have much time before they passed out from blood loss, or worse.

Leader’s resolve came back to them all at once. They nodded sharply and did as they were told, sticking the poker into the fire and leaving it on the hearth. While the team waited anxiously for the poker to heat up, Leader took the opportunity to adjust Medic into a more comfortable position against the wall. This earned a strangled grunt from Medic.

“Okay, Leader.. this.. this is important. Once that poker gets red-hot, you’re.. you’re going to have to pull out the blade from my wound and cauterize it.. immediately.” They choked out, shifting to give Leader a better view of their abdomen.

Leader’s face blanched.

“Cauterize?? Why not sutures? Surely that’s less painful,” Leader protested, only to be shushed by Medic raising their hand.

“I don’t have.. I can’t stay awake to walk you through that.. cau.. cauterization is.. quicker..”

Leader could tell Medic was reaching their limit. The wound, despite being partially plugged by the dagger, had been steadily dripping blood for a while now. Leader could tell by the way Medic’s voice was faltering and the way their shoulders were drooping that they were utterly spent. They had to hurry up.

Leader glanced at the fire poker, and upon seeing it burning hot, they grabbed a towel and picked it up.

“Alright. What’s next.”

Medic steeled their nerves and spoke.

“You and Teamate will have to work together. Leader, you’ll.. you’ll need to pull out the dagger and immediately press the poker along th.. the wound.. As soon as you pull it out, it’s going to start bleeding even faster.. you need to seal it immediately, just until the bleeding stops..”

Leader nods, though they hate this with every fiber of their being. They’ve never had to have had a wound cauterized before, thanks to Medic’s dilligency. Still, they know the procedure is agonizing and not one they are thrilled to perform on Medic.

Medic gaze flits to Teammate.

“You.. you have a very important job.. I need.. I’m gonna need you to hold me down. As soon as that metal hits my skin, I’m going to scream. I mean really scream. I’m also going to jerk away. I need you to hold me down, no.. no matter what happens, even if I pass out, so Leader doesn’t end up making the wound worse. Can you do that?”

Teammate frowns, but gives a quick nod. Teammate was always more timid, but now, in this moment, their jaw was set and there was a determined glint in their eyes. By God, they were going to help Medic.

Leader got up and sat on Medic’s legs to restrain them, and held the fire poker at their side. Using their free hand they gently grasped the handle of the blade sticking out of Medic, careful not to jostle it in the wound. Still, Medic inhaled sharply.

Teammate got behind Medic looping their arms behind theirs and holding them tight.

“Alright.. just.. just give me a count down..” Medic said, their voice low.

Leader nodded.

“3.”

Medic sucked in a breath.

“2.”

Teammate tightened their grip.

“1.”

Everything that happened after that countdown couldn’t have been more than 10 seconds, but to Medic, it felt like 10 years.

As soon as the dagger was removed, Leader pressed the hot metal into the wound. The guttural scream that tore from Medic’s throat was nausea-inducing.

Immediately, every muscle in their body seized up as they violently thrashed against the white-hot pain. Medic’s sobs rang out through the entire facility. Everyone in the vicinity flinched at the sound.

Their Medic, their savior, was now reduced to gut-wrenching cries.

Leader adjusted themself to sit on Medic’s thighs, effectively immobilizing them.

Teammate had to yank Medic’s arms down, using all their strength to keep them still.

“I’m sorry.. I’m so sorry..” Teammate whispered softly, tears blurring their vision.

Right as Leader was about to finish sealing the wound, Medic let out a gurgling gasp as their eyes rolled back into their head and they went limp.

“Medic? Hey, Medic?” Teammate mewled, lightly tapping their cheek.

Both Leader and Teammate finally loosened their grip on them and lowered Medic to the ground with as much care as they could muster.

“Hey, c’mon Medic.. wake up for us, yeah?” Leader coaxed, brushing a strand of hair from Medic’s eyes.

Medic’s eyelids finally fluttered open, but they looked utterly exhausted. Their face was streaked with sweat and there were tears tracks lining their pale cheeks. Still, they gave a weak smile.

“You.. you guys did great..” They managed, but not before their eyes slipped close yet again.

Both Leader and Teammate exchanged a laugh at how absurd it was that Medic was praising them for doing well. Still, the worst of it was over and everyone could breathe again. They knew they should get Medic up and into medbay, but they silently agreed to let Medic rest for a few moments longer.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

[aph-centric-fixs]

This is going to hurt

First fic!! I've had this idea for awhile so why not make it my first one?

CW// poor descriptions of Blood, puncture wounds, descriptions of cauterizing wounds, and probably extremely ooc/cringe writing (super shitty ❤️)

Minecraft Diaries:

Aphmau, Laurance, Garroth, Dante x Blacksmith Reader (platonic) (Gender neutral)

No set date/event this takes place. Not really canon oriented.

It was dead at night, but that didn't matter. The houses ran down the path, searching for the village circled on the map. Laurance led the way with the map as Garroth followed close by, though he was more so focused on the lady in his arms. Dante followed up the rear.

An ambush caught them all by surprise, much to the disappointment and embarrassment of all three of the guards. The surprise left Aphmau hurt, an arrow piercing her side and leaving her in agony from it. It didn't go through, staying stuck right in between.

Garroth had wanted to pull out the arrow as soon as possible, but Laurance advised against it. As the three panicked about what to do, Aphmau had grabbed the map from her satchel and circled a little spot on it. It seemed almost random to the three, as there wasn't a city or town marked there, but they decided it was their best bet of keeping her alive.

The closer the three got closer to the location, they could see a fence and light coming from the trees. Laurance called out, practically screaming as the people, assumingly standing guard, panicked and opened the gate for the three.

After the three made it in their horses had come to a halt at their command. Not many houses were lightened, seeing as it was dark most were in bed asleep. Their best bet was a building similar to a blacksmiths. The windows were illuminated and the chimney puffed out consistent smoke.

Garroth got off his horse first, gently pulling Aphmau off and into his arms. Laurance and Dante followed suit, running to the building and banging on the door as Garroth walked as quickly as possible as to not cause more discomfort.

The door swung open and there stood a person in a tunic and smithing gloves. It seemed like they were about to complain until they saw Garroth carrying Aphmau over to the building. Very quickly they opened the door wider and stood out the way for the four to enter. Laurance and Dante moved for Garroth to enter first with Aphmau, following and closing the door behind themselves.

The assumed blacksmith quickly cleared a long table, actually swiping their arms on the table and pushing everything off. Everything made a clang as it fell, but no one seemed to care as a pillow was placed at the head of the table for Aphmau, as she was placed on her side on the table.

Aphmau groaned in pain, clutching where the wound was and curling in on herself to try and alleviate the pain, to no avail.

"I'm (Y/N), no time for your names. I need you-" they pointed to Laurance "to go out and find me a stick, not too long or thick." And he ran outside, not questioning the orders.

"And I need you-" they pointed to Garroth "to put that metal brand in the fire for me" and Garroth followed their orders as well. Neither of them asked questions and quickly went to work.

Dante stood at the head of the table, gently patting Aphmau's head as he watched the commotion. Genuinely he was afraid as well, but he was a little better at containing it. Laurance came back in, practically slamming the door open with a stick in hand. He slammed the door closed and handed it over to them.

"Great! Now you two, get out" (Y/N) said while pointing over to a different door, that led to the other room. Garroth and Laurance looked at each other before raising their voices to object. The idea was quickly shut down as they yelled for the two to shut up. "The more people are in the room, the less likely it'll be for me to help her as easily", and that put them to silence and to the other room.

"Great, now you, what's your name?" They asked, turning to Dante with a smile.

"uh... Dante" He responded, lifting his hands away, ready to be ordered around.

"Nice to meet you Dante. I hope you don't mind blood, there is going to be a lot of it" They nodded, moving around the room a little as they spoke.

Quickly turning around they held up the stick and gently grabbed Aphmau's face. "Bite on this, it'll help" and so she did. Dante reached and grabbed onto Aphmau's hands, keeping her on her side that didn't have the arrow.

"you're good at this" pulling on their gloves to make sure they're on tight before grabbing the arrow. "Here comes the hard part."

They lightly pressed their hand onto Aphmau's stomach, raising the rip in her dress slightly for more room. "This is going to hurt, by the way" they said. Aph made a worried sound, but didn't have much time to complain as they quickly pulled the arrow out in one swift motion.

Aphmau bit down aggressively onto the stick as she screened in pain. Dante continued to hold Aphmau down as she thrashed around, the pain too much to handle for her but yet they persisted.

"Hard part over!" They smiled, holding up the completely intact arrow and inspecting it. Dante looked over at them with a confused face, still holding Aphmau down.

"And the easy part...?" Dante asked hesitantly, almost fearful to ask.

They walked over to the pit, fire encasing the entire thing, and grabbed the metal bar Garroth had placed in it. "Well..." They prolonged, holding up the metal bar, "We've gotta cauterize the wound- to stop the bleeding" They smiled over to him, "right?"

Dante watched in horror as they brought the metal bar down and placed it onto one entrance of the wound, causing Aphmau to screen even more- and Dante swore he heard the stick snap in half.

Suddenly, Aphmau stopped thrashing, practically dead weight in Dante's hold now. Seems she had passed out from the pain. There was still more to be done, as they had turned Aph a little forward to get the back of the wound and close it off too.

"Easy part done!" They dropped the metal bar on the ground, gently laying Aphmau onto her back to rest. Dante took this as his turn to go to Garroth and Laurance to let them know it all went fine.

When the three of them returned into the room, a pillow was placed under Aph's abdomen where the wound was and (Y/N) was wrapping bandages around her abdomen as well.

"Good news, she'll live! I think..." They muttered to themselves before setting the bandages off to the side. "She'll be out for awhile, a couple days or so. Shock and mass amounts of pain do that to people" they shrugged, not bothering to pay attention to the shocked faces on Laurance and Garroth.

"So..." They said, sitting down on a chair and taking off their now blood soaked gloves "Where do you all come from?"

[whumpback-wail]

[how-much-for-a-whump]

WHUMPCEMBER day 5:

Prompt: "Impaled"

Kuruluş Osman 133. Bölüm

@whumpcember

[b0amagination]

Tastes of Whumptober: Day 25

This feels like a Halloween post if I've ever made one. Writing things I didn't know I was capable of. Please heed the warnings, this is more intense than my usual writing!

Content warnings for: threats of death, mild gore via excessive blood, wound manipulation, stabbing, forced consumption of blood, creepy whumper, partial nudity, and stitching wounds.

Again: please do not read if you are sensitive to blood.

Stitches

“How many fucking times?! How many times have I found you doing this same bullshit?!” He slammed his hand down on the table, nails scraping against wood as they curled into a fist. His captive flinched away violently. “You’re terrified, just look at yourself! And yet, every time you’re afforded a bit of freedom, you find another way to test my patience!”

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” They gasped, backing further through the kitchen until they hit the counter. He followed.

“I can see through your act, idiot,” he spat, not swayed as he usually may have been. Their eyes widened, just enough to betray their shock. “I know. You think this is a little routine now, don’t you? I throw you back to the basement and you play nice until I give you another chance?”

His hips pressed against theirs and he loomed over, forcing them to lean away. Wild brown eyes searched for an answer, pupils dilated to nothing.

“I don’t! I swear to you!” One finger curled in their collar ring, nearly lifting them off the ground with the force of the pull. His nose pressed into theirs, breath seeping into their pores.

“Wrong. Answer.” A guttural yell and he threw them to the floor. “You think I can’t hurt you! That’s your problem. You don’t think I’d go further.”

Their head had hit the tile and it took a few seconds to remember anything at all. The click of a lock sounded and then metal on metal, sliding and reverberating. They managed to kneel up and look back, only to see him brandishing a boning knife.

“You know what? No. You don’t even think I’ve thought further. You don’t think I have ideas I’ve forced myself to hold back from. That I could indulge in at any moment.” They were cornered, trapped in between the counters and a… dangerous place.

“I don’t think any of that! I’ll go back to the basement, I’ll never try again, you can keep me there the rest of my life! You’re acting crazy!”

“Oh, am I?!” he shouted. “Last time I checked, the definition of insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting something to change!” Screaming, he was screaming now, dropping to his knees, dragging them by an ankle. “I’m giving you what you want! Something! Is! CHANGING!”

His knee on their left thigh, forcing it flat, then pushing their legs apart.

“STOP!” They sat up too quickly, flailed, pushing at his leg even as their vision swam.

“I’ve cut you on broad, safe surfaces. But I always wanted to cut down through creases.” What he lacked in volume he made up for in dead certainty, but his hands were still trembling with rage. “Right where your arteries run. Just to see what would happen.”

He traced the crease where their thigh joined their pelvis and a palm smacked down to protect it. 

“Stop touching me. Put the knife away and-!”

The knife stabbed through their hand.

The

Knife

Stabbed

Through

Their

Hand.

Disbelief couldn’t scream until he wrenched it out. And they wailed. Blood poured from both ends, and god it was just the edge, through the muscles of their pinky, missing bone, but one wound was gushing from two points. Their other hand clamped over it. Out of sight. Keep it out of sight.

“You’re pale. I wonder, where’s your blood gone?” Sick pleasure. That’s what he was getting. Holy fuck. “But I hardly nicked your thigh.”

And it slid directly into the crease, too hard, too quick, too deep. His face was red. Splattered. Bright. Dripping. Then the cabinet. It sprayed. Blood sprayed. 

“Your femoral artery.” That smile was coated in it. “That’s what I hit.” And he was looking, his fingers-

“PLEASE! PL-EEEEEEAH-SE…!” Pushing into the cut, triggering some reflex deep beneath their consciousness and they were convulsing back on their elbows, black static, not enough to hide crimson pushing up their shirt, shoving into their mouth. It was skin and nail, human, but it was iron, human, pressing down their tongue, dripping down their throat, dripping down the cabinet, dripping dripping dripping.

He was back with a sewing kit. He had left. But he was back. Their ears were ringing.

And they were bleeding out on their back and he asked them “you understand now, don’t you? You have another leg. You have two arms. You have a neck. The most important ones are in the neck, you know. Could I slit it and still save you?”

He was threading a needle: a straight sewing needle.

“You- you need a… a surgical…”

“This is all I got. You’ll have to deal.”

“911…”

“You’re stupider than I thought. Scream.”

Fingers pinched raw edges together, pulling hard, forcing the needle through. Pulling harder when the thread knotted. They screamed. They didn’t know they still could.

“What do you think? Ten? Eleven? Come on, look and make yourself useful.” The collar pulled and they were sitting up, listing to the side. There was a puddle under them. Their pant leg was cut away, and the leg of their underwear. All scarlet.

He must have let them go. He said this was number five. Then number eight. He was out of his mind, he couldn’t count, and they were dying.

“I think it’s still bleeding.” Swiping across the sealed seam. Their body couldn’t hurt anymore, but it prickled through the darkness. Then smoke. Burning.

Fire in his hand, his lighter, under the knife. The blade black with ash.

“Cauterization. Something else I always wanted to try.”

They faded out, then.

[aceofwhump]

Casanova (2005)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

GIVE US A WIP SNIPPET YOU ARE PROUD OF!!

I mean... I guess I could...

CW: Amputation, religious homophobia, religious fanatics, horror

-

The Singer herself leaned down, to look him right in the eyes. She held him by the chin, forcing him to look at her. “I will forgive that. Fear is powerful, and sometimes we make mistakes in the grip of fear. We will agree that it is natural to fear for your life, when you have sinned so greatly against your goddess.”

            Aidan screamed, wordlessly, as loudly as he could, right into her face. She didn't even flinch. She barely even blinked. Aidan's own vision blurred with tears.

            “I understand,” She said, softly. Her voice oozed with delight and she could barely keep the smile off her face. She reached out and took his left forearm in her hand. “Your price will be paid with blood as well,” She said, this time projecting for the crowd. “Aidan Garnes, you have used your right hand to sin against the Mother of the Rock by seeking carnal pleasure with another man. In penance for this perversion, we will remove your left.”

            Aidan’s vision, his entire existence, suddenly became centered in the fingers on his left hand. He had never seen his fingernails, with dirt underneath them, in such detail. He’d never realized how long his fingers were, never even really thought about his hands beyond their usefulness. He let out a muffled groan behind the gag.

            “Pay the price," The Singer said, almost gently. "You have already lost your family, given them up for the sake of momentary pleasures and the sickness in your heart. Now... you will go into punishment for the time it takes you to recover. Return to us an outcast, and live your days alone knowing that your perversion will be visible to anyone who sees you. You will be given a new name. You will never speak to your former family again. You will live among us in shadow.” She looked back up at the crowd, pitching her voice higher, effortlessly projecting. “As the Mother herself ordered written, those who seek unnatural carnal knowledge will make all of Morlofte unclean! As it is written, the price to purify us is the blood of the criminal!”

            “He pays in blood! It is as written!" After a moment, the crowd began to repeat it, over and over, it is as written, until they were pressing forward, jostling to be at the front of the crowd. Their words ran together as Aidan stared at his hand.

            The Singer leaned down and gently closed his fingers into a fist. It didn’t even occur to him to do anything but obey her, even though he shuddered at her touch. Then, she laid his arm down, with the inside of his wrist facing up, on the wooden block. Aidan’s breath came faster and faster, dark spots dancing at the corner of his vision, threatening to grow into blindness. The third guard stepped in to hold it down and she pulled back and away. 

One of the original two guards handed the Singer an axe.

            “It is my solemn duty to mete out the sentence declared by order of the Mother Herself. I weep for you,” The Singer said, smiling so broadly he could have counted each and every one of her teeth. The fire danced and sparkled in her eyes, making them something more than human. Something less.

            She swung the axe up, holding it for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. Aidan heard a scream, as if from very far away, and realized belatedly he was the one screaming.

“My people belong to me,” The Singer whispered. "Only me. Always... me. You belong to me."

The pendant of the Mother’s Hand over his chest suddenly burned like a brand.

She brought the axe down so hard it stuck into the wood and she could not pull it free again.

There was a hush of one second, two seconds, three-

            Aidan’s eyes suddenly bulged. His scream became a high-pitched, animalistic thing. He thrashed helplessly but the guards held him fast. Blood poured from the wound, the hideous open flesh and bone that had been a secret to him all his life, now laid horribly bare for all to see. The crowd stared, suddenly wide-eyed and silent, children beginning to wail in earnest. Their mothers held them tight, but still no one turned away. No one wanted the Singer to notice them unable to bear the sight.

            Lars stood right at the front of them all, just off to the side. His jaw was set, something like determination in his expression. He had not flinched when the axe came down. Aidan saw nothing there, in his expression, but he knew too well the fire in front of him didn't burn half so hot as the fire inside Lars now.

            The Singer leaned down and picked up Aidan’s left hand, fingers still curled tightly into a fist. As though the hand that had been attached to his left wrist just seconds ago was a strange and disturbing toy. One finger twitched, and Aidan could have sworn he felt the movement.

One of the guards pulled something from the fire, metal bright red in color laced with orange, and Aidan stared, jerking back a moment too late.

The flat, hot metal pressed to his wound. Aidan felt only a moment of agony before his eyes rolled back and he collapsed forward in a heap.

The Singer quirked a smile down at him, then tossed the hand lightly into the fire to burn.

[foundfamilywhump]

A being badly wounded and B having no option but to cauterise it to stop the bleeding.

B apologising the whole time, feeling awful and guilty and just as bad as the whumpers. A understanding why it’s necessary but can’t hold back a scream.

Particularly delicious when one or both of them has trauma around burns/fire.

oh cauterization, an eternal whump favourite for a reason!!! that's prime 'have to hurt them to help them' territory. the guilt, how hard it is at the time. having to hold A down while doing it, even. maybe it's B by themself, so they have to hold A down and cauterize the wound at the same time, or maybe there's other people around to help. no matter what, it's awful, and sure to haunt both of their nightmares for days to come.

thinking about A asking for B's help caring for the wound after. maybe it's an olive branch to B to show 'really, truly, i don't blame you, i know you didn't want to hurt me, i still trust you.' maybe there are no other options, and they both have to figure out how to

and boy, if there wasn't trauma for one or both of them around burns/fire before there sure is now!

[macgyvermedical]

Improv surgery scene form the blacklist to review: here

So I actually had 2 people ask about this scene:

C

Excellent description/depiction of shock

At least he tried to clean his instruments

And there was a realistic amount of blood

Technically a torn femoral is worse than a severed femoral because a severed femoral actually constricts and bleeds less.

Again with the disinfectant- it hurts but/and it's useless

Say it with me kids: cauterization is never the answer

Also there was a really badly applied tourniquet- we couldn't have just applied that better? Put another one on? There was plenty in this scene to improvise one.

[isamajor]

June of Doom : day 21 to 25

Penultimate batch of drabble before closing @juneofdoom !

21 . “Let’s play a game."

The faint glow of the blue orb in the center of the room caught everyone's attention. The Dragonborn, cautiously, reached out to touch it. In an instant, a metal cage trapped them and the light began to circle around the group, emitting shrill sounds.

“What the hell did you do?” Kadain muttered, his eyes wide with worry.

Instinctively, everyone gathered in the center of the cage, ready to draw at the first threat.

But before anyone could react further, the orb sank into the pedestal. The ground beneath them shook, then gave way, and the cries of surprise turned into screams of panic. (102)

•

22 . “What’s the bad news?” 

The Dragonborn was bedridden, feverish and pale.

“The bad news?” they asked in a weak voice.

Xelzaz, holding a dagger that he heated with his flames, looked grim. "The wound is infected. It needs to be cauterized."

They grimaced. “There’s nothing else you can do?”

Xelzaz shook his head. "It's the only way to stop the infection from spreading. It's either this or..."

The Dragonborn swallowed hard.

"Nebarra, Lucifer, I need you two to hold them tight."

As Xelzaz pressed the red-hot blade to the wound, the burning pain made the Dragonborn scream, eyes wide with agony, struggling violently against the guys grip. (103)

•

23 . “You’re doing great.”  

Lucien looked at his trembling hands, remnants of magic still crackling at his fingertips. The battlefield was littered with the charred remains of their enemies. His heart was pounding, fear and horror twisting his guts. Inigo approached, his eyes shining with admiration.

“Lucien, it was incredible!”

Inigo placed a reassuring hand on Lucien's shoulder, his eyes filled with admiration. "You're doing great, my friend. That was some impressive magic."

Lucien looked down at his hands which wouldn't stop trembling. He was certainly proud of his mastery, but having to use his magic in such circumstances left a bitter taste in his mouth. (104)

•

24 . “Let’s get you cleaned up.”   (Stitches/Bandages)

Nebarra's hands shook as he slowly removed his helmet, revealing the wound and his face beneath. Taliesin tried not to stare too much into the mercenary's youthful face. He knelt beside Nebarra, and carefully cleaned the wound, then began to stitch it up with precise, but delicate movements. Nebarra winced, but didn't flinch away, allowing Taliesin to finish his work. The silence was heavy, full of unsaid words.

"Done." Taliesin said softly, carefully wrapping Nebarra's head with bandages. He then handed Nebarra his helmet, and their eyes met briefly.

"Thank you." Nebarra muttered, his voice hoarse. (100)

•

25 . “I should have listened to you.” (Guilt)

Lydia took a dim view of the fact that the Dragonborn was pillaging the offerings in the funeral urns. These ruins were the burial grounds of her ancestors and she felt guilty for following her thane on these kinds of adventures. She had tried to reason with them on this point, but the lure of the treasures that these ruins could abound were the strongest. Lydia didn't dare look into the blue eyes of the Draugr, as she imagined the looks of her ancestors full of disapproval for what she was doing : disturbing their age-old sleep. (98)

[jumpywhumpywriter]

"I Want You to Scream" -- Hero Tortured by Villain, Intimate Whumper part 1

Warnings: chains/restraints, severe torture, blood, cauterization, iron rod branding, knives, intimate whump, etc.

(Villain whumper is she/her Hero whumpee is he/him)

Villain slowly slunk towards her victim with predatory grace, who was chained up and pinned so nicely on the bed.

It was Hero, her prized whumpee, at her mercy at last after so many months of battle.

Hero was tied down on the bed, completely exposed and vulnerable only in underwear.

His eyes tracked every one of Villain's movements around the room as she fished out her phone from a pocket, aiming it and taking several pictures of Hero's restrained form with a coy smile.

Hero's skin burned with shame, and he desperately wished he could cover up, but there was nothing he could do but lay sprawled out on the soft mattress. Metal cuffs were on each wrist and ankle, attached to the furthest parts of the bed that strained his muscles to their absolute limit until they were aching and sore.

"W-What are you doing?" He snapped, and the Villain's smile widened.

"Why, I'm ruining your flawless reputation, of course!" She laughed coldly. "I wonder what your friends and the citizens you're supposed to protect will think when they see that you've been sleeping around with the very villain you were supposed to save them from. I imagine they'll turn against you, don't you think? You'll become just as much of an enemy to the city as I am! Isn't that exciting?"

Hero's gut twisted violently at the thought. There had been one hero in the past he knew of that had done such a thing with a villain, and the citizens had been so enraged they attacked and killed them in a riot, even if it was partially accidental. And it was all Current Hero's fault. He had exposed the affair to the public, having no clue the citizens were capable of such violence.

Hero desperately hoped his friends and teammates would understand. He hoped they would see the fear in his eyes in those pictures, and realize that he was trapped, not pleasing the Villain in some wicked game.

Villain came over to sit on the edge of the bed, giving him a mockingly sympathetic look.

"You know, hero... I used to be in your shoes. So eager to please, to be loved by the citizens of the city," she said icily. "Until I realized that they weren't worth the effort. They'd turn on you the first chance they got, no matter how long you've protected and looked after them."

Hero's brow furrowed in confusion. What on earth was she talking about?

Villain chuckled pityingly at the puzzled expression on his face. "You'll figure it out eventually." She patted his shoulder condescendingly.

Hero's mind whirred trying to figure out what she could possibly mean as Villain got up from the bed, walking over to a dresser and rifling through the contents of the top drawer, before pulling out a small but wickedly sharp knife. Hero's chest seized with fresh fear, eyeing her warily as she returned to the bed.

He cried out in pain as she pushed him down into the mattress, putting even more stress and tension on his already over-strained muscles and joints. Then it suddenly clicked.

"Wait... are you the hero that went rogue?" He sputtered.

Villain smiled wolfishly down at him, her voice dropping low and dangerous. "Bingo," she whispered maliciously.

"But... how? You were killed!" Hero couldn't believe his eyes anymore. A good amount of time had passed since Former Hero's presumed death... but now that Current Hero was looking closer... he recognized Villain.

"No, dear one, I did not die," Villain said coldly. "The villain I was in love with was the man who was killed in that bloody riot. They killed him as an act of revenge against me for 'betraying them', in their eyes. They stole him from me and butchered him. That's when I realized the people of this city deserved to suffer, not be saved by a knight in shining leather. After everything I did for them as a hero... and they still ruined my life by killing the one I loved." She grinned wickedly, tracing her fingers up Hero's bare chest before booping him on the nose.

"And now you are being exposed in the same way you once exposed me. As a filthy. Dirty. Liar. Having an affair with a villain. So poetic, isn't it? I may be a bit theatrical when it comes to revenge..." She hummed to herself, tracing lines along the sensitive parts of his skin teasingly.

Hero shuddered and twitched at the light touches, flinching every time her cold fingers brushed his body as she shifted from those deceptively gentle touches to rubbing her hands on his broad shoulders, pushing him down even further until he felt like his arms might dislocate at any second from the sheer pressure of the chains holding them taut.

"Please..." Hero let out a pathetic groan, the stretching pain was almost too much to bear. "Please... I'm sorry for the pain I caused you... please let me go... I promise I will leave you alone."

Villain let go of his shoulders and tapped her chin thoughtfully, dramatically pretending to think it through.

"Mmmhmm, a tempting offer, but I think not." She smiled viciously, eyes narrowed and full of hate and venom hiding deep-seated pain and grief as she leaned closer, looming over him and dropping her head to the side of his face.

"I want you to scream like my lover screamed when your precious citizens murdered him in cold blood," she hissed in his ear, then placed a mocking kiss on his neck, before planting another on his cheek as she pulled back.

Hero shivered with sudden terror, feeling violated as Villain invaded his space. His heart sank with dread. Villain had earned a reputation for being violent and vicious... and now Hero was the center of her attention, and at her mercy, which was a very, very bad place to be.

"Wait--We can talk about this--" Hero started trying to negotiate, but his words turned into a blood curdling shriek of agony as Villain suddenly dug her knife hard into his shoulder without warning, deep enough to scrape bone.

Hero thrashed and writhed as much as the chains would allow as she slowly started carving a bloody emblem into his shoulder, taking her sweet time to make it look nice, a mark of ownership. Her victim screamed wildly, unable to out-scream the pain as the sharp blade plunged into his flesh over and over again with detailed precision and skill.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba

[whumpneto]

+ bonus:

Antonio Banderas as El Mariachi in Desperado (1995) (Part One)

[sunshiline-writes]

COLORS OF THE END #2: Silver of the Knife

Synopsis: Isobele gets revenge. CW: Child soldiers, stabbing, blood, GORE GORE GORE, hallucinations, bug hallucinations, really graphic description of gore and wounds, cauterization, lady whump, Ben and Isobele's ceaseless bickering even as one of them is dying, pain, passing out due to pain, I think that's it??? let me know if I missed anything Previous | Masterlist | Next Word count: 2.9k

It only took a moment. A moment's distraction. A singular glint of something familiar to pull her attention away from what was important. A flash of something from her past. It was just a doll. A singular doll made from cloth. Clearly hand stitched. Peeking out from under a tent. Isobele didn’t know why it called to her like so, but she couldn’t help herself. She crouched, grabbing it, examining it in her hand. Ben and Jeremiah were talking on the other end of the camp, she could hear their voices. Talking idly about something she couldn’t be bothered about. 

Isobele heard him before she felt him. His foot rustled the tent. She spun around to face him, if she couldn’t see him, her power wouldn’t work. But she saw his eyes, he was already too close. The knife slid in like butter. Just beneath her left rib cage. It slid out just as easily. Her hand grabbed the wrist, twisting. He grunted, kicking her backwards with a foot to her stomach. “You killed the kid. He was.. He was just a kid,” he whispered as he turned around, ready to run. 

There was nowhere to run for him. Her breath caught in her throat. Hand covering her wound. She ignored the burning pain, the way every breath seemed to send more blood on her hand. She was ripped apart from the inside. Isobele shook her head, she needed to focus. Focus on what was in front of her. Push through the pain. She’d done this before. She could do it again. “I don’t see any kids here,” Isobele said, voice soft. 

The man's head was not hard to get into, she ripped through it with relative ease. A name was in the forefront of his mind. Julius. Not his name. His name was unimportant though. She just needed a few pictures, some images and she could create something new. Something horrifying. 

“All I see is you.” 

His own hands were covered in blood. Not his blood. It traveled up his arms, under his shirt, up to his neck. Over his chin, into his mouth. He was choking on it. He wasn’t choking, but he felt like he was, hands going to his throat. Scratching at it. 

No survivors. 

Bugs crawling over him, into his mouth, the hand with the knife, glints in the light. Silver and red. A reflection. The knife carves into the soft flesh of his throat, splitting it down the middle. The knife falls into the dirt. His hands dug into the skin, poking and prodding. Pulling. Strings of muscle and she could see the bone in his throat. His trachea was open to the world. Blood spills down his front, completely covering his chest. Honestly, it’s a wonder he’s still alive as he falls to his knees. Gurgling sounds coming from him. One last push, more feelings of something crawling there. His own hand grabbed his trachea, fingers around the bone, and she saw him pull. More choking sounds, and the light in his eyes dies. He fell forward, his hand outstretched. His trachea was in his hand, covered in red and bits of pink. 

Her job was finished and the pain came back tenfold. Her breathing was labored and she finally mustered the strength to call out. 

“Benjamin! Jeremiah!” she calls, grunting as she forces herself to a standing position. “Come here for a second…” Her world spun and she took a step forward. The pain shooting down her leg, up inside her ribs. 

“Oh shit.. Oh shit. Issy,” Ben screeched, immediately rushing to her side, arm around her waist, holding her up. “Why the fuck would you get stabbed at a time like this huh?” 

“What like I had a choice?” she bit out. 

“Could have gotten stabbed closer to the train. You’d bleed less.” 

“You’re a dick.”  “Guys stop,” said Jeremiah, staring at the treeline. Probably gauging whether they could make it to the train before she bled out. That would be nice, she was actually quite keen on not dying. Besides it would be a real strike to her ego if she died from something as stupid as a stab wound. As Jeremiah calculated, Ben got to work. Pressing his own hand to her side. 

“Pressure Issy. Lots of pressure.” Isobele hissed through her teeth, groaning. Finally she let herself lean against him, her world spinning for a moment. Vision going grey. She bit down the nausea in her stomach, crawling its way up her throat. She was so tired suddenly and she slumped forward. 

“No. No. Come on Isobele. Do not pass out right now. I swear to everything, I will kill you if you die.” 

Oh, full name, she was in trouble now wasn’t she? 

“We need to cauterize it,” came the voice in front of her. Jeremiah’s soft and still cracking voice. God he was so young. “She’s bleeding too much. We need to do it now.” 

“Yeah.. Yeah.. Do what he says. For once the kid is right,” Isobele agreed, as Benjamin started to set her down. He left her sitting up against a box of supplies, she held her hand over her wound. Her throat felt like it was closing. Why did she want to cry? She was not going to die here. That was just an embarrassing thought.  

She didn’t realize that Ben and Jeremiah were arguing until she looked at them again. Oh, she must have blacked out a little. Their words came flooding back into her head. “Jeremiah you have to. Come on. You have to heat up the knife, Isobele doesn’t have her daggers and even if she did she’s too weak to charge it herself.” 

“No! I don’t want to. I’ll lose control and.. and.. I can’t control it that well.” “Yes you can. You have to Jem. Come on. If you don’t she will die. Do you want her to die, Jem?” 

Jeremiah stepped away from Benjamin, who was holding the knife that had been used to stab her. It glinted in the light. Even covered in blood it still shined. Isobele found herself wondering if she could be like that too. Still silver even under the cover of blood. 

“You’re scaring him Ben. You keep that up and this whole place goes up into ash. Including us. I actually plan on making it back to the rendezvous. What about you? Calm down, take a deep breath. I’m not going to die here if you just think for a moment, idiot.” 

Ben turned to her, eyes wide, then he glanced at Jeremiah. Jeremiah was panicking too, breathing fast, static was filling the air. Slowly, Ben approached the kid. One hand snaked around Jeremiah’s head, cradling it and he pressed his forehead against his. “Hey kid, breathe. I’m sorry. I got scared. Let it get the best of me. Won’t happen again I swear. But you’re in control here okay? You’ve got it. Deep breaths and you can do it.” 

Jeremiah’s hand shook but he gripped the sharp end of the knife. Static in the air once again. There was silence for a moment before the knife’s color changed from silver to the orange of fire. Ben smiled.

“Good. Good,” Ben said softly, as Jeremiah retracted his hand wincing. It was cut and it smelled like burnt flesh. “We’ll get you cleaned up when we get back okay?” Then Ben kneeled down over her legs, lifting her shirt to reveal the wound. She winced as the shirt stuck to it. It was open and as she uncovered it with her hand, more blood gushed out. Ben hissed through his teeth, holding the knife over the wound. So close she could feel the heat. 

Isobele couldn’t look at it, instead she just looked at him. She looked at Benjamins brown eyes that meant safety. Swallowing thickly she nodded. 

“Do you need something to bite on or–” 

“Geez, just do i-” 

Isobele screamed. 

Her world went black. She was back home in her hammock, staring at the clouds. Silver. They were silver. Not clean silver like the knife she could see her reflection in, but a grey silver that seemed angry and tired. 

She came to in Benjamins arms. He was carrying her with his hands under her knees, the other around the small of her back. Oh god, she was never going to live this one down was she? She could hear him now. 

I saved your life, blah blah blah. 

Gross. She’d never admit to it. 

It was a slow trek through the forest, mostly quiet save for Ben’s slow humming of a song she didn’t recognize. 

“I can see your eyes open, I know you’re awake.” 

“Barely,” she groaned, “tell anyone back at base about this and I will kill you.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, kill me when you can stand upright by yourself,” Ben said with a small laugh. He shifted her in his arms and pain shot through her body. Up in her stomach and down into her legs. She was on fire. Isobele whimpered and shook her head. 

“Ben,” Isobele whispered, “It hurts.” 

“I know. We’ll get you to Sonya and she’ll heal you up okay?” There was a tension in his voice. Worry? She ignored that. She always ignored it so that it didn’t have to live in her head that Ben cared about her. It was easier to deal with if she pretended that they hated each other.  

Jeremiah whistled lowly, signaling something. They stopped moving, listening, and waiting. A few seconds later a whistle came through the forest, sharp and loud. They all looked at each other, then stepped through the foliage. 

Zachary stood next to the train, leaning against the sleek metal flipping a coin in his hand. She never understood his obsession with that coin. They didn’t even use coins like that anymore. Only in areas where they held onto old ways, too afraid to change. But most people used batteries now, they were way more valuable than some old coin with a dead guy's face on it.

The man pushed himself to stand straighter, staring at them. The disappointment was written all over him. It made her stomach do a flip. Zachary was always disappointed in them. Somehow there was always something they could do better, something they could improve on. Nothing was ever satisfactory. 

Zachary walked up to them and looked at the wound for a moment, leaning down and pressing a hand gently on it. It set fire under her skin. She squirmed away and looked up at Ben, whose face was carefully neutral. Even if his grip had tightened slightly. 

“What happened?” Zachary asked, his voice smooth, brows furrowed in worry.

“She got hurt. We need Sonya,” Ben said, voice shaking a bit. 

“Jeremiah what happened to her?” 

Jeremiah seemed to appear from nowhere, stepping up beside Ben. Zachary always asked him for the truth, because he always told it. Jem was annoying like that. Always following orders perfectly and telling the truth. The good thing was, Isobele was the only one who truly knew what happened. She pictured the man’s trachea in his hand, covered in blood and muscle. There was a certain pride that she took in her work. In the way that she could make people do what she wanted, see what she wanted. She was strong enough to make a man tear out his own throat with his bare hands. She wasn’t strong enough to stop him from stabbing her first though. 

“I’m not sure, Sir. She was alone when we caught up with her. She had already been stabbed and the man was dead. Isobele killed him. Sir, he tore out his own throat. It was impressive. There was-” 

Zachary raised his hand to stop Jeremiah from speaking and the boy's mouth clamped shut. “That’s enough. Take her inside. I’ll have Terry set her up with an IV and pain killers,” he said sighing, “I’ll talk to you later about paying attention to your surroundings. You let someone sneak up on you. You could have died.” 

She almost did. Isobele cringed slightly at the reprimand. Ignoring the urge to hide her face in Ben’s shoulder. Resisting the urge to put a thought into Zachary’s head about crawling under the train and letting it cut him in half when it started moving. 

Ben huffed a breath, “Can we go inside now? She isn’t as light as she looks and my arms are going numb.” 

“You’re an ass,” she grumbled. 

Zachary sighed, stepping aside. Placing a hand on Ben’s shoulder and whispering something in his ear that Isobele couldn’t hear. Ben’s jaw tensed and he nodded, stepping up on the train steps and carrying her inside. 

__ 

The rest of it, getting the IV, everything was a blur. She blamed that on the painkillers. On the brightside, she was able to sleep through most of the train ride back. Sleeping ten out of twelve hours was something she didn’t do often and she was grateful at the opportunity. When she woke up, her head felt like it was filled with cotton. Everything blurred but there was one thing that was clear in her vision. Jeremiah, he sat in the chair across from her, one leg crossed over the other, book in his hand in the dim light. His hands were bandaged, again.

“Oh,” he said softly. “You’re awake. You slept a lot. Ben told Zachary to let you.” 

“How long have I been asleep?” she asked, moving to set up, fire spread through her abdomen and she cringed. Maybe sitting up wasn’t the best idea. “No Sonya?” she asked. 

“No she’s back at base, she’ll heal you when you get there.” “Oh.” Jeremiah hummed, closing his book and he looks up at her. He’s got odd eyes. The kid had always had odd eyes. One light blue, like ice, the other so black you could drown in them. He had a soft voice, a soft demeanor. He was soft all around. Jeremiah was also stupidly tall for a fourteen year old. Or perhaps she was just stupidly small. 

Jeremiah leaned forward and pulled something from his back pocket. It glints in the light. The knife. The one that stabbed her. She reached for it, grabbing it by the handle and looking it over. It’s heavy, heavier than she thought. The handle is carved from wood. In the wood is carved a V. She thumbs with the sharpness, impressed. It makes a soft sound when she flicks her thumb across. Perfect. 

“Thought you might want to add it to the collection,” he said, shrugging and leaning back. 

“Yeah. It’s a nice dagger.” 

“Shiny,” he agreed awkwardly. God he was so fucking awkward. What was it? The murder at age twelve? Or was it just his regular personality? Either way it was fucking strange. Jeremiah was strange. 

“You’re fucking weird kid,” She commented, flipping the knife in her hand. 

“Thank you,” Jeremiah said, tilting his head to the side. “I have something else for you.” 

“What is it?” 

Jeremiah pulled something out of his front pocket. A paper. He unfolded it slightly and it came to life. A small paper crane. Perhaps a homage to one of their first meetings. When Isobele was a grand age of eleven and Jem was a shy eight year old. She held out her hand and he gently transferred it to her palm. 

It was an old memory, a fond one. One of her only ones when it came to Jeremiah. He hadn’t talked when he first came to them. Zachary said that he was just adjusting, Isobele believed that he just had nothing to say. It was after a particularly hard day of pushing herself, of training too hard like usual. She sat in the hallway outside of the arena, catching her breath. Jeremiah came out to join her. Placed a paper crane in her hand. 

She made it look like it was flying, and had it soar around the hallway. Just like now as she made it look like it was flying around the room. It flew by Jeremiah’s head, and around her own. It flew toward the window and landed on the sill. They watched for a moment before the illusion flickered and the crane stayed still in her hand. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. Something digging at her chest, making her throat close. Jeremiah was a kind soul. If he had the choice he’d probably never hurt a fly. Yet here he was, making sure that there were no survivors in a rebel camp. And gifting her silver knives and paper cranes. 

“I figured you could use something good,” he said with a smile, patting the bed twice and standing up, moving to leave. 

“You don’t have to go. You could stay.” 

“And do what?” 

She glanced at the book in the boy's hand. “Tell me about your book.” 

Jeremiah’s face brightened and he sat down again, starting to talk. She was barely listening, she just didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t seem to mind as she stared out the window. She thumbed her finger over the carved V in the handle, vaguely wondering what the name of the man was that she killed. That she made carve out his own throat. 

It didn’t matter, she decided, he was dead anyway. 

__ Taglist: @coyotehusk