#tw cauterizing

[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

[hhoneycloves]

This time, Host was clumsy. This time, Host left himself vulnerable. This time, finally, the dice were in Mind's favor.

[ananxiousgenz]

HEY Y'ALL YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT THIS IS!!!!! (it's more cowboy au FINALLY)

it has been. A Time!!!! @percy-mawce-arts and i have been getting our asses kicked by life so this au was sitting on the backburner for a while but we finally got this chapter finished and reviewed (after it had been sitting for like two months whispering creepily into my ear at night while i tried to sleep-) and we are SO very excited to show y'all the next chapter of When The Land Was Godless And Free!!!!

this chapter is a BEAST (word count says it's around 3.4K) and takes place right after arthur helps john out after being shot.

tw for brief mention of cauterization!!

Sometimes, John really fucking hated being human. He’d decided long ago that it was simply a hassle. That it would be easier to be a lizard, or a coyote, or a hawk. And from the day of his birth onward, life had only proven that theory correct. There were days where the pain, stress, awkwardness and confusion just made him want to crawl out of his skin. Days when he would rather rip off his fingernails than spend another minute talking to someone he disliked or asking for help he should have handled himself. 

The past week had just been chock full of those days.

The first few of them John couldn’t recall with much clarity. He had the strangest idea that his mind had been tampered with, leaving him only able to remember bright, blurry moments of the days he’d missed with a feverish sort of quality. Searing pain in his side as the stars twinkled like diamonds above before he slipped away into blissful unconsciousness. His cheek pressed against Akke’s silky mane, watching the distant blue horizon tremble with motion. A wooden door opening with a creaking that felt like it was stabbing through his eardrums. A shaft of sunlight falling across his face, illuminating motes of dust in its path as someone hummed a distant melody. Pain, always pain, throbbing in his side and never letting go. 

After so long swimming in half-darkness, stuck between awake and unconscious, John finally pulled himself fully out of limbo and into the unpleasantness of the waking world. His eyelids almost felt like they had been glued shut, and it took considerable effort to pry them open and see the world again. Once he had, he almost wondered if he was still in a dream, a shifting moment in the winds that would be blown away the second he blinked.

The stuffy room he was in had dark walls, lit by only a window with simple calico curtains to his left. He was lying tucked into the corner by the window, in a real bed with blankets and pillows and a nice mattress of all things. He hadn’t slept in a real bed since… Christ, at least since boarding school, and even calling that a “bed” was generous. A wooden bedside table sat at his right,  with unused bandages and half-eaten bowls of soup scattered atop it, and a chair beside it. It was unoccupied, with only an empty gun holster hanging over one side of the backrest, but it didn’t take much for John to guess that it had seated a recently seated a person. John guessed it was some time after noon, seeing as the sun was still high and bright enough to illuminate the room. It had been night the last time he was awake, hadn’t it? Evening, maybe?

He couldn’t remember for the life of him how he had gotten here, much less why.

John made the poor decision to try sitting up. The moment he so much as tried to lift his head, the muscles in his abdomen tensed and a sharp pain shot through his side (that’s right, he had been shot, hadn’t he?), forcing him to collapse back against the pillow with a groan and a cough.

He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, listening to the ambiance of the structure where he was currently sheltered, a cabin of some kind. It creaked slightly in the wind, which he could hear rattling away at the window panes. But otherwise the room was silent. He could hear no footsteps, voices, moving furniture, crackling fires, records being played, nothing to indicate that another human being was anywhere in his vicinity. He was alone. 

No, he wasn’t. In a moment of blind panic, John remembered Akke. Where was she? He didn’t hear any horses outside. She couldn’t have been left behind, she would have followed him… wouldn’t she? 

Despite the roaring pain in his side, John fought to sit up and look out the window with gritted teeth, bracing himself against the windowsill with a white-knuckled grip. There was no sign of her, just a wooden fence, empty land, and miles of clear blue sky overhead. 

John’s breathing began to speed up. Akke had been the only sure thing in his life since he left boarding school. She had saved his life in more ways than one, and he would do anything to keep her safe. If she was gone… Well. John wasn’t sure what he would do to whoever brought him here, but he knew it wouldn’t be pretty.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed with a wince and braced himself for the pain that would hit when he put weight on his feet. He was going to find her. Screw the pain. Screw the nauseating, dizzying pain splitting through his abdomen as he rose to his feet. Screw the way the world tilted and his vision began to fade. Screw the way he swayed on his feet. He had to make sure she was safe, he had to… he…

He hadn’t realized he was falling until a pair of strong arms stopped him from hitting the floor. His side pulled and searing pain had him screaming through gritted teeth.

“Calm down, John! Christ, what were you thinking?” That voice, John knew that voice. Smooth, with a fucking British accent. It was the Sheriff. What was his name, Adam? Alistair?

“Arthur?” John managed, trying his hardest not to throw up as Arthur helped sit him down again. “Arthur what… where-where…” Where am I? Where is Akke?

“You’re alright, John, you’re alright,” Arthur said, quietly, brushing a strand of hair from John’s eyes. His hand was like a cool balm against John’s forehead, and it was only then that John noticed how hot he was. It felt like he was lying in a furnace, he was sweating like a pig and his chest was heaving (though that was partially from panic). Arthur frowned and pressed his hand to John’s forehead more intentionally, then his cheek, then his neck. John couldn’t help but sigh every time his comparatively icy hand broke the heat radiating off of his skin. “Or, you will be. You’re safe, at least.” 

“Safe…” John mumbled. His brain felt like it was melting. “Where’s Akke?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Akke?” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, your horse? She’s here, John. She’s out front, being fed.” 

John let his eyes slip closed with a relieved sigh. Normally he might argue. No, he definitely would. He would demand to see her, refuse to cooperate until he knew for sure she was safe. But something about Arthur’s voice, something about Arthur, compelled John to trust him. Besides, his head was swimming with heat and pain and he could barely hold on to a clear train of thought. He might die before he got to see her again if he didn’t lie back down. 

“Come on now, John,” Arthur said gently, his voice filled to bursting with kindness and concern that somewhere in the back of his hazy mind, John knew he didn’t deserve. “She’s alright, I promise. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

John swallowed thickly and nodded, the action making the room twirl like a falling feather. One of his hands flew up to his forehead in a futile effort to brace it, but there was no need. He was lying back down with his head on the pillow before there was any real danger of the world slipping out from under him, guided by a gentle hand attached to a seemingly gentler man. 

Though his vision was slightly obscured by one eye being mashed into his pillow, John examined Arthur again. He looked just about the same as John could remember from that night by the fire, but this time he seemed more… on edge, like a nervous kangaroo rat, waiting to be snatched up by a raptor. More than that, John noted as Arthur sat down in his chair with a quiet sigh, he seemed utterly exhausted. The circles stamped beneath his eyes were the color of mountain larkspur: a dark, nearly midnight purple. And the way his body slumped into the chair like a sack of grain spoke of more than one late night of worry and no sleep. 

Why did Arthur look so stressed? Had they been followed? Were they not safe here? Maybe they were in danger, but John had been too sick to move. It was a real possibility, given how little of the recent days he was able to recall. God, how long had he been here? He knew it had been a few hours at least, but some inner timer ticking away towards his own personal doomsday said it had been longer. Without meaning to, the question slipped past John’s feverish lips.

“How long?”

“Hmm?” Arthur hummed in response, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he leaned back against the chair. “How long what?”

“How long,” John repeated, turning his head slightly so his mouth was more exposed, “have I been here?”

Arthur blew out a long breath and looked at the ceiling. “I don’t… I’m not sure. Maybe about 4 or 5 days? I’ve lost track, to be entirely honest.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry, you haven’t missed much,” Arthur chuckled. “It’s been quiet. A lot of me trying to wash out your wound and keep the fever down while trying to take care of the horses and the chickens and whatnot. A lot of you sleeping and mumbling and crying out whenever I try to help with your bandages.”

John hummed into the corner of his pillow, letting his eyes slip closed as he listened to the soothing baritone of Arthur’s voice. 

“Is there anything else you want to know?”

John creaked one eye open. “How did I get here?”

“Well,” Arthur said, a faint smirk on his face as he shifted his weight in the chair to lean a bit closer to John, “I brought you here.”

“No shit,” John muttered, suddenly realizing how crusty his voice had become at a lack of use. He coughed once or twice to clear his throat, making the room spin again. “I’d like a bit more detail than that.”

“Ah. Well, I managed to get you up onto your horse– Akke, you said her name was? And then I led her back here, and managed to drag you into bed and rebandage your wound before the fever set in. You’ve been fairly incoherent since. Haven’t said much, but what you have said has been… well, calling it interesting might be a bit generous.” Arthur leaned back in the chair, that same faint smirk settling over his face. “Getting you here wasn’t easy, you know. You’re quite heavy, friend.”

There was an easy confidence in Arthur’s face and voice now, a swagger meant to disguise his exhaustion and fear and make it seem as though everything was just sunshine and clear skies. Probably meant to keep John calm, so he wouldn’t pass out from exertion or the fever or blood loss. But John had already seen the truth, already knew what was lurking behind that mask. Arthur was worried and tired, clearly running on empty and on the verge of collapse. But about what, John couldn’t say, and it was beginning to nibble away at his nerves like a mouse at a block of cheese.

“‘S all muscle,” John mumbled in an (admittedly fruitless) effort to send that mouse skittering off into the depths of his subconscious.

“I did wonder once or twice if you had eaten an entire buffalo right before deciding to attempt a double murder.”

“A buffalo?”

“Mmmm. I imagine you swallowed it whole, much like a rattlesnake. Horns and all,” Arthur said thoughtfully.

The idea of someone swallowing a whole buffalo was, to say the least, a bit silly. John snickered at the idea of it. Arthur’s smirk grew into a broad grin in response.

“They can’t taste terribly good that way, though,” Arthur continued, his eyes glittering with mirth. “Those things smell awful, I can’t imagine the flavor is any good.”

John chuckled. “How would you go about it, then, if you know so much?” Arthur smiled.

“The same way you eat an elephant,” he said, with the kind of familiarity that implied a joke he’d told before. “One bite at a time.”

John couldn’t help himself. The simple joy of such a silly idea bubbled up from the bottom of his heart and he was powerless to stop it. He laughed, hard and loud.

And almost immediately regretted it.

The pain that shot through his side in response was like a white-hot fire, searing him from the inside out and blurring his vision with boiling tears. A strangled noise fought its way out of his throat, caught between a gasp, a hiss, and a language only his subconscious knew now.

“Ataa!”

Through his misty vision, John saw Arthur’s face hovering in space above his own, a clear furrow between his brows as his mouth was set into a deep frown.

“John?” There was a trembling note in Arthur’s voice as he spoke.

“It hurts,” John whined.

“John, listen, I know it hurts, but I need you to stop moving, alright? I need to check if you reopened the wound. Try to lie still.”

John blew out a sharp breath and did as he was told. A moment later, cool fingers lifted his shirt, undid his bandages, and grazed along the throbbing epicenter of pain in his stomach. John was surprised at how little the contact hurt. Arthur’s hands were rough and calloused, to be sure. The life of a sheriff in a land like this didn’t exactly leave room for soft hands. But he was so gentle, barely hovering above John’s skin like the sweep and swish of prairie grass. Almost like he cared.

Arthur sighed quietly as he began to retie the bandages. “Alright. I think you’re okay, John. Just take it easy. No more laughter. It was hard enough trying to close you up the first time.”

The first time. The pieces were beginning to fit together in John’s mind. Arthur had taken the bullet out of his stomach. Arthur had cauterized the wound. Arthur was worried. About John. And not only was he worried about John, he chose to take him back to this cabin. Chose to take him in and heal his wounds. Arthur knew about John’s connections to Larson and his gang and the danger he could have been in as a result. He could have left John for dead out in the desert, and no one would have been the wiser. So the question still remained: why did he do it? Why go through the trouble? What did John matter to Arthur in the grand scheme of things?

“John? John, what’s wrong? Does something else hurt?”

John realized  hot tears were slipping from the corners of his eyes again, accompanied by sniffling that he couldn’t quite stop. “Why?” he croaked.

Arthur looked deeply confused. “Why what?”

“Why did you bring me back?”

“I don’t- I don’t understand.”

“Why did you keep me alive? For fucks sake, Arthur, I tried to kill you. I did kill your friend. You should have let me die. Why am I here?” John growled, swiping the tears off his face like they were burning him.

Arthur went silent, and John could almost swear he saw the gears turning in Arthur’s head as he considered his answer. He finished with the bandages and sat down, nibbling on his thumbnail as he thought. After a long moment, he looked up in John’s direction, his expression strangely hard.

“Because you’re human,” he said quietly.

John blinked in surprise. “What?”

Arthur nodded, a determined set to his eyes shining like the sun bouncing off metal. “You’re human. And in pain. Leaving you behind would have been cruel, even if you did try to kill me.”

John was, for the first time in a long time, completely speechless. Arthur thought he was something worth saving. Something that deserved to be taken care of. Something that didn’t deserve to die. In the back of his mind, a little voice whispered, The King wouldn’t have helped you. Larson would have let you die. He knows what you really are.

“You know nothing about me,” John choked out. “You don’t know what I know. What I’ve done.”

“Well, I rather figured you’d tell me something when you got better,” Arthur said with a vaguely guilty grin. “I figured if I kept you alive, I would get some good information out of you regarding the King’s whereabouts.”

“If I tell you about who I am and what I’ve done for that man, you’ll regret keeping me alive. You’ll kill me.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” John said, staring blankly at the ceiling the way he knew imagined a corpse would. “I’m not exactly a good person.”

“I never would have guessed,” Arthur muttered, and John watched him roll his eyes out of the corner of his vision. “The man who shoots my deputy and tries to kill me, a bad person. Unthinkable!”

John snorted in spite of himself. He didn’t laugh much (it was simply how he’d always been) but somehow, it felt natural around Arthur.

“John, look. You’re not the only one here who has done unforgivable things in the name of survival. I’m not asking you to like me, or even offer me any information about yourself. I’m asking for information on Larson. That’s all.”

Arthur’s face was polite, but as he spoke, his gaze grew sharper, cold with the threat of an avalanche lurking in the back of those bright hazel eyes. John knew that look. That frigid anger. The cold fury that seeped in through cracks of vulnerability, leaving a thick crust of ice over a person’s heart and a layer of frost on everything they touched. He’d seen it on the faces of dozens of Native kids in Larson’s gang after they’d been told just what atrocities they had to fear from the law. 

Arthur wanted revenge.

And he would do just about anything to get it.

“Just tell me where Larson is, and when you’re healed, you can go. I won’t hunt you. I won’t send anyone after you. I swear, I will leave you be for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t want to leave.” 

The words left John’s mouth before he had fully finished thinking them, but as he turned them over on his tongue, he realized they were the truest thing he had spoken since meeting Arthur. He didn’t want to leave. Arthur believed that John was human enough to save, to care for, to let live, despite how little he knew about him. That was more grace and humanity than Larson ever showed him, or any of the kids in his shitty gang. The longer he thought about it, the more John realized he was sick of it. All the lies, the manipulations, the nightmares, all that time living in limbo between terror and fury while fighting for a cause that would sooner see you crushed beneath its heel. He didn’t want that. More than that, he didn’t want it for anyone.

Arthur looked completely baffled. “What?”

“I don’t want to leave,” John repeated as the words rang through his mind again like chiming crystals. “I don’t want to go back to Larson and his gang.”

Arthur simply stared.

“Look. You want revenge on him, don’t you? I saw the look on your face when you talked about him. You want him locked up, and I want his fucking gang disbanded and freed. I’m not going to leave you, not when we have a common enemy we want gone.” A hard edge was creeping into John’s voice as he spoke. “Between your sharpshooting and my sight, we could bring him down. Two heads and all that.” Arthur seemed apprehensive still, which was fair, John thought. Having empathy for the man who shot your deputy was a far cry from trusting him. John sighed. 

“Arthur, vengeance will eat you from the inside out. Believe me, I know. I can see it wearing you down.” Arthur averted his gaze. “This is too big a foe to handle alone. Too big of an elephant to eat whole.”

Finally, Arthur smiled, looking up from where he’d fixed his gaze on John’s quilt. “So we eat it together,” he said. John nodded. 

“One bite at a time.”

[hurtcomfortguaranteed]

In Dark Matter 2x11, Three is shot while rescuing Five from slavers. In the aftermath, she treats his wounds and tries to keep him moving to escape from the authorities.

[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.

[iknowicanbutwhy]

mmmm. co mic

@teaspoonofdragons decided that Sig's claws, when they cut deep enough, burn the wound shut an hour later and one day I was like :) what if he cut Amitie haha

[whumpneto]

+ bonus:

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

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2023

Day twenty two: Can’t scream

—

Whumpee is badly injured on the field with the enemy close to finding them. Caretaker has no choice but to operate emergency surgery on them or they might bleed out. Except, when Caretaker starts to cauterize the punctured skin whumpee has to cover up a blood curdling scream. They stuff a fist into their own mouth and bite down against flesh. Caretaker can’t take any chances, and stuffs a piece cloth between Whumpees teeth to silence them. Whumpee bites down and forces themself quiet with tears rolling along their cheeks. The next burn is even more painful than the first, and whumpee can only pray that the enemy didn’t hear them.

[quietwingsinthesky]

it is funny to me that most of my posts on here are pure hornyposting, it’s not very representative of what I actually think about when I fantasize about characters. mostly I just imagine holding them down and carefully pulling a bullet from a wound in their stomach, ordering them to stay still as I retrieve it, listening to them choke down pained noises as blood covers my hands, and when I finally get it and the damaged flesh out of them, they still have to be methodically sutured back up. And there’s no painkillers <3

which I guess is also kind of like hornyposting, if you think about it

[theredhobbit]

I was sober, and then I picked the scab of you from off my heart and tried to cauterize with alcohol.

You are my most deliberate form of self mutilation. You give me the very best writing material for a manic chapter. If I drown myself in your scent till I vomit, then by aversion therapy standards, I should be cured. I could spew up all of the nights I spent swallowing the lies and buying into my own feigned naievity to what this was leading to.

You're my muse. The one I'll complain about as an old spinster. The one who taught me never to wait around to be good enough for anyone because, damnit, I would never reach a level that wasn't placed for me. I could steam roll my way into whatever space I desired. That didn't mean I was welcome.

You're like a ritualistic cigarette that comes with an airplane ride. TSA, Flight, Drive, Work, Kerry, TSA, Flight, Drive, Life.

Every single time I see you, I plan to tell you I can't see you anymore. That seeing you tortures my mind for days after, and you're just living as if a cloud finally passed again from your view.

It's fine.

It's fine.

It's fine.

You were never going to be mine, and now I recognize I was never going to be yours. But you didn't have to be so damn good at making me feel like we belonged to each other in those moments. Maybe we did. However, fleeting. However drunk.

[determinedwriter]

Whumptober 2023: Day 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Ro

I should be used to this by now. Running away from some jerks with guns who want to murder some Avengers.

And yet, right now I’m pissed because it’s happening again. More bad guys with guns and more chaos. What a surprise.

But I think I might really be in trouble this time.

The compound is in shambles and I’m running through the woods nearby to escape, too overwhelmed by enemies to fight them. I only hope I’m running in the right direction.

After a while, I use my powers of fire flight to suspend myself in the air and survey the area, soon realizing I’ve made a mistake.

All I see now is trees. The woods surround me on every side as far as the eye can see. How long have I been running?

For too long, clearly.

I land on the forest floor, trying to think of what to do next. I’m completely alone. Everything happened so fast that all I have are the clothes on my back and my pocket knife. I always carry it with me. It was my mother’s.

My breathing picks up so I place a hand over my heart and try to calm myself. “You’re fine. Everything’s fine. You’ll get back home and everyone will be safe.”

Maybe if I keep telling myself that, it’ll become true.

Things weren’t looking too good when I left. I just remember a ton of smoke, chaos, and my dad yelling at me to run. To get out of there.

I think his instinct saved my life. At this point, I can only hope he is alive too. He’s more than capable of defending himself, so I’m sure he’s alright. I just hate not knowing for sure.

And Peter? I have no idea where he is. We weren’t together when the compound was attacked. I tried to find him, but when my dad told me to run, I did. I didn’t have time to find my best friend.

God, please tell me he’s safe too. Even if it means he’s lost in the damn woods just like I am. That’s a lot better than him being dead, no matter how confusing the endless trees are.

After some mindless wandering, I find a small, clearly long abandoned shack. It’s deep enough in the woods that I’m wondering who would’ve left something like this here.

It also makes me think of my mom. She and I lived in a little hideaway honestly not that much bigger than this one for the first nine years of my life.

It only ever ended because HYDRA found and killed her. Bucky Barnes found and killed her. Or I guess the Winter Soldier did. I’ve tried my best to make peace with that.

But God, it’s hard. It’s not that I don’t forgive Bucky, I’m just never going to be able to forget that day. The day she died right in front of me with a bullet to the head.

I sigh, trying to think of something else as I enter the shack. Just focus on staying safe right now. No time to reminisce about your shitty past, Ro.

Try to forget how it hits you like a freight train.

With enough time and focus on the situation at hand, I stop feeling like I’m about to cry. I have to pay attention right here and now. It could get me killed if I get lost in my head.

No time for tears.

There’s a rustling and the sound of footsteps outside maybe an hour after I arrive at the shack. Startled, I hurl a fireball out of a broken window and towards the noise.

I hear someone fall to the ground with a thud. “Whoa!”

Holding my breath, I wait for them to either fight me or leave. Please be the ladder. “Stay the fuck away from me or I’ll make sure I burn your face off, asshole!”

“It’s me!” I hear a voice yell shakily.

“Peter?!” I exclaim, quickly exiting the shack and seeing him on the ground, wound in his side. “Oh my God, Peter!”

“H-Hey.” He says, not having the energy for much else.

“Did I hurt you?!” I ask, feeling terribly guilty. “I-I thought…oh my God, I thought you were one of those guys at the compound! I’m so-“

“I’m fine. Well, I’m not fine but you didn’t hurt me. Someone else did.” Peter explains. “You kinda just knocked me on my butt.”

I chuckle in shock, kneeling beside him. Tears burn my eyes. “I’m so sorry. L-Let me help you. It’s alright. You’re gonna be fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but allows me to help him inside the shack where I lay him down on the floor. “Don’t move. I’ve got you.”

I can tell he’s trying to keep quiet, not wanting to scare me with cries of pain. “Okay.”

With nothing else to do, I use my jacket to make strips of bandages, cutting it with my knife so I can wrap it around Peter’s wound.

Peter grins, despite the pain. “I really liked that jacket on you.”

“Shut up.” I reply teasingly.

He grimaces in pain as I apply the bandages, struggling not to scream out. “Hnnngh…”

“I know.” I say. “I know, Pete. I’m sorry. I know it hurts.”

The bleeding seems pretty bad and the strips of fabric aren’t doing much to help that. Peter seems to realize that too. “Ro?”

I nod. “Peter.”

“You should leave. Before those guys find us.” He suggests. “If they surround you, I’m not gonna be able to help.”

“I can take care of myself. And I’m not abandoning you.” I reply. “Don’t even entertain that idea.”

He sighs shakily. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to you either. I’m staying. End of story.” I tell him. I love you, I love you, I love you.

But of course I don’t say that. I don’t tell him I love him. I don’t tell him I’ve had a crush on him since our freshman year.

“Ro?” He asks again. “I…have an idea.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve me leaving you, I’ll listen.” I say.

Peter nods. “It doesn’t. It actually might help me. Or hurt me worse. But we’ll see. Umm…”

“Spit it out.” I press him.

“You should cauterize the wound to stop the bleeding.” He suggests. “It’s not gonna stop if we don’t do something about it.”

I grit my teeth. “You want me to use my powers to possibly make things worse and burn you?”

“What other choice do we have?” Peter questions me.

I pause, sighing. “I could kill you. We should wait for help.”

He grabs my hand, his covered in blood. “I don’t think help is coming anytime soon. It’s your choice, but I…I don’t know what else to do. I’ll bleed out.”

I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that it bleeds, too anxious to stop holding my breath. “If I kill you, it’s your fault.”

Humor. It’s how I’ve decided to cope right now.

Because I won’t let myself cry.

Peter chuckles weakly. “Got it.”

I summon heat to my palms. “Sorry in advance.”

“It’s alright.” He says. “Gotta get it done.”

I look at him earnestly. “I really…I…”

“Don’t be scared.” He reassures me. “I trust you.”

I gulp. “It’s not that. I…I just wanted to…tell you I…I love you. I…I mean I…”

“I love you too, Ro.” Peter replies with no hesitation. “I’ve always loved you.”

My cheeks heat up. “That works out then. So don’t die.”

He looks me in the eyes. “Not planning on it.”

“Just in case we don’t make it out of here, I needed you to know that.” I explain. “I love you, Peter Parker.”

“I love you too, Aurora Stark.” He echoes.

I place a soft kiss on his lips. “Be strong, okay?”

He nods. “Let’s do it.”

Despite my fear, I lower my hands down to his wounded side, trying to be as gentle as I can as I literally burn him.

Peter bites his lip, groaning in pain and wincing. “Sorry.”

I blink at him. “You’re sorry? I’m the one hurting you. Don’t you say you’re sorry.”

He lets out a pained laugh. “Fair enough.”

My stomach turns as I continue to work on him, feeling terribly guilty as I burn his skin. I absolutely hate hurting this sweet boy.

But thankfully, my work seems to pay off. The bleeding almost completely stops with enough effort on my part. I wrap the makeshift bandages around his side, hoping it’s enough to keep him safe for now.

“Thanks…” Peter breathes.

I kiss him harder this time, tears streaming down my face. I can’t hold it in anymore. “Don’t you dare die.”

“Thanks to you, I think my chances are better than before.” He says. “You’re a literal lifesaver, you know.”

“Jury’s still out.” I reply. “We’ll have to see. But you know what, I’ll stay optimistic for your sake.”

Peter takes my hand again. “Good.”

“Good.” I copy, laying on the floor beside him. “Stay alive.”

We lay on the floor together, neither of us knowing for sure what’s next. I just hope everyone else is alright and that we’re found soon. Maybe I should survey the area again.

I move to get up and Peter grabs my arm. “Where are you going?”

“I should fly up and see if I can find anyone and anything that will help us.” I tell him.

“I’m scared of you leaving.” He admits.

I kiss his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Leaving him there, I fly up into the air and see a hovering figure in the distance like a speck of red and gold. “Dad?!”

The figure turns to me, rocketing over and hugging me in the air. “Oh, thank God.”

I let myself extinguish, Dad holding me close to him as we stay in the air for a moment. “You’re okay! I wasn’t sure. God, I’m so glad you’re not dead.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead too, kiddo.” He says.

“You’ve gotta help Peter though, come on!” I exclaim, showing him the shack where the boy lies on the floor with his makeshift bandages nearly soaked through with blood. I’m unsure if I’ve even helped him at all.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter croaks weakly. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

“Come on, kid. Let’s get you to SHIELD. There’s a base not far from here and it’s where everyone is regrouping.” Dad explains.

We quickly take Peter there where he is treated and I’m told my cauterization of his wound worked and significantly reduced blood loss. Thank God for that.

And with our love confessions still in our minds, Peter and I will not soon forget them. Even if it does make things a little awkward in a schoolyard kid kind of way.

I’m still shy to show my feelings to the boy, despite having kissed him. That life or death situation really pushed me to be bold.

And I guess it worked out, because Peter actually likes me the same way.

So maybe bad guys with guns can result in some oddly good things, including love confessions.

Let’s just hope we don’t have to deal with any more fighting for the foreseeable future. I’d like for things to be a bit calmer for once.

Plus, I’ve got a date with Peter Parker.

[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

[remakethestars]

I just came up with a brilliant analogy to teach my dad men the difference between Plan B and the abortion pill!

Plan B

Plan B prevents ovulation. The egg is never fertilized.

James Bond is pregnant. He's sitting in a Walmart parking lot in is Aston Martin, putting his recipt into his purse when he notices a baby waddling up to his car with a Glock.

As it goes to open the door, he hits the lock button and peels out of the parking lot. The baby shoots after him, putting a hole through the back window, but misses James Bond.

The Abortion Pill

The abortion pill is actually two pills. The first is Mifepristone, which causes the baby to stop growing. The second is Misoprostol, which sheds the lining of the uterus. This is rather painful and medically considered an abortion.

James Bond is pregnant. He's sitting in the Walmart parking lot in his Aston Martin, putting a recipt in his pocketbook. All of the sudden, his passenger door opens; a baby gets in, pointing a Glock at him; slams the door; and buckles its seatbelt.

"Drive," the baby says.

James Bond pretends to reach for the gear shift, but at the last second, he slams his hand on the eject button. The baby and the baby's seat go flying backward out of the car.

James Bond peels out of the parking lot. The baby scrambles to undo his seatbelt and sit up, and it shoots after the Aston Martin, hitting James Bond in the shoulder.

Miraculously, of course, the bullet misses the arteries and bones in the shoulder through the power of movie magic. James Bond goes home and heats a knife on the gas stove while he puts the groceries away one-handed. Then he cauterizes the wound.

Later, a friend messages him on Facebook, upset with him for ejecting the baby onto the pavement.

"The baby shot me," James Bond says.

"Well, that's what you get for ejecting a poor innocent baby," says his friend.

James Bond explains he ejected the baby because it was trying to jack his car and was pointing a gun at him.

His friend replies that if he didn't want his car to get stolen, he shouldn't have bought a car.

(James Bond knows for a fact his friend has lots of cars.)

Facebook gives the messages to the government, and they put James Bond on death row for ejecting the baby. After all, its his fault for buying a car in the first place.

Through the power of movie magic, James Bond turns his last meal, a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, into C4 and blows up the wall of his cell, miraculously escaping death.

[in-love-with-writing-whump]

Febuwhump 22: Can't Scream

Caretaker pressed their hand to Whumpee's mouth, not meeting their eyes. A looked up at them expectantly.

"Be quick."

A held the fire to the open wound, cauterizing it as Whumpee cried out into Caretaker's hand. Tears stained their face as Caretaker hushed them.

"I know, I'm sorry, Whumpee. But you can't scream or Whumper will hear us."

Whumpee whimpered, blinking slowly, as if to say they understood. Caretaker hated themself for it.

FEBUWHUMP 2023 IS HERE!

the prompts this year were chosen through a suggestion poll and subsequent vote, where over 350 people voted for their favourites. the top 28 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular and this blog’s personal favourites have become the alternatives!

i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, make sure to check out the blog’s FAQ, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog before sending one of your own!

please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

Keep reading

[otter-chaos-violence]

Faelights- Part one

My wyvern glided over to me, accidentally knocking over the candle, and I grabbed it as it set fire to the floor, then stomped it out. We couldn’t afford a new stall.

Pandolin, screeched and set fire in the stove, then helped me to set up the plants we needed to cook to sell, while I stood at the counter, letting folks come by and ask for certain foods. My magic kept the candle and stove going the whole time.

A few hours into the day, someone came by out of my blind spot. Probably one of the people who couldn’t read the sign.

‘Sorry, ma’am, I can’t see you out of this eye. Please enter my line of vision,’ I said in Kiyeban.

I pointed to my right eye and the other person said in Common, “Apologies, ma’am, I’d prefer to stay anonymous,”

“Oh. Alright. What would you like?”

“I would like the Kwenta.”

The most expensive thing I had, it had a tiny bit of meat on a stick, wrapped in lettuce and toasted in a roll.

“That’ll be fifteen Scales,” I replied. The monetary system went Scales as the cheapest, these little bronze coins, twenty became Lizards, little silver coins, fifty Lizards into Eagles, big silver coins, twenty Eagles into Nests, small gold coins, and ten Nests into Trees, big gold coins. I’d never seen past an Eagle, and only twice in my life had I even seen an Eagle. Eagles and Nests and Trees were incredibly hard to come by.

The woman handed me an Eagle, surprisingly, she must’ve been rich.

“Would you like your change?”

“Keep it, I’ve heard good things of your little traders' stall. I wish to ask you to work with me,”

“Um-”

“Nasilje! The Emperor of the Aqual is here!” Someone called. Nasilje Bentos was in the marketplace? Now? She sometimes came at night, when I had no business and thus slept in the stall, but now? 

“One moment,” My anonymous customer replied.

Nasilje? Nasilje was at my stall? She normally went to the bigger ones. 

“I- oh dear gods, Nasilje, I am so, so sorry,”

I tried to hand back the Eagle but she denied it.

“No need, I still want you to work for me, come along,”

I took down my things and packed up, and Pandolin hopped on my shoulder, keeping his tail wrapped around my arm. 

“Empeza, we have one more coming back with us,”

“Alright, Nasilje,” one of the four guards replied. She had a wyvern like I did, a similar color but with gold and metallic green scales instead of copper and metallic green, and a different pattern. And far bigger. Pandolin was scarily small for a wyvern.

Pandolin screeched at the other wyvern in the tongue only the wyverns knew, and the other wyvern stayed still, like a stone.

“You didn’t train your wyvern, did you?” Nasilje asked.

“I don’t need to train him,” I replied. “He’s his own intelligent person after all, hell, he’s-,”

My hand flew to my mouth, cutting off the rest of the words, “he’s probably more of an intelligent person than I am,” how could I use foul language in front of the Nasilje?

“Oh, relax,” Nasilje said. “Language is allowed,”

She took me to a carriage, told me to get in, and the four guards followed me. She didn’t enter behind us, instead getting in the front with the driver.

“What’s that about?” I wondered aloud. None of the guards responded, instead conversing amongst themselves.

Starborn o’er there says that the Nasilje prefers to watch the horses as they travel up the road. Pandolin whispered telepathically.

Thank you.

I gave him a head scratch and his tail swished back and forth and he made a dragon-like smile. Most humans wouldn’t notice it, but we the wyvern-guided could tell what they smiled like. 

I gave him another head scratch, and he let out a satisfied coo and closed his eyes trustingly as we traveled up the bumpy road.

—

We arrived at Nasilje’s keep and Nasilje ordered the guard with the wyvern to take me to the kitchens and show me to my ‘quarters’.

“Um- Empeza? Was that it?” I asked.

She grunted in response and said, “Call me whatever you’d like, serf.”

“Um- I’m not- I’m not a serf- I’m a merchant,”

“Whatever, serf,”

“I- I said I’m not a serf,”

Empeza turned on me and snapped, “I don’t care,”

I could smell sweetness on her breath and could stare right into her white and blue eyes. They had no pupils, she was completely blind. 

“Well, serf? No words?”

“I have a name!”

“Which is?”

“Kira-, Kira Guseva,” I replied.

“Goose? Really?”

Empeza raised an eyebrow, “Alright, Goose, come along, we’re off to the kitchens,”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?”

“Why am I here?”

“Oh, Nasilje never told you? Well, it’s need to know, I assume she’ll tell you, Goose,”

“You don’t know either, do you?” I asked, picking up on Empeza’s uncertainty.

“I- maybe not,”

Some hideous creature ran at us and tackled Empeza to the ground.

“Empeza,” it hissed. “Empeza,”

Its fur-covered, pointed ear twitched, and it stared at me out of a blind left eye. Its right eye was sighted, however.

“Kira?” it asked.

It ran at me and gave me a giant hug. I stood frozen, horrified by this creature.

“Kira, Kira, Kira. S-”

Empeza chased it away and fell to her knee, her shoulder turning slightly blue.

“By the gods!” I exclaimed. I ran over to her and tore away the blood-soaked clothing.

“Goose, leave me, I can go to the infirmary,”

“No, let me,”

I touched Empeza’s shoulder, and she winced, but then, I let heat emerge from my palms. It was what I used to do when my father still lived and he would get hurt, it lowered the risk of infection.

Empeza shivered and said, “How are you doing that?”

I pulled my hand away, I wasn’t supposed to show people.

“Please, don’t tell an-”

“Did you just do magic?”

“No, I’m just very good with fire,”

“Starborn?” Empeza asked her wyvern.

Starborn echoed her voice to me, Pandolin, and Empeza, “Yes. She can do magic.”

“Please, don’t tell anyone,” I begged.

“Relax, I’m not going to, Goose. I’m not about to sentence someone to death,”

“I- death?”

“Now, we’re not supposed to talk. Onto the kitchens. You and I’ll talk later, maybe I’ll be trying to convince our head chef to let me have a little snack,”

She looked right into my eyes and grinned, then guided me to the bowels of the keep.

“Kitchens,” she grunted in front of a door with a warm little sign on it. “Go on, Goose, in you go,”

I entered, and there were about four other people working. How could four people feed everyone?

“Everyone!” Empeza called. “This is Goose, she’ll be working with you from now on,”

I very slowly approached them and smiled weakly.

The eldest of them approached me and held out his hand.

“Ivan Petrov,” He said. “Head baker, you report to me,”

I took his hand and it smoked slightly, and he said, “How good are you with flame?”

“I-” I was able to control it, and it led to my entire family’s death, excluding my missing sister, and many said they could still hear the ash in my throat.

“I’m good with it,” I rasped in reply.

“Only those of us that survive it are best,” He said. He rolled up his tunic sleeve and showed me his burn scar.

“The fire that brought me to the keep left me with this,”

“I see,” I said, faking interest, I just wanted to get going.

“Ah, I see you have a wyvern as well,” he grinned. “We need a fire creature like one of those things,”

“Thing?” Pandolin snapped.

Ivan jumped back and Pandolin hissed, “I am no thing,”

“Deepest apologies,” Ivan said. “Now, Goose-”

“Kira,” I corrected, “The ‘Goose’ thing is Empeza’s idea of a practical joke, I assume,”

“Well, Kira, I’d like for you to start with the flames, ladno? We change spots,”

“Konechno,” I replied.

I went to the stone oven, it was far bigger than the simple thing that I had in my stall.

Pandolin unhinged his jaw and yawned, stretching from wings to tail.

I threw a log into the blaze and it burst into flame quickly, showering me with sparks.

“You alright!” Ivan called.

“Yeah,” I coughed, I sank to my knees and felt like my lungs were about to leave my body. “Happens, happens, fire-” I coughed again.

“Blyat.” I swore after a moment of coughing.

“Language!” a blond girl around my age snapped.

I threw another log onto the fire and it crackled fiercely. I stared at the dancing molten gold, and almost like an automaton, walked closer to it. I reached out to touch it, and someone grabbed my hand and pulled me away.

“Hey, Kira, don’t, don’t touch it,” he ordered.

“I- who?”

“Ivan, remember?”

“Ivan?” I mumbled. My brain wasn’t working right now.

My legs gave out beneath me, and I realized my skin steamed. That had never happened to me before.

“Sit, sit down, ladno?”

I folded my legs and he touched my shoulder, and I stopped steaming as his skin stopped touching mine.

“Alright, alright, everyone, out!” he ordered.

The other three left the room and he kneeled next to me, “Fire user, eh?”

“How’d you-”

“Don’t you know? Smoke when we touch means other fire user,”

“I- no,”

“Raised with the normals?”

“No, seers,”

“Ah. So, can you ask them to tell my future?”

“They’re dead, but I have a tarot deck in my pocket if you want,”

“Tarot’s a buncha bullshit,” he rasped.

“True,” 

I pulled out the deck anyways, “But my family used to use this deck, so I use it,”

“True seers using tarot?”

“An actual reading was more, for putting our safety on the line and an Eagle and a half, we gave prophecies. Only one person could ever afford that,”

“Ah,”

I put my deck back in my pocket and stood, shaking.

“We’ve two hours til dinner, make the most of it,” Ivan said. “Stay away from the blaze,”

[catwyk]

rookie numbers ive had a nosebleed at least once a day for the past week and a half