It didn’t hurt at first, she found. The pain crept furtively into the gash like a burglar come to steal the peace in a quiet death- stinging before reverting to a strange numbness. Suzuki’s face twisted as she tried to catch sight of the wound. It was warm.
Still, that warmth varied from second to second- waxed and waned in hot flashes, pulses. Suzu didn’t know what to make of the sensation, not until she spotted that bright red, and knew her heart was hammering to its grave- that it’d betrayed her, by wrenching out every ounce of life, drop after drop.
She was going to die, here. She couldn’t pretend she was okay, or that help would come- She could only try to press on the wound, searing, stinging as it was, but she found her arm wouldn’t move, couldn’t move, she could hardly drape fingers over the gash.
The girl wanted to scream, but found her breath more important, found it more urgent that she couldn’t manage more than a silent, desperate wheeze. She watched the bushes for any flicker, any final blow, but she found none, her anxieties only growing. She couldn’t talk, nervousness had settled in her heart, tied her tongue, made a traitor of her heart, and the serpent was- Out of sight.
Her eyes grew blank, confused- and begun to grow dull, when she saw it again. Scales, sweeping before her glassy eyes. Pressure on a wound that would not heal. Desperate attempts, that the woman failed to sense, to see, to feel.
She was cold. That was all. She was freezing in summer. The culprit was right over her. Working as hard to save as they did to kill. It was funny.
Suzu slipped into the dark with a sigh, a breathy laugh. It was almost funny, in those last, flickering moments. If they were her last.
Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, brief mild gore, referenced past torture, creepy/intimate whumper, stalking, mentioned panic attack
.
.
Unknown:
How’s your hand?
She hasn’t added the number into her contacts. She can’t risk his name coming up on the screen where someone can see it. And there’s something strange, something wrong about giving him a fake name on her phone when his real name is carved into her skin.
Unknown:
Attachment: 1 image
She never wants to look. But she can’t delete the photos without seeing them. Or maybe it’s just some kind of morbid curiosity, or some hope that maybe one time it won’t be a picture of herself being tortured.
Warnings: lady whump, graphic depictions of violence, battle, blood
Anaria hadn’t wanted to face himon the field of battle, and yet everyone near her was dead or dying, and they were the only two left standing on the hilltop, the night closing in around them.
Hakur drew his sword from someone’s body, filling Anaria with rage. He turned to face her, smiling. There was blood in his teeth. She could see it by the moonlight.
“Anaria, so surprised to see you here,” he said calmly, as if they weren’t about to fight. Or, maybe they weren’t. Anaria could just fly away from him. The thought of fleeing was definitely in her mind, something that filled her with shame. “I thought you’d be weak and quivering somewhere far away.”
Warnings: lady whumpee with male whumper, selective mutism, stalking, creepy/intimate whumper, choking, broken ribs, burns
.
.
It’s been a week since Devin’s birthday party. Six days since she received the texted photo from Oliver. She hasn’t gotten anything else from him, but she’s barely been able to touch her phone all week for fear that she would.
It took her a couple of days before she could speak at all, and even now the ability comes and goes seemingly at random. Today, the very first day that she’s ventured out of the house since the party, she managed to force out enough words to order her favorite mocha at the coffee shop where she does a large portion of her illustrating. Now she stands close to the pick-up counter, carefully angled where she can see the door without looking like she’s staring at everyone who walks in.
