clumsyhissingcat

[clumsyhissingcat]

Me : i'm in a good mood today. I feel motivated. Might write a little.

My OCS : *cries of terror*

My computer : don't worry guys. She's bluffing, i know her.

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 12: STARVATION

Underground Caverns | Cannibalism | “Just a little more.”

OC Whump

Hi, here is my very late work for the no.12 prompt of Whumptober, as I enjoy slowly filling the prompts !

A bit of context : This work is related to my no.1 filling for Whumptober. Armand is a vampire who got abducted and tortured to piss off a few of his friends and to take revenge, as him and his friends have a bad habit of getting in the way of criminals and have actually interfered a couple of illegal operations of the guy who abducted him. His captors have decided not to feed him.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

The Thirst.

Armand knows it intimately. He knows its bite, its fierce burning that tears at his throat, twists his stomach, invades him with a raging fever, he knows the throbbing pain in his jaw that radiates into his palate and skull, he knows the haze that covers his other thoughts and seeps into every nook and cranny of his mind, until the only thing left is the Thirst. Until every living thing become nothing more than a pocket of blood, a warm prey to be hunted down and torn apart so that the warm blood flows down his throat and finally soothes the roaring instinct of the predator who refuses to die. He knows the way in which superficial regret confronts the shame of the inability to control himself, which confronts the clinical detachment towards other lives proper to his species.

He knows the profound terror that accompanies the knowledge that the Thirst will never cease to return. Again and again, the need to always be ready to chase it away.

Humans don't understand. The Thirst is not their hunger. It's something different, something profound that strips them of any pretension of humanity. It's every vampire's deepest fear, their deepest motivation. Armand isn't so different, once you scratch the surface.

The roar that emerges from his throat when one of his captors suddenly throws the contents of the tiny vial in his face, when a few droplets of metallic liquid splash onto him, makes the walls shake. He throws himself forward, every thought pushed aside by the one that has just arisen, the deep compulsion : He wants it.

He slams into the bars of his cage with an eardrum-piercing scream the second his bare arms make contact with the enchanted metal. It burns, it burns and he has to pull back, but the haunting scent drives him mad, pushing the pain into the background, he has to have it, now !

The scent of his own burnt flesh reaches his nostrils as he presses his cheek against the bars with a sizzling sound, but behind the vile smell of charred skin there's a hint of metal, and he resists against the instinct that screams at him to evade the pain. His fangs snaps repeatedly into the void without hitting anything.

Until finally, the repeated pain manages to supplant the Thirst and he finally tears himself away from the burn, taking a few wobbly steps backwards. A thought almost as old as himself comes into his mind : he must show no more weakness than he already does in the face of his enemies. He crouches to the ground, his stiff legs barely supporting his weight. A heavy growl rolls down his throat and he shows his aching fangs to the handful of silhouettes beyond his cage, who laugh. Preys that think they're predators, he'll rip out of their throats...

He doesn't even feel a drop of the few venom he's still able to produce fall onto his blackened hand and penetrate the peeling, oozing skin. The wound is deep enough for the liquid to hurt him, sizzling on his skin and throwing him off, but the pain in his arms is something distant. Secondary when his throat is a parched mass and he can't help but rub his tongue against his palate, the ghost of a fine droplet still almost tangible to his taste buds.

The humans slap each other on the shoulders and sneer, hurling taunts he doesn't understand, and the smell of their flesh, so warm, full of blood circulating under the metronome action of their hearts only sends Armand closer to madness.

Finally, they leave him alone in his iron and silver cage covered in enchantments that buzz under his skin and leave him feeling uneasy. He has to cling to what little lucidity he has left to keep himself from once again throwing himself against the only obstacle between him and his retreating preys. He stands up, trembling with a frenzy that can't be expressed, and circles the cell in an attempt to purge the stalking energy the scent has awakened in him.

After a while, he finally regains enough control to drop into a corner, against the only cold stone wall. The pain pulsing through his arms and cheek is excruciating, the burns oozing and reeking of grilled meat, a smell almost similar to the one wafting through the common room at every guild meal. And yet, as horrible as the thought is, the worst part is that he might find it appetizing if the Thirst didn't occupy every cell in his body. Because hunger is nothing to him, but the Thirst tears at his stomach and his mind, and it's been so long since he's had to resist it that it takes an inordinate effort. He curls up on his aching stomach and tries to forget the heartbeat that rings faintly in his ears, the unmistakable warm smell of a blood-guzzling living creature slithering across the floor (a mouse, too far away, on the other side of the room, impossible to reach).

Without being able to feed, his wounds will regenerate very slowly. If he regenerates at all, but if he's already reachs that stage, well at least the Thirst won't torment him much longer.

Armand has no doubt that his two Triumvirate companions are scouring the city for him, not to mention the rest of the guild. A good part of the Guardians must be on the warpath. Armand can almost picture Gend holding out his wrist, and that rich blood buzzing with magic in his throat...

An angry growl escapes him as his stomach cramps violently. Whatever his thoughts, they always return to Thirst, don't they ? He hasn't changed that much since his brutal encounter with the two Entities.

No. He can unwind this train of thought later, when he's not being tortured in a cage. In general, guilt is a very dangerous thought in this kind of situation. It can wait until he has Silver and Gend watching over him like the two worried idiots they are.

All he has to do for now is endure the Thirst clawing at his throat and survive. And maybe, he allows himself to think in a corner of his foggy mind, maybe he'll seize the opportunity to feast if his captors are stupid enough to let their guard down.

Maybe he'll get the chance to show them what a true predator looks like.

[clumsyhissingcat]

writer’s block (dry) = no desire to write, no ability to write (bearable)

writer’s block (wet) = HUGE desire to write, no ability to write (very evil)

[clumsyhissingcat]

There it is, the eternal cycle : i'm sleep deprivated, so i sleep, i'm well rested, so that means i can sleep deprivated myself the next day

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 8: SLEEP DEPRIVATION

Isolation Chamber | Forced to Stay Awake | “Leave the lights on.” (Coldplay, Midnight)

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.8 for Whumptober !

Loan is a young man who’s been tortured by Hélios (an antagonist oc) when he was 16, before he became one of Hélios’ « reluctant family members ». He's an Avian, a species that can move wings in and out of their backs at will. Loan's wings were badly damaged when he was tortured for information, and he lost this ability. The only thing he has left now is a terrible wound.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

-Ouch!

It's three o'clock in the morning and Loan's eyes refuse to continue working under the flickering glow of the magic orb.

With a curse, the young man puts down the needle and the garment he was trying to sew, and puts his finger in his mouth. Okay, fine, he's stupid. He's been stubbornly working in dim light for hours, it was inevitable. Now that he's allowed himself a break, he becomes aware of the slight throbbing in his skull and the dryness of his eyes. His whole body is heavy with fatigue.

The patterns on the shirt he was repairing blend and blur, crawling over the fabric. Loan closes his eyes, rests his arm on the desk and presses his forehead into the palm of his hand, noting in passing the moderate warmth of his skin.

He should probably take an antipyretic. And rest. Get some sleep.

No, he can't. He can't...he'll just close his eyes a little and try to ignore the climbing conviction that someone is watching him behind his closed eyelids. Maybe he should open his eyes. Maybe...he should…talk about it. To Silver...or...Lucien...or...

A breath on his ear and a ghostly touch on the back of his neck, and Loan wakes up with a start, violently slamming his knee into his desk with a panicked swear. He barely catches himself and comes to a halt, heart pounding, on the alert. There's no one in his room, of course. No menacing figure leaning over him, no hands too strong for him to free himself. Loan listens.

Not a sound. Either he hasn't woken anyone up, or they've decided it's not worrying enough to come and have a look. Either way, it's a relief. He doesn't want to worry them anymore than he already does. He exhales the breath he's been holding and massages his knee, grimacing, a little irritated. The chain of sores, bumps and bruises sprinkled with fever is getting tiresome. To top it all off, the sharp throbbing in his back is a constant, exhausting pain. Still, it's much better than a few days before, at the height of the relapse, when he was consumed by fever and crying in pain.

The remnants of magic that remain in the dreadful wound are less and less reactive as the years go by, but sometimes activation still occurs in the presence of large amounts of magic. It's fickle, though rare, and therefore terribly distressing when it happens. All it took was a spell and a chain reaction a week earlier for the remnants in his skin to ignite, sending him back to a time he wishes he could leave behind.

His heart is still beating rapidly and he feels goosebumps crawling over his skin, warning him of a danger that doesn't exist, lurking in his subconscious.

He's not that tired, after all. He can have a coffee and continue his sewing for a while (and maybe, just maybe, when his body finally gives out, he'll drift off into a dreamless sleep).

Loan slips silently into the corridor after quickly swallowing a pill. The wooden floor is cool under his feet, even in his thick wool socks. Most of the corridor is shrouded in shadow, although the orb of light follow behind him with just a gesture. Despite this, he can still see the streaks of light under certain doors, contrasting with the darkness. There are always at least a few people awake within the guild, whether for biological reasons - Gend and Armand don't need as much sleep as a human, and some werewolves are more active at night - or personal : Loan isn't the only one who finds himself unable to sleep some nights. Everyone knows that the Ensorceleur often stays up until odd hours, and Silver tends to wander randomly through the corridors to make sure everyone's all right.

The kitchen is on the first floor, halfway behind the bar room. Loan chooses the back door to minimize risk. He doesn't run into anyone, but stops just before opening the door. There's a dim light filtering across the threshold, and faint metallic clinks.

The young man hesitates for a few seconds. He could leave and come back a few minutes later. That wouldn't be a problem. It's very late, and while he has no intention of sleeping, he doesn't want to put himself through the effort of a conversation either, not when exhaustion and infection are consuming what little energy he has left. But the mere thought of having to return to his room for another 10 minutes and keep busy without the caffeine to sustain him is unbearable.

Loan makes an effort to plaster a calm, composed expression on his features and gently pushes open the door.

-Oh fuck !

Silver jolts so violently that he nearly knocks over the box in his hand. Fine brown particles dissipate into the air, and Loan flinches, startled by the volume.

-Oh boy, you scared me ! You had me on the verge of a heart attack !

-Sorry, sorry, sorry ! I should have knocked...

-Ahah, it's okay, i was distract so it would have surprised me anyway, it doesn't matter, dismisses the werewolf, setting the box he's still holding down on the counter. Behind him, a saucepan smokes gently on the gas stove. He doesn’t seem particularly surprises to meet Loan at this hour.

-Did you need something ?

-Just a cup of coffee, declares Loan as he enters the room and close the door.

Silver frowns.

-Coffee ? It's three o'clock in the morning, kid. Are you sure ?

-I'm an adult, retorts Loan, more defensive than he would have liked.

He’d had enough people trying to take away his freedom and independence to choose his own drink, thanks.

-Hmm, Silver murmured, turning to put a spoonful of the can into the saucepan. The bitter but familiar smell makes the young man inclines his head.

-Are you making hot chocolate ?

-Yes, I'm making hot chocolate. I think I'll be going back to bed soon, so a little comfort drink just before can't hurt. I can add some for you, he offers.

Chocolate has a strong comforting power, but it has no exciting effect. He hesitates.

-It wouldn't even be an effort, add the werewolf. And there are marshmallows I can put in it.

Oh, that sounds delicious. Better than the bitter taste of coffee. He craves it terribly, that cloud of sweet comforting sweetness, already weighing on his eyelids.

But then, he wouldn't be able to keep it at bay, whispers a soft voice in the back of his mind. He's weak and sick, and it's risky if he falls asleep...

Sleep is an unattainable paradise.

-I'll be fine. I'll have a coffee.

Silver watches him with piercing green eyes as he stirs his pot, too attentive to miss the way each movement requires an unusual effort : he can barely remember where they put the coffee and has to blink several times before he manages to focus on the container label.

He has put the pot on the stove when the werewolf speaks up again.

-You've been having a lot of nightmares, haven't you ?

Loan shudders. It's not as if it's a secret : almost every member of the guild has been awakened at least once by his night terrors. Silver is no exception, especially with his enhanced hearing and general presence at Loan's bedside. But these episodes have become rarer and usually only occur during particularly stressful events or specific situations. Unfortunately, a relapse of his injury is one of those situations. He hates to think that after several years, he's still unable to overcome all that's been inflicted on him, and that he's also passing the consequences onto his friends.

-Can I speak frankly ? inquires Silver, and it doesn't sound condescending, but just like a way of asking him if this is a conversation he's willing to have. If he refuses, Silver won't insist. He'll let him have his coffee and retire to his room.

-Okay, Loan says shakily, leaning against the closet so he can look at Silver.

-It's been almost a whole week that I've heard you moving around every time I'm awake. If you're having trouble sleeping and there's anything I can do, then ask me. You know you don't have to hesitate.

-I'm trying, says the young man as tears immediately spring to his eyes. He's at the end of his tether.

-I try to sleep and I can't, every time I...I dream of him, Loan chokes out. I wake up startled and my back hurts, and I swear I've tried to go back to sleep, and take herbal tea, but it doesn't work....

-Oh, Lo, Silver murmurs, and he looks so pained that it draws a sob from the boy. Loan tries frantically to wipe his eyes.

-I'm sorry, it's just...

-Hey, can I give you a hug ?

The boy looks up to find Silver a meter away, arms cautiously open, waiting and a worried look on his face. It's been a long time since he's had a hug, but he's hot, he's sore, his back is vulnerable...

He shakes his head, and Silver doesn't look disappointed, he doesn't complain, he doesn't pull away. He just lowers his arms and looks at him with concern.

-Lo...

-I'm fine, I'm fine, he repeats, forcing himself to breathe normally and continuing to wipe his eyes. Just nerves, I guess.

-There's nothing like sleep deprivation to make you cry at every turn.

Silver's voice is serene, and this helps ground Loan in reality, soothing his raw emotions a little. The tears won't stop flowing though, he just can't, he's just so tired, and it's stupid, why won't these stupid tears stop flowing!

-I'm going to sleep eventually. At some point.

-I suppose.

Silver doesn't mention the existence of sleeping pills for this type of problem. They both know that nothing can throw Loan into a panic attack faster than the laborious emergence of a medicated sleep. Instead, he stirs the chocolate thoughtfully for a few moments, then suddenly looks up, a gleam of determination in his eyes.

-Okay, emergency plan.

-What... ? begins the young man, bewildered by the sudden finality of tone.

-We're watching a movie. With chocolate or coffee. We stay up all night. We both do.

-But...

-No objections ! Objections aren’t allowed ! In the name of my status as guild leader !

As if !

And yet Loan says nothing as Silver shoves a mug into each of his hand and grabs a tray of snacks before dragging him upstairs to a resting room full of cushions and bean bag chairs, where the TV and DVD player are packed with carefully parameterized spells. It has taken the Ensorceleur and Nathaniel days to find a magical configuration that allows the devices to function without a proper electrical grid.

Silver persuades him to sit on the battered sofa, throws a plaid over his head and goes to start a movie, a...Ghibli ? Loan gives him a doubtful look as he settles more comfortably on the sofa.

-Isn't this type of film normally for children ?

-Since you've never seen it, I'll ignore that tasteless comment, Silver replies solemnly, adjusting the room's lighting and snuggling down at the other end of the sofa under his own plaid.

Whatever is the film's intended audience, Loan finds himself enjoying it. It's beautiful and colorful, there's a flying castle and a happy ending. It's simple and sweet, and he sinks deeper and deeper into the cushions as time passes. It's a good way to pass the time, and it's easy to have a good time with Silver. He's fun and friendly, and where Loan might feel pathetic for behaving like a child at 22, the presence of the boisterous Guardian makes it seem like it's no problem at all.

He finishes his coffee well before the end of the film, and Silver gives him a cup of chocolate he's kept warm on the tray. The young man gives in, and it's as comforting as usual, sweetened by the handful of marshmallows Silver drops in before giving it to him. Loan leans against Silver to place the empty coffee cup on the tray, and decides to stay in this position without the werewolf complaining. The man is a warm mass and makes a decent pillow. The pill has taken effect and the pain in his back has greatly eased. Slowly, his blinks grow longer and longer as the melodious music lulls him to sleep. He barely realizes that Silver has begun to emit that hushed purr characteristic of his species.

He's falling asleep. This awareness also means it's time to choose whether to listen to the exhaustion dragging him down, or fight it with what little strength he has left. He tries to lift his eyelids, aware of the half-full cup in his hand, but a friendly hand gently pulls it away and he has no reason to resist. Not in the warm, familiar cocoon that Silver's aura forms around him, shielding him from the eyes in the shadows.

When Loan slips into dreamless sleep for the first time in days, it's with the absolute certainty that he's safe.

[clumsyhissingcat]

I purposefully sleep deprivating myself and then wondering why i've cried about my coffee being just a little too sweetened

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 9: OBSESSION

Broken Window | Bruises | “Frame me up on the wall, just to keep me out of trouble.” (Fall Out Boy, Irresistible)

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.9 for Whumptober !

A bit of context: If anyone has read my others works for Whumptober, Api is the father of Justine from no.3 and he's the healer mentioned in no.6. The works 3 and this one are close in time. Mikal is an ex-soldier who fought alongside Helios (an antagonist who is also trying to build a small family with the relatives of his enemies he tends to kidnaps) during a war several years earlier. He does Helios a small favor by recovering and keeping a family member for him.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

It’s only out of luck that Mikal walks in the broken window minutes after the healer has fled.

In theory, he shouldn't be able to move yet, completely knocked out by the drug, but Mikal immediately realizes that he's underestimated him.

Fortunately, it doesn't take him long to find him in the garden. He manages to move, which is impressive in itself, but he's slow and still a bit shaky. He has slightly cut his abdomen on the tiny remnants of glass, and is on one knee curled up behind a bush when Mikal grabs him by the collar and sends him crashing into the grass with irritation.

-Really ? An escape attempt in your condition ?

-Fuck you, spits Api, and he grunts in pain as Mikal kicks him in the stomach.

-Get up.

The healer doesn't particularly resist, at least, and clumsily gets to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, the master of the estate sees a servant watching from the terrace. His servants are aware of his violent temper, but with this particular guest, he prefers a more private setting. Besides, he's got work to do, so it's best not to drag things out. Still, it wouldn't be to his advantage to let the healer off without punishment. Something quick and painful, that will teach him not to sow chaos in his domain...he sighs and decides he can think about it on the way.

Mikal pushes him towards the building, and Api d'Estreya glares at him but obeys despite his clumsy movements. Mikal can bet that the man is the type to tell you whatever you want to hear, only to act freely behind your back. If he lets him get away with just a slap on the wrist, the healer will keep looking for the slightest flaw. They still have to spend a few days together, until Helios can come and retrieve his reluctant captive, and Mikal would really prefer this to be done quietly. On the other hand, he is curious to get to know a little better one of the people who are the object of Helios' obsessive side to the point of pushing him to such laxity.

They're halfway to Api's room - if he needs to, he'll tie the man to his bed while more suitable accommodations are prepared for him - when an idea springs from this muddle of thought.

He's been thinking of a quick punishment so he can get back to work quickly, but maybe he can do something else !

Api looks suspicious as he calls out to two servants on the way to the office. Mikal ushers him into the room first, amused by the way the man stiffens as he hastily brushes past him in the doorway to stand in the center of the room with an air of angry contempt that doesn't quite hide his tension.

-Why exactly am I here ?

-So I can teach you a lesson about staying out of trouble, Mikal replies, closing the door behind the two servants.

His office is a decent-sized room occupied mostly by shelves full of books (mostly account books or inventories). The large wooden desk with its back to the windows is covered with papers, open account books and special order placements that need his attention. The fabric business has also shifted to the production of fabrics for military needs, including the laying of enchantments in fabric. Less lucrative at present, but skirmishes on the border of an allied country suggest a profitable conflict, as evidenced by a request for information on a possible order.

There are two crossed spears decorating one of the side walls, essentially for decorative purposes. Api watches him unhook them (he's barely tall enough) with suspicion. Mikal wonders if he realizes that he's crossed his arms slightly in front of his stomach as if to protect himself.

-Why are you...?

-Grab him, the warrior interrupts, addressing his two servants.

The second of confused hesitation on their faces is an opening for Api, who dashes for the door. Ah, not stupid indeed !

The two employees react more by reflex than anything else, and intercept the healer in tandem. He puts up a good fight, grunting and cursing, but one of them rams his knee into his stomach in the mishmash of limbs they form on the floor. The healer cries out in pain and tries instead to cower, and that's it, the other firmly grabs one of his arms, making it ridiculously easy for the second servant to neutralize the opposite limb. The man struggles a little between them, red-faced, out of breath, then seeing the futility of his efforts lets go between their arms and raises desperate eyes to Mikal who waits patiently, one of the spears in his hand.

-Wait, please. Wait, please don't. Whatever you're thinking, don't.

-Ah ? replies the other politely, amused by the man's sudden fright. 

-I'm sorry, says the healer hurriedly. I'm really sorry. I won't try to run away again.

-Hm, hums Mikal, and he pretends to ponder these words for a few seconds. Completely at the mercy of his decision, his guest has no choice but to wait and hope.

-No, I don't think I can trust you on this right now, decides the former soldier. Sit him against the wall and hold his arm out to the side.

These words provoke a resumption of the fight, but Api is still weakened and fighting two against one. It doesn't take long to force the man into the required position. Meanwhile, Mikal slices the spears with his magic : it’s a bit long for what he wants to do with it.

He places one on the ground so as not to be hindered in his movements : the first is the most important.  Api pulls frantically on his arm to free it from the grip of one of the servants, while the other holds him against the wall in a sitting position. Neither of the servants looks comfortable with what's going on, but they don't try to go against their orders.

-You should make yourself comfortable, suggests Mikal. Don't make this harder on yourself.

-Please, chokes Api. Please don't.

-Keep your hand wide open if you don't want to lose any fingers.

Api lets out a cry of mixed panic and anger and continues his fruitless efforts. Well, the quickest way to put an end to those fights is to go for it.

Mikal lifts the magically reinforced half spear and brings it down in a single powerful motion.

Api screams hoarsely as the blade pierces his palm, tearing flesh and bone. The handle sinks halfway into the woodwork. The servant holding his arm steps aside, pale and nauseous.

-One down, one to go. Api, the other hand.

The healer sobs hysterically and hyperventilates, curling up in himself as far as he can pinned to the wall, and keeps his other hand pressed against his body. When the remaining servant grabs his wrist in his trembling hands to press it against the wall, Api launches into useless struggles again.

-Open hand, watch your fingers !

Another piercing howl as the weapon comes down, gradually descending into convulsive cries. Mikal dismisses the two visibly shocked servants and turns to his guest. Even in the shock of pain, Api is intelligent enough not to try to move his arms, to not try to free himself, but his whole body is shaking violently. Blood trickles to the floor. The carpet will probably be ruined, but it's a small price to pay for teaching the man a lesson.

Mikal leans comfortably against the opposite wall and watches silently as he tries to even out his breathing. It takes him a few minutes to get back to a more stable, if shaky and wet, rhythm, but he's doing a good job. Intelligent and in control. Mikal can understand Helios' affection for him.

-P...Please...I...

However, the attempt at supplication is understandable but annoying. Api looks like the type of person who never tires of trying to appeal to people's good feelings, and the nobleman needs to be able to work. He may enjoy the view, but hardly the background sound.

He retrieves a clean towel from his coffee tray and approaches the healer. His new piece of art gives him a feverish, hopeful look, and the ex-warrior can appreciate the transformation into horror up close when he grabs his jaw to shove the cloth down his throat up to a panicked heave. He completes the gag with the healer's own belt, causing him to scream in terror for a few seconds (Normally, Mikal would be willing to examine this terror more closely, but this might make Helios a little too tense if he were to find out).

The torturer straightens up and pats the healer's sweat-soaked brown curls. The man shivers under his touch.

-I'll give you some time to calm down. And in a few hours, if you've been good and explain to me exactly how you managed to shake off the effects of the drug, then maybe I'll put an end to the lesson. But in the meantime, this should keep you out of trouble.

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 7: ONLY FOR EMERGENCIESUnconventional Weapon | Magic with a Cost | “It’s us or them.”

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.7 for Whumptober !

This one doesn’t need that much lore to be understood, but if you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Brian was normally very good at saving his strength. For any lightning magician, this was absolutely vital, and a large part of the training of the members of his guild, mostly made up of lightning mages, consisted of learning to carefully control the flow of energy and determine the minimum level necessary.

There was a blur of movement to his right and he let his magic enhance his reflexes, the shortened nerve impulses enabling him to move in time to dodge the hammer that smashed the ground where he stood just in time. A splinter of rock cut into his cheek without him even feeling it, completely focused on his opponent's next moves. There was an opening !

Brian threw himself forward in a burst of white light, aiming for the vital points.

The man he was up against straightened up, too quickly for it to be natural, and ploughed through the air with his weapon.

Brian leapt back with a cry of rage, forced to retreat again, skidding on the wet ground. He barely recovered and put a few more steps between himself and the enemy.

The latter, instead of continuing his attacks, watched him with a hallucinatory gaze, a euphoric sparkle in his eyes.

For God's sake, a guy of his build wasn't even supposed to be wielding a war hammer ! He was skinny, weak and obviously barely trained to fight ! Not even a challenge for a certified guild leader !

Brian gritted his teeth as the faint metallic taste in his mouth became more noticeable. In theory, the guy should have been on the ground by now, yes. If he wasn't the worst kind of opponent for a lightning mage.

A Berserker. Or at least, a pale imitation of one. Completely drugged with black henbane, insensitive to pain, endowed with enhanced strength and, worst of all, delirious stamina.

Brian's grip on his sword had been trembling for a good two minutes. He tightened it as best he could and tried to think above the panic that was beginning to mount. They were in the sewers, narrow and shifting spaces, in which using his increased speed was difficult and dangerous, especially when relying only on his imperfect night vision. Running away was not an option, and the very thought of it stirred a deep revolt within him.

But so was continuing to fight against such a resilient man.

Mages with an affinity for lightning essentially fought in two ways : by using their ultra-speed in a refined way to beat the enemy in a matter of seconds, or by unleashing huge discharges of power in just a few bursts. Brian couldn't count on the latter after putting his powers to work all the day, especially given the state he'd been in the week before, right after another seizure. As for the first...part of the problem stemmed from the Berserker's own reflexes.

The other came from Brian's deep-seated fear of what would happen if he missed. Or if the Berserker got up as if nothing had happened.

If the guild leader went all out, he could certainly give him one hell of a beating. But the price to be paid for this success...

The madman rushed at him with a scream, and Brian felt his power roar through his veins, tingling in his fingertips, in his legs, vibrating in every muscle. He barely dodged, swollen with adrenalin mixed with indecision. He pivoted and in a second of quick thinking lacerated the assailant's flank. He was rewarded with a satisfying spurt of blood. The man didn't scream or even slow down : he stretched out his leg to trip Brian. The lightning magician moved to dodge it too...

...And a sudden muscle contraction in his calf caused him to stumble anyway. He barely recovered, compensating with his good leg to transform his fall into a roll that allowed him to get up hastily and unleash a bolt of lightning from his fingertips that kept his opponent at bay. His outstretched fingers twitched spasmodically, as did his right leg. He'd dropped his sword in his fall, his strained muscles unable to keep a firm grip on the movement.

Oh shit, he was absolutely losing this duel, wasn't he ?

The gunman stared at his fingers for a second, then a delighted smile stretched across his face. He raised his eyes, staring at Brian.

-You're dead, you bastard.

The voice was hoarse and the words garbled, painfully extracted from the depths of a brain clearly not at its best when it comes to word.

The guild leader didn't reply, his heart in his throat, unable to think of an answer at the same time as his survival.

This wasn't the first time he'd found himself in this situation, and each time it felt like the last. And maybe it was the last, Brian mused, his leg and arms twitching spasmodically and unceasingly. A dull terror gripped his throat, soaking his palms with a sweat that had nothing to do with the effort. How many times had this same terror pressed against him in recent years?

Saving his strength, planning every necessary move, retreating as soon as possible at the slightest doubt. The daily routine of a lightning mage, the precepts that all those who employed these particular spells had to follow. He knew this. He knew exactly what consequences he was exposing himself to by neglecting these basic precautions.

And yet, he continued to end up in this position, always.

Brian exhaled slowly, the breath trapped in his lungs.

This wasn't the first time.

The Berserker launched a final charge to finish off his enemy.

Barely had he completed his first step when a flash of white blinded him. Then, a detonation, so powerful that he screamed in pain as his eardrums exploded, the destruction of delicate organs enough to briefly overcome even the insensitivity of the Berserker trance. In the confusion of the moment, he felt something going through his neck.

The afterimage on his retina finally dissipated. He wobbled, blinking wide-eyed to take stock, warm liquid dripping onto his shoulders from the two points of pain on either side of his head and on his chest.

The magician had disappeared.

For a second, he just stared at the last place he had stood. Gone...gone...a flash...

He turned around.

Crouched in the dust and leaning his shoulder against the wall to keep from collapsing, the man was staring at him with something that could only be terror on his blood-spattered face. And a kind of disbelief. Clearly, he hadn't expected to lose to a guy with almost no experience. His little escape attempt had failed.

The Berserker stepped forward to finish him off. Then the world turned, his legs gave up and he collapsed. He grunted in bewilderment, tried to lean on his arms to get up, but they gave way too, and he found himself flat on his back. His extremities were strangely numb, and for some reason his top was soaked through. He couldn't move enough to see, though. All he could do was growl at the mage, because the bastard had done something... !

He growled, struggling as he rapidly weakened, and as he flailed his gaze landed on an object on the ground beside the guildmaster. A small, blood-stained dagger.

His mind was no longer clear enough to make the connection, and he bled to death in a matter of seconds.

Brian could have fainted with relief. He had sincerely believed that this madman would manage to get up and kill him. But apparently, even Berserkers needed blood to live.

He'd managed to use what little stamina he had left in a final, full-speed thrust, pulling out his dagger to slit the man's throat. He'd finally won.

But he wasn't out of the woods yet.

Another violent muscle spasm painfully contracted his leg for a few seconds. Teeth clenched, Brian managed to tear his cape from around his neck quickly. Fortunately, the pin had been specially designed to detach easily. Better to lose a cape than a man. He threw the pin on the side, then maneuvered his body shaking with tiny uncontrollable tremors to the side as fast as he could, clumsily putting the cape under his head. He only had a few seconds left before the worst of the crisis struck. He lay on his side as comfortably as he could, his vision devoured by dazzling white flashes.

Reinforcements were on their way. A location enchantment was bound to the cape pin and he'd gone deep into the tunnels hours before. They were probably looking for him now. This wasn't the first crisis he'd suffered after overusing his powers.

He was still repeating these thoughts over and over to himself when a sudden wave of muscular contractions seized him.

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 6: NOT REALISING THEY’RE INJURED

Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms | Healed Wrong | “It’s not my blood.”

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.6 for Whumptober !

A bit of lore : All the children here are between 14 and 20 years old. Justine is the same Justine of day 3, but four years older. Will probably made it more clear when i’m not dissolving from exhaustion anymore.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. This one is not very graphic, but check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Aaron didn't take the time to question the caregivers further when he overheard one of them talking about “Silver Shein's kids”, which for anyone who knows anything about Silver is a way of referring to the small band of various children, teenagers and young adults who gravitate around the guild.

It's entirely by chance that he's here to hear this. He has a magically-reinforced radius to check and the splint removed, and since one of Api's healers took care of it, the easiest thing to do is to come back to the clinic.

But last night, he learned from Aurore that most of the gang had planned to spend the day together. They're pretty reckless and impulsive, unsurprising for kids who've flirted with death and suffered enough for a lifetime, most of them long before puberty. They get into impossible situations and end up injured more often than normal kids.

It's probably not serious. They're reckless, but it's often benign stuff.

He ignores the little voice reminding him that Lucien is a healer himself, that he could easily handle minor injuries.

Then again, maybe they've just come to say hello to Api or look for Justine. The healer and his daughter are close of the children (of Lucien and Loan, especially, unsurprisingly. What they've all been through at the hands of Helios has brought them terribly close). Justine is as much a part of the gang as any of the other kids.

Aaron strides up the stairs, concerned but not really worried. It's probably nothing. He'll just check it out as a precaution. He has to admit, the little gang has certainly risen in his esteem with their exploits. Besides, his daughter is with them anyway, so he can say hi.

The corridors of the clinic are busy, and as he glances down each corridor and open room he passes, people linger on his face before looking away sheepishly. The gnarled scar that disfigures him tends to create a morbid fascination, even more so in places of care where the frequency of such terrible injuries dissipates the modesty of upbringing.

He has learned not to care, and even less so when he's in the midst of such an important task as finding the children.

He wanders for another 10 minutes without finding or hearing anything, and he's beginning to think he's understand wrong when he turns the corner of a hallway and comes upon them.

He recognizes Jonah first, standing off to the side, partially blocking the other’s view, in profile. The teenager's clothes are stained with dirt and dust, and rust-colored streaks down his back.

Lea is the first to see him, her green eyes widening as she rises from the bench where she's sitting. Her features are tense and the right side of her hair is plastered to her head with clotted blood.

Lucien, sitting next to the bench leaning against the wall, is startled and follows his friend's gaze. He looks haggard, but the sight of Aaron seems to bring him back to consciousness. A gleam passes through his eyes. Aaron has seen enough fear to recognize it in a flash.

Halsyl, who spotted him at the same time as Lea, stands back beside Loan, his eyes reddened and lips trembling.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, precisely because Loan is at the end of the corridor, sitting on another bench, pale and silent. He's wearing a vermillion tinted of brown tunic, half up, while a healer is bent over his abdomen, hands glowing with magic.

Aaron rushes into the corridor, all remaining calm evaporating to give way to cold, cutting fear.

-Aaron...!  begins Lea, but he ignores her, because parts of Loan's tunic are an off-white color that clashes with the rest, and his brain has already made the connection, has already come to the logical conclusion: that Loan is covered in blood, probably seriously injured, because life can't leave this kid alone.

The unmistakable metallic smell that catches his nose as he stumbles up beside them seems to point to this theory and Aaron hopes, really hopes, that maybe it's not so bad. That Loan will be fine and that he won't have to contact Silver in a hurry to get someone to pull Nathaniel out of whatever place he's practicing his talents at the moment.

-Loan, Aaron said, his voice steady but urgent. Loan, kid, where are you hurt ? Hey, he scolds the healer without waiting for the boy's response, what happened ? Where's he hurt ? Why is he being treated in the corridor ?

The healer, looking very calm, doesn't even look up from his task as he answers.

-He’s fine, sir, don’t panic. Just a broken rib and a few others cracks, it repairs very well, and considerating of the flow of patients we have, I prefer to do it quickly in the hallway.

Aaron opens his mouth, then closes it. That’s... good. That’s good, but...

-Broken ribs wouldn’t bleed like that, he whistles. Where did it come from ? What’s all this blood ? Loan ?

-Sir, relax, he’s fine, it’s the most important, declares firmly the caregiver.

-Aaron, it’s okay, I... I can explain...

Lea’s tone is cautious and hesitant. She is Silver’s sister, who turned the Ensorceleur and made Helios so mad that he hates her even more than his brother. She is never hesitant, she is too impulsive and hot-headed for thar. He would knows, he has fought beside her countless times. This girl is not afraid of anything.

-Explain what ? The reason why Loan is in this state ? What did you all do ?!

-It’s not my blood, mumbles a faint voice.

-What ?! barks the mercenary as he turns around to glare at Loan. Halsyl flinches.

He feels an old fear begin to rise, a terror from his deepest nightmares.

Aurore is not with the group. She must be in the bathroom. Or out for coffee. Or somewhere else, in top form.

-It’s not my blood, the young man repeats half hidden behind his black hair, and he closes his eyes.

-I’m sorry.

-Where is Aurore ?

Aaron’s pulse is racing as a parent’s worst nightmare comes to life right before his eyes. They just left for a day out together in the city. In a relatively safe environment. What could have happened ? How ? Aurore must be somewhere else. It can’t be her blood on Loan’s tunic. That’s too much, right ? So at least not just her blood, maybe also from others people ?

-Where...where the fuck…

-In the operating room.

The caregiver is the one responding. He stood up at one point and faced Aaron, his posture open and deliberately non-threatening, as if trying to calm a beast. He has come between him and Loan, apparently unimpressed by the mountain of muscles with a deformed face that threatens to lose his composure. -She had lost a lot of blood and presented impressive injuries, but was treated immediately. It was the chief healer Api d'Estreya who took care of it.

The mercenary feels like he is underwater. Words are distant and muffled. His daughter is in the operating room with serious injuries. She has lost a lot of blood. This information is bouncing back and forth in his mind. From far away, he vaguely hears Lea trying to explain what happened. She talks about a street fight that went wrong, about stabbing.

Aurore was stabbed. Several times.

-Where is the room ?

-Right next door. Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you not to rush inside so you don’t put her in more danger.

Does he think he’s an idiot ? He knows that. He thinks about telling him, but the thought immediately dissipates as it sounds useless. Aurore is in danger. His duty as a father is not to put her in more danger, right ? If he can’t protect her, then at least he has to minimize the damage, right ?

The violent dizziness of the news passes a little while years of military training finally kick in and he suddenly grabs the doctor by the shoulders. The man tenses but doesn’t make a single move to escapes.

-I want every detail on her condition.

-Very well, the man nods. I’ll just ask you to sit down before you get sick.

He makes him put his head between his knees for a while, brings him a glass of water and explains that the quick reaction (Loan slowed the bleeding while Lucien teleported all three of them over a remarkable distance for his power. The others joined them on foot) had greatly improved her chances. The injury itself is impressive, but not complicated to heal. She should survive. Aaron still feels strangely detached from everything that’s going on, but he’s not about to get sick at least.

After the healer is done, they all sit in silence in this corridor. Someone takes Loan to get cleaned up and change. Aaron cannot put into words the relief he feels when his daughter’s blood-soaked garment disappears from his field of vision. He can’t put into words how he feels about the gang of teenagers at his side. They saved Aurore. They saved her... and maybe they put her in danger too. But these are thoughts he will have plenty of time to explore later.

It’s still half an hour before Api joins them in the corridor, looking tired but serene. This is the longest half-hour of Aaron’s life.

When the healer appears at the intersection, Aaron gets up fast enough for butterflies to burst into his vision. It doesn’t matter, because even through them he can distinguish the raised thumb from the healer and his reassuring smile, and the metal around his chest finally relaxes.

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 5: SUNBURN

Healing Salve | Heatstroke | “If my pain will stretch that far.” (Lottery Winners, Burning House)

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.5 for Whumptober !

A bit of context : Those two OC are siblings with a less than happy childhood. To put some perspective, the Ensorceleur was 16 when he broke his promise. Donovan was 9. Lucien, Donovan’s son, was in the care of his paternal grandfather for most of his childhood (the grandfather is doing much better with him than with his sons).

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

The two brothers look equally surprised. They stare at each other in silence on the porch for long seconds.

Donovan is the first to catch himself.

-What are you doing here ? he growls, tense and aggressive. His posture has straightened and his grip on the doorknob is deadly.

-Ah. Um, stammers the Ensorceleur, and Donovan doesn't know him well enough to know how rare it is to catch him off guard. I've...come to drop some things off.

He raises the backpack he's holding at arm's length as proof. Donovan squints.

-These are Lucien's things, clarifies the mercenary. He left them at Silver and Lea's place and I came to bring them back...as I was passing by...

The mention of his son only creates more tension for Donovan, but he simply reaches for the backpack.

-I'll take them.

-Oh, yes, of course, says L’Ensorceleur. He makes no move to hand the bag to his brother.

-Just like that, what brings you here ?

-What's it to you ? snaps the other man instantly.

-Wow, calm down, I'm just curious !

L’Ensorceleur steps back, the bag dangling from his arm.

-Just give me the bag !

-Answer my question ! Come on, it's not like it's going to rip your throat out... !

Donovan closes the gap between them by stepping forward, and the other man immediately steps back to maintain the distance. The younger freezes, his features twisted with anger, then takes a deep breath and forces himself to regain some composure.

-I came to say hello, but they're downtown. I'm waiting for them.

The Ensorceleur’s face relaxes a little, a softer expression taking its place.

-I see. Did the old man leave you a spare key ?

-He's been hiding them in the same place for ten years. Now give me the bag and go.

-I need to use the bathroom.

-There's a public toilet...

-God, it'll take me 5 minutes, just let me in !

Donovan clenches his jaw and steps aside.

-You'd better hurry.

In his defense, it takes the Ensorceleur considerably less than 5 minutes. He comes back down quickly, and Donovan hates the nonchalant way the other man takes the opportunity to examine the decor and look at the remains of a disparate snack on the kitchen table. The room is small, tiled in yellow and orange to give it a warm feel. The large window lets in the fading afternoon light. The fridge is adorned with a handful of photos of a little then not so little boy. It's intimate and homey. The killer has no place here. Not that Donovan has one either.

-If you're done, you can go, hisses the translator.

The Ensorceleur hesitates. His brother's whole attitude is screaming at him to go, but...

-Actually, I was thinking maybe we should have a little chat. Why don't you...

-Talk ? repeats Donovan, his voice laced with sarcasm.

He pretends to gather the plates, to keep his hands busy and avoid meeting the other's gaze. There are words heavy with meaning on his tongue, but he refrains from adding anything.

-Yeah, says the Ensorceleur finally. About everything. I mean...I know you're mad at me, and I wanted...I wanted to talk about it.

Donovan refuses to answer, his chest constricted by a growing fury. He sweeps away the crumbs with the palm of his hand, giving himself a few seconds to try and gather his scattered thoughts.

-Don, please. I just want to talk to you.

The younger man remains focused on his task. The repetitive motion almost makes him forget the looming presence behind him. Donovan has never been able to do more than a few magic tricks, basic manipulations of the weak aura he possesses. Georges was always more powerful than he was.

-Don. Come on, Don. Come on. Please.

Smarter. Stronger.

-I'm sorry, Don.

More insolent, more selfish, more immature and inconsistent.

-You're sorry ? Sorry for what, exactly ? Donovan chokes, turning to face the monster in the house.

Georges-L'Ensorceleur takes a step back, apparently surprised by what he finds on Donovan's face.

-I don't care about what you want to tell me. There's nothing to discuss. You've made your choices. You took what you wanted and left everything else behind.

-Donovan...

-Shut up ! Barks his brother, eyes flashing with rage. Shut up !

The man takes a shaky breath. There's hesitation on the older man's face, as his brother’s emotions unleashs.

-You abandoned me, Donovan finally says. The words spill out between them, full of sharp edges.

The rage fades away as quickly as it appeared.

-It's been over 25 years. There's nothing left to say. I don't need apologies or explanations. Just stay as far away from me as possible. And, the translator quickly adds, I may not be able to protect Lucien from your lies, but I'll be there when you betray him the way you betrayed me. To bear the consequences of your actions for you.

The Ensorceleur turns pale and he straightens up :

-I would never hurt Lucien !

-You promised him the same way you promised never to leave me ?

-You think that's what I wanted ? I didn't know how to go back, Don ! I just didn't !

-But you found out a way, eventually. And you chose to never come back. You chose to leave in the first place.

The mercenary clenches his fists, struggling to maintain his composure as his brother turns away again.

-Get the hell out.

-You think this was easy for me ?  You think I didn't suffer while I was out there ?

Donovan pauses, stunned for a second. Stunned that the Ensorceleur, or Georges, or whatever name seemed most appropriate, would allow himself such a reflection.

-You think this was easy ? You think I wanted to leave you behind ? You think I wanted to leave you behind, in that fucking house with...with him ? continues the Ensorceleur. A violent anger surges through him, and he sweats in a way that's completely excessive for September.

-You think...

-You promised me just one thing ! shouts Donovan. One damn thing ! The only thing you were ever going to do for me ! Fuck you !

-Fuck you ! What, you think she never hit me ? You think I had it easier than you ?

-You've never been home enough to make it hard ! Always outside whenever you didn't like something, telling me you'd be home soon and pretending not to see my bruises, apologizing and doing it all over again the next day ! Even after she was dead ! Am I supposed to feel sorry for you and  pity you ?  

The dam breaks and the Ensorceleur lunges forward.

Donovan has no time to do anything but flinch. The Guardian grabs him by the collar and slams him against the wall, eliciting a muffled scream. The Ensorceleur shakes him, panting heavily inches from his face, closer to losing control than he'd been for months.

-Shut up ! Shut up !

Donovan remains silent, breathless and shoulders aching. And if this silence is due more to years of learning than to violent shock, no one can tell the difference. Or almost nobody.

The Ensorceleur's blind rage subsides a little, enough to look at his little brother's fear-twisted face, held in the hands of someone who was supposed to protect him and who had already broken the most precious promise between them. Ordinary terror, so similar to that of so many before him.

No. Not him. He can't...he can't...Donovan...

-You're just like her.

The Ensorceleur widened his eyes and hurriedly released Donovan. He takes a faltering step backwards, horrified by his own inability to control himself, the weight of his actions made even heavier by his younger brother savage gaze.

The latter straightens a little and pulls at his shirt collar with one hand. His neutral, composed face holds firm, but his trembling hands bear witness to his shock and fear.

-You think I don't know what you've been doing all these years ? All those people you killed like dogs ? he spits.

The Ensorceleur stares at him, his stomach turning. How informed was he ? Who had informed him ?

He almost missed his brother's final verdict.

-Whatever happened to you, you deserve it. You deserve every bit of it.

It's strange, this need for recognition you feel from your family. This need for love, forgiveness, understanding. It's been a long time since he and Donovan shared anything. Today, the only thing forcing them together is a child who should never have learned anything about his paternal family and about whom they know almost nothing. Not much. Hardly more than the little they had all those years ago.

The Ensorceleur feels as if his chest is being crushed.

His brother looks straight into his eyes. It's empty and dull, the anger and pain purged by the passage of time.

For days, he'd been trying to find the courage to talk to Donovan. The courage to reopen the old wound and drain the pus. He'd never thought he'd find anything but a scar. Testimony to a past suffering, erased and now almost painless.

- It's been over 25 years. There's nothing left to say. I don't need excuses or explanations. We don’t share anything anymore, if we’ve already did so. I just want you to stay as far away from my life as possible. I'm tired of always being the one to suffer for others. I'm tired of having to sympathize with others, of having to be understanding, of having to be grateful for my easy life. I don't have what it takes anymore.

The Ensorceleur manages to take a strangled breath. The air passing through his lungs is pungent and irritating. He forces himself to relax his arms, a reflex movement. A fighter needs to take it easy in preparation for combat. An assassin needs to keep his flexibility.

-I'm tired of having to be the forgiving one.

A monster must abandon the idea of forgiveness.

Two strangers face each other in silence.

[clumsyhissingcat]

Is this a problem?

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You’re still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More)

OC Whump

Hi, here is my contribution no.4 for Whumptober !

A bit of context : When he was younger, the Ensorceleur fled his home and met a man who drew him into his mercenary army. He trusted this man completely, without realizing that their relationship was anything but healthy. After years of committing atrocities on behalf of his mentor, he finally opened his eyes and left. But the experience have definitely left a mark.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

The world moved around without him seeming to belong to it. His body seemed to be in a different space-time, heavy and slow, while a complex choreography of fluid movements seemed to take place around. A thick, heavy fabric limited his movements and separated him from the rest of the world. On a deeper level, the Ensorceleur recognized the effects of an active substance, probably an opioid administered to calm the raging pain that had taken hold of his decomposing right arm. This recognition, however, didn't allow him to act on the consequences, which didn't help the swarm of agitated persons next to him to calm down.

Standing next to his shivering friend who was clearly in a state of shock, Api struggled to retain any vestiges of composure.

 -If there's one fucking piece of information that's correct and accurate in his file, it's that he reacts badly to opioids !

-It wasn't in his file, sir ! Retorted the young apprentice on the verge of tears.

-Then who messed with the files ?!

-I did the best I could with what I had, sir !

-Damn it!

At his wits end, the healer turned away and took a deep breath to calm himself. Well, at least the drug seemed to have greatly reduced the physical pain, which was the primary objective. On the negative side, the mercenary looked more distressed than Api had ever seen him.

The Ensorceleur buried his head in his knees with a moan, drawing his attention. The man who treated a show of weakness as the worst thing that could happen to him moaned. The healer dropped to one knee, hesitantly bringing his hands up to the other man. The problem with trying to heal an Entity completely drugged and trained to kill was that the slightest miscalculated gesture could have dramatic consequences.

-Easy, breathed a voice behind his ear before he could make contact with his friend.

Crouching beside him, Bryan regarded the Ensorceleur with a worried expression.

-If possible, avoid touching him. He sometimes reacts...violently, when he's not in his normal state.

-Has anything like this ever happened before ? inquired the healer cautiously.

The guild leader hesitated visibly, because...

-With his metabolism, yes, from time to time...Don't look at me like that ! he quickly defended himself against the healer's glare. We tried to get his cooperation on several potential treatment plans when necessary, when he was in top form, and he always refused ! Except that once he was injured, we had no choice but to try and treat him with what little medical history we had. So yes, sometimes things got out of hand, and I've seen him in that kind of state before.

The Ensorceleur muttered a series of garbled words incomprehensible to them, and Bryan winced.

-Well, maybe not like this. His reactions to opioids are one of the pieces of information he's shared with us on his own.

-Hey. I need you to focus on us and try to communicate how you're feeling. I have a drug with an antagonistic effect that may help you feel better, but with your strange metabolism, I'd rather we let the effect wear off on its own. But I need to know how you feel, Api said slowly and distinctly to his patient.

The Ensorceleur could have answered him. He could have told him immediately to give him the strongest possible dose of his magic product. In fact, he would probably have begged him to do so, had he been able to hear what Api was saying.

But the ghostly hand resting on the back of his neck like tthe executioner guillotine had ensured that his undivided attention went to the only person in the room worthy of it.

Didn’t I taught you that showing weakness is the best way to get others to stab you in the back ?

Not real. He wasn't. He was drugged, and he absolutely had to hold onto that thought. At all costs.

You've never been one to hide behind lies. But I guess that's what you needed to keep hiding behind Silver Shein's back like a scared child.

The hand had more weight now, nails digging into flesh.

It's pathetic. You look like a beaten dog. But I suppose my disgust is normal. Few artists are ever satisfied with their creations.

The Ensorceleur exhaled the liquid lead in his lungs in a long, hoarse hiss and tried to convince himself that the hand on the back of his neck was more reassuring than terrifying, whether it belonged to Api or Bryan, or even Freya, who distrusted him but wouldn't hurt him for no reason, least of all in front of Bryan's eyes.

He forced himself to open his eyes and stare at Api's anxious face hovering in front of him. Whatever he felt behind him wasn't real. Just a hallucination brought on by the painkiller. Nothing that could hurt him, just a conspiracy from his brain and senses. If he concentrated on Api's features, on his reassuring presence, then the hallucinations would have a harder time dragging him into the dark corner of his consciousness where they resided.

Except that a pale face burst into his field of vision, blocking out his friend's view. The Enchanter gasped and threw himself backwards. His skull hit the wall with a thud and a flash of white flashed into his retina for a second, just a second ; that was enough.

A leather-gloved iron fist closed around his neck, strangling the scream. A weight much heavier than it should have crushed his hips, pinning him to the ground, and Magister leaned over him, smiling broadly, his pupils two black holes dripping ink onto his face.

Perhaps your brother's son would make a better canvas...or a better receptacle !

The man's face melted, lengthened a little, and his hair grew and lightened until a mass of curls frame familiar features. A grotesque parody of Lucien laughed in his face, before vomiting black, stale blood onto his chest. The Ensorceleur received a few drops in his mouth and audibly choked, struggling to free himself from his mentor's grasp.

-No. N-no...

He’s choking

Even now, you don't beg. Is there anything that could make you give up your misplaced pride ? Are they so insignificant to you, those you claim to protect ?

-Nooo...

We'll see, whispered the abomination with his nephew’s face. We'll see how quickly you fall at his feet...

When I've repaired your mistake and got my new suit of flesh, finished Magister, his mentor, master, friend and executioner.

Through the delirious terror (not for himself, never for himself, because his master would never hurt him, but the others, the insignificant...) that clouded his mind, he became aware of an increasingly acute pain in his arm. He resumed his pitiful attempts to free himself. He was the Ensorceleur, he had to fight, to keep going, to do the only thing he was good at...

But he had never been able to make even a violent gesture towards Magister.

You love me more than you've ever loved anyone.

Warm breath on his nose. Ice-blue eyes, punctuated with shadows and shades, so close he could almost see the constellations formed by the black flakes in the iris.

I'll try to sedate him

Watch his arm

Moist warmth on his cheeks, distant and impersonal. Emotions blunted and others too vivid to comprehend that clash and leave him torn, barely able to put together the pieces that make him the Ensorceleur.

I love you.

A sharp but localized pain in his arm.

I forgive you.

The last image to followed him into the muddy waters of unconsciousness were those icy eyes. Or...warm brown, perhaps?

He prefered this softer brown.

L'Ensorceleur let himself be drawn under the surface, where neither ghosts nor memories can follow him.

You belong to me, after all.

[clumsyhissingcat]

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 3: SET UP FOR FAILURE

Fingerprints | Wrongfully Arrested | "I warned you.”

Hi, here is my contribution no.3 for Whumptober !

A bit of context : Helios is a delusional, tyrannical and powerful demigod who seeks to build a family by “adopting” (i.e. kidnapping) people. Justine is one of the people he’s trying to adopt. She’s a 14 years-old teenager.

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Justine is beginning to think she's good at controlling her reactions. Or maybe she really is getting used to the situation, which is a more unpleasant thought than she can tolerate at the moment.

However, she can't repress herself when the officer who's supposed to bring back a translator invites Helios into his office.

She's never been one to scream when she's in the grip of strong emotion, but everyone has their exceptions, and she throws herself out of her seat to slam against the wall, screaming in panic when the demigod immediately moves towards her, hand outstretched.

-No, no! NO!

The officer studies the scene with a relaxed air, watching as the tall, intimidating man grabs the handcuffed teenager by the arm and pulls her towards him with harsh words in another language. The girl sobs and tries to wriggle free, but the adult's strength is far superior and he shakes her a little, his voice sharp, until she gives up and bows her head, trembling all over.

Helios turns away to exchange sentences she doesn't understand with the officer, a member of the militia, supposed to protect and serve the citizens, supposed to hide her and help her join her father. The mage keeps a painful grip on her upper arm, holding her so close to him that she almost has her nose in the light tunic he's wearing.

The officer approaches and unlocks the handcuffs with a chuckle in response to what Helios tells him. Both men's tones are relaxed, even if Justine detects a hint of tension in the mage's. He tightens his grip as soon as the cuffs drop and she bites her lip to keep from letting out a sound of pain.

He's going to punish her. He's going to kill her. No one cares. The militiaman has seen her reaction to the demigod's entrance. It's not the reaction of a runaway child, but that of a girl terrified for her life. He sends her back to her nightmare without the slightest hint of guilt. How much were they paid to ignore their duty ?

Helios turns to her :

-If you behave even a little less than perfectly on the way home, I'll kill everyone involved and make you regret it. Is that clear ?

It takes her a moment to find the words, long enough for him to press his fingers into her flesh, causing her to yelp in pain.

-Is that clear ?

-Yes ! Yes ! I'm sorry ! the girl adds hastily, desperate to find the answer that will make him release the pressure.

His grip loosens as a fresh wave of tears wells up in her eyes.

Instead, he takes her hand and slips the militiaman a few more coins before leaving.

Justine keeps her eyes lowered to her feet until they reaches the carriage, crossing the building without attracting more than a glance from soldiers too busy to notice her distress, unless they actively choose to ignore her.

Helios pulls her up beside him, not in front of him. He still doesn't loosen his grip on her hand either, though it's more cautious than the one on his arm. She doesn't dare try to free herself, afraid of the outburst of violence this might provoke.

The first few minutes of the trip are spent in stony silence. Justine is unable to completely stop her hiccups, let alone the uncontrollable trembling that runs through her. Her quiet cries are the only sound in the cabin.

Then Helios lets out a long sigh and slumps back against the seat. He stays like that for a minute, then turns to consider the absolutely terrified child beside him. Her scruffy hair hides her face, and he leans over to clear it a little. Justine lets out a loud sob at the touch. Her eyes are closed and she tenses in anticipation of a violent gesture.

He doesn't hit her, just looks at her intently.

-I warned you.

She cowers a little.

-I told you I trusted you to behave. I told you that you didn't stand a chance and that you'd be punished if you tried to run away.

-I'm sorry, murmurs the child, almost too low for his superior hearing to pick it up.

Oh, Justine's a smart kid. Unlike some, she rarely hesitates to tell him what he wants to hear to ensure her safety. Unfortunately, he's no fool. She also doesn’t hesitate to try to flee when the opportunity presents itself, and now she has to face the consequences. Learning that their actions have consequences and setting limits is essential in the development of a well-balanced child and in their relationship with the people who take care of them.

-If you must know, the arresting officer didn't even recognize you until he got his hands on you. Normally, they don't bother bringing a thief to the barracks for such a small amount of food, so it's lucky he remembered your face.

She got captured for stolen food ? Is she going back to that hellhole because she couldn't get that potato galette quietly enough ?

The idea nearly sends her into a fit of hysterical laughter, which immediately dies in her throat as Helios leans towards her.

-Every member of the militia knows what you look like. They all know who to contact if you end up in one of their barracks.

The demigod is an imposing, menacing presence hovering over her.

-You never had a chance to escape, a velvet voice breathes softly in her ear.

-I've told you this before, but it seems you learn better from practice than from theory.

Helios straightens up so abruptly that the movement makes her flinch again. The grip on her hand tightens briefly.

-Well, I guess you weren't ready for this level of freedom. It looks like we'll have to give up the outdoors for a while. And of course, probably some extra homework, since you're so full of energy.

And Justine should be relieved that these are her only punishments (if she doesn't count the throbbing pain in her upper arm, which is already starting to bruise), but it's not just access to the outdoors that she's lost. All the fragile freedom she'd gained by dint of obedience has just vanished in the space of a failed test. Almost two months of delicate construction crumbled before her eyes.

-Clearly, the trust between us is more fragile than I thought, comments Helios. A little closeness can only do us good.

His thumb has begun to gently rub Justine's palm in what could be a comforting gesture.

-I can't wait.

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 2 : Altprompt / Finding Old Messages

OC Whump

Hi, here is my second contribution for Whumptober !

A bit of context : Edwin is a human who, following a traumatic event involving enemies of Silver (his friend), has made a pact with a god. He became a servant of a god responsible for guiding the souls of the dead and their memories. This gave him the power he needed to take revenge, but the pact also stipulated that with each use of the god's power, he would lose a little more of his memories, his friends, his life, etc...

Also, I just want to specify that « L’Ensorceleur » is the french translation for « The Sorcerer », but I’m way too used to the French word to change it.  

If you have any questions, I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for any TW and enjoy !

There's a narrow space under the single bed. A dark crevice where nothing lives but dust motes, a few forgotten tissues and a surprisingly clean sock...?

A hand suddenly appears under the bed, groping for something. Finally, after a long minute that only earned the owner a tissue and a sneeze, a body slumped at the foot of the bed and a disheveled brown head with piercing blue eyes peered out from under the bed. The sock was promptly retrieved as soon as it was spotted, but just as the teenager who had just grabbed it was about to get up and go (now shod) about his business, his gaze fell on the last inhabitant of the place.

Edwin raised an eyebrow at the sight of a notebook under his bed. It had probably fallen there by accident. Well, this was no place to keep a notebook. Might as well remove it.

After a series of unsuccessful attempts and the use of a broom to dislodge the reluctant object, Edwin found himself with a black leather notebook, bound with a sturdy red thread. Beautifully designed, elegant, even if the scratches on the weathered leather showed it had lived.

Probably one of the dozens of old notebooks he kept. He'd always been a keen draughtsman, even if he hadn't taken to it as much recently. The cities of the old kingdom teemed with spirits and souls that demanded his attention. He no longer had as much time to do the things he loved, such as drawing, as well as other passions. Fatigue weighed too heavily on his bones.

He thought of taking a look at its contents out of curiosity. But he had a program for the day, a handful of lost souls who needed assistance to find rest and stop mingling with the mortals of this plane.

A servant of the Gods was only an extension of the one he served, after all. Even so, Edwin's situation was nothing like that of a normal servant, left to his duty without guidance, depending on where his own footsteps took him most of the time, when he wasn't spending time with his friends, when he returned to the city where they lived. His friends, like Silver and Léa...

The young man pushed aside the superficial thought and placed his find on the bedside table. He'd have plenty of time to consult it when he returned tonight.

The Beacon left his room without looking back.

*

He didn't think about it immediately on the way back. He was almost ready for bed, mentally exhausted by the afflictions of the ghosts he had assisted.

But a battered leather cover caught his eye. He stared at the innocent notebook for a moment, fatigue heavy on his eyelids. Then he reached out and pulled the booklet towards him, noticing layers tucked between the pages. Pictures ? Photos from Earth ? He was almost tempted to unravel this peculiar mystery on the spot, but Edwin had always been reasonable.

-You look a bit familiar.  Let's see what's into you, murmured the young man, gently turning the front cover.

Disappointingly, the first page of the notebook, velvety if yellowed, was covered with abstract scribbles in his own hand. Little more than a decoration, pretty and eye-catching, a prelude to most of his sketchbooks.

He searched for a date, but couldn't find it. Before he takes on the habit of indicating the date, then.

The second page featured a pencil sketch of a superb trotting horse. The sketch had a raw air, intentional or not, and managed to convey the animal's power.

The next page was a drawing of two people napping in the sun, colored in soft hues. It took Edwin a long moment to recognize Silver and Nathan, or another name in the same style. After all, they weren't that close anymore...

The next following pages were just as normal, people he more or less remembered, people he would probably have to visit soon. They'd drifted apart a bit, but they'd gotten along well at one time. Becoming a servant of a God had forced him to leave the region more often than he would have liked.

Then, on the page following a sketch of a dragon of slightly exaggerated proportions compared to reality (he knew this, even if he couldn't remember the creature itself), he came across a note. Not his own, in airy script, in faded turquoise-blue ink.

“Hey, Eddie ! Just to remind you, the gang and I made you a little memo to remind you a little of who you are. Since we talked about it not too long ago, you and I decided to create this notebook for you. You can use it as a memo of the things we've been through together, what you like and what we like about you, to tell you about us, the memories you may have forgotten. Oh, we've included dates and photos too, so don't panic ! Hope that helps. And remember, we all love you. Kisses and hurry back !”

It's signed Lea, and Edwin's heart beats hard in his chest. He stares at the message for a moment, not knowing what to make of it. Then, fingers trembling, he turned the page.

He was greeted by a photo of a dark-haired man with sun-kissed skin and bright eyes. His smile, on the close-up photo, conveyed an infectious joy.

“Hey Edwin,” said the note underneath. “It's Silver, your friend. Lea said we could tell anyone we wanted, so I'm going for it! Remember when I told you I was a wizard/werewolf ? It was at night, in September I think, and I'd just climbed in through your brother's window...”

What follows is an elaborate description of what happened that night, followed by a quick introspection of Silver's feelings towards Edwin, and ends with one of those “I love you” that comes so easily to him and an invitation to come back soon.

Eleanora is more careful in the way she writes, as she has always been in the way she is. The weight of her father's sins is felt in every word she addresses to him, every apology for what he has become. But the first memory she shares is warm and light, and leaves a longing in Edwin's chest.

The Ensorceleur’s message is hidden by a piece of paper taped over it. Some of the others have done this too, on messages of a more sensitive or private nature. This message is not sensitive, at least not in the usual sense. It’s filled with an honesty that the man rarely shows in the presence of an audience, and reminds him of an old promise. There's an invitation to return and a thinly veiled threat that revives other memories, some scarier than others and some full of reluctant affection. Sounds like him.

(Another message, coded as if it were a secret, is just a long list of colorful, imaginative insults that make him laugh.)

Some are more...difficult. Lucien's, or Valka's, give him a fairly precise idea of the emotions he's supposed to be feeling, but he doesn't actually feel them. It helps him situate their relationship from an intellectual point of view, but without feeling, everything remains cold and clinical. And that fills him with an all-consuming guilt that twists and turns in his stomach. Even the photos don't mean anything to him.

Nathaniel shares personal things about himself and what he's apparently entrusted to Edwin over the years, and hot tears roll down the Beacon’s cheeks.

Kara's page carries a strange smell of burnt wood and ashes, and a tender story of how she fell in love with someone. Tomas talks about the warmth of home and the person who convinced him he was worthy of love.

Kylsham talks about a trip they took together, and suddenly Edwin becomes aware that he's craving for a fruit he can't find here.

The notebook revives faded memories, makes him aware of others that have disappeared, and awakens emotions he now realizes he'd forgotten. The pages are worn, the words faded and the paper thinned by flipping through. How many times did he reread this diary before misplacing it ? How long has the notebook been under the bed, as forgotten as these memories ? What did he miss ? The dates make him dizzy.

All the messages have one thing in common. They all ask him to come back and see them when he can.

His mind made up, Edwin barely takes the time to put on a coat before leaving the inn, notebook under arm and ghost in step.

Whatever the pact with the god has stolen he will never fully recover. But he can try to delay the inevitable as long as possible. 

Edwin heads for home.

[clumsyhissingcat]

No. 1: RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK

Search Party | Panic Attack | “If only we could hold on.” (Icysami x Renegaderr, Strangers.)

OC Whump

Hi, this is my first time posting content and this is my first contribution to Whumptober. It's about OC, so if you have any questions about them or the universe…I'd obviously be more than happy to answer! Also, English isn't my first language, so i apologize for any mistake. Check the tags for TW and enjoy !

Damp corridor, metal doors, one, two, three, a staircase down to the right, a corridor to the left - stairs are slippery and narrow - a first flight of steps, a second, plunged into the gloom that only his wolf's eyes can pierce, then a step that opens onto a wide underground stone corridor. He lunges forward.

A hand grabs him by the shoulder, closes over the dirty, damp fabric of his hoodie, restraining him.

-Detection spell, Gend whispers in his ear.

With a complex gesture of his left hand, the man disperses the spell into oblivion. They'll know they've been compromised, but not to what extent. Silver barely waits the explosion of the spell before resuming his advance through the tunnel, Gend at his heels illuminated by a luminous orb floating in the air. They make rapid progress, a running pace that Silver would certainly turn into a desperate rush forward if the other entity let him.

They both know what's at stake. The stakes. They've had breakfast with him, filled out papers on his advice, exchanged reading recommendations. They've seen him smile, they've teased him, they've watched him bleed and fight and bandage their wounds.

It's not fatigue that makes Gend's heart beat so fast, nor stupidity that drives Silver to keep going and turn the town upside down while his whole body betrays a deep exhaustion that worsens with each passing hour.

There will come a time when they can't take it anymore.

The corridor leads to a larger, circling, rocky room with three doors and a continuation of the corridor a little further on.

Silver suddenly yelps, and the older man suddenly raises his hand, ready to protect the only other member of their Triumvirate left with all his might. But no danger threatens, and yet the werewolf drops to the ground with a deep breath. Gend stares at him, expectant. Clearly, his companion had found something. A lead, a clue, anything that could confirm that they were on the right track, that they weren't making a mistake and wasting time on something that would lead them nowhere. It's been five days.

Silver raises her head in a jerky movement. Large, gold-spangled eyes, glittering with the manic energy of a man who hasn't slept in days, meet Gend's.

-That's his scent. He was here, he was here !

Silver spins around, his nose twitching in a very non-human way, trying to gather all the information he can find. Gend focus on the tiny traces of aura he can still perceive. It's faint, very faint, but he manages to feel the trace of a cold, sharp energy, the one he associates with their third member. A knot tightens in his stomach as a wave of despair washes over him, numbs his frozen fingers. A burning bitterness rising in his throat and lodging just behind his tongue.

Armand was there, so close, so close of a rescue perhaps, they missed him by maybe a few hours, and now maybe this mistake will sign his doom...

Silver straightened up and opened one of the doors on the left. Whatever the room contains makes him freeze on the threshold, and Gend pushes the fear that's stirring further into his stomach so he can go and support his teammate. Reaching behind him, however, he understands his shock.

Thick chains hang from the wall.

Gend's sense of smell is not as good as Silver's, but good enough to recognize the faint,metallic odor tickling his nostrils. His chest constricts painfully.

They knew. They knew Armand was being tortured, of course, but it's different to find concrete proof.

For a few seconds, the only sound in the underground is their two ragged breaths, then Silver turns and strides off down the tunnel.

-Silver...!

-Come on, we must be close, if we can find more clues, if we can exploit this lead, we can...

The werewolf stumbles and barely regains his balance. He has to lean on the wall with one hand to keep from collapsing.  His heartbeat is strangely violent and irregular, and his magic erratic. The knot in Gend's stomach tightens. They're exhausted, they're clumsy, they're going to make mistakes, endanger themselves unnecessarily and endanger Armand. A few hours is a long time, and the trail is already cold.

-Silver, he repeats softly.

-Fuck, no, Gend ! Explodes his friend. No ! They're torturing him ! He's been alone with them for a week ! I'm not leaving him ! As long as I can breathe, as long as I can stand, then I can keep looking for him ! So go back to the guild if you want, but leave me out of it, okay ?!

His anger poorly conceals his fear and the sobs beneath his cries.

-You can barely stand, Silver ! hisses Gend.

-I can, chokes his friend. I can still stand. If I can just hold on a little longer, then I can find him, bring him home...

-Not like this ! Gosh, your body's giving out ! Just a few more hours. Just a few hours. Please. Five hours of sleep, one meal, and I swear we'll be on our way. There's an inn next to that building. Silver, please...

And reasoning with Silver Shein when someone he loves is in danger has never been easy, but the guardian is also one of Gend's loved ones and he has lost enough over the last week. If he has to use other means of persuasion, he will.

-Three hours, growls a hoarse voice. And you report our position to Brian so one of his teams can come and investigate the damn tunnel.

-Yes ! nods the bar manager.

He chooses not to point out to Silver that he would never have left this trail unexplored. His friend is beyond exhaustion, and Gend will pass on this unpleasant innuendo.

Armand is his friend just as much as Silver is, and every cell in his body is screaming at him to keep going, to plunge deeper into the darkness, motivated by the mad hope of finding the part of himself that's missing at the end of this tunnel.

But of the three, Gend has always been the most reasonable, the voice of reason. For now, he has the means to preserve one of the people dear to his heart. He won't lose one to another.

Silently, as he heads for the exit alongside Silver, he begs Armand to hold on a little longer.