Hermittober + Limited Life - Prompt: Bound

Character: Zombie Cleo & Inthelittlewood aka Martyn

The Shape of Your Hands

Guess who's back with another soft Halsin x Tav fic. Literal (but very mild) hurt/comfort themes, so TWs for: blood, stitches, minor injury. Also on AO3, if you prefer. Thank you for reading! 💕

“You seem impatient,” Tav observes, as Halsin fiddles with his whittling knife.

In his opposite hand, he holds a piece of wood so sharp it could rival a blade. He had intended it to take the shape of something pleasing, something soft– a songbird, perhaps, or a poppy flower. The shape of her hands. The long fingers, the slender wrist. 

Instead, he has made a weapon. 

He is consumed by thoughts of Thaniel, resting fitfully in his tent, and of Oliver, somewhere out there beyond camp. Of the curse that split them, ripped the very fabric of nature down the middle, and cloaked them all in unending, unyielding night. He slices absently at the wood, over and over, the shavings piling in little coils at his feet. 

“It’s been a century of this,” he sighs, gesturing vaguely at their surroundings. “I am anxious to end it.”

“As we all are.” 

“Then why idle here in camp?” He takes a tone he doesn’t mean to, but cannot seem to help. 

“We are not idling,” Tav bristles. “We are spent. Even your magic– even Gale’s magic– is depleted in this place.” 

It’s the truth, though Halsin is loath to admit it. The Shadowlands weaken even the most powerful among them. Bend them. Break them. He has seen it. 

“We will gather ourselves,” she goes on, “And we will finish this. After a hundred years, what’s one more day?”

“What’s–?” Halsin’s frustration sneaks up on him, crashes over them both like a rogue wave. “You do not understand. One more day is one more day, when one more hour, one more moment is insufferable–” 

His knife cuts in, literally, the sharpened edge slipping past the grain and into his finger, deep enough to make him drop the wood, to suck in a breath through his teeth. 

It distracts him for a moment, forces his anger back onto himself. Or perhaps that’s where the anger’s always been. It is his fault, he knows, that this has gone on so long, that the shadow-curse has been allowed to linger. If he had been wiser, less distracted, less careless–

Careless. He almost laughs at the irony of the moment, the cut on his hand pulsing.

“Here,” says Tav, softening. “Let me help.”

She comes to kneel before him, takes his blade and sets it gingerly beside her on the ground. It glints in the firelight in a way that makes it look like it’s winking, taunting him as a little rivulet of blood flows down his palm. 

“It’s nothing,” Halsin insists, though the grimace on his face gives him away. “I can heal it.” 

“You ought to save your energy. It’s not as bad as it looks.” 

She is holding his big hand in both of hers, turning it carefully this way and that, examining the damage. 

“I can stitch it, if you like,” she offers, flicking her eyes up to his. “Astarion’s been teaching me.”

“To stitch wounds?”

“Well, to embroider.” She gives a sheepish little grin. “But he says I’m very precise. And he’s not the type to lie to spare my feelings.” 

Halsin nods his consent. 

Tav stands and walks toward her tent, and Halsin presses his other hand into the cut to stem the bleeding. It would be easier to cast something simple, he thinks, but she’s right– to use his magic on so small a thing, with all that was still to come, would be a waste. 

Through the firelight he sees her silhouette returning, supplies in hand. 

“Come closer,” she says, settling cross-legged before the fire. “Put your hand here.” 

She shows him, places her own hand on the edge of her knee. 

“I’ll get blood on you,” he cautions, but she only laughs at that. 

“You would not be the first.” 

Halsin does what she asks of him, sits across from her and rests his hand, palm side-up, on her leg. She bends close to examine it again, to wipe away the blood with a soft white cloth. 

“I owe you an apology,” Tav says softly. “I forget, sometimes, how long you have been fighting, when I have only just picked up a sword.”

He feels the prick of the needle, the pull of the thread. The whisper of breath on his skin. 

It is equal parts reward and punishment to have her this close, this way. To have her tend to him, to touch him and not be able to touch her back. Not in all the ways he wants to. 

This is the part he doesn’t tell her, the part she doesn’t understand. It’s not the shadow-curse alone that feels so urgent. Each day in darkness is a day he cannot make his feelings known– a different kind of torment, but not lesser.

They sit in silence until she finishes. A final knot, a cut of the thread, and she sits back on her heels to inspect her work. Six tidy little sutures in a tidy little row. 

Astarion was right. 

This is the kind of thing he taught his students in the Grove, before the war, before the curse, when he was not yet named Archdruid. When things were simpler.

When he thanks her she relaxes, swipes at her brow with the back of her hand. She leaves the barest streak of blood trailed like a comet across her temple, and Halsin, without thinking, reaches forward to wipe it away. 

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. Tav seems to turn into his touch, to feel as much of him as possible, to rest the softness of her cheek against his fingers. 

He wants to kiss her in this moment, just like this. 

It would be easy to lean forward and press his lips to hers– only gently, at least at first, harder if she reciprocated. He can imagine her soft hair woven between his fingers, later wrapped around his fist as his mouth moved down her jaw, her neck, her collarbone. 

He can almost feel her weight on him, can almost hear the little sounds that he could draw from her if she would let him try. If he would let himself. 

“Does this mean you forgive me?” Tav smiles. 

She sweeps the thought from his mind like a hand passing through smoke. It’s for the best, Halsin thinks. They cannot afford distractions now. 

Still, it doesn’t stop him placing a kiss against her forehead, or stroking her cheek with his thumb one final time. 

He reassures her. “There is nothing to forgive.”

He resolves that when they leave here– if they leave here– he will tell her all the things he feels out loud.

One more day.

Osedax - AKA, The Bone Eater, The Bone Slurper

Osedax lurks in the shadows of San Myshuno, looking for individuals to seduce so that he can consume their bones.

Part of @gloomiegalaxie-sims's CAS Cryptids challenge!

Fanart 30 Day Challenge|Day 30: Free Day.

This challenge was really fun! It helped me experiment with new techniques and inspiration! Mina and the Sackboy/Sackgirl interpretations belong to @c0smiccom3t!

This is art from like 2022, but I thought it would suit the occasion. Maybe I'll redraw it

Hello author chan I hope you’re gucci 😚😚 what is your opinion on yandere gojo punishing the reader for forgetting his birthday but he becomes super nice later and helps with her wounds and dressing and takes her to shoko for stitches (maybe some whipping 🫣 action) cuz he got too far 🫣 but he really really loves her tho so he apologizes and takes her on a date and everything

Sti- STITCH-

STITCHES ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️

I don’t see it 😭 him as a yandere might be really menacing though but I don’t really see him going that far that he needs to take your tattered, abused body to Shoko. The most he could do is get angry and break a few things around you, maybe some manhandling, might choke you a little and growl how much he loves you & you have to love him back else he will ruin the whole world & you’d be responsible. He would feel bad about the fingerprints on your neck and would literally hug you & sob for hours seeking forgiveness. He kinda knows he wouldn’t go anywhere with getting your real affection this way, while he is delulu 🤡 I still think he’d try to get the real deal.

Testing out new brushes. Mainly for outlines. Yep. CRANEwings

Augh

Morning folks

Word of advice

Don't fall down stairs

Especially when you have new stitches

Haha I'm in pain

Control AU player

"IT HURTS"

They don't let him touch the hurting thing in his head. He still hasn't seen it. But he feels it there in his skull, pulsing and aching when they string him up to check it. The metal suture bolts sting and tug and the transplant droops like it's soft, like it's hair.

But it isn't hair. It goes deeper. When Hagar touches it, Shiro thinks he feels fingertips somewhere under the searing pain. Beyond his skin, somewhere his brain doesn't understand how he can perceive it.

It's healing. It's knitting into him. He's starting to know how to move his head so it doesn't hurt, how to protect the surgical site if a sentry takes a swing at him. He can think straight sometimes, enough to worry. What is it for?

What will it do to him?

____________________________________________________________

I always liked the idea of Shiro's white hair being caused by something other than stress. In my Roots/Routes AU, Hagar implanted an Altean root into him as part of her ongoing efforts to reproduce Altean magic users (my Alteans are plant-based organisms).

Over time Shiro learns this gives him a weird mix of Altean and human quintessence use characteristics. He's sort of a hybrid now.

This was for @whumpay day 3: Made into a Lab Rat! Had tons of fun making the scars and the restraint system (I do love restraint systems).

It's an Art (Angel Torres x Reader, Nope Reader Insert)

A/N: This may seem random but I watched Nope with my husband the other day and wrote a thing. (More than one but this is the one I posted.

The dirt in the air was brutal on your lenses but you tried not to think about it. You focused on getting the best shots. You back up camera ready to go in case the canon failed. The main issue you faced was the shutter could only work so fast. You had to try and anticipate the actions of an unpredictable creature. Sure, you had practice in the field, but this was unlike anything you had seen before. You honestly doubted your own skills for this one. It was increasingly frustrating. You almost wish you had just brought your old Bell and Howell 8mm motion picture camera. But your uncle had said that even if you just got photos documenting everything else it was worth it. So you kept at it. You shot multiple rolls of film.   “The light,” Antlers says. You look up from where you were changing the film in your canon. You tuck the finished film in the case and into your bag. You are just snapping the camera casing closed after placing the new one when he continues. “The light, it's going to be magic soon.” Your stomach dropped.  “What?” You started as your uncle began walking away. “Wait, no, you can't mean-” Your uncle doesn't even acknowledge you begging him to stop. “Please don't.” “Where are you going?” Angel asks him. “No! Just no!” You shout at him. Angel is confused but knows something bad is happening. You try to block him. Your uncle just puts a hand on your cheek. “Kid…” he starts.  “Please don't do this,” you say, and your own voice sounds weak. “It's going to be alright,” your uncle says to you. He looks over at Angel. “We don't deserve the impossible.” He moves past you.  You went to try and follow him but Angel manages to catch your wrist as he tells the Haywoods what was happening over the walkie. Both Em and OJ try to reach him over the device. You see Angel move towards the mounted camera. And you can't let it end like this. You have to try. You pick up your backup 35mm and hand it to Angel. It was set up primarily for black and white but it was better than nothing.  “Lens cap,” you tell him as you take over the motion picture. You blink away tears as you attempt to orient the shot.  “Stubborn bastard,” you mutter as you glance back towards where your uncle was.  You hear Angel shout and you weigh your options. You pull the scarf and goggles over your eyes. You could barely see but they might save more than just your vision this time. Mentally thanking your journalist friend for having gifted you the snow goggles for a Yukon shoot. The tornadic force hits you and you wonder if you might actually die for this. You feel a piercing pain in the side of your head and the world goes black.

Love was never meant to be such a crazy affair, no, and who has time for tears?

Have you ever been SO scared over something happening, you just start screaming and using anger instead of fear? Kinda thinking that's what happened here. Stone messed up, got them both seriously hurt, and Robotnik's first reaction is to scream because it happened. Scared him to death to think that they're not invincible... (Hey, remember how I said I needed a few days to rest my wrist? Well my insomnia says otherwise! For real now. Taking a break for a couple of days. Seriously.)

Fanart 30 Day Challenge|Day 29: Based Off Of Fanfic.

Yeah, I had no other ideas. The only difference here is that the one petting him isn’t a reader. And yeah, I forgot the hand and the “Jack Ketch” text, but I’m not going back. Here’s the link to the fic this is based off of: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233908.

‼️ TW: GORE/STITCHES ‼️

Day 2 of Goretober: Stitches 🧵👌

I am following my muse, keeping it loose and light so long as I keep posting, so I animated this one for the fun of it. Ngl, I’m feeling stumped on this next upcoming prompt, but I’m gonna stick the landing some how.

@prumano-week

Day 1 - Needle & Thread 

 The idea was that Gilbert and Lovi were scientists but Lovi died in a freak lab accident, practically destroyed. Gilbert Frankenstein's Monster'd his body back as quick as he could, saving his colleague crush. Though Lovi needs to be stitched back every so often, he thankfully keeps most of his faculties.