Tumgik
#fae whumper
Text
Whumper drugging Whumpee up so they're super docile and out of it for when the other whumpers come over for a whumper party. Whumper's guests take turns cooing over Whumpee, petting them, holding them in their laps and feeding them little treats like pieces of fruit or chocolate. The whumpers fighting for the adorable Whumpee's attention, however limited it may be. Now imagine Whumpee is a human and the whumpers are all fae.
...should I write this?
625 notes · View notes
oliversrarebooks · 6 months
Text
get lost
a story about hapless wanderers and the fairy that collects them
Masterlist
TW: mind control, drugging, restraints, captivity, hypnosis, non-sexual touching and manhandling, condescension
You are lost.
Maybe you decided to go for a hike that was above your skill level. Maybe you wandered into the woods behind your suspiciously cheap vacation rental. Maybe you woke up here among the thick undergrowth. You might not even remember how you ended up here.
But you know for sure you are lost.
Any hint of a path has long been swallowed by roots and branches, moss and weeds. You might have some supplies, but they're not nearly enough to spend a significant amount of time lost in the forest. The trees are even so thick overhead that you can't reliably tell the direction of the sun, if you even knew which direction might help.
The only thing you can do is to keep trudging, hoping that eventually you'll get somewhere.
The more you climb over thick roots and rotten logs, the more you wade through tall grasses, the more exhausted you're becoming. Your calf muscles ache. Your arms are scratched and stung from twigs and rough bark and bugs. You're so tired. But you know you can't stop for long if you hope to get out of the forest before nightfall. It can't be that much further, can it?
You pause for just a moment to lean against a tree, taking a deep breath. The smell of green leaves and damp earth fills your senses, both pleasant and oppressive. This time, you think you sense something else. It smells almost sweet, like flowers or candy. It's different. And while you're not sure it will help, you feel drawn to it.
As you stumble further into the forest, you notice more and more flowers growing thick around you. Scatterings of clover and goldenrod are giving way to larger, more exotic blooms, in stunning jewel-tone colors. Even as the forest gets deeper and darker, you see more and more of the flowers, surrounding you, and the scent of sweet nectar and pollen grows stronger. It makes you feel woozy, almost drowsy, but you can't stop now. You need to keep going. 
You wonder vaguely how such large flowers can grow in a place with little sunlight. The flowers hanging from the branches and swaying in front of you are nearly as big as your entire face. They sway softly in a breeze you can't feel, and you watch them, transfixed in wonder. They're beautiful. And they smell so good.
You don't notice when your feet stop moving. You barely notice when something warm snakes around your ankles.
The flowers sparkle and shimmer and sway in front of you, and you sway too, dazed. A cloud of yellow engulfs your vision and you cough softly as your head fills with pollen. You feel so sleepy, so deeply drowsy, as though you'd like to lay down and take a nap, just rest your eyes for only a minute...
No, you can't stop here. You're lost, and the forest is dangerous. You muster up what strength remains to you to try and take a step back, only to realize that your legs are halfway wrapped in vines, holding you firmly in place. Your feeble struggles cause you to lose balance, and more vines catch you, wrapping around your chest and arms.
Your limbs are already heavy and numb from the sedating pollen, and your weak thrashes against the vines holding you captive do nothing to free you. Just as you start to panic, your mind trying to reassert itself against the numbing influences, the flowers appear before you again, distracting you with their colors. They're starting to blur, your vision fogging. You're getting sleepy, all of your fight draining from your body. You yawn involuntarily, taking in more pollen. You're fighting a losing battle against your heavy, drooping eyelids.
As your mind starts to slip into a drugged, half-awake daze, you're vaguely aware that the vines are pulling you against a tree and restraining you firmly but comfortably. You can hardly move an inch now, but you're becoming less and less inclined to try. It's so much effort to resist, when you could just fall into a dozing dream, relaxed and comfortable and so drowsy.
One of the flowers is growing closer, engulfing your entire vision. You feel the soft petals brush your cheek, the scent of sweet pollen and nectar intense as the flower seals around your face. The dim spark of consciousness that remains to you recognizes this as the final step in the trap: it's going to put you to sleep. You know now it's aware of what it's doing, and it's going to incapacitate you, make you sleep so deeply, helpless and unaware, vulnerable to whatever or whoever set this trap in the first place.
There's nothing you can do about it but take a deep breath. You're so comfortable and sleepy, and your eyelids are beginning to flutter, too heavy to keep open. You relax into the vines. Everything's starting to feel so floaty and far away, and it's so nice to feel your pain and fear flowing out of you. Every breath smells like flowers. Every breath pulls your eyelids down, coaxing you into a gentle, easy slumber. You're too tired and dazed to fight it, to even remember why you wanted to fight it. It's so much nicer to stop moving, to shut your eyes, to let the gentle flowers and vines lull you into sleep.
You skim the edge of sleep, and your dreams are filled with the forest, but you're not lost any more. You belong to it. You're part of the moss on the trees and the breeze ruffling the flowers and the ants marching in a neat line. Your mind relaxes, defenses lowering, as the wind and the  trees whisper to you in words you don't understand.
You don't know how long you sleep, but eventually you feel someone pulling at the vines holding you in place, the light pressure on your body loosening. You fall forward into warm arms, blinking slowly, dazed and just barely awake.
"There, there, I've got you," says a voice like flowing water, washing over you. "Just relax. You're safe."
You have questions, but your tongue is too thick to speak and your mind too drowsy to formulate them. "What...?" you manage.
"Shhh, hush, now. I'm going to take good care of you." 
You're being picked up in a strong grip, and you feel yourself being carried away, the meager light around you dimming as you're brought into an even deeper part of the forest. Your helpless body is laid down on soft grass and moss, propped up against a tree, and you sink into it, fighting the urge to fall back asleep.
A face appears in front of you, shining in the dim light. The eyes sparkle and the mouth smiles, but you can tell instinctively it is not human. 
The strange being sits back and begins to play on a set of panpipes, a low, haunting tune. Its form is difficult to make out, youthful and humanoid but not clearly male nor female, and you can see sparkling, deep blue wings like those of a butterfly. A fairy, perhaps -- that's the closest thing your mind offers. It seems clad only in flowers, ribbons, and strings of beads, which flutter slightly in the breeze. 
It's so hard to think, to even remember how you came to be here, and the music is slowly but surely stealing your focus away. The song is so beautiful, and you're completely relaxed and calm, not at all inclined to move, much less escape. Increasingly less inclined to think too hard about any of this. The air around you seems to sparkle as your vision blurs, your eyes blinking so, so slowly. 
Through your haze you see the fairy smile, looking down at you. You smile back weakly. It stops playing -- although the music continues to tie your mind in binds -- and kneels beside you. It tilts your chin up with the softest of touches, their fingers like sunbeams, and gaze into your glassy eyes.
"What's your name, little one?"
Your name spills from your mouth, and the fairy laughs with a sound like bells.
"Of course it is. You're such a silly little thing, running away from me, aren't you?"
Running away? Your brow furrows. Even in your entranced state, that doesn't seem quite right, does it...?
"You don't even remember why you ran away, did you?" The fairy ruffles your hair affectionately. "It's an awfully good thing I found you before you hurt yourself. You were like a helpless moth, flapping uselessly against a spider web."
"I didn't..." You're trying to collect your thoughts enough to explain why that's wrong. "I didn't run away from you," you finish weakly.
"No?" It leans in closer, eyes far too bright. "Then how did you get here?"
Your mouth opens and closes.
The fairy traces a finger along your cheek, just under your eye. "Can you remember?"
You can't. Your mind is still full of fog and pollen and everything feels like a blur. "...I was lost," you manage.
"Yes, you were," it says with a predatory grin. "And now you're found, but you don't even remember that you belong to me. Poor dandelion fluff." It produces a long, iridescent ribbon from seemingly nowhere, holding it up in front of you. "But don't worry, I'm not mad. I know you can't help it. Your head's just so full of flowers that there's no room for anything hard, like memories."
You'd like to protest, but that seems right somehow. Doesn't it?
"Here, let me put your collar back on." It ties the ribbon in a bow around your neck, and you're too relaxed to stop it. The ribbon feels silky smooth and weightless, and the fairy wraps one end around its wrist. That feels right, too, like something long forgotten locking into place. "Let's get you home, little moth."
It picks you up effortlessly once again, and your limbs are too heavy and numb to do anything more but lean against it. In the blink of an eye, you're flying. The soft, rhythmic wingbeats fill your ears and soothe you as the fairy somehow glides effortlessly through the thick tangles of branches and vines.
You come to a stop at a darkened clearing filled with enormous mushrooms, large enough to sit on and pulsating with soft blue-purple light. There are beads and ribbons and trinkets hanging from every tree branch. In the dim light you can see the sparkle of many colored crystals, and, off to one side, there seems to be a pile of people huddled on top of the mushrooms. Humans, like you, all in various states of undress, with their skin painted in wild, rainbow hues. All of them seem fast asleep.
Before you have a chance to wonder if this is the fate that awaits you, you're laid out onto a bed of soft mushroom, your ribbon-leash tied to a tree. You try to push yourself up and look around, but your head feels dizzy and your arms are heavy and uncoordinated. The fairy pulls your pack from your back and pushes you down gently. You watch as it rifles through your things, tossing this and that to the side, running its fingers down the rough paper of your sketchbook, using your pens to mark its hands, clicking your flashlight on and off, before tossing it all into a pile of other backpacks.
"Drink." The fairy is holding out a small clay cup of unnaturally bright red liquid. "You must be thirsty, little moth. Drink."
You swallow hard. Your throat and lips are dry, but the last remnant of your reason is warning you with all its might. "What is it?" you ask.
"Medicine, silly thing. Medicine to open your mind. Medicine to help you accept. Medicine to soothe you to slumber."
You manage to shake your head. "I don't want that."
The fairy smiles, the shimmering red liquid reflected in its impossibly large eyes, and speaks your name. It sounds like water rushing down a mountain, like fire consuming a forest.
It holds out the cup once more, and your hands reach to take it, unable to stop yourself from drinking. The medicine is warm and tastes like sweet berries and slides down your throat like a living thing.
"Foolish little bunny," it says gleefully, and then you feel everything. Slow. Down.
Suddenly, you're hyperaware of everything around you. The mushrooms below you and the cool air around you makes your skin prickle, the beads clinking together overhead sound like a symphony, and you can smell a hundred things you're sure you've never smelled before. It would be utterly overwhelming if you weren't completely relaxed. A butterfly flaps nearby, and you watch its wings sparkle through lazy, half-lidded eyes.
The fairy is in front of you again, holding a tray of little pots of pigment. It dips its fingers into the purple and runs its thumb along your cheek, outlining your eyes. Symbols are drawn on your forehead as it mutters strange words under its breath. With the pads of its fingers, it coaxes your eyelids shut, and you can feel pigment being applied to them too. You're not inclined to open them again as it lines your lips with colors, running down your chin and onto your neck.
"You're so cute under my spell," says the fairy. "Sometime I'll take you to a still pool so you can see how beautiful my painting is on your blank face."
It picks up your hands and decorates those as well, as your mind dozes and drifts, listening to the far off sounds of bird wings and creatures scuttling through the undergrowth. Your thoughts are filled with colors and mushrooms as a deft finger draws lines around your arms, the fairy's muttering turning into a song, a spell. 
You can feel the magic settling on you and around you like a heavy blanket. Your shoes and socks are pulled off too, landing nearby with a thud, and your feet are decorated, pigment tickling the soles of your feet and the spaces between your toes. Hands that feel sun warmed draw your wrists together and bind them with more silky, weightless ribbons.
"Sleep now, tired little thing. You're safe and sound here with me."
You're half-asleep, eyelids fluttering, as you're picked up and set down again next to the pile of other humans. 
You were lost.
And now you have been collected.
And now you will not be found.
206 notes · View notes
loonybun · 21 days
Text
hi thinking of circus whump rn and gonna make it your problem
- one of those classic sword box tricks, but it’s very much real. I think with an immortal whumpee that would be pretty neat.
- sad clown whumpee breaking down mid-performance, sobbing to the audience and letting go of years of anguish… Only to be quickly interrupted with a quick punchline from another clown! The audience, none the wiser, roars with laughter.
- a caged inhuman/supernatural whumpee being awed at as they’re paraded through the tent. get a whole freak show while you’re at it!
- a very poorly trained acrobat whumpee being forced to walk a high tightrope. without a net, obviously.
- a whumper as a ringmaster, showing clear favoritism towards the better performing acts of the night and giving them special privileges like decent food.
- saw this one comment under a song that suggested a faerie circus (as in faeries putting humans in a circus) and it has not and will never leave my brain. the POTENTIAL.
- bleeding out backstage. there’s no medical care in sight. you’d expect a circus to have better health insurance.
- a whumpee or caretaker looking after or finding comfort in the animals in the circus. just trying to provide them with more care than they were given.
- evil clowns! if you like evil clowns, why not use em? clown whumpers clown whumpers clown whumpers…..
if you write anything using these please tag me i will go nuts.
105 notes · View notes
whumpy-wyrms · 16 days
Text
it’s my birthday so here’s some whump prompts! feel free to eat these up like birthday cake :)
whumpee being stuck in captivity for so long, unable to track the time or having their memory wiped so that they don’t remember when their birthday is or how old they are.
whumpee’s birthday is the only day when whumper is somewhat nice to them, giving them cake and presents, and spending the day doing whatever whumpee wants to do (except leaving, of course). whumpee has to savor this day as much as they can, knowing the next day will be filled with pain and torment again.
fae whumper who kidnaps whumpee by throwing them a birthday party. whumpee eats the cake not knowing that they’re now trapped there forever.
whumper getting whumpee as a birthday present. maybe they’re a scientist getting their first test subject, maybe they’re a vampire getting their first bloodbag. whatever the case is, whumper is excited and whumpee is terrified.
ghost whumpee who’s birthday continues to be celebrated by their friends, even after they died. they still feel loved and appreciated even if nobody can see or hear them.
ghost whumpee who’s birthday was forgotten or ignored after they died, never celebrated by the people who they thought cared about them.
multiple whumpees in captivity. whenever it’s one whumpee’s birthday, whumper leaves them alone but tortures the other whumpee twice as bad, and forces them to watch.
whumper having nobody to celebrate their birthday with so they kidnap whumpee.
whumpee who’s birthdays are more fun with whumper than anywhere else. whumper getting them their favorite birthday cake, presents they’ve always wanted, spending the day having the most fun whumpee’s ever had. whumper taunting them about how they like it here, and would never be this appreciated anywhere else.
whumpee getting kidnapped on their birthday, rescued on their birthday, recaptured on their birthday, or dying on their birthday.
whumper taunting whumpee during their birthdays. burning them with birthday cake candles, feeding them a cake they’re allergic to, or poisoning it, and taunting them about how another year has passed and nobody has come to rescue them.
whumper who celebrates their own birthday by torturing whumpee, saying it’s the least whumpee could do to give them a happy birthday.
whumper who loves to celebrate whumpee’s birthday, taking the day off and goofing around with them. whumper blowing up balloons and throwing them at whumpee, making their hair stand up from static electricity, or inhaling the helium to sound all squeaky. silly whumpers my beloved
whumper notices whumpee seems lonely, so for their birthday, whumper kidnaps someone new and gifts them to whumpee to keep them company.
whumpee who escaped captivity and is on the run. they’re living in the wilderness, unable to celebrate their own birthday and risk being found.
whumpee who’s birthday marks the end of a time loop. every time a year passes, they go back to the beginning and have to go through the whole year of being tormented by whumper all over again.
for caretaker’s birthday, whumper sends them the bloody remains of whumpee as a birthday present.
whumper forcing whumpee to eat parts of themself (or a loved one) for their birthday.
whumper cutting immortal whumpee open while they’re still conscious and feeling everything, burning candles in their flesh and cutting them up to eat instead of eating a birthday cake.
76 notes · View notes
Text
Midsummer Nightmare
AI-less Whumptober Day 1: Drugging
Masterlist
TW: human whumpee, fae whumper, drugging (duh), hmm hunting mention? not really sure what else, but enjoy!
---
Stopping to wipe his sweat-damp forehead with the back of his wrist, Arne squinted his eyes against the sun. It was starting to set, but he figured he still has a couple hours before nightfall.
Frowning down at his meager bounty for the day—two rather skinny rabbits and a half dozen unbroken eggs he’d found amongst a fallen nest—Arne considered: he could head home now, but he could already picture his mother and sisters’ faces, already too thin with hunger, sun-beaten and weary. 
He knew that they’d say it was fine, that he had done the best he could, that all the animals worth hunting had already fled north in an attempt to escape the oppressive heat of summer. He knew this, and yet, he couldn’t help the disappointment sinking and settling deep in his gut.
As he turned to head back to their cottage with a heavy-hearted sigh, a flash of movement caught the corner of his eye. Spinning around, bow at the ready, he nearly gasped as his eyes landed on what, for a moment, he thought might simply be a trick of the heat: a beautiful, plump doe, grazing peacefully just a few yards from him.
Notching an arrow—the feathers of which his youngest sister, Lucia, has carefully attached—Arne drew his arm back, keeping his aim steady as he took deep, stabilizing breaths.
On the exhale, he let the arrow fly loose, but, as it barrelled straight towards the doe, it seemed to almost wiggle in the air, veering enough off-course to fly over the doe’s head. To Arne’s astonishment, the doe merely glanced up before meandering off, away from Arne.
Unable to allow his prey to escape so easily, he pulled another arrow from his quiver as he followed the beautiful beast on light, near silent feet. This time, when the doe settled, Arne allowed himself to creep even closer to her, making sure he wouldn’t miss again.
The second shot hit the doe right in the heart, causing her to collapse with an eerie quietness. As Arne stepped forward to claim his prey, he suddenly became aware of another presence. Kneeling next to the still beast, he looked around, settling one hand lightly on the hilt of the knife he kept at his side at all times.
“Good shot.” The voice was soft, smooth, like warm honeyed tea sliding down your throat.
Arne spun around, fingers tightening around his blade, as he located the figure.
At first appearance, the stranger looked so out of place, it was borderline absurd to the point that Arne had to resist the urge to laugh.
They were tall, with pale golden hair that barely brushed the nape of their neck. Even with the stranger in the shadows of the trees, Arne could see their unnatural golden eyes glinting with curiosity. Even the stranger’s clothes were off-putting: finely made black cloth with golden threads adorning it, fitted closely and precisely to the stranger’s frame, as if it had been made specifically for them. Nobody in Arne’s village could afford to purchase or make fabric like that, even if they could spare the time and energy it would take to travel to the nearest town to acquire it—which they couldn’t.
“Who are you?” Arne asked, attempting to keep his voice flat and even, not threatening but not allowing any nerves to show, either.
The stranger smiled, showing off pearly white teeth that seemed a bit too sharp- Arne blinked and the stranger’s smile looked normal.
“My name is Ikalos,” the stranger said, in a subtle foreign lilt. They weren’t difficult to understand; in fact, their voice had a melodic cadence to it. “I apologize if I startled you. I’m unfamiliar with this area, and I seem to have gotten myself turned around. Would you mind pointing me to the nearest town or village? Anywhere I could find a meal and lodging for the night, really.”
Shoulders relaxing, Arne offered the man—for, now that he got a better look at him, Ikalos was quite masculine, despite the strange beauty he had—a tentative smile. “Sorry for my rudeness, I’m just not used to seeing people this far out. A lot of them fear the forest, even if they say they don’t. My village is the closest to here, only a mile or so hike, and then another half mile to my family’s home. We have plenty of room if you would care to stay the night.” Arne hesitated. “Not a lot of people in my village are all that welcoming to strangers, if you know what I mean.”
Ikalos nodded, clarity glinting in his eyes. “I do understand, yes. Well, if you do not mind, I would like to join you on your walk back, if only to ensure I don’t get myself twisted back up in this damned forest.” He paused, licking his lips. “I can even help you carry this doe back, since it seems you have enough you’re already carrying,” eyeing Arne’s bow and quiver, the rest of his bounty for the day, and the belt slung low across his hips, where his knife and waterskin hung.
Arne smiled. “That would be great, actually, now that you mention it, it is pretty hot outside.” Unfastening his waterskin, he held it out. “Would you care for a drink? I can’t promise how cold it is, but it’s fresh at least.”
Ikalos pulled his own skin from somewhere that Arne hadn’t noticed before. “I appreciate your offer, but I’ve been staying plenty hydrated. This is a delightful fruity wine that has been passed down in my family for generations. Light and refreshing, without the alcohol being overpowering. Would you like a taste? It truly is the least I could do.” He held it out between them.
Shrugging, noticing the sandpaper-like texture of his lips, Arne accepted the skin gratefully, noticing in the back of his mind how soft and supple the skin was. Uncorking it, he took a tentative sip, marveling at the airiness of the drink, how he felt rejuvenated almost immediately. “This is delicious!” he exclaimed, attempting to pass it back but Ikalos waved him off. 
“Please, drink your fill. I’ve had plenty of the stuff over the years,” he said. “By the way, I didn’t catch who you said you were. May I have your name?”
After another, deeper gulp of the wine, Arne held his hand out to shake Ikalos’. “Oh, yeah, sorry about that. My name is Arne. It’s wonderful to meet you.”
“It truly was a fortunate twist of fate that you caught my nose— I mean, my ear. I heard your footsteps and had to try to find you myself. This really is quite ideal timing for myself, but, well, that’s a long story.” Ikalos grinned, this time his teeth definitely looked too sharp.
Blinking away the sudden blurriness in his vision, Arne frowned. “I’m sorry, I think you lost me.” Shaking his clouded head, Arne turned away. “Anyways, we should probably head back now, if we want to reach the village before total nightfall.”
As he turned, though, the air seemed to shimmer and warp before him, and his limbs seem to stop obeying him, becoming impossibly heavy. “Woah,” he murmured. “I- uh, I’m not feeling too- um, too well.”
Too-cold hands gently guided him onto the forest floor, making him sit down rather harder than he was expecting. Those strange—inhuman, Arne was realizing, too late—golden eyes stared deep into him. “It’s alright now, Arne, everything will be perfectly okay, my dear,” Ikalos said softly, gently. “But for now, Arne, go to sleep.”
At those words, Arne’s eyes slipped closed and his consciousness left him.
---
Taglist: @ailesswhumptober @thelazywitchphotographer @whither-wander-whump @theelvishcowgirl @deckofaces @badluck990 @whumperofworlds @cupcakes-and-pain @misspelledwitch
51 notes · View notes
avvail-whumps · 7 months
Note
Fae AU??? Like with all the fae glamours and tricks and rigged “games” and maybe the whole thing where if you eat the food there you can never leave…
Leo knew he wasn’t meant to be out in the forest alone. He also knew that he was bound to step into a hidden trap, laid out for unsuspecting little humans that were certain to fall victim to them.
Part of him had never believed the stories growing up. So, maybe he could blame it on being slightly naive, when his eyes were drawn to a cluster of mushrooms.
He had thought the little circle they formed was pretty to look at; it wasn’t a suprise he found himself hopping into it, smiling slightly to himself to ease the tension of being lost. He admired the large ring for a long while, before gazing up at the sky.
It would be getting dark soon.
The wise thing to do would be to start finding his way back, hopefully before the sun set and the moon rose into the sky. He had been about to start moving, when a sudden crackle of a twig made his head whirl around.
Leo’s heart fluttered in his throat at the sight of a man by the tree, gazing at him intensely. He couldn’t help but let out a suprised breath, a hand instinctively pressing against his chest from the scare.
“You scared me,” he breathed shakily, avoiding the man’s intense stare. There was long, tense pause, before the strange man seemed to smile. There was something peculiar about him, this uncanny aura flowing from him, but Leo noted that he was pretty handsome. Alluringly handsome, in fact, and he found himself stealing glimpses at him on occasion.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he hummed, stepping away from the tree and closer to the ring. His feet stopped just outside of it, but Leo stayed planted where he was. “Are you lost?”
There was something a little odd about the man. Leo could feel his gut instincts stirring in his stomach, his hairs pricking on edge. He hesitantly licked his lips, feeling somewhat awkward now.
“Uh, no,” he answered back, trying to keep his voice from wobbling. He wondered how the man had so easily snuck up on him. Like he’d just appeared from thin air. “I’m on my way home.”
The man’s lip curved up into an amused smirk. His eyes were so intense that he forced himself to look elsewhere, swallowing nervously.
“You’re a bit far out, you know,” the man shrugged. Leo glanced at him, noting how his demeanour had seemed to shift, and he looked a little bit more normal. That unease pricking at the back of his neck seemed to lift, and the knot in his stomach untangled itself. Leo had been in a world of his own. The man was staying far enough away from him, at least.
“I know,” he breathed, rubbing his fingers together awkwardly. “That’s why I should probably go.”
The man hummed. Leo, for some reason, felt glued to the very spot he was standing on. He didn’t really want the man out of his sights if he could help it; his eyes were incredibly intense whenever he was trapped in his gaze.
“What’s your name?”
Leo’s eyebrows rose slightly. They furrowed in confusion after a second, eyes darting to the ground. “Oh, it’s...” He hesitated. “Leo.”
“Leo?” The man hummed, his lip curving up into an amused smirk. At the sound of his name, Leo immediately pricked up, a strange sensation washing over him. It fell right down to the bottom of his stomach, and he could feel his forehead becoming clammy from the sudden outburst of anxious nerves. The man chuckled.
“Is that...funny?” Leo grumbled under his breath, a little embarrassed. He waved a hand airily.
“I don’t think you’d find it very humourous, little lion.”
Leo frowned. Little what—?
His feet shuffled backwards as the man took a step forward, crossing the ring of mushrooms.
“Okay, I think I’m going to go,” Leo hurriedly whispered, violently trying to shake off the sudden impatient surge from his body. “Thank you for your concern.”
Leo spun around hastily to make a dash through the trees. He didn’t make it step out of the ring though, because what he was looking at wasn’t trees. There were no trees. He blinked slowly, registering the gentle brush of wind on his cheeks. His eyes raked around, and his stomach dropped straight to his boots.
He wasn’t in the forest anymore. Whatever land he was in, was a breathtakingly beautiful one. A watercolored sky, painted with light blues that melted beautifully into each other. Perfect hills of fresh, green grass, and the rush of a flowing lake by the flowers.
Leo’s mouth went dry, and a coil of absolute terror stabbed through his heart. The mushroom ring. The stories.
His eyes found the man’s, all coy and fox-like.
“I told you my name,” he whispered in horror under his breath. The man hummed under his breath, smirking.
“Yes, you did.”
A stray tear rolled down his cheek. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“No, little lion,” he murmured softly, easing forward so he was close enough to touch him. Leo went to jerk away, despite the fuzziness and the lightheadedness, but the man was quick to stop him.
“Don’t move, Leo.”
So he didn’t.
He didn’t exactly have a choice. Even the air was sweet smelling, so much that it was making him dizzy. The man’s fingers were gently wiping away the tears with the gentlest of touches, his other hand tangling within his own.
Leo could feel himself being pulled along, and it was as though his legs weren’t even attached to his own body. The man—the creature, the fae—was taking him somewhere, inside a house, the sudden burst of delicious smells overwhelming his senses. Leo’s slack expression nearly brightened up when he was welcomed by a long table stacked with food.
There was everything there. Anything he could have dreamt of. The man’s hand eased along his lower back, making shivers tingle up his spine.
In a blink, he realised he’d crossed the room, and he was already holding an apple in his hand. Leo suddenly jolted, snapping out of it, jerking away from the man’s grip.
“Take me back,” he demanded, and realised that tears had been rolling down his cheeks without even realising since he arrived here. His hand felt itchy, trying not to let the panic shake his voice. “Please. Please, I’m begging you.”
“I can hear that, lion,” the man purrred, motioning to the food. “I’ll take you back. Unless you’d like to eat.”
Leo’s frantic brain tried to remember the rules. There were rules to this. What was it? Don’t give up your name? Don’t bargain? Don’t—
He heaved on a sob, craning away from his touch once again. “Please let me go.”
“You can eat a little before you go,” the man pressed, his head tilting to the side. His eyes slid down to the apple clenched in his hand, so tightly his knuckles had gone white. “A bite won’t hurt. Go on, little lion. Just a taste.”
Those words were like a haunting little whisper in his ear. An enticing, tempting command for him to battle with valiantly. Leo opened his mouth to say something, to refuse and to find his way out of this stunning, perfect, extravagant land, but there was a sudden burst of sweetness on his tongue and—
Oh. He was eating the apple.
Leo’s eyes flickered up in horror.
Now he remembered the rules.
And from the look on the fae’s face, he knew it too.
49 notes · View notes
cepheusgalaxy · 10 months
Text
Ok, but imagine a fae whumper who forces whumpee to eat fae food.
Now they can't ever run away.
45 notes · View notes
obsessedwithegos · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
Sometimes you need to take a moment to think after relieving some stress!
general: @emmettnet @blackberry-bloody
kira tag: @whumpsday
15 notes · View notes
darkthingshappen · 1 year
Text
No. 21 FAMOUS LAST WORDS
@whumptober
Thanks to @quietly-by-myself for their amazing beta job and for giving me feedback and asking more questions than I could have possibly answered in a short story. It made this piece richer an better. If I decide to continue it, I am in your debt.
Thanks also to my normal whumperful crew who never fail to cheer me on: @oddsconvert (who was very excited for this piece and got a sneak peak at it so I could hear her feedback as well), @sparrowsage and @whumpcereal. Y'all are amazing.
Content warnings: human whumpee, non-human whumper, fantasy fic (Shockingly for me, there are no violence or noncon warnings for this one.)
This is my first foray into writing fantasy fic y'all. I hope you enjoy it.
Coughing up Blood | “You’re safe now.” | “Take me instead.”
The Fae creature laid his human rescue down.  They were at the borders of the Fae World that this little human had accidentally fallen into.  The Fae creature would pay a price for this rescue, but it didn’t matter.  Perhaps one day this single act of kindness would come back to him.  Perhaps it could help heal the rifts between their worlds.  
He leaned over the frail human, weak from even his short captivity in the Faerie Realm.  Humans weren’t supposed to be here.  The boy, at least the Fae thought it was a boy - human ages were foreign to him - had a soft look about him.  He was marked by his time with the Fae.  On the few occasions that the human creature had opened his eyes, the effects of the Faerie Realm on him had been obvious.  He would carry the Faerie touch for the rest of his life.  One green eye and one silver.  He would be able to see beyond what any human could.  
It was not a gift.  The Faerie were hidden for a reason.  Yes, they were the stuff of dreams and high fantasy, but they were also the stuff of nightmares and waking terrors.  The Fae creature tucked a lock of the human’s hair behind his ear.  He was lovely.  
The Fae had been struck by the simplicity of his begging.  Water.  It was all he’d asked for, his hand reaching through the vining bars of his cell.  The human sensed he would die as a toy and plaything of the powerful creatures that had found him.  That simple request for a basic necessity had plagued the Fae creature that sat with him now.  
The cruelty of his own people, on display in this one fragile life.  He couldn’t abide it.  He wouldn’t.  He’d forced back the vine bars and stolen the human under the silver light of the stars.  His fellow Fae would be angry, but it was the right thing to do.  The human had not invaded their realm. He had not sought to destroy or to hurt.  He’d fallen on a hike and slipped through one of the many moonlit gateways.    An accident.  An accident with lasting consequences.  
The Fae creature paused to wonder if he was indeed helping the human.  Part of the boy in his arms was Fae now.  He was no longer entirely human.  Would he be accepted in his old world?  The creature hoped so.  He certainly was not accepted here, other than as a toy - entertainment for the corrupt and the cruel.
The Fae creature had only a moment’s warning from when he heard the soft whooshing of an airborne projectile before the arrow slammed into his side.  
“No!  No!  Stop!  Please!” he cried out, shielding the boy with his body.  Another arrow struck his shoulder and he felt the magic in the tip weakening him.  Magic that only the King’s guard wields.  
“You fool.  You’ve stolen what does not belong to you,” a watery voice called from the shadows.  
The Dark Water Spirit, cultivated from the darkest depths of the ocean.  A Fae feared by all, only made more fearsome by being the King’s guard.  An assassin, messenger, and executioner all in one.  
No. No!  They were so close.  He couldn’t have come this far only to fail the human.  He looked at the waterfall by whose edge he sat.  Fear flooded over the Fae creature.  He’d been caught betraying his King.  He would face the Sidhe King’s absolute wrath for taking his lawful prey and sending him away from what the King viewed as his right.  And for what?  The small human creature in his arm?  Yes.  Yes, absolutely! He would endure it and it would be worth it, if only he could get the boy to safety.  
“Plea-” he coughed and tasted blood in his mouth.  “Please.  Take me instead.  Tell the Sidhe King that you got to me too late, that I had already freed the boy.  I will suffer the consequences willingly.  But this human has suffered enough.  Please.”  The creature inched closer toward the edge of the falls with the boy’s body still in his arms.  
“It’s not my call.  I have been sent to retrieve you both,” the watery voice replied.
“I can't let you have him.  He’s not of this world.  He has a right to go back.  To live his life.  He’s not an enemy.”
“That is for the King to decide.”
The king would indeed decide.  He would decide that the boy was an invader.  He was, without question, a human in the Faerie Realm.  That made him a danger, no matter how he came to be here.  The verdict would be a forgone conclusion.  The boy, as all humans caught by the High Faerie Court, would remain an imprisoned source of entertainment.  
“Then let him decide without the boy.”  The Fae creature dashed the few remaining steps to the tumultuous edge of the waterfall.  Pain burned through him from the arrows.  “You are safe now.  Go! And remember that at least one Faerie cared for you and did right by you,” he whispered into the human’s ear.  
Then he flung the boy over the edge, knowing that the chasm would catch him and he would come safely back to the human world.  The creature knew he was betraying his King.  But he also knew the human didn’t deserve to be used that way.  He deserved a life of his choosing, not left to fate and a King blinded by hatred.   
With the last of his energy spent, the Fae creature dropped to the soft grass and then let the darkness drag him back to the Sidhe King’s justice.  
*!*!*!*!* 
On the other side of the chasm, the human boy awoke from his long and terrible nightmare.  It had to be a nightmare, right?  He glanced around at his surroundings.  
Where am I?  How did I get here?  Here seemed to be a woodland meadow by the edge of a collection of large boulders.  He could hear thundering water, as if from a waterfall, but he did not see a waterfall, just a gentle, slow moving river.  
He glanced down at his bare arms - thin scars like vines crawled from the backs of his hands, up his arms, and across his torso.  It was just a dream.  It had to be.  But the scars… the scars that were just like… no!  It can’t have been real.  It can’t!  
The human crawled over to the river and peeked at his own reflection in the pool at the water’s edge.  His eyes.  He could see the single shining silver pupil looking back at him.  The thundering water sound grew louder and he glanced with just his silver eye to see the massive waterfall falling onto the rocks by which he’d woken up.  He stumbled backward away from the water.  But, when he turned his full vision on the place, the water disappeared.  
It had not been a dream.  Or a nightmare.  It had been real.  He’d fallen into heaven, which turned out to be hell, and he’d come back, though not unscathed.  The human with the faerie eyes and marked skin got up and ran, for sheer terror that the true Fae would come thundering down that river and drag him back. 
49 notes · View notes
whumpatize-me-captain · 11 months
Text
3 notes · View notes
egg-writes-whump · 2 years
Text
The Merry Whump of May - Day 1 "Don't hold your breath"
Whip | Tears | The Chair
OCs used: Luis & Linette
TW: Fae whumper, whumpee who doesn't realise he's a whumpee, possessive whumper, crying (duh), back handed slap, Lin overall not being very nice to Luis, male whumpee, lady whumper, slight whumper X whumpee but it's not as obvious in this
"...hey, Lin?"
"Mhm?"
She asked from where she was sewing a new flower onto her hat.
"I know I've asked you this a dozen times before but can you please just teach me how to fight a Fae? We don't need anything bad happening again..."
Linette rolled her eyes.
"Don't hold your breath on that one, sweetheart. We've been over this before. You're a human. You're no match for a fae."
"I know, but that doesn't mean I can't try, at least! Why are you so quick to think that I'm too weak to take one on?"
"Because I'm a fae and I know you're no match for me."
Linette replied sharply. Luis folded his arms.
"Yes, well, you have a pocket knife on you 24/7. Not every other fae is going to have that, especially not at your parties."
"You can't be so sure of that. Faes can get into my parties with just about anything if they feel like it. I believe this conversation is over."
Luis stood up from where he'd been sat on one of the sofas in one of the rooms in Lin's huge house.
"No, it's not!"
"Do not raise your voice at me!"
She snapped, standing up and actually meeting his eyes.
"I just did! What are you gonna do about it?"
He taunted. In what seemed like an instant, the fae Duchess was in front of him and had hit him across the face with the back of her hand. He barely noticed the tears that formed as he turned back to Linette in surprise.
"This conversation is over."
She hissed before grabbing her hat and storming out the room. Luis didn't even bother suppressing the tears. She'd...never hit him before. She'd been snarky and sometimes downright rude to him before but she'd never hit him. Maybe he deserved it. Last time he'd yelled at her hadn't been fun either. He sat back down and wiped his eyes before putting his head in his hands.
Now it was just a matter of who was going to apologise first.
...at the end of the day, it was probably going to be Luis.
@themerrywhumpofmay
5 notes · View notes
Text
The Party
Jacinth Masterlist
Remember this post? Welp, I wrote it! At first I was going to use generic characters, but then I realized how well this scenario fits for Jacinth, so I quickly made the change!
Also, thank you to @lilywolfgray for helping me figure out the simile that pops up!
this one is a bit long, so I've put it under the cut!
The sound of Jacinth’s footsteps made Y/N stiffen in bed nervously.
“Wake up my little human,” Jacinth’s silvery voice cooed, “you’ve been napping long enough.”
Jacinth pulled the curtain of his and Y/N’s shared room aside, practically floating over to her. Y/N slowly sat up, her hands twisting the comforter draped over her.
“Have I told you what today is, hm?”
Y/N shook her head.
“It’s the Festival of Winter’s End,” Jacinth said with a gleaming smile, “and I’d like to bring you to the celebration. But first, I have to get you ready.”
Jacinth produced a small flower in his hand, its petals trembling from how much nectar it was filled with. Y/N knew exactly what that deceptively sweet liquid would do to her if she drank it. She looked at Jacinth with a pleading expression.
“Don’t give me that look,” Jacinth said, “drink this, won’t you? It tastes wonderful~”
When Y/N still didn’t drink, Jacinth took hold of her chin and tilted it up.
“Drink, Y/N,” he commanded gently.
As soon as Jacinth had said her name, Y/N felt her lips falling apart so the fae could pour the nectar into her mouth. Y/N swallowed, feeling the sweet, sticky liquid coat her mouth and throat.
“Very good,” Jacinth praised, “such an obedient human.”
Jacinth took Y/N’s hand and gently pulled her out of bed. He led her through the rooms of his abode to a little series of pools surrounded by soft moss. He sat her down next to one of them and positioned himself behind her. He took a small stone bowl and filled it with water from the pool. He poured the contents over her head, letting it soak into her hair. He picked up a vial and opened it, letting the fragrant contents cover her scalp. He started to work it into her hair, until a bubbly lather had formed. Once it was fully worked in, he rinsed it out with more water. All through the process, Y/N could feel her eyes getting heavy and her body going limp.
Jacinth went to remove Y/N’s dress next. When he had first taken her, he had gotten rid of those unsightly human clothes and replaced them with nicer, more appealing garments. He had barely gotten to the strap of the dress when Y/N attempted to shuffle away from him, her cheeks decorated with a red flush.
“Now now,” Jacinth said, “I have to wash you. Don’t be difficult.”
Y/N shook her head, screwing her eyes shut. Jacinth sighed.
“I forgot how sensitive you humans are,” he said, “I suppose we’ll just spot-clean.”
Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but only a bit of slurred nonsense came out. Jacinth chuckled, then grabbed another vial. He poured the liquid inside onto a small wad of moss. He started to scrub Y/N’s skin until it was soft and clean. Y/N blinked slowly; the world started to tilt until she realized she had fallen against Jacinth’s chest.
“Aw,” Jacinth cooed, kissing her on her head, “how sweet.”
Y/N wasn’t sure how much time had passed. All she knew was one minute, Jacinth was holding her amongst the mossy pools, then the next, she was blinking up at a series of lanterns hung along the trees. She heard the sound of chatter and music. She tried to sit up, but her body felt too heavy. Jacinth’s soft laughter rumbled behind her, and his face came into view.
“Finally awake, hm?” he mused, “I suppose I could’ve just asked you to sleep instead of feeding you the nectar… ah well.”
Another face came into view. It was another fae, with pointy ears, pink skin and deep, red eyes.
“Jacinth, is this your human?” she asked in awe.
“Indeed she is,” Jacinth replied with a smile.
“May we hold her?” a green fae asked.
Jacinth’s grip on Y/N tightened ever so slightly.
“She isn’t used to other fae yet,” he said, “but you can feed her if you’d like.”
The pink fae giggled with delight, then allowed a raspberry to grow in her palm. She brought it to Y/N’s lips. Y/N, who was still quite out of it, opened her mouth to let the fae feed her. It tasted much sweeter than the fruit at home, and a little bit of the juice dribbled down her chin, which made the pink fae chuckle and coo. Jacinth wiped the juice away with the pad of his thumb.
A green fae came up next, holding a honeycomb in his hand. He offered it to Y/N, and she drank the honey inside.
“She is so precious,” the green fae said, “how I wish I had a human of my own.”
“She’s very special to me,” Jacinth replied, “she is like the soothing touch of a fresh spring breeze.”
“Quite so,” the green fae agreed.
As the night went on, several more fae came up to see Y/N. Any time one of them tried to touch her, Jacinth would pull her closer to himself and make some excuse for why they couldn’t. The music playing was otherworldly, and Y/N often caught herself swaying to it.
Y/N yawned and felt her eyelids drooping shut. She felt Jacinth lift her up in a bridal carry. He made his excuses to the other fae and started to carry her home.
“Did you have a good time, pet?” Jacinth asked.
Y/N only murmured in response, eliciting a fond chuckle from him.
“Sleep now, Y/N,” Jacinth whispered.
Y/N drifted off just as the sun began to peek out over the horizon. Spring was on the way.
------------
Patreon
Ko-Fi
Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @21fandom-shipper21 @the-introverted-writer-for-life @shroombun @littlespacecastle
37 notes · View notes
ashintheairlikesnow · 3 months
Note
🥄 Force-feeding for Ryan or Danny please
CW: Not-exactly-human whumpee, iron burns, mouth whump, intimate/creepy whumper, dehumanization
Every bite burns.
His palms press into the uneven old floor, fingers scraping along the stained, ancient tile. He has to lower himself down, lapping up the broth with his tongue, holding back a whimper as it tingles, burns, throbs. His gums ache, his teeth hurt, as he forces himself to chew a bit of beef, swallowing only with effort.
Ryan closes his eyes against the sting of tears.
"Good," Abraham says, voice low and husky. "Again."
He swallows, tasting iron and copper. The corners of his mouth are torn and bleeding, his lips roughly chapped. As the liquid coats his mouth, the skin pulls apart, reopening tender spots that had only just begun to heal. Blood mixes with the seasoning.
Tastebuds slough away as the iron Abraham has mixed into the stew moves over his tongue, leaving tender, unready tissue to burn ever deeper.
He has to take another bite.
Ryan forces himself to lean down, trying to focus on the burn of the muscles in his arms as they stretch to hold his weight, and laps up a little cooked carrot.
His mouth flashes in terrible pain.
He coughs, fighting the urge to spit it out, feeling the weight of Abraham's eyes on him. Ryan and Danny kneel side by side on the floor, and Ryan doesn't dare look at his brother.
Not because of what Abraham might do.
But because he's not sure if he looks into Danny's eyes, that there will be anything there in the blue eyes that look back. Sometimes, Danny just... isn't there, anymore.
Ryan isn't convinced he will always come back.
Ryan breathes, saltwater dripping into the stew. The iron in it burns all the way down his throat. A bright, hot ache grows in his chest and even down to his stomach.
There's only a few bites left.
He can't do this.
"Please," He whispers. "Please, I can't."
"Of course you can," Abraham coos, syrupy-sweet, leaning over to run his fingers through Ryan's tangled hair, scratching along his scalp. It sends goosebumps up and down Ryan's arms, and he fights the urge to jerk backwards.
Never pull away from Abraham's touch.
"You said you were hungry," Abraham continues, falsely sympathetic, petting Ryan like a frightened dog. White hair falls against his cheek as he looks down. "Didn't you? So finish your food, Faerie Boy. Neither of you gets up until it's gone."
"Nnn-" He catches himself.
Never say no.
Ryan groans instead of answering, staring down at what's left in the bowl. It's not that much-
It's too much.
It's so, so much.
It's going to hurt so much.
"Y-yes, Abraham," He whispers, because always answer Abraham, never hesitate when he speaks to you. The rules burn nearly as badly as the iron. The rules... and the fact that he knows every single one, now.
It's just a few more bites.
He can't do this-
He has to do this.
The iron collar around his throat burns on the outside, and every single bite burns all the way down within.
Abraham makes him lick up the blood that drips from his tongue, too.
80 notes · View notes
echo-goes-mmm · 9 days
Text
Moonflower #15
Masterpost
Previous
Next
Warnings: domestic abuse, alcoholism
Note: Ari is non-binary and uses they/them pronouns
Kit considered the pull-rope in the corner of his room. He’d seen Iris use hers once, to call a servant to pick up a dress that needed ironing before the usual laundry day.
Kit bit his lip. Slaves shouldn’t get to call servants, but how else would he be able to contact David?
He pulled the heavy cord, and waited.
It was only a few minutes before a servant appeared at his door. It wasn’t David, but someone he hadn't seen before.
“You rang for me, uh…?” they floundered for a title.
“Just Kit, please.” 
“What can I do for you, Kit?” The servant had a nice smile.
“Do you know David? I need to ask him to do something for me.”
“Oh, sure! I’ll go get him for you.” The servant turned to go.
“Thank you. Oh, um, what can I call you?” 
They looked back, confused. “You want to know my name?”
Kit worried the sleeve of his shirt. “Is that… odd? Sorry.”
“No. Well- a little. Most people don’t ask. I’m Ari.”
Kit winced at the wording. It wasn’t Ari’s fault they weren’t familiar with introducing themselves to faeries.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he said instead.
Ari gave him a smile. “You too,” they said. “I’ll go get David.”
___________________
David nervously walked down the hall to the royal wing. Kit had asked for him; for a favor, and he didn’t know what to expect.
He tugged on the sleeves of his uniform. It was a hot day, too hot for long sleeves, but it covered his marks.
He hoped Kit wasn’t mad at him for leaving so quickly. Dad had already been upset when he got home early, and he couldn’t handle more people yelling at him right now.
David took in a deep breath before knocking on the door.
“Come in,” called Kit.
David turned the handle and stepped inside, closing the door as quietly as possible.
Kit turned to look at him, and David suppressed a shudder.
The fae’s looked calm, but David couldn’t help but be wary. Kit was tall, and probably unnaturally strong, and had sharp teeth and strangely bright eyes and could do magic-
“Are you alright?” asked the faerie.
“Yes,” he squeaked.
The fae crossed the room towards him, and David tried his best to stay still.
“Hey,” said Kit, hand brushing over his, gently taking it in his. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Faeries couldn’t lie.
“Okay.”
Kit’s thumb rubbed a small circle on the back of his hand. “I just want to talk to you.”
“Okay,” he said. He couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Kit tugged him along to the couch, and David automatically sat down after him.
“I know we don’t really know each other. But, um, if someone’s been hitting you, I can help.”
Oh. 
“It’s nothing,” he said. “It’s not like that.”
Kit tilted his head, his bright teal eyes watching him like a cat watches a mouse. Or at least, that’s how it felt.
“What’s it like, then?”
David bit his lip. “It’s not his fault,” he muttered.
“Who?”
Kit wasn’t going to let it go, was he?
“My dad,” he admitted. “But it’s really not his fault. He just gets angry, sometimes, and he’s been stressed. He’s fine the rest of the time.”
David knew what Kit was going to say.
“It’s still not right. We can get you help; away from-”
“I won’t go,” he blurted, and Kit went quiet. “I’m all he’s got left. Mom died, and I can’t-” David’s voice broke- “I can’t just leave him. He needs me.”
“Does he?” asked Kit quietly. 
David nodded, tears beginning to gather at the corners of his eyes. “Family sticks together. And he needs the money I bring home.”
“He doesn’t work?” 
David thought about the empty bottles of alcohol in the house, the smell of old beer and whiskey, the stench of drink on Dad’s breath.
“He’s sick,” he said, instead of the truth. “He never got better after mom passed away.”
Kit didn’t look convinced. “If you ever change your mind,” he said gently. “I’ll do whatever I can.”
David nodded. “Thanks. I uh, better get back to work.” He stood to go, but Kit grabbed his hand again.
“I mean it,” said Kit, the scent of fresh flowers flooding the room. “Freely offered, freely given. I promise.”
David shivered, a tingle of magic running up his spine. “Thank you.”
___________________
He pushed open the door to the cottage, the acrid smell of old wine hitting him square in the face.
“I’m home,” he called out into the house.
“Shut the damn door,” grumbled Dad, his face buried into the couch cushions. He must be hungover again.
David closed the door. Dad glared at the sound, even though David had already oiled the latch a dozen times.
“Sorry,” he whispered. “Have you eaten today?”
“Obviously not,” said Dad. “You were at work.”
“Right. I’ll, uh, make dinner.”
David left the room before Dad could ask if he got more hours.
He checked the pantry. It was mostly empty; he hadn’t had the time to go to the market. And there was no way he would ask Dad to go get groceries. That never went well.
There was enough to throw together a soup, and some bread to help fill them up, but that was all he could manage.
___________________
“Is that it?” frowned Dad, staring at his bowl.
David’s heart sank. “I haven't gone shopping yet,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
Dad rolled his eyes. “Did you at least get a better work schedule?”
David looked down at his bowl. “No,” he whispered.
Dad slammed his fist on the table, and David jumped. “Dammit, David,” he hissed, “Can’t you get anything done?”
“I- the schedule is already made for next week,” he explained, “if you had asked me earlier-”
“Don’t you dare pin this on me, boy.” Dad jabbed his spoon in his direction. “It’s not my fault you’re useless. Do you even care about me?”
“I do!” he protested.
“Then do better. Am I understood?”
David bit his lip. “Yes, sir.”
___________________
Dad smashed the plate against the wall, and David dove out of the way.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry- Dad, please-”
“Shut the fuck up!” Dad screamed, his hand reaching for a framed portrait. 
David watched in horror as the glass shattered right where he’d been standing, the frame bent.
“I let you stay here, for free, and this is the thanks I get!?” 
“I’m sorry!” David pleaded, scrambling away. Dad stalked forward and grabbed him by the arm, yanking hard. David stumbled, and Dad reached for a bottle.
“Don’t!” he cried, but the bottle smashed against his temple, and the world went dark.
___________________
The house was empty when he woke up. His head hurt like hell. He pressed a hand to his temple, and it came away sticky and red.
He whimpered, the sound making his head hurt like one of Dad’s hangover headaches.
David slowly sat up.
The room was just as Dad had left it; trash everywhere. David picked himself off the floor.
The picture frame Dad had smashed still lay on the ground. David gathered up the remains. 
It was an old portrait. Mom, Dad, and him; from years ago. It was the only one he could convince Dad to keep after the funeral.
It was torn, and the frame was unsalvageable.
David heard the key in the latch.
He quickly pulled the portrait free, folded it, and tucked it away in his pocket.
“Hey champ,” said Dad, swaying into the room. There was a bottle in his hand, half empty. Gin. “Back from work?”
His voice was cheery, as if nothing had happened and he hadn’t left his son to bleed on the floor.
“Sure,” he croaked. The clock on the mantle said two am.
“Great.” Dad looked around the room. “Clean this up for me, ‘kay bud? I’m going to bed.”
“Okay.”
David watched his father stumble into the bedroom.
He began to sweep up the shattered plates, his mother’s favorite pattern in pieces, and tried not to cry.
taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale @bitchaknso @starfields08000
24 notes · View notes
chaotic-orphan · 1 month
Text
A Benignant Mischief (3)
Read part one here
Continued from this part here
*~*~*~*~*
“We have to stop at the stables first,” said Henrik. Cosimo nodded. “I don’t know if I will be able to take you directly to the King, either.”
So, he was the King to Henrik when they were in the palace, not Niko. Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat at his words, not fully registering them until they got closer to stables.
“Wait, where will I go if you can’t take me?” Cosimo asked, panic seizing his chest.
“The cells,” said Henrik, his tone measured and so unlike how he was on their journey here. Did Henrik really just plamás Cosimo into being docile while he brought Cosimo here? Why was he acting so strangely, so unlike Henrik?
You don’t really know Henrik, a nasty voice in the back of Cosimo’s head said. You saw the way the other soldiers deferred to him. Clearly, they’re scared of him.
“The cells, but—”
“Cosimo,” Henrik sighed. Oh no. He was already tired of Cosimo. He should have known not to trust a human. He was so stupid.
Henrik climbed off Ebony and then put his hands up for Cosimo. Cosimo twisted in the saddle and Henrik lifted him down. The creato sizzled Cosimo’s flesh but he didn’t dare make a complaint about it.
Henrik handed the horse off to another person and then put a strong hand on Cosimo’s back, guiding Cosimo along with Henrik as they walked a confusing path into the castle.
Cosimo couldn’t really focus on much as he was escorted through numerous halls and corners, was there a stair involved at some point? Cosimo couldn’t remember. He should pay attention, but the world seemed to pass by too fast, and too slow all at once. He was very aware of his breathing as they walked.
They finally stopped in front of two soldiers guarding a heavy dark wooden door. Henrik said: “I need to speak with the King.”
One of the soldier’s smiled when he saw Henrik and said, “sure. Go ahead.”
The other soldier had his dark eyes trained on Cosimo, who was still hidden behind the hood and cloak. The man with dark eyes glanced down at Cosimo’s bare feet that Cosimo tried to hide behind Henrik’s but failed.
“Wait,” said the dark eyed man. He reached out to the hood and Cosimo stepped back, half hiding behind Henrik. The soldier’s hand fell away. “Who is this, Henrik?”
Cosimo could feel Henrik hesitate, but he also knew Henrik couldn’t just not tell them who Cosimo was.
Henrik’s hand touched the hood then and Cosimo let his head hang, holding his breath as the material fell onto his shoulders. Immediately the soldiers were on guard, ready to defend the door.
“Are you crazy Henrik?” The easy-going soldier hissed.
“It can’t go in with you.”
“It will save a lot of time if—”
The easy-going soldier’s eyes widened. “You can’t be serious! Have you been speaking to it?”
“He’s just a boy,” Henrik said through gritted teeth. The dark eyed soldier hadn’t taken his eyes off Cosimo once the entire conversation.
“In any event it is a child of the forest, Henrik. I will escort it to the cells to await trial.”
Cosimo’s heart hammered in his chest when the dark eyed soldier reached for him. He bared his teeth in response his only defence left to him.
“Cosimo,” Henrik said softly. He placed a hand on Cosimo’s shoulder and turned him gently to face Henrik. Cosimo instantly calmed; wide eyes fixed on Henrik’s kind ones. “I will come and collect you when it’s time for your trial, but I need you to go with Rochus.”
“I—” Cosimo began, searching Henrik’s face and seeing clear the warning on his features. If you try to escape the other soldiers will hurt you again, do you understand? Henrik was being as diplomatic as he could, but he already told Cosimo he might not be allowed to stay with him. “Okay,” he said, putting a brave face on.
“Good. Rochus do be gentle. He’s no trouble,” Henrik said to the dark eyed man who took Cosimo by the arm and pulled him closer. Cosimo’s limited resistance had his wrists hitting off the irons. He bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying out. He wouldn’t show weakness to the other soldiers. He refused.
Rochus let out a soft hmph of disapproval at Henrik’s orders but didn’t make any other comment against him. Being the King’s personal guard must come with a hefty title and high rank for all these soldiers to just follow his orders with little more than a scowl.
Rochus began to drag Cosimo away from Henrik and the nicer guard. Cosimo wanted to keep Henrik in sight for as long as possible, but he refused to appear vulnerable in front of Rochus. Or more vulnerable.
Rochus took him down a different staircase than Cosimo came up. Cosimo made sure to commit the turns and stairs and doors to memory so he would know where Henrik was. How long it would take to get to him, how long it would take for Henrik to save him from the cells.
“Did you struggle on the way here?” Rochus asked Cosimo. Cosimo frowned at him, and Rochus nodded to Cosimo’s nose. Cosimo went to touch it but then grit his teeth at the irons hitting his wrists.
“No,” said Cosimo. “This was an accident.”
“Someone broke your nose by accident?”
“No,” said Cosimo with a frown. “When I was trying to flee from the soldiers, I cut one. Then when Henrik caught me the soldier I cut stomped on my face.”
Rochus snorted. “Yeah. No trouble at all.”
Cosimo didn’t say anything in reply to that. The steps to the dungeons were wide and long, it took Cosimo with his long legs two steps to clear one.
“Heh, yeah. They’re a pain,” said Rochus at Cosimo’s confused huff. “They’re to prevent prisoners escaping with ease. They tire people out faster, but then again… you’re not people.”
Cosimo didn’t take the bait. He didn’t want to sink to Rochus’ level. Rochus stopped at a gate at the end of the infernal staircase and hit it twice. A soldier wearing a black version of the soldiers’ uniform stood and unlocked the gate.
“Another one?” The guard asked and Cosimo’s heart stopped.
Another one? Had they found the boy? Had they taken him and put him in irons too? Cosimo’s breath tried to get away from him, but he struggled to lock it in his chest. He couldn’t panic or they would know.
“Henrik found it.”
Cosimo searched the cells for the other prisoner. Please don’t be here, please don’t be here, Cosimo prayed as he was dragged to a cell at the back of the dungeon, the furthest from the door. Rochus smiled at Cosimo as the guard opened the door.
“Can’t be too careful,” Rochus said and guided Cosimo inside. Rochus stepped to the right as Cosimo was passing through the bars and Cosimo was forced to go right with him. His wrist hit off the bars to the cell and he let out a startled cry. He hurtled forward but Rochus stepped in closer pinning him to the iron.
Cosimo struggled against him but that just meant other parts of his exposed flesh hit off the bars as well.
“Hey! Get off of him!” Another voice demanded from somewhere in the dungeon, but Cosimo didn’t really care at that point. He shoulders his way passed Rochus through sheer desperation and Rochus let go of him.
Cosimo’s momentum caused him to fall on his shoulder to the stone floor, but he didn’t care as long as his skin wasn’t touching the iron anymore. Cosimo glared up at Rochus, deciding then and there that he despised the dark eyed man.
“Just wanted to show you what happens if you try to escape.”
“You could have just told me,” Cosimo snapped. Rochus smirked.
“I find actions speak louder than words. Though you are a stubborn one. I think you can keep the cuffs on until Henrik fetches you.”
Cosimo bared his teeth at Rochus in return. Rochus tilted his head to the side. “See? Vicious.”
Then he closed the cell door and locked it. Cosimo kept his glare trained on Rochus the entire way out of the dungeon, waited until he disappeared up the steps back to Henrik and the king. Cosimo then, and only then, got to his feet with an effort and walked over to the bed at the back of the cell.
It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t comfortable either, but Cosimo was too tired to care. He lay down on his side, facing the cell bars and waited for Henrik to come rescue him.
It was pathetic, he thought mutinously, waiting for a human to come rescue him from… the exact reason Cosimo was there to begin with!
What would the elders say of Cosimo back in court? What would they think? They’d call him a foolish child and tell him he should know better, because he should. Cosimo should know better than to trust humans.
“Hey,” a voice called from somewhere in the dungeon. Cosimo frowned. “Child of the forest.”
“I have nothing to say to you,” said Cosimo, voice dignified and oozing with the self hatred he was feeling.
“Hush, child, is that any way to speak to your elders?”
Cosimo blinked. Then he sat up on the cot, his eyes searching all the cells until they landed on two pale blue eyes diagonally across from Cosimo, the last cell on the wall before the dip of Cosimo’s cell. Cosimo’s eyes went to his ears and saw them end in a point.
“You’re an elf,” said Cosimo and heard the other elf scoff.
“Of course I’m an elf. We are the only guilty parties that fill these cells in this kingdom.”
Cosimo’s chest tightened at the implication of his words.
“Are you an assassin?” Cosimo asked with a breath.
The elf’s eyes narrowed at the accusation. “Should I ask if you are an assassin too, or shall I spare you the insult?”
Cosimo frowned. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m here.”
“From which court do you belong?” The elf asked. Cosimo swallowed.
“I don’t belong to any court,” he replied. The elf was silent for a moment, before his hums echoed around the cold stone walls.
“A renegade,” the elf said, knowing colouring his words. “You are young. Too young to be without a court to speak for you. Why abandon them?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Of course it matters, but you do not wish to tell me,” the other elf said as he turned to face Cosimo full. “So be it. My name is Oreste.”
“My name is Cosimo.”
“May the sun shine on our greeting, Cosimo.”
“And may we always find shade, Oreste.”
“Marvellous, now that we have the niceties out of the way tell me why that soldier left you in irons.”
Cosimo shrugged, shifting on his bed to curl his legs up around him. He sat with them bent at the knees and crossed at the ankles, as if he was about to connect with the earth.
“Do you want me to tell you why?”
“I know why,” said Cosimo lightly, tiring of their conversation, resting his head back against the wall. “Their people hate our kind. He’s probably just scared.”
“Or he’s deliberately vile,” Oreste snarled. “You see how they talk of us. They call our people it, like we are vermin.”
“I don’t care why he did it,” said Cosimo. “I am tired. I want to sleep.”
“Look at you,” Oreste said to Cosimo, a smile on his handsome face. “Locked in iron cuffs and happy, and me free and angry. What an odd pair we make.”
“There is no we,” said Cosimo. “I don’t know you, Oreste. Your name doesn’t bring to mind any stories of great elves of the past, nor present.”
“Ah,” Oreste hummed, his voice taking on a hint of knowing that caused Cosimo pause. “Cosimo… it is an interesting name, you know. I only know of one court to use it, but you couldn’t possibly be one of those elves. They’re proper, proud, arrogant.”
Cosimo grit his teeth and said nothing, but he could feel Oreste’s probing pale eyes on him, watching for any reaction Cosimo made.
“They’re not the type to runaway from home.”
Cosimo turned his head, eyes narrowed at the Oreste. He was passed the age of maturity, which meant he could be anywhere between 40-200 years old. He had no creases of a wise elder, and his eyes were too bright and wiry to be old. Too reckless.
Cosimo’s attention went to the piercings on Oreste’s ears, adorned with rings of metal. Cosimo frowned once he recognised what the rings meant.
“You are an assassin,” he told Oreste. “Your piercings…They’re of an elf who goes against the laws of nature. And I bet if I were closer I could see a tattoo of the Astrayed on you.”
Oreste laughed. It was melodic and dark, and caused a chill to run down Cosimo’s spine.
“You definitely are of the Cosimo’s I know. What would your family say, Cosimo?” Oreste asked, all pretence of familiar bond lost now. Oreste’s words were stripped of all custom, now they were as cold as the irons locked around Cosimo’s wrists. Cosimo swallowed as he met the Oreste’s pale, piercing eyes. “Running away from home. Abandoning their ways… in favour of what? Have the humans endeared you?”
“You know nothing about me,” Cosimo growled, voice low.
“Isn’t that the point of this conversation to get to know one another? Hazard a guess, what would your father say?”
“I think he’d tell me not to talk to an Astrayed elf.”
Oreste clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Come, Cosimo. Is that any way to speak to your future people? If you want I can tell you where the Astrayed are right now. We can get your piercings done and—”
Cosimo sprung to his feet, his teeth bared. “I am not Astrayed. I am nothing like you!” He snarled. “In a twist of fate I ended up here, speaking with you.”
Oreste hummed, resting his head against the wall of his cell, fixing his eyes back to the door of the dungeon. “Do not speak so little of fate, Cosimo. It works with a power neither of us can never truly know. Who knows. Perhaps we were destined to meet today.”
“If that is the case I hope it smiles on my future more favourly to greet nicer souls down the road.”
Oreste hummed again, a smile in his voice as he said: “be careful with words, Cosimo. You never know just how tacitly they can turn on you.”
With that their conversation ended. Cosimo turned away from Oreste’s cell to the dungeon’s entrance, his heart thundering in his temples and his chest rising and falling with the frustration of Oreste’s warnings.
He settled on his cot after pacing for a while, and as the sun rose higher outside he willed for Henrik to walk through those doors and rescue him. He wished to be away from this damp, stone fortress and back in the elfbow with the boy and the fox. He wished… with a stabbing in his heart, to see his family again.
Maybe Oreste was right.
Maybe he shouldn’t have run, but he didn’t have a choice!
Did he?
*~*~*~*~*
Continued here
The Orphanage roll call (tag-list, lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @annablogsposts
13 notes · View notes
Text
Midsummer Nightmare
AI-less Whumptober Day 6: Mind Control
Masterlist
TW: fae whumper, human whumpee, mind control, captivity, a bit o' pet whump
---
Arne rose to consciousness slowly, as if he were wading through a thick pool of mud. Darkness seemed to cling to him, reluctant to let him go from its grasps. His memory was hazy, his thoughts indecipherable, his mind resistant to awareness.
Vaguely, he could tell his head was lying on something soft, a thick, fluffy pillow. Had he overslept again? If he was late again, he could very well lose his work. And then how could he take care of his family?
That thought sent his eyes wide open, his body bolting upright in the large canopy bed he found himself in.
Blinking groggily, Arne frowned, looking around. What was he doing here? And where exactly was ‘here’?
He found himself in a large, elegant bedroom. The head of his bed was pressed against the middle of one wall, a large vanity with a gilded mirror and ornately carved backless chair was on the wall opposite him, a couch that seemed to be made of velvet was pressed against another wall, with a bookcase filled with leather-bound tomes next to it. There were three separate doors that Arne could see: one was on the same wall with the couch that appeared to lead into a washroom, if the white marble and claw-foot tub were any indication, one was opposite that door and it seemed to be a small balcony, the door cracked open slightly allowing sunlight to filter in as gauzy curtains swayed slightly from the breeze. The final door was the only one that was closed and it was made of a rich, dark wood with golden gilding marking out intricate designs.
As he looked around, Arne wracked his brain for what could have possibly led him here. He remembered the woods, attempting to hunt, his bounty being pitifully small.
The doe.
That golden-haired stranger.
Ikalos.
Eyes widening and throat constricting, Arne rapidly scrambled out of the bed, struggling to get out due to the number of sheets and blankets atop him and the thick mattress sinking beneath his weight. Finally, he made it to the edge, all but tumbling out.
As he stood on shaking legs, Arne noticed that his clothes had been… replaced? Although he was not sure that what he was currently wearing could even be considered clothing. A thin white shift hung on his bony frame, with a wide neckline, showing his protruding collarbones, and ending a little above his knees. His feet were bare.
As Arne looked around, bewildered, the glint of the door handle turning caught his eyes, and he scrambled back against the far wall, imagining he did not look unlike that doe that he had shot.
The door swung open on silent hinges, and the sunlight reflected off that golden hair as Ikalos stepped inside, smoothly shutting the door behind him.
Arne stiffened, distrust evident in his eyes. “Where am I? What did you do to me?”
Ikalos let out a low chuckle, the sound sending goosebumps down Arne’s spine. “Relax, my dear,” he said, in that same strange lilt. “All will be answered in due time. Please, don’t worry yourself over such trivial matters.” He glided forward, until he was only inches away from Arne, who felt his back straightening almost impossibly more. Ikalos raised a single hand, his fingers unnaturally long and thin, and gently rubbed in between Arne’s eyebrows with two fingers. “You’ll give yourself wrinkles if you keep frowning like that. And you’re such a young beauty too, it would be a shame to throw that away prematurely.”
“Please,” Arne said softly, weakly. “Just let me go. I- I don’t have anything valuable, I’m not worth this sort of effort. Please, just let me go home.”
Ikalos moved his hand downward, so that he was cupping Arne’s cheek softly, rubbing circles with his thumb in what was presumably a comforting manner. “Oh, my dear, you are truly something valuable. You are most definitely worth this effort, and more. And now, my sweet free bird, that I’ve caught you, you won’t be going anywhere for quite some time.”
Shaking his head slightly, Arne shifted, futilely trying to put space in between them. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper.
Chuckling softly, Ikalos dropped his hand and took a step back. “Why?” he repeated, arching a brow. “Because I could. Because I wanted to. Because I was bored and you, oh, you just looked so… delectable, out there in the forest.”
Arne’s breath caught in his throat, and he desperately lashed out, shoving Ikalos away with all his strength before making a mad dash towards the balcony door.
He wasn’t quite sure what he was planning to do, once he got there. Maybe he could jump, if he wasn’t too high up. Anything was better than being trapped against the wall with that, that creature.
Behind him, Ikalos straightened, running a hand down the imperceptible wrinkles in his clothing. “Arne,” he called, voice shifting, “Arne, stop.”
Midstep, Arne’s body did as commanded and froze, leaving him stuck with one foot hanging in the air and both his hands stretched out wide to the side. All Arne could do was dart his eyes frantically around as his chest heaved.
Soft, smooth footsteps warned him of Ikalos’ approach, but he was utterly helpless, unable to move in even the slightest way.
As Ikalos stood in front of him, Arne could tell there was something different about him. Everything about him just seemed… sharper, somehow. Arne couldn’t really explain it. Most notably, though, was the way his golden irises seemed to be liquid, shifting and spilling over within itself. Arne highly suspected that if he were capable of movement right now, his legs would most likely give out from under him, pure fear soaking into his bones.
Ikalos clicked his tongue, shaking his head in faux disappointment. “Tsk, tsk, Arne. I thought you were smarter than that. How stupid are you, that you thought you could outrun me?”
Arne felt tears swelling in his eyes, causing him to blink hastily, which only sent salty droplets dripping down his face. His tongue felt as though it had an anvil pressing down on it, rendering him mute.
Ikalos ran a light hand through Arne’s hair, in a mockery of comfort. “You really are just another stupid, pathetic human, aren’t you?” His grip turned cruel as he fisted a chunk of Arne’s hair, bending his head at a near-painful angle. “Aren’t you so fortunate to have someone as kind as me to take care of you? Aren’t you?”
Arne could only stare up into those otherworldly golden eyes, tears continuing to pour down his face.
Ikalos wrenched his head to the side. “Aren’t you?!” he repeated. “Thank me! Now!”
All of a sudden, Arne’s tongue felt as if it were light as a cloud, but before he could control it, his mouth was already moving. “Thank you, Ikalos, for taking care of me.” His voice sounded strange to his own ears, lifeless and dull, no inflection in it.
Ikalos rolled his eyes in disgust before tossing Arne carelessly away from him, sending him tumbling into the corner, knocking the breath out of him and leaving him sprawled out on the floor, gasping heavily. “You may move again,” Ikalos said, almost bored, and with his words, Arne’s body came back under his control, and he curled up into the fetal position, staring up at the creature before him with loathing burning in his eyes.
Squatting before him, Ikalos chuckled, roughly petting his head, only frowning when Arne flinched away from him. “Pet, you are not allowed to move away from me.” He sighed. “I really ought to start training you right away, shouldn’t I?” He smiled down at Arne, who had frozen at the command, although this time, he could tell it was from his own will, not from the otherworldly compulsion Ikalos appeared to possess.
Swallowing, Arne looked up at him, relieved to see his eyes had returned to their normal appearance, no more swirling gold in them. “Please,” he begged, allowing all the desperation and fear he had to shine through. “Please, sir, good sir, just let me go. I will pay whatever ransom you desire. I will do whatever you request of me, just allow me to lea-”
His words were abruptly cut off as a painful slap sent his head cracking to the side, causing his neck to immediately begin to ache. A throbbing, burning pain flooded his cheek, slowly traveling to encompass his whole face. He gasped, reaching up one hand to cup his beet-red skin, eyes once again flooding with tears.As if nothing had happened, Ikalos resumed his methodical stroking of Arne’s hair. “Aw, pet,” he said condescendingly. “You’re mine now. There’s nothing that will cause me to let you go. You are mine.”
---
Taglist: @thelazywitchphotographer @whither-wander-whump @theelvishcowgirl @deckofaces @badluck990 @whumperofworlds @cupcakes-and-pain @misspelledwitch @winged-wolf-s-collection-of-arts
32 notes · View notes