#gilded cage whump

[slippedtheknot]

Whumpmas Day "Three"

Wish + Denied Food as Punishment + Gilded Cage

Whumpee sniffed as he pulled his knees up to his chest, wishing for the smallest crumb. His stomach ached, and Whumper had all of the cupboards locked away. But...his stomach hurt so badly. If only he had something...anything.

"Whumpee," Whumper kicked the door as he was walking past, "I need you to make dinner now. Like, now now."

"Okay, sir." Whumpee said softly; grabbing ahold of the wall to pull himself up. Whumpee entered the hall, only to be remembered how bare his room was compared to the rest of the house.

He walked down to the kitchen; finding that Whumper had already set out ingredients. Whumpee's eyes landed on the small box of locally grown raspberries and his stomach let out a loud grumble. Whumper wouldn't notice if Whumpee had one, right?

He stuck his hand in, and searched for the smallest one. Whumpee pulled it out; holding it delicately in his palm.

"Hey!" A spatula came down hard on his hand. "What do you think you're doing?! I don't seem to remember giving you permission to eat?"

#whumpee #whump things #whump community #whump blog #whump writing #whump stuff #whump prompt #whumper #whumpmas2023 #whumpmas day three #whumpmas wish #denied food as punishment whump #gilded cage whump #my ocs #merry whumpmas

[peachy-panic]

BBU: Hollywood

This idea took root and wouldn't let go. Can't say for sure if this will be A Thing, or just a one-off teaser of a thing, but here it is nonetheless.

WARNINGS: BBU, implied noncon, implied noncon drug use, the fucked up film industry

“Cut!”

He doesn’t realize the cameras have stopped rolling until the shrill ring of the bell jolts him back into his body, and out of the one he’s been inhabiting since the last call of action. He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink for a few moments, still caught in the blurry line between characters. Sometimes it takes a few seconds to remember which mask he's wearing.

There is a flurry of movement around him; PAs rush past, murmuring into their headsets, toting plush robes and glass bottles of sparkling water. Hair and makeup swoop in to invade everyone’s space, making their minute adjustments before rolling begins anew. 

When he returns to himself, Henry's cheeks are cold with drying tear tracks, and his heartbeat pulses lightly in his lips. 

His scene partner is already turned away, her attention attuned to the phone in her hand while a woman with frizzy hair attends to her smudged lipstick. Distantly, Henry knows if he touches his fingertips to his own mouth, they will come away in the same shade of red. Seconds ago, they were locked in an embrace, their tears mingling in the neckline of her silk gown, whispered words of affection spilling between them, and now Henry doesn’t exist. He won’t again until the cameras are pointed at him. Only then does he become alive.

A cold, acrylic nail hooks his chin and turns his head. His personal makeup artist is a woman named Kat in her late thirties with a sleek, blonde bob and smile lines around her eyes. She’s worked on every one of Henry’s films, and she has never spoken to him directly. On instinct, Henry lets his eyes fall shut, slipping back from the surface as she goes through the familiar routine of touching him up. 

From behind the wall of his own little world, he allows himself the indulgence of tuning into the conversations around him. A couple of new production assistants—not much older than him—talk about the food truck that production ordered as an end-of-week treat. (This doesn’t apply to Henry. He is on a strict diet of kale and boiled chicken while he's filming. He is always filming). The wardrobe team talks about grabbing a drink at Stanley’s after wrap today. (He knows that Stanley’s is everyone’s favorite spot because it’s less than a mile from the studio, but he’s never seen it for himself). The assistant director comments on her third cup of coffee of the day. (Henry wishes he could ask for some).

The voices fade and flutter until one cuts through the rest.

“One last take, and we’re calling it, David.”

Henry opens his eyes, and Paul stands directly in front of him.

His sleek, black suit stands out among the crew's workwear, and probably costs three times as much combined. It’s hard not to notice the ways everyone’s demeanor changes the moment the Executive Producer steps onto set. In a way, it’s almost reassuring to know Henry isn’t the only one who shrinks in this man’s shadow. But that’s where the commonality ends. They may fear him, too, but at the end of a fourteen hour day, they are not the ones who return home to Paul Maxwell’s bed. 

“Our star needs to be red-carpet ready in an hour-thirty.” Though he’s addressing the director, Paul stares directly into Henry’s eyes. “Be sure that he is.”

He doesn’t need to nudge the makeup artist away so much as she instinctively pulls back when Paul lifts a large hand and touches the tips of his fingers to Henry’s jaw. Henry keeps his eyes where they’ve been beckoned and pretends not to notice the assistants in his periphery who duck their faces away from the display of ownership. Paul’s thumb swipes across the corner of Henry’s mouth, taking with it a smear of Eliza Darling’s expensive lipstick. Then, wordlessly, he releases him. 

There’s a renewed sense of urgency as Paul retreats from the chaos, but also one of relief that comes with the last shot of the day—for everyone except Henry. 

He was up before the sun, and he knows he’ll be out long after it has set. The worst part about interior days: he doesn’t get to see daylight once. Normally, even the call of his Keeper’s bedroom feels like a reprieve after this many hours of shooting. But tonight, his previous film is set to premier on the other side of Los Angeles, and there is no premier without Paul Maxwell’s shining star.

More importantly, there is no after party without him.

There is no time for exhaustion, not for him. When the caffeine pills have run their course, he’ll be given something stronger, and he’ll take it. Whatever it takes to get through the night that will inevitably become a very long weekend.

“You heard the boss,” David says, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Let’s make it a good one. Clear frame.”

The makeup brushes make a few last frantic swipes across his skin before they scurry away. Liza Darling tucks a blonde curl behind her ear and presses her phone into a nameless PA’s hand. Henry closes his eyes and slips into another man’s skin.

People tell Henry all the time that he’s lucky to lead the life that he does, in his position. It is only in these fleeting intervals of fiction between reality that he might just agree with them.

For the next three minutes, he does not have to be Henry, nor is he the boy with the name from a life he is not allowed to remember. For the next three minutes, he is Brock Layton: twenty-three, rich, and madly in love. 

For the next three minutes, he is as free as he’ll ever be again. 

“Sound speed,” the mixer calls out, raising the boom pole over his head. 

“Rolling,” camera echoes back. 

“And, action.”

#bbu #like bbu adjacent? #whump writing #whump #whumplr #Henry The Sad Little Starling #I've thought a lot about how BBU workers would potentially be used in the entertainment industry #because it is such a brutal and demanding work environment #and how they would have this exterior of glamor and stardom #but it would be a gilded cage as they say #and nothing would be as fun as it seems #I have an urge to write the follow up chapter #the follow up chapter being the red carpet (and the after party which is worse) #and i know what youre thinking: #hey peachy what about the 800 other stories you have started and neglected #and to that i say:

[whumptress]

Obsessed with the idea of a gilded cage. A prison that's so nice you almost forget it's a prison. Almost. Until you try to leave.

#captivity whump #imprisoned #whump #gilded cage #whump scenarios #whump prompts #whumptress original

[maeattemptsateverything]

Attempt at writing n°1

Once upon a time, there was a king 

He was beloved by his kingdom,

yet he felt lonely and sad.

One day, the circus came to the town 

and the King went to see it.

A clown saw his sadness and offered his hand

"I can accompany you and make you happy.

But when the time comes, I will have to leave."

The king accepted this, and was happy with his new friend.

But when the moment arrived, he locked the clown inside a gilded cage.

Now, the king was happy and accompanied, but his friend was sad.

The King saw his sadness and tried to cheer him up

His friend was inundated with food, attention and gifts,

so many gifts that eventually filled the gilded cage.

When the king wanted to see his friend, he was already dead.

It had been a long time since he had suffocated.

(I may have missed some tags, please let me know!)

#writing #fairytale inspired #original #short #whump #it can be considered whump? #Gilded cage #tw: death mention

[whumping-newbie]

Malia I - The Rebel

I was playing Hitman again in my favourite level. Made a new OC to whump XD I suppose one could argue that this is Hitman fanfiction set in the world of the “A Gilded Cage” mission.

Thanks to @justplainwhump and @whumpopology for inspiring me to actually write it!! Going to tag @whumpmasinjuly too for day 12′s prompt “Rebellion”!

Cw for kidnapping by military officers, choking.

POV: Malia

The nights in the streets of Marrakesh are livelier than I am used to.

The souk that is open during the day is still largely open now too, probably because the night air brings a coolness that makes the atmosphere more enjoyable. The people wandering the winding roads, the vendors selling wares, the eateries providing food and drink to patrons as they pass by.

And until just a few moments ago, I was one of them.

I hadn't noticed quite how late it was, and I have work in the morning, so I should probably go home.

I don't live far from the souk I was just at. About five minutes away at the very most. The amount of pedestrians wandering the streets certainly drops the further away from the souk you get, as does the lights. The chill of the night air keeps me aware enough of my surroundings as I pass by the abandoned primary school, loose bits of brick and metal fencing still litter this particular stretch of alleyway.

I can't really describe it, but the solitude of these streets are a far cry from where I came from, on edge at every turn. This is a nice, peaceful stroll in the evening that I couldn't be afforded just barely two weeks ago.

Even lovelier is that I can practice my ever-building French and Arabic skills with my new neighbours. I’m not perfect, but I know enough to survive.

I take another glance at my wristwatch. Almost ten to midnight. At least I have already eaten, so I can just go straight home and not bother my neighbours -

The sound of something heavy hitting the ground rang behind me and I snapped my head around. The previously empty alleyway now had a lone, heavy looking duffel bag in the middle of it, and before I could wonder how it got there, a figure scrambled over the wall dividing the alleyway from the abandoned school.

They were a soldier, at least, their uniform gave that away. Camoflague with a bulletproof vest over their chest. They looked down the alley away from me, scooping up the bag, and finally their gaze settled on me.

I had barely processed the unusual behavior before the soldier hurried over in my direction. Partially out of wariness, and partially out of shock, I simply moved aside to clear the alleyway for him.

But instead, he slowed down beside me.

"Mademoiselle, I need your help," he said in a low whisper, taking my arm in his and starting to walk at a brisk pace with me. He spoke French, which admittedly caught me off guard. All of the policemen I had seen earlier spoke Arabic when I was asking for directions.

I free my arm from his, "monsieur, what are you -?"

"Just walk with me. Don't make too much noise, please."

Because that sounds like something a man with good intentions would say to a woman in the middle of the night.

"Sir, I will not..."

He reaches into his pocket as he pulls me around the corner, looking over his shoulder at the fence he just clambered over.

"Come with me," he says in a hurried whisper.

He continues to guide me down the street, away from the one I use to go home, and I force my feet to stop following him. "No!"

"Madam, this is urgent," he turns to face me, leaning down to my level.

"And what makes you think I'll just follow a strange man who dragged me down an alleyway?"

He ponders this, looking over my shoulder at the doorway in the wall. He pulls me there instead, and i don't know why I don't just scream for help. Something keeps my voice from getting any louder. He looks around, before taking out something from his trouser pocket and handing it to me. It's a phone.

"Take this, and give it to the papers. Upload it to the internet. Take it to the police. Please, it's important. It has to be done tonight."

"Why should I -"

"Because the fate of this entire country is at stake, and I need you to -"

"But why can't you do it?"

"Because I just deserted from my army, and giving you that phone probably constitutes treason, but people need to see what's going on -"

Suddenly a blinding light hits my vision, disorienting me so fast I barely have time to put my hands up before someone else has grabbed me and pulled me out of the doorway, covering my mouth with a large, gloved hand.

"Stay quiet, or I'll shoot," the voice hisses in my ear. Another voice. A different voice.

A more menacing one.

Something hard presses into the small of my back. A gun.

I try to fight, to push him off me, but he's so much bigger and stronger than me -!

Another voice cuts through the once nocturnal stillness to deliver a sharp command in Arabic, but all I could understand was “get them off the street”.

The soldier who had led me here was on the floor, groaning from a blow to the head as he is soundlessly handcuffed by another soldier.

The one holding me speaks into my ear, again in Arabic. In my panic I could only catch fragments what he was saying to me. Something about “being quiet”, I’m not too sure.

I don't even have the chance to form an answer before the soldier moves his hands from my face, and instead wraps his entire arm around my neck, constricting my breathing so fast that I barely register it.

I try to pull him off, try to breathe, but he’s just so much stronger than me. Kicking out is fruitless, there’s nothing I can kick that would help me.

My head spins and my arms go slack. Black spots dance in the already dark alleyway, and the last thing I see before I slip into unconsciousness, is the body of the soldier beside me getting picked up and taken away.

#whump #my writing #kidnapping #choking #POV: Malia #it has been a Hot Whumpy While since i posted to this blog lmao #fanfiction #hitman fanfiction #hitman reza zaydan #hitman a gilded cage

[actress4him]

>_>

<_<

~Psst~

Gimme 'Gilded Cage' for the bthb

For 'anyone' *wink wink*

This totally isn't someone you know o.o

*gasp*

Who could this be from?? And how did they possibly know that the very day this ask was sent, I was talking with Izzy about wanting to write something for the new AU using this prompt??

You must be psychic, Anon.

.

Introducing the new (well, not SO new at this point, but new to Tumblr!) Brumaria universe, The Royal AU. This piece is pre-Bruno, however, and hopefully sets up Kamaria's side of the story well enough that it doesn't require extra explanation. If not, feel free to ask questions, I love to ramble about ocs (especially Brumaria!) and aus.

Also this got, uh...really long, so, yeah.

Taglist: @painful-pooch (who obviously had NOTHING whatsoever to do with this ask), @badthingshappenbingo

Shadow of Death Masterlist

Fandom: Original Work

Prompt: Gilded Cage

Contains: fairly mild whump of a minor (14yo), lady whump, referenced parental death, referenced war, referenced fire, manhandling, non-graphic stabbing (not of the minor), hitting, prejudice, hunger, corporal punishment

.

.

Kamaria slips in and out of the throng of people like a shadow, unnoticed by most. It’s market day - the perfect opportunity for making a living. While the people of Ethorcon shout and haggle and admire stalls full of goods, she eyes their wrists and belts. 

There’s a lady who doesn’t belong in this part of town, some noblewoman entertaining herself by watching how the simple folk live. It’s fairly common. Kamaria follows closely behind her and the girl who’s probably her maid, reaching easily between them to release the clasp of her golden bracelet and let it slide silently into her palm. She disappears immediately into the crowd again, waiting until she’s out of their sight before opening her fist and transferring the trinket to the hidden pocket she created for herself in the folds of her tattered skirt.

Brushing by a busy stall of dried meats, she tips a piece off the edge and into her other hand. It goes into her pocket, too. There’s already a pouch of roasted nuts nestled inside. She’ll eat one herself, and save the other for Aisling. The orphanage workers do what they can to feed them, but it’s never enough - which is why Kamaria takes to the streets as often as she can.

She won’t be able to stay for much longer, though. Too much time in one location is just asking to be caught, so she needs to make her last finds good ones. 

There are actually a few brave Navarians out today, risking the scorn of all the true Ethorconites and the prices that the merchants raise as soon as they see them. She skirts around the small group, letting her eyes linger for just a moment on the rich earth tones of their clothing. She misses when everyone around her was dressed like them.

Once she’s put some distance between herself and the other Navarians, not wanting to risk any possibility of them being accused of anything, she spots her next target - a man with a large shoulder bag. There’s not as much of a guarantee that she’ll snag something of great value, but she can’t help the curiosity that pulls her toward it. She sidles up nearly beside the man, waiting until his head is turned the other direction before she sticks her hand inside, fingers closing around the first item of substance she feels and smoothly sliding it back out.

She doesn’t look at her new treasure until she’s in a nearby alley. It’s…a knife. Small enough that the tarnished brass hilt fits in her not yet full grown hand. Carefully, she removes it from its sheath. The piece may be old, but the blade seems to be in good condition, and she can tell just by looking at it that it’s sharp. 

Thoughtfully, she tucks it into her pocket alongside the other items. This one she won’t sell, maybe. She likes the weight of it in her hands, the feeling of safety it brings. 

She takes her usual route back to the orphanage, crisscrossing through alleys and abandoned back streets. No one looks up when she walks inside. For the most part, the workers allow the children to come and go as they please. It’s up to them to arrive on time for meals if they want to be fed, and to come in before the doors are locked for the night if they want a bed. At first she thought she would hate it here, and she does hate that she’s stuck in the capital city of Ethorcon, no longer within the borders of what used to be Navar. But she can’t pass up the food and shelter the orphanage provides, and at least they don’t try to control her.

She hasn’t thought of leaving, anyway. Not while Aisling needs her.

The small girl’s brown eyes light up when Kamaria enters the bedroom they share with four other Navarians, the room next door reserved for several Ethorconite children. “Did you bring anything interesting this time?” she whispers in the language the two share.

The room is currently empty, so Kamaria sits down on the floor mat with her and begins to empty her pocket. She holds out the two food options first. “Which do you want?”

Aisling hums, considering, then taps her finger on the pouch of roasted nuts. Passing it over, Kamaria takes a bite of the dried meat before reaching into her pocket again. “I haven’t checked to see what’s inside yet,” she explains as she drops a small purse into her lap, tugging it open. The two girls eagerly count out the coins inside, then hurriedly put them back, Kamaria running to hide it beneath the broken floorboard before returning to the bed. 

“Look at this.” She displays the bracelet, and Aisling gasps in delight. 

“So pretty! Can I try it on?” Giggling, she holds out her hand.

Kamaria smiles a little and acquiesces, slipping the dainty, expensive piece around her frail wrist.

The girl laughs again, twisting her hand so that the gold catches the light. “Someday, I’m going to be a rich lady and own hundreds of jewels.”

Snorting, Kamaria takes the bracelet back. “Being rich isn’t anything to strive for. The rich think they’re better than everyone, but their lives mean nothing. Strive for…independence, instead. And a position where you can help those who can’t help themselves.”

She turns her back to place the bracelet inside the hiding spot with the purse, trying not to think too hard about Aisling’s future. The way things are now…she may not live to be Kamaria’s age, much less to achieve riches or power.

“Tomorrow I’ll take a bit of the money and buy us some more food.” She returns to the bed, settling down next to Aisling and leaning her back against the wall. She can still feel the weight of the knife in her pocket. “Is there anything you’d like me to look for?”

Popping one of the roasted nuts into her mouth, Aisling chews thoughtfully. “Apples,” she declares finally. “And chocolate!” 

Kamaria elbows her in the ribs, not too hard. “I stole the chocolate, you goose. We can’t afford luxuries like that.”

Aisling pouts, but it’s obviously playful. “Well then, can you steal some more chocolate next time you go out?”

Huffing a bit of a laugh through her nose, Kamaria shakes her head. “I’ll do my best.”

They sit in contented silence, munching their food, until a loud knock sounds on the front door of the house. Kamaria tenses, sitting up straight.

Aisling grabs onto her arm. “What is it?”

“I don’t know.” She tries to keep her voice calm, despite her body language. “Someone’s here. But no one ever visits.”

There’s a murmur of one of the workers answering the door, and a louder man’s voice responds. “We are here on behalf of His Majesty King Alaric, ruler of Ethorcon.”

Aisling’s grip on her arm grows tighter, whether in fear, shock, or excitement, she doesn’t know. Kamaria personally feels anger start to bubble in her chest at the mention of the man’s name. He’s the reason all of their parents are dead. He’s the reason that her home is a pile of ash, that she’s had to steal and beg and dig through rubbish for the past two years in order to survive. He’s the reason that they each take turns waking up during the night, gasping for breath with tears pouring down their cheeks.

“His Majesty requires a child. A Navarian child, to be exact.”

Another voice, slightly deeper. “King Alaric wishes to show his goodwill toward the former people of Navar by taking in one of their orphans as his own. They will be raised in the castle as royalty and afforded every advantage.”

“What a marvelous opportunity for one of our poor young ones!” That’s one of the workers. She sounds blown away. “They’ve all been through so much. Well, I can take you to see our boys over here, there are four of them -”

“Not a boy,” the first man interrupts. “We’re not looking for an heir to the throne. A girl will be more…suitable for him to bestow his goodwill upon.”

“Of course. We only have two Navarian girls, I believe they’re in their room.”

Kamaria jumps up off the mat and places herself in between Aisling and the door, allowing them to still see her but not come near. Her mind is racing with the conversation she’s just overheard. The king wants to adopt one of them. To turn them into a…a princess. It sounds too far-fetched to be true. All the Navarians know that he hates them. He invaded their kingdom solely to conquer it and extend his power, slaughtered them by the thousands, and now claims that they are citizens of Ethorcon but sits idly by while the real Ethorconites treat them like the dirt under their feet. And now he wants one as his daughter?

The door opens, and her hands clench into fists. The worker enters first, beaming. “Ah yes, here they are.”

Two men in rich attire enter, glancing back and forth between the two of them. The bald one looks her over closely, from her frizzy brown braid and dirt-streaked skin to her patched clothing and bare feet. “How old are you?” he demands.

She considers not answering, but doesn’t see the point in the end. “Fourteen.”

He sighs heavily. “That’s older than I was hoping for. Harder to train.”

The other man, the one with the deeper voice, nods toward Aisling. “The little one looks to be around the right age.”

The bald man doesn’t even glance her way. “She’s sickly, can’t you tell it just from the look of her?” He turns toward the worker, clearly exasperated. “You said these are the only two Navarian girls you have?”

“She wouldn’t be if you took her.” The words are out Kamaria’s mouth before she can fully decide whether she should say them. “She’s frail now, yes, but with proper food and access to a physician she’d flourish, I’m certain of it.” And she’d be able to be a rich lady with hundreds of jewels, like she wants.

She doesn’t want to be separated from Aisling, she’s become like a little sister to her. She isn’t sure, either, that the castle is the best, most loving place for her. But if it means guaranteeing her survival…

Besides, she has no intention of going with these men herself, and if she’s taken then there will be no one to look after Aisling, to bring her extra food. This is how it needs to be.

“I’m not taking that risk,” the bald man grunts. “The older will have to do. Come.” 

He nods his head toward the door before turning to walk out, as if he expects her to follow him just like that. Kamaria stands rooted to the floor, heart pounding and thoughts swirling.

“Come,” the other man repeats, holding out a hand to her. “You’ve been chosen. This is a great honor for you.”

“No.”

The bald man turns, and they both stare at her. “No?”

She lifts her chin, gathering her courage. “No, I won’t go with you. I don’t want to go, you’ll have to take her, instead.” She looks briefly back over her shoulder at Aisling, who’s watching everything silently with wide, fearful eyes.

Taking two slow steps toward her, the bald man huffs. “You behave as if you have any say in this matter, girl. We are acting on behalf of His Majesty, and you will do as we command.”

Kamaria’s anger flares. “His Majesty has never cared anything about my existence before, and he can live without it now. I want nothing to do with him. If he wanted to extend his goodwill, then he should have refrained from murdering my family and my people.”

The fury in her heart is reflected back at her in the man’s expression. As the other man mutters something like, “Are you sure that you want this one?”, he stalks toward her. She takes a few quick steps backwards away from him.

“I haven’t the time for this.” Lunging forward, he grabs her by her waist and yanks her into him, wrapping one arm around her and beginning to drag her toward the door.

Kamaria forgets how to breathe. For a moment, she’s one of the women that she sees in her nightmares, being carried off by laughing soldiers while the town burns around them.

She’s brought back to the present by Aisling’s screech. “Kamaria!” 

“No! Let go of me!” She fights, digging her heels into the floor as best she can, hitting and scratching his arm and anything else she can reach. “I’m not going anywhere! Let me go, I will not be your stupid princess!”

The knife in her pocket knocks into her leg as if politely reminding her of its existence. She clamors for it wildly, somehow managing to get it out and fling the sheath to the ground. 

“I said let me go!” She has no idea how to properly use a knife, but she has plenty of access to drive the point of it into his arm near the elbow. 

He curses loudly and she’s suddenly free. Knife still in hand, she runs back toward Aisling, who’s sobbing uncontrollably, only to be tackled to the floor by the second man. He pins her there, and she screams, memories from the night of the fire washing over her again. 

“The little minx stabbed me!” the bald man roars. “Get that knife away from her! You let these children have weapons?”

She can’t see anything but the wooden floor, but she tries to stretch out her arm so that the knife is out of reach. It doesn’t matter, though. The man on top of her holds down her arm and wrestles the knife out of her grip, handing it off to someone else. 

She should have just left it for Aisling. Now it’s gone to waste, like the bracelet and coins hidden underneath the floorboard that the little girl won’t be able to sell. 

“Get her out of here!” the bald man growls. “I clearly have my work cut out for me, teaching this one even basic manners.”

She’s flipped over onto her back, large hands holding her wrists tightly, then yanked up off the floor and thrown over the man’s shoulder. Beating and scratching on his back and kicking her legs doesn’t seem to faze him at all. Aisling screams her name again, and she cranes her head up to find her tear-streaked face. 

“Ai-Aisling…stay strong for me, okay? Stay…stay strong.”

The younger girl sobs again. “Please don’t leave me!”

She’s carried out the door and around the corner before she can respond. 

.

The carriage ride through town is tense. Kamaria is too angry and afraid to enjoy the novelty of it, crushed in between the two men on the bench seat. She tries to fling herself out the door at one point, and gets backhanded across the face so hard that she falls into the opposite wall.

It’s the first time anyone has ever hit her. With all of the violence she’s seen in her life, it shouldn’t feel as sickening as it does.

She spends the rest of the ride in her seat, staring at a spot straight ahead of her with her mind racing with thoughts of what’s ahead.

The second man walks her into the castle with a firm grip on her arm that she wants to shake off but tries her best to ignore. It’s obvious she’s not getting away from them anytime soon. She’s never been anywhere close to a castle before, much less inside of one, and despite her determination to hate every inch of it she can’t help but gape. Every surface seems to shine. The floor is cold beneath her feet, and when she looks down she can nearly see her reflection in it. Above her, the ceiling stretches almost as high as the sky itself, and staircases with polished railings wind up toward long balconies. 

“This way.” Her arm is jerked, and the bald man leads them through a door and into a series of hallways and stairs that seem to never end. Kamaria tries to memorize the route, in case she gets the chance to escape.

At last they go through another intricately carved door, into a room that looks to be a bedroom but is so huge it could fit an entire house inside. There’s a bed against one wall, with a blue canopy over it and heavy curtains at each post. Pillows are piled on top of the covers. In the corner sits a dainty table with two matching chairs, and on another wall a sofa with even more pillows. Opposite the bed, nearly the entire wall is taken up by glass doors leading out onto a balcony.

“These will be your chambers,” the man holding her arm announces. He glances over at her dumbfounded expression. “See, this arrangement isn’t all that bad, is it?”

She quickly reins in her shock, throwing a glare back at him. “I don’t want any of this. Not when it comes from him.”

The bald man whirls around and slaps her cheek, not nearly as hard as the first hit but enough to turn her face to the side. “We’ll start your first lesson now. You will refer to His Majesty with respect and honor at all times. Understood?”

She clenches her jaw and stares him down, refusing to respond.

Taking a step forward, he grasps her chin hard between his fingers, tilting her head back to stare down into her face. “Answer me.”

“Yes,” she spits. She understands. That doesn’t mean she’ll do it.

A quiet knock sounds on the open door behind her, and the bald man looks up and releases her chin. “Come in, let’s hurry this along.” 

Several women appear, most wearing matching plain dresses. Kamaria watches them warily. 

“Lord Roderick,” the one who doesn’t match the others begins, addressing the bald man. “This is she?”

“Yes. Get started right away, there’s no time to waste. You -” he turns his attention to the others, whom she guesses are maids -“go draw a bath. She’s absolutely filthy, and this hair is a disaster.”

She wants to snap something back about how he’d be the same way if he was forced to live on the streets and actually had hair, but decides to keep her mouth shut this time. It would likely only get her slapped again, unless he wouldn’t do it with the maids around.

A few of the maids curtsy and disappear through a door on the other side of the room. The woman who spoke approaches her, and the man finally lets go of her arm, going to shut the door to the bedroom. 

“I’m going to measure you for a new gown,” the woman explains, holding up a measuring tape. Without waiting for a response, she sets to work wrapping it around various parts of Kamaria’s body while the two maids that are left assist her and write down the numbers she calls out. Kamaria stands stiffly, unsure of what to do or where to put her arms. She’s uncomfortable with all the hands in such close proximity to her, but at least these are female and aren’t hurting her right now.

“I have everything I need,” the seamstress announces eventually. “The fabric and trim is already chosen, and we’ll all work on this tirelessly until it’s done.”

“Good.” Roderick gives a dismissive wave of his hand. “See that you do. If all goes well I want to introduce her to His Majesty by tonight.”

The three of them curtsy and exit the room. One of the other maids peeks out from the door they’d exited through. “Her bath is ready.”

Roderick places a hand on her back and prods her forward. A bath…actually sounds rather nice. She is filthy, though she’d prefer that not be pointed out by this horrid man, and she’s certainly not going to let on that she’s grateful for anything they’re forcing on her. 

The bathtub in the next room is, of course, also fancier than anything she’s ever seen. Roderick ushers her inside and leaves, and the maids immediately descend upon her, hands grabbing at her clothes. With a wordless shout, Kamaria swats them away, backing up until she bumps into the wall. 

“We only wish to help you undress, Your Highness,” one explains, as if that somehow makes their intrusion better.

“Keep your hands off me! I’m not a Highness, and I definitely don’t need help getting undressed! Nor do I need you watching me get undressed! I’m not a child, I can bathe myself perfectly well.”

Roderick throws open the door and steps inside again. “Lower your voice, girl. You’re a princess now, there will be no shouting and causing a ruckus.”

She glares at him, arms crossed protectively over herself. “I’m not a princess, and I’m not staying here so there’s no need for me to adhere to all your stupid rules. You may have conquered Navar, but that doesn’t mean that -”

Stepping forward, he grabs a fistful of hair on the back of her head. “I said to lower your voice, and unless you want your head shoved into the water in that tub, I suggest you also keep war talk out of your mouth.”

Kamaria snaps her mouth shut, fury sparking in her eyes. She doesn’t want to follow this man’s orders, but she has no doubt at this point that he’ll follow through on his threat and she’d rather not be drowned.

This can’t last. She keeps hoping maybe it’s a nightmare that she’ll wake from soon, but even if it is reality…it can’t last. Either they’ll realize that this is a terrible decision and send her back, or she’ll escape somehow. There’s no way that she’s actually going to be stuck here for more than…a few days, maybe weeks. 

So maybe, for now, she should just play along. Not enough to make them think that this actually is a good idea, but enough that she doesn’t keep getting hurt by this man. She can let her displeasure be known, but learn to stop before he gets too angry.

He stares her down for a few more seconds before deciding she’s done talking for now and releasing her hair. “Behave yourself and do as your maids say. Just hurry up and get in the bath.” Exiting the room, he slams the door shut behind him.

Kamaria narrows her eyes at the maids. Her maids, he’d called them. Well, if they’re her maids, and she’s supposed to be a princess, then they should listen to her, right? “I will undress myself. I don’t want you to touch me.”

The maids glance at each other. “I suppose it’s alright this time,” one replies. “In the future, though, Your Highness, your gowns will be much more complicated, and you’ll need help removing them.”

There’s no way she’s letting anyone put their hands all over her like that, ever. She’ll just have to figure out the so-called complicated gowns herself until she can get out of here. “And I don’t want you staring at me while I undress, either. Do royals have no sense of modesty, or is that an Ethorconite thing?”

Reluctantly, they turn their backs and allow her to undress and slip into the hot water herself. In all honesty, it feels extraordinarily nice, but not nice enough that she’s ready to turn her back on her people to indulge in it for the rest of her life. 

.

An awkward hour later, Kamaria sits in front of an ornate mirror, wearing undergarments that cover nearly enough of her to be an actual gown and are made of the softest fabric she’s ever touched. Each of the maids is yanking a comb through her still-damp hair, trying to get rid of the never ending tangles, while they discuss how to style it when they’re done.

“A braid,” she says simply.

One of them frowns at her reflection. “A braid is too simplistic, Your Highness. You’ll need something regal to meet His Majesty.”

“Then multiple braids. That’s how the Navarian nobles style their hair.”

The maid sighs, turning her attention back to a particularly stubborn snarl. “You’re a princess of Ethorcon now. Not Navar.”

Kamaria jerks her head away, putting a hand to her sore scalp, and glares into the mirror. “So? What is the point of the king adopting a Navarian if you’re just going to try to turn me into an Ethorconite?” She reluctantly lowers her hand, allowing the combing to continue. “We all know that he doesn’t actually care anything about ‘extending goodwill’. Which means the only reason for him to do something like this is to try to fool people into thinking that he does actually care about us.”

“You shouldn’t talk about His Majesty that way.”

She continues on without pausing. “And if that’s the case, then shouldn’t I actually look like who I am? Doesn’t he want to be able to show me off and make sure everyone knows that it’s a Navarian he’s taken in?”

These thoughts have been occurring to her through everything that’s happened, but saying them aloud makes them much more terrifying and sickening than turning them over in her head. She’s a trophy, that’s what she is. What he wants her to be, at least. A shiny new thing that the king can wave around and use to prove how wonderful he is, while continuing to do absolutely nothing to actually help her people.

“There will be an announcement of your adoption in due time, and the people will be informed of your heritage then. But Lord Roderick and His Majesty want you to look the part of the princess of Ethorcon. And braids are not part of a traditional hairstyle here.”

“But -”

The door opens, and Roderick strides back into the room. “Are you still arguing?”

She snaps her mouth shut, transferring her glare to his reflection before finding her courage again. “I will have a braid somewhere in my hair.”

“You will do what you’re told, or you’re going to regret it.” He walks up beside her, and she wraps her arms around herself, trying to hide her immodesty. He just grabs her chin again and turns her face toward his. “At least you clean up decently, though you’ll look much better once that hair is dealt with.” His other hand comes up to brush across the purple bruise that has begun forming on her cheek, and she flinches away. 

“Would you like us to do something to cover that, my lord?”

“Don’t bother.” He turns and walks back toward the door. “His Majesty will understand. I’m going to check on the seamstress’ progress and attend to a few other matters. Be sure her hair is finished by the time I return.”

She’s never had to sit still for so long in her life. It feels like all of her hair is going to fall out of her head by the time they’re done, but she does have to admit - to herself, at least - that they do a good job of making her curls look soft and shiny for the first time in two years. And the updo that they settle on is elegant and regal - for an Ethorconite, that is.

When she’s finally allowed a moment alone in the privacy of the bathroom, the first thing she does is tug out a section of hair on the side and braid it, then pins it back into place. She studies herself in the mirror. She’s thinner than she used to be. The last years have hollowed out her cheeks and made her collarbone more prominent, though nothing like poor Aisling’s. And now she looks ridiculous in this fancy foreign style, and she hasn’t even put on a gown yet. 

At least she has the braid now, though. She’ll cling to any part of Navar that she can, no matter how hard they attempt to strip it all from her.

Eventually the maid knocks on the door, probably worried that she’s doing something drastic like destroying all their hard work by adding a braid to her hair. While she was inside, the second maid brought up a tray with lunch from the kitchen. Kamaria can smell it as soon as the cover is removed, and finds herself drawn to the table where it sits. 

There’s so much food, and it’s all supposed to be for her. Poultry with a golden sheen, steaming vegetables, bread with butter pooling on top. For the longest time she just stares at it all. She wants it. The hunger that’s been a constant presence in her life for two years suddenly lurches to the forefront of her mind, demanding that she stuff everything on the tray into her mouth as quickly as she can. 

But she also can’t stop seeing Aisling’s face. She’s the one who needed this, not Kamaria. It isn’t fair, that she should sit here in luxury and eat her fill of the finest foods, while her friend stays behind and continues to suffer. 

“I can’t eat this.” She takes a step back, hand pressed against her stomach, eyes still fixated on the overflowing plate.

The maid sighs. “Why not, Your Highness? I understand that it’s not the cuisine you’re accustomed to -”

“I’m not accustomed to anything except scraps of whatever happens to be available!” she shoots back. “I just…I can’t. I can’t.” How can she explain that eating this food would feel like betraying the only person she’s cared for since losing her family? They wouldn’t understand, and they don’t need that kind of personal information about her.

“Well we’re not going to feed you scraps, Your Highness. You must eat.” She gestures to the food. “You don’t have to worry about going hungry anymore, all your needs will be provided for here.”

That’s the whole problem. But she’s right about one thing, she has to eat something. Especially if she ends up needing to escape from this place, if they don’t just kick her out, she’ll need energy and strength.

Reluctantly, she walks over and takes a seat and begins picking at the food. It’s delicious, but it’s so rich that she can barely stomach it, and guilt accompanies every bite. She only makes it through a small fraction of the pile before she’s pushing it away. 

“I’m full.” She waves a hand without looking at the food again. “The two of you can have the rest if you’d like.” This isn’t the orphanage, food isn’t a rare and precious commodity. It’s doubtful they want to eat your leftovers, Kamaria. Among the children it was incredibly rare for someone to leave any of their food, but on the occasion that it happened there would always be a tussle to split the rest.

.

She spends the rest of the afternoon being trained by first the maids, then Roderick, on the perfect curtsy with which to greet the king. Despite her disdain for the idea - and her great desire to come up with the most disrespectful greeting she can to substitute - she tries her best to copy them and follow the instructions, especially once Roderick arrives and starts threatening to slap her around again. He’s still not happy with her performance by the time they end the lesson, but throws up his hands with a sigh and declares that it will do for now.

Finally, the seamstress arrives with the finished gown. She’s forced to let the maids help her slip it over her head and lace it, partially because Roderick is still lurking and she doesn’t feel like being hit for arguing again, and partially because they were, unfortunately, correct, and she probably wouldn’t be able to wrangle all of the fabric and reach the laces herself. The dress is a deep red, and it feels expensive, silky and smooth and so much skirt that she feels twice as heavy once it’s on.

Roderick stares her down critically, a scowl permanently painted on his face. “I suppose you’re as ready as you’re going to be. You look the part, at least.”

“How did this braid get here?” a maid gasps, and Kamaria can’t keep a smirk from quirking her lips.

“Never mind, it’s hardly noticeable and we don’t have time,” Roderick growls. “Let’s go.”

Her nerves rise as she’s led through the castle halls once again. She’s only a commoner, she’s never met anyone like a king before, and certainly not King Alaric, whom she’s heard so many stories about. Obviously she doesn’t care anything about making a good impression on him. She’d rather he take one look at her and immediately order Roderick to send her back. 

But…this is the man who destroyed her country. This is the man who ordered his soldiers to kill her family and burn her home. 

At one point, as a foolish, grieving child, she’d sworn that if she ever stood in his presence she would kill him herself. Now she’s expected to pretend to be his daughter.

The doors to the throne room tower over her head, ornately carved and inlaid with gold. They swing open suddenly, and she finds herself in the largest room she could ever imagine, with the king staring down from his throne a great distance away. 

She freezes. Her feet won’t move forward, refusing to carry her into the same room as her mother’s murderer. 

A hand on her back shoves her through the doorway. She nearly trips over the long skirt of her dress, but still can’t take her eyes off the man at the other end of the room. He’s as stern-faced and intimidating as she’d imagined, face pale beneath his black hair and beard and eyes bright and intense. They watch her every move as Roderick gives up on her walking herself and drags her by the arm. 

The walk seems to go by in an instant and take an eternity all at once. Suddenly they’re at the foot of the steps that lead to the throne, and Roderick is pinching a bruise into her arm. Right, curtsy, she’s supposed to curtsy. Was she even planning on doing so? Maybe she was going to just stand here and refuse. It’s too late now, she’s already moving. Everything that they taught her this afternoon has escaped from her mind, though, and whatever motion she makes is clumsy and awkward. She can hear Roderick sigh quietly next to her.

“Your Majesty, may I present the Navarian girl that you requested. I’m afraid she will require quite extensive training before she’s ready to make an appearance as a princess, but rest assured that I am up to the task.”

King Alaric just keeps raking his eyes over her, stoic expression never changing. “How old is she? I thought you were getting a little one.”

There are so many things she should say to him, but they all stick in her throat. The emotions swirling through her chest are fighting against each other. She feels at once everything and nothing. 

“Fourteen, I believe she said. I was originally planning for younger, but unfortunately she was the best option.”

The words finally take shape and burst from her lips. “No, I wasn’t! Aisling was the best option, I told you so right then and there, she would have flourished here and she would have been happy to do whatever you wanted.”

Roderick grabs her arm in the same place he was pinching it earlier. “You will hold your tongue in the presence of the king,” he hisses.

She tries to pull away from him, glaring daggers. “I told you I didn’t want to come here. If you want a perfect, obedient princess then you’ll send me back, because I will not be her.”

“Shut up, girl!” He twists her arm hard, wrenching her shoulder, and she gasps in pain. “I apologize on her behalf, Your Majesty. As I said, she requires extensive training. And the other child she’s referring to was sickly and frail, so don’t let her deceive you. She was the best choice…” He throws her a disdainful look. “Such as she is.”

King Alaric leans back in his throne, expression still unreadable, as Kamaria continues to glower at them both. “I must say I’m disappointed. I was hoping to have something I could present to the people sooner rather than later. I trust that your outing was discreet, at least?”

“Of course, Your Majesty. The orphanage worker was the only one outside the castle who knew of our mission, and she was paid handsomely to hold her tongue until the proper time.”

The king sighs, looking her over one more time. “Fine. Start your training and make sure absolutely everyone knows that she is to remain unknown until I make the announcement. I’m counting on you, Lord Roderick, to make this work.”

“Yes, Your Majesty, I will not fail you.” He bows his head, still firmly gripping her arm.

“Does the feral child have a name?”

There’s a pause, and Roderick shoots her a look, jaw tight with anger. She raises one eyebrow at him - oh now you want me to speak? Now that someone is actually bothering to find something out about me? - and the anger grows. He jerks his head toward the king, prompting her to answer. 

She lets the silence linger for another moment before answering. “Kamaria.”

The king scoffs. “Of course. Well, at least there will be no mistaking that she’s Navarian.” He waves a lazy, ring-laden hand. “You’re dismissed.”

Kamaria has never been so glad to leave a room, though she’s furious that her hope to be sent back right away has been dashed. Part of her wants to run back and argue some more, to show the king just how bad of an idea this really is, but even if she had the courage, Roderick isn’t giving her that choice. He doesn’t let go of her arm until they’re back in the bedroom that’s been designated as hers. 

Unfortunately, he’s just as angry as she is at how that meeting went. She’s gotten glimpses of what this new life under his control is going to be like throughout the day, but it’s that evening that she’s fully shown just what to expect from his training.

#bad things happen bingo #gilded cage #original content #whump of a minor #lady whump #lady whumpee #referenced parental death #referenced war #referenced fire #manhandling #stabbing #hitting #prejudice tw #hunger tw #corporal punishment #the shadow of death #kamaria the assassin #royal au #whump writing

[daxwritesstories]

Excerpts: Break stuff

[A/N]: Just a little something from Cyra’s diary.

07/11/23

I’m bored as hell so I guess I’ll write in here for a bit. Ace has to be out of the house for most of the day so he locked me in my room until he gets back. So I’ve been in here for a few hours and I’m already crawling up the walls.

Ace has been locking me in here more often lately. He usually only does it when he has to leave for a while but sometimes he’ll do it if he doesn’t want to deal with me. I’m not 100% sure why he’s been locking me up more but it might have something to do with all the stuff I’ve been accidentally breaking. I never mean to break anything but this mansion is so big that I always want to run around at full speed when I’m here. Plus the floors are always waxed and slippery so I can do that thing where you slide around on your socks. Most of the time I don’t run into stuff but whenever I do Ace gets really mad.

#excerpts #Cyra’s world #iTs jUsT OnE oF tHoSe daYS #cute whump #is that even a thing? it should be #held captive #gilded cage

[augustofwhump]

AUGUSTOFWHUMP ’24

A new whump event/challenge set in August, run by @painonthebrain!

Write-up of prompts & rules under the cut!

AUGUSTOFWHUMP PROMPTS:

Day 1: food / risk / overexertion

Day 2: iv / shock / cry for help

Day 3: poison / shady business / freezing

Day 4: filth / screams / open wounds

Day 5: stranded / power tools / ache

Day 6: confusion / spark / veins

Day 7: time loop / rot / promise

Day 8: rejected apology / trap / attack

Day 9: role reversal / caged / body modification

Day 10: secret / exhaustion / publicity

Day 11: freedom / scars / insecurity

Day 12: deal / monstrous / anger

Day 13: witness / resigned obedience / bootlicking

Day 14: dehumanization / darkness / alone

Day 15: salt in wounds / phobia / revenge

Day 16: hunt / disaster / dread

Day 17: experimental serum / cramps / stress position

Day 18: came back wrong / unavoidable / muzzle

Day 19: salvation / midnight / mistake

Day 20: contaminated / escape / test

Day 21: set up to fail / bitter / creep

Day 22: stitches / robbery / insects

Day 23: feral / possession / fate

Day 24: humiliation / gilded cage / jewelry

Day 25: barbed wire / insults / tear stains

Day 26: sensory deprivation / heartbeat / tape

Day 27: proof / memory / machine

Day 28: bloody nose / medic / abandoned

Day 29: control / touchstarved / broken glass

Day 30: blindfolded / obsession / gift

EDIT: I forgot day 31 so that’s “fuck it we ball” day. Make whatever you want. LMAO

ALT PROMPTS:

Drowning

Broken trust

Claustrophobia

Guilt

Human shield

Locked outside

Whipping

Collapse

The only survivor

Scraps

Outcast

GUIDELINES:

Prompts should ideally be responded to in the form of whump

Creators can make any type of media they want (Yes, this includes any kind of media, no matter how niche. As long as it’s creative, it’s allowed)

You can do as few or as many prompts as you like

You can complete these prompts in tandem with any other event or other prompts (such as in combination with Bad Things Happen Bingo, @randowhump’s Birthday Whump Event, AU-gust, etc.)

DO NOT use ai. I can’t be entirely sure what is or isn’t, but I trust you to at least put some type of effort in your creations. These events are no fun otherwise!

Tag & trigger warn your content accordingly

NSFW is allowed, however because I’m currently a minor, I will not look at or reblog it (Again, tag and label it!)

Tag your works as #augustofwhump and #augustofwhump2024. In addition to that, you can also tag this account — @augustofwhump. (Do not @ me in NSFW works.) I’ll try to reblog whatever I can!

EDIT: The August of Whump 2024 ao3 collection is here! It will be open for submissions on August 1.

I’m really excited (and nervous) to do this and I know it’s a bit early to post these prompts but whatever — it just means more time for people to work on prompts if they choose to do this event, right?

#whump #whumplr #whump community #whump challenge #whump event #whump prompts #augustofwhump #augustofwhump2024

[whumperfultime]

Tarot-Inspired Whump Prompts

I'm enthusiastic about both whump and tarot and those interests were bound to collide at some point. So I wrote a list of writing prompts inspired by the Major Arcana! Five prompts for each card, so there should be something for everyone. Enjoy!

(Also, if you happen to write anything based on any of these, feel free to tag me! I'd be honored to read it.)

The Fool: Accidental whump. Misplaced trust. Leap of faith. Taking a risk. Falling from a high place.

The Magician: Magical whump. Manipulation. Mind control. A charismatic and confident character. A table full of tools for inflicting pain.

The High Priestess: Keeping secrets. Blindfolded whumpee relying on their other senses. Guarding something or someone. Intuitively noticing when something or someone has changed. Cult setting/dynamics.

The Empress: Gilded cage. Lady whump (if you're into that). Comfort in material things. Gentle caretaker. Whumpee not used to experiencing abundance and safety.

The Emperor: Strict whumper and/or strict rules. Royal whump. Wartime. Stoic leader trying to remain calm for the sake of their team. High security.

The Hierophant: Religious whump. Institutionalized whump. Punished for questioning authority. Pressure to conform. Power leading to corruption.

The Lovers: Yandere whump. Sadistic choice. Forced to watch. Protectiveness. Multiple whumpees, whumpers, caretakers, etc.

The Chariot: Car crash. On the run. Kidnapped and forced into a vehicle. Lost and stranded. Unwanted and distressing thoughts.

Strength: Whumpee turned caretaker or whumper. Monster character. Patient caretaker. Animal attack. Emotional support animal.

The Hermit: Isolation. Sensory deprivation. Neglect. Feeling like an outcast. Going into hiding.

Wheel of Fortune: Bad luck. Time heals all wounds. Long-term captivity. Painful anniversaries. Wrong place, wrong time.

Justice: Whumper being arrested. Detached/indifferent whumper or caretaker. Wrongful imprisonment. Privileges vs. punishments. Shutting off emotions so logic can take over.

The Hanged Man: Stress position. Caught in a net. Restrained and abandoned. Hanging. Standing cuffs.

Death: Grief. Recovery milestones. Immortal whumpee dying over and over. Left behind. Visiting a grave.

Temperance: Drugged whumpee. Personality changes due to trauma. Angel character. Poisoning. Mad scientist whumper.

The Devil: Demon character. Sadistic whumper. Addiction and unhealthy coping mechanisms. Pet whump. Collared.

The Tower: Building collapse. Struck by lightning. Drastic change. A character being overpowered. Shocking revelation or betrayal.

The Star: Bathing (whether this is peaceful or whumpy is up to you). Drowning. Finally being able to rest. Anything having to do with recovery. Dehydration.

The Moon: Nightmares. Lost in the woods. Werewolf character. Illusions or hallucinations. Running on pure survival instinct.

The Sun: Sunburn. Public figure whumpee. Forced to perform. First time outside after being held captive. Heatstroke.

Judgement: Revenge. Sound torture. Deity character. Punishment. Resurrected from the dead.

The World: Endings (positive or negative). Breaking the cycle of abuse. Overwhelmed by choices. Regaining personal autonomy. Closure and acceptance (or lack thereof).

#whump prompts #whump ideas #whump community #whumpblr #this was really fun to make and i'm very proud of the finished result #if i get really brave maybe i'll post a scene or story of my own someday

[oliversrarebooks]

The Rare Bookseller and the Vampire Auction: Masterlist

The story of Oliver, a seller of rare books who is kidnapped and sold at a high-end auction for vampires to purchase thralls.

18+. Contains vampires, mind control, hypnotic inductions, captivity / gilded cage, blood drinking, abuse, violence, torture, Stockholm syndrome, slavery / human auction, psychological whump.

1. Alexander's Warning

2. Oliver's Kidnapping

3. Oliver's Car Ride

4. Oliver's Exam

5. Oliver's Shower

6. Oliver's Cell

7. Oliver's Neighbors

8. Joe's Story

9. Oliver's Anticipation

10. Oliver's Conditioning

11. Emily's Despair

12. Oliver's Grade

13. Oliver's Fears

14. Lily's Hard Work

15. Emily's Last Meal

16. Emily's Defiance

17. Oliver's Long Shot

18. Oliver's Fancy Dress

19. Oliver's Price Tag

20. Alexander's Temptation

21. Jameson's Threat

22. Oliver's Auction

23. Alexander's Purchase

24. Alexander's Troubles

25. Fitz's Magic Show

26. Lily's Favorite Thrall

27. Oliver's Delivery

28. Fitz's Capture

29. Oliver's Welcome

30. Alexander's Rules

31. Fitz's Showtime

32. Oliver's New Life

33. Alexander's Feeding

34. Fitz's Curtain Call

35. Oliver's Walk

36. Alexander's Desire

37. Alexander's Housekeeper

38. Alexander's Sire

39. Fitz's Rose

40. The Maestro's Mark

41. Alexander's Mark

42. Fitz's Cold Comfort

43. Katherine's Advice

44. Alexander's Vain Hope

45. Fitz's Reflection

46. Oliver's Ballet

47. The Maestro's Diversion

48. Fitz's Charms

49. Alexander's Task

50. Frank's Mistake

51. Oliver's Anticipation

52. The Maestro's Correction

53. Fitz's Terrible Idea

54. Alexander's Tutor

55. Lily's Illusion

AUs and Extra Material

Fitz's Volunteer Part One Part Two

Oliver's Songbird AU Part One Part Two

Alexander's Sweet Dream AU Part One Part Two Part Three

Fitz: Sleepy Fitz || Fitz in the Snow || Fitz's Waking Nightmare

Roger: Fitz's Alarm Clock

Emily: Emily's Crayons

Jameson: Jameson's Insult

Riana (Fanfiction): Riana's Determination

Auction House Worldbuilding

Picrews: Oliver || Alexander & Lily || Fitz || Emily

Hunting Dog

A side story about a vampire hunter captured and turned into an obedient hunting dog.

Lowell's Mistake

Please ask if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

#whump #whump writing #whumpee #vampire #vampire whumpee #mind control

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whump Prompt- Imagine dehumanization in the opposite direction. Whumper idolizes Whumpee. No darling, you can't go outside, you're too sweet and perfect and fragile. You're my perfect little doll. Even when Whumpee misbehaves, Whumper chalks it up to Whumpee's fragile nature and continues to coddle them like they're some precious object that needs constant care and maintenance. Only the softest restraints, the finest clothes, tender touches, delectable meals, drugs administered via pill or gas to avoid those awful needle marks, and the best gilded cage money can buy.

#whump prompt #dehumanization #yandere whumper #possessive whumper #darling whumpee #obsessive whumper #carewhumper #whump #hurt/comfort #writing #writeblr #creative writing #writing prompt #prompt

[whump-on-a-string]

Whump but it's that Cozy escapism gilded cage(?) carewhumper-ish sort of whump that's practically mostly comfort but still technically whump because I am a fucking sap.

Yes I'm talking about Rare Bookseller. Whatever vibe that is? It's exactly what I am talking about.

#whump #My Art #Rare Bookseller #I have Bookseller brainrot #Original #meme #shitpost #but also totally serious

[abhainnwhump]

Forced Marriage

(Content warnings: Abusive/toxic relationships, forced gender roles, manipulation, forced whumpee turned whumper, very possessive whumper, intimate whumper, pet whump vibes, kidnapping, conditioning)

Whumpee being some form of royalty and is forced to marry a rival/evil royal member as part of a treaty between kingdoms.

Whumpee waking up from being kidnapped and they're in wedding attire and a ring. They have no idea where either came from.

Whumper surgically alters Whumpee into the perfect partner. Or causing permanent damage to their ankles/feet so they can't run away.

Gilded cages. Whumper treats Whumpee lovingly and they're kept in good health, but a cage is still a cage.

Whumper shows off their new spouse to their friends and Whumpee has to pretend to play the role.

Forced cuddles and kisses.

Whumpee forced to wear the clothes Whumper deems "pretty".

At order of Whumper, Whumpee has to cut off all of their loved ones. Whumpee holds back tears as they tell their friends, family, and significant other to screw off and never talk to them again.

Instead of a traditional ring, Whumper gives Whumpee a gold collar and leash.

"Til death do us part"

Whumpee has a significant other and feels like they betrayed them.

Whumper forces Whumpee into a traditional gender role they're not suited for. Either working hard labor they're too weak for or cleaning and cooking all the time.

Whumper justifying the torture under the guise of being Whumpee's "lover"

Stockholm Syndrome, need I say more? Lima Syndrome while we're at it?

Anniversaries that make Whumpee feel ill for how long they've been trapped with Whumper.

#whump #whumpblr #whump writing #whump prompt #whump tropes #creepy whumper #pet whump #noncon body modification #conditioned whumpee #stockholm syndrome #lima syndrome #intimate whumper #creepy/intimate whumper #whumper x whumpee #whumpee turned whumper #whump prompt list #domestic whump #abusive whumper

[year-of-whump-tropes]

Possible weekly themes

Living Weapon Whump

Carewhumper/nice handler

Defiant Whumpee

For the greater good

Dehumanization

emotion removal/repression

Orders and obedience

Intimate Whumper

Touch/physically affectionate whumper

Yandere whumper

Emotional manipulation

demanding behaviors/reciprocation from Whumpee

Creepy whumper

Abusive partner

Love confession/breakup

Pregnancy/miscarriage

Mind control/Possession Whump

Drugs

Hypnosis

Telepathy/Mind-control powers

Tech-based mind control

Parasitic possession

Supernatural possession

Guilt

Sickfic

Flu

Fever

Poison

Sick while with Whumper

Care/treatment

Various illnesses/afflictions (i.e. the week can have a different sickness as each day's theme)

Conditioning/Brainwashing

Trigger/activation words

Punishments

Indoctrination

Conditioned whumpee with Caretaker

Process of conditioning/getting conditioned

Post-conditioning/fully conditioned/brainwashed

Deconditioning

Recovery

Nightmares

Triggers

Regression

Bedrest

Relearning/reclaiming things

trust & safety

Caretaking/comfort

Captivity

Tied up/restraints

Sensory deprivation/restriction

Basement whump

Possessive whumper

torture/abuse

non-physical restraints/control

Imprisonment

Hero/Villain Whump

On the run

Stuck together

"reformation"

Overworked/pushed too hard

Alliances & enemies

disproportionate retribution

Superpower whump

Pet Whump

Collars

Caged

Institutionalized pet whump

"training"

Taking pet whumpee places/showing them off

gilded cage

dehumanization

Team Whump

Separation

Bound/trapped together

Self-sacrifice

betrayal/abandonment

Hiding wounds

Ransom/bait

Unhealthy/harmful team dynamics

Magic Whump

Curses

Nonhuman whumpee/whumper

Magical whumper

Magic with side effects

Immortal whump

Used for their magic

Tiny whump

Magical/supernatural needs not being met

magic with a price

Role Changes

Whumper-turned-whumpee

Whumpee-turned-whumper

Whumpee-turned-caretaker

Caretaker-turned-whumper

Whumper-turned-caretaker

caretaker-turned-whumpee

Submit ideas in the askbox! (Or anyplace where I'll be sure to see it.) I will update this as suggestions come in, so make sure you're looking at the root post to see the most recent version of the list.

#whump event #whump challenge #event planning #whump #whump tropes #whump prompts #whumpblr #whump community #brainstorming

[whumping-newbie]

Malia II - The General

A continuation of the piece i posted yesterday!

Cw for military whump and lady whump. Let me know if I missed anything!!

POV: Malia

There's a dull, distant sound that pulls me out of my slumber. A ringing in my head. And when I open my eyes, the room gets no brighter. I cough shortly, and realise the air in here is hot. Stagnant. My body is covered in sweat.

Where am I? And what... what happened?

When I lift my head up, I realise that I've got some kind of bag over my head, and my arms are tied behind my back. I tug shortly on them, and can hear the soft clink of handcuffs on metal.

"... sold us out, Sayid..."

The voice cuts through the pounding in my head and I dimly realise it's coming from my right. A deep, smooth voice that makes me stop trying to get free. I’m not in here alone.

"... do it again. Proudly. You're a monster, Reza."

A different voice, muffled underneath something, replies. The voice is familiar, but I can't quite remember why. I don’t... think they are talking to me.

"I am sorry about your brother. He wasn't supposed to...”

"- your mysterious back-“

"I didn't say it was -"

My pounding head, this swealtering room, and my shortcomings in my Arabic is making their conversation very difficult to understand.

"Right, right. Well... Now please leave."

"That's it...? No... No ... if it's the last thing I do?"

He scoffs. "Reza. Oh, I will kill you, if it's the last thing I do."

I hear a small chuckle, before heavy footsteps move closer to me. Someone leans in close, I can feel them hovering just away from my face, their voice ringing in my ears.

"And what about you, my dear? What's your reason for trying to get involved in things you have no business understanding?"

He's talking to me. I know that now. He's talking to me, tied up and blinded in this room with the soldier from last night. Who is he, and what does he want? From me and that soldier?

I feel my breathing tremble before I even think about answering him. I try to turn my head to face him - at least, where I think he is.

"I'm... please, Sir..." my broken Arabic is made worse by my beating heart. I stop, swallow in hopes that it will steady my breathing, before trying again, "I don't... know why I'm here, sir..."

"Is that so... Perhaps I should ... my question."

I can feel him lean in even closer, grab a hold of my ear underneath the bag, and pull it back. I couldn't cringe away from him if I tried.

"What were you doing with this man in an alleyway at midnight?" he switches to French, and instantly both my comprehension and my terror multiplies tenfold.

"Monsieur, I still don't know what happened," I try to explain, "I was on my way home. I didn't -"

"Leave her the fuck alone, Reza," the soldier beside me spits, in French too, "she's done nothing."

The one in front of me scoffs, and I can feel him turn his head away from me, "and why should I believe a traitor like you, Sayid? No, I believe this young lady has quite a bit to say."

He lets go of my ear, and I let out a shaky sigh.

"Bring her to my office. I want some time alone with this one."

My breath suddenly stops as someone else briskly comes over to me and unties me from the chair, grabbing me by the sleeve of my blouse and pulling me up to my feet.

"Leave her alone, don't you hurt her, you fucking bastard!"

I'm dragged away from where I had been tied up as the soldier back there continues to shout obscenities at whoever these people are.

My hands still bound behind my back, rendering me unable to do more than ineffectual writhing as he drags me out of the room.

Almost immediately I'm taken up a flight of stairs, I can hear another voice saying "Sir" off to the side of me. I can hear radio chatter, unintelligible to me, ring out from somewhere to my left as we turn the corridor.

I nearly trip over something beneath my feet, but i don't fall. I can't, with this man dragging me wherever. Also beneath my feet was the sound of broken glass. Just where am I? What kind of place am I in that has mess in corridors and broken glass on the floor?

Some other door opens, another man says "Sir", and I am led inside a cool room with a pleasant breeze. There's a dull buzzing accompanying the breeze, an air conditioner maybe? It makes the sweat on my skin chill instantly, but it's much more preferable to whatever room I was just in. It must be daytime otherwise it wouldn't be so hot, right?

A chair scrapes and I'm shoved in it, hands still tied behind me, but I'm not tied to the chair. Merely placed in it.

"Thank you Lieutenant," the voice from before says in Arabic once again, and I dimly realise.

They're military. That soldier.

I don't know why it took me so long to notice, but they're all soldiers.

They're armed. Trained. Strong.

And the one in front of me, who just ordered me brought to... wherever this is, is clearly in charge. More important than a Lieutenant. I don't know what rank that would be, but regardless, it means only one thing.

I'm in big trouble.

#my writing #whump #POV: Malia #military whump #lady whump #fanfiction #hitman a gilded cage #hitman reza zaydan #hitman fanfiction

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Hero x Villain Masterlist

Recurring Characters:

These Two Dorks Masterlist (mostly fluff but angst looms on the horizon, hurt/comfort)

Vampire Hero Masterlist (black comedy, affectionate whump parody, lots of torture attempts/mentions even if that rarely turns out the way the torturer planned)

Others:

Reverse chronological order. (prompt) indicates when the original idea is from someone else.

The Fakers: Three heroes in a small town despair: there's no villain around. What can they do?

A taste of revenge: Supervillain doesn’t really mind the three young heroes who keep coming after him, until the fateful day everyone goes for ice cream. (ask)

Through the mirror : What’s the thing to do after having an epic fight with the local Villainess ? Drinking a couple of beers with her, of course. It’s only polite.

Random Word Prompts: Marvel as I turn one random word into a bunch of H/V prompts. Plus, it's short for once. What we have for now:

Member

Knight

Stairs

Language

Statue

Presentation

Able

Worm

Crash Meeting (prompt): Detective tries to bring down Villain. They don’t succeed, but what they’ve just discovered might be even more important.

Jack-in-a-box Surprise: A bunch of civilians are stuck in the room with a villain taking the form of their worst fears. Good luck with that.

Pounding Headache (sicktember): Thief has a bad day. The burglary didn’t turn well, Villain turned on them, what better moment for a migraine to begin?

Gilded Cage (prompt): Villain has Hero trapped in a ghastly – wait actually, it’s a pretty cool apartment. That’s a trick, right?

Who dies, who lives (prompt): You’ve always been a fan of Superhero, and you don’t take too well that they’ve just been killed. Where’s your partner anyway?

To make a right (prompt): A gritty detective informs his unlikely friend and unanimously beloved superhero Sunblade that distasteful things were made in his name.

Mind-Melting (prompt) part 1 and 2: Hero has a lot to do between an amnesic Supervillain, an emo teen Sidekick, and a cat. One of them is much more powerful than the others. One of my first posts here so the style is, ah, certainly made of words.

Detective x Thief

Cold Case (for sicktember): A detective gets hired to find a stolen painting. Unfortunately, he catches a cold before catching the culprits.

Cold Meeting (prompt): This detective really wishes this client would leave him in peace. He might have secrets of his own.

*

And now for something mildly different:

Whump/Horror Masterlist.

Fantasy Masterlist

#hero x villain #hero villain community #writeblr #writers on tumblr #villain and hero #heroes and villains #hero and villain #original fiction #creative writing #my writing #masterlist #detective x villain #thief x detective