#i swear it gets whumpier

[tashacee]

You said you’d made aspect of grace to be a lot whumpier at first

*Looks right*

*Looks left*

You uh, you still got that whumpier version?/j

Genuinely though, what was it originally like?

Let me look through my drive, see if i can find the rough draft lmao

Okay, turns out i still have the entire original chapter and DAMN it is whump. OOFT.

Also originally the lizalfos that killed Wild was straight up Dink. I forgot about that.

Anyway, I'll put it under the cut if you're interested :)

Wind knelt beside wild, numb, his mind refusing to process, refusing to accept the terrible truth in front of him. Around him he could see movement, hear his brothers shouting, feel someone grab his arm and try to jolt him out of his stupor, but he didn’t pay them any heed.

It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. The world had stopped turning and all the colour had been drained from the world around him

Because wild was dead. 

It had been a normal day, like any other. No, scratch that, it had been better than that. It had been a great day. The sun had been shining and despite the cool autumn morning they had all relished in it, stripping cloaks and coats and enjoying the rare day of quiet sunlight. They were crossing a wide expanse of wetlands, the sunlight reflecting off of the water as all of their boots and socks were soaked through, but despite a few token complaints, no one much minded. 

It was a good day. They were all happy and high spirited, cracking jokes and grinning and messing about, Wind most of all.

Any other day he wouldn’t have grabbed the slate from wild’s hip. Any other day he wouldn’t have cackled and dashed off, waving it in the air in the world’s most childish game of ‘keep away’ he could manage.

Wild had yowled in protest and dashed after him, but fast as the cat man was, wind had a head start and was determined to mess about in the way that only a little brother could. 

The others had joined in. When wild had been about to catch him, wind tossed the slate to wars, who nimbly caught it and took over running away, laughing all the time. Wild had been laughing too, yipping in amusement as well as giving the rumble that Wind was pretty sure was his version of swearing.

If he had really been mad, wind would have stopped. None of them would have gone on. But he was laughing. He was having fun. 

Wars three the slate to Hyrule, who threw it to Twilight, who wind feared for a moment would give it back to Wild. But the Rancher just threw it back to Wind, sticking his tongue out at his brother while the others crowed in laughter, and wind bolted off again.

It was a good day. 

And then it wasn’t. 

The lizalfos had seemed to come from nowhere. It must have been hiding in the space between some rocks, waiting for them to approach. That was the thing about black blooded monsters, they were so much more clever, so much more intelligent, and this one seemed so much more than most.

It sprang out, teeth bared, jagged blade drawn. Its eyes glowed red against the oily black of its scales, and it radiated a dark magic so thick that wind could taste it in the air. He shouted in surprise and tried to leap out of the way, but his foot caught on a submerged root and he stumbled.

He went sprawling, dropping the slate in the mud as he fell and landing face first in the water. He barely rolled over in time to miss the next blow from the lizalfos’ blade. He tried to scramble to his feet, to get his bearings. He needed to move, to defend himself - he reached for his sword but he was of kilter, his hands were shaking and he fumbled. The lizalfos swung-

And it’s bland was blocked, parried away as a massive shape dove in front of him. Wild, his sword drawn as he repelled back the creature’s blade, teeth bared and growling.

Where were the others? Where they really that far behind?

There was no time to stop, no time to think. Wind finally got his grip on his sword and shield, ready to dove in and help his brother, but it was too late.

The lizalfos swung again. Wild blocked him again with his sword, but it was an old, worn thing from his own era, and it couldn’t take the strain. The blade shattered, and seeing the opportunity, the lizalfos lunged again.

And it’s blade met fur and flesh and bone. And wild made a sound, small and breathy and pained, his eyes widening in shock.

Wind surged forwards, kicking the lizalfos backwards and swinging at it wildly as the others finally reached their position. Wars, legend, and time leapt into battle with him, pressing on the beast as behind them Hyrule rushed to wild’s side.

It was only one lizalfos. Even black blooded, it shouldn’t have been as fierce, as intelligent as it was. It shouldn’t have looked like it was smiling. It shouldn’t have cackled when time finally ran it through, and rather than dissolving to dust like a normal monster, fading away like a shadow in the sunlight. 

Something told wind that it wasn’t gone for good, but it was gone for now and that was good enough for him. Shuddering, he dropped his sword and spun around, running to where he had left Wild. He would be fine, they’d all been stabbed before, but wild was strong! He was hardy, he would be fine-

He was lying in the water, limp and unmoving. Twilight has pulled his head and shoulders onto his knees and was bent double over him, his face screwed up and sobbing. Beside him, Hyrule sat pale faced and horrified, his hands at his side. Why wasn’t he doing something? Why wasn’t he healing him? 

The fur on wild’s torso was matted with blood, the water around him stained a horrible red. He wasn’t breathing. He wasn’t breathing 

“Wild!” Wind ran forwards, grabbing his hand. “Hyrule help him! Do something!”

Hyrule just shook his head, tears beginning to slip over his cheeks. Wind knew why. He could see it plain as day, could see the gaping wound through Wild’s chest, knew that it was not an injury anyone could survive. Still, even as all of his brothers knelt around them, saw the terrible sight and understood the horrible truth, Wind could not accept it. Would not accept it. 

So he knelt there, staring at his unmoving brother, holding his hand and not caring as the frigid water soaked into his trousers.

Wild was dead, and he just couldn’t accept it.

-

After Wild’s first adventure, the gifts given to him by his fellow champions had faded. His old friends had moved on, after all, their spirits finally getting to rest after so long in limbo, and one by one their gifts left the space where they had rested in his soul.

Wild was okay with this. Much as he missed them, much as he missed the powers they gave him, he was glad that they were finally at peace. 

Mipha was the last to linger, and he wasn’t really that surprised. Her caring instinct had always been strong and she had always wanted to help. 

Then the weeks turned into months. And the months turned into years. And somehow, although he couldn’t quite feel her presence, there was still a sense of… something. Something that felt like gentle healing and and glowed a soft blue. Not the presence of a spirit, but the tender touch of a blessing.

know this: that no matter how difficult this battle might get... if you—if anyone ever tries to do you harm... Then I will heal you.

Zelda theorised that it was the final gift of the Zora princess. That even though she herself had moved on, the healing power of her Grace had remained, in one form or other. Even with the scant few memories of Mipha that Wild had, he was inclined to agree.

This said, he had never been particularlykeen to try it out. Mipha’s Grace had only ever activated when he had been injured badly enough to be at the point of death, and funnily enough he wasn’t overly eager to get to that point. It was enough to feel her blessing, however strong it may be, and to know that she had found peace.

Now, though, Wild floated in a limbo.

He wasn’t entirely clear on how he had ended up in this foggy, dark place. Someone had been in danger, someone important to him, and he had acted on impulse to save them. He had saved them, this important person, he was certain of that, but in the process he had gotten himself badly hurt.

He was dying. He knew that. And something about that was familiar.

He floated there, in that dark limbo, neither warm nor cold, neither feeling pain nor comfort, neither seeing nor blind, and he wondered vaguely why he was still here. He was no longer in his body, of that he was certain, but neither was he moving on.

Why was he not moving on?

Maybe something else had to happen first.

He waited, and inside of him something soft and blue began to pulse and itch. Around his chest, he felt something begin to come together.

This was also familiar, but he was sure that whatever it was used to be faster, stronger.

Huh.

He waited, patient in the darkness, and then all of a sudden hhis awareness came back to him with a terrible clarity. He was Link - wild! - and he had been trying to save Wind. He had taken a sword to the chest to save his brother and he was dying, should be dead already - 

But swirling around him, in the soft darkness of death, was a ribbon of blue energy, oh so softly knitting his wounds together. Mipha. Her grace, her final blessing, still saving his life so long after she had left hers behind. It would take longer, without the strength of her spirit to guide the healing, and it would not be as complete as it had been in the past. It would, he knew now, save him from death.

He couldn’t believe that he had been given such a gift. If such a thing was possible in this strange, limbo space, he would have wept.

Instead he waited for an indeterminate amount of time for the healing to be done.

And then he opened his eyes.

-

Every ounce of him hurt.

It wasn’t really the nicest feeling to wake up to, but given that he was waking up at all, he didn’t really feel as if he had the right to complain. In the past when Mipha had healed him he had come around almost instantly, his wounds fully healed and his energy restored, but it didn’t look like that would be happening any more. He was saved from the brink of death, but he still had plenty of wounds that needed healed.

And damnit, they hurt.

He wanted to groan but he wasn’t quite there yet, wasn’t quite ready to fully control his body. Everything felt so heavy. Instead he focused on grounding himself, on figuring out his surroundings, on what was happening around him.

He was lying on his back, on the ground. No not quite on the ground, someone had laid out a blanket underneath him. One of his softest blankets, if he was feeling it right. Aw, guys! He couldn’t help but feel touched that they had done that for him even when-

Oh. Oh right. They probably all thought he was dead. There was no telling how long he had been out while Mipha healed him. Shit.

Well, at least he hadn’t been buried yet. He really didn’t fancy climbing out of his own grave.

Again.

He focused on more of his surroundings. He could feel someone clutching his hand, their head pressed against his knuckles as they sobbed silently. Against his other side a small figure was curled up and also crying, less silently. WInd? And maybe Twilight?

This wasn’t good. He needed to move, to tell them that he was okay. He tried to put some strength into his aching muscles but he was still too groggy, his mind felt like he was swimming through a haze, his body not obeying his orders.

In the background, he could hear the crackle of a fire, but no one was speaking. He thought that he could hear a few more people crying, and someone moving something metal, was that a ladle on a cookpot? They weren’t trying to cook, were they? It was bad enough that Wild had died, now they wanted to give themselves food poisoning?

Wild tried to move again and was not successful, but did manage to push a low whine out of his throat.

THe hand holding Wild’s tightened and the sobbing stopped abruptly. To his side, the small figure that he was certain was wind sat up, moving close to his face.

“Wild?” Wind’s voice asked, horribly rough and choked with tears.

Wild was still too weak to move, but he whined again and managed to get his eyelids to flutter, his vision blurry but just about focusing on the tear stained faces of Twilight and Wind. Hylia they looked awful, their faces pale and drawn, their hair a mess. They were both covered in blood, both red and black, and looked like it had never occurred to them to clean off.

WIld whined again, and Wind shot to his feet.

“HYRULE!” He all but screamed. “Hyrule hurry up! He’s alive! Wild’s alive!”

There was a commotion at the other side of the camp as several of the chain shouted in disbelief. Wild focused on Twilight as the rest of his brothers rushed over, managing to tilt his head to butt at his brother’s knee and rumbling softly.

Twilight’s face crumpled into a smile and he began to cry again, throwing his arms around Wild’s shoulders and burying himself into a hug. Wild couldn’t lie, it hurt, but he didn’t mind and leaned into it as best he could. On his other side, Hyrule had all but thrown himself on the ground beside him, tear-streaked and breathless, his eyes wide with hope and amazement.

Wild looked around and met his eyes, purring weakly in greeting. Hyrule gasped and covered his mouth and then set about looking over Wild’s wounds.

“Twilight.” came Warriors’ voice, thich with emotion, “Come on, you can still hold his hand but you need to sit up so Rulie can look over him.” the Captain appeared in the periphery of Wild’s vision, gently peeling the Rancher back and helping him sit up.

Twi sniffed in an extremely undignified manner and knuckled the tears from his face, laughing weakly as he took Wild’s hand again. He squeezed it, and Wild squeezed back, rumbling softly.

He could see the rest of the chain hovering around the edges of his vision, watching and waiting with baited breath as Hyrule looked over his injuries. The slash across his chest was still there, though no longer so deep, and the myriad smaller cuts and bruises across his body were still open and burning.

The familiar pulse of Hyrule’s magic began to wash across his chest, slowly closing the wound and easing the worst of the pain. While no longer life threatening, it was still deep, and clearly too much for Hyrule to heal all at once, and with the main injury more or less closed he sighed heavily and flopped down next to Wild, exhausted. He turned to look at him, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, and buried himself into his side, sobbing.

Wild purred and carefully lifted his arm to stroke Hyrules hair as the Traveller burrowed in closer to his side.

“I think.” Came legend’s voice from beside Hyrule. Wild looked around and was surprised to see that even the bitter, caustic Veteran had tear tracks down his cheeks. “I think that means that Wild is well enough for us all to give him hell for that shock.”

Wild whined softly - the slash in his chest may have closed, but he still felt sore and exhausted. But Legend was smiling as he spoke and reached down to ruffle Wild’s hair. “Glaad to have you back. Don’t know how we would have broken the news to the citizens of cat island.”

Wild snorted and shook him off. Legend cleared his throat and looked away, looking suspiciously like he was blinking back tears.

“Come on, guys, give the idiot space. He’s just come back from the dead, he doesn’t need us climbing all over him.” Legend smiled and moved away, cheeks flushed with emotion. He pulled some of the others with him, Warriors and Four and Sky all pausing to squeeze Wild’s arm, shoulder, to tell him how glad they were to have him back before retreating to the campfire. At Legend’s urging, Hyrule stumbled up too and let the Veteran guide him over to his own bedroll where he could rest properly.

Almost immediately, Wind threw himself back into Wild’s side. Wild squealed as he jostled his wounds and Time, still in his full armour, still dishevelled and battle-worn, put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, Sailor, go easy on him.”

Wind squirmed and pulled back a little, his face tearful as he looked at Wild. “I’m so sorry.” he whispered, gently setting a slightly muddy sheikah slate next to Wild. “If I hadn’t stolen it I wouldn’t have tun on ahead and you wouldn’t have - you wouldn’t have gotten hurt-”

Wild whined and turned slightly out of Twilight’s grip to nuzzle at the sailor, ignoring the pain that flared up through his chest as he moved. Rumbling softly, he disentangled his arms from his brothers’ grips to try a shaky sign.

“All good. Not you. Me. My-” dammit, he didn’t know the word for ‘choice’. Ugh, whatever. Moving on. “Wind. Brother. Family. Safe.” that would have to do, he didn’t know any more sign and he was getting exhausted.

“The only person at fault was that damn lizard.” Time repeated soothingly. “Go and get some water, will you, Wind? WIld probably needs a drink.”

Wild nodded and gave a thumbs up, and glad to be useful, Wind dashed off.

Now alone with just Time and Twi, Wild exhaled heavily.  He understood why his brothers were so emotional, he was feeling pretty emotional himself, but he was really too tired to taake it all in.

Time sat down beside him. “You really were dead, weren’t you cub?” he asked. On wild’s other side, Twilight shuddered. Wild nodded. “But you came back. Did you know you would? Or do you know how?”

Wild shrugged weakly and then nodded. He didn’t know for sure it would happen, hadn’t even thought about it when he dove in front of the lizalfos, just acted. But he knew exactly what it was. Who it was.

Time’s face softened and he squeezed Wild’s hand. “Well I’m looking forward to you being able to explain, but for now let’s just get you comfortable. Okay?”

Wild mewled as Time began to pull out and set up his bedroll and myriad blankets next to him. Wild shuffled as Twi helped him to sit up, scratching at his scars. They itched like hell, and he had never been more relieved at how easy it was to unclasp his prosthetic and dump it on the ground beside him. Ah, sweet relief.

He let Twilight help him into his newly made up bed and happily collapsed into it, barely able to draw up the energy to knead with his free hand. Twi curled up beside him, unwilling and unable to leave him alone after the day they both had had. As they settled down, Wind came  trotting back over with a cup of water and wide, anxious eyes.

Wild sipped at the drink and then seeing that Wind was still shifting nervously from foot to foot, held out an arm in invitation. Well. He tried. It was his right arm, which he had recently discarded, so he was actually just wiggling his stump. Still, Wind understood the invitation and immediately dove in beside him.

“I’m really glad you’re not dead.” he whispered, and both Time and Twilight snorted.

“I think we can all agree on that one.” Time replied. “Get some sleep, Wild. Boys, go easy on him, yeah? Hyrule wouldn’t appreciate you wearing him out. Nor would Wild, i’m sure, for that matter.”

Wild chuffed and burrowed down into his blankets. Wind curled in tighter, curling his legs around his brother’s.  Wild wanted nothing more than to sleep, to get some rest, but there was one last thing to do.

He rumbled and leaned into twilight, nuzzling at his hair.

Brother he was saying brother. Okay. safe. Brother.

Twilight sniffed and looked up at him, smiling. He gently butted back. Idiot brother. Scared! Sad! He burrowed in closer, digging his hands into his fur.

Wild rumbled and pulled him in. Safe brother safe. Safe nowSafe. Twilight repeated, safe. Brother. Family. Safe.

#it me #replies #hero’s aspect au #hero's aspect #linked universe fic #linked universe fanfic #my writing

[convenientalias]

I Rate Cdramas by Whump: Part 2

Two years ago now I made a post rating every cdrama I'd watched at the time by quality of whump. I feel I've watched enough cdramas since then that it is now time for a sequel.

(Note: If you like kdramas, I made two posts rating those by whump as well, for your reference.)

Some notes before I begin:

Yes this is entirely objective. What do you mean??

If the ratings seem a little high, it might be because whump is one of the things that convinces me to watch a show to begin with.

There will be spoilers, but vague spoilers.

I'm only listing shows I've completed and remember well enough to rate.

THE RATINGS.

Addicted Heroin--8/10. This is a gay school romance between surprise stepsiblings, it's not really meant to be whumpy. Despite this, it has some drunk and angsty scenes, some sick scenes, and even a kidnapping!! I would give it a 10/10 purely for going the distance it Did Not Need to Go (although the source material is even whumpier, but that's another story) but I feel I should be honest and say it is primarily a show of comedy, not over the top whump. The whump is definitely there though.

City of Streamer--I'd probably be more into the whump here if I was more into lady whump, as a lot of bad things happen to female characters, both physically and emotionally. Men go through distress but it's usually not as physical as I'd like. Since I'm very picky about lady whump and this show mostly doesn't hit the spot for me, I'll give it a 3/10.

Granting You a Dreamlike Life--10/10, Luo Fusheng's life sucks. People in this show get beat up, threatened with guns, stabbed, arrested, kidnapped, chased by wolves, trapped by an avalanche, literally shot.... "People" here mostly meaning Luo Fusheng but Tianying and some others get a good share of whump as well. Granting You a Dreamlike Life is living the dream.

Joy of Life--I really wanted to see Fan Xian get whumped but by halfway through the show I had to accept that it was more of a power fantasy type drama about Fan Xian being Clever and Competent. If you ever see me complaining about Joy of Life, know that this is a solid part of my sour grapes. 3/10, credit given to the Teng Zjing arc and the couple times Fan Xian gets captured or arrested.

Rattan--9/10. This show has two endings and I swear they did that specifically to deliver two different brands of whump/angst. But more importantly, they put poor Qin Fang through the fucking wringer! In the first fucking episode he gets drugged, arguably kidnapped, and almost dies in a car crash. Then the rest of the show he suffers from a curse, gets kidnapped, gets hurt so bad he falls into a coma.... They really do not go easy on this poor boy. Honorable mention to Si Teng's tragic backstory and Qin Fang's business partner also getting abducted that one time.

Reset--Ehhh the leads are going through it but they're mostly just getting tired. They do get arrested/interrogated a good deal, and die a whole lot. But I'd call this a suspenseful show, not a whumpy one. 2/10, rare nonwhumpy fave for me.

Sword Dynasty--I must begrudgingly admit they whumped the prince in this show pretty good, and they whumped the MC a lot too, I just hated him. This show is bad but I will admit it is moderately whumpy. A very begrudging 5/10.

Under the Skin--Level of whump maybe a bit higher than average for a crime procedural. Police officers being menaced is pretty standard, especially when one is an ~artistic genius~. Shen Yi sure does drown a lot, though, and the flashback revealing his reaction to Lei Yi Fei's death is really angsty. I'd give it a 6/10 bc my standards for thrillers are higher than my standards, for example, for a school drama like Addicted Heroin.

Weaving a Tale of Love--I said my taste in lady whump was picky and guess what, a cheerful crossdressing female lead getting whumped is in fact my taste. I loved seeing bad things happen to Liuli/Xiao Douzi! I would have been up for seeing her get drugged or imprisoned some more!! 7/10 bc while the whump is good when it's there, the majority of the show is cheerful, shippy, or plotty, and not really all that whumpy.

Winter Begonia--Whump is not what I go to Winter Begonia for. I go to it for the slice of life vibes, the slashiness, and the Chinese opera. But, as whump goes, it's actually quite strong. There are opera performers losing their voice, losing their ability to walk, losing their reputations, some even losing their lives. And then there's Cheng Fengtai, friendly and kind of shady businessman who has his own shit going on--most notably he goes into a coma at one point and also is once kidnapped by bandits. Honestly 8/10, I don't think of it as whumpy when looking back on it but objectively there is a lot.

Word of Honor--People are slowly dying with nails in their chest. People are mourning their lost loved ones and falling apart. And sometimes getting beaten up or captured in the present as well. 9/10, I could go higher but I always get a sense of restraint from this show. Even if the leads are pushed to the breaking point, it's not quite as gleeful about it as some others on this list; there's generally a sense of "fuck it, I've been through worse, I'm used to this", which doesn't quite push my buttons but may appeal a lot to other tastes. I could be convinced to give it a 10 though? Mixed feelings.

Xiang Long--The urge is to give this a 1000/10 but I'm a principled rater and cannot break my rating system! and yet! this show breaks my brain!! every day I have to get up and remember that Long Xiang shot his own subordinate in the head in an attempt to convince Bai Lusheng to quite a hunger strike and then proceeded to get mad at him for being passive aggressive while eating!!!! every day I go on living in this world. Fuck. He threw the dude's gun down a well, damn it! I will someday find a way to transmigrate into the world of Xiang Long and murder Long Xiang, but anyways: kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome and an abundance of Lima Syndrome, torture, people getting shot and whipped and blown up etc etc etc..... 10/10 bc I'm a principled person and will adhere to my rating system. If you watched this show for a reason other than whump, I'm not sure whether to fear or admire you, but you're stronger than me.

Some final notes:

I said in my last cdrama-whump-rating post that whump and serious drama do not correlate, but I've begun to think whump even flourishes MORE in a less serious/more over the top or tropey show. Xiang Long and Granting You a Dreamlike Life are great examples of this, as they both put melodrama over realism. Rattan and Addicted Heroin have a mostly light tone but can include some extreme whump without a tonal clash bc they aren't super serious about their whump either. In contrast, Reset and City of Streamer generally have a more grounded and suspenseful tone, and their whump level is low--even if people get hurt, it's rarely focused on. Meanwhile, Winter Begonia lies in a weird intersection of melodrama and tragic melancholy, and I think it's because it's whump tends to play more to the serious side of the show that in my head I'm always thinking of it more as angsty, less as whumpy. But maybe this is all due to how I classify whump rather than the inherent characteristics of whump in general. I'd be happy to hear anyone's thoughts!

#cdrama #cdramas #whump

[garbagewhump]

Double Dealing - 1

TW: man-handling, non-consensual touching, casual power imbalance, forced obedience, exploitation of someone referred to as a child.

Everyone had their dirty little secrets, their guilty pleasures. The things that excited them, or kept them up at night fantasizing, or simply made the day to day more bearable, but which were demonized by society. 

The thing about existing for only a short period of time, especially as compared to the world one existed upon, was that while the exact nature of said sinful indulgences varied, at their most basic, they were all primal, even if they didn’t appear to be. The needs for socialization, for amusement, and for comfort and pleasure, drove all mortal creatures. 

It was a lovely and oh-so fascinating observation Granville had made about ten years ago, after five years running various Underworld dens of inequity. Whenever the moral powers that be declared something an affront to the deity no one had ever met or had proof of existing, a new den opened. A new niche for the hungry and desperate to stumble into and trade their valuables for a chance to satiate their desires. 

For now, and for the past seven years, he and his partner ran the casino, the brothel and the speakeasy, though they’d have previous ventures. Granville had been disgusted by the moral laws set in place on sex for only his first year. In the Underworld, one had to become well acquainted with the inherent disconnect between one’s own morality and that which imposed by the Upstairs. 

The desperately hungry and needy trickled down to the Underworld, no matter how often they were warned, how many mundane or magical defenses were put in place, because it was simply in the nature of the world to twist and reshape reality to open the doors to wherever that thirst could be slaked. It wasn’t as though anyone Upstairs had the ear of an actual holy being to enforce the rules created. 

And tonight, as testament to that, the casino pulsed and throbbed with life, full to bursting, but that wasn’t what had captured Granville’s attention. 

“Kastrom,” he said idly to his partner by his side as they overlooked the main floor. “Do you see it?”

“There’s a lot to see,” she replied. “Be more specific.”

He snorted, then gestured to the oddity. 

A child, though obviously old enough they would take great offense to the description, sat at a blackjack table with a glass of amber liquid and a veritable pile of chips. They winked at the croupier and added their latest winnings to their stash. 

He nodded at the hellhound croupier at the table. “Rot Bite typically has turned the tables by now. Our guest is skilled.” 

She hummed her agreement. “They appear… young.” Her gaze flickered briefly to his, lurid orange cat’s eyes meeting pale brown. 

To be fair, recognizing the ages of mortals was hardly a priority for an effectively immortal being such as herself. Demons didn’t typically interact directly with mortals. He was a select exception. 

“I would wager they are,” he agreed. 

This was hardly the first time a young soul had found their way to the Underworld and it wouldn’t be the last. It was merely the nature of the prices paid in such a place like this that made it tricky. While Upstairs, no child could legally drink, for example, but a soul belonged to a mortal just as soon as they decided that for themselves. A guardian could teach, could bring them to religious institutions or elect not to, but it was the individual who owned their own soul, no matter the age they recognized this natural right. In the eyes of the Underworld, in the eyes of countless demons, that meant the souls were afforded the same responsibilities and contractual autonomy as a legal adult. 

Admittedly, Granville had just enough of Upstairs morality clinging to him to keep the youngest souls from leaping headfirst into a contract, to warn them prior to signing that dotted line just what they were selling. He collected enough souls to make quota without being reduced to such easy pickings. It was pride, perhaps, and not Upstairs morality, that stayed his hand. 

Kastrom snaked the tip of her tail under his shirt, untucking it to drag a cold line along his lower back. “Their luck has to run out soon,” she said. 

Steadfast in place despite the chill, Granville merely angled his head, trying to determine whether she meant that as a passing comment, or for him to make sure of it. “I believe I’ll visit our young friend then.” 

With her silence as answer enough, he started to make his way to the main floor of the casino. 

“Once you’re finished mingling,” she called, her tone stopping him in his tracks, “I believe you still haven’t finished your collections.”

No, no he hadn’t. Between running the casino, brothel and speakeasy, he’d gotten sloppy. Four souls had escaped in the last month alone, and two the month previous, each taking with them their talismans. Then there were the derelicts raiding the Outskirts, and the squatters camped in the Sweltering Plains. The infestation of Crawlers needed exterminating, and the old opium den was still to be cleared for demolition. Yes, there was work aplenty and yet… Very carefully not clenching his jaw and forcing the muscles in his neck not to tighten, he smirked and offered a flippant wave. “Have a little faith, partner,” he said before continuing down the stairs. 

He felt fire on his back and knew she’d taken her leave for the night. What a cluster. His neck ached and his temples throbbed, reminded him of his own outstanding balance several months building. Even he had to acknowledge that he had his limits, much as they were far beyond the typical mortal’s, and he could feel their rapid approach.

Concentrate on the present issue, he thought as he reached the table. Plan for exhaustive collapse tomorrow. 

As Granville approached and placed his bet, Rot Bite barely looked up before seamlessly dealing him in. 

How to play this, beyond carefully? The kid, perhaps, didn’t recognize him, or they were pretending not to. Either way, so far they hadn’t so much as looked at him, keeping their gaze on the dealing shoe. The other two at the table, a nervous looking kelpie and a snake picking at her shedding scales, didn’t seem to care either about his presence.

It wouldn’t do to tip hands too early, to declare his intentions so immediately. He had to hold off a minute, get a feel for the table and the kid’s tells. And while they would hardly lower their guard quickly, sometimes observing their inaction was twice as informative as catching someone in the act. 

As expected, their effortless flow and easy wins became more ragged and sporadic. Certainly they still won, but their luck took an abrupt turn away from the preternaturally profitable. Still, Granville wasn’t about to let the kid off the hook quite so quickly. He could be patient. Dealing with immortal beings necessitated some degree of patience. 

Mortal humans, especially young ones, did not have much patience. 

A scant couple hands later, the kid’s luck began a miraculous comeback Granville studied them in his peripheral vision, watching their hands fluttering over their own cards and tapping a nervous pace. 

Nervous, or were they signaling someone? 

No, they had to be working alone. The angle of their seat offered poor lines of sight, the din of the casino was too loud to allow the sound to carry clearly, and the only other two at the table were still wholly absorbed their own business. Desperate, he’d say, and ripe for a deal. Perhaps after dealing with the card shark he’d make a deal or two.

Then the kid doubled down on a eleven and hit blackjack. 

That was something he didn’t miss about his youth— the foolhardiness to assume his plans infallible and those around him blind. 

Rot Bite gave them congratulations and their winnings. Granville offered only the bare minimum to match the kelpie and the snake’s interest. Another hand later and the kid stood on a twelve while Rot Bite busted. 

Interesting. Some sort of card counting, or— yes, there. On the back of the queen Rot Bite had drawn, a mark in the upper right corner.

He’d wasted enough time in observation, now he could act.

Smoothly, he slid out of his seat to move behind the cheater. 

“Say, friend,” he drawled as he roped an arm around them. “You and I ought to go cash out.”

To their credit, they merely brought their drink to their lips and took a sip from the trembling liquid. 

“I’m going to keep playing,” they said as they tried to pry him off them. 

He merely readjusted his hold, left hand digging into their scrawny upper arm and right arm wrapped around their shoulders. “With what money? Not a single scrap of that’s honest pay.”

The kid went very, deathly still, which was smart. Before they could get any wise ideas, Granville allowed a crackle of magic to dance along his fingers as he waved them in their face. 

He chuckled, low and smoky, the charcoal taste of his little display on his tongue. “Now… Let’s you and I talk terms. Step into my office.”

They audibly swallowed. 

Ah, how sweet youth was. So easily exploited and wrong-footed. 

They resisted him for all of a second, long enough for his magic to singe their shirt, before obedience reasserted itself and they leaned into his direction. 

“You are going to give me your name,” he said, smirking as he led them across the floor. The other patrons, if they acknowledged them except to move out of the way, tried not to glance too obviously at the scene. 

The kid puckered their lips. 

Tasting each honey-sweet enchantment on his tongue now, he insisted, “You will give me your name, my friend, or I will take it by force.”

With his every word, their expression strained and crumbled further as they valiantly fought the compulsion, but, like a sapling branch steadily twisted, and bent, and sawed, and folded until it sprang free of its trunk, their resolve split open. 

“Jules!” Their name burst from their cracked will, music to his ears and a heady rush through his whole body. 

“This will go much smoother with some measure of cooperation,” he reminded them as he led them into his office. 

As he all but shoved the kid into the chair opposite him, he smiled, far away from prying eyes. Jules watched him with wide eyes

“‘Jules’ is a very decidedly human name, as is your appearance, and yet you know to be wary of anyone asking for your name. You, my young friend, are multi-talented, worldly. Why, I do wonder what ever could draw you here.”

He leaned back in his own chair and studied them for some sort of reaction. They were very obviously trying to keep from speaking again, going so far as to grip the arm rests with white knuckles, pressing themselves against the chair back. 

How cute. If slightly predictable. 

Beyond that, they seemed far too out of their depths to manage any sort of intriguing reaction to their situation. 

“How fortunate for you I am not truly Fae, or else you’d be fully committed to my offer already.” 

“What is your offer? You speak a lot in vague terms, saying barely anything worthwhile.”

Irritation sharpened his smile. “How would you like to walk out of here with both your soul and your winnings?”

Their dark green eyes gleamed, a slight furrow on their brow. Interested, but not yet sold. Foolhardy enough to attempt to cheat the most powerful demon currently known, yet nowhere near desperate enough to leap at the chance to save their soul. 

“Say, you may even keep your hands, you filthy thief.”

“I didn’t take anything,” they protested. “Just some liberties with your rules.”

Granville masked his wry amusement. Finally he recognized why the kid’s behavior felt so unduly familiar— his own greed and ambition, his own hungry childhood, reflected in their features. “You have cost me a small fortune,” he said after his study. As entertaining as this has turned out to be, it was time to cut to the quick. He required a final determination now. “My time is a precious commodity, luckily, and you will repay your debt by performing menial tasks to free my schedule.”

“You want me to run errands for you. That’s what all this is about? ‘Run along to the store and pick me up some tea and biscuits, dearie’!” 

They laughed, the sound harsh with hysteria, and laughed again when his expression didn’t so much as twitch. Their bravado melted. 

“Wh-What do want me to do?”

He reassured Jules, “Nothing overly sordid.” They were too young for his tastes to bind a contract, but there were other methods to ensure some degree of compliance. In a practiced motion, he took hold of their left hand, removed his pen from his inner pocket, and drew a simple glyph on their palm. 

“Hey! What gives?”

Granville twisted their arm, their bones birdlike in his grasp. A quick flick of his wrist would be more than enough to get his point across. Instead he left bruises under his fingers. 

“Hush. Now.” 

They stilled.

His focus frayed to the end of the mark, sparks flying off, but while it was ugly, it was perfectly serviceable collateral. With an exaggerated, insouciant flourish, he released them.

Jules yanked their arm back, nearly tipping over their chair, and cradled their no-doubt stinging hand. Even at this angle he could see his list beginning to form on their skin.

“What the fuck is this?” they demanded. “This isn’t a grocery list!”

“Hop to it, kid,” he ordered. 

“You want me to deliver a hand!”

“Yes. Risk disobedience at a cost.” 

Pushing past the building tension in his magic, Granville discorporated from his office and left them to their tasks.

#double dealing #granville howlett #kastrom #jules roach #whump writing #i swear it gets whumpier #magic #forced servitude #long post #man handling #magical compulsion #obedience

[whumpflash]

Sun and Glass, part five

previous part

cw: (this is a bit whumpier) scars, slavery, abuse, whipping, sexual implications (mentioned)

For all his shortcomings, Trisk was a man of his word. He escorted her down, to whatever room he'd sent Caelon to, and left her to it. Rena stood in front of the door hesitantly, unsure of exactly what she'd see on the other side. It couldn't have been more than a half-hour since he'd been dragged away by the guard, but Rena didn't know enough about… whatever punishments Lord Trisk inflicted to say how long it took to really hurt someone.

She took a deep breath and pushed the door open slowly. A chill hit her, and she could see the open bars near the ceiling, letting in both moonlight and the cool night air. As her eyes began to adjust to the dim light, she spotted Caelon, slumped on the floor in one corner and looking very, very, small.

Rena took a step into the room, which was empty enough to echo the sound, and Caelon curled in on himself tighter.

"Please… please, don't… I, I swear I won't do it again, please--"

"I'm not going to hurt you," she said in a low voice. "I want to help."

Unbidden, the image of the sneering boy Caelon had been came to mind, a stark contrast with the shivering man in the corner. She closed her eyes briefly, fighting off the memory. Bitter reminiscence could wait until later.

She knelt next to Caelon, who didn't move an inch. The thin tunic he wore had an odd pattern, with dark patches scattered across it seemingly at random. With a start, Rena realized the darker spots marked where blood was seeping through the cloth.

"M-my lady, please… my master will--"

"He isn't your master anymore," Rena said. That got his attention. He painstakingly pushed himself into a kneeling position, letting out a hiss of pain as he turned to face her, head bowed.

"Forgive… nnh, forgive me, Mistress, I, I wasn't aware…"

"Oh," Rena said, her eyes widening. "No, that's not what I meant--"

His eyes darted up for a half-second. "Then... who?"

She shook her head. "No one. You're free."

For a long moment, he was silent. 

He can't believe it, Rena thought. Or maybe it's just sinking in.

"Am I to be put to death then?" Caelon said at last, his voice barely audible.

"No!" Rena exclaimed. A bit too loudly, she thought, as he cringed away from her voice. "No, of course you aren't," she said, softer.

"Th-then what is to happen to me?" His hands were shaking now. His whole body was shaking. With fear, or cold, or pain... or more likely, a combination of the three.

Rena pressed her lips together tightly. An explanation could wait until he felt safer. "For now, why don't you just come up to my room with me? It's much warmer."

Again, Caelon gave a single, jerky nod, and moved to stand, using the wall for support and wincing through it all. He flinched back when Rena reached out a hand to help. She withdrew it. Best to keep her distance then, at least for now.

Getting from the cell to the guest suite proved a tedious process, and they made the journey in silence--aside from the occasional whimper from Caelon. The slow pace pushed Rena towards impatience, but she bit the feeling back as best she could.

It's like when you come across a deer in the woods and hold your breath so it won't get spooked, she thought, watching Caelon make his way up the stairs from a few feet ahead. When they finally made it to her room, she felt the frustration ebb away. But it wasn't over yet.

"Will you have a seat on the bed?" she said, after closing the door behind them. Wordlessly, he obeyed. Rena popped the lid of her trunk, digging around until she found a pair of scissors and some clean linens. She scolded herself for neglecting to bring along any medicines, but the little bottle of brandy that had been intended as a parting gift to Lord Trisk would serve as a disinfectant. Caelon didn't make a sound as she cut the linen into strips and filled a bowl with warm water.

"Hold still now," Rena said, once everything was ready. "I'm going to cut off your shirt, alright?"

"Please…" Caelon whispered. Rena frowned, looking down at the man. He was crying, fear bright in his eyes.

"Please, just- just not yet--"

Trisk's previous comment about bedslaves flashed through her head, and Rena's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh. No, I would never… I-- I'm sorry, that's not what I meant at all." Internally, she berated herself for not better communicating her intent. "I'm just trying to get a look at your injuries, is that okay?"

She wondered what she'd do if he refused--she couldn't just let the wounds fester-- but he only nodded. It was hard for her to say if it was genuine or if he was just agreeing in order to please her. With a sigh, she began to cut away his shirt, being as gentle as she could with the parts of the fabric that stuck to his wounds.

If the way Trisk treated him hadn't been enough to make her feel sorry for Caelon, getting a look at his bare back would've done the trick. Scars over scars over scars, a ledger of years of suffering carved into his flesh. She could tell they traveled further, maybe all the way down his legs, and a few curled around his chest. There were half-healed marks criss-crossing his lower back, and layered on top of it all was a neat row of fresh welts across his shoulders.

Rena realized she'd been staring, and dipped a square of linen in the warm water, tearing her eyes away. She couldn't get wrapped around the axle about everything that had happened to Caelon, she had to focus on what she could do right now.

He flinched under her touch when she brought the cloth to his back and began cleaning the worst of the welts, the ones that were still oozing blood. Throughout the process he didn't move, didn't speak unless you counted his yelp at the touch of a brandy-soaked cloth. Once the wounds were bandaged, Rena pulled back to survey the man. 

Was there anything else she could do with what she had right now? There were bruises scattered across his torso, some new, some old, and now that his shirt wasn't hiding it, she saw how painfully thin he was. 

Unlike the rest of him, his face was unmarked, save for a bruise on one cheek.

Pretty face, she grimly thought of Trisk's words.

There were his wrists too, rubbed raw by rope or shackle, with scarring beneath that told her this wasn't a new thing to him.

She reached for his hand, starting to clean the wounds there.

"Is there anything else?" Rena asked. "Anything hurting you that I can take care of?"

"N-no, mistress, thank you… I'm sorry you had to take the trouble for me."

Rena elected to ignore the title he'd given her for now. That could wait to be addressed until he'd gotten some sleep.

"It isn't trouble," she assured him. She wasn't sure he was free of more injuries, but she wasn't about to ask him to remove any more clothes. Not right now. There were no noticable bloodstains on his pants, or anything that gave her cause to worry.

Rena considered drawing a bath for Caelon, but decided against it. Judging by his reaction with the shirt before, it would likely do more harm than good, and he was reasonably clean already.

"I think it's time you get some sleep," she murmured. Caelon looked up hesitantly.

"May I… can I go back to the cell, Mistress?"

Being called that--and by Prince Caelon, no less--was jarring. Rena reminded herself to choose her battles.

"If that's what you really want," she began. "But it's much warmer in here. Why don't you sleep in the bed?" she said, then added quickly, "without me. I'll sleep on the floor."

Caelon's brow furrowed. "You… the, the bed? I can't, I… my Master-- no, wait, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Mistress, I didn't mean to forget--"

"Shh, it's alright." She had to stop herself from putting a hand on his arm to try and comfort him. "It's alright. You can sleep where you want. I want you to choose."

He blinked a few times. "Choose." His hands fidgeted in his lap, and he glanced up at her, briefly, then back down at the ground.

"I… I will sleep on the floor," he said, the words tentative, almost like he was asking a question. Seeing if he'd chosen what she'd wanted him to.

Rena gave him a smile. "Okay, good. If that's what you want, you can sleep on the floor." It was better than the cell. It was a start.

Caelon made to lay down almost immediately, stiffly lowering himself to the ground and curling up next to the bed. He seemed surprised when Rena handed him a pair of blankets, but did not try to refuse them. He was asleep before the lights were out.

Rena lay back on the bed, staring up at the darkened ceiling. What was she doing? With the challenge of at least making Caelon safe out of the way, a bigger one lay before her; making him feel safe. And she was woefully unequipped.

This wasn't going to be as simple as sending him on his way, he was her responsibility now. It was a heavy responsibility, but…

No way you can back out of this, she thought, closing her eyes. And there's no way you're going to give up on him.

@fleur-des-lore , @fandomseksta , @whumpwillow , @and-then-there-was-whump , @pumpkin-spice-whump , @suspicious-pools-of-blood , @melodyvonmelody

next part

#caretaking scene my beloved #as much as i want to keep updating daily ill probably have to slow down here #gonna be BUSY these next few weeks #also i should probably name this story #whump #whump writing #royal whumpee #royal whump #slave whump #slavery tw #scars tw #bruising tw #abuse tw #cold whump #whipping tw #caretaking #patchup #begging #sunandglass