#bridle whump

[toyybox]

concept art for bridles, inspired by this post. as usual, Jackie is my unlucky model 💛

[skyloftian-nutcase]

From the Shadows (pre-LU whump)

@nancyheart11

Summary: Twilight encounters a black blooded beast for the first time. It doesn't go well.

(AO3 link)

It was a bitterly cold evening. The coming of winter brought winds from the northwest, and though it probably wasn't excessively frigid, Rusl was still accustomed to the warm summer. The home carried a damp chill, and the blacksmith found himself huddling by the fire after a hard day's work. Hana sat on his lap, babbling happily while playing with her toys, while Colin helped his mother cook dinner. The dull light that could pierce through the clouds was steadily fading as the hidden sun slowly set beneath the horizon.

Rusl hummed absentmindedly, though he couldn't quite maintain a tune, but his daughter didn't seem to mind. His mind drifted passively from thought to thought, settling on wondering what Uli might be whipping up in the kitchen, when there was some sort of ruckus outside. Cuccoos were squawking, a horse was whinnying very loudly - what was going on?

Rising, Rusl told Hana to go to her mother just as he and Colin headed for the door together. The cold slammed their faces as Colin got there first, and Rusl felt his blood freeze with it.

Epona was running amok in the village, panicked. She was fully saddled and bridled as if Link had been out riding, but now there was no Link to be found while his steed was in a frenzy.

Ilia, who had also come out due to the commotion, rushed to the horse first. Many of the villagers peered out through cracked doors, anxious and curious. Colin got to Epona next while Rusl looked around for any sign of his ward.

"Sshh, it's okay," Ilia hushed gently, petting Epona's head while she stomped in place nervously.

"Where's Link?" Colin asked worriedly.

"I... I don't know," Ilia answered. "I didn't even know he'd left the village."

Rusl eyed the steed sharply, looking for clues while worry curled in his gut and clenched at his heart. It wasn't a promising sign for Link's horse to be in such a state. The animal was unharmed, but he saw traces of clues: a small branch caught in the saddle, a half open satchel of supplies partially used.

Link had been exploring, or fighting, and something had gone wrong.

The resistance member reentered the house, brushing by a worried Uli and grabbing his sword and shield. He layered up clothes and some armor while Uli approached him.

"Rusl?" she didn't have to ask what was wrong. Her tone and eyes asked everything she needed to.

"I don't know what happened," Rusl answered. "But something's wrong with Link. I'm going to find him."

Uli swallowed, hands wringing anxiously as she looked back outside. "Please, be careful."

Rusl paused, watching his wife a moment. She never argued his choices to leave for missions or operations, but he knew how much it weighed on her. She wanted to make sure Link was well too, but he could sense her fear at the sudden shift in mood, at the hasty decision to drop everything and enter an unknown peril. He cupped her cheek, guiding her eyes to his. "I will be. I promise."

Uli smiled a little, leaning into his touch, before stepping away so he could finish. Rusl headed outside to see Colin armed with a sword and a cloak.

"Colin," he started, but his son cut him off.

"I've been training," Colin immediately argued. "I'm coming too."

Rusl bit back a sigh. His boy had always been eager to help ever since the Twilight incident, and adolescence had only added defiance to eagerness, making it all the harder to keep him safe. There was little time to argue, and... the boy wasn't wrong. His sword skills were quite good.

It didn't make his father feel much better about the situation. He already had one son in danger. He wasn't keen on putting another one in the same circumstances.

"Colin--"

"Every minute we spend arguing, Link could be dying!" Colin interrupted.

The teenager wasn't wrong, but Rusl still felt uneasy. "Fine. But you ride Epona, and the second I tell you to get out, you listen. Understood?"

Colin swallowed, paused, and then nodded. Rusl felt a little at ease with that - his boy was honest, and thankfully had inherited a bit more of his mother's reason than his father's stubbornness. Although he had certainly done some foolish, harebrained things, he would listen to his father.

Rusl grabbed his own horse and the pair headed towards Faron Woods with well wishes at their backs from the villagers. He reached out, letting his hand rest gently on Epona's head. "You'll have to guide us, girl."

Colin pat Epona's neck, urging her forward. At first the steed was obedient, but the farther into the woods they went, the more nervous and hesitant she became. That meant whatever had caused the initial scare had to be close. Despite already being on alert, he tensed even more, eyes searching for clues.

He didn't have to search for long. The earth was scarred, claw marks and chunks of dirt thrown like lacerations in the skin of the land itself. The birds were silent. Epona nickered, taking a step back. The oncoming darkness of night gave the trees sinister silhouettes. Rusl and Colin's warm breaths hovered in the chilly air, the only apparent sign of life around them.

"I've never seen the forest so still," Colin commented quietly, a slight tremor to his tone. He reached hesitantly for his sword.

Rusl's own mount began to grow nervous, ears peeling back, hooves playing uneasily with the earth. The air felt distinctly colder. The swordsman drew his blade, and his son followed suit.

"Let's keep moving," he said, guiding his steed forward with a tap of his heels.

Eventually it grew so dark that Rusl was squinting to see anything, and he brought out his lantern. It seemed to be of little help, creating ominous shadows that seemed to creep ever closer as they moved. Epona nickered again, and then she picked up her pace. Rusl followed closely, eyes alert for danger. His eyes picked up on silky strands that glowed in the lantern light, and his insides started to crawl.

Colin gasped ahead of him. "Link!"

Rusl's gaze snapped straight ahead, his horse breaking into a canter to get to the front, and then he leapt off as he took in the sight before him.

Link was on the his back, splayed out across smooth stone, pale and shivering, blood staining his green tunic as his hand clutched his upper abdomen. His eyes were half open, already noticing Rusl and Colin's approach.

"Pa," he whispered as Rusl fell to his knees beside him.

"What happened?" Rusl asked, looking the young man over. The worst of it from what he could tell was a bad gash on the boy's head and whatever wound he was trying to hold pressure against on his abdomen. Rusl quickly pulled out a bandage from the first aid bag he'd grabbed and gently tried to guide Link's hand from the injury.

"They're... strong..." his boy tried to explain, coughing. "P-Pa..."

Rusl hushed him gently, hand wrapping around Link's wrist. "It's going to be okay, Link, but you have to let me see the wound."

"I'm... glad you're... I didn't..."

Rusl grew more worried as Link didn't seem to listen. He again tried to move the young man's hand, watching blood stream from beneath.

"Pa...?" Colin called hesitantly, and Rusl looked up, gasping and nearly falling backwards.

Eight eyes watched him, beady and black as coal, two incisors chattering excitedly beneath them. Rusl immediately grabbed his sword and shield in time to block a quick strike from the large skulltula. The force of the attack sent him on his backside, and Colin leapt forward, jabbing at the beast with his blade. The giant monster hissed, taking a few steps back before pressing the attack again. Colin yelped, dodging a blow, and Rusl quickly leapt to his feet to stab and cut one of its legs. He saw that one had already been chopped off entirely, and he recognized multiple sword slashes in the beast's body. How was this thing still standing?!

"Colin, protect Link!" Rusl advised, trying to press the offense and push the beast farther away from his boys. Colin grabbed his lantern and set it beside Link, lighting the area better so Rusl could see his opponent.

Link watched the fight with exhausted worry, eyebrows pinched but too weak to do anything. He turned his attention towards Colin as his little brother stood over him defensively. "Colin."

The blonde teenager jumped, startled, and looked down at Link. "It's okay, Link! Pa and I will sort this out."

"It's too... strong," Link advised, shaking his head slowly. "E-Epona..."

"Link, it's going to be okay!" Colin insisted, gripping his sword more tightly.

Rusl emphasized the point when he managed to land a stab right at the joint where one of the beast's legs met its thorax. That should cripple it nicely. The skulltula hissed and screamed, the leg in question giving out, before another swept across the ground, slamming Rusl in the ribs and sending him flying.

Colin called out, rising and ready to run to his father, and Rusl waved him off, blinking stars out of his vision. Link's hand finally left his wound to wrap around Colin's ankle, catching the boy off guard.

"Epona..." he tried again. "Bag... potion... Pa can't... fight it alone..."

Colin looked frantically between his brother and father. Rusl was still down, trying to catch his breath as the skulltula advanced quickly. Making a decision, the teenager rushed back to Epona while yelling to get his father's attention and warn him.

Rusl felt his head spinning, but he could hear the hasty footsteps of the beast, and he readied his shield in time to avoid getting bitten by its massive fangs. The onslaught was constant now, though, one bite after another, legs moving to position him more easily for the kill. He rolled away, grimacing through the damage to his ribs, but he eventually hit a tree and had nowhere else to go without getting up.

Gritting his teeth, Rusl let out a yell of defiance and pain as he rose, only to get smacked down again by one of the beast's uninjured legs. His world was beginning to spin, and he'd ventured too far from the lantern light to see properly anymore. His veins filled with ice as his mind registered this was getting out of control. He rose again, shaky, and jabbed blindly with his sword to create some distance. The skulltula retreated a hair as intended, and he could barely make out its silhouette in the darkness.

A snarl filled the air, something dark and fast rushed into view, slamming the skulltula to the ground. It crumpled with a shriek, legs sprawled and flailing. Light illuminated the area as Colin ran into the clearing, lantern in one hand, sword in the other. He stabbed at the beast's thorax once, twice, thrice, and it still wailed and wiggled, trying to right itself and continue the fight.

The dark, snarling thing that slammed into the beast stumbled into view, and Rusl could make out claws and paws and matted fur before the light around it was snuffed into nothingness. The light reformed with a hiss, and Link was crouching in their midst, trembling and bloodied but up and moving.

"Give me the lantern," Link hissed, grabbing it and smashing it over the beast, flames licking at the monster as it screamed. Link brought his blade down and cut the creature's thorax clean into sections, and the skulltula finally grew silent and still.

Everyone blew out a collective sigh of relief.

Colin broke the silence first, running to his father. "Pa, are you okay?"

Rusl watched Link turn to look at him, his own face cast in shadow, exhausted and filthy and wounded. The Ordonian took a shuddering breath, feeling his own chest scream in protest, and his world finally stopped spinning. He placed a shaky hand on Colin's shoulder, looking hisboy over and seeing that he was unscathed.

"I'm okay," he finally said. He would be better if he could get his racing heart under control. He'd never had such trouble fighting a single beast. He... was about to die if Link hadn't stepped in. His mind was caught in a spiral between concern for his boys and fear at his own mortality having been thrust in his face so unexpectedly. He'd faced death a fair amount, but not when the stakes were so high, not when his sons were right there.

Spirits above. They could have all died just now.

One of them was still hurt. He needed to help Link.

Rusl got to his feet, his body trembling, and he squeezed Colin's shoulder reassuringly. The flames on the skulltula were feasting happily, but they would soon extinguish so long as the Ordonians moved the dead leaves away from the corpse.

"We should go," Link advised quietly. "I'll guide the way. My wolf eyes can see in the dark."

Rusl stumbled somewhat unsteadily towards the young man, not acknowledging his words for a second. Both his hands went to Link's face, holding him steady with his gaze as he looked him over. How the young hero was suddenly standing when he'd been barely able to slew words together before was disconcerting and confusing. He was still wounded, wasn't he? The blood indicated as such.

"I had a potion, Pa," Link explained, putting an equally unsteady hand on the man's chest. Rusl saw the hand was stained, but the blood... why was it black?

He had far more questions than answers, but Link was right. They needed to go. They couldn't handle another fight like that. Rusl felt his heart skip a beat at the thought that something so dangerous had been anywhere near Ordon Village.

Link stepped away before Rusl had a chance to speak, crouching to the ground as shadows encased him. A wolf exited the darkness, shaking himself off a little with a small whine. Link couldn't hide his emotions or his wounds as well in this form, and it was clear he was in pain.

Reality snapped into place around Rusl, and he quickly kicked the leaves away from the skulltula's body, advising Colin to do the same. The last thing they needed was to burn down the forest. Link dug little trenches around the massive body. After a few minutes of work, the three were satisfied enough to leave the body burning, fire lazily crawling across and consuming as it went.

Epona nickered and ran forward to greet them when they made their way back to the original clearing. Rusl saw his horse waiting anxiously in the background. Epona and Link touched noses briefly, the wolf's tail wagging slowly.

"She got us," Colin explained. "She ran back to the village."

Link let out a small noise, licking tentatively at Epona's muzzle, and the horse nuzzled the wolf's face briefly.

"We need to go," Rusl finally said, mounting his own horse with a grunt of pain. He wanted nothing more than to let Link ride with him, but the boy wasn't wrong in that they needed a guide out. It was now night, and the crescent moon did little to guide their way, particularly with the cloud coverage. Colin got on Epona's saddle, and Link slowly began to limp through the forest.

As they moved, it gave Rusl more time to think and worry. How much blood had Link lost before he'd had a potion? Where had this beast come from, and how was it so powerful? Skulltulas were unpleasant, but they'd never been more than a nuisance unless in groups. Perhaps there had been more? Rusl hadn't seen any others, alive or dead.

Dead. Dead. He could have died, and worst of all, it would have left his boys at that beast's mercy. Rusl took a steadying breath, wincing again at his ribs.

He was getting too old for this. Facing his mortality hadn't been this terrifying since the first time it had happened. Then again, it didn't happen all that often. The last time he'd felt such fear clutch at his throat was when the Twilight invasion had started. He'd been nearly beaten senseless, and though he had been afraid for his own life, he had been far more terrified for his children.

But his children hadn't been present for that fight. Here they would have died if he'd failed, and he'd nearly failed.

He needed to contact the others about this. He'd never encountered such a beast, and he couldn't fight another alone. Link hadn't been able to fight it alone!

The sound of Ordon Spring soothed his worries a little, reminding him that they were somewhere safe now. He pulled back on the reigns to stop his horse, and the movement caught his boys' attention.

"Change back," Rusl ordered as he dismounted.

Link watched him a moment, intelligent blue eyes practically glowing in the dark, and then he complied. The young man shuddered, already crouching on the ground, and toppled over to his hands and knees. Rusl knelt down to hold him steady, helping him readjust to sit on the ground instead. Colin was at his other side in an instant.

"Did the potion not help?" Colin asked worriedly, not quite accustomed to the effects of such magical draughts.

"I'm okay," Link assured his little brother tiredly.

"We'll be sure of that when we get home," Rusl added, wrapping an arm around him. "You're riding the rest of the way, Link."

His eldest looked like he was going to argue, but a squeeze around his shoulders silenced him. Instead, he sighed, rising alongside Rusl. There was still some fight left in him, though. "It's not a long walk, Pa."

"Then I'm walking with you," Rusl countered, equally as stubborn as his boy.

"Me too!" Colin insisted.

"This is dumb," Link whined. "The horses--"

"Will follow," Rusl interrupted. "You want to walk, let's walk."

The farther into the village they went, the more at ease everyone became. Ordon held a peace to it that couldn't be easily described, except that the place radiated safety and peace and home. The symphony of crickets and gentle trickle of water eased Rusl's worries about any beasts following, allowing him to focus all his attention instead on ensuring his boy was alright.

Uli was waiting for them when they came home, medical supplies already at the ready alongside some milk. Her face was pinched in worry, but it relaxed a little at seeing everyone at least on their feet. Her eyes scanned the three quickly, and Rusl felt a twinge of guilt and gratitude mixing uneasily at the realization that she was well accustomed to searching for injuries by this point.

Colin escaped the fussing for the most part, aside from just the fact that he was the youngest. He insisted at least three times that he was unharmed, even lifting his tunic to prove it, and was sent to the blanket pile awaiting him in front of the hearth, a cup of milk in hand anyway. Link was next, immediately swept to the couch and told to lay down and take his shirt off. His unsteady gait had both his parents on high alert, and though it was evident that the potion had indeed done the trick (goddesses above, those had been puncture wounds, that beast had actually managed to bite into his boy), it was also evident he'd lost a faira mount of blood and possibly smacked his head. He was tentatively fed some milk and warm broth before Uli began to fuss over cleaning him up. Rusl helped her get Link out of his clothes and chainmail. As his wife wiped blood and grime with a warm, wet rag, Rusl examined the mail, looking at the breaks and resolving to repair it.

The warm water and soothing touch from his mother soothed Link into a half asleep state. Though Rusl knew Uli would prefer just outright giving Link a bath, the simple cleaning was more than enough for the chilly night, and Link's pride would only allow for so much fussing. Eventually the young man was snoring softly on the couch, dressed in Rusl's spare clothes and swaddled in more blankets than Rusl could count.

Rusl sighed in relief, the last tension finally draining out of him, and he dragged his feet to the table. His gaze moved between his sons, both of whom had fallen asleep. Colin was too big for Uli to carry anymore, so he tiredly resigned himself to the task, wincing as he rose.

"You're hurt," Uli said, and Rusl felt like it was possibly a death sentence in itself.

"Uli--"

"You're hurt," she emphasized, tears starting to shimmer in her eyes.

Spirits above, he couldn't make her cry. Rusl went to her, holding her reassuringly, and insisted he was fine. To prove his point, he moved to pick up Colin, trying to hide the pain from his face.

Uli was always a patient and gentle woman. She rarely expressed negative emotions outwardly - instead, it usually came up in her silence, in her melancholy and lack of energy. However, there were still times where it came forth, and she always expressed it in the worst ways possible.

His wife was hardly ever angry, but she would get disappointed.

"Don't," she said, her body stiff, breath short and choppy. "Don't pick him up. You'll set a bad example. They'll think it's okay to ignore injuries."

"Uli, I--"

"Do you want them to get hurt like this more? To hide it and make it worse?" And oh, if it wasn't the disappointment, it was the guilt and tears. Rusl felt exasperated and penitent all at once. He sighed, putting his pride aside and slowly sitting back down.

Uli burst into tears. Rusl immediately rose to go to her, and she pushed him back down.

"I'm sorry, I just--I get so worried," Uli sniffled, muffling her already soft sobs in a handkerchief.

"I know," Rusl said quietly, guilt eating away at him. "I'm sorry too."

Uli pushed a bottle of milk towards him wordlessly, fighting to regain her composure, and Rusl drank it without argument. The couple took in the silence and each other's company, and Uli settled beside him at the table as they watched their children sleep.

"We almost died out there," Rusl said suddenly. He cursed himself and was thankful that the words spilled out all at the same time; he didn't want to worry Uli, but he needed to say it. "That beast... I've never... it makes no sense. It was far more powerful than any skulltula I've ever seen, and it bled black blood."

"Black blood?" Uli repeated. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know," Rusl answered honestly, his gaze settling on Link. The milk he'd had warmed him from the inside out, mending and soothing the ache in his chest. Finally able to take a deep breath, he pulled Uli close as she rested her head on his shoulder. "But we'll figure it out together."

The pair sat there, taking comfort in each other, and a gentle silence hung in the air, holding the oncoming cold at bay.

[whumpflash]

Penumbra: Undoing

cw: illness, whump aftermath, death/war mentions

previous ///// masterlist ///// next

§•§•§

They were locked in the blacksmith's woodshed; a cold, cramped room made smaller by the logs stacked along the walls. Once securely inside, one of the men loosened the bindings on Tansy's wrists; enough to grant a scrap of comfort, if not freedom of movement. Another fastened what looked like a bridle around Cerus's head, forcing the metal bit into his mouth and pulling the leather tight.

For the hundredth time, Tansy tried to pull at the party's sympathies.

"Sirs, please. I only wanted to—"

And for the hundredth time, they were ignored, this time rewarded not with a blow, but with the slamming of the woodshed door. As the footsteps outside retreated, Tansy tested the door, ignoring the throbbing of their bruised abdomen as they threw their weight against it.

It didn't give, not even a little, and they fell away from it with a wince. Their various injuries were scattered in such a way that while moving wasn't agonizing, anything they did caused some kind of pain. In their face, in their torso, in their knuckles, a flicker or a flare.

With an immediate exit out of the question, Tansy turned their attention to Cerus. They felt a twinge of relief as they watched the shallow rise and fall of his ribcage, and found themselves wondering once again why they'd done it. 

Treating his wounds was one thing, but fighting for him? Hurting fellow villagers in the name of helping the damned Shadow King?

They pushed the prickly thought aside, scanning the cramped room until their eyes landed on a small woodaxe. In their hurry to lock the pair away, the search party hadn't bothered to clear the shed.

Tansy trudged over to where the axe lay, freeing their wrists, then carrying the blade over to where Cerus lay and cutting his bonds.

The man still seemed unconscious, though he was shivering uncontrollably, and after a brief moment's hesitation, Tansy sat against the wall and gently pulled Cerus into their arms, wrapping their cloak around his shuddering form and cradling him against their chest. It was likely they'd be in here for a while, and after all they'd already done, they weren't about to let him freeze to death.

Despite his fever-hot skin, Cerus leaned into them as if seeking warmth. His head lolled back onto their shoulder, eyelids fluttering as he uttered a soft groan. Shadow King or not, warmth was warmth, and Tansy made no effort to create a distance between them, instead setting half-numbed fingers to work on removing Cerus's makeshift muzzle.

They could break out of here. It would be fairly easy with the woodaxe handy, but what then? Would they spend the rest of their lives running? Would they even make it out of the village if they were dragging Cerus along? Abandoning him was no longer an option. They'd made their choice, however stupid, and they'd stick with it.

Still, there were better paths than further ruining their own life. They could wait for the Council to arrive, and explain the situation. They could claim it was a misunderstanding, and distance themselves from the Shadow King. Or maybe they could plead for mercy. For reason. Find a better fate for them both.

They'd managed to undo the first clasp on the bridle when there was a voice at the door, muffled and reedy and familiar.

"Tansy?"

They frowned. "Uncle?" Normally, Aldon would be out on the sea at this hour. Had the news already spread to him?

"So it's true."

They felt their heart sink at his tone, shock ringed with stark disbelief. Tansy wasn't particularly close with the old man, but he was the only family they had left.

"Why?" Aldon said, his voice quieting. "Why would you do such a thing?"

Tansy grimaced, fingers moving to the second clasp. All these whys. "If you'd seen him on the dock… if you could see him now, you wouldn't ask me that," they answered.

"Child—"

"He's suffered enough abuse, Uncle. I don't care who he is. I won't stand for it."

There was silence on the other side of the door, and for a moment they wondered if he'd left. Then,

"The men are saying you've allied yourself with him, Tansy," Aldon said, his tone sharpening. "Allied with the Shadow King. I'd thought them mistaken, but now—"

"Would you have me scorn a wounded man?" they cut him off, unable to keep the anger from their voice. "Leave him to die in the cold? I thought we were better than that. I thought we all were better than that."

Aldon sighed, and the door creaked, as if he were leaning on it. "Is there nothing I can say to sway you from this madness?"

Madness. There it was. Spoken insistence that Tansy really had lost all sense when they'd chosen to hold out their hand. "Nothing," they replied. For a moment, they were resolved to speak no more, to end the conversation there if it would only amount to more accusations, but thought better of it, remembering the healing herbs still tucked into their cloak.

"If you have any love for me… if blood means anything, will you bring me some hot water? And…" they swallowed, their head throbbing. "And some willow bark. For the pain."

"For him?"

"For us. Please, Uncle."

Another long silence, filled in with the slight creak of the woodshed walls and the short breaths of the Shadow King.

"I… I will. For your sake, not his."

And then the silence lingered. Tansy let out a sharp, frustrated sigh, and at last opened the final clasp, gently removing the leather from Cerus's tangled dark hair, and pulling the bit from his mouth. As they did, his body gave a little shudder. A reaction to the touch, they thought at first, but then it came again. And again, accompanied by a small gasp. Cerus was… was he crying?

Of all the things he'd done, from his insults to his wary questioning, this was the thing they'd expected the least. This was the thing they knew how to respond to the least. Even with friends in the battalion, most preferred to hide their tears. What were they to do with an enemy?

They opted for silence, shifting slightly beneath the man, hoping he couldn't sense their discomfort.

"I lost," Cerus said after what felt like forever.

"What?" they replied, wondering if the man was in the grip of a fevered dream.

"I l-lost the war," Cerus continued, his voice laced with a tremor. "The victor chooses the fate of the defeated, and the defeated accepts." The end of his sentence was choked out by a cough, but he pushed on. "I failed, and I'll reap the rewards of that failure. It's what is right."

"Is that what you think?" Tansy said.

"It's—" Another cough, punctuated by a whimper. "It's what I know."

Reaping the rewards. Was that why he seemed so numbed to the world? Had he accepted the Council's drawn-out death sentence, and consequently given up on life? They remembered how confused he'd been when they'd started cleaning his wounds, as if it was the last thing he'd expected to happen. Yet he'd gone with them without a fight, willing to bear whatever horrors a stranger decided to drown him in.

 They didn't expect him to continue, but somehow were still unsurprised when he did.

"Th-thought it was a dream," Cerus said. "When I heard the shout to stop. I thought the fever had my mind, I thought, who would say that? Who would do that? Yet here you are. And I still don't know why."

Tansy opened their mouth, the same explanation they'd given a hundred times—to their uncle, to Cerus, and more than anyone else, to themselves—on their tongue, but the Shadow King spoke again before they had a chance.

"I know, I know, you don't want to see more suffering. Then look away. Or close your damned eyes." He let out a bitter laugh. "I lost. A-and I–gnh—I earned my fate."

"You think you deserve it then? All of…" they gestured aimlessly, "...this?"

He was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was even, devoid of the tearful quiver that had gripped it before, replaced with something hollow. 

"Such a funny word," Cerus murmured. "Deserve. Who is to say what anyone deserves? I suppose the decision falls to whoever is in power. Yet seeing as it was these new powers who chose my fate… perhaps I do deserve this."

Before they'd won the war, before they'd watched the guards drag the Shadow King's broken body into the city square, Tansy might've agreed. A man who ruled with fear should be made to feel that fear himself, shouldn't he? Terror, pain, loss. All the things they'd wished on Cerus when their home burned, when they counted their battalion's casualties, when they raised their sword against an undead soldier.

But now that he'd tasted them all, Tansy felt no closure. They only felt tired. Putting Cerus through misery didn't make anything better. Fighting fire with fire only made more fire.

"What if you hadn't lost?" they asked. "What do you think those of us who rose against you are deserving of?"

"Death," Cerus said plainly. Despite the implications, Tansy felt no fear, nor anger, nor even indignation.

"And what would you have done?" they said.

"I would have the rebel leaders and generals executed," Cerus answered with little hesitation. "Leave their corpses hanging as a warning. Foot soldiers and lower ranks would choose to swear an oath of fealty, or follow their leaders into death." Something almost joyful had crept into his voice, and a sick sense of unease crawled into Tansy's gut in response. Cerus had reason to hate his former subjects, especially after the treatment he'd received from them, but that didn't make it any easier to hear him gleefully speak of murdering them. For a moment, they could remember their determination to see Cerus fall.

"I would double the patrols," Cerus continued. "Enforce a curfew. Set up wards to alert me of any future plots. But that would be all." His voice had grown quiet, the hint of joy swiftly fading. "The deaths of the traitors would be swift. I wouldn't—" his voice broke. "I-I wouldn't have…"

The moment passed. Not knowing what else to do, Tansy wrapped their arms around him, letting him clutch feebly at their shirtsleeves as his body shuddered with suppressed sobs. Another surprise. Even now, after all he'd endured, Cerus seemed opposed to torturing his enemies.

A soft knock came at the door, and Tansy looked up to see an earthenware flagon being passed through a gap in the boards that made up the wall. They gingerly removed themselves from behind Cerus to retrieve it. The water within was not hot, but it was warmer than the surrounding air, and they fished out the pouch of herbs, pinching some between their fingers and dropping it into the water to steep.

A finger's length of willow bark followed the flagon, and they took it with a murmured thanks.

"How long are they to keep us locked in here?" Tansy asked, once they'd repositioned themselves.

"The Council will be notified, but you will not walk free before their arrival," their uncle answered.

Would they be kept here in that time? Freezing in this tiny shed? "And when will they arrive?" they asked.

"With luck, they'll garner transport with a mage's circle and be here within a few days," Aldon replied. "But child, the village will not wait."

Dread curled in their stomach at his words. "Will not wait for what?"

The old man took an audible breath before continuing. "You are both to be punished," he said. "Flogged in the square. I tried to reason with them, but people are afraid. They want to show that the Shadow King, and… and any collaborators, are subdued."

Flogged? Tansy forced themself to take a deep breath, a futile effort to ease the curdling in their gut. 

"Tansy?"

"I heard you, Uncle." They closed their eyes, resting the back of their head on the wall. "It's… it'll be alright."

"I will see if I can bring you a meal," Aldon said. "Please… I ask that you think on this in the meantime. How much are you willing to sacrifice for him?"

As the sound of their uncle's footsteps faded, Tansy placed the willow bark between their teeth, chewing anxiously. A public whipping would be both painful and humiliating for them, but for Cerus it may well be a death sentence. The bandages they'd wrapped around his torso the night before had already darkened with blood from the wounds that covered his back. The thought of layering more on top of those…

They couldn't let it happen. There was one thing they could do, one way to shield Cerus, but it wouldn't be pleasant for them.

A rueful smile crept across Tansy's face.

But what's one more sacrifice?

§•§•§

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump @chiswhumpcorner @whatwhumpcomments , @dont-look-me-in-the-eye , @turn-the-tables-on-them

[another-anonymous-idiot]

Ok this might be a longer post but I've been thinking...

So you guys know that trope, most common in like, medieval fantasy and similar settings, where The Main Character has to transport a prisoner from point A to point B and it's portrayed as a "I'm just following orders sorry dude" type of thing.

I feel like this has a lot of Whump potential both in a "Medieval Whump" and "Travel Whump" setting.

Whumpee could be an innocent bystander who got captured by Whumper, or they could actually be a criminal, depending on how you'd like your story.

Lemme tell you folks medieval society was CREATIVE about punishing criminals. So many horrible devices to use!

Example:

1. Scold's Bridle or Branks

Is your Whumpee's begging getting annoying? Do you wanna shut them up in a way that also makes them feel sub human? Well this device is perfect! A bonus is that eating with it on is quite impossible, so they have to depend on Whumper's mercy even more.

2. Shrew's Fiddle or Neck Violin

A very ridged thing which still allows for walking. Though, it's quite heavy, I can't imagine it would be comfortable to wear for long periods of time. I mean, holding your arms at a right angle in front of you must get heard, but if you let them fall you have even more weight on your neck... But hey, you can use it for multiple Whumpees!

3. Pillory, Stocks, or Stockade

Passing through town and have some errands to run? Well why don't you just leave your Whumpee in the town stocks for a day! They are very common and usually set up in the town square where everyone can see. That way you don't have to worry about Whumpee running off, and the prominent position lets you keep an eye on them. Could even leave them longer, if you don't wanna look at Whumpee in your room for the night.

An over all bonus of these devices, is that they are used to denote a person's crime. This is nice because then other people will know to also treat Whumpee poorly.

And the process of getting from town to town could be interesting too.

Is Whumpee tied up in the back of a cart, or are they being dragged behind one and forced to walk. Are they given proper traveling clothes, shoes? Maybe Whumper wants to humiliate them even more by taking their clothes away. Are they walking freely, or are they hobbled? Are other travelers seeing them?

Sooo much Whump potential folks!!!

[pigeonwhumps]

Contract 3

Bug and Company masterlist

Taglist: @littlespacecastle @whumpymirages @flowersarefreetherapy @painful-pooch @whumplr-reader

Princess (Bug) meets Shaniqua for the first time.

1.5k

CWs: BBU, pet whump, stress positions, gagged, dislocated shoulders, painful healing, manipulation, mentioned minor whump, mentioned drugging, mentioned abusive foster parents, starvation, dehydration, overstimulation

Princess breathes in deeply. They don't know how long they've been in here, how long they've been doing these breathing exercises to stave off the panic. They're still dripping wet, it can't be that long. Their shoulders are killing them, the pain making them want to shout and swear at the very least but the gag won't let them. Their jaw aches around it.

Everything aches. They're not sure they'll ever manage to move out of this position, even if they're untied. They've already had pins and needles and passed into the numb phase. It's going to hurt a lot if they ever get out of here.

There's at least one door, but they can't see it. It's outside their field of vision. Because they have blinkers on. Someone put fucking blinkers on their head, like they're a fucking horse.

It makes them twitchy. They have no idea what's happening beyond their limited vision, can't even turn their head to watch, anyone could do anything to them and they wouldn't know unless they were directly in front.

It's probably one-way glass in front of them, not a mirror, but they try not to pay too much attention anyway. They don't want to see how they look like this. One look at the bridle-like thing pressing down on their almost certainly broken nose is enough.

There's a quiet snick of a door opening and Princess hears footsteps, hairs prickling on the back of their arms as whoever it is passes behind them, running a hand over the top of one arm, brushing their neck, and then over the other. Caressing, almost, possessive. Like the man earlier was but... not the same person, Princess doesn't think. The hand feels softer.

As the person passes, there's a waft of something tasty. They close their nose, but that won't last long, not with their mouth partially obstructed.

The measured footsteps come around Princess' front and finally, they can see their visitor.

It's a woman, presumably a colleague of the man earlier (they both have the same willing-to-kidnap-and-legally-torture-people vibe), with dark skin and braids tied back in a ponytail. Princess barely stops themself from shrinking back at the gleam in her eye. It's the first time they've been grateful for not being able to move.

Still. If she expects them to be broken and ready to sign she's very much mistaken. They glare fiercely at her.

She carries a large plate of food and a jug of water in one hand, which she sets on the table. The food is a full roast dinner, waves of smell wafting from it, chicken and gravy and roast vegetables, and oh it smells so–

No. No, they're not going to think about that, even as their stomach rumbles, desperate, how long is it since they ate?

"Spent a decade in food service before finding a job I really enjoy," she says casually. "Once you learn, you never forget how. Oh, I see you're not ready to sign your contract yet. Here, let me do something for you."

Princess tenses further as the woman walks behind them again.

She touches their right shoulder, fingers pressing in, and before they can panic too much she twists their arm and pushes.

Princess' vision whites out. When they come back the woman hums and does the same to their other shoulder.

"Your shoulders needed resetting. They'll need it every so often if you continue to refuse to sign your contract. You will eventually, you should just give in now."

Princess works her teeth around the silicone gag, tasting saliva and metallic blood, wrenching them out just enough to spit in the woman's face when she comes back around their front.

The woman's eyes narrow and she wipes her face with a look of distaste. "You are going to regret that later, 134U." Princess shivers, and not just from the cold. "But first, I really need something to eat. Training's hungry work, you know?"

No, Princess doesn't know, and they don't want to. They growl around the gag as the woman picks up her plate and comes around, leaning against the table right near Princess' chair. Someone they couldn't see moved the chair, too, so it's still facing her.

"Doesn't that smell good? Mm, delicious. I'm sure you must be hungry."

Princess tenses, breathing shallowly, determined not to give too much away. They are, it smells delicious, especially the roast potatoes and gravy. But they're not signing that damn contract.

They'll be okay. They've missed meals as punishments before, or had to sit there while their whole family ate and they had nothing but bread and water if they were lucky, they'll be fine.

Apparently their stomach disagrees, and the woman grins, like she's just been given a particular juicy morsel of information.

"Yeah. Thought so. Why don't you just give in? Then you can have some. Well, not this exactly, but food at least." She winks and sets the plate down behind her, drinking the cool, clear water directly from the jug. "Ah. So refreshing. Fancy some? No? Right then. Your loss."

The woman sits down in the chair her colleague did earlier, continuing to eat and drink as she stares directly at Princess. Princess refuses to look away. She won't give in to this utter bastard of a woman.

"Most people who protest as much as you do have someone they care about, someone who loves and cares for them. As far as I can tell, you have none of that. Your form is sparse. No friends, barely any hobbies. Your parents turned you in, and we have reason to believe your brother knows. Did you know they've released the details on your supposed death now? Probable suicide, I think they said. You didn't even make a footnote in the news. Maybe you'll be a statistic at the end of the year, but that's all. Even if you did get out, you'd have nowhere to go. No-one to turn to. Nobody to care. Did my colleague tell you how much your parents sold you for?"

Princess stares, unseeing now. He didn't, but they looked it up. In the right corners of the internet, you can find it out. £5000 you get, give or take a bargain or two.

£5000. They'll spend it all on their house and a luxury holiday and maybe a small headstone to pretend they care about the person they took in for money, who was never their real daughter. Who they sold when they weren't going to bring in anything more.

£5000 isn't even a year of tuition fees. That's how little they care, how little Princess means to them, they're not even worth that.

"I see you do. £5000 isn't much for a life, is it? How little they care. How little anyone cares. I mean, they've definitely drugged you before and nobody noticed. Nobody cared. And nobody bothered to report you missing, either, even though hours passed between you being brought in and your 'body' being found. You'd think someone would've noticed your disappearance, if they cared enough to."

The woman's right. Their parents have drugged them before. Most notably when they tried to run away, just after they found out their parents' plan. It was a very open secret after that.

Princess forces back the memories with a great deal of effort. The woman continues.

"But then, you never were the real child, were you? Just the spare, the money tree. Entirely useless. Nobody cares about you outside of here. At least we want you. You have nowhere to go. No home, no friends, no future. You might as well give in now."

They already knew this. They've had all these insults and more thrown at them over the years, by everyone who claimed to care and those who didn't, and they were always able to just brush them off, knowing they were true but it just didn't matter, but it's harder, somehow, coming from this woman. Even if she is torturing them.

But they're not giving in. Not yet. They have plans, and even if they didn't, that doesn't mean they're just going to sit here and politely sign themself into slavery.

"Oh, well. Anyway. I'll leave the rest of this here, I'll be back for it later. I'm sure the smell will sate your appetite. And you know? I was only planning on keeping you in total silence, but after your antics, I think you need something more. Remember, you can stop this at any point."

The woman slides headphones over their head and turns them on. A discordant jumble of instruments comes through them at ear-splitting volume, slamming into their ears, like a physical thing. It just keeps coming and coming, and Princess bites into the silicon bit again to ground themself against the pain. They barely notice as the woman leaves the room.

They do, however, notice when the strobe lights turn on. They're more blinding than the straight fluorescent, flashing different colours, no coherent pattern or timing or anything, drilling into their skull.

They almost give in then, but no. No, they can't do that. They've been through far too much already to just give in now.

[erendreich]

Whumpy whumpy possibilities for muses who are unfortunate enough to become one of Cale Erendreich's victims...

(tw for torture, of course)

Captivity

Isolation

Sensory deprivation (sit in the dark for days? forced to wear a blindfold or noise cancelling headphones for days?)

Whipping

Poling

Shock collars that are volume and remote controlled (might get shocked on a whim—but they had better not scream!)

Actually on that note... torture sessions while wearing a volume activated shock collar :)c

Branding (!!)

Bound with chains/rope/leather/zip ties/belts

Gagging (especially with an altered bridle + bit; imagine how that would make the corners of your mouth feel after an extended period... ouch)

Improper use of hoof picks (torture, it's torture)

Improper use of blinders

Starvation + dehydration

Stress!!! Positions!!!!!

Stress position + heavy horse yoke (not his usual thing but I think he might find it appealing on the right victim)

Choking/strangulation

Mindless routines over and over again until whumpee is conditioned to do whatever Cale says no matter how pointless or asinine

Conditioning whumpees to lock themselves up at night

Conditioning whumpees to never speak without permission

Forcing whumpee to practice their gait over and over again in a small corral... when he says to run, run until he says they can stop... maybe soring whumpee so they're encouraged to lift their legs higher and faster :)))c That is unlikely to work on a human, I think, who can understand the pain they're in better than a horse, but still. Cale has fun.

Full reliance on Cale to care for them... The particularly intimate whump of a whumper gently shushing whumpee and cleaning whumpee's wounds, washing the blood from their skin and hair, even though they were the ones inflicting the pain moments ago

Whumpee having to walk on eggshells and be at their best behavior bc they don't know what might set Cale off, and he can turn on a dime

Collars in general. That's not a horsey thing but I think Cale would like them. It's the dehumanization of it all.

Speaking of dehumanization, whumpee getting used to being referred to as an animal and treated as such until they start losing a sense of their personhood. Their entire day revolves around Cale's training, Cale's schedule, Cale's demands... They can't even wash themselves except in the precise way he tells them to. There is no option for autonomy.

Cale giving whumpee opportunities to escape only to catch them immediately and punish them. Rinse and repeat until Cale can leave the door wide open and whumpee won't even bother attempting because they're too afraid

Cale showing whumpee videos or pictures of their loved ones and letting them know how easy it would be for him to kill them if whumpee doesn't do what he says

Cale keeping them updated on how long the police have been looking for them... and when they finally give up

[drowning-bones-whump]

TW: physical (mouth/dental) whump

Please let me know if there are any other TW I may have missed bc I’m very new at tagging and can miss (sometimes be just completely unaware out of ignorance) what should be mentioned in TW and tags.

Anyways, I hope y’all enjoy!

Maybe whumper restrains and forces whumpee to wear a metal contraption in their mouth causing immense aching/soreness and it keeps their mouth open so that whumper can access whumpee’s mouth whenever they want and press on the contraption to give them more pain.

Being unable to close their mouth, whumpee’s mouth becomes dry and their throat hurts. Only when whumper presses down on the contraption in their mouth and causes pain does their mouth begin to salivate excessively and drool to relieve the dryness in their mouth and throat. Whumpee begins to rely on whumper to sate their thirst.

Maybe whumper is trying to move whumpee’s teeth using the contraption to install something like a bit and bridle (permanently) into whumpee’s mouth using methods similar to how they drill dental implants into the jawbone to ensure it’s securely installed.

Now whumper can yank and tether whumpee’s head back by the reins when/wherever they want.

[heartlesslywhumping]

What is a scolds bridle?

A scold’s bridle, also known as a witch’s bridle, brank’s bridle, or just branks, was a medieval form of corporal punishment and public humiliation.

It’s an iron muzzle/mask that encircled the head, sometimes with faces on them.

Past here, I have some more detailed descriptions and pictures. Nothing too explicit or graphic but just beware.

The “scold” part of the name comes from the derogatory term “scold” for a gossip or a nag. The “bridle” is because it worked much like a horse’s bit or bridle.

(The above picture is a modern one, likely used for kink purposes and without the extra iron around the head and mouth. This one is probably not made out of iron but some sort of lighter material. However, it illustrates the bridle/bit allegory quite well)

It had a flat, iron, bridle-bit, or curb-plate that either forced the tongue down or pressed it against the roof of the mouth to painfully prevent speaking. It also caused excessive salivation and fatigue in the mouth. 

If you’re interested in specifics, it was about 2 in x 1 in (5.1 cm x 2.5cm).

Occasionally, the bit was spiked and would puncture the tongue if the wearer attempted speech. Others had sharp edges that would lacerate the tongue/inside of the mouth if the mouth moved at all.

(It’s a bit pixelated but you can see the little knob things on the above picture. Those were sharper and crueler but time has aged/worn down the pictured bridle)

It was usually used on women and traditionally, after a woman was condemned of slander, excessive gossip, or excessive scolding, her husband would place the bridle upon her face.  While wearing it, the victim would be unable to speak, eat, or drink.

Generally, the wearer was then marched through the town to be humiliated and punished. Husbands could attach leashes to the bridle and take their wives on literal walks of shame, often encouraging the townspeople to beat, verbally berate, spin upon, etc. 

Violence was encouraged and wearers could be beaten or shaken by the head. I’m sure it comes as no surprise that this often resulted in broken teeth and jaws, bleeding, and vomiting.

Some bridles additionally held bells to draw more attention to this walk of shame

Sometimes, instead of being led about town, the victim was attached to a hook or a wall and left there. Sometimes these places were public, other times a husband might leave his wife by the fireplace.

The Lanark Burgh Records  record a typical example of the punishment being used: 

"Iff evir the said Elizabeth salbe fund [shall be found] scolding or railling… scho salbe sett [she shall sit] upone the trone in the brankis and be banishit [banished of] the toun thaireftir [thereafter]" (1653 Lanark B. Rec. 151).

I hope that was helpful!

[not-poignant]

Ch 9/? - The Beast that Chose Its Own Bridle (Doctrine of Labyrinths, Felix/Murtagh)

Title: The Beast that Chose Its Own Bridle - 09 - Choices

Rating: Explicit Fandom: Doctrine of Labyrinths by Sarah Monette Characters: Felix Harrowgate/Murtagh - Ferrand Carey     Warnings/Tags: Angst, hurt/comfort, magical healing BDSM, dominance/submission, canon typical lack of safewords, dubious consent, miscommunication and communication, post Corambis, kink negotiation, PTSD, triggers, traumatic past, flashbacks, age gap, praise kink, aftercare.

Summary: The Duke of Murtagh has never been able to forget his one evening with Felix Harrowgate, back when he knew Felix only as a shadow for hire. In the two years since, everything has changed, and Murtagh’s circumstances have shifted enough that he’s curious to pursue the lonely magician who lives at the Grimglass lighthouse.

The Beast that Chose Its Own Bridle - 09 - Choices

In which Murtagh sets up a scene that is far more challenging than Felix could have ever expected, and sets him on a rapid downward spiral as he queries everything he’s ever come to know about how he feels about being a martyr/shadow.

Thank to all the folks reading this, you are all the best.

[witcherwheeloftheyear]

A Witcher Wheel of the Year 2023

A Witcher Wheel of the Year will be a series of events all through the year 2023. 

There will be prompts based on every festival of the Wheel of the Year, and you are invited to create fics or art of whatever strikes your fancy for those. Prompts will be smutty and non-smutty, you can pick one or several. If you feel like creating something not based on the prompts, go ahead! We only ask that there is some connection to the festival, however you choose to interpret it.

All themes and genres are welcome, from G to E and from fluff to whump. This is a kink and darkfic friendly event, as long as you tag/warn accordingly.

No upper or lower word count limit for writers

All canons are welcome - games, TV shows, books

All ships are welcome, as are gen fics

Please be kind to each other - no bashing or kinkshaming ect.

On the date of each festival, there will be an event where you can share your work. Tag with #witcherwheeloftheyear so people can find it! Follow us on @witcherwheeloftheyear and @ us when you post so we can reblog!

Prompts will be revealed throughout the year, around three months ahead so you have time to create.

There is an AO3 collection here and a canonical tag: A Witcher Wheel of the Year Challenge

Mod: @bookscorpion (if you want to send me an anon message and you have no Tumblr account, please do so via a reply the Dreamwidth post for the event, 'More Options' will let you select anon)

Prompts and Dates

Dates

Imbolc February 2nd

Ostara March 20th

Beltane May 1st

Litha June 21st

Lammas August 1st

Mabon September 22nd

Samhain November 1st

Yule December 21st

Prompts

Imbolc

well/spring - divination - initiation - turning of the tide

pregnancy - cumplay - fireplay

snowdrop

dumpling

colour palette here

Ostara

maiden - balance - disguise - rebirth - dawn

caning (willow switches) - bloodplay - virginity/first time

tulip

eggs

colour palette here

Beltane

temperature play - milking - aphrodisiac

fire and smoke - protection - make a wish

hawthorn

strawberries

colour palette here

Litha

the longest day - dragons - dancing - dreams

orgy - fake marriage - semi-public sex

honeysuckle

cherries

colour palette here

Lammas

baking - offering - dolls - brawling

bondage - (riding) crops - cock and ball torture - a roll in the hay

sunflower

blueberry

colour palette here

Mabon

braids - walking in circles - harvest

ploughing - bit and bridle - breath play

aster

bread

colour palette here

Samhain

gateway/portal - lost (and found?) - beggar

candles/waxplay - mask/blindfold - taboo

buckwheat

honey

colour palette here

Yule

theater - straw - unexpected guest - echoes

chains - suspension - gift wrapped

holly

cake

colour palette here

Graphics for the moodboard by Crimsonherbarium, Sun Cross from Wikipedia, moodboard put together by bookscorpion. All base images free to use.

[serickswrites]

Roadtrip IX

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Warnings: captivity, referenced noncon, dehumanization, gagging, blood, creepy/intimate whumper

Whumpee lay in the heap Whumper had left them in after their “bath.” Whumper had held their head under water more times than they could count. Each time, Whumpee truly believed that was it and that they would drown. And each time they edged unconsciousness, Whumper had pulled them out, always with a coo, a caress, or a pet.

Whumpee wished they had drowned. Then they wouldn’t be in pain anymore. Then they wouldn’t be trapped god knows where anymore. They shook their head. No, Caretaker would find them. Caretaker would get them. They just had to wait a little longer.

The barn doors slid open, Whumper whistling as they went. “Good morning, my sweet little Whumpee! Did you sleep well after your bath?” Whumper leaned over and smiled at Whumpee.

“Y-y-yes,” Whumpee squeaked out. The more compliant they were, the less likely Whumper would be to hurt them. They learned that the last time they had fought Whumper.

“Good, my sweet,” Whumper murmured as they stroked Whumpee’s head. “I have some fun planned for us today!”

Whumpee hoped their face was blank. Internally they were screaming. “Oh?”

“Yeah, we’ll have our rides, of course,” Whumper stroked down Whumpee’s body as they said the last, “but first, I thought you might want to stretch your legs again.”

Whumpee didn’t want Whumper to put the bit in their mouth again. Even if it meant Whumper violating them sooner. “B-b-but, I stretched so much yesterday.”

“Nonsense!” Whumper sprang up and went to grab the bridle. “You can never stretch your legs enough. And don’t worry, my sweet, we will get so much riding time in today, you won’t even remember your walk!”

They held the bridle in one hand as they started to undo the twine keeping Whumpee to the post. Whumper’s fingers worked quickly as they undid the knots. “Stand up, my darling. It’ll be easier that way.”

“No, wait. Please. Let’s have the ride first. Please.” Whumpee shied away from Whumper’s touch, their back pressing to the post in the middle of the barn.

“There will be plenty of that after your walk. I don’t want you to lose your conditioning.” Whumper crossed behind Whumpee and put the bridle over Whumpee’s head. “Take the bit, my sweet.” They held the cold metal against Whumpee’s lips. Whumpee resisted. Their mouth still felt raw and aching from yesterday’s walk.

“Take it, my lovely,” Whumper said as they stuck a finger in the corner of Whumpee’s mouth and pressed down. Hard.

Whumpee whined as they felt their mouth explode in pain. They would not take the bit. Whumper pushed harder and Whumpee’s lips parted with a cry. Whumper quickly shoved the bit into Whumpee’s mouth. As Whumpee felt the metal clear their teeth, the warm flesh of Whumper’s fingers against their tongue, they bit down. Hard.

Whumper howled in agony as blood filled Whumpee’s mouth. Whumper punched at Whumpee’s head, but Whumpee tucked themselves against Whumper. “RELEASE ME YOU DIRTY—“

Before Whumper could finish getting the words out, Whumpee spit out Whumper’s fingers and scrambled away. Their hands and feet were still bound together, but that didn’t stop them from scooting towards the open barn door. They crawled as quickly as they could, straining to get away.

“COME BACK HERE YOU DIRTY FUCKING LITTLE WHORE!” Whumper roared from behind Whumpee.

But Whumpee didn’t stop. They pushed their aching muscles, knowing that if they could get away, get to help, the pain would stop. Steps thundered behind Whumpee, but they didn’t stop to look back. They couldn’t stop. They had to get away.

Something cold and metal pierced through Whumpee’s left shoulder. As Whumpee shrieked in pain, the metal jerked. “GOT YOU. NOW YOU’RE GONNA GET IT!”

Tags: @forthetaintedsorrow-whump @whump-and-other-things @puffball-lover554 @jadeocean46910 @okwhump @mutantrecord109 @glittermixedwithtears @whumpy-daydreams @freefallingup13 @batfacedliar-yetagain @thelazywitchphotographer @writing-i-like-dump @blosoms-writing-blog @livingforthewhump @mutantrecord109 @crilex29

@imagination1reality0

@but-what-if-its-whumpy

[sunshiline-writes]

A Rose Amidst Thorns #8: New Day, New Mistakes, New Everything

Oh man it's been a while. Sorry!! Had a bit of a rough go at it. This is actually a comfort chapter!!! omg! lmfao. * Solomon helps Henrietta find more about the night she escaped and encourages her to talk to Miguel. __ CW: lady whumpee, POC whump, mentions of old wounds, panic attacks, death mention, uh I think that's it actually let me know if I missed anything. Previous | Masterlist | Next

There was solace in the work that Henrietta was ordered to do. It kept her busy and she found some comfort in the repetitive motions. The scrubbing of the clothes, floors, and dishes was something that she allowed herself to get lost in. It wasn’t necessarily hard work but it did consume most of her time. This is why she hadn’t been to see Miguel in a week and a half, or at least this is what she told herself. She was simply too busy with the chores she had been handed to see him. Too busy trying to keep Xavier from punishing her further. 

She had even taken to polishing the saddles, cleaning the bridles, and cleaning Xavier’s tools. She had wiped the blood from the hammer. When she did she imagined slamming the head against Xaviers temple and watching his head cave in. Her mother had often said that her imagination was as vivid and wild as she was. However, she always lacked the ability to make her imagination turn into a reality. She had once dreamed of giving music classes to children. Teaching them how to play the violin, becoming a respected woman. This dream despite her attempts had yet to be realized. She still hoped though. Hoped that one day, maybe, her dreams would come true. 

There was one thing about this week and a half of peace. Xavier had mostly left her alone save for holding her close at night. He’d been gone for most of the week, checking in from time to time. He was busy with other things for now. Henrietta supposed that she should be grateful for the reprieve, but she wasn’t. In fact, the fact that he hadn’t paid much attention to his prisoners made her uneasy. She didn’t know what he was planning but she was sure that there was something brewing. There was something suffocating in the air. Henrietta was effectively trapped by her own fear. 

There was always someone watching. Jesse sat on the porch when she did laundry, other men in the house at all times while she did dishes and cleaned. Jesse was also usually in the barn with her as she did her chores there as well. It only made the feeling of being trapped worse. Jesse had been put on babysitting duty it seemed while Solomon forbade any interaction with Miguel. He’d also not been allowed to do any harder work as Solomon had also diagnosed him with a concussion. There was a sense of pride at that. Miguel had hurt Jesse enough to render him useless for a time. Miguel had fought back, which meant there was still a chance. A chance to get Miguel to try and escape again. 

She had to talk to him first, if Solomon would allow it. That was also another reason she hadn’t visited Miguel. Solomon had taken to staying by his side for most of the day and when he wasn’t his door was locked. She had run into Jesse trying to pick the lock once as she climbed the stairs to put away the sheets from the beds. The disgusting little man had grinned at her as she stared him down. Eventually, he got tired of her staring and left. Then she could breathe again. She had wanted to tell Solomon but whenever she saw him, her heart caught in her throat. The guilt swallowed her whole. 

Your actions.. Your choices have consequences. They affect others.

Henrietta had known that, but it was different when the consequences were right in front of her. She could see the anger in Solomon as he looked at her. She could see Miguel shyly turn away from her. It was like her choices were coming back to eat her alive. “Henrietta? You’re burning the eggs,” came the voice that brought her out of her thoughts. She shook her head and groaned as she scraped the pan. Trying to gauge the damage. She ruined them and she growled as she grabbed the pan and scraped the eggs into a separate bowl. The pigs would eat it. She turned to Solomon who was sitting at the kitchen table, feeling her heart in her throat again.

 “Are you okay?” he asked softly. 

She found herself searching his voice and expression for anger, for hatred, for anything. Henrietta found nothing and she wasn’t sure if that was something to be relieved about. 

“I-” she paused, sighing, “I don’t.. really know.” 

Solomon looked her over for a moment. “How about physically? How is your back?” 

“Healing. I’m still sore but I’m better,” she answered, cracking another egg and putting it in the skillet. She was not going to burn these ones. “Good. Good,” Solomon sighed. 

There was a certain silence again, not the comfortable silence that she was used to. It was a silence that was filled with unanswered questions and unsaid worry. She felt her heart in her chest as she stared at the eggs. Then she picked up the skillet and put the eggs on a plate for Solomon. 

“Forgotten already?” he asked, and Henrietta blinked at him for a second. Then finally remembered. 

“You don’t eat eggs.” 

“No I don’t.” “I’m sorry.” 

Solomon smiled gently at her, “you eat.” 

Henrietta didn’t have the strength to argue as she sat down, eyes downcast and picking at the eggs that she just made. Slowly she ate the eggs, Solomon watching her, probably making sure she ate. They sat like that, in silence, until she was done. 

“You haven’t asked,” Solomon said, breaking the silence again, “about Terrance.” 

“He’s dead isn’t he?”

“Yes he died.” 

“When I shot him?” 

“Yes.” 

Her throat threatened to close as she remembered that night three years ago. Holding the gun at Terrance. Terrance and Miguel arguing in sign language and through words. Terrance was trying to stop them, she had just wanted to scare him. But her aim was off. She hit him in the side instead. Henrietta knew that leaving Miguel was selfish. She left him anyway. Miguel had immediately rushed to his side and tried to stop the bleeding. Henrietta’s ears were ringing and before she knew it, she was on the horse and out of the barn. Most of that night was blurry anyway. 

“How.. I was hoping he would make it,” she said, feeling far away from herself. Like she wasn’t sitting at the kitchen table, but somewhere else entirely, watching herself have this conversation. 

“It..” Solomon started, staring at her. “You sure you want to know?” 

“I- Yes.” 

“It nicked his liver. His blood was black. There was nothing we could do.. It took him three days to die. I’m sorry.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Henrietta said, feeling herself fall further into the floor. Her stomach churning.  

“I know Hen. I know,” Solomons voice was gentle, he was leaning toward her. Henrietta felt like her world was spinning. Her heart was pounding and she needed to move. She stood up and swayed, both hands on the table. “Hen?” 

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she– 

Strong arms wrapped around her and she started to sob. Curling forward and her legs giving out. Solomon held her, both of them sinking to the floor as he held her. “It’s okay, it’s okay.. Shhhhh, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have told you. I shouldn’t have told you.” Henrietta sobbed harder, curling into Solomon as he rocked her back and forth. They racked through her, screaming as the guilt crushed her. Solomon was her grounding place. He was the one holding her together as she cried. He let her. Smoothing her hair, rocking her in place, whispering in her ear that it was okay. 

“I killed him.” 

“Yes you did,” Solomon said, voice solemn but firm. He would never deny that blood was on her hands. 

“I should have taken Miguel with me.” 

Solomon said nothing for a moment, sighing, “Yes. You probably should have. But it’s nothing now. New day, new mistakes, new everything.” 

“I didn’t mean to kill him.” 

“I know Hen. I know.” 

She curled herself into him, exhausted and afraid. She was always afraid. What if Xavier heard her? He was supposed to be in town for the day, but what if he caught them like this, and punished them for it? What if he thought they were… Henrietta cut her own thoughts off, sniffling. 

“You need to talk to Miguel, you’ll feel better.” “How will that make me feel better?” 

Solomon smoothed her hair again, gently wiping away her tears when she looked up at him. She didn’t understand why that would ever make her feel better. From what she remembered, Miguel and Terrance were friends. Solomon had even thought they had fancied each other. But it was all different now, she wasn’t sure how Miguel wasn’t angry with her. If she was in his position she would be bitter. Well, more bitter and angrier than she already was. 

“You’ll have to trust me,” he said. 

“Solomon, I really don’t want to. Why would he want to speak to me after what I did?” 

The man seemed to think for a moment and shifted his hold on Henrietta. He gave her another soft smile. Solomon always seemed to know things that no one else did. He always said the right words. Always knew what to say to make her feel better. To make her feel seen. 

“Because Hen, he’s already forgiven you. Earlier than me. Earlier than you’ve forgiven yourself.” 

“Why?? How?” 

“That’s just who he is, Hen.” 

“I’ll talk to him,” she said, wiping her face with her hand and they both used each other to stand. “Later.” 

“I would do it now, while Xavier is gone for the day.” 

Henrietta grimaced and sighed, wiping her face again. She felt drained, like all her energy had been taken in the unfortunate breakdown she had. Nodding, she let Solomon hand her the key to Miguel’s room. He was right. She should do it now. While she was still allowed to see him. Knowing Xavier, that was probably why he was keeping her busy. The key felt heavy in her palm. But she closed her fist around it and forced herself up the stairs. Leaving Solomon in the kitchen. 

The door felt like it was a grand mountain she had to get over. But she put the key through the lock and let herself in. 

Miguel was on his side, hands splayed out in front of him. They were wrapped and splinted and his face was contorted in pain. But he was asleep. He would probably need another dose soon. Solomon wanted to wean him off but sometimes without it all Miguel would do was cry. She heard them sometimes. Solomon trying to console him. Miguel just sobbing more. It was awful. 

She sat in the chair at his side, smoothing over his hair. Her throat was closing again. More tears threatening to fall. How could she have room for more? Miguel made a noise and his eyes opened blearily and her heart shattered when he smiled at her. Like she had never abandoned him, or killed his friend, or used him for her own selfish gain. He started to move but she shook her head. “Just stay there. I’m only here for a bit. I just wanted to talk to you,” she said, stroking his head. “I needed to say something and I should have said it sooner. But i’m sorry. For everything. For leaving you behind, for..” her voice wavered but she continued, if she didn’t say it now she never would. “For everything. I’m really sorry.” 

She pressed her lips against his forehead and gently rubbed his head. Then she pulled away, hand still carding through his hair. His face was peaceful, nodding in acknowledgement. He probably had so much to say. But here he was, without his method of communication. Rendered speechless. 

“My words don’t mean anything. I promise though.. I won’t ever leave you behind again okay? I swear it.” 

Miguel just smiled again. Taking a deep breath and nuzzling his head against her hand. Melting into the touch. It reminded her of his first days here, when she couldn’t understand his language. How they communicated through facial expressions and body language. It was going to be that way again for a while, but she didn’t mind. As long as he was alive. Where there was life, there was hope, even in a desert like theirs. 

“I’ll let you rest,” she said, pulling her hand away and moving to stand. But Miguel whimpered and she frowned at him. “Do you want me to stay?” 

Miguel nodded, looking sheepish. Henrietta found herself smiling again. Nodding and sitting back down. She gently carded her hand through his hair again, watching as he settled into the pillow again. “Just until you fall asleep again okay?” 

Miguel was already asleep and Henrietta stayed anyway.  __

Taglist:

@demondamage @burntcoffeewhump @angst-after-dark @just-a-silly-little-whumper @tictac-murder-spaghetti @crash-bump-bring-the-whump@whumpifi

@flowersarefreetherapy @badgerwhump

ask if you'd like to be added or removed!!

[leyswhumpdump]

Over the years I’ve spent far too much time looking at historical torture instruments and there’s one that is (in my opinion) very underused in whump fiction.

The spring loaded gag known as the pear of anguish.

(Picture and description under the cut, but nothing graphic)

Although theories vary as to what it was for (and I’m sure there are plenty of whump writers out there who could repurpose it), it was probably used as a gag. The leaves expanded on a spring or possibly via the key, filling the mouth. A way for writers bored of duct tape and cloth to keep their whumpees silent. :)

It would of course be very uncomfortable as it forces the jaw wide open. A more comfortable but no less secure device (such as the mute’s bridle, or something based off the pear concept) is probably possible for the imaginative writer.

Note that I am not a historian and can’t verify that these things actually existed for this purpose.

[painsandconfusion]

Save a Horse, Swipe a Cowboy

Whumping the Whumpers: Part Eleven

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(tw: kidnapping, bludgeoned, shock collar, drowning, escape attempt, captivity, pet whump mention, blood)

"Ready?" Ethan whispered.

Nate nodded, giving a thumbs up. Ethan pulled out the chain on the gate and let it swing open. Nate hopped the fence of the corral, Waiving his arms in broad strokes to shoo the heard out of the opening. Ethan stepped to the side, watching the horses stream out.

The stiff leather boots pressed in on his toes, but the pain was necessary. They would leave all the right prints - untraceable footprints. The boots were too big on Nate, the lucky bastard. Ethan was still annoyed at that. Of course he was the only one in pain during this little escapade.

Once the corral was empty, the two moved quickly to the main stable. Nate took the bat with him and disappeared into an empty stall. Ethan chose one across from it.

"Why do you get to do it?"

"You don't know what you're doing, you'll probably hit him too hard and kill him or something."

"I will not!"

"You can prove it to me later, I'm taking this one. I don't want any more unknown variables."

"You're such a control freak."

"Do you want this guy or not?"

"...yes."

"Then do what I fucking say."

Ethan snuck a peek over the stall wall, glancing toward the stable entrance. No Elias. He must not have noticed yet. Ethan could see the stable opposite this one, illuminated by the harsh glow of the security light.

Just looking at the building made Ethan shudder. He shoved down the response quickly, but memories of being drug by the hair back into the dark, rusted stable tugged at his mind. He had only spent four months with Elias, but he could remember the smell of those stalls. The darkness and the grime.

His heart ached for the poor bastard in there. Ethan desperately wanted to go and free them himself, but they had to play this smart. No one could know they were there. Not even the prisoner. They had already caught two horses, tossing halters on them and tying them up at the front of that building. They picked the lock and left the door slightly ajar.

To any outside eyes, it would look like Elias had chased after the loose herd, caught a few, then disappeared. Anyone who came looking for Elias would check inside. Of course they would. It was the best lead. They wouldn’t find him there, but they would find Elias’ current project. Whoever it was would be found. They would be safe.

"What the hell?!" Elias's voice echoed, muted, across the driveway.

Go time.

Ethan ducked his head back down, listening to Elias' boots thump into the stable at a jog. The same boots on Ethan's feet. He recognized the sound. For a minute, he was afraid Elias might have found ones he liked better by now, but the man never changed. Not even his boots.

Ethan's fingers twitched, ready to jump out, but he forced himself to stay low. Wait patiently as Elias, cussing and mumbling, shuffled into the tack stall, ripped a saddle and pad from the rack, rushed into a stall across from Ethan's, and bridled the horse. Still cussing under his breath, Elias tossed on the saddle and cinched it up.

One strap clicked as he locked down the cinch.

A second. The backstrap.

A third - Breast strap. One buckle. One snap.

Now.

Ethan stood, pushing the door of the stall open.

Elias rounded on him, flinching back as Ethan stepped closer.

"What the he- Who are you!?"

Wow, he really hadn’t changed one bit. Even his hair was the exact length it was when he dropped Ethan off at Crawford’s.

But he looked smaller now. So much smaller. Maybe because Ethan was standing in front of him for the first time since Elias found him.

Ethan tilted his head. "You don't remember me?" He paced slowly to the side, letting Elias' eyes follow him, pulling them away from Nate's stall. Ethan refused to let his eyes drift away from Elias' face as Nate silently stepped out of the stall and moved slowly forward.

Elias squinted at him, gripping the lariat. "You're..." Realization crawled across his face. "Well I'll be damned." Elias smirked at him. "You come to kill me, boy? You tried that before. Didn't go so well for you."

Ethan smiled back as Nate raised the bat. "I think it will go better this time."

Elias had hardly opened his mouth to reply when Nate cracked the bat across the back of his skull. The light flickered beautifully from Elias' eyes as he started to crumple down.

Ethan stepped forward, catching him before he could slump on the floor. He held him still while Nate procured a towel.

"That was nice. Was that a monologue? I'm proud."

"I said like two sentences."

"Sounded like a monologue to me."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "Just hurry up."

Nate wrapped the towel snug around his head. "So bossy..." His voice trailed off as he pulled duct tape from his coat pocket and wrapped it once around the towel, securing it. Elias didn't seem to be bleeding badly enough that it would soak through the fabric. Nate really did know what he was doing. Nate wrapped it a few times around his wrists as well, folding them limply behind his back. He slapped a piece over Elias' mouth for good measure before tucking the roll back in his pocket.

Ethan had to adjust his grip a few times. Elias just flopped and slipped through his arms.

Nate snatched Elias' phone from his pocket, opening it with his thumbprint. They had run the plan so many times that Ethan knew what he was doing without being able to see the screen. He pulled up the contact for Elias' closest neighbor, a cranky man in his 60's who lived miles away. Nate used a stylus in leather-gloved hands to quickly type out, "The damned herd got out, get your ass over here and help me!" Ethan thought that was a poor excuse for an SOS, but that's how their interactions had gone before when Nate pulled up his phone history, so that's what they went with. It was a wonder this guy had any friends at all.

The neighbor lived over five miles away and never responded immediately. Given how late it was, they had until morning at best. At least 20 minutes at worst.

"Okay, good to go." He stepped around Ethan, swing up neatly onto the saddled horse.

Ethan bent down, awkwardly shifting Elias over across his shoulders. His head lulled off the side as Ethan got a better grip on his shoulder and leg. The man was surprisingly easy to lift. Ethan had expected at least a little struggle - but he wasn't weak. Not anymore. Not like before.

Nate walked the horse out, and Ethan followed behind. They moved to the riverbank behind the stable. It was more of a cliff than a bank - the earth had been so washed out over the years that it was a 10-foot drop straight down into deep water.

Ethan knew it well. He had torn through the night before to this spot. He expected to dive neatly off the edge and slide into the safety of the river. He was going to swim with the current, moving far and fast out of range of Elias' remote. Instead, he managed to ruin it at the last moment. Ethan could still feel the stone crunching against his bare toes in the darkness. He hadn't been able to hold back the scream scream as pain shot up his leg, sending him spiraling into the dark water.

He had thrashed against the icy liquid, trying to kick back up to the surface. The moment he did, the collar clicked on, sending waves of electric agony through his body. He sank again, screaming soundlessly, sucking in lungful after lungful of the muddy dark water. Each time he reached the surface, it kicked on again. Ethan had sputtered and choked against the current, but it took him anyway.

He hardly remembered Elias dragging him to shore. He only remembered the rocks cutting into his back. Coughing up water as Elias had pressed the button again and again. Ethan had screamed against his raw throat as Elias' heavy boots beat into him - not stopping until he blacked out once more.

Ethan had woken up in the same cell. No better off than before. This time twitching, freezing, covered in bruises, and a broken foot to top it off. He had sobbed in the corner of the stall for hours before finally drifting off.

And now the same fucking stone was going to be useful for a change. Their awkward party reached the small cliff. Ethan located the traitorous rock, and carefully, with one had, tugged the towel back off Elias' head.

It looked like the bleeding had stopped - or at least was close. It was perfect. Ethan found himself a little annoyed at how perfect Nate's hit was.

Nate watched quietly as Ethan carefully crouched down, letting Elias' bloodied scalp press against the rock. He pulled back up, taking a few shaky, uneven steps back out of the way. His back was starting to twitch under the weight. It didn't help that Elias was completely limp and dang near impossible to grip properly.

"Nice," Nate commented, looking at the small patch of blood on the stone. He let Elias' phone plunk on the ground nearby. "Okay...let's see how well trained you are..." Nate murmured. He moved the rains to one side and pressed his legs in. The horse immediately responded, spinning in a quick, tight circle.

"Oh shit!" Nate laughed, clutching the saddle horn as he spun to the side. He was half hanging off the saddle. A grin lit up his face as he tugged himself back to center, squirming back on top of the horse. Nate looked back to Ethan. "Did you see that!?"

Ethan did his best not to smile. "I thought you were going down for sure."

Nate smirked at him. "No no, I'm a pro." He gripped the horn a little tighter, then did the motion again, in reverse this time.

Ethan watched as hooves tore into the grass, leaving just enough clues. The story would tell itself: Elias saddled up to catch the horses. He got a little too close to the edge. The horse spooked. He fell off, bashing his head in against the rock. Slipping over the edge of the little cliff. Into the water. Disappearing downstream.

It would be considered a tragedy. Such a shame they would never find his body. So sad how all evidence would be lost to the relentless current, sucked away never to be seen again.

Ethan's only hope for escape became the story of Elias' end. It was almost poetic.

Nate danced the horse around until he heard a crunch. The screen of Elias' phone flickered to black.

Perfect.

Nate smirked and swung off the horse, letting the reins fall loose to one side. He patted it on the hip, and it trotted off toward the others, breaking into a run after a few yards.

Nate turned back to Ethan. "Well that went smoother than expected."

Ethan scowled at him. "Did you not expect it to?"

Nate shrugged. "Always plan for the worst, I guess."

Ethan sighed, then shifted Elias to the side. "Help me with this, the fucker's getting heavy."

Ethan kept having to adjust his grip as the fabric slipped under his fingers. "Fuck, you didn't tell me this would be so hard."

"You're complaining? Seriously? I'm the one who has to walk backwards."

"Well I have the arms! I'm carrying the full weight of his torso, you just have legs."

Nate shot him a glare. "It's still hard. Not everyone's a gym rat."

“I’m not a gym rat.”

“You literally live there.”

Together, they shuffled up to the driveway to Nate's care that Ethan had fitted with new tires - the same ones on Elias' truck.

"I'm gonna say this again. Are you sure there's no-"

"Yes I'm sure. Would you stop asking? He thinks the government will spy on him if he has security cameras, he'd never get them."

"That's so stupid."

"Oh? Then where's your security cameras?"

"Ah fuck," Nate slipped a bit before adjusting his grip on Elias' calves. "I at least have logical reasons for not wanting everything I do recorded."

Ethan grunted as he adjusted his grip again, moving up to the truck. "Yeah, you're the pinnacle of sanity and reason."

"Um, rude?"

They dumped Elias into the trunk and snapped the lid closed. Nate pulled the key ring from his pocket. Ethan swiped them away.

"Hey!"

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean what am I doing? Trying to get us out before the neighbor gets here."

Ethan narrowed his eyes. "You forgot the bat, genius."

Nate's eyes went wide. "Fuck."

He sprinted toward the stable, returning moments later, bat in hand.

Ethan shook his head and slid into the driver's seat. Nate hopped in next to him, tossing the bat in the back seat.

"Why do you get to drive?"

"You got to knock him out." He put the car in drive.

Nate sighed. "Fair enough." He clicked the radio on.

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(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @mabledonut @heathenwhump @paleassprince @jadeocean46910 @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @happy-whumper @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @tropes-for-my-md-daydreams )

[whump-whump-baby]

So your Fictional Universe has Horses in it

Alternatively: People Ride Horses in Your Fic, and you’re Not Sure What to Do About It

horse rider/owner and baby writer here, throwing you an infodump that will maybe help with the whole ‘There’s a Horse in the Background here but I Don’t Know What to Do With it’ thing I sometimes see in writing!

Inside this infodump: Horse riding, horse care, horse tack (equipment), falling off a horse (and what usually gets injured), horse lingo, and behaviour.

1. Tame that beast (aka, riding the horse)

a couple things here: Getting on the horse, getting off, steering, etc

Honestly, I’m only including this part because I find that a lot of people skip past the whole ‘getting on the horse’ bit and I find it hilarious. It’s not a weird thing but it can be weird to describe. I get it!

Getting On

Experienced riders will always mount from the left side of the horse. It's a weird tradition that doesn’t really make sense anymore, but it’s still followed because most don’t really see a reason to change it. It supposedly dates back to medieval times and has something to do with where a sword would traditionally be hung on a person’s hip- mounting (Putting your foot in the stirrup, grabbing up high on the saddle, pulling yourself up and over while using your foot in the stirrup to help yourself) from the left means you wouldn’t accidentally poke your horse with your sheath. Not sure if this story has any validity to it, but we all still follow the left rule unless we’re specifically getting a horse used to mounting from the other side for whatever reason.

Getting off

I have a bone to pick with this. Nobody gets off their horse by swinging a leg in front of themselves, over the horse’s neck in front of them, and hopping down facing away from their horse. It’s not the safest bet to attempt because 1. It actually requires a lot of hip strength to swing your leg like that without kicking your poor horse in the neck, and 2. It doesn’t give you a legitimate way to hold onto your horse after dismounting, which is inherently unsafe. Even if you are in possession of The World’s Best Behaved Horse Ever, you always want to be holding onto the reins. Riders usually dismount by leaning forward, swinging a leg behind them and over the horse’s butt, pivoting sideways on their stomach, and sliding down off the horse- keeping a hand on the rein and one on the saddle to slow their descent. That way you always have a hand on your wild beast, who may decide at any given time that the nearby grass is more important than standing still for your dismount. Plus, swinging a leg like that is basically impossible in saddles that feature a saddle horn, like a western saddle.

It’s a little hard to see in this photo, but Geralt’s saddle definitely has some kind of high pommel to it- so he’d most likely dismount the normal way. It’s just easier!

If you tried to dismount like that in this western saddle you would definitely bruise something.

In this saddle (a Dressage saddle) you could probably pull it off.. but why?? All that struggle just to slide down on your butt and land funny, sprawled away from your horse. It’s just not worth it.

Steering and Etc.

Believe it or not, most steering movement actually comes from the rider’s weight in the saddle than their grip on the reins. If we’re looking at this from the realm of something like The Witcher (which is probably going to be my go-to media example because it’s still pretty recent) a relaxed turn is going to look like Geralt isn’t doing too much with his upper body, because he’d be weighting his seat bones in the saddle. Despite his saddle looking a little bulky, Roach could definitely feel it and respond accordingly- horses are pretty sensitive little friends and can feel most of what you’re doing up there, including looking down. (Protip, if you’re learning to ride horses, don’t look down- it’ll unbalance your upper body and make you pitch forward, unbalancing your horse and making yourself more likely to fall off)

A good way to have a character look experienced with riding is to describe someone relaxed but upright, shoulders back, hands closed but relaxed on the reins. They don’t have to be bolt upright, but at ease. A good way to describe a character with little to no riding experience would be to describe them as tense, probably hunching forward a little; hands too high or low and reins too long. See the lovely photos below:

A Dressage rider: she’s looking pretty evenly balanced, is sitting tall but not bolt upright, hands are low, elbows relaxed. Wonderful!

A Beginner: Absolutely no hate to beginners! We all have to start somewhere, But there’s definitely a difference in body language between this rider and our dressage rider. (Side note: PLEASE always wear a helmet on a horse, especially if you’re a beginner, good grief)

2. Horse Care

I don’t think too much needs to be said here, but there’s a couple things that are worth noting.

Grooming

Most horses love a good brushing. They’ll even lean into it if you find an itchy spot!

 If your character has a ton of experience, grooming their horse makes a lovely backdrop for conversations. Riders usually brush their horses before and after riding, to remove dirt and mud and sweat. Manes and tails are brushed if you want to be detail oriented, and feet should always be picked out (A good chance for Character B to oogle Character A’s butt, if thats the kind of story you’re writing) to remove dirt and stones. 

When Not Riding

Your furry partner-in-crime should be untacked and eating grass somewhere. Untacked means all gear removed and put away for the day- in stories like The Witcher, tied to a tree branch or a rest area in a halter is fine. As a horse person it wouldn’t make sense to leave their tack on all night- you’d leave it nearby, but not on them. If your characters are just pausing for a break or something, it’s totally ok- but done for the day? Nah. Let your pony be naked.

Injuries

Horses, like most prey animals, will hide injuries and illness until they physically can’t anymore. Small cuts and scrapes, dependent on where they are, will probably not give a physical response unless you manipulate them somehow (cleaning, applying antibiotics, etc). A horse may show discomfort by a number of signs, but if it really hurts your horse will probably shy away from your touch or may lash out at your hands to keep you from touching it. Signs of discomfort can be pinning their ears back against their head (aka Ow Ow OW, DON’T TOUCH IT, I’m UPSET) to straight up trying to run from you if they think you’re going to attempt to touch it (a more severe reaction for a more severe wound, like a deep cut/laceration/puncture etc). If a horse is in very dire straits you might get no reaction at all- your horse might be hanging its head low, not really responding to your voice or touch, appearing bleary eyed or dull eyed or sleepy. Generally that kind of severe behavior change is considered Very Very Bad and definitely grounds to call a vet for, especially if there’s no sign of physical injury.

3. Horse Tack (Equipment!)

Here’s a quick rundown of horse tack.

All these pieces make up the bridle, reins included.

*Side note- Bits are not cruel, and riders choosing to use them with their horses are not abusive. Bits are a tool riders use to communicate with their horses and there are hundreds of metal finishes, textures, shapes and sizes to fit a horse with a bit that makes them happy and keeps them comfortable. There are some horses who refuse to take bits, and their owners usually turn to a bitless bridle to keep them comfortable- however this is not “kinder” just because of the lack of bit. These bridles are just designed to exert gentle pressure to tell the horse to slow or stop instead of the gentle pressure on the bit. Different horses prefer different things, and none of these things are harmful to the horse if used properly and with care.

This is a diagram of a close contact or Hunter saddle, but the terminology generally applies to all different kinds of saddles. Girths are considered their own piece of tack and not as a part of the saddle. 

Riders who are riding consistently usually at least wipe their tack down with a wet cloth after finishing with it for the day. Because tack is almost always leather, well cared for leather lasts a lot longer if cared for. This is also a great thing to have a character talk over in a fic- have them clean tack while having a hard conversation, or maybe show how quick and not-great of a job they do on their tack if they’re angry or trying to get away from another character closeby. Lots of opportunities! (If you really want to get detailed, cleaning usually looks like: a damp cloth to wipe dirt off and then rubbing a leather conditioner into the tack, which may smell lovely or a little weird depending on the brand)

4. Falling off

I see you, whump writers. (and I love you.)

So You Want your Character to Fall Off:

Falling off is rarely graceful. It can be caused by anything from an unexpected trip to your horse spooking at something, to a jump taken at the wrong spot/speed/angle... opportunities are endless. I have fallen off my horse at the walk because he startled at a dog and I slipped to the side, and I have fallen off over jumps, because my horse actively tried to get me off, or because I just wasn’t paying attention and Oops, how’d I get in the dirt? Generally if you’re looking for a reason for your character to fall off, they are endless. If the one at fault is the horse common reasons are the rider becoming unseated and slipping back/forward/sideways by the horse startling (at legitimately anything sometimes, depending on the horse.. let your imagination go wild!) changing speed or direction suddenly. All of these things will affect how your character comes off and how they’ll hit dirt with what body part. IE- pitching forward will probably land you on the top of your shoulders, if you’re lucky- if not, you’ll land on your head. Most people will land on the tops of their shoulders as the instinct to protect their head kicks in, but sometimes gravity is a bitch. It happens.

This is where experience comes in, too- Experienced riders will usually react quicker and will try to save themselves, either grabbing onto their horse’s mane or neck or even just keeping a death grip on the reins as adrenaline kicks in- all of which keeps your upper body higher than your lower and can lead to landing on your bum/side/feet instead of your head. Beginner or inexperienced riders might not react that quickly and end up landing roughly. This is not to say that more experienced riders will always come out less injured than beginners, but that experienced riders sense of self preservation will kick in faster frankly just because they’ve fallen off more. This is also why you see more beginners breaking arms in riding accidents- as you learn to ride you are taught (if you were taught like I was) to NEVER throw your arms out to catch yourself during a fall- it’s more likely that you will land on top of your straight arm and give yourself a wicked compound break. Your instinct changes from trying to save yourself to trying everything you can to staying in your saddle. Self preservation is a wonderful thing!

If Your Character is Sick/Already Injured:

The motion of the horse, even in walk, is going to make them feel worse- especially any injury to the lower stomach area. That’s where the body absorbs most of the motion from the horse’s gaits, especially in the hips/lower abdomen. So if Character A has a stab wound in his stomach and Character B has gotten them into the saddle to bring them to help.... Character A is gonna be in some pretty decent pain until they can dismount. For head injuries the same motion might make them dizzy or nauseous. But, good news! If your character slumps forward completely while keeping their arms on either side of the horse’s neck, they will probably manage to stay in the saddle for a decent amount of time. Their lower body and leg (hopefully still in the stirrups) will keep them in the saddle unless jostled out of it. (This, of course, only making sense if the saddle in question doesn’t have a horn, because otherwise your character won’t be able to slump forward far at all. )If they manage to slip off the horse in this position, they’re going to land head/chest/upper body first, especially if only semi-conscious due to previous injuries. 

If dealing with any other injuries, getting on the horse might be nicer than walking but will definitely not keep anything still- any motion the horse makes will make the rider’s body move and jostle the injury, no matter where the injury is.

5. Wrapping it up: Horse Lingo and Behaviour

Horse terms are easy to find and but a google search away, but here’s some of the main terms:

Gaits: A horse’s movement. Walk, trot, canter and gallop with gallop being the fastest.

Aids: what riders use to communicate with the horse. This includes your hand (on the reins) your leg (squeezing to ask for gaits) and your voice.

(Riders talk to their horses! all the time. Even if just to say good boy/girl. Commonly we say things like hoooh, whoa, easy, no, etc. Sometimes just talking to your nervous horse helps calm them down)

Green horse: Inexperienced horse, usually new to being ridden, usually young.

Mare: Female Horse.

Stallion: Male horse, not neutered. Stallions can have a reputation for being hotheaded and sometimes hard to handle, but not all are like that.

Gelding: Male horse, neutered. Most people who have male horses will refer to them as geldings on paperwork.

Pony: a small horse. Not a baby horse. Just smaller.

Colt: Baby male.

Filly: Baby female.

You can probably use google for anything else without concern that you’re using a term that's unnatural.

Behaviour

My rule of thumb for writing behaviour is this: If it seems like a disney dog in a movie would do it........ it’s safe to say a horse wouldn’t. Writing a horse like a disney dog is too unnatural and will definitely make any horse people reading your story give an eye roll.

An example:

Your character has just dismounted their horse after a long ride.

A horse would: maybe sniff your pockets for treats (especially if you had some before you got on) stand next to you as you talked to someone, try to rub their head on you (scratches!! especially if they’re sweaty) maybe perk up at something in the distance if distracted enough

A horse would not: Shake their head at you, whinny at you, prance around and “smile” at you... roll their eyes at something you said... point like Lassie at something in the distance... etc. 

Horses definitely have personalities! They can be affectionate and snuggly, nervous or brave, flighty or stoic... but they don’t emote the same way a cartoon character would. The best example i’ve seen of horse interaction in media would probably be the horses in Disney’s Brave. If you pay attention to the way horses interact with each other and react to events in the movie, it’s pretty spot on!

Follow your gut. You can still have a horse with a personality, but if it feels too cartoony, it probably is!

This is a great infographic that explains body language as well.

I hope this helps anyone who wants to include more horse interaction in their writing!

[ironwhumper359]

14

“Just a short little prompt fill” I said to myself. “Something to work on in my downtime between longer fics.” Oops I made a whole au and I’m attached to it now, lol. 

14: “Good news! I brought you a friend.” 

CW: Pet whump, creature whump, fantasy au, restraints, referenced conditioning, child whumper

---

“More tea, Daisy?” Matilda asked, holding up her porcelain teapot. Daisy eyed her for a moment, and Matilda giggled. “You can answer, silly!” 

“Yes please, Lady Matilda,” Daisy said immediately. 

“Here you go!” Matilda said, tipping the pot forward to mime pouring. “One lump of sugar or two?” 

“Two please, my lady,” Daisy said, and Matilda nodded primly, picking up a small set of tongs. 

She mimed dropping two lumps of sugar into Daisy’s cup, then one into her own. She put the cup to her lips and pretended to drink, grinning when Daisy did the same. 

“I have to say, Daisy, your wings are looking particularly ex-quis-ite today!” Matilda chirped, slowly sounding out the larger word she’d often heard her mother use at grown-up garden parties. “I love how the light catches them just so!” 

An expression Matilda couldn’t quite read flashed through her fairy’s eyes for a moment, but before she could figure it out Daisy’s smile was back, wider and brighter than before. 

“Thank you, Lady Matilda.”

“You’re welcome!” Matilda said cheerfully, swinging her legs a bit as she pretended to take another sip of tea. “Oooh, ooh, guess what!” 

“What is it, Lady Matilda?” Daisy barely had time to ask before Matilda launched into her story. Mother often said she talked too much for polite conversation, but that was part of what was fun about playing with Daisy, Matilda didn’t need to be polite!

“Father will be coming home today!” she said, clapping her hands. “And that means I’ll get a present! He always brings me a present when he comes home from trips, and I hope it’s something really nice, he’s been gone for so long this time…what do you think he’ll bring me? Maybe a new dress, or a box of sweets...do you think he’ll bring something for you, too Daisy? Oh I’d like that, maybe a new satin cushion for your cage, or a set of gold combs for me to put in your hair, wouldn’t that just look so beautiful with your leash and collar?” 

“Matilda!” her mother called sharply, interrupting Matilda’s musing about her presents. “Time to put your toys away now, your father will be home soon.” 

“Aww, but Mother-” 

“I won’t tell you twice, Matilda,” her mother warned, and Matilda sighed. 

“Fiiiine.” 

She got to her feet and quickly scooped up the dolls and teddy bears she had set around the table to make up the rest of the tea party’s guests. She dropped them into her toy chest, then walked back to where Daisy was sitting, unhooking her leash from the brass loop on the side of the table. 

“Come on, Daisy,” Matilda said, tugging on the leash, and Daisy quickly scrambled to her feet. When Matilda had first gotten her last year, Daisy had stood a few inches taller than her, but Matilda had grown a bit since her eighth birthday, and now she was about the same height as her pet. 

Matilda led Daisy to her cage, which took up the entire corner of the playhouse. Her father had ordered it to be custom made just for Daisy, and it reminded Matilda of a bigger version of the parrot cage she’d once seen at a party at her cousin’s estate. Daisy slipped inside, waiting patiently by the door as Matilda made sure the lock was secure before reaching through the bars to unclip the leash from the shiny golden collar she wore around her neck. She hung the leash on a hook on the cage door, then grinned, waving at her pet.

“Bye Daisy!” she said. “I’ll come visit you again after supper, alright?” 

She skipped out into the garden, where her mother was waiting to close the playhouse door behind her. 

“Did you remember to lock the cage, dear?” Mother asked, and Matilda rolled her eyes. 

“Yes, Mother.”  

“Good. Now, come with me. Your father will be home any minute, and he has a surprise for you.”

A grin stretched across Matilda’s face. She couldn’t wait to find out what it was! 

--- 

Matilda was not an unkind little girl. She was sweet, polite, and as far as Lorrella could tell, never hurt anybody on purpose. 

This, of course, did little to soothe the chafed skin beneath Lorrella’s collar or the ache for freedom in her heart. 

Matilda did not seem to realize that her beloved fairy was a prisoner in the opulent playhouse her father had built her on the grounds of their family manor. She never registered Lorrella’s discomfort, though that was mostly because Lorrella took great pains to hide it from her. Matilda was bound to become upset if her pet wasn’t acting happy, after all. 

And rule number one was Don’t upset Matilda. 

So Lorrella couldn’t really blame the girl for not realizing when she was uncomfortable, but Matilda still didn’t seem to think twice about leading her around on a leash like a dog or locking her in a six by six foot cage whenever they weren’t “playing together.” She certainly hadn’t been interested in learning Lorrella’s real name, content instead to dub her “Daisy” because it sounded pretty.  

Daisy was a dress up doll, a hair model, an audience for impromptu storytimes and a companion for tea parties and garden outings. Whatever Matilda wanted for as long as she wanted, that’s what Daisy had to be. Lorrella was allowed to exist only in these quiet moments when Matilda left her here alone; when nothing was wanted of her and she could whisper her name into the empty room so that she would not forget it. 

The most frightening thing was that while Lorrella longed for such a reprieve when she was with Matilda, whenever she was alone, she’d begun to find herself wishing for the girl’s company. Lorrella was nobody, did nothing, belonged nowhere when Matilda was gone. Daisy, at least, had something to do, had something to be, even if that something was little more than an object to be shaped and molded by someone else. 

Daisy belonged to Matilda, but Daisy had a purpose. Lorrella belonged to no one, but her life had ceased to have meaning altogether. 

The door to the playhouse suddenly burst open and Lorrella jumped in surprise as Matilda darted into the room.

“Daisy!” she cried, running up to the cage and grinning from ear to ear. “Good news! Father brought you a friend!” 

Lorrella blinked and tilted her head, a silent question. Matilda reached through the bars and patted her on the head, then grabbed her collar and pulled. Lorrella suppressed a wince at the sudden jerk of movement and leaned forward so that Matilda could clip the leash on. 

“Come on, come on, you have to see it!” Matilda said.  As soon as she had Lorrella out of the cage, she dashed out of the room, and Lorrella had no choice but to follow as quickly as she could. 

Matilda hurried through the grounds and Lorrella stumbled after her, biting back a yelp every time Matilda ran too fast or turned too suddenly for her to keep up. Her neck was already growing sore, and she’d tumbled over enough times that her knees would be bound to have an angry smattering of fresh bruises by morning. She desperately wanted to call out for Matilda to slow down, but she held her tongue. 

Rule number two was Never speak unless spoken to. 

Matilda finally skidded to a halt outside the family stables, and Lorrella let herself fall to her knees beside her, gasping for air. 

“Father!” Matilda called, knocking on the stable door. “I brought Daisy to come see it too! Can we come in?” 

Lorrella stared at Matilda incredulously. All this fuss just to meet a new pony?

Matilda’s father appeared at the door, and Lorrella shrank back, casting her eyes downward. 

“Yes, my dear,” he said. “But you must remember to move slowly, alright? It is still quite wild, and not used to people yet.” 

Matilda nodded solemnly, and her father opened the door wide, allowing her to pull Lorrella inside. They passed through most of the stable and Matilda occasionally paused to wave at a favorite horse, but they didn’t stop moving until they reached the end of the row of stalls. The stall at the back was open, and as they approached, Lorrella could hear the stable hands muttering to each other.  

“Shit! Hold the damn thing still, will you? I can’t buckle these straps tight enough when it’s squirming so much!” 

“I will thank you,” Matilda’s father said coldly,” to not swear in front of my daughter.” 

The two snapped to attention instantly, twin looks of apology on their faces. 

“Yes, Lord Tracey, sorry Lord Tracey,” said the one who’d cursed, ducking his head.

“Can I show Daisy now?” Matilda asked, and her fathers face softened as he looked down at her.

“Of course, my dear. The creature is secure?” he added to the stablehands, and they nodded quickly.

“Yes, my lord. Took a fair bit of wrangling, but it shouldn’t be a problem now.” 

They stepped aside, revealing the animal in the stall, and Lorrella was unable to stop herself from gasping. She froze, glancing up at Lord Tracey, but he only had eyes for Matilda, who was staring at the creature with a wide grin 

It was not, as Lorrella had first assumed, simply a new pony; it was a centaur. Their upper body was wrapped up tightly in a harness that forced its arms behind its back, and their face was partially covered by a bitted bridle, the lead of which was tied to a hook on the wall. 

Lorrella had never seen a centaur before, and she was no expert on horses either, but even she could see that the creature was only a child. Judging by the face alone, one not much older than Matilda herself, or at least whatever the centaur equivalent was to eight years old. The poor thing was clearly terrified, too; they were trembling slightly and pawing at the ground with one of their front hooves.

“Daisy, this is Coco!” Matilda said happily. “Coco, this is Daisy! The two of you are gonna be the best of friends, I know it! What do you think, Daisy, isn’t she just the greatest present you ever saw?” 

The centaur flinched when Matilda spoke, and Lorrella glanced back at Lord Tracey, who was watching the whole exchange with what on the surface looked like a bored expression. She swallowed, and shot the centaur what she hoped was an apologetic look before answering. 

“Yes, Lady Matilda,” she said quietly. “She’s perfect for you.”