#elf whump

[chaotic-orphan]

Could you write a story where a king who outlawed magical beings (like fae, elves, sorcerers, etc Bc they’ve tried to kill him multiple times ) has a trial for a young magical creature found in his lands, but the creature isn’t evil, didn’t even KNOW they were trespassing, and is terrified they’re gonna be executed or tortured or something. But the king doesn’t hurt it, since the magical being didn’t mean any harm? Could turn into found family or he just lets it go or something

Love ur writing!!

A Benignant Mischief

@annablogsposts THIS ASK HAS CONSUMED MY EVERY WAKING THOUGHT SINCE I GOT IT! IN THE MIDST OF FEBUWHUMP NO DOUBT! THE GALL, THE NERVE!!!! I must say, this idea has taken hold of a good chunk of my brain and I have just been obsessed with Cosimo and Henrik (who will be introduced in part two), I hope you love them as much as I do. There is far more than this part written, but I had to divide it up to get some of it published so you didn't think it was just collecting dust in my inbox.

Thank you so much for this ask, it has rekindled an obsession with writing plot that isn't exclusively whump?! If that makes sense. I hope you enjoy it!

*~*~*~*~*

Cosimo ran through the forest with a sharp urgency, an unconscious boy cradled close to his chest as he went. The rain pattered down on his head as he ran, bare feet clawing at the ground to keep his grip. To an onlooker he could have been running on plain terrain instead over the wiry and rough forest, leaves slick with water; as if he were one with the Earth; knew every root, every nettle and broken tree bows that he hopped over with graceful ease.

His sharp eyes searched the forest frantically, pleading for a shelter to open up to them. Ahead was a wooden fence, tree branches crisscrossing before him like a blockade. Cosimo bowed his head and turned to the side, curling his upper body around the smaller one in his arms. Branches snapped and scratched at him as he pushed his way through with a determined resolve.

When he finally emerged from the branches, he found what he knew would be waiting for him. A small burrow made in a circle of trees, an opening in the trunk of a thick elfbow tree, the size of three fully grown oaks. A shelter mercifully presenting itself. Cosimo let out a soft sigh and whispered a soft thank you to the forest for providing.

His limbs grew heavier and heavier the closer he got to rest, but he walked on, slower now but just as strong as he was when he set out from court. He lay the boy in his arms down on a bed of leaves for the moment under the shelter of the elfbow. Cosimo touched the trunk as he entered, his heart feeling full as he did.

“Thank you protecting us,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to the entrance. Then he pressed his knuckles against the unconscious boy’s forehead, letting out a soft sigh. He was okay. Not as hot as he was before. Cosimo would gather food and herbs tomorrow to help the fever, but at least he was stable for now.

Cosimo took off his pack that he had hastily gathered from home. Two blankets, two pillows, a canteen of water, a hunting knife — just the essentials.

“The very bare necessities, Cosimo,” Cosimo chastised himself with a sigh, running a hand through his soaked hair flicking the rain from it. Cosimo put a pillow under the boy’s head and wrapped him in a blanket to keep him warm. Cosimo sat with back against the trunk of the tree, arms wrapped around his knees that he hugged to his chest and just watched the rain patted down on leaves outside the elfbow. The gloomy grey of the evening bled into a darker, broodier grey but the rain let up before night fell with its coat of deep purples and midnight blues.

Cosimo didn’t know at what point he fell asleep, but he woke to footsteps cracking the leaves beneath its feet and he was immediately alert. His hand shot and grabbed the hunting knife, unsheathing it and lunging forward teeth bared.

He came face to snout with a fox that was frozen in place, brown eyes meeting Cosimo’s with a slightly dazed and stunned glimmer to them. Cosimo let out a breath that reflected on the air with a rolling wave of smoke, before settling back into the nook-like shelter of the elfbow. The fox didn’t retreat, instead he sniffed the air and timidly took a step towards Cosimo and the unconscious boy beside him.

Cosimo inclined his head slightly and the fox entered the elfbow with all the inquisitiveness of a cat trying to sniff out the source of fish. The fox turned his head to the boy, and glancing back at Cosimo quickly for permission he curled up on the unconscious boy’s chest. Curling into a little ball on top of him, deep brown eyes meeting Cosimo’s again before closing half-lidded.

Emotion clogged Cosimo’s throat as he reached out to pet the fox, allowing the animal to sniff his hand before allowing the affection.

“See?” Cosimo whispered to the air. “You’re not nobody. You’re like me.”

Cosimo didn’t sleep exactly, but he at least got some semblance of rest before Dawn broke and he woke with it. He looked down at the sleeping boy, who was still asleep, the fox now curled up to the boy’s side. Cosimo reached his hand out and brushed the boy’s hair back from his forehead to feel it.

He was warm, not too hot. Maybe the fever had passed with the rain? Cosimo didn’t know enough about it, but he knew the rejuvenation powers of rain that came with him so he suspected maybe it could be the saviour of the boy too.

Cosimo drank some water from the canteen before grabbing the empty rucksack he took with him and slinging it over his shoulder across his body. He took the water and the hunting knife and set off about the day. When he exited the elfbow the sun was only starting to rise, birds heralding the morning.

Cosimo looked back to the sleeping boy and the fox. He pressed his hand to the tree and leaned his forehead into the back of his palm.

Protect them, please. I’ll return with food.

Cosimo felt the rush of feeling that flooded him when he felt around nature. Then he turned and walked out of the small clearing and into the embrace of the forest again. He remembered hearing running water when he was running with the boy, the sound distinct from the patter of the rain.

The dense woods were not nearly as imposing as they were the night before, when Cosimo’s thoughts were on finding shelter and nothing else. There should be some mushrooms nearby he could roast, maybe some berry bushes if he was lucky and water. Not enough to feed them properly, but to sustain them? It would be enough.

Cosimo found the stream under a thicket of leaves. It was slightly lower than the ground that Cosimo was on, so he simply extended a leg and slid down the bank to the stream, opening his canteen as he went. His feet settled into the damp earth, and he crouched down to refill the canteen. Not before drinking the last of the remaining water.

He heard a huff from his left so Cosimo glanced towards the sound and saw a horse lapping up water from the stream. Cosimo froze like the fox had the night before, before kicking himself into action. He sprung up, canteen forgotten in the stream and bolted back up the bank, his fingers clawing into the clay.

He scrambled to the top and was met with a pair of legs. There was a flash and a pressure on his chest and Cosimo was airborne, gravity grabbing at him and bringing him down hard into the outer bank of the stream. Cosimo let out a gasp of air on impact but quickly sprung to his feet and turned to hop the stream to the other side.

A hand grabbed him by the strap of his rucksack, and he was yanked backwards. “Hey! Wait!” Cosimo cried, bringing an elbow back sharply and his head back too. He slipped under the strap of his bag and grabbed the hunting knife and hopped the stream with ease. He didn’t look back.

Humans were bad. They killed people like him, there shouldn’t even be any for miles around!

Cosimo climbed up the opposite bank of earth with deft speed and hoisted himself to the other side, knife ready in one hand, the sheath in his other with one thought and one thought only — to go back to the boy in the elfbow.

He didn’t account for more soldiers to be on the other side of the stream. Cosimo froze again when he was first recognised by another man. They were all fully grown humans. Cosimo had yet to pass his fifteenth year, at least he had a slight boost in height, but he was too skinny to fight.

There wasn’t time to think before a hand was bunched in his shirt again. Cosimo whirled on his heel, slashing out blindly with the knife. The blade cut into the soldier’s cheek Cosimo realised with wide eyes, and the Soldier let him go. Cosimo fell to the side at the sudden lack of force holding him, but quickly got his bearings again and ran to the right of the soldier’s camp.

An arrow whizzed by his ear, startling him and Cosimo lunged to the left only to be caught with a kick to his leg. Cosimo stumbled but remained standing, turning to his new attacker baring his teeth only to get a punch to the face. Cosimo’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell, stiff as an oak onto the forest floor.

A boot stomped down onto Cosimo’s wrist wielding the knife and Cosimo cried out, reaching over with his free hand to paw at the boot but it wouldn’t budge. A knee to the chest followed and Cosimo cried out, trying to wiggle himself free but the human was too heavy. Whether his weight was from his diet or the weight of the uniform of metal that the man wore Cosimo didn’t know.

“Well, well, well,” the human man remarked. Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat, struggling to free himself from the man’s pin. “You’re only a baby, aren’t you?”

Cosimo bared his teeth in response. They were so close to where Cosimo had left the boy and the fox, and he prayed that the elfbow would protect them from the soldiers.

“Let go of me,” Cosimo demanded, eyes blazing up at the man. The man smiled, something wicked twinkling in his eyes.

“Have you run away from home? You do know what we do to your people in these parts, don’t you?”

Cosimo let out a cry of frustration at trying and failing pathetically to free himself from the man’s grip.

“Please,” Cosimo said. “I don’t mean you any harm. I was just coming for water.”

“Won’t do harm my arse,” the soldier that Cosimo cut ground out, fury winding his features tight. Cosimo didn’t see him lift his leg, but his head whipped to the side with the impact. Cosimo righted his head too early as the man he injured stomped a foot down on Cosimo’s face.

Cosimo heard the bones in his nose crack inside his head while he screamed out loud, a quiet whimper following after his scream died in his throat.

“Hey!” The soldier pinning Cosimo growled. “You can’t kill it. They must be brought to court before their execution.”

Execution?

Cosimo’s struggles to break free renewed at the thoughts of the soldiers taking him away from the boy. “No! No, you can’t! I can’t leave the forest, please!”

The man above him tilted his lips down into a frown. “Sorry kid. Orders are orders, we have to bring ya in.”

“Don’t talk to it like it’s a child,” the angry soldier scolded. The man on top of him reached over and plucked the knife from Cosimo’s grip. Cosimo let out a soft whine at the object of his defence leaving his grasp.

“Just get the irons and let me deal with h—” the man above him said, then corrected himself, glancing down at Cosimo with a frown. “It.”

The angry man stormed off out of sight. Cosimo just stared above at the man still pining him to the forest floor.

“Please…” Cosimo tried. “Please don’t kill me.”

“Like I said kid,” said the man. “There has to be a trial in front of the king.”

Cosimo’s eyes widened significantly. There wasn’t a king for miles around court… how far had Cosimo travelled, and in what direction? The question lingered on his tongue, and he wanted to voice it, but thought better of asking the enemy… or even worse, letting them know just how clueless Cosimo really was.

The man stared down at Cosimo with a stern glance. “I’m going to get you to sit up, if you try to escape, we will catch you, and the other soldiers will hurt you again. Do you understand?”

Cosimo nodded. He hated himself for it, but he had to listen to this man. He seemed to be the only one who didn’t want him dead at that moment. The angry soldier returned with two bands of metal attached together with a thick link of metal between them.

“What— what are they?” Cosimo asked, his voice cracking with fear. The soldier helped Cosimo to sit up which caused a wicked amount of pain in his nose to flare up and Cosimo grunted with the effort.

The man took the metal from the angry soldier and dismissed him with a wave. The other soldier didn’t want to listen but obeyed the man when he told him to go verbally.

The man opened the metal loop and showed it to Cosimo, saying with a reassuring smile: “They open like this, see?”

Cosimo leaned in closer to inspect the metal. “What do they do?” He asked, a little less scared at seeing them up close. The man lifted his hand and put the metal over his own wrist.

“They tighten over your wrist like this, see? They lock— well, they essentially keep your hands tied behind your back so you can’t hurt someone again.”

Not have use of his hands. Cosimo shook his head vehemently. “No. No. I won’t hurt anyone else; I promise. Don’t put them on me.”

The man’s smile faded back into a frown. “I’m sorry, but I have to. Please don’t fight me. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”

Cosimo was trembling in the man’s hands, but he nodded his consent for the man to grab Cosimo’s wrist. Cosimo screamed when the metal touched his wrist and bolted back away from the man.

“Wait! Please! Please! Wait! Ow, please! I won’t hurt anyone!” The man caught Cosimo’s ankle before he could get further away from him and dragged him back. “Please don’t. Please! I’ll be good.”

A shadow crossed the man’s face as he grabbed Cosimo’s arm and pulled it behind Cosimo’s back before locking the second cuff around Cosimo’s wrist.

Cosimo let out a hiss as the metal burned a circle around his wrists, tears coming to his eyes. “Please, I’m sorry. Take them off. I’m sorry. What— agh! What is it?!”

The man grabbed Cosimo’s arms to stop him struggling more and hurting himself. “Iron. It’s a metal that is poisonous to your kind.”

“Please,” Cosimo whispered, the plea coming out soft and childish, fat tears trailing down his cheeks. “Please take them off.”

“I can’t,” said the man. “I’m sorry,” and it sounded like he meant it. The man then got to his feet and waited patiently for Cosimo to do the same. Cosimo pushed himself up, his balance going off and he hissed as he moved his hands to catch himself. All they touched was iron and it burned. The man put a hand under Cosimo’s armpits once he saw the boy struggling and helped him into a standing position.

“Thank you,” Cosimo said, the words like ash on his tongue. Thanking humans now? What would court think of him? His mind trailed back to the boy in the elfbow and guilt flood his body as he was pushed forward gently by the man.

“Change of plan, boys. We are bringing this one back to the King.”

One of the other men stood up, his face the shape of a weasels; small wisps of hair clung to his upper lip and chin in what Cosimo could only assume was supposed to be a beard and a moustache. The soldier lifted his nose high in the air when he looked up at Cosimo, grinning up at him and revealing yellowing teeth.

“It’s not even fully grown,” said the soldier with a high-pitched voice. The nice man holding Cosimo scoffed and pushed Cosimo forward again.

“Either are you, McClagen.”

“Does it know that we kill things like that?” McClagen sneered. The man didn’t reply, but Cosimo’s fate weighed heavy on him, heavier than a cloak made of stone. He frowned as the nice man led him passed the other Soldiers readying to take off again.

—

Continued here

[erdarielthewhumper]

oops my hand slipped, have my girls again for a change

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Scarred Among the Mundane Masterlist.

Finn is an arsonist and exiled elf. Verne is a sorcerer. Practicing sorcery on humans is banned, but who’s going to care what happens to an elf? When Finn falls into Verne’s prison hands, every day is a new day in hell until other people begin to take notice of the screams echoing inside the sorcerer’s castle. If Finn thinks rock bottom is being Verne’s test subject, he’s dead wrong. It can and will get a lot worse.

Now, he’s no longer sure he wants to look at his own reflection.

— —

Captivity. Fantasy whump and an elf whumpee. Some truly nasty torture. A gradual breakdown and loss of self.

— —

(cws in the individual posts)

burning stuff

repercussions

What a Beautiful Day: The day starts out great and then gets so much worse. Finn meets Verne. Absolute chaos.

Fate Worse Than Death: Woohoo, pull out the pillory. Finn threatens to burn down the village. Thing cannot get worse for him. Sike.

Welcome Home: Local sorcerer lives in creepy castle with her dad (a skeleton). Has all sorts of fun things (lying) planned for Finn.

Bad Blood: Verne tries out her theory on Finn. Lots of screaming, lots of blood.

Flinching: There’s a metal table with restraints— oh god—

Not Actually Vivisection: but it’s awfully close

Sunlight and Skeletons: Nice try Finn, but you can't escape that easy

Table Turning: introducing a jerk and another jerk. yay.

tagging: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sunshiline-writes (lmk if you want to be added/ removed)

[macknus]

A Benignant Mischief (I)

While I work on the next part of the series, enjoy some of the updated version for refreshers :)

*~*~*~*~*

Cosimo ran through the forest with a sharp urgency, an unconscious boy cradled close to his chest as he went. The rain pattered down on his head as he ran, bare feet clawing at the ground to keep his grip. To an onlooker he could have been running on plain terrain instead over the wiry and rough forest, leaves slick with water; as if he were one with the Earth; knew every root, every nettle and broken tree bows that he hopped over with graceful ease.  

His sharp eyes searched the forest frantically, pleading for a shelter to open up to them. Ahead was a wooden barricade, tree branches crisscrossing with hedges and leaves before him like a blockade. Cosimo bowed his head and turned to the side, curling his upper body around the smaller one in his arms. Branches snapped and scratched at him as he pushed his way through with a determined resolve.  

When he finally emerged from the branches, he found what he knew would be waiting for him. A small burrow made in a circle of trees, an opening in the trunk of a thick Elfbow tree, the size of three fully grown oaks. A shelter mercifully presenting itself. Cosimo let out a soft sigh and whispered a soft thank you to the forest for providing.  

His limbs grew heavier and heavier the closer he got to rest, but he walked on, slower now, but just as strong as he was when he set out from court. He lay the boy in his arms down on a bed of leaves for the moment under the shelter of the Elfbow. Cosimo touched the trunk as he entered, his heart feeling full as he did.  

“Thank you protecting us,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to the entrance. He pressed his knuckles against the unconscious boy’s forehead, letting out a soft sigh. He was okay. Not as hot as he before. Cosimo would gather food and herbs tomorrow to help the fever, but at least he was stable for now.  

Cosimo took off his pack that he had hastily gathered from home. Two blankets, two pillows, a canteen of water, a hunting knife — just the essentials.  

“The very bare necessities, Cosimo,” Cosimo chastised with a sigh, running a hand through his soaked hair flicking the rain from it. Cosimo put a pillow under the boy’s head and wrapped him in a blanket to keep him warm. Cosimo sat with his back against the trunk of the tree, arms wrapped around his knees that he hugged to his chest. He watched the rain patter down on leaves outside the Elfbow. The gloomy grey of the evening bled into a darker, broodier grey but the rain let up before night fell with its coat of deep purples and midnight blues.  

Cosimo didn’t know at what point he fell asleep, but he woke to footsteps cracking the leaves beneath its feet and he was immediately alert. His hand shot and grabbed the hunting knife, unsheathing it and lunging forward into a deep crouch, teeth bared.  

He came nose to snout with a fox that was frozen in place, brown eyes meeting Cosimo’s with a slightly dazed and stunned glimmer to them. Cosimo let out a breath that reflected on the air with a rolling wave of smoke, before settling back into the nook-like shelter of the Elfbow. The fox didn’t retreat, instead he sniffed the air and timidly took a step towards Cosimo and the unconscious boy beside him.  

Cosimo inclined his head slightly and the fox entered the Elfbow with all the inquisitiveness of a cat trying to sniff out the source of fish. The fox turned his head to the boy, and glancing back at Cosimo quickly for permission he climbed up on the unconscious boy’s chest, curling into a little ball on top of him, deep brown eyes meeting Cosimo’s again before closing half-lidded.  

Emotion clogged Cosimo’s throat as he reached out to pet the fox, allowing the animal to sniff his hand before allowing the affection.  

“See?” Cosimo whispered to the sleeping boy. “You’re not nobody. You’re like me.”  

Cosimo didn’t sleep exactly, but he at least got some semblance of rest before dawn broke, and he woke with it. He looked down at the sleeping boy, the fox had moved from his chest and was curled up to the boy’s side. Cosimo reached his hand out and brushed the boy’s damp hair back from his forehead.

He was warm, not too hot. Maybe the fever had passed with the rain? Cosimo didn’t know enough about it, but he knew the rejuvenation powers of rain that came with him so he suspected maybe it could be the saviour of the boy too.  

Cosimo drank some water from the canteen before grabbing the empty rucksack he took with him and slinging it over his shoulder across his body. He took the water and the hunting knife and set off about the day. When he exited the Elfbow the sun was only starting to rise, birds heralding the morning.  

Cosimo looked back to the sleeping boy and the fox. He pressed his hand to the tree and leaned his forehead against his knuckles.  

Protect them, please. I’ll return with food.  

Cosimo felt the rush of feeling that flooded him when he was surrounded by nature. He took one last glance at the boy before he turned and walked out of the small clearing and into the embrace of the forest again. He remembered hearing rushing water when he was running with the boy, the sound distinct from the patter of the rain.  

The dense woods were not nearly as imposing as they were the night before, when Cosimo’s thoughts were on finding shelter and nothing else. There should be some mushrooms nearby he could roast, maybe some berry bushes if he was lucky, and water. Not enough to feed them properly, but to sustain them? It would be enough.  

Cosimo found the stream under a thicket of leaves. It was slightly lower than the ground Cosimo was on, so he simply extended a leg and slid down the bank to the stream, opening his canteen as he went. His feet settled into the damp earth, and he crouched down to refill the canteen. Not before drinking the last of the remaining water.  

He heard a huff from his left so Cosimo glanced towards the sound and saw a horse lapping up water from the stream. Cosimo froze like the fox the night before, before kicking himself into action. He sprung up, canteen forgotten in the stream and bolted back up the bank, his fingers clawing into the clay.  

He scrambled to the top and was met with a pair of legs. There was a flash and a pressure on his chest and Cosimo was airborne, gravity grabbing at him and bringing him down hard into the outer bank of the stream. Cosimo let out a gasp of air on impact but quickly sprung to his feet and turned to hop the stream to the other side.  

A hand grabbed him by the strap of his rucksack, and he was yanked backwards. “Hey! Wait!” Cosimo cried, bringing an elbow back sharply and his head back too. He slipped under the strap of his bag and grabbed the hunting knife, hopping over the stream with ease. He didn’t look back.  

Humans were bad. They killed people like him, there shouldn’t even be any for miles around!  

Cosimo climbed up the opposite bank of earth with deft speed and hoisted himself to the other side, knife ready in one hand, the sheath in his other with one thought and one thought only — to go back to the boy in the Elfbow.  

He didn’t account for more soldiers to be on the other side of the stream. Cosimo froze again when he was first recognised by another man. They were all fully grown humans. Fully grown male humans. Cosimo had yet to pass his fifteenth year, at least he had a slight boost in height, but he was too skinny to fight.  

There wasn’t time to think before a hand was bunched in his shirt again. Cosimo whirled on his heel, slashing out blindly with the knife. The blade cut into the soldier’s cheek Cosimo realised with wide eyes, and the Soldier let him go. Cosimo fell to the side at the sudden lack of force holding him, but quickly got his bearings again and ran to the right of the soldier’s camp.  

An arrow whizzed by his ear, startling him and Cosimo lunged to the left only to be caught with a kick to his leg. Cosimo stumbled but remained standing, turning to his new attacker baring his teeth only to get a punch to the face. Cosimo’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell, stiff as an oak onto the forest floor.  

A boot stomped down onto Cosimo’s wrist wielding the knife and Cosimo cried out, reaching over with his free hand to paw at the boot but it wouldn’t budge. A knee to the chest followed and Cosimo cried out, trying to wiggle himself free but the human was too heavy. Whether his weight was from his diet, or the weight from his uniform of metal Cosimo didn’t know.  

“Well, well, well,” the human man remarked. Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat, struggling to free himself from the man’s pin. “You’re only a baby, aren’t you?”  

Cosimo bared his teeth in response. They were so close to where Cosimo had left the boy and the fox, and he prayed that the Elfbow would protect them from the soldiers.  

“Let go of me,” Cosimo demanded, eyes blazing up at the man. The man smiled, something wicked twinkling in his eyes.  

“Have you run away from home? You do know what we do to your people in these parts, don’t you?”  

Cosimo let out a cry of frustration at trying and failing pathetically to free himself from the man’s grip.  

“Please,” Cosimo said. “I don’t mean you any harm. I was just coming for water.”  

“Won’t do harm my arse,” the soldier that Cosimo cut ground out, fury winding his features tight. Cosimo didn’t see him lift his leg, but his head whipped to the side with the impact. Cosimo righted his head too early as the man he injured stomped a foot down on Cosimo’s face.  

Cosimo heard the bones in his nose crack inside his head while he screamed out loud, a quiet whimper following after his scream died in his throat.  

“Hey!” The soldier pinning Cosimo growled. “You can’t kill him. He must be brought to court before their execution.”  

Execution?  

Cosimo’s struggles to break free renewed at the thoughts of the soldiers taking him away from the boy. “No! No, you can’t! I can’t leave the forest, please!”  

The man above him tilted his lips down into a frown. “Sorry kid. Orders are orders, we have to bring ya in.”  

“Don’t talk to it like it’s a child,” the angry soldier scolded. The man on top of him reached over and plucked the knife from Cosimo’s grip. Cosimo let out a soft whine at the object of his defence leaving his grasp.  

“Just get the irons and let me deal with h—” the man above him said, then corrected himself, glancing down at Cosimo with a frown. “It.”  

The angry man stormed off out of sight. Cosimo swallowed hard and stared above at the man pining him to the forest floor.  

“Please…” Cosimo tried. “Please don’t kill me.”  

“Like I said kid,” said the man. “There has to be a trial in front of the king.”  

Cosimo’s eyes widened significantly. There wasn’t a king for miles around court… how far had Cosimo travelled, and in what direction? The question lingered on his tongue, and he wanted to voice it, but thought better of asking the enemy… or even worse, letting them know just how clueless Cosimo really was.  

The man stared down at Cosimo with a stern glance. “I’m going to get you to sit up, if you try to escape, we will catch you, and the other soldiers will hurt you again. Do you understand?”  

Cosimo nodded. He hated himself for it, but he had to listen to this man if he didn’t want to die. He couldn’t die or else the boy would die too, he’s the only one who knew where he was, he was stupid for running away. So stupid! What was he thinking?

He stared at the man above him as he moved his knee from Cosimo’s chest. He seemed to be the only one who didn’t want him dead at that moment. The angry soldier returned with two bands of metal attached together with a thick link of metal between them.  

“What— what are they?” Cosimo asked, his voice cracking with fear. The soldier helped Cosimo to sit up which caused a wicked amount of pain in his nose to flare up and Cosimo grunted with the effort.  

The man took the metal from the angry soldier and dismissed him with a wave. The other soldier didn’t want to listen but obeyed the man when he told him to go verbally.  

The man opened the metal loop and showed it to Cosimo, saying with a reassuring smile: “They open like this, see?”  

Cosimo leaned in closer to inspect the metal. “What do they do?” He asked, a little less scared at seeing them up close. The man lifted his hand and put the metal over his own wrist.  

“They tighten over your wrist like this, see? They lock— well, they essentially keep your hands tied behind your back so you can’t hurt someone again.”  

Not have use of his hands. Cosimo shook his head vehemently. “No. No. I won’t hurt anyone else; I promise. Don’t put them on me.”  

The man’s smile faded back into a frown. “I’m sorry, but I have to. Please don’t fight me. I don’t want you getting hurt again.”  

Cosimo was trembling in the man’s hands, but he nodded his consent for the man to grab Cosimo’s wrist. Cosimo screamed when the metal touched his wrist and bolted back away from the man.  

“Wait! Please! Please! Wait! Ow, please! I won’t hurt anyone!” The man caught Cosimo’s ankle before he could get further away from him and dragged him back across the damp ground. Cosimo clawed the soil, trying to gain any purchase, but the man was strong, and the earth wasn’t helping him escape. “Please don’t. Please! I’ll be good.”  

A shadow crossed the man’s face as he grabbed Cosimo’s arm and pulled it behind Cosimo’s back before locking the second cuff around Cosimo’s wrist.  

Cosimo let out a hiss as the metal burned a circle around his wrists, tears coming to his eyes. “Please, I’m sorry. Take them off. I’m sorry. What— agh! What is it?!”  

The man grabbed Cosimo’s arms to stop him struggling more and hurting himself. “Iron. It’s a metal that is poisonous to your kind.”  

“Please,” Cosimo whispered, the plea coming out soft and childish, fat tears trailing down his cheeks. “Please take them off.”  

“I can’t,” said the man. “I’m sorry,” and it sounded like he meant it. The man got to his feet and waited patiently for Cosimo to do the same. Cosimo pushed himself up, his balance off and he hissed as he moved his hands to catch himself. All they touched was iron and it burned. The man put a hand under Cosimo’s armpits once he saw the boy struggling and helped him into a standing position.  

“Thank you,” Cosimo said, the words like ash on his tongue. Thanking humans now? What would court think of him? His mind trailed back to the boy in the Elfbow, and guilt flood his body as he was pushed forward gently by the man.  

“Change of plan, boys. We are bringing this one back to the King.”  

One of the other men stood up, his face the shape of a weasel’s; small wisps of hair clung to his upper lip and chin in what Cosimo could only assume was supposed to be a beard and a moustache. The soldier lifted his nose high in the air when he looked up at Cosimo, grinning up at him and revealing yellowing teeth.  

“It’s not even fully grown,” said the soldier with a high-pitched voice. The nice man holding Cosimo scoffed and pushed Cosimo forward again.  

“Either are you, McClagen.” The soldier holding him said, earning laughs from the other soldiers.

“Does it know that we kill things like that?” McClagen sneered. The man didn’t reply, but Cosimo’s fate weighed heavy on him, heavier than a cloak made of stone.  

[daydreamwhumpinc]

[Character belongs to Hima from Webtoon "Scarce Clover"]

Character: Sathos

You know, sometimes my brain just statters on one particular character, and I just start drawing👁👄👁

This is a collection of a bit older drawings, but they still include some of my favorite character to draw and some whump...

Gotta be honest with you, though. He is a minor character, and the Webtoon he is from is currently on a long hiatus and being rewritten, so there is no canonical whump of him yet. But a girl can dream 😞😩

[whumpookies]

AMOW Winter Whumperland 2022 Day 11

Movie: Elf

Prompt: elf whump

Series: Içerde bölüm 12 @amonthofwhump

okay Aras Bulut Iynemli may not be an elf, but in my defense...he is my kinda whumpy elf 😈

[evilwriter37]

Winter Whumperland 2022 Day 11

Prompts: elf whump | strangulation | comfort: experiencing freedom for the first time

Rated: explicit

Warnings: rape/noncon, graphic depictions of violence, implied/referenced torture, slavery

Pairings: Dagur/Hiccup

Word Count: 1,907

Summary: Hiccup has been with the Berserker royal family all his life, but finally, Heather sets him free, unable to take watching his abuse any longer.

[baubeautyandthegeek]

A Free Elf

A/N: Written for @amonthofwhump​ ‘s Winter Whumperland. Carol tries to free her elves. Uses all the Day 11 prompts.

Wounded Elves had always made Carol worry. People in the human realm, where she is still just Carol Newman and not a Mrs Claus, laugh about Elf Whump and damaging elves, but she’s seen the very real effects of Jack Frost attacking Elves. Many are healed, slowly, but some, like Abby, are left a little more shaken than they used to be. Abby’s near strangulation with tinsel had made Carol angry even to hear about, but as she settles beside the tiny elf’s shivering form on the sofa, she finds she is trembling with rage as she lifts the smaller woman into her lap, stroking her back gently. They are in the countdown to Christmas now and Carol asks, gently, if perhaps Abby would like to help her with the baking. She knows it always puts Abby at ease to help her. Once Christmas is over she discusses letting the Elves have freedoms and watches as Abby enjoys her first taste of freedom for the first time ever, her smile warm when Abby beckons her to join her. They will stay friends.

[whump-in-the-closet]

I’m sorry I took this prompt and ran (hope you don’t mind)

cw: institutionalized slavery, verbal abuse?, implied torture, branding (mentioned), humiliation, all that the prompt says basically

The elf inhaled sharply, panic in his words. “40,000 pieces of gold?”

“You’re asking for my half-elf. He cost me double that.” The human cocked her head, suspicion edging its way into her voice. “I thought elves didn’t buy slaves.”

Aren’t you above such matters?

The elf set his jaw, but his gaze wasn’t on the seller. It was locked on the half-elf slave— head bent, clothes ragged, purple bruises wrapped around his arms like chains.

It had been years, long even by elven standards, but who wouldn’t recognize their brother?

When the elf answered, all panic was gone. It was replaced with a detached casualness that left a burning in his throat. “Some of us enjoy a little amusement.”

The human shrugged. It wasn’t her business to find out what the elf had planned for the slave. Her business was to sell the slave as quickly as possible and not to ask too many questions.

“But he isn’t worth 40,000 pieces.”

“It’s his set price,” said the human.

The elf imperceptibly wiped sweaty hands on the front of his clothes. He crossed over to the half-elf.

Paused only a moment, one heartbeat, to look at the younger brother he used to tackle and laugh with.

I’m sorry.

Then the elf grabbed the slave’s chin, forcing him to look up. He considered the terrified face. Without looking away, he snapped, “Why is one of his eyes cloudy? It’s hideous.”

The human winced. Didn’t answer.

But the elf didn’t stop there. “And god, why is his hair so short? Don’t you know it doesn’t grow back? It’s as if you wanted to make him as disgusting as possible.”

She glanced at the elf’s simple braid, inlaid with gold. Sighed. “The auctioneers cut it, not us.”

“Turn for me,” the elf told the slave, letting go of his face.

Shaking, the half-elf complied.

And the elf snorted. “He’s scarred all over. And— and is that a brand?” It was easy to disguise the anger in his voice as disgust.

The human’s silence was all the confirmation he needed.

“That scar on his lip— yes, do tell me why it was so badly stitched? Can he even talk properly?”

“I— I can talk! I’m still…still useful, sir.”

Oh. What have they done to you?

“He’s not fit to be seen by a human, let alone be of service to me.”

The half-elf seemed to fold in on himself, the elf’s words hanging heavy on his shoulders.

The human sighed again. Exhausted. She waved her hand, “Take him for half.”

The elf laughed. “I’ll give you 15,000 pieces and you’ll thank me.”

No one had to know that was all the money he owned.

The human did thank him, a bitter smile tacked on to the end.

And the elf shuddered, hating what he had done even as he handed over the first payment.

The half-elf watched silently, his one good eye blurred with tears.

Whump prompt XVIII

Caretaker is trying to buy whumpee to free them.

Only they cannot afford the asking price, so they're left haggling down whumpee's value, picking out every conceivable flaw and arguing with the seller that whumpee really isn't worth that - all fully within earshot of whumpee.

[chaotic-orphan]

A Benignant Mischief (5)

Part one here

Continued from here

Back to my favourite Kingdom~

*~*~*~*~*

Cosimo managed to walk at a respectable pace with Henrik’s arm around him, supporting him as they followed the King’s trail through the palace. It felt nice to have freedom of movement in his arms, the iron cuffs were a welcome weight off his wrists.

This part of the palace looked less… formal. Less imposingly grand as the trial court had been. There were also less people, less humans, so maybe that had something to do with Cosimo’s sudden easement.

They turned a corner which opened up into a large room. Not as tall or grand as the court, but clean. Clinical. The walls were the same bone white, but three beds made up the back wall with cabinets full of bottles scattered around everywhere else, filling the space.

Nikolas was there, smiling and charming off the other grumpy human that could only be Artzet. He was taller than Nikolas, and where Nikolas was fair Artzet was dark. He had long dark, raven hair pushed back off his face, that stopped just above his shoulders. He had a wide face and a strong jaw, lined with dark stubble. His eyes were blue, when he turned his head to Cosimo and Henrik, like ice.

“Ah, there he is now,” said Nikolas with a smile, walking over to Cosimo and Henrik to stand beside them. “The man of the hour. He had a rather unfortunate arrival and I was hoping you could bandage his wrists from the cuffs.”

Artzet cocked an eyebrow at Cosimo, silent as the grave. He had a strange aura about him, unapproachable and stormy. His eyes flicked to Cosimo’s ears and Cosimo felt the shame rise in his face as he looked down.

“The boy’s an elf,” Artzet said, his voice like gravel, with a strange accent. Not unlike Henrik and Nikolas but certainly different. Foreign, like Cosimo.

“Yes,” said Nikolas brightly. “He’s a boy. His name is Cosimo, and he was mistreated in my name, Artzet.”

Artzet’s eyes were hard when they cut to Nikolas. “Don’t you usually execute elves?”

There wasn’t a malice in his words, nor anything else really. It was more… matter of fact, as if trying to glean understanding. Cosimo was dizzy with the range that humans came in. Evil, kind, happy, grumpy— and then Artzet who just… confused Cosimo.

Maybe he was going mad.

“Yes,” Nikolas replied in the same matter-of-fact tone. “Adult elves with intentions to kill me first. This boy is a child, Artzet. He doesn’t even know of our tumultuous history with elves.”

Artzet looked at Cosimo again with those icy eyes, calculating, searching Cosimo’s face for what Cosimo didn’t know. Then his face broke into a smile and it made him look a couple years younger.

“An innocent elf,” Artzet said with a bark of laughter and a shrug. “Well. It’s not everyday I get to treat an elf, please put him on the bed.”

Nikolas grinned in return, flashing his smile down at Cosimo and then patting Henrik on the back. “Marvellous!”

Henrik helped Cosimo over to the bed while Artzet milled around the room, humming a tune to himself. “You okay, kid?” Henrik whispered as he lifted Cosimo onto the bed.

“Yeah,” Cosimo replied, the room swirling slightly. “Yeah I’m fine.” Henrik smiled and grabbed Cosimo’s legs, helping him to stretch out on the comfortable bed and it felt so good. So nice and soft and warm. So unlike the cell’s cot.

Nikolas smiled at Cosimo from the entrance of the room. “I have to go and see to some arrangements about fixing you a room, Cosimo.”

Cosimo frowned. “A room?”

“Yes,” Nikolas said, smiling kindly.

“You’re not letting me go?”

The humans stilled in the room. Cosimo looked between Nikolas and Henrik, Artzet’s humming stopped. His heart was beating hard in his chest.

They weren’t going to let him go? What about? He had to save the boy and the fox he had to return to them, he had to—

Darkness encroached on the edges of his vision, Cosimo’s breath getting away from him and thrumming his chest in a staccato rhythm.

“I have to— I have to— my brother, I have to—” Cosimo wheezed, clutching his chest but it was no use. His thoughts were against him, his mind turning in on him and shattering. He couldn’t breathe. He had to—

Henrik was beside him, hand on his and squeezing. “Hey. Cosimo! Hey! Look at me, it’s okay! We’re not keeping you here. Cosimo!”

Cosimo’s eyes darted around the room searching for escape, everyone, everything was too close to him, the mattress too soft so he would struggle to run and could he even run?! In his state?

Icy eyes appeared in front of him and then smaller golden eyes. Cosimo stared, stunned at the furry creature that Artzet held in front of his face. Tears flowed in steady streams down his face but even then he couldn’t understand what was happening.

A cat?

It was a cat… Artzet… was holding a cat up to Cosimo? To take it?

“There we go. See? Everyone loves Myshka. Eh? Pet her if you like,” said Artzet with an encouraging nod. Cosimo lifted his hand and stroked the cat’s head. The cat purred under him, grey fur so soft and fluffy. “She is my nurse, helps me with all my patients. Isn’t that right Myshka?”

Myshka purred in reply. Cosimo let out a small happy laugh at her, as the grey cat curled up on his lap, content. Cosimo raised his head to see Henrik and Nikolas sharing a look of bewilderment. Cosimo swallowed, embarrassed at all the fuss he had caused.

“Mmm,” Artzet hummed in response to Myshka. “I agree. He is a lovely boy. Too tall for his age, but that means he will grow strong.”

“Cosimo.”

Cosimo looked up to Nikolas, who was frowning his brows forming a furrow at the top of his nose. His green eyes met Cosimo’s, with something heavy in them.

“You said…” Nikolas began then stopped, worrying his lip between his teeth. “You said you had a brother?”

Cosimo’s chest swelled again. He looked to Henrik who stared at him with the same tentative look that was on Nikolas’s face. So he must have said it. Cosimo didn’t remember saying it…

“You didn’t run away on your own,” said Henrik softly. Cosimo glanced down at the cat, fearing if he looked at anyone else he would start crying again. “Did you?”

Cosimo swallowed the lump in his throat.

Artzet spoke first. “Cosimo, if you wouldn’t mind stretching your arm here so I can clean it.”

Cosimo was happy for the distraction. His tongue had turned to sand in his mouth, too dry and thick and much. What would they do to the boy? To the fox? Would they kill them? Sure, Henrik liked Cosimo but that didn’t mean they liked elves. Would they put him in irons too? Force him to be in a cell? To stand trial, and then bandage him up again with an apology and an offer to stay and live with them.

“Cosimo,” it was Henrik this time. His eyes soft and trusting. “You can tell us, okay? We just want what’s best for you. And for your brother.”

Cosimo felt tears building behind his eyes. He couldn’t tell them, could he? He remembered during the trial, how Henrik had just stood back as he was tied down to an iron pole and it flared something angry in his chest. He couldn’t just tell them.

“If I tell you,” Cosimo said, tone guarded, shielding himself from the answer. He raised his head and stared straight at Nikolas. He had to hear it from the King. “Will you subject him to the same thing you did to me?”

The question seemed to suck all air out of the room. Henrik straightened, turning his body a little away from Cosimo, to look at Nikolas. Nikolas’s green eyes didn’t leave Cosimo’s. He walked closer to Cosimo’s bed and stopped at the end of it. Nikolas lifted his right hand, tucking his left behind his back and formed a fist over his chest.

His eyes solemn as he stared at Cosimo.

“I promise you, Cosimo. That your brother will not come to any harm in my care. I will treat you both as if you were my subjects. If you wish you can pass through my territory if you would prefer to keep running from where you’re from. I will provide the King’s escort so you can pass safely through.” Nikolas’s gaze softened then. A small flush fell over his cheeks, and Cosimo realised with a start that the King was… embarrassed.

“Or, if you prefer, you can have a room here in the palace. In my court. You would be treated with the utmost respect and kindness, as well as I would treat any other human. More so, because I know what pain you have been caused under my care. This, I give you, my vow as King. No harm will come to you.”

Cosimo stared without words. It felt as if his breath was taken from his chest. The only thought running through his head was that: Nikolas really did look like a King. The kind of Kings from stories Cosimo grew up with; good Kings, kind Kings, brave as knights and chosen by Gods. His golden brown hair like a crown, standing like a soldier in front of Cosimo, offering him a salute.

A King saluting Cosimo.

A human saluting an elf.

His enemy.

Maybe he was like everything Henrik had said. Maybe he was too good to be a King.

Cosimo broke down into another round of sobs. Nikolas blanked, like he had done something wrong immediately looking to Henrik who shared his look of confusion.

Artzet was bandaging Cosimo’s wrist, movement unbroken as if there was no life changing exchanges happening behind him. Myshka purred on Cosimo’s lap happily.

“Cosimo, I—” Nikolas began but Cosimo cut him off.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for causing all this trouble, I’m sorry for forcing you to be kind. I’m sorry—” Cosimo blubbered, looking up at Nikolas with watery eyes, as wide as saucers. “I’m sorry… that I’m not strong enough to say no. I— I ran with my brother, we— I didn’t have a plan, we have nowhere else to—”

Henrik engulfed Cosimo in a hug, stopping him mid sentence. He was so strong he could take the weight of them both as sobs wracked through Cosimo like a storm. Blubbering up and broiling over in waves.

“We’ll find your brother,” Nikolas said, and he was so certain. “As soon as you’re rested and—”

Cosimo’s eyes flew open, panicked. “No. Please, we have to find him now.”

Nikolas softened. “Of course. As soon as Artzet has looked you over we will set out to find him, Cosimo.”

“How wonderful,” Artzet said happily, returning Cosimo’s bandaged wrist to his lap. “I am already halfway through! Henrik, please. Let us swap sides.”

Cosimo flushed at Artzet’s manner of speaking. He spoke from the back of his throat, pausing as if for effect after every couple of words. His voice happy and upbeat, his face still the same imposing sternness that had initially scared Cosimo.

Henrik pulled back from Cosimo, and Cosimo offered him a smile. It was all he could do. Henrik returned one and walked around the bed to where Artzet was before, sitting on the edge of the blanket.

“How far away was your brother from where we were camped?” Henrik asked.

“Not too far,” Cosimo replied. “I’ll know when we get there. I left him in an elfbow. It should protect him from humans.”

“And from elves?”

Cosimo looked at Nikolas who had an unreadable expression on his face. Cosimo frowned, he didn’t even think of that.

“No,” said Cosimo softly. “No it wouldn’t.”

“No trouble,” said Artzet with a smile. “I will just work faster.”

Nikolas nodded at Artzet. “Thank you, Doctor. Henrik will stay with you Cosimo, while I send word to the stables to prepare the horses so we can leave as soon as you’re finished here.”

“Okay,” said Cosimo. “Thank you.”

Nikolas nodded and then he was gone.

“Oh no,” said Artzet not a second later. Turning Cosimo’s and Henrik’s head to him.

“What?” Henrik asked, his eyes flickering to Cosimo’s wrist.

Artzet grinned. “I think the King likes you, Cosimo.”

Henrik rolled his eyes and let out a soft laugh. Cosimo didn’t know how to react to that statement, but it did make something warm around his heart. It was good if the King liked him, that meant he would survive. The boy would survive. They would be okay, that Cosimo didn’t actually doom them. That he saved them both.

That all this had meant something.

Artzet smiled when he was finished and straightened. “Now, Cosimo. You are good as new! Well, not new, but better.”

Artzet spoke at Henrik next: “make sure he doesn’t ride his own horse in case the pulling of the reins aggravates his wrists.”

“It’s okay,” said Henrik, getting to his feet. “Cosimo will be riding with me anyway.”

“Marvellous. Now, Myshka,” said Artzet with a sigh. He leaned down and hooked his hands under the cats belly to her mewl of protest. “I know, I know. Terrible. Cosimo has a brother to rescue, Myshka, don’t be selfish.”

Cosimo got to his feet, his head only slightly dizzying now. The stress seeming to have left his body with Artzet and Myshka.

“Thank you,” Cosimo said to Artzet who was cuddling Myshka to his chest.

“Anytime, Cosimo. Now go, save your brother. I will see you again.”

Cosimo walked beside Henrik out of Artzet’s room and turned a different corner than the one that led back to the court room with the throne and the iron pole.

“Cosimo, are you sure you’re okay to ride?” Henrik asked, the skepticism evident in his voice. Cosimo for his part was doing his best to stay focused and upright.

“Yes,” said Cosimo. He did feel better, much better than before. He was a little woozy but he just attributed that to the blood loss. His hands looked a little funny with the white bandages wrapped firmly around them. Soft, yet strong. “We need to find him.”

He could feel Henrik’s eyes on him as they walked down the steps they had come up from the stables. They were so close to being safe, Cosimo could rest when he saw the boy, didn’t Henrik understand that? He could relax and let Henrik fuss over him then, but not until he saw the boy.

If the elves had got to him…

No, Cosimo couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t. They would find the boy and everything would be fine.

They emerged from the side door of the palace to find Nikolas and some soldiers preparing horses outside the stables. Ebony was already geared up, tied off beside a white horse that Cosimo could only presume belonged to Nikolas.

He seemed like the type of man to have a white horse. It made him look more like a Hero. Henrik walked them around to where the gathering of the soldiers were to see Nikolas in the middle, sitting on a bale of hay and laughing at something with the stable boys.

He perked up when he saw Cosimo and Henrik, smiling and standing. He clapped one of the stable boys on the shoulder and then he was in front of Cosimo and Henrik.

“You’re all patched up,” said Nikolas.

“Yes, Artzet worked quickly.”

“Good. Then let’s not waste anymore time, hmm?”

They didn’t. Henrik helped Cosimo onto Ebony again and then climbed up behind him, while Nikolas mounted the white horse beside them. Henrik offered something to Cosimo and he took it, realising it was the hood and cloak Henrik had given him before to hide his ears from the other humans.

Cosimo frowned at the green material. Did he still have to hide? Was he not free by the king’s decree?

“People won’t know that you’re pardoned yet, Cosimo,” said Henrik behind him as he walked Ebony towards the palace gates. “They will still have reason to fear you if they see your ears. People have the tendency to think the worst. It will just cause panic.”

Cosimo swallowed his pride. He didn’t really have any grounds to fight Henrik who had only been kind with him. Henrik was doing this for Cosimo too, so he wouldn’t have to see the fear and hatred in the people’s eyes.

With a few orders from Nikolas they were out the palace gates and walking through the city to the border. Cosimo was awed with the reception Nikolas got from his people.

“Your majesty!”

“Your highness!”

“Three cheers for King Nikolas!”

A street band from the upper city followed the precession with lively music as they walked through the streets. Nikolas, Cosimo observed, smiled and waved and nodded when he needed to. He had no crown and yet everyone knew he was the King. He was adored by his city.

When they got into the outer parts, the poorer parts Cosimo expected some of the love to dwindle but if anything it just got louder.

“Nikolas!”

“King Niko! Where’re’ya off ta?”

“Your highness! We named our son after you,” a woman cried, holding a baby up to him. Nikolas laughed and stopped his horse beside the woman to gaze down at the sleeping child in her arms.

“Mmm, he’s going to be a handsome one, Sierra. Look at that, he’s got his father’s strong nose.” Nikolas looked up at her and smiled, what Cosimo could only assume was his charming kingly smile. “I wish you three all the happiness in the world.”

Then they continued on.

More music.

Flowers thrown at his horses feet. It’s like a festival.

Cosimo can’t help but feel a stab on envy. He can only watch as the humans fawn and fuss over their King, and with good reason, because he’s wearing a cloak right now to cover his features. His ears, his skin, his eyes. All too strange to humans, all hateful. That’s why they were greeted with flowers instead of curses and words of praise rather than hatred.

He shrunk a little into himself, pulling the cloak tighter around himself. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not until they rescued the boy, that’s why they were leaving Oskana at all. If the humans knew why… well, they wouldn’t be cheering as much.

Or maybe, some tiny voice said at the back of Cosimo’s mind, maybe they would cheer even louder.

It was just a thought, fleeting, and yet somehow heavier than anything Cosimo had thought in the past day. He ignored it. The voice could be right, but Cosimo couldn’t be sure until he saw the boy again.

Until he saved him.

Cosimo raised his head as they reached the city gates, staring out into the Kingswood, as one of the soldiers in his trial had called it.

I’m coming back with help, Cosimo promised. Please, be safe.

*~*~*~*~*

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be tagged or removed): @annablogsposts

[erdarielthewhumper]

For @whumpers-monthly's this january's prompt! A bit shorter this time bc I haven't really had a lot of writing juices recently, but eh, it's whump nonetheless!

When the arrows began to fly, the first one hit Meldie. She never had the time to notice, to react, to attempt to protect herself. One moment, she was riding along near the back of the caravan, half-dozing in the saddle, since it wasn't her watch. The next, pain like a lightning bolt lanced through her.

Before she knew what had happened, everything was already exploding into chaos. She tried to draw her sword, but pain flared up through her right side and her arm. She glanced down; an arrow-shaft stuck out of her side, just a little below and in front of her arm, sunken into the part of her that her breastplate could not protect.

Even so she grasped her sword, and urged her horse to ride down the nearest enemy, striking at others with her blade. Her warrior's instincts led, the noise and chaos drowning out any conscious thought.

Pain was nothing new, and easily pushed aside. The only way out of the battle was through, in any case. She half-forgot about the arrow as she hacked through enemy after enemy.

But though her mind could push the injury aside, her body could not. Second by second, it was harder to breathe, harder to lift the sword, the edges of her vision were getting blurry, the sounds of battle distant and distorted.

Again she lifted her sword, but this time the movement jerked her out of balance. Someone grabbed a handful of her hair, and she cried out, but hardly a sound came from her mouth. The cry turned into a cough, she tasted blood, hardly even noticing as she was pulled down from the saddle and crashed into the hard, frozen ground.

She lay there, dazed, as the battle raged around her. All she could do was gasp for air and cough, each cough bringing up thick ribbons of red blood. The world was a blur of color and movement and incomprehensible noise...

No! she would not die here! Some last part of her mind struggled to rouse her, grasping desperately for something to hold onto, but it was all it could do to hang onto the last remnants of consciousness.

The pain had melted away, it was dull and distant now, but the tightness in her chest hadn't gone anywhere. It seemed she could hardly draw air into her lungs, and she felt, vaguely, that it should have worried her, but she could hardly bring herself to care...

There were voices, above her, and movement in her fading vision, but she could make no sense of it. She was grabbed by the arms, and that finally sent another jolt of blinding pain through her, and that, finally, dragged her down into darkness and oblivion.

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Scarred Among the Mundane.

hey look new series just dropped. featuring an arsonist elf and the fire he starts and can’t put out. this is going to be the start of another fantasy whump series— but I actually have a plot planned for this one so here’s to hoping I stick with it.

cw: elf whump, failed arson, failed escape, magic whump

masterlist. next

— —

The late afternoon sunlight turns everything to gold.

In the town square, loud voices merely add to the shimmering heat.

And the heat is shimmering. It weighs down on everyone, dragging out even the smallest of moments with languid intensity.

Bright colours are worn by nearly every member of the crowd, and the effect is blinding.

Crimson.

Vibrant snake-like green.

Yellow sharper than a drawn blade.

The occasional flash of steel armour adds a veiled threat.

A shadow peels away from the side of a bakery, cloak wrapped around a skeletal frame. A hood hides the shadow’s wide grin.

It’s a good day to set something on fire.

He dives into the mass of humanity, towering over them all. Even with hunched shoulders and lowered head, he can’t hide his unnatural height. A second glance would reveal pointed teeth and pointed ears.

But no one spares him a second glance. He weaves his way through the crowd and smiles when people unconsciously give him room to pass.

As he walks, he talks. Not to anyone in the crowd, but to himself. Because he is the cleverest person he knows. Why, he’s practically brilliant. Who else could plan such a feat? Such audacity?

Himself alone. The brilliancy of his plan fills him with a humming satisfaction. He goes over the contents of his satchel.

Wouldn’t want to forget anything. Not today.

“Kindling? Yes, yes, the moss will work....Excuse me–” he nearly runs into a baker’s assistant, holding a tray of fresh-baked bread aloft.

The elf acts on instinct, extending a leg. The baker’s assistant, without hesitation, trips. Elvish laughter and man-made loaves are thrown into the air.

The elf snatches one from mid-air and runs.

“Thief! Stop!”

The elf does not stop. He shoves the whole loaf into his mouth, working his teeth around the crust. It’s still warm. Delicious. He swallows it appreciatively. “Not bad,” he tells no one in particular. “For a human delicacy.”

He skids into an alleyway, shadows sinking into his skin. A welcome change from the lethargic sunlight. “Should have grabbed another one.”

But thoughts of bread fade away as his destination comes into view– the high stone wall of the Monarch’s castle.

The elf’s grin sharpens. His pace picks up, heart racing with his footsteps. There’s no turning back. Not now.

He comes to a stop at the wall itself. It’s easily three times his height. And yet the elf can hardly suppress a laugh. After all his work, all his preparation, is it really going to be this easy? As easy as burning down a farmer’s barn?

Guards peer down at him and he gives them a mocking salute, two fingers raised to his temple. It doesn’t matter if they see him. They won’t be able to stop him. No human can stop him.

If they could, he would be dead.

It’s as simple as that.

Oh, what a day. Danger. Thrill. Horror in the guards’ eyes.

What a beautiful day.

He walks backwards, tightening his satchel and taking a deep breath, the air burning his lungs. And then–

Running.

A leap. Cloak dragging behind him.

Stonework beneath his feet as he runs up the side of the wall. He laughs now. No hesitation.

His hood falls off and his pointed teeth catch in the light.

Identity revealed for all to see.

Elf. A creature of the night. A shadow. Feared. Inhuman.

He soars over the open-mouthed guards. One reaches for her spear, but it's already too late.

He’s over the wall, tumbling to a stop into the garden bushes. On his feet in an instant, he brushes leaves out of his braids and checks his satchel.

Everything is as it should be.

“Excellent work, Finn,” he tells himself. “As always.” He plucks a leaf from his cloak and lets it drift to the ground. “Excellent work, really.” He changes his voice slightly, making it deeper. “Oh, no, you’re too kind. Too kind.”

The guards are pouring out of the castle walls now. Calls of “Attack!” and “Intruder!” echo in the green-lit garden.

Finn bolts. He reaches into his bag as he runs, pulling out a flint stone and a carved piece of iron. Ducking through the overhanging fruit trees, he grabs what looks like a pear. With the fruit in his mouth, he skids to a stop at the base of the castle.

He doesn’t marvel at the intricate stonework or the towering turrets or the bright windows. He gets to work setting it on fire.

Eating the pear, he works quickly, setting the dry moss around a tall tree– another fruit one perhaps. But this one is the closest to the castle, which means it will serve his purpose splendidly.

Sparks fly into the air, bright red against the simmering blue.

The guards draw closer.

Finn sees the flashes of steel before he hears them, and he spits the pear out, fingers flying as he strikes the flint again and again.

The moss starts to smoke and Finn starts to grin.

The itch, the infernal, never ending, always begging itch turns to something like pleasure. Satisfaction.

“Stop!” The spears slice towards him and he twists out of the way, dropping the flint.

The moss goes up into blazes. The itch inside him begins to fade, satisfied with the fire he’s begun.

It's a beautiful fire.

Finn laughs. Everything is going so—

The laugh twists into a scream.

Something is wrong. Something is terribly, terribly wrong. His blood turns to ice inside him. It’s only a second of burning, crawling pain exploding every nerve in his body– but the second is never ending.

Golden triumph burns to ash in his throat.

He slumps to the ground, vision crumpling to dust around him. Vaguely, he’s aware of the guards stepping aside for a red-headed human. Her hands are raised, fingers twisted in rune-shapes.

Oh.

Finn’s sight collapses, taking him with it.

tagging: @doonthestair (lmk if you want to be added/ removed!)

[kavasiriel]

As a healer, he should have noticed the signs of hypovolemia. The light from the fire blurred and shifted before his eyes and he ignored the warm trickle of blood down his flank. It was soaking his tunic under his mail and trickling down his leg into his boot, a hot line of accusatory fire, he had failed to protect his king at the end.

There was singing, a roughened hymn to Elbereth from the voices of the survivors that went up in a challenge to the lowering gloom.

Someone was squeezing his arm. The fire burned low, there were no trees in this land for felling so the King’s courtiers had offered up camp furniture and canvas. The war was over, after all, and no one clung to the detritus of the years-long siege.

"Elrond," Celebrian squeezed his arm again as the gathered elves began to disburse to go see to the wounded in grief or relief. They had won, after so long, but at what cost? Elrond looked around for the mortal prince whom he had last seen standing over Sauron's body but he was not there. She felt him sag against her and her grip on his vambrace was suddenly supporting most of his weight.

Celebrian’svoice went up in fear, "Elrond!" He had gone deathly pallid below the layer of blood and grime and only blinked in response to his name.

"Help!" She cried as his legs buckled and she caught him against her body.

She was suddenly surrounded by a cluster of elves. Glorfindel caught his other arm as his head lulled back and kept him out of the mud.

"My Lord!" Glorfindel’s face was a blur of gold, his cheeks were stained with soot and tears, "where is he hurt?" He was saying and Elrond felt hands tugging at his armor.

"Speak to me, tell me where you're hurt!" Celebrian’s fearful voice cut through the fog and he was vaguely aware that she was holding him against her chest.

He tried to speak but there was a terrible ringing in his ears and the impenetrable fog of blood loss had fallen across his senses.

"I found it," Glorfindel was saying, his voice tight with worry as his fingers suddenly pushed with agonizing precision into the stab wound under Elrond’s ribs, he gasped and reflexively tried to move away from the pain. "It's hit his liver." Glorfindel was saying and some part of Elrond's fleeing senses knew that was bad. "We have to get him to the healers."

"Don't leave me alone," Celebrian’s mouth was close to his ear as she adjusted his weight against her chest. Elronds pale lips moved senselessly and his eyes seemed focused somewhere beyond the sea as the song of Mandos filled his ears.

"Elrond!"

"Elrond!"

Post War of the Last Alliance Elrond

It felt silent, though it wasn’t so. Perhaps it only felt so in contrast to the dread cacophony of screams and the clashing of swords on armour and flesh that had haunted his every waking step for so long he’d been sure that this was all there would ever be. That this was all Arda was an ever would be. But it was not so. Now it was simply still. He was vaguely conscious of soldiers around him picking through the bodies to find their dead, their loved ones. When did something so horrifying become merely expected? He was certain, as he looked over the expanse of armour, blood, trampled banners and funeral pyres before him, that there were more dead than alive. He leaned against his sword as he made his way to where the largest amount of what remained seemed to be gathered.

He was faintly aware of a stab wound in his side as he moved though he found it easy enough to ignore. In fact he could scarcely tell where it was. There was was so much blood. The bitter copper taste filled his mouth and slid all over his armour and every inch of his skin and clothing, he could feel it encrusting a lock of his hair to his forehead and there would not have been any point trying to fix it even if it had been more than a barely conscious thought in his mind. For there was blood slicked over his hands as well. The wounded soldiers parted once they recognised him. And he saw what they were gathered around, though he’d known in his heart as soon as he’d seen them, known since the war had begun, since the day in that tent in a war so similar to this one that it was as if it had never ended when he had first met the person who would change the course of his life he’d known on some level that this is what it would come down to. There was a pyre set up a bigger one than any of the others. And on it laid the remains of the king, recognisable only by his armour.

There were people talking and sobbing all around him but it was as if they were all drowned out by the growing humming in his mind, that was nothing like the music any elf or man was capable of making. It was the making of the world and the destruction of what had came before and he could feel the seismic shift in reality, in Arda itself, the swell and crescendo. But as much as he could feel the world and it’s theme all around him, he saw none of that potential and life before him. His eyes could take nothing in, his presence in this place reduced only to the crown and the blood.

He pulled himself back to the field with a forceful jolt and saw that all the crowd were looking to him, the combined image of so many of their great leaders and legends, bearing their blood and crests. He could not, would not, be the king they wanted. But he nonetheless knew that they needed someone to provide some illusion of control for now. They did not truly need a saviour after all, they’d had plenty of those in ages past, a new age needed new ways of thought, new kinds of heroes. Regardless, all the legends were dead.

Nevertheless he picked up the proffered torch and doused it in the fire. He set the pyre alight. How ironic that it should always come back to fire, where everything was ended and born anew. They had thought they were coming to a new age of peace where they could let go of the flame and lay their weapons down. And yet here they were, and the Second Age ended once again in fire. The smoke filled his lungs, and he should have been in a coughing fit by now but he couldn’t seem to focus on something so real when everything was steeped in symbolism and destruction.

So he stood there in front of the pyre letting the smoke block out his vision and watching the red ember flicker, like a statue that would never be moved, and for a moment he could feel moments and thoughts that weren’t quite his own filling this void he was standing in until he was living every age of the world at once. They were all so similar it hardly mattered whose they were, for they all spoke in the same voice standing in front of their own pyres.

And as he was standing there he felt movement at his side. This shouldn’t have been unusual, and yet it was for, unlike all the other noise on this field his mind could not block that rustle out. He turned and saw silver hair glinting, Celebrian walking to stand at his side. They looked at each other for what felt like centuries and they understood perfectly what the other was thinking, but more importantly what they were not, what could never be made coherent even in their own mind, in anyone’s mind.

They knew there were no words either could use to make sense of all that had happened or the situation they found themselves in so neither tried. He felt the first traces of tears escape his eyes as he finally grasped that this was real, he was here and he knew this because someone else was here with him. Then just as he was trying to mask his inner turmoil to provide an image of reassurance he felt the brush of warm skin against his own.

Slowly he intertwined their fingers, bloody and calloused before the grave of his dearest friend, and yet very much there. Broken, just as he was, but there. And perhaps both not quite broken enough to give up just yet. And so he squeezed her hand in his and felt her squeeze back as the fire roared.

[monarchthefirst]

maedhros whump

[theconstellationprincess]

Whumptober day 10: Blow to the head

When a diplomatic meeting goes wrong, Elrond suffers the consequences. Gil-galad is stressed, and Galadriel plans a murder.

-

The representative from Eregion was being exceptionally rude, and Elrond felt, not for the first time during this elf’s week-long visit, that Celebrimbor had been able to make the trip. It’s not the smiths fault, of course, he is far too busy to sacrifice a week for a series of meetings that would end as they always do, with everyone on good terms. Elrond had been spending this week mostly out of sight, writing speeches and arguments for Gil-Galad to say during the meetings, but on this day he was in the meeting room.

He was not to speak but the opportunity was amazing, and Elrond was practically glowing with excitement as he took his seat along one of the edges of the room. Galadriel, who was sitting next to Gil-galad, gave him a bright smile, and Elrond returned it with wide eyes. As everyone settled into their seats, the last to arrive was the representative from Eregion. The meeting started, and Elrond scribbled furiously as the members of the room took turns speaking. His argument sounded perfect when Gil-galad made it, and he was unsurprised to find that as the meeting came to an end he was happier than he had been in weeks.

And then the elf from Eregion, whose name Elrond cannot recall for the life of him, stood up and made a very… abrasive comment towards Galadriel. The room stiffened, tension thick in the air as Galadriel sat up straighter and opened her mouth to speak, only for another one of the council members to come to her defense first.

“You cannot speak about Lady Galadriel that way!” He shouts, standing up and approaching. He storms past Elrond and grabs the Eregion representative, who shoves back. They begin fighting, and Elrond can see the moment he is spotted by the representative, and though he tries to disappear as best he can into the wall, he is not successful. Just as the guards make it to the fighting elves, Elrond is pulled into the fight- quite literally, by his cloak, and has a dagger placed to his throat. The room freezes again, and Elrond feels more concerned than frightened, because there must be something going on with this person if they are being to aggresive.They should be taken to the halls of healing before any further investigation or punishment is brought upon them.  The blade knicks his skin and his poorly suppressed whimper echoes in the dead quiet of the room. 

“Silnor, there is no need for violence,” Gil-galad speaks gently, but there is a collective inhale when he breaks the silence. Elrond trusts his High King with his life, but even he tenses ever so slightly, fighting to keep his breathing under control. He is scared now, more than concerned, for though he still cares for the health of Silnor- a fitting name-, the knife is pressing harder and he can feel the wet warmth of a droplet of blood slowly traveling down his neck. “Please, let the herald go, and we can have a peaceful discussion.” The knife moves away for a moment, the hand holding it going lax, loosening, and Elrond takes the opportunity and disarms the elf. He thinks of Elros as he does, who was always the better fighter out of the two of them, and for whose memory Elrond had kept training, long after it had been believed that peace times were upon them. 

He manages to get the knife away, and tosses it low to the ground moments before he finds himself hitting the floor. Ears now ringing, Elrond manages to scramble away as the guards apprehend the other elf, pushing his back to the wall. The world turns dark, and he belatedly realizes his eyes are now closed and opens them again, blinking into the faces of Gil-Galad and Galadriel as they stand above him. “He needs to see a healer,” Elrond mumbles, tentatively touching the back of his head and hissing as it gives a painful pulse. Gil-galad laughs, though it sounds a touch hysteric, and Galadriel kneels in front of Elrond, grabbing his face and titling it so that she can see the damage.

“You need to see a healer,” Galadriel says quietly, pulling him into a tight hug. Elrond hugs her back, tucking his face into her shoulder because his eyes have filled with tears and he does not want to be seen with them yet. The adrenaline has worn off, and he finds himself coming to terms with the fact that he could have died. “Come, I will escort you.” 

Galadriel helps him stand, steadying him when his legs shake. She links their arms, and Elrond is surprised when Gil-galad takes his other arm in his. The walk takes longer than it should have, on account of Elrond walking slower than normal. Each step is a tremendous exertion of energy, and his body trembles beneath him, but Galadriel and Gil-galad do not falter in their support, and eventually he is sat in a bed, getting looked over. His neck is bandaged, and his head shows no signs of physical damage, so he is permitted to leave not long after arriving. Galadriel and Gil-galad stayed the whole time, which is touching, though unnecessary. He lets them fret, unable to keep away the warm feeling he gets whenever anyone shows that they care for him.

“You must stop getting into these situations,” Gil-galad murmurs to him as they walk back to Elrond’s room. Galadriel had gone off in her own direction, though she promised to visit Elrond later to check in. He will have to make sure he makes her favourite tea, as a thank you for help. Elrond shrugs, he does not go searching for trouble, it simply finds him, as it had since he was a child. His leading theory, though one only for his ears, is that he is cursed by the silmarils to be bothered by other people forever, as they were. 

“It is not my fault!” Elrond protests, opening his door and stepping to the side to allow Gil-galad entrance. He tidies up for a moment, though the room is impeccable as always, because Elrond refuses to leave it as anything but in the mornings. He straightens the papers on his desk and takes a seat on his bed, keeping quiet as Gil-galad looks around. It is not the first time the High King has been in his room, but it is constantly changing with new books, and the various trinkets he has on rotation. Elrond unclips his cloak, and fiddles with the pin for a moment, cringing at the thought of the letter that will have to be sent to Celebrimbor about his representative. 

Perhaps he will make a visit, Elrond would be very glad if that was the case, as it has been some time since they had last seen each other, and though they send letters on occasion, it is different from seeing him in person. Gil-galad sits next to him and gently takes the pin from his hands, setting it on the bedside table and begins stroking the top of Elrond’s hair. Elrond sighs and leans into the touch, soaking up the comfort from one of his oldest friends. The earlier exhaustion returns full force, and he leans against Gil-galad, letting his eyes fall shut.

“Rest, Elrond. I will be here when you wake.”

-

Galadriel stares down at the elf who hurt her friend with distaste. He has been isolated from the others in the halls of healing, and she can see the corruption within him. It is the result of an injury, one made from a foul weapon, but she cannot feel empathy for him. If, upon his healing, he is still a foul person from the inside out, she will feel no guilt in committing kinslaying. Elrond’s safety and comfort is worth the terrible action. She glares deeply at him and turns away, making her way towards Elrond’s room with a soft smile on her face. Yes, Elrond’s safety and comfort is certainly worth most anything in their world.

[whump-side]

Being an elf living for hundreds and hundreds of years doesn't mean you're immune to colds