#the blackmuir reign

[deluxewhump]

Pride of Princes

A standalone story in the Blackmuir Reign verse ~150 years before Therrin Blackmuir takes the throne. This story is complete, around 12k words. This is part one.

CW: fantasy setting with a monarchy, fantasy politics, fantasy religious tensions, pressure to convert, torture, beatings, burning, threat of execution, imprisonment, defiant whumpee, forced/arranged marriage, polygamy, sex, court drama 

Characters and terms:

King Thyran Blackmuir (tie-run) 55- Therrin’s great great grandpa. Has ruled 30 yrs at this time and recently suffered an illness (stroke)

Prince Aedric Blackmuir (A-drick, strong A sound) 32 - the eldest prince and heir. Has one brother Cedric and two peaceweaver brides, Esther and Miline. Has one child with Esther, 6yo Esti. 

Roan Barrowfen (Row-n, rhymes with shown) 28- noble-born second son of Randall Barrowfen, of the easterly reaches. Given (unwillingly) as a peaceweaver to Aedric 

Tercet The new official religion being implemented by the Blackmuir crown. (Also a term in poetry, but here it's the name of a religion lol) The Tercet has three sections of religious importance that focus on commerce, agriculture, and the sanctity of law (the monarchy). 

Peace-weaver (Old English: freothwebbe)- Anglo-Saxon tradition of marrying women to an enemy tribe in hopes of mingling bloodlines and encouraging future peace between the groups. Peaceweavers here are specifically matched to smooth over a current conflict in the region, and not the same designation as matches to strengthen alliances or procure wealth. I prefer it as one word, not hyphenated.

Other notes: 

Title from The Wanderer.

Polygamy is encouraged for royalty at this time in the Blackmuir rule, if they are peaceweaver matches. Peaceweavers can be any level of nobility, but the first bride's children are typically the only ones recognized as viable heirs, unless they do not bear one or the heirs do not survive, and then it goes down the line to the second spouse. As you can imagine this causes lots of problems, but not in this story. 

This is loosely inspired by the history/legend of Saint Juliana by Cynewulf, as told in the Exeter book. 

_

1.

Prince Aedric was fast asleep when he was roused by Juliana, a timid handmaiden of his first bride, Esther. She never entered Aedric’s chambers, certainly not without invitation, or her mistress’s presence. 

“Prince Aedrick,” she said, giving a hurried bow. Her head was uncovered, her hair in two mussed braids as if for sleep. 

Aedric cast his eyes about the room for signs that something was amiss. He heard nothing from the open door of his chamber, or from the eastern window that caused any alarm. The fire was still burning in the hearth. He could not have been asleep for more than a few hours. 

“Juliana,” he said sharply. “Esther? Esti?”

“Are both well, sire. I don’t come on her behalf.”

“Then why? What is it?”

The girl pursed her lips and looked behind her, as if someone might be standing in the doorway in pursuit. “I wish to tell you something, but I fear it is not my place.”

Aedric sat up further in bed, his head still thick with sleep. “It must be important, to wake me in the middle of the night. Have out with it.”

“I only mean to serve you and my lady’s interests.”

“…Yes, Juliana. I know. I’ll… make sure there are no repercussions.”

She nodded solemnly. That had been her concern. “I was not told to come to you.”

“I understand. What is it?”

“The lord from the far reaches. He arrived this afternoon.”

Aedric frowned. He’d been recently betrothed. It was to be his third peaceweaver match, and the first to be male. The match was the youngest son of a Barrowfen from the easterly reaches, that wild and unforgiving marshland he’d visited as a boy and never had any desire to visit again. The reaches were an insular and stubborn region of his father’s vast kingdom that had caused some difficulty of late, but Lord Barrowfen was prompt with the annual taxes, and receptive to the new religious order.

But if his new betrothed had arrived in the afternoon, why had he not been called to meet him? Why had he not been sent to him directly, as Esther and Miline had been? He asked Juliana as much.

“The king. He is speaking to him now, in the Oath Hall. He is displeased.”

“Why?”

Juliana shifted her weight, nervously twisting at a small silver ring on her right hand. “He is refusing the Tercet, my lord. It’s caused some trouble.”

Aedric shook his head. “Why has he come all this way,  just to protest when he got here?”

“I-I don’t know, sire. I don’t think he wanted to come.”

Aedric raised his brows. 

“I know nothing more than this. I only wanted you to be aware. They’re very displeased with him, my prince.”

“Go,” he said, throwing off his covers. “I need to dress.”

She hesitated, wringing her fingers bloodless.

“Your name will not be mentioned,” he assured her. “Go.”

_

Aedric wondered if he’d ever been in the Oath Hall at such an hour. Every brazier was lit, casting jumping shadows on the high stone walls. His father sat elevated on his dais, attended by two knights, his favorite Tercet cleric in robes of snowy white, and several members of his court. 

Aedric’s eyes swept over them in turn. All had turned to watch him enter, and soon their eyes turned to their king to gauge his reaction to the prince’s intrusion. 

“It’s late, Aedric,” came Thyran Blackmuir’s weakened voice from his throne. A sudden illness had struck him before spring’s last snowmelt, and he had not been the same since. 

“Indeed it is, Your Grace,” Aedric answered. “What matter could not wait until after we had all slept and breakfasted?”

At the base of the dais stood a young man in modest clothing, unmoving, with his gaze fixed on the stones beneath his feet. Aedric gave him a wide berth as he approached, looking to see if this was the peaceweaver he’d been sent a portrait of in the initial negotiations. It appeared to be. He was of a similar height as Aedric, and though he could only see his bowed profile, it seemed to be the Barrowfen from the picture — Roan, was his name, or else it was someone strikingly similar. The portrait had looked promising.

He was of a similar age as Aedric as well, highborn, and unrelentingly beautiful, with dark hair and green-brown eyes, high easterly cheekbones, and a particular, intriguing smile that Aedric hoped was not just the flattery of the artist, but a look the subject had worn while sitting for the sketch.

“Hello,” he said, standing to the nobleman’s right, a safe six feet of distance between them. 

Roan Barrowfen gave him the barest glance, looking up without lifting his head. Their eyes met for only a moment and he returned them to the floor, his jaw set in something between determination and fear. Aedric was mildly stung by the sheer disregard of the exchange, a disregard he was unaccustomed to. 

“Is this my new peaceweaver, then?” Aedric asked, addressing his father. “Is this Roan Barrowfen?”

“It is,” the king answered wearily, his left eye now permanently drooping like a melting clay doll. 

“Why was I not sent for?” he asked, in front of the men of court, the cleric, and the knights. “Surely there must be some reason I was not sent to greet him upon his arrival?”

“Sit,” bade his father. 

“I prefer to stand, Your Grace.”

Aedric was nothing if not a loyal firstborn son, but he was not as docile as he might be. He tried to remain respectful to his father, the king, especially in front of members of court, but he would not be seen as a mincing puppet, either. And the king could be stubborn.

Of late, that concern had flagged. His father was not the man he was the year before, or the thirty years of his rule before that. He sometimes lost his train of thought, or his words entirely, and spent much of his days in bed. 

“Your betrothed has insisted on an act of….of  treason since his… arrival,” managed the King. 

Cleric Alfonsus looked down from the dais at Roan Barrowfen with a disdainful sort of pity. 

“What treason is that?”

The King motioned at his cleric, inviting him to speak and save him the trouble.  

“Lord Barrowfen maintains the false gods of the easterly reaches,” explained the cleric in a smooth voice, still powerful enough to project. Aedric admitted his unnervingly blue eyes and unrelenting gaze gave him an air of authority. His arms were folded together in the white fabric of his robes of office, hiding his hands, which Aedric thought was another apt metaphor. “He has denounced the Tercet, and by extension, the authority of the King.”

Aedric could have laughed. The Tercet was a fledgling religion, breeding in several pockets of the north for only two generations before gaining fast favor these last ten years. When he was a boy, no one had even spoken of the Tercet, the three-deity trident of land, commerce, and law. It was about as relevant as whoever this easterly man’s far-flung gods might be. And now it was treason to refuse them?

 “I’m sure this is a thing being done on principle,” he said amiably, opening his hands toward his father and the cleric. Even the knights were looking at him. “A well-intentioned principle, at that. Your Grace, is not the point of a peaceweaver to make peace? Peace is not something that can be expected upon arrival, or overnight.”

“The terms were clear,” answered the cleric, speaking over Aedric’s last word. “Randall Barrowfen sent a letter with his son. He knew this might happen, and in it he outlines his sincerest regrets, along with fealty to the Tercet and the king. His son’s life, if not as a peaceweaver, can be of some use as a forfeit.”

Aedric made a sour face. “Forfeit? To be an example, you mean? That is the perfect opposite of the goal we have in making this arrangement.”

The cleric continued. “Rejection of the Tercet directly undermines-”

“Your Grace,” Aedric cut him off, addressing his father. “This is mad. Put a swift end to it.”

With some difficulty, the King adjusted in his straight backed throne, a simple and elegant design of carved wood meant as an homage to humility and efficiency. “Your Esther and…Miline are worthy brides, Aedric. They are peaceweavers, and they are Muirish now. They serve a purpose. This…” he waved a hand irritably, “open dissent is not something I can ignore. I will not have a hostile…. traitor at my table. Bearing…. our name.”

“Hostile traitor,” Aedric echoed in disbelief. He wondered, not for the first time since his illness, if those were his father’s words, or repeated words of Cleric Afonsus.  “Has he spoken of any plans to murder any of us in our sleep?”

“No,” said the nobleman in question. Aedric turned to him, surprised he’d spoken. “But I will not abandon my gods for you. Or for the king.”

A murmur of offense broke out among the men in attendance. 

“I am a theurgist for the gods of our land,” he continued, looking up at Aedric with his head still slightly bowed. His eyes looked greener in the light of the braziers, and he had a high color on his cheeks that Aedric couldn’t discern between a sign of good health or the start of a fever. “I will serve my gods, and my gods alone.”

“A theurgist. You conjure your gods?”

“On behalf of others,” he answered. “As much as it is in my ability to do so. And if they answer.”

“And where are they at this moment?” he asked quietly, directed only to the foreigner. He meant it in a friendly, exasperated sort of jest, but Roan Barrowfen dropped his eyes like it had been a taunt.

Aedric set his jaw and looked back to the dais. “Give me the night, Your Grace. Let me speak to him privately, as I expected to do upon his arrival.”

“When you arrived,” said the king, “I had just sentenced him to the holding cells. He will….await there. Await his…ah,” he struggled for the word. “His trial.”

A pit of dismay formed in Aedric’s stomach. They had only exchanged one letter, but it had been promising. Roan Barrowfen was clearly well versed in his letters, and well spoken. He’d seemed modestly eager for the arrangement. Had he not realized he would have to, at least publicly, lay down his gods and his theurgic practices to do so? Another thought— had he even written the letter? Had he come of his own free will at all?

Aedric wished he could speak his true mind to his father, but there were lines he knew better than to cross in the Oath Hall.

“He will have a chance to recant, Aedric,” said the King, as if he were placating Aedric when he was a petulant child, over some small matter. “He will have many chances.”

He thought the wording of that promise to be ominous. Many chances? Did they intend to harm him in hopes of eliciting it, like a confession from a criminal? A highborn? Betrothed to the prince? Roan Barrowfen seemed to take the same meaning from the words. His chest rose and fell with noticeably faster breaths, but he did not move a single muscle. Aedric felt a sharp pang of protective sympathy towards this stranger he’d so been looking forward to meeting. 

“I ask you to reconsider this,” he appealed again. “It’s highly reactionary, Your Grace, for naught but some words.”

The king only motioned weakly to the knights, who came forward and took the prisoner under each arm, leading him away. He stumbled, but caught his footing and went willingly. Aedric stood rooted to the spot as the King rose from the throne. Others followed, and Oath Hall began to empty. 

Cleric Alfonsus stepped down from the dais carefully so as not to trip over his robes. He fixed Aedric with his deliberate gaze. “Naught but some words,” he repeated as he passed him. It felt like an admonition. 

The following morning, Prince Aedric learned that the trial was set for a full month away. Roan Barrowfen’s noble status required three representatives from his home to travel to the Muirkeep to sit on the jury. Aedric knew this would influence the outcome, but he was not confident it would be in the way he’d like. Lord Barrowfen himself had condemned his son with that letter, to appease the king. Whoever came from the reaches was likely prepared to do the same.

The final decision would be the king’s, but that would undoubtedly be influenced by the clerics, as it was a religious matter. That was a fact that had been concerning him of late— more and more seemed to fall to the discretion of the Tercet leaders, namely Cleric Alfonsus. 

After speaking with his father to no avail, he did the other thing in his power. He went down to the cells. 

Next

[blackmuirreigncontinuation]

The Blackmuir Reign: Chapter 23

Authors Note: Hey guys so I'm adding chapters to this story but the original 22 chapters were done by @deluxewhump so make sure to check those out for context!! I'm kind of new at writing so please be kind :)

Matteo tilted his head against his prison cell's cold and unyielding wall. While it was comfortable enough, not nearly as bad as the brig would be, it still made his stomach churn. Issy kept him close, near his own chambers, as the brig would be accessible to any half-drunken scum who decided the Osier ward needed more vengeance or even an unwelcome nightly visitor. Matteo shivered once again, despite the low-funded sheepskin blanket covering himself. 

He could feel the harsh lash of the waves on top of the barnacle-infested ship that he was captive on. It’s pattern was firm and relentless, just as the beating was that he received from the ship’s own crew. His mind wandered to Henry as he thought of the ghosting welts, added on top of his former lover’s. His skin bristled and prickled at the thought. He could not let his mind wander to that crown-bearer without letting Therrin into his mind. 

Therrin, who was in the perfect position to rectify Matteo’s old behavior, with a switch in one hand, and the key to his cell in the other. Therrin, who by all rights, could have taken his revenge for the 10 years of hell that Matteo had put him through. Therrin, who did no such thing. Therrin, who fed him, gave him actual clothes rather than the rags he was accustomed to, and he who comforted him when Henry once again rose to attack, in his deepest and darkest dreams. Therrin was kind, despite everything. Matteo felt tears prickle in his eyes, but he paid them no mind. After all the tears he had shed in the last 3 years, a few more would do no harm. 

A part of him still believed it was all a trick, just as Henry had done to him. One day, when Therrin had all of his trust and love, he would open his eyes just to be back among the rats along the rack, deep down where no one ever heard his screams. However, once he looked into the new king’s eyes, he knew that would not happen. He looked at people with kindness, not like things only alive to do with as he wished, as Henry had. Perhaps, the fact that he was not raised as some royal heir, who could have anything he wished at the snap of a finger, had helped with that. His humility. Or at least Matteo liked to think so, at the very least. In the deepest depths of his own mind, he knew he longed to be needed. To not be just some secondary noble son. He hoped that, despite his past childish actions, Therrin could save him once again, and perhaps continue his merciful behavior. The tear fell. 

Just then, he heard the steady pattern of footsteps, coming up to his holding chamber. The well-used knob turned, without the warning of a knock, and Issy welcomed himself inside. After 3 years away, it was jarring to see a man with the same features of his homeland, even after seeing him several times already. In his hands, he held a rusted pewter cup, filled halfway with ale, accompanied by a plate of rationed down food. A single slice of salted pork, attended by a handful of dried grapes. The pirate set the plate down beside him, and Matteo couldn’t help but flinch at the sound.

 Issy made a sound that reminded him of a scoff mixed with a laugh, teeth freshly stained from bitegrass. “Easy now. It wouldn’t do any good to damage my chances of a healthy randsome, now would it?” At the less-than-enthused face that Matteo made in response, Issy simply rolled his eyes. “Eat up. After supper, you will help send word to Blackmuir forces to ensure we reach a breakthrough. I’ll keep my head and recieve my fair sum, and you will return to your beloved ward. Everybody wins, as much as they can, in this world, anyhow.” Matteo felt bile rise in his throat in anticipation and anxiety, but forced himself to swallow it.

— 

The two had sat down, once again, at Issy’s writing desk. The pirate knew plenty of his letters, but his penmanship was sloppy at best. His hand quivered when he wrote, too much bad memories from his old employer. Not that he would tell the Osier welp that, of course. But even so, he could not write this letter. It had to be Matteo.

Frankly, Issy, as well as his men, needed money. They had been able to skate by well enough, but a noble ransom was a godsend, and not an opportunity he planned to waste. 

So, Issy had instructed Matteo to write what he wants the king to know, but to not be too forthcoming, as if he put Issy or any of his crewman in danger, he would get yet another kiss of the whip, a replay of what had happened a few nights before. Matteo, upon hearing this, tensed and nodded, as pale as the ghost of his dead captain.

Matteo fingered the rusted quill, trying to quell his shaky nerves. If he looked close enough, he swore he could see a name engraved on it, in navy print. He shuddered as he realized it must have belonged to the captain whom the crew had dispatched, and tried to turn his attention back to the prompt at hand.

He could not be too intimate in this letter, the pirate, as well as other middle-men, could surely read it. He could not pour out the deepest thanks that were prevalent in his heart for Therrin’s mercy. 

King Blackmuir, he wrote, This is Matteo Osier. I am currently being held for a captor’s sum aboard a pirate ship. They want no bloodshed, but only a fair trade. Myself, alive, for-”

Matteo stopped himself. He must get the logistics squared away before completing his letter. He looked up to his captor. “How much do you want? Where would you like to meet?” He asked softly.

Issy simply scoffed. “How much do you think your worth? The second son of a minor southerly noble? Like the runt of the pig litter being sold for an ounce of pork.” He laughed to himself, as if he was the funniest man in all the world, and Matteo could once again see his black and vile teeth, before settling. “Gold. I want half a pound of it.”

“Gold? You think the king will give you half a pound’s worth of gold?” Matteo was incredulous. Once again, he felt his hatred rise for the greedy little bastards who called themselves pirates. Issy frowned.

“He’d Better, if he ever wants to see the ward from his schooldays again.” Issy’s eye twitched, and he got up quickly. He only walked across the room to grab a pewter cup of ale, but Matteo’s heart still skipped a beat at the movement. “Tell him to meet me at the shipyard that lies just north of Silshead.” Issy continued, “Warn him that I will be well-manned, and if he tries to hang me or any of my crew, he will never see you again.” His eyes were like wood, harsh and scaly.  Matteo returned to his letter.

We are to meet at the shipyard near Silshead. He wishes half-a-pound’s worth of gold for my safe return. He has more than a full crew, and strongly advises a fair trade takes place. 

I hope this letter find you well. 

Matteo hopes the silent “please rescue me” can be read from beyond the paper, but after so many years with Henry, he knows never to get his hopes up.

With that, the letter was signed.

The following morning, Matteo awoke to find themselves docked, and could see out of a porthole that the letter was given to a messenger, whilst some of the pirates treated themselves to the brothel nearby. 

Matteo curled up in his hard bed, and let more tears fall. 

[whumpawink]

My Favorite Whump (or whump-y) Series

@pretty-face-breaker ‘s Emir’s Masterlist (1973)

@deluxewhump ‘s The Blackmuir Reign

@deluxewhump ‘s True North

@whumpwillow ‘s Hazeshift

@whump-in-the-closet ‘s Liberosis

@ashintheairlikesnow ‘s Erase to Control

@whumpering-heights ‘s Behind the Masks

@deluxewhump ‘s Frathouse Boxboy (Z2) (some NSFW)

@whumpsday ‘s Kane and Jim

@/coldresolve ‘s Moneymakers (pls do not tag as whump)

@whumblr ‘s :

Home is Where the Hurt is

Custody Series

@painsandconfusion ‘s With You

@whump-world ‘s Deal with the Devil (NSFW)

@spookyboywhump ‘s Wren/Zander/Cain

@whumpshaped ‘s Devil... h-hot... (crack whump) (SOME NSFW)

@whumpshaped ‘s 7 Minutes in Hell

@whumpzone ‘s Linden and Colton (SOME NSFW)

Tomas and Rowe

@the-bloody-sadist ‘s Dancing with Death

@hurting-fictional-people ‘s Whumpee Betrays Caretaker

@whump-tr0pes ‘s Honor Bound

@whumpers-inc ‘s Who Wants To Be A Whumpee?

@thoughtsonhurtandcomfort ‘s Arrin and Alex (SOME NSFW)

@secretwhumplair ‘s No Warrior (some implied NSFW)

@whumpacabra ‘s The Black Knight

@ shameless whumper’s Jericho series

(since this is gonna be ongoing and constantly edited pls lemme know if every time i edit it tags yall again and i’ll unlink the @‘s 😅💖)

[whumpninja]

The Blackmuir reign by @whump-tropes

There's three that are all by the same author just under different blog names-

They are "All is fair in love and war" "From the Ashes" (bonus points cause it has a dragon), and "Falling for so long."

The blogs they are on are @onlyinmyshadow @pale-is-the-prison , and @a-game-of-stars-and-ink . (Friends with the author, thus obligated to mention all three xD)

Sun and Glass by @whumpflash

And thats all I can think of

UGH bless you anon, I’m adding these to my “get obsessed with” list posthaste

@wounds-seen-and-unseen here ya go

[cupcakes-and-pain]

What are some of your favorite whump series?

My dear anon, there’s so many that I could not possibly count. But some off the top of my head are as follows.

Both Linden & Col and Tomas & Rowe by @whumpzone

Ash & Callum and Gabriel by @whumping-every-day

Jim & Kane by @whumpsday

Anything by @kim-poce but especially Full House and On The Ground

Blondie by @go-ahead-and-whump

Weapons Don’t Weep by @wolfeyedwitch (and all her other stuff but this is my favorite)

Blackmuir Reign by @deluxewhump

Riley by @morelikepainsley

Okay there are more that I can think of, but I’m tired. Remind me to add more in the morning. okay bye now.

[whumpacabra]

Whumpy Stories I Enjoy In No Particular Order :]

This will be updated as I get caught up on my current reading/find the energy to go diving through my archive for older pieces that live in my head rent free.

Largely scifi, fantasy, heroes and villains, with a sprinkling of realism, immortality, and eldritch thrown in for good measure.

Science Fiction:

Dystopia -

Biodrones by @just-horrible-things

Weapons Don't Weep by @wolfeyedwitch

Living Weapon: 327 by @whumpy-daydreams

Space Politics -

Dust by @redwhump

The Martyr by @whump-me

Riot Kings (comic, Hand in Hand AU) by @befuddled-calico-whump

*The Sentry and the Strays by @promptsforyourwhumpfic

Fantasy:

Gozukk and Anna, Castor and Ed by @whimperwoods

The Blackmuir Reign by @deluxewhump

Heroes and Villains:

With Bloody Outstretched Hands by @wolfeyedwitch

*Kyle by @whimperwoods

Behind the Masks by @whumpering-heights

Left Behind by @justbreakonme

Wildfire by @befuddled-calico-whump

Darkness Falls by @turn-the-tables-on-them

Hazeshift by @whumpwillow

Alex & Friends [Pat, Aeroseph] by @i-eat-worlds

Immortals and Monsters:

Waking Nightmare by @whumpering-heights

the cave-diving thing by @whumpwillow

Immortal Drowning by @whumpering-heights

*Bloody Ascension by @ash-and-bone-whump

Modern Mercenaries, Mobs, and Spies:

The Kid by @winedark-whump

Zach and Archer by @redstainedsocks

*The Investigator by @whumpy-bi

*I can't find an official masterpost by the op so I have linked the unique tag I use for archiving purposes of each story on my blog

[whumpsday]

Do you have any story recommendations?

OH DO I!!! in no particular order:

Of Vampires and Men by @whumpy-writings

Tomas & Rowe and Linden & Colton by @whumpzone

The Blackmuir Reign, Vampire Carlo, and Bloodbag Carlo by @deluxewhump

Devil Hot, Killing Stalking Whumping, and Dollhouse by @whumpshaped

Hazeshift and Demon's Haven by @whumpwillow

The Monster of Lindborough by @secretwhumplair

The Heart and the Hunger and With Bloody Outstretched Hands by @wolfeyedwitch

The Purring Vampire Story (Kosta) by @thecyrulik

One Night's Mistake and Of Heroes and Villains by @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

Smoke, Salt, and Asbestos, The Dark Side of the Sun, and Shadow By My Fireplace by @quietly-by-myself

Self-Sharpened Fangs by @redwhump

Cat and Mouse by @t0rture-me

Darkness Falls by @turnthetablesonthem

A Taste of Your Own Medicine and Shattered by @oddsconvert

Angel on the Wall by @emmettnet

Whump World by @loor-101 (this one is an audio drama!! i haven't listened to part 3 bc it has a squick but i've been OBSESSED with parts 1 and 2, especially part 2)

this list is non-exhaustive, just a few of my all-time faves and ones i've been obsessing over lately! :)

[whumpofdory]

Whump blog introduction

Finally decided to quit lurking and actually post some of the whump that’s been floating around in my head.

Some of my favourite tropes:

Pet whump

Captured teammate

Royal whumpee

Dub-con

Intimidating/stoic caretaker

Squicks:

Tooth whump

Vomit

Suicidal ideations (don’t mind death wishes though)

Some of the blogs that inspired me: @maracujatangerine @whumpzone @the-modern-typewriter @just-horrible-things @justbreakonme @some-messed-up-writing-for-you @whumblr @secretwhumplair @deluxewhump @whumpsday

Favourite series (hard to pick, and I may have left out a few):

Linden and Colton by @whumpzone

Lydia and Cory by @maracujatangerine

The Blackmuir Reign by @deluxewhump

Kane and Jim by @whumpsday

[oddsconvert]

Intro Post: Hi <3

I thought I'd do a PROPER intro post on here, because I wanna interact with the whump community so bad, y'all seem so sweet (and talented wth, I can't stop reading!)

I've literally only recently learnt what 'whump' entails like within the past month or so, but now it's clicked into place sooo many things I've loved my whole life and realised that I apparently got whumperflies for! Was definitely convinced something was wrong for me for wanting all my fave characters to be whumped hehe

I'll be posting drabbles, one-shots, maybe some prompts and other kinds of stuff that just springs to mind :)

Favourite Whump Tropes: SUCH a weak spot for captive/kidnapped whump, pet whump, intimate/obsessed whumpers, sometimess bad caretaker (but it depends), injured whump, villain/hero (especially villain whumpee, the angst is immense), hurt/comfort and all that good stuff :)

Kind of Icks?: It's not an ick per se and I'm not opposed to it but I personally cannot write non-con elements simply bc I'm just so bad at it!

Pleasseee feel free to send prompts and asks if you'd like, it'll motivate me to stop being lazy perk up and write something <3

Some blogs/specific writing I absolutely adore, and everyone should check out: (there's sooo many I could include, and I'm so sorry if the tags are annoying!)

@darkthingshappen - 'Brother's Keeper', obsessed isn't even the word for this atm - 'tis so good!

@whumpsday - 'Kane & Jim' *chef's kiss*, binged what is currnetly out in a single night yes yes yesss (who needs sleep?)

@deluxewhump - 'The Blackmuir Reign' - A good ol' bit of medieval whump, I LOOOVE!

@jordanstrophe - Sooo many things I could mention but particularly love 'Basement Whumper' and 'Be a Good Guest'! One of the first blogs I came across when delving into whump

@serickswrites - Another blog that I first came across! (Think I read 'Roadtrip' first, and OML all their writing is so so good!)

And essentially anyone else I follow on here, I could go on and on!

But yeah, hello people! and I look forward to interacting with whumpblr <3

[leyswhumpdump]

What are some of your favorite whump series?

Ooh. I feel like this is a tricky ask to answer, because I'm on a lot of tag lists and I wouldn't want anyone to feel disappointed that I didn't mention their series.

And there were a lot more series I wanted to add (I can think of at least five more), but this time I didn't want to just rattle off a list and call it done. I wanted to really focus on each series shout-out, which took more energy than I expected.

So do bear in mind that this is just a small selection of favourites and is not exhaustive. I'm happy to give other recommendations that are tailored to the whumpy interests of anyone who wants them!

The Blackmuir Reign by @deluxewhump

(Winner of the "I Absolutely Inhaled This Prose" award)

I love fantasy whump, and The Blackmuir Reign has some lovely ASOIAF vibes whilst retaining its own identity. It has some of the highest prose quality of anything I've read online. The author is incredibly skilled at writing complex situations and relationships, of which there is plenty of diversity (Protective, almost surrogate parent and child relationships! Characters that could once have been considered whumpers, becoming whumpees and being caretaken by the same people they once tormented! Past sexual relationships with awkward power dynamics!)

This series is definitely worth checking out if you want some medieval-style politics, and maybe a few pirates as well.

The Case of Kindall, K by @callaeidae3

(Winner of the "Got Ley Reading Books Again" award)

Quick disclaimer that this series would have been on the list even before Callaei and I became mutuals. So far she's released three books in the series, plus a prequel. I've spent my whole adult life struggling to focus on books, but this is the most ADHD-friendly series I've ever read.

As for what it's about—without giving too much away and / or rambling for the next thousand words, it's about a teenager in prison for murder, and the corruption and political agendas wrapped up in that. Callaei balances hurt and comfort really well, and even the worst situations have a rainbow lurking just behind the storm clouds. There's some beautiful platonic intimacy between the two main characters, and a diverse range of captive, emotional and environmental whump.

Unintentional by @distinctlywhumpthing

(Winner of the "Completely Distracted Ley From Her Responsibilities" award)

One of my all-time favourite whump series ever. It ticks a lot of boxes for tropes I like: hurt / comfort, mystery, and a mute / almost-mute whumpee. I've never been a BBU lover, but I love the twists the author puts on the concept—especially the human experimentation / lab whump side of things. I would love to see more BBU stories in this vein, delving into ideas that may not always present themselves as traditional boxboy whump.

This series takes the honour for being that one story I binge read instead of sleeping / getting ready for work / doing whatever other important thing I was supposed to be doing at the time.

[deluxewhump]

Pride of Princes

A story in the Blackmuir Reign verse

3. Roan and Aedric - then you shall have it

Prev

CW: fantasy whump, imprisonment, burning, torture, fantasy religious persecution, fantasy politics, royal caretaker, arranged marriage, manhandling, trust building

There were only two days remaining until his trial. Roan knew the outcome would not be good, but he did hope it would be swift. His execution, he'd heard, would not be. Cleric Aflonsus had promised him the same thing the prince had warned him of.

He’d prefer a beheading, or hanging even, to the stake. He tried not to think about it. He thought of his home, of the woodsmoke and the morning bird calls, of Thraxanthe and Arvid, and of his cat, Rooka. Yellow fields bent heavy with snowfall, birch trees against a slate sky. Rooka was alright, at least. One of his servants would have collected her by now, or Athelsted. His father’s men had taken him so swiftly that morning, an offering to King Blackmuir’s eldest son, he hadn’t had time to think of poor Rooka. 

They came again to hurt him yesterday, but he didn’t worry about breaking, now. He didn’t fear recanting, or denouncing. He’d found another place to put that in his mind, where it would not slip inadvertently out of his mouth in between screams. A few times he’d begged a particular soldier or a stony-eyed knight, pleading with him for mercy, but never a cleric. And he’d never uttered a word of surrender, even then. The white robes visited him in his dreams. Particularly Alfonsus, with eyes like a frozen stream, his pale beard like a wooden puppet-mouth that moved up and down when he spoke. 

Now he was certain when he did die, he’d be reunited with the forests and marshes of his home. Maybe the faces of the gods would, for the first time since he was a small child, be clear again. 

The bolt sliding on his cell door made him jump. He’d been dreaming awake again, eyes open but unseeing. With the jolt of fear came the reminders of his worst physical pain, which was now the burnt soles of his feet. It was not a cleric in the doorway, or a soldier. It was the Blackmuir prince. 

Aedric had been unexpectedly kind to him, despite his refusal to accept the Tercet on the king’s command. He’d brought a healer every day, along with food from the kitchens, fresh water, and clean blankets. Roan couldn’t quite understand why. They had never met, never even corresponded. The first time he’d laid eyes on him was in the Oath Hall of castle Blackmuir, and he was already a traitor and a heretic. And yet Aedric had tried to argue his imprisonment. Still, it was hard to imagine he did not have an ulterior motive. Roan had just been too exhausted, too hurt to figure out what it might be. He was acutely aware of the prince in his cell whenever the healer was, pacing slowly back and forth and stopping to watch whenever he’d whimper or cry out at the healer’s hands cleaning his wounds or treating a particularly deep bruise. 

Now the prince came alone. Roan sat up painfully, using his hands to scoot himself back against the wall of the cell. He didn’t want the red and weeping soles of his feet to touch the stones. The prince did not seem to notice his trepidation, or his hurt feet. He came close, sinking to his knees in front of him. Roan stiffened in heart-pounding fear at the sudden proximity, despite the fact that this man had never hurt him. 

“I’ve gotten it postponed,” said the prince. “Your trial. Another month.”

Roan blinked at him as if he were an apparition. “It’s in two days.”

“Not now. A month. And,” he said, giving Roan something of a cautious smile, “I am in charge of your care until that date. I convinced him. My father.” 

Roan blinked, uncomprehending. 

The prince’s brow furrowed. “That’s a good thing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He could’ve, once. Recently, even. Now his head swam, and his limbs felt heavy all the time. That last session had taken something vital from him. Even this felt like a dream, now that his initial fear had faded from hearing the bolt on the door. 

“You can come out of here,” the prince was saying softly. He had a gentle way about him sometimes, but so did the cleric. “I’m not keeping you down here. Come with me. Let’s go.”

But he couldn’t walk. The prince tried to take his arm and he snatched it away. “No,” he whispered. 

“No? You want to stay here?”

Yes. He could stay in his corner and await his fate. He’d adjusted to that. He could handle that. Moving meant uncertainty, and he didn’t think he could take uncertainty anymore. Not with the bottoms of his feet on fire and his head so heavy. He rested it against the cool wall of his cell, and tears wet his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to cry. Not in front of the prince. He hated the Blackmuirs, and the Muirlands, though at the moment he couldn’t remember how to articulate why. 

Prince Aedric sat down beside him, on his left, with his back pressed against the same wall. He was quiet for a long time. Roan found the strength to lift his wrist to his face and wipe away the wetness. “My feet,” he said, when it occurred to him that the prince had always helped his wounds, thus far, not given him more. 

“What’s wrong?”

“They burned them. Yesterday.” Though he would regret sharing the detail later, he pressed on now. “A taste of what will come if I don’t give them what they want.”

Again, the Blackmuir prince was silent. Roan fell asleep, or perhaps passed out. When he woke, two guards were lifting him, each grabbing him under one arm. They wore the Blackmuir crest on their chests. He protested weakly. He knew what was next. It had only been a day. He couldn’t do it again, so soon. Fear roused him enough to struggle. “Please,” he sobbed. 

“Roan.” 

It was Prince Aedric. 

“They’re with me. They’re not here to hurt you. Don’t fight them.”

They picked him up so he wouldn’t have to put any weight on his feet, and carried him out of the cells. 

_

Aedric had Roan Barrowfen taken to the same physician that treated him during his imprisonment. Roan was awake, but largely unresponsive to both words and touch. Only when the healer worked on his burned feet did he grit his teeth tight and moan. 

Aedric went to his side, thinking maybe it would be appropriate to offer a hand to squeeze, or some words of encouragement. Roan Barrowfen did not take his offered hand, and closed his eyes tightly against anything he said. 

He slept a long time in the infirmary in a low straw cot. The following day, when he had bathed himself (he would not consent to be helped, not by Aedric or a healer or even a servant, which Aedric offered), Aedric took him to his own rooms.

Before all of this, he’d imagined spending a night or two alone with him, getting to know one another. He’d assumed they would want to sleep together, or at least try a kiss, a touch. He’d imagined himself as the one who would initiate, if it seemed appropriate, and who would do his best to make his new peaceweaver feel welcome, in every sense of the word. 

He had not imagined it would all go as awry as this. 

Roan looked about his chambers, a suite with a bedroom and an adjacent sitting room. The anteroom alone consisted of two stone hearths. In the second room was a large bed with a canopy for both warmth and privacy, a basin of water, and white pine coffers above which hung an ornate mirror of smooth southerly glass. Nearby was a heavy oak table cluttered with documents and inkwells beneath a tall, narrow window.  

“Are you accustomed to finer?” he teased.

“No,” Roan answered seriously. “Our keep is similar in style. We are northern, too, though you call us easterly here. But our keep is smaller, and our mirror glass is not so fine as that.”

“Your feet must pain you. Please, get off of them. They need to heal.”

Roan didn’t argue, and limped gingerly to the table under the window on a set of crutches given to him by the healer. He was pale, and shaking slightly from the effort of coming here himself, which he’d insisted on. Aedric thought he just couldn’t bear the idea of being handled by Blackmuir guards any more. He seemed much more present than he had the day before, at least. Fully lucid, for better or worse.

“May I ask you something?” he said after Roan had seated himself and laid the crutches aside.

Roan looked up at him as he approached, rings of exhaustion under his eyes. His coal dark hair, which had been filthy from the cells and the mistreatment was now shining and soft from the bath.

“Did you and I exchange a letter?” Aedric asked. 

Roan frowned in puzzlement. “No.”

Aedric sat in the nearest chair facing him across a corner of the table. “I was afraid of that.”

“Someone sent a letter to you? As me?”

Aedric rifled through a stack of documents until he found it, and slid it over the table to him. 

Roan picked it up and skimmed it, his look of confusion turning into annoyance. “This isn’t mine. That’s not even my signature.”

“Whose, then?” Aedric saw a look of alarm, bordering on fear, cross Roan’s face and hurried to add, “I believe you. I’m not challenging you. I just wonder if you know who might have written it.”

“Some scribe,” Roan answered, and slid the letter back to him. “On the instructions of my father.”

“Did you even agree to come here?”

Roan looked at him carefully, no doubt wondering if he should be candid. “No,” he said after a moment's deliberation. “I did not.”

“Your father arranged it without your knowledge, then?”

“I’m sure. You heard the king. He wrote in that letter that if I would not capitulate, you had his blessing to use me as an example. He is displeased with my refusal to convert. As displeased as everyone else, it seems.” He thought for a moment, tilting his pretty head. His voice took the slightest inflection of a question.  “Everyone but you?”

“It’s of very little concern to me.”

Roan narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

He shrugged out of his black-and-silver cloak, holding it aloft to offer it to Roan in case he was cold. Roan stiffened and shook his head, so Aedric laid it across the nearest empty chair. “There’s a dozen religions, and subsects of them, from here to Aepoli,” he said. “Perhaps a dozen more to the west.”

He wanted to tell him that Miline was southerly, and in their ten years of marriage still observed her traditions of star-reading, and their holidays of solstice. But since the Tercet had gained popularity, this sort of information was suddenly quite sensitive, and could be used against her if someone ever wished. She no longer left evidence of this practice lying around, even where her own handmaids might see. Aedric certainly wasn’t going to tell Roan, even if it might help his argument. “I don’t have any preference on what gods you claim. Which is why I didn’t ask in my letter, which I now realize you never read. I didn’t think it had any bearing on the success of the arrangement.”

“The king clearly does.”

He is bold, Aedrick thought. Bold and direct, even after being shown what that could earn him in the Muirlands. Aedric placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. He tried to gentle his voice. “If you had not made such an adamant declaration, it would have gone unnoticed.”

“You would have me lie?”

“I would have you live. I would have advised you to be subtle.”

“The Tercet is the official religion of the kingdom now, is it not? Of your family’s reign?”

“Not quite.”

“But it’s heading in that direction?”

“Yes. For now.”

“For now? What does that mean?”

“It means I am not so sure it’s a good idea. The clerics… they have a concerning amount of power already, and if it becomes officiated, they will ask for even more. Or quietly take it. Cleric Afonsus is a cunning man. I’m sure you’ve become acquainted with him, by now?”

Roan tried not to flinch at the name, but Aedric saw his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. “Yes.”

“I thought so. My father suffered an illness this spring. He’s not been entirely himself since. Please don’t repeat this, but there is a widening gap of power. I believe the Tercet leaders are after an inordinate amount of that power. My father can’t see it now, but by tying the Tercet to the reign, they will achieve this.”

“Does it not serve your interests? Does it not make you god-kings?”

“God-appointed kings,” Aedric corrected. “As appealing as that sounds, I fear it will turn them into kingmakers.”

“So you would oppose the officiation?”

“I would deny them outright.”

“Then alas that you are not our king.”

He ignored the treasonous tone of that remark. He didn’t want to discourage  Roan’s candidness with him, even for his own safety. And having been tortured, Aedric thought he was allowed an off-color comment or two, as long as it was in the privacy of his chambers. 

“No, I’m not. That’s why I want you and I to say our vows. If that is official, I have more control over what happens to you.”

“Control,” Roan said darkly. “Is that something I should want from you?”

Aedric faltered. Yes, he thought. Since I laid eyes on you, I have only tried to help you. “I can’t tell you that,” he said instead. “You have to arrive at that conclusion yourself.”

“In a month.”

Ideally sooner than that. 

Aedric gathered a stack of papers and straightened them. The sun was setting, and soon a servant would come to build fires in the hearths. “What can I do to put you at ease now?” he asked. “Tonight.”

Roan watched him move papers across the table. He lifted his eyes to Aedric’s. “There is one thing.”

It was an object. Small, carved, wooden. It was in the cells, hidden in the rushes in the northwestern corner, he said, so they wouldn’t find it on him and take it. Aedric went down alone, and told the guard at the door to stay put as he entered the small stone room, only a foot between his head and the low, damp ceiling. After a moment of sifting he found a smooth piece of boxwood the size of an egg, and returned to his chambers with it. 

He held it out to Roan, who took it reverently from his outstretched hand. “Thank you.”

“What is it?”

Roan found a hidden seam with his thumbnail and opened it on a hinge like an oyster, revealing two halves of an intricately carved, hollowed interior, with a depiction of a fertile woodland inside. In the center was a horned owl, small as a walnut and painstakingly detailed. “Arvid,” he said, which Aedric assumed was the name of a god. “In the Oath Hall, you asked me why my gods did not help me.”

“I know. I meant it in jest.”

“I see that now. But that’s not how it works. We don’t seek favor from the gods. Favor is… more chance than design.”

“Is there a god of chance then?”

Roan gave him a fleeting, indulgent smile. It was the first of its kind he’d been given. 

“What does it do?” he asked, nodding at the carving in Roan’s hand. 

“Nothing.” He closed it with a soft click. “It comforts me.”

“Oh,” said Prince Aedric. “Then you shall have it.”

Next

[blackmuirreigncontinuation]

Hey guys!! So @deluxewhump will be resigning from writing, and I thought it would be nice to post what I would do with the characters of The Blackmuir Reign that she created.

For the first 22 chapters of the story, please view the pinned post of @deluxewhump

Chapter 23

Please follow if you’d like to see this! :) and I am absolutely open to suggestions and stuff

[redwhump]

Whumpmas in July Day 5

Who is your favorite whumpee?

I kind of hate being asked my favorite anything, because with a few exceptions I can never think of a good answer. So I'm just going to list some whumpees I really like here because I am incapable of deciding on a favorite.

Matteo Osier from @deluxewhump's Blackmuir Reign series. Seeing his distrust of Therrin and how he expects Therrin to hurt him is nice. And just as he seemed to be beginning to believe he was safe and just before his brother arrived, he gets ripped away from his current safety to suffer more. It's great. :)

Kane de Sang from @whumpsday's Kane and Jim series. I enjoy seeing the character development from pre-whump Kane to post-whump Kane, and how he genuinely changes and becomes a better person than he was before. And seeing the relationship between him and Jim develop and change is also great.

Haze from @whumpwillow's Hazeshift series. I binged this series last night when I should really have been asleep. I just love Haze's guilt and feeling like he deserves this, and all the "heroes" being absolutely terrible to him. Davian's developing reluctant sympathy towards Haze is interesting. While Haze seems mostly "broken" and thinks he deserves the suffering, he does have some occasional moments of being slightly snarky/talking back (mostly aimed at Lisle), which are interesting.

Logan from @emmettnet's Angel on the Wall series. I love the other versions of Logan too, but I really enjoy watching AOTW Logan recovering from his trauma and kind of learning to be a person and do thing again rather than being just a piece of art. And the way it's written is great, I adore the juxtaposition between his trauma and his work to recover from an effect of that specific trauma.

Now that I wrote all this, I've realized that even though I really enjoy defiant whumpees, none of the ones I've listed here are that defiant. Which is interesting. Clearly defiant whumpees aren't the only kind I enjoy.

@whumpmasinjuly

[pigeonwhumps]

Who is your favourite whumpee?

Whumpmas in July: Day 5

Whumpmas in July masterlist

Ahh so many!

Other people's:

Leo Evans from The Fighter by @hold-him-down

Weapon from Weapons Don't Weep by @wolfeyedwitch

Envy from Demon's Haven by @whumpwillow

Logan from Angel on the Wall by @emmettnet

Rowe from Tomas and Rowe by @whumpzone

Matteo from The Blackmuir Reign by @deluxewhump

Bailey from With Bloody Outstretched Hands by @wolfeyedwitch

My own:

Lucan, Rowan and Cian (Cian counts, after the start of the kidnapping arc. He's a caretaker turned whumpee, he counts) (is that all my named whumpees? Yes. Do I care? No)

@whumpmasinjuly

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

Get to know me tag game

Uhhh, I think I was tagged twice, by @cryptidwritings and @emcscared-whumps 💜

Favourite Color: Blue, with purple a close second.

Currently Reading: On Tumblr, Blackmuir Reign, and whatever Whumptober might drop on my doorstep. Outside Tumblr, nothing really, didn’t have time.

Last Song: Dawn Over A New World - DRAGONFORCE Cover by Dan Vasc.

Last Movie: *shrug*

Last Series: Deadwood 

Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Savory, followed by sweet. 

Currently working on: Some pieces about Merry’s past, while being threatened by a 2 month old ask for a Cedric AU, as well as a google doc full of edits for my novel. A website for myself. The last achievements of Littlewood.

Not tagging anyone, it’s 2 am and I should not be awake. If you see this and want to do it, go ahead.

[whumpcreations]

Whump recommendations

I recently discovered some really good new whump stories and I´m now looking for similar recommendations.

So if you all have a good fantasy or medieval whump story to recommend please let me now.

For reference, it could be inspired by following series:

The Blackmuir Reign by @deluxewhump

All is Fair in Love and War by @onlyinmyshadow

Kingdom´s Sword by @kim-poce

Which I all love btw