#fae whump

[enemieswbenefits]

He's having fun in there, he told me himself

[chaotic-orphan]

powerful fae whumper yandere x human

Briar crouched at the edge of the circle of mushrooms, inspecting it with a hard gaze and a cocked brow. She really wanted to put her hand in the circle. Something in her told her to jump in and prove the old bat wrong, but no, she lingered on the edge of caution and glared at the patch of grass. Because that’s all it was.

Grass.

And sure, if Gran was right, then stepping into the circle could take her to the faerie realm, but what if she just— she stretched her fingers, her heart thumping against her chest as she held her hand just at the cusp of the fairy ring.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Briar startled, falling back onto her arse on the grass, her eyes darting to the stranger to her right, standing slightly behind her and leaning against a tree.

She bristled as she got to her feet, furiously wiping the grass away on her britches. “You scared the life out of me!” She snapped, whirling to face him and froze. All other insults lodged in her throat as she stared at the most beautiful man, she had ever lain her eyes upon.

His skin was flawless, as smooth as a blanket of freshly fallen snow, and pale too, like he had never seen the sun in his life. His hair fell in short, cropped curtains framing his long, elegant features, as dark as coals burning in a fire on a cold night. So different from the hairstyles of the boys in her village, or even the big town over.

He tilted his head at her, his eyes almost as clear as shards of glass reflected on a frozen lake, regarding her without expression. After a long, embarrassing moment, Briar finally found her sense and her voice and refused the blush that wanted to form.

“Who are you?”

“You first,” he said.

Briar scoffed and folded her arms. “What are you, five?”

“Clearly you’re the child,” he said, his voice like smooth silk, flowing through the wind as if it danced and intertwined itself on the breeze. Even though his words were chastising, she still couldn’t help but be entranced, wanting to hear him say more. “Brazen and bold. Why are you playing by a fairy ring?”

“Why are you watching me play by a fairy ring?” She demanded hotly.

One side of his lips quipped up as he pushed off the tree and stood to his full height, and gods… Briar had to force herself not to take a step back as she watched him stretch his long limbs and walk towards her. She should move, she realised. Back away. But the iron on her wrist that Gran insisted she wear burned cold as she went to step back and she froze, glancing over her shoulder and right below her was the fairy ring.

She had forgotten.

She pivoted and turned so her body faced the fairy ring and stepped away from the man. The man moved with unnatural grace, as if he were a dancer in a travelling show. Perhaps that’s what he was. Perhaps he was out here to train, and she had jumped to conclusions too quickly after being startled.

“I was merely passing through when I noticed you,” he told her, his voice smooth, amusement dancing in his ice-like eyes. “Have you heard the stories of fairy rings?”

“Yes, as it happens. My Gran made sure to tell me of them. So what? You wanted to see if I would be forced to dance until I passed out?” She asked incredulously, brows drawing over her eyes as she backed up further. He paused by the fairy ring, a good three feet away from her and Briar was thankful for the distance. She could study him properly with the space between them. Nature seemed to move around him, as if he was a force of natural law and not the other way around. Briar should go. She should go, but… she didn’t want to stop looking at him.

“Or be dragged into the fairy realm,” he said with a smile that dazzled her. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous amusement, looking at Briar as if she were his next meal. His words seemed less important than his lips which were redder than berries on a holly bush. “Perhaps you should have listened to your Gran.”

“Perhaps,” she agreed, almost dreamily, before considering his words. She frowned. No, that’s not what she actually thought. “But I just think she’s afraid. They’re nothing but stories to scare children at night.”

“There is always truth in legend.”

“Right. Moral truth,” Briar said with an automatic roll of her eyes as she walked around the circle, given it a wide berth too until she stopped directly across from the man. Her mind her own again, but it hadn’t been someone else’s… had it? “Some cautionary tale,” she ground out, her temple pulsing. “Don’t steal. Respect strangers. Be wary of generous gifts. Blah blah blah.”

“You don’t believe the tales?”

She lifted her gaze to meet his. “I believe they’re false. I don’t believe in the seelie and unseelie courts. I don’t believe in fairy rings. I don’t believe in hags that steal children who stray too close to rivers. I think they’re stories told by people who can’t make sense of the world. Who then must craft a fiction to comfort themselves.”

The man didn’t speak for a while and a silence lapsed between them. “And that is not you?”

Briar took a breath as she stared at the ring of perfect white mushrooms. “No,” she said quietly, “that is not me. Nature is kind and bountiful, and nature is cruel and ravenous. That is life. That is real. I don’t need stories to tell me that.”

“And yet, here you are, investigating a fairy ring,” he mused. Briar couldn’t help the blush that rose on her cheeks at that. Like she was caught lying to herself and he called her out on her poor self-deception. He chuckled as she bit her cheek, trying to stifle a rueful smile.

“Yes,” she conceded with a soft laugh. “But I’m curious. About the things that inspired the stories.”

“And wary enough not to cross the bounds.”

“Perhaps I’m not brave enough yet.”

“Perhaps not.”

She met his gaze again and her smile widened. It was her turn to tilt her head at him. “I don’t recognise you from the village,” she told him. “Or the town over.”

“As I told you,” he said, his eyes dancing with intrigue. “I’m just passing through.”

“I don’t see any bags,” Briar said pointedly, her fingers grabbing her chin thoughtfully, running her thumb over her bottom lip. “Or a cloak, and it’s a cold night, so you couldn’t have been travelling for long. And most people would stay at an inn on their travels.”

The man laughed again. Briar had never heard such a beautiful sound before. She wanted to make him laugh again. It was as if the sound could heal all woes, and light a fire inside her that comforted more than any hearths could in winter. He walked around the circle towards her and Briar kept her stance, kept her eyes on him as he approached. His tunic was made of rich fabric, a cobalt blue that matched the colour of winter flowers, with black and silver thread that looked so fine as if it was woven from the metals themselves.

Not a dancer in travelling shows then.

“How shrewd a creature you are,” he purred, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. Briar’s breath hitched as his palm settled on her face, so cold, like marble, and yet alive. His eyes narrowed slightly as he touched her and he chuckled, rubbing his thumb under her eye. “How fortunate a meeting this was, too. Some could call it fate.”

“If you believe in things like that,” Briar said with a breath but not a lot of power, as if the man had stolen it from her with his touch and proximity alone.

He laughed again and her knees turned a little weak as his eyes danced with knowing mischief, as if he knew something she didn’t and delighted in her ignorance. “Of course you wouldn’t believe in fate.”

Briar swallowed, the iron burning cold around her wrist as she blinked up at him. She wanted desperately to stay with him, to never stop looking into his eyes, hearing his voice, speaking with him, but— her temple thumped again as her eyes drifted towards the twilight sky behind him, and she gasped, pulling back, as if doused with cold water.

“Excuse me, it… it is quite late,” she said with a soft blush colouring her cheeks. “And this is… well it was lovely meeting you,” she said, turning and running her hand over her forehead, trying to calm her sudden racing thoughts. She didn’t know what was wrong all of a sudden, she just knew she needed to get home to Gran. “But I must go.”

“You can’t leave without telling me your name,” he said, stepping in front of her as silent as the breeze. Briar startled. How did he move so quickly? She must not have noticed in her daze. Her temple thumped harder and she swallowed a gasp as her heartrate picked up, pounding against her ribs. “Please. I’ll simply go mad without it.”

“I’m—” the iron burned against her wrist and that warm nausea washed over her again. “I’m sorry. I feel ill. I really must go.” She ran around him as she felt her body scream at her to leave, to run, to flee, as if her lungs were closing up and her heart was being frozen and trying to beat through a cold fire, trying to thaw itself with movement. She felt the eyes of the enthralling man on her as she disappeared into the trees, and by the time she got to the village she was tired.

Her body calmed, her mind cleared, and she caught her breath, hunched over grabbing her knees. The pulsing in her temples ebbed as she gradually composed herself again. Gran had told her to stay out of the forest lest she meet a fey who would spirit her away, but Briar knew the other stories. Real stories, about young women like her who walked into the woods and never walked out again. Groups of girls forced to walk the trails together in the light of the sun, always on alert for threats.

About bodies found with their skirts ruffled and their throats slit.

Once her breath returned to her, Briar straightened and started for home. Gran may be worried about unseen and unreal threats, but humans posed more threat to her because they were real, and she had gotten so carried away at the fairy circle that she hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten. How unseemly it was to be in the woods that late with a man, and unmarried at that. It would be scandalous. Even though nothing happened but…

Briar pressed her knuckles to her cheek and felt the heat from the beautiful man’s cold hands still warming her, and she smiled.

Scandalous, perhaps. But also, a little bit… exciting.

*****

Continued here

Everyone meet Briar Hollows, our heroine/protagonist of our little fae story, and the mysterious stranger she met while investigating a fairy ring. What a scandal indeed for her to be out in the woods so late unaccompanied with a man... hehehe

Orphans, assemble! (aka the tag-list): @sootheandsavage @zillobeastrevival @sunflower1000 (lmk if you wanna be added or removed <3)

P.S. I ALSO FORGET WHO WAS ON THE GEN-TAG LIST OTHER THAN SUNFLOWER AND I CANNOT FIND ANY RECENT DRABBLES SO SORRY IF YOU WERE ON IT, PLEASE REMIND ME AND I'LL TAKE NOTE OF IT FROM NOW ON

[redd956]

Whump Prompts: Fae Whumper

Whumpee made the fatal error, accidentally giving up their name to the fae. They are under the service of a cruel and sadistic entity.

Whumpee is at the mercy of a group of nymphs that have captured them. In order to escape they have to find some way to free themselves from this enchanted forest, but they have no idea how they even got here in the first place.

Far too drunk and lost in the woods, whumpee stumbled through a fairy ring and becomes lost in the feywild. Does a friendly fae attempt to nurse them back to health? Or do they become easy pickings for a sadistic fairy?

Caretaker has been searching for their missing friend. Deemed paranoid and crazed by others, they continued to search for the fairy gate that whumpee disappeared through. No one believes what caretaker saw that night when their friend was lured into another world entirely.

Whumper is able to fly gracefully. They've taken whumpee captive to place only accessible by flight. Whumpee has to rely on another fae if they want to escape.

Whumpee is completely charmed, ending up in a Stockholm Syndrome situation with their fae whumper. Abruptly, their charm has been broken, and now their world is crumbling apart.

[whitecoatwhump]

Whumpee realizes too late that they ate fae food and tries to force themselves to vomit, hoping that would count as not consuming the food

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Whumper drugging Whumpee up so they're super docile and out of it for when the other whumpers come over for a whumper party. Whumper's guests take turns cooing over Whumpee, petting them, holding them in their laps and feeding them little treats like pieces of fruit or chocolate. The whumpers fighting for the adorable Whumpee's attention, however limited it may be. Now imagine Whumpee is a human and the whumpers are all fae.

...should I write this?

[ronanziriano]

Home with the Fairies by boundAce

[distinctlywhumpthing]

Fae August: A FaeU, if you will, to In League

cw: 'it' as a pronoun, nonhuman whumpee, multiple whumpers, beating/manhandling.

A high-pitched keening winds its way through the house. 

Wyatt pauses, pencil hovering over his place in the row of numbers. The last of the day’s sun spills in the window at a low angle, casting long shadows through yellow-orange light. The boys are winding down from the day which means they’re winding up for the night.  

There’s a thunderous crash followed by another cry, twisting its way upstairs. 

Short, snappy strides traverse the house and Frankie’s lad takes the stairs two at a time in his haste. Tommy arrives at Wyatt’s door out of breath, fingers catching the doorframe as though it’s the only thing stopping him from barreling into the room and straight through the wall on the other side. 

Wyatt raises his eyebrows. 

“Better come down, sir.” 

Something glass shatters and one of the boys swears. Tommy flinches. “Quick,” he revises before turning on his heel and flying down the stairs. 

The chest of drawers is overturned in the foyer, all manner of hats and gloves and anything else that needed losing strewn about. The worn carpet that runs to the hallway lies bullied into a heap by the kitchen door. 

Tommy is nowhere in sight. Wyatt pauses to listen outside the dining room. 

“Don’t even think about it,” someone, sounds like Alfred, warns. 

Something hits the wall by the door. 

“Little bastard.” 

“Take that side!” 

There’s a scuffle. A chair overturns, knocking against the hardwood. 

Wyatt pushes the door open. 

As soon as he crosses the threshold, it captures his gaze. 

Wide eyes lock onto his with a force that almost breaks his stride. He’s never seen anything like them. Shining and bright and so expressive. Wyatt can all but see the heat of anger rolling off it in waves. Feel the prickle of shame teeming under its skin at being toyed with. All shadowed by a cold, pulsing fear so crystallised it’s almost a second soul behind the gaze. 

The fae stands in the middle of the table, clutching one of the pewter candlesticks in its trembling fist. The boys have it surrounded on all sides. 

None but the creature pay Wyatt any mind. 

Alfred takes advantage of its distraction and grabs it by the arm, pulling it, stumbling off the table. As soon as it’s on the ground, Jimmy drags it away by a fistful of hair and shoves it backwards at a chair. It crashes to the floor with a cry and scrambles to regain its footing but Frankie is faster. He grabs the fae by the barbaric iron collar encircling its neck and hauls it up. It claws at his arms and wrists, leaving raised welts but not quite able to draw blood. Cursing, Frankie throws it into the corner of the room. 

The creature crashes into the wall, too slow to catch itself. Chest heaving, it rolls against the wall to face its captors again. It tries to raise the candlestick but Alfred snatches it mid-swing. The fae snarls at being disarmed. 

“What’s this?” Wyatt finds his voice. 

“Keats’ pet,” Frankie spits. “Found it hiding in the garage.”

So, the rumors were true. “Why is it in our dining room?” 

“We were trying to get it to the basement,” Jack says.

Hounds herding geese would have more subtlety. And success for that matter. 

Frankie and Alfred close in on the creature. It’s more than a head shorter than any of the boys, clad in a torn pair of trousers and an oversized shirt that’s more grime than fabric. Knowing Keats, it’s not a certainty that its wings remain intact underneath. 

“Why did Keats send you?” Frankly asks, not for the first time if his tone is any indication. 

The fae boy won’t look at him and gets a sharp slap for its disregard. It clutches its cheek with both hands, glaring at a spot on the floor. Wyatt wonders why it doesn’t try to get away when it fought tooth and nail up to this point. 

Alfred strikes three matches at once, earning its focus as well as a flinch. “Answer the fucking question.” 

Frankie grabs one of its rail-thin arms. It puts up no resistance but, with visible effort, tears its gaze away from the flame to meet Wyatt’s eyes. 

Fear tightens around it like a vice, bound with a bitter righteousness. A swallow caught in barbed wire. And something else. Desperation? Fluttering wings, falling feathers. Hope? 

“Stop. Enough,” he hears himself say. 

“What?” Alfred turns, shaking out the matches when the flame reaches his fingers. Returning the favour from earlier, the fae takes advantage of his distraction to sink its teeth into Frankie’s hand. 

“Sonofabitch—” Frankie releases its arm and winds up to strike but the creature slips between them, weaving around Jimmy and Jack in an impressive display of speed to scurry under the table. 

“Don’t let it out,” someone yells. 

The boys trip over themselves trying to trap it under the table, kicking up a cacophony of sounds. From their stomping boots and all manner of shouting and cursing, to the scrape of chairs being pulled away or used as barriers, if not overturned completely. Hounds herding geese indeed. 

“Wyatt, the door!” 

Too late. 

The fae brushes past his legs, still crouched low enough for the table. But it doesn’t bolt for the door and freedom with its headstart. 

Against all reason, it uses the dresser as a step and throws itself onto Wyatt’s back.

@whumpy-writings @deluxewhump @no-whump-on-main @maracujatangerine

@wolfeyedwitch @gala1981 @redwingedwhump @whumpflash

@poeticagony-blog @annablogsposts @fleur-alise @melancholy-in-the-morning @crystalquartzwhump

@magziemakeswhatever @neverthelass @cakeinthevoid @inkstainsonmyhands12 @morning-star-whump

@writereleaserepeat @meetmeinhellcroutons @hellodecisionparalysis

[daydreamwhumpinc]

Fae Whump

Okay, so I have been making more and more new OCs and stories (because, honestly, what else can you do) and that made me think a lot about fae whump. And, yeah, these tropes have already been used over and over again, but they just tickle my brain :)

Cold iron is extremely poisonous to the fae. Any prolonged contact between the fae's skin and the cold iron burns the skin. I was thinking something like a cold/ice burn.

The burns from the cold iron or any other cold iron injuries leave dark purple, lightning-like scars.

The cold iron also leaves the fae with severe exhaustion and fever. Basically very, very sick and it has to be flushed from their blood.

If cold iron is somehow ingested, it will cause necrosis of the internal organs if not treated.

Haven't thought about other kinds of fae (in my universe, they are divided based on the four seasons, how original, I know LOL), but when the Winter fey use too much of their magic/loose control of their magic they can get consumed by their frost magic (they are resilient to just "common" cold weather though, it is more like if their winter magic goes haywire.

Every fae has a magic core that contain their magic, located where their heart is, but I guess it's more like a representation of their magic so its like on alternate plane if that makes sense? If the fae overuses their magic, there is a possibilty that they can damage their core and have their magic leak out into their physical body and make them sick.

If the fae continues to use their magic with a damaged core, the pure, potent magic can start damaging their physical body because the magic power is not channeled properly.

Minor core damage feels like a bad heartburn.

Severe core damage consumes the fae from the inside and basically destroys the body through wild, uncontrolled magic.

When magic is in its pure state (wild magic) it acts like acid and can burn the fae and any other being if touched directly.

Human hunters created shackles and chains with low concentration of cold iron. They still hurt the fae, but at a slower rate which can prolong the hurt/torture.

Enjoy the Whumping :) ;)