Something I keep telling myself I will do, and then never following through with, is attempting to write a bit of prose or dialogue every day while I'm deep in the weeds of planning and/or being forced to prioritize other commitments. So this is an attempt to hold myself accountable; i don't think i'll necessarily achieve the "prose every day" goal, but i think it will be good for me to be able to have a compilation to look back on later. I do know Im starting this in the middle of June- but better late than never, lmao
June 1-12: TBA
June 11: A bodice of calcified flowers - blooming wrought from stone. [Dress/fashion description]
June 13: The meandering light shimmers and shimmers upon the water inside the station; for the interior appears to be flooded like a lake, the sun puddling through the glass to peer into the iridescent blue depths of the pool. Vines and ivy twist up the walls to frame the windows as if each one was an enchanted gate from some long-forgotten dream-tale. [Extract from a location description inspired by a piece by yuumei-art]
June 14: The light hangs low and scarce in the pale Invernian sky. When Lark’s blood sprays across Alejandro’s face, the red gore of his life burns as if the sun were ablaze in place of the wintriness all around. [Potential first lines of a planned prequel fic]
June 15: -
June 16: A gown like a shining column of water. Silver latticework overlays the pale fall of fabric in an imitation of antique Kyllvuen shield jewelry, the phantoms of armor and slaughter wrought into this delicate, shimmering thing. [Dress description]
June 17: “No. Do not thank me. I am doing this for your people. Not for you.” [Possible dialogue for a scene tmtm]
apropos of nothing i'm still thinking about the nezha movies (2019 & 2025) because of the way they handle certain lore pieces. and to be fair this isn't atypical of most chinese media, this is just the most recent piece of media i watched so its ✨rotating✨
i feel like in a lot of mainstream western media, there is the "good vs evil vs morally gray" bent, but in chinese stories of a specific genre (xianxia, wuxia, stuff based on classical novels) this is frequently more of a "chaos vs harmony" dichotomy; one of the bigger creation myths is that of gods bringing order to the world out of a mass of chaos energy. then there's the dragons as the seas ofc, in the movie i was watching specifically they're trapped in an underwater palace, and the dragon prince guy has water and ice powers. The whole premise of the movies is that the chaos energy of some orb thing got split into the pure spirit pearl and the demon “pill”, then those are imbued into 2 guys who become the human incarnations of those energies
Also the lotus flower imagery lol, that was EVERYWHERE (and it usually is)! In Buddhism the lotus is the symbol of purity and strength against adversity due to how it grows through dirt and mud or whatever so within magical fantasy stories all the cool powerful stuff usually invokes the lotus in some way (actually, a lot of classic fantasy stories in general have lore tm based off of the version of Buddhism that took root and spread in China just in general, and the way it combined with existing beliefs and daoist principles). There was a really breathtaking scene where nezha is doing fun magic power shit and he engulfs the ice dragon guy in an enormous lotus flower made of fire. And the vessel they use to transport some magical bullshit, and then to contain the characters’ souls, is this magical “sacred lotus”
Other signs of magical power and prowess are like, being able to grow multiple arms out of one’s back (which is derivative of Indian imagery and the Buddhist traditions I want to say) and being able to shape shift and change form into animals and whatnot. Frequently, this is positioned as demons (who are usually based on animals - a cheetah demon, a dragon demon, etc) being able to achieve a human form as a sign of training and whatnot (which. The human-centric “oh yeah humans are one of the highest forms of life” thinking is kind of problematic in its own way when we examine how that shapes the historical Chinese attitude toward the environment, but that’s a tangent).
Chinese fantasy also has the whole heaven and skies being where magic immortal ppl live concept, there’s a whole legend about how the Milky Way is the river separating earth from the heavenly palace and whatever (and the heavenly palaces are always of jade, instead of gold or w/e). Nezha movies showed this for sure, and a lot of times you’ll see gods / immortals descending from the ~heavens~ usually seated on clouds or giant lotus flowers to talk to the characters. The skies and stars especially are treated as a powerful magical power (which i think is not uncommon across any genre of fantasy), which is reflected in a lot of the names of giant magic artifacts and all of that.
Then there’s the whole magic power system of “cultivation” which. Idk what that is I’m not getting into it 💀 but the core of the magic is that immortality is something that can be practiced towards and achieved, and maintained by consuming some magical thing (magic peaches in the case of journey to the west, pills in these recent nezha movies).
The focus on seas and water as a point of immense power, magical or otherwise, was reflected in nezha with the dragons and is typical across other stories (dragons = water). It makes sense given how reliant ancient Chinese agriculture was on rain and the flooding cycles of rivers to cultivate rice. According to the version of the zodiac story I know, all the animals raced across the heavenly river to determine the order of the zodiac, and the dragon is 5th coz he stopped to make it rain for some ppl
Anyway idk where I was going with this but I just thought it was really interesting how the nezha movies (and Chinese fantasy media in general) kind of just throw you in and assume you have all this cultural background knowledge to make sense of the world and events as they unfold. It makes sense - their target audience is mainland Chinese kids and general public - but it’s so fascinating to examine. We have western equivalents for sure; guanyin has the same name recognition as King Arthur or Zeus (probably more I want to say actually lol), the basic principles of cultivation and qi and soul immortality are just as entrenched as lore about Welsh and Irish fairies, the trickster cannot lie cannot share true name concepts. Journey to the west is overwhelmingly popular and has been for like 30 years- def on par with Disney in the west, everywhere I went in China last year I saw journey to the west merch. The focus on harmony and natural order triumphing over chaos takes the place of the traditional good vs evil dichotomy in western fairytales. Idk it’s just fun to rotate!
i've lurked around whump communities for a long time, so i figured it was about time for me to jump in myself :)
pinned post is still a work in progress while i figure out what exactly i want to do with my blog here
my projects (placeholders for now, will put actual relevant info at some point):
❖ WB — Six centuries ago, Alejandro swore himself to a cruel faerie lord in exchange for the life of his childhood lover. In doing so, he condemned himself to an eternity of captivity, bound to his patron by the contract drawn from his blood and the flowers blooming from his bones each spring. Now, enslaved in all but name, he must serve both the whims of his lord and the treacherous machinations spun by fae queens and human sovereigns alike.
Autumn arrives on wings of crimson and gold, and the world goes lush with dying. The stars are changing with the advent of the new age, emerging from their slumber for the first time since the Storm, and Alejandro is quite possibly the only one who can stop it.
[OC intros coming at some point]
featuring • fae courts, cutthroat maneuvering & all the political intrigue, humans kept as 'pets', fucked up magic, too much worldbuilding and not enough plot I mean what, nsfw
warnings/cws • slavery, minor pet whump vibes, dehumanization, mind control & manipulation, body horror, gore, abusive relationships (emotional, physical), noncon, nsfw content (most/all snippets that ever get posted here will most likely include some form of explicit content, since my primary reason for making this blog is to explore stuff that doesn't make it into the actual ms for different projects. as such, minors please do not interact!)
❖ Other miscellaneous aus (will organize this properly...eventually)
living power source • god x sacrifice • s x t
other things on this blog:
writing thoughts and rambles
whump prompts
reblogging art
repository of challenges, events, and exchanges
fashion (because i'm runway posting on main anyway but the obsession runs deep, y'all)
favorite tropes:
pet whump
prisoner/captive whump
prisoner/captive mercyfic/whump aftermath(?)
General captivity & coerced into helping the enemy vibes
Magic used for whump purposes
some gore, I personally lean more on the milder side but I don’t mind more graphic gore and will reblog it
some body horror
explicit NSFW, a mix of noncon and negotiated kink. again, mdni
environmental whump
Living weapon/power source
interrogation whump
I would love to meet and chat with other writers or whump enjoyers; my post comments/dms/askbox are always open!
(tags and masterlists under the cut)
tags:
#art - i do like to support artists if i can, so i anticipate reblogging a lot of whump art :)
#fave - what it says on the tin
#prompts - whumpy prompts from other people
#ref - posts laying out events, exchanges, prompt challenges, etc
#on my fae bullshit - visuals/inspo (mostly fashion lbr)
i know its not the go-to trope for whumpy things but i just love like, victim/whumpee characters who truly are competent and skilled and knowledgeable in their fields, not necessarily living weapon or guard dog-coded but like, able to hold their own in a fight or cast some type of powerful magic or hyper skilled in some other discipline...and they still are completely weak and helpless and totally under the power of their whumper/captor/owner, just pawns that are moved around as their benefactor or captor deems fit, the skills and knowledge they've acquired put to use based on the whumper's demands. they're smart and savvy and quick, some kind of master thief or magician/wizard or hunter, but everything they say and think and do is in the service of whumper
So, the long and short of it is that thinking about the set-up for the Day 2 prompt has spurred me to write out the scene from the start, ahah. I'll be posting the other portions of the scene on the applicable days-
Part 1: Day 27, kidnapped | Part 2: Day 12, tied up | Part 3: Day 2, branding
The blade had cut but the magic had burned, the incandescence of starfire crisping unprotected flesh. The acrid scent of it had been as thick and pervasive as a room full of smoke, as smothering as the swelter and storm-damp of the Meralian summertime, rancid and sour and heavy-blooded in his mouth.
*Note for context: Adrian = the patron = the Flowering Lord
A knife flashes into the second guard’s hand. Alejandro almost flinches away—but he doesn’t, because Adrian has taught him how to be pliant when every animal instinct screams for him to flee—and he keeps still as the guard cuts through his robes like he is cutting through tissue paper.
No, Alejandro wants to protest. No, please. Adrian loves this color on me. But the iron is locked tight around his throat, and all his words crumble beneath the cold, unyielding weight of it.
One slice cleaves apart the back of Alejandro’s robes, from the nape of his neck down to his waist, and another slash carves open his shirt along the line of his spine. The guards tear at the silk, splitting it in two, leaving the space between his shoulder blades exposed to the damp autumn chill. The robes are festooned in ribbons of golden embroidery, all swirl and shine and shimmer, and now the swathes of cloth fall off his shoulders almost gracefully, billowing out around him like wings.
The remnants of his robes litter the dirt floor in a bloodless carnage. Glimmering flutters of cloth settle all around him, as though he were kneeling, supplicant, amidst a pool of falling light.
They want to see the sigil. That will be his saving grace once they realize he was not lying, that he is loyal, that the Flowering Lord will come for him and his captors will fall beneath his wrath. The magic carved into his back seems to pulse in response to the thought; once, twice, alive like a second heartbeat.
Long fingers of shadow crawl over the edge of the window embedded into the wall. Footsteps approach from the corridor, the beginnings of a storm gathering from afar. The first guard pulls away the last of the fabric obscuring the symbol between his shoulder blades.
The footsteps grow louder. The newcomer moves softly, even to his fae hearing, so softly that it is as though her soles curl away to mist when they land upon solid ground, each footfall swept away by the breeze coming in from the sea.
She pauses somewhere behind him—before she can enter into his peripheral vision. “So," she begins. "He was telling the truth.”
“So it seems like,” a guard responds.
The newcomer does not answer him. Alejandro assumes that she must be the leader of this group. He can feel the way eyes rake over the sigil engraved into his back, even without being able to see her. Her presence brings the smell of a particularly sharp incense: ash and char and a meadow of flowers after the rain, a fresh sweetness scorched through with flame.
The quiet hangs in the room like an ill omen, the premonition of catastrophe. Alejandro clasps his fingers together and holds his spine straight, suddenly aware of how they have stripped him so that his back is bare while the rest of his robes hang in tatters off his front. He does not dare to speak, even though they should have known from the beginning that he was telling the truth, that he cannot lie.
Alejandro is used to being frightened. He has lived within the depths of his own fear for so long that he does not remember a time when he wasn’t afraid; a time when his fear was not as endless as the sea, and each breath was not a desperate gasp for the ever-distant sky.
Even so, the fear that rises within him now is different, like when the tide along the Meralian shore surged and stormed and thundered in a prelude to slaughter. The iron renders him helpless, and everyone in the room knows it. He remembers the roughness of the guards’ hands, the way they handled him like an unruly dog, and suppresses the urge to shiver.
Where is his patron? Based on the darkness seeping in through the window, it is now close to dusk. That means it has been a few hours since they sedated him and stole him away, which is more than enough time for the Flowering Lord to hear about his abduction and construct a plan to recover him.
An ache curls around him, an embrace without any warmth. How long will it be until someone comes for him?
At some unseen signal, one of the guards grasps the collar around his neck and tugs him forward. Alejandro leans into the motion, obedient, presenting the bare expanse of his back at an upward-slanted angle.
He hears the leader stride another step forward, until she must be directly behind him. He keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead and tries to glimpse her outline in the shadows. The wind shivers and rattles outside the window, doleful like a penitent before a confessional, and the darkness stirs like moth wings in its wake.
But something about the leader’s form seems too large to be contained by the room around them, even in silhouette. The shadowed impression of her head elongates unnaturally over the stone walls, forking around the window and branching up to meet the low ceiling, grasping at the corners like the thousand arms of the Blinded Queen searching out the wicked and the impure to grant them one final mercy. The blue hues of dusk shift like stray phantoms of smoke, and she looms, enormous, the outline of her presence cleaving apart the light like the seas parting for a Favored warrior of myth. Alejandro can’t help but to quail in the face of this imagined wrath.
Cool fingertips briefly meet the outer edge of the sigil, which arcs between the jut of his shoulder blades. Alejandro tries not to think about the wrongness of it all, because he belongs to the Flowering Lord, and his patron would never stand for another touching Alejandro so brazenly without his express permission.
His lord cares for him. His lord protects him, his lord will have someone retrieve him. His lord would never abandon him.
A hand in his hair (not Adrian’s), a palm pressed into the back of his neck (just like Adrian’s), the air smelling of cold water (it once smelled of lightning), his limbs seared by the press of pure iron (they used iron back then, too). The touch of his captor reappears, tracing the swirls and strokes that evoke a sliver of the Flowering Lord’s soul, burned and carved into his back for all eternity. He doesn’t know why she’s so interested in the sigil itself—could she be a Seer, probing at the soul embedded into the magic? Either way, Alejandro chokes down the pleas that flood his mouth like the snowfall that precedes an avalanche.
Valeria, he remembers. It was Valeria who once served as the Vessel of the Flowering Lord, Valeria who once took the knife in hand and brought forth the splinter of their patron’s soul from where it was rooted behind her heart, channeling it through the pathways of her own body until the blade was alight with ephemeral flame. It was Valeria who bound him face-down to the engraving table, Valeria who pressed the knife-point into the vulnerable span of his back, Valeria who carved the same swirls and strokes his captor is now examining, guided by the innate direction of their patron’s consciousness.
The blade had cut but the magic had burned, the incandescence of starfire crisping unprotected flesh. The acrid scent of it had been as thick and pervasive as a room full of smoke, as smothering as the swelter and storm-damp of the Meralian summertime, rancid and sour and heavy-blooded in his mouth. He had been grateful for Adrian that day, grateful to have the whole of his patron’s strength focused on holding him down so that he would not twitch and thrash and ruin Valeria’s work.
The bespelled iron makes it hard to think. His vision swims, moss and stone running and blurring as though he were smearing over a painting that has not yet dried. He smells rain, then ash, then the scorch and sweetness of his captor’s aural presence, then the miasmal perfumes of the Glasswind Keep. He sees flowers abloom with glass eyes and magic that cuts so swiftly that the air hisses like the aftermath of lightning.
Valeria’s casting had always been exquisite, and Alejandro’s sigil-scar was no exception. Their patron would not have accepted anything less, after all. The fire of Adrian’s soul is now inlaid in gold upon his back, molten magic mingling with flesh and blood and cooled into a gilded burnish. When he first examined it in the mirror, twisting around to glimpse the curving shape of it, he had been surprised by how it almost appeared to be a glimmering piece of jewelry.
If he had not belonged to Adrian before that, the sigil bound him to the Flowering Lord more effectively than any lock and key. Their contract had always granted his patron the ability to compel Alejandro to his will under the pretense of a spoken command, but with the sigil, Adrian can also issue new orders from afar.
It takes a long moment for him to register that his captor has a palm pressed flat to the center of the sigil. Alejandro swears he can feel her touch against the drumming of his pulse, where each beat of his breath leaves a hollow echo of desperation in the center of his sternum.
“This does feel like Adrian’s signature,” his captor says to the guards. “He wasn’t lying about his identity when he told you he was sworn to the Flowering Lord.”
Adrian’s voice comes back to him like a memory of mercy, as steady and soothing as the warmth of the sun. You did well, he had said, after Valeria had finished her work and Adrian had dismissed her so that they could be alone. My exquisite little treasure. You did well. You were so perfect and beautiful for me.
And then, as now, Alejandro had trembled like a devout in the presence of his deity, like an offering brought forth to be consumed by divinity, struck through with the knowledge of a power that surmounted every other power he had known before, his soul pierced with the reverence of knowing that this power would love him, would keep him, and it would never let him go.
The Flowering Lord is salvation. He is the first bloom after the frost has thawed, he is the earth that cradles a seed until it blossoms to offer away the gift of its breath, and he will come to find Alejandro. His patron will not give him up.
Alejandro belongs to Adrian. He knows this in the very marrow of his bones, there where their contract has taken root in all the places where his flesh meets his soul.
He is the Twice-Beloved of the Flowering Lord, he belongs to Adrian, and now his captors know it too.
Here's one of my random questions (for a character or you):
Imagine you are a crocodile in a zoo. Every day zookeepers enter the enclosure to feed you. Do you see them as prey or creatures you have a mutually beneficial relationship with?
Hahaha i love this 😂
I think crocodile!Alejandro would not be inclined to attack them! They’re feeding him and presumably seeing to his every need, he can just sit around and chill. Sounds like a good time to him 🙂↕️
