Agonyyyyyy

Whump blog. Khal, 28. Lots of lady whump. And swordfights, I do enjoy a good swordfight.

[whump-ventures]

Time to do a stress write. So what do I write, in the most chaotic fashion ever

Villain arc- civil war- off the rails- shits about to go down

Murder attempt- enemies to ???- dragons- boss ass bitch

Thief + assassin + vengeance + gay af

Fanfic- really this is an option- yeah tbh it is because I have an idea

World turned upside down- I hope you're singing that now

Voting ended onJun 28, 2024

[tormentum-ab-intra]

gonna start queuing up art i've made over the past year or so to post here so expect that soon! ^^

case in point -- this is Leander. Do not trust him.

(i've got a bluesky now -- with like three posts, but shhh, i'll be posting more soon -- so you should totally check that out if you wanna see more spooky critters and hot ocs)

[whump-ventures]

For some reason I wasn't following you but I am now so obviously I stalked your blog but anyway point is

I absolutely 100% trust Leander and he can do no wrong (?)

[ad-wills]

[whump-ventures]

Return to Kethrys

-had a sudden burst of inspiration for this world as a whole and some old characters are getting a revival. Most of them are changing quite a bit (even though if anyone remembers my bastard Edwyn he's not changing much at all and I'm excited to bring him back). Similar world, new plot, similar characters, and a lot of new ones! Should be fun, and hopefully I actually get around to writing since I wrote maybe one (1) drabble last year.

~~~

Clawing her way to consciousness has never been this difficult, but her memory has never been quite as fractured either.

She doesn’t blink open her eyes just yet, letting the other senses gather information. The air is heavy and stale, a far cry from the crisp and clean mountain air that she’s familiar with. The smells are confusing- rats, she can smell and hear their warm bodies snuffling along the ground, humans as well, and hay. An odd combination, especially with some of the humans seemingly healthy- but others not so much. And above all there is the overwhelming smell and taste of metal and stone surrounding her.

Footsteps, from far down the hall. A soft clinking a hundred or so yards away. She’s certain that the stale taste in the air means that they are deep underground, but even here she can hear the faintest song of the wind. Curious- like an opening to the world in such a foreign place-

A miniscule twist of her head and a sudden striking realization that she isn’t in the right form. Arms and hands tied- no, bound- by harsh metal that is behind her back and attached to the wall. Her legs and feet folded underneath her, and there's a deep ache which means she must have been kneeling in this position for quite some time now. She can feel the biting cold through her wrists and on her shins, which is another sure sign of her flimsy human skin, not tough and beautiful scales that can stop even the most deadly weapon.

She would never contain herself to this body unless… unless someone with wards forced her into it.

Silver eyes flash open with a snarl, teeth bared ready for a fight.

There is no foe in front of her. She twists her head to each side, tongue flicking out to taste the air. It’s dark in the- cave?- but her predatory eyes adjust in an instant, adding to her already confusing intel. She wills her body to grow and shift, needing to be rid of this weak and useless body and back into the one that she belongs in: With wings that stretch with scales of glittering obsidian, fangs that are longer than some men are tall, claws that rip and shred with ease. Yet the attempt is met with a harsh flash of light from behind her, and her transformation runs into a wall of stone. Try as she might, the effort to become herself again is met with nothing but exhaustion.

None of this makes sense. In one last effort, her legs bend underneath her, trying to push her to her feet. But the metal bites, bites like a snake in the grass, and tugs her back down to the ground. Another snarl and a twist to fight, and it bites into her again, causing her to growl in a combination of pain and frustration. The claws and fangs that remain in this form are much smaller, practically useless against metal. After a brief moment of struggle to get away from the snake-metal, she finally stops with a hiss, panting in her frustrations.

How did she get here? In this deep cave, surrounded by trees of metal, with hurt humans and healthy humans both off in the distance? Where even is… here? And what is this place? Too many unanswered questions as her breathing slowly returns to normal- or as normal as it can get in this nasty stale air that has no hint of freedom, no taste of sun or grass or the moon or stars. Cold and unforgiving stone, not covered in a perfect layer of snow, not gleaming under the light from above, more stone blocking her from the world above. A dark and terrible place, and one that she has no recognition of. All she knows is that she is very far from where she belongs.

So lost in her thoughts and confusion, that she almost misses the footsteps approaching her.

Another sharp twist of her head- mindful of the snake-metal this time, and her eyes lock onto a woman with flowing hair. The hair is near-white: not the gold of the sun, but also not the pure color of the snow. Her eyes remind Kaelyx of an alpine lake- which only serves to anger her further about the way she has been trapped in such a manner. The woman is studying her intensely, a soft smile flickering across her face that Kaelyx knows means nothing good- she’s seen that expression one too many times.

“So…..” It’s drawled out, the focused gaze never wavering, “You’re finally awake, half-breed.”

A growl builds in her throat, claws scraping against the stone wall behind her as she imagines sinking them into the woman’s neck. But she keeps her mouth shut, eyes narrowed in on the woman like she’s nothing more than a tasty bite of prey.

“You’ll drop that tough act soon enough, dragon.”

Less of an insult this time, but the tone is still enough for Kaelyx to have a sharp image in her mind of ripping the woman’s throat out. She nearly opens her mouth to respond, but once again decides better of it, desiring to get a better idea of the situation before speaking something that she may regret.

The woman’s smile only grows, staring straight at her with that intensity that Kaelyx has only seen on other dragons before. A sudden strike rushes through her when she grasps that this is what it must be like for her prey. What they see, maybe even what they feel… There is no doubt that this woman has the power here. For now. So long as the snake-metal bites her wrists, so long as that strange flash of light keeps her contained in this body- for the first time in her life, Kaelyx is the prey.

“Well, I don’t see any point in delaying.” The tall, sparse, metal… trees- this place makes no sense- click and swing open, and the woman strides in. Kaelyx’s growl builds as she strides closer, and she pulls harder against her trapped hands, wishing she could swing her claws at the woman’s face. That smile could be wiped away with a single slash, and it would be so satisfying to hear the haughty human scream. Maybe Kaelyx can even rip out an eye in the process.

A hand extends slowly towards her, and her fangs flash and snap. As she lunges, that damn bite returns around her wrists. Kaelyx enters a fierce brawl with her own body, willing it to shift, and yet there’s simply another flash that leaves her exhausted.

The hand rests on her forearm, just above the wicked metal, carefully out of range of Kaelyx’s flashing teeth that have a strong desire to sink into flesh, tear muscle, crush bone…

“Any more words for now, darling?”

Darling?

That insult can not be ignored.

“How dare you?” Her words come out as a hiss of rage, shocked to her core at the utter disrespect towards her race. As if a human could even compare to the grandeur of a dragon. "We are far superior to you, and such a revolting slander is beyond—”

A sudden jolt runs through her body, like a living creature is walking through her veins. It's enough of a surprise, so foreign, that she cuts her words off to focus on it. Curiosity battling with apprehension. The energy knots inside her, follow by a grasp around her chest and then a sharp pull...

All the air rushes out of her lungs.

Shock rushes through her, and Kaelyx's immediate reaction is to turn and look at the mage kneeling beside her, looking for any hint to understand the magic at work here. The woman doesn’t speak, nor does she move, her studying gaze never leaving Kaelyx’s own.

An attempt to breathe, and there’s nothing.

Another, and still no oxygen.

A third, and the fear hits.

If only logic and reasoning would have stayed with her, but the dragon, the animal that she is, responds first. And that response is manifested in pure panic. Followed by pain. That terrible feeling of fire in her lungs that she remembers once before when she was young, trapped in a cave and running out of air. But this is worse. Worse because the air is everywhere around her. Worse because as hard as she tries, all that necessary oxygen just seems to get pulled away from her before it can go to her lungs. And then she’s thrashing, struggling, needing to get her claws to her throat, to open her airway, to get some breath into her, to stop the burning- burning- burning that continues to grow and spread.

Her panic grows like a weed, choking her as quickly as the woman that steals her air with just a touch. Her struggles grow weaker, the cave getting dimmer around her. A terrifying thought scorches through Kaelyx, as intense as the fiery burn in her lungs- she’s going to die.

The woman smiles right before her world turns black.

[mimble-sparklepudding]

OC Questions on the Seven Forms of Love.

A little list of OC questions based on the seven types of love identified in Ancient Greek thought. Obviously this is a highly simplified presentation of some quite complex philosophical concepts from Classical History, intended more for the purposes of entertainment than education. I also left out Mania, which is arguably an eighth type of love (Obsessive), because I'm keeping it mostly positive in these tricky times!

Eros – Romantic, Passionate Love.

Is your OC romantic in the traditional sense? Do they enjoy giving or receiving gifts of flowers or confectionary? Or are there other courtship traditions from their culture of origin that are important to them?

How important is sex to them in a relationship? Do they see it as something essential to their happiness? Would they be able to remain in a monogamous relationship with someone they loved without sex?

How do they feel about public displays of romantic affection? Does it make them uncomfortable? How do they feel if a romantic partner kisses them in public?

Do they believe in love at first sight? Have they ever developed a crush or romantic (or erotic) fixation upon a stranger based on their appearance alone?

How closely is their opinion of their own beauty (or lack thereof) linked to their confidence? Do they see themselves as more or less worthy of love or sex based on how attractive they feel?

Philia – Affectionate, Platonic Love.

Does your OC have a Best Friend? If they do then how long have they known each other and how did they meet? If they don't then do they have a close group of friends they love equally? Or are they more of a loner?

Does your OC find it easy to make friends? Or are there barriers to them doing so? If so then are these due to issues of inclination, communication, or something else entirely?

What qualities does your OC most value in a friend? Loyalty? Shared sense of humour? Or something else?

Is your OC able to build close friendships with people very different from themselves? Perhaps in terms of culture, age or personality?

What is their most fervent wish for their best friend(s)? How far would they go to make it happen?

Storge – Unconditional, Familial Love.

Did your OC's parents love them unconditionally? If so then has this helped them feel confident as an adult? If not then how has this affected them? What were the conditions their family attached to their relationship?

Does your OC have children? If so then how fiercely do they love them? If they have more than one then do they love them all equally? If they do not have children then is this part of their future plans?

How far does parental approval (imagined or expressed) impact upon their current sense of self-worth? What might they sacrifice or attempt to achieve in order to ensure the approval of their parents?

Does your OC have any siblings? If so then did their parents have a favourite growing up? Has their relationship with their sibling changed in adulthood? If they don't have any siblings then do they perhaps feel they have missed out on an important relationship? Do they have any especially close friends who go some way towards filling that role?

Is your OC able to love without necessarily needing or expecting reciprocation or reward? Or are all their relationships to some extent transactional? Have they ever loved another person unconditionally, whether a child or another adult?

Agape – Selfless, Universal Love.

Does your OC wish to make the world a better place? How far do they see that as being their responsibility? What lengths would they go to in order to help achieve this?

Does your OC feel a spiritual connection to the world around them? Do they have a particular love for nature or living things?

To what extent does your OC believe in the value (or even existence) of true altruism? Do they see an unselfish concern for the welfare of others as being naïve or foolish? Or as a moral quality to which people should aspire?

Does your OC have a religious faith which emphasises the importance of a love for all people? If so then do they try to follow these teachings authentically? Or do they just pay lip-service to them? If not then do they follow a more martial or mercantile faith? Or none at all?

Does your OC find it easy to empathise with their enemies? Or do they see it as important to dehumanise them in order to combat them with sufficient determination?

Ludus – Playful, Flirtatious Love.

Does your OC have any particular favourite chat up lines? If not for themselves then perhaps ones they have suggested to a friend? How effective do these tend to be?

Is your OC particularly skilled at flirting? Have they had to practice this or does it just happen naturally?

How does your OC feel about one night stands? Have they ever enjoyed a night of passionate romance with a stranger? Is this something they are quite keen on recreationally? Or only something they might engage in under specific circumstances (such as the eve of a battle or after a difficult breakup)?

Who was your OC's first crush? How do they feel about it now?

What seduction techniques are most likely to be effective when it comes to your OC? Are there some things guaranteed to get them going? Or are they immune to such things?

Pragma – Committed, Long-Lasting Love.

Is your OC in a committed long-term relationship (or relationships)? If so then what has contributed to this relationship lasting so well? If they are not in such a relationship, then is this something that saddens them or which they regret?

What is the biggest challenge that your OC has had to overcome in a long-term relationship or friendship? What helped them get through this?

Are your OC's parents still together? To what degree do they look to their own parents as a model for their own ideal relationship?

After the initial fires of passion cool to some degree, what would keep your OC engaged in a relationship? Shared goals? Similar values? Or contented companionship?

What importance or value does your OC attach to marriage? Do they believe that it is important to make a public statement of commitment to another person (or persons)? Or are they more concerned about inheritance rights and security for their family? Or do they not see marriage as a necessary signifier of commitment and loyalty?

Philautia – Self Love.

Does your OC have a healthy sense of their own worth and value? Or do they see themselves as failing to live up to their original potential? Perhaps they are convinced of their own sinful or inadequate nature?

Does your OC believe that it is important to love themselves in the first instance? Perhaps in order to be able to give and receive love authentically? Or because they believe first and foremost in "looking after number one"?

Does your OC judge themselves by the same standards as they apply to others? Or are they sometimes hypocritical in condemning others for faults they also possess? Or perhaps they find it easier to forgive others for things that they cannot abide in themselves?

Which of your OC's qualities makes them the most proud? Do they think more people should be like them in this regard? Or do they quite like being rare in possessing it?

Has your OC always had the same opinion of themselves or has this changed over time? Have they learned to love themselves - perhaps with the help of others - as their journey progressed? Or have the consequences of their actions only served to erode their sense of self-worth?

[whump-ventures]

March Trope-a-thon Day 5

Sick fic: Fevers, some angsty comf,

Part of another AU with Marsh (@abstractwhump) We called it saddest au since we already have sad au… But I will one day have actual names for the au’s as I continue writing them 

~~~

“Mom?”

The voice is so quiet, so weak, that Sajia almost believes she’s imagining it at first. But then she stirs in her bed, and Sajia is immediately alert.

Black eyes are blinking open for the first time in days, confused and pain-filled. She shifts and lets out a little whimper that tugs at her heart.

“Easy.” Sajia murmurs gently, moving to hold her hand softly in her own. Her thumb brushes along the back of Johara’s hand, a comforting gesture. Her skin is dry and hot to the touch- the fever, the infection, the wounds from the accident… She feels like she is made of fire.

What a mockery of her daughter’s magical talents.

“What…” She swallows and Sajia notes the effort required for such a simple motion. She makes eye contact with a servant, who nods immediately in understanding. “What happened?” Johara manages to get out. Her voice is dry, raspy, filled with pain. A far cry from the normal clear and proud tone that is so typical of her daughter.

Sajia isn’t sure what to tell her daughter. There are many things she could say, but she’s never sure who is listening and who is reporting back to the emperor. “There was… an accident.” She settles on, still stroking her thumb gently over skin that almost burns. This was no accident. “One of the spells went awry during the training session and you were hit. You have some burns and lacerations, but everything will heal.” Sajia forces a smile. “I promise.”

“Do you have water?” She croaks out.

Right on time, one of the servants returns with a pitcher for her. Under her instruction, a tea is made for Johara’s fever. When it’s ready, Sajia gently helps her daughter sit up enough to drink, holding the cup to her lips. She takes slow and steady sips, pausing every so often, but it’s at least a small relief to know that she will be getting some medicine finally that should break the dreadful fever. The heat radiating off of her is concerning to say the least, and it’s becoming a struggle not to react visibly. Her heart feels like it’s being shattered seeing her precious child in such a state.

She has sacrificed so much, fought so hard, and they’re still at the mercy of someone who enjoys their suffering.

Sajia helps her back to the pillows when she’s had enough to drink, grabbing another damp cloth to lay on her forehead. She doesn’t like the way her breath rattles in her chest, the way her eyes flutter like she can hardly stay conscious. Sajia goes back to softly holding her hand, starting to hum a simple lullaby with the hopes that she’ll get some more rest. There’s not much more she can do now that she’s gotten medicine and all of her injuries have been taken care of.

When Johara drifts off to sleep, his presence is announced.

Here to act the part of the loving father and husband, of course.

But when their eyes meet, when he comes to sit next to her, an arm around her in a possessive manner, he confirms what she already knew to be true.

Tread lightly. This was no accident.

[whump-ventures]

March Trope-a-thon Day 2: Creepy Captor

Part of an AU with @abstractwhump. This one is set in their verse, and is part of our (needs a better name one day) sad au. Lianwen, the prince that appears at the end of the write, is Marsh’s oc.

Heavy noncon vibes, but not explicit.

"He's done quite a number on you." The lord drawls out, circling around behind her. His hands trace along her wounds from previous tortures, finding a cracked rib to press against and drawing out a gasp. "I like you better like this." He taunts. "Broken and bloodied and so very… weak.

"I remember you." Johara manages to grit out, even though she feels beyond vulnerable with him pressed up against her, restraining her with his hands alone. She's stripped of her clothes, severely malnourished, and has been tortured for months on end. Her last weapon is her voice, so she may as well use it. "You were always one for talking. No amount of words will make up for the fact that a young girl sent you running with your tail between your legs."

His dark laugh in her ear sends a shiver down her spine. Somehow the laughter is even worse than her previous captor who would have slammed a sheathed sword across her face. The laughter means that she knows where this is headed. It won’t just be physical pain. He’s going to do his best to accomplish the never ending task of trying to break her defiance and pride. But it's all she has, and she won't let that go.

"You seem to have forgotten who's in control now." Possessive hands suddenly spin her around and slam her onto her back. She cries out in pain from the sudden movement- in her condition everything hurts- and tries to get one hand up to push back against him. It’s a desperate attempt to use her magic, flames flickering along her fingertips, but he simply grabs her wrist and twists it until there's a snap and a flood of pain. Then he’s shoving that into the stone ground as well.

It takes a moment for her vision to return, it went dark at some point from the new sharp agony that stood out from the rest. She's starting to wonder how long he'll be able to keep her alive for: Before he goes too far.

When her eyes focus again, he's looming over her, one hand now grabbing her chin in a bruising grip. His other hand isn't on her wrist anymore, but exploring across her torso, fingers digging into her flesh and tearing open old wounds from prior beatings, like he’s hungry to make her suffer more. He shoves her head back before leaning down and kissing along her neck. Rough and possessive. "I'm going to enjoy this, princess." He growls into her neck, lips still pressed against her skin as she weakly tries to kick him off. But he is an immovable force above her.

"Lord Tao." The interruption makes everything take a pause, including her feeble struggles underneath his weight. The lust in her captor's eyes changes to annoyance for a brief moment before his attention shifts to the newcomer. Johara tries a desperate attempt to get away from him, but his hand finds her throat to hold her down. Pressing just hard enough to make each breath a true struggle.

"Yes, Your Highness?" The annoyance is clear in his tone, and Johara knows he wants nothing more than to continue making her suffer, even as her breaths get more ragged underneath of him.

"You're needed elsewhere." The newcomer- some prince by the way he was addressed- informs her tormentor. "Some of the officials have called for you."

"I believe that they can wait." Tao sounds firm in his stance and her heart sinks knowing that he's going to continue his task. He'll torture her and rape her and then repeat it again tomorrow. And the next. And the next.

She focuses on her magic as the exchange continues, wondering if she can burn his wrist and force him to let go of her throat, but she’s exhausted just thinking about trying to use it again. But then Tao's voice switches from annoyance to teasing- almost, and it immediately brings her attention back to the two individuals talking while she suffers between them. "Would you like a turn, Your Highness?” The fear stabs at her heart once more. “She screams and squirms so nicely underneath you."

"No." The prince's voice is firm. "The emperor's prisoners are his alone to deal with. It's rather presumptuous of you to believe you have any right to interfere."

"The former-" the lord lingers over that word, "-Princess belongs to me now, to do with as I please."

"May I remind you that she is the emperor’s prisoner, not yours. And you are needed elsewhere, Lord Tao." Johara isn't sure if she's imagining the desperation in his tone, her raspy attempts to breathe seem to be drowning him out. "I'll escort you to the officials."

A tense moment passes and then she can finally breathe properly as the weight is removed from her body and the hand is finally off her throat. She immediately curls up away from him, coughing and trying to shield herself the best that she can from the man's cruelty.

The two are still talking and she doesn't bother to pay them any attention. She's grabbed by the guards, manacles attached to her already-ruined wrists, and chained to the wall once more. The lord and the prince leave her cell, and she tries to find some way to adjust from where she's collapsed in a pathetic heap. But even that small movement is too much.

Now all she can do is wait. Wait and hold onto some small hope that someone will come for her before it’s too late.

[whump-ventures]

Happy Stabmas!!!!

I’m a few days late, but I had so much fun writing this for the ides of march!

A new verse, this write features my sweet little fae and some mean human rejecting her hospitality.

~~~

It’s crude, a long piece of wood sharpened over and over again on rough stone to make some semblance of spear. She doubts it will actually work if she’s caught, but it’s the closest thing she has to a weapon. If she manages to run far enough, fast enough, it might serve as something to protect her.

She’s waited until nightfall- the monster is typically out hunting for her own prey by then- before she tries her escape. The crickets are chirping, and in the distance she can hear the soft babble of a creek. The world is bright underneath the numerous stars. It almost seems like a mockery that such a beautiful and peaceful place has been her prison for so long.

The sound of wings, barely discernible over the other sounds of the night, is her cue. Rhian slowly begins her climb. She’s trapped deep in a stone cave, no exit except for up. The stars and the bright blue sky during the day constantly torment her. She’s spent weeks studying the jagged stone walls, learning and testing a path to climb the treacherous rock, and now it’s time to put it into action. Her spear is tied to her back, and with each pull on stone, each step up, she can taste her freedom coming closer and closer.

Finally her hands reach over the edge of the cave- feeling soft, mossy ground. She pushes off the last foothold and drags herself out of that terrible dark cave, sparing just a moment to look back down on her prison. It’s just a hole in the ground- a deep opening that drops straight down into darkness. A place she will never need to return to if she is successful tonight.

She lays on the soft ground for a moment- panting as she stares up at the night sky. She’s exhausted from the short climb, but she knows she can’t wait around too long- she has to get moving as soon as possible. A few more moments pass by, she’s nearly mesmerized by the night sky. It’s almost like it’s calling for her to stay. 

But then a cloud passes by the moon, darkening the world, and it’s enough of a reminder for her to scramble quickly to her feet.

She turns to the woods, grabbing her makeshift weapon off her back and holding it in her hands. She doesn’t know what she will find venturing into the fae wilderness, but it’s best to be prepared. Thee could be other creatures, other monsters–

The flap of wings is her only warning, followed by a soft voice that is almost lost to the wind. “Are you going somewhere?”

In her panic, she doesn’t think. Rhian turns and swings her spear towards the sound. She catches a glimpse of the fae: the red hair and delicate features, and then the sharp tip is caught easily in her taloned grip. Green eyes flicker towards her, curious almost. “It’s a noble effort-” Not her name yet- “But do you really think a measly little stick will kill me?”

Rhian can feel her heart racing, she can hear the blood roaring in her ears. “Just let me go.” Her voice hinges on desperation, tugging at her makeshift spear like she can possibly yank it out of the fae’s grasp. “Haven’t you had your fun?”

The fae tilts her head, lips curling into a smile. Her talons tighten on the stick, splintering it until it cracks down the middle. “Fun? You think I’ve kept you prisoner for fun alone?”

She lets go of her spear as it’s split to become something almost useless, and stumbles backwards, feeling the panic claw at her chest. Rhian knows that look, and it is never followed by something good. Her eyes dart towards the trees that surround them, wondering if she should simply choose a path and run. There isn’t anything else she can say or do in the presence of her cruel captor. Her only choice is to run.

“Rhian.” 

The magic washes over her so strongly that it feels like every muscle is locked in place. The fae’s voice sounds almost like a song, soft and melodious. And she can’t ignore it. “You’re not leaving this place.”

“Please stop.”

The fae tosses the sharpened end of the stick towards her. The simplest weapon of all lands at her feet, and Rhian doesn’t know why, but she’s bending down to pick it up. Some unspoken command has control over her body now, over her actions… She has her own voice but what use is that when the fae has her name?

“I don’t want you running anytime soon.” The monster takes a step closer, those green eyes boring into hers and sending a shudder down her spine. “So why don’t we make that happen, Rhian?”

She tries to battle it, her entire arm trembling as she slowly turns the sharpened end towards her thigh. Her muscles are on fire as she fights in vain to get away from the terrible voice, even though history has told her that it’s beyond impossible. “You’ll need more force than that, dear.” And her arm is bending upwards, muscles still tensioned like a bowstring, tears starting to leak from her eyes from the pain- the pain of the command, the pain of her failure, the pain of what is to come…

Her arm stabs down like a bolt of lightning, and pain erupts in her leg. Her attempted please is cut off by a ragged scream as the splintered wood stabs deep into her thigh. Her legs give out as she yanks the weapon free- Rhian isn’t sure if that was a command or done under her own power. The ground is quickly turning red around her as she clutches with two trembling hands at the ragged wound, the fiery pain leeching quickly from the sight of the wound, spreading to every inch of her body.

“Go back home, Rhian.” The voice is almost soothing now. And once more, her body is reacting, even as her cries fill the night with every movement. Every grasp of the ground to drag herself forward, towards the opening that leads to her little cave. She’s crawling, pathetically, and she can’t stop. Not when the fae has her name. “Go home, and never try this again.”

[whump-ventures]

March Trope-a-thon Day 1. Posting all of these a week late since I was on vacation last week, sans computer.

Environmental Whump: Falling through the ice

Part of an AU with @abstractwhump set in my fantasy world of Zinjiq, Lianwen is Marsh’s oc.

~~~

Stubborn doesn't even begin to describe her, and his annoyance only grows the longer he's stuck in this damn frozen wasteland. Trekking through the foothills, through deep snow that melts and seeps and chills to the bone, only to turn the corner and be met with a dizzying drop off that sends fear striking into his heart. He understands how one can look at the place from afar and see the beauty of it. But that's before one steps into the bitter cold and faces the terrifying heights for themselves.

Lianwen casts him another worried glance as the wind picks up, but he doesn't voice his protests anymore. Nachin is grateful for that- even though he's also a bit frustrated by it at the same time. He still isn't sure if he's doing the right thing. But he doesn't want to face it either. doesn't want to face that Empress Johara is anything but stubborn. He doesn't want to face that maybe there was a flaw to his father's plans. He can't go back on what he's been dedicated to for so long.

The icy wind tugs at his furs and Nachin pulls them tighter around him. They're finally on flat ground after climbing up and down the wicked hills all day. The snow isn't deep here in the clearing, but now they're completely exposed to the wind. He can see the edge of a pine forest up ahead and he's about to call out to his men to get camp set up for the night. They won’t find anywhere better

But on his next step, there's a loud crack.

Silence surrounds everyone for a moment.

A hesitant voice. "Your Majesty-"

The soldier takes a step towards him, and this time Nachin can practically feel the ground shift under him.

"Get back!" His voice is near-frantic. "Get back, get off the ice!"

The soldiers are all backing away slowly as the cracks continue to spread around them. He can’t see them under the light dusting of snow, but he can hear them. Slow and steady, the ice starting to give way underneath them. He’s practically frozen, not sure if he should try to run and hope the ice doesn’t give way, or if he should move slowly, one tiny step at a time. He can’t just stay here forever.

"It's safe over here, Your Majesty, the ground is-"

His head turns towards the voice, and just that slightest shift of his weight is all it takes. This crack is deafening, and Nachin feels the world lurch underneath him. The ice tilts and he catches a glimpse of the hungry black water ready to swallow him whole when he's shoved from behind.

Black water is replaced by blinding white. He lands hard on the ice, head slamming into the ground and knocking the air out of his lungs. He can just make out his brother through his blurred vision, right where Nachin was a moment ago. Then the ice fractures completely, and his brother disappears.

"Lianwen!"

The panic is immediate and Nachin lunges forward, plunging his arms into the icy water, his fear overwhelming the immediate shock from the cold. He brushes against something that feels like skin- like Lianwen's hands- and he clings tighter than he ever has before.

People are shouting and calling his name, but he's not aware of anything except not letting go. Not letting his brother drown in the freezing abyss. The inky water washes over the treacherous ice that he's lying on, soaking through his furs until his body feels like it's locking up from the cold. All he knows is he can't let go. He can't let Lianwen's fingers slip through his grasp. He’s not holding on as tight as he was before, the water sapping all of his strength as it steals the life from his drowning brother. Another moment passes, he can feel the hand slipping from his own, and he lunges farther forward into the water. The heavy weight of the sodden furs threatens to drag them both to a watery grave.

And then hands are grabbing his ankles, his legs, and he’s brought back from the edge by the sound of people yelling. His slow and steady slide into the water stops, and then he's being dragged backwards. His hand is locked so tightly around Lianwen's, and he can feel an immense stress on his shoulders as he's dragged over jagged ice. His furs are getting ripped up, maybe his skin too, he can't feel it. He just clings to his brother like a lifeline until they're both collapsed on the ice.

He's shaking so hard that he can hardly think. He's never felt cold like this, cold that burns more than fire, and he can only imagine how Lianwen is feeling after being completely submerged in the water.

His hand looks blue as he reaches for his brother. "L-L-Lianwen." His teeth are chattering so hard he can hardly get the words out. "You-you a-a-alright?"

There's no response.

"Brother?"

Lianwen is completely still. And when he looks closer, Nachin realizes something that is even colder than the deadly water that nearly drowned them.

"HELP! SOMEONE HELP HIM!" The men that were trying to attend to him immediately leap to action. "Leave me the hell alone and help him, that's an order!"

Nachin manages to sit up, watching in horror as they surround Lianwen, and feeling like they might be too late already. For his brother has stopped breathing.

[whump-ventures]

🧠 for Jo?

🧠Will they act on logic or emotions? Do they follow their head or their heart when it comes to making decisions?

For the most part, Jo is pretty logical and uses her head for decisions. But there are certain instances- particularly when it comes to the people she's close to- where she will follow her heart and act impulsively.

[whump-ventures]

Do You Remember This?

Storyline: Zinjiq. Part 1- The Ten-Year War Main OCs: Rahim and Sajia

~~~

He doesn’t remember this…

His eyes cast about wildly in the fog-filled landscape, treading cautiously over the ground. There’s something… off about this place. It certainly feels like a memory instead of something he is actually living. But if this is one of his own memories shouldn’t he remember it?

Another cautious step forward, head slowly turning side to side. This is all wrong. He doesn’t know why he’s here, or how he got here, or even where here is. It’s deathly silent, only serving to further his discomfort. There’s a strange sensation, like a fly crawling on his face or a loose strand of hair that is in just the right spot to be an irritant. But when he reaches up to sweep it away, his hand simply brushes across his skin. He starts to reach for his swords, but for some reason he’s unarmed.

Keep reading

[whump-ventures]

First Meeting Storyline: Zinjiq. Part 1- The Ten-Year War Main OCs: Rahim and Sajia

~~~

I don’t want to marry a monster.

Her protests fall on deaf ears, not a soul caring for her own desires. As much as she’s begged her father “Don’t make me do this”, all he has ever said in response is that it is her duty as a noblewoman. Her mother has no sympathy either. Her fears are not important. Her family just wants the power from this marriage.

She’s a pawn to them. As she has been since day one.

“Mother, please…” Sajia tries once more, pouring all her desperation into the plea. “You have heard what kind of a man His Majesty is. Why would you agree to marry me-”

“Sajia, I will hear no more of this.” Her mother snaps, interrupting her. “You are a noblewoman of Khurzan, and you should consider it an honor that you were chosen to marry the emperor himself. Promised since birth. Many women would kill to be in your position.”

Sajia shakes her head, ignoring the hiss of frustration as her mother continues to work on her hair. “And what if he harms me?” The real fear starts to creep up, imagining his hands on her, grabbing her, pinning her down… “What if he believes that I-”

“I said that is enough, daughter.” The last word is said without any feeling and makes her heart sink. Her mother pulls hard on her hair, twisting another ornament into it, the softer touch she was working with earlier all but gone. “Not another word about this, do you understand me?”

Sajia swallows hard. She nearly nods her head in response before remembering that she is supposed to be holding still. “Yes, ma’am.” Her voice is barely audible.

“Good.” Another ornament is twisted in and her mother’s voice is slightly more pleased when she speaks next. “Let’s take a break there before finishing up and getting you dressed. Do try to find some gratitude in your heart while I’m gone.”

The servants bow to her mother as she sweeps out of the room, half of them following Lady Aziz. The other few stay nearby. One young girl bows and with a quiet voice murmurs, “Is there anything I can do for you, My Lady?”

Sajia smiles politely at her, hoping that the poor girl wasn’t upset watching the two nobles argue in front of her. “I’m just fine, thank you. Why don’t you all go take a break? I would like the room to myself for a bit.”

Her maids excuse themselves, and Sajia gets to her feet. She twists her hands together, trying to stop them from shaking. It’s normal to be afraid, she tries to tell herself. Everything that she heard about Rahim is just… rumors. Maybe he won’t be anything like what she fears.

Sajia has heard her family speak of the battle on the border of Sakhta many years before she was even born. A powerful region, with trade cities, and many resources. The Emperor Zuhayr of Khurzan attacked the region in a bid to expand his own kingdom. He was successful. That’s why her marriage is so important- why it was decided before she was even born. It’s her region’s way of recognizing the Khurzanese rulers as their own. It’s her family line turning its back on Sakhta and forming an alliance with the emperor’s family. 

Zuhayr is the true monster here. Maybe Rahim was right to drive his father away: Exile him and take over. Maybe the young ruler has a kinder heart than she expected. Maybe she needs to go for a walk, get out of her head, and breathe. It’s normal to be frightened. But she can not allow herself to become neurotic.

The knock on the door makes her jump.

With a sigh, Sajia walks over. Her maids- bless their hearts- are too concerned for her mental state to leave her alone right now, and she’s preparing to let them in for a polite conversation. But when she opens the door, she’s left blinking in surprise at the sight that greets her.

It’s a young man- her age- standing in the doorway. He has dark skin like her, and curly black hair that goes just past his chin. He seems polished and dignified, broad shouldered and well-muscled. His black eyes are sparking with a playful curiosity and they match his slightly lopsided grin and the few curls that have sprung out of place. To her surprise, he’s not much taller than her. There are a couple scars on his face that draw her attention, and she tries not to study them too closely.

“Hey there, sorry if I’m interrupting-”

“Who are you?” She blurts out the question without meaning to, and almost immediately regrets interrupting. Whoever this man is, he’s clearly a noble of some sorts, and it’s beyond rude for a woman to cut him off mid speech.

He doesn’t seem offended by her interruption, if anything, his eyes seem to sparkle more as he looks at her. “Well, I was about to introduce myself if you would have given me more than two seconds.” She’s notes that his tone matches his appearance- kind and teasing, and surprisingly not even a slight of anger over her disrespect. “My name is Rahim Al Khalil. There’s a rumor going around that we’re getting married today.”

Sajia steps back immediately when he reveals who he is, not sure what to say or do at the revalation. The young emperor isn’t nearly as intimidating as she thought he would be, but there’s still the urge to sink into a bow and beg him for forgiveness for her earlier rudeness. Her hands go to the door handle, still staring at the young man in shock. “I- I don’t believe you’re supposed to see me before the ceremony, Your Majesty.”

He shrugs, but doesn’t move from his spot in the doorway. He’s leaning up against the doorframe now, arms crossed. There's a recent wound that looks to be a deep sword cut, and she remembers hearing about the infamous duel between the former emperor and the new one standing right in front of her. “I don’t really get along with rules. I thought it would be vastly more polite to introduce myself beforehand. If we are to get married, I would love to get to know you as soon as possible.”

“Oh.” Sajia swallows the lump in her throat. His scanning eyes are starting to make her uncomfortable now. Is he looking forward to what comes after the festivities? Does he believe that his kindness now may make up for what she must sacrifice later? “Well, I’m Sajia. Sajia Al Aziz. But I’m guessing you already knew that, considering that- that I- we-” She’s tripping over her words now, and Sajia breaks off, shaking her head. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, it’s just-”

His eyes soften to something akin to concern, but it only serves to make her more uncomfortable. “You can call me Rahim, if you wish. I am to be your husband, not your emperor. My goal is to work with you, not have you be merely a pretty face standing next to me.”

Sajia looks down and away at that. “I’m sorry to be so dismissive, your Majesty- Rahim.” His name feels foreign on her lips, too informal to belong there. “But I really should continue getting ready.”

“In theory, I should do that too. But I doubt they can make me any more handsome than what I already am.”

Sajia laughs softly at his playful arrogance, feeling a little lighter than before when their eyes meet for a second time. Sajia notices first, and she quickly looks away again, starting to fiddle with her bracelet as a distraction.

“Well I must be the luckiest man alive.” He still hasn’t left, and when she looks up, his smile returns. “I was told I was marrying for political reasons, and yet I get to marry the prettiest woman in all of Zinjiq.”

The compliment catches her off guard- like everything else His Majesty has been doing since he first arrived in her room. She smiles back at him- it’s a genuine smile at the compliment. She’s been told that before, but never in a way that seemed so… sincere. Her head ducks slightly in embarrassment before she speaks again. “Thank you, You- Rahim. Your words are kind.”

He looks at her for a moment longer before laughing, almost nervous, and brushing a curl behind his ear. It pops right back out of place. “I promise I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable.” Is he just now realizing her discomfort? Men really are blind. “I just meant that… you really are beautiful, and I am hoping I can find a way to make you happy.” There’s a new seriousness to his tone that wasn’t there before, along with a new awkwardness like he’s suddenly ventured into a path that he’s uncertain of. “I wish to give you the best life possible, Lady Aziz, and I will strive to be the greatest husband I can be for you.”

He bows to her, a gesture that seems wildly out of place considering his status. “It is truly an honor to meet you.” His words sound like a farewell now. “I’ll see you in a few hours- and don’t worry.” That playful gleam is back as he winks at her. “I’ll pretend to be surprised when I see your beauty for the first time.”

Sajia can feel another soft smile flicker across her face at that, a laugh nearly escaping. He hesitates for just a brief moment, as if he has more to say, but then he turns and leaves, closing the door gently behind him. His footsteps fade away into the distance, and Sajia is surprised at the disappointment that strikes her when they’re gone completely.

How did he manage that? How did the man that she’s so scared of manage to make her smile, to make her laugh? Are her perceptions about the man he is that off? Or is he simply that good of an actor?

She moves to sit back down in the chair, looking at herself in the mirror. Her hair is only halfway finished, the bronze and diamond ornaments only adorning one side of her head thus far. Her makeup isn’t on yet, and she’s wearing simple robes, not her elaborate wedding gown. What did he see in her? Why did he call her beautiful when she looks like a mess?

All that Sajia knows is that the strange interaction with her future husband has left her more confused than ever before.

[whump-ventures]

Do You Remember This?

Storyline: Zinjiq. Part 1- The Ten-Year War Main OCs: Rahim and Sajia

~~~

He doesn’t remember this…

His eyes cast about wildly in the fog-filled landscape, treading cautiously over the ground. There’s something… off about this place. It certainly feels like a memory instead of something he is actually living. But if this is one of his own memories shouldn’t he remember it?

Another cautious step forward, head slowly turning side to side. This is all wrong. He doesn’t know why he’s here, or how he got here, or even where here is. It’s deathly silent, only serving to further his discomfort. There’s a strange sensation, like a fly crawling on his face or a loose strand of hair that is in just the right spot to be an irritant. But when he reaches up to sweep it away, his hand simply brushes across his skin. He starts to reach for his swords, but for some reason he’s unarmed.

“Hello?” His words even sound far away, muffled and distant even though they’re coming from his own mouth. “Is there anyone out there? Where the hell am I?”

For a moment, that same silence settles heavy over the foreign land. And then it’s broken by a piercing scream.

Sajia.

“SAJIA!” He’s sprinting towards the sound before he can even process what is happening. She’s in trouble, she’s hurt, she’s-

“Rahim, help!”

No.

“I’m coming!” He’s weaving through tall city walls, panting in his desperation to get to her. He doesn’t know how he ended up in a city, but he doesn’t care. She needs him, his beloved, he would sacrifice the world to save her. His eyes are burning as he fights back tears, terrified that he’ll be too late.

He bursts out from behind a tall wall, back into the fog-covered landscape that was empty a few moments prior. Something tries to tell him that this is wrong, but then he sees her. Kneeling on the ground in front of a soldier. Her blue eyes meet his. They’re wide and scared, filled with pain. There’s blood on the ground around her.

“Rahim, please! Help-”

Her plea is cut off as the soldier plunges a dagger into her heart.

“NO!”

Time seems to stop as he staggers forward, moving far too slow. Or maybe he was just that far away. It takes too long to get to her side, and by then it’s too late.

“Sajia-” His voice is scarcely more than a whisper. He gently cradles her body towards him, running his hand along her face. “Beloved, please-” He’s seen enough death to know that there is no longer life left in her body. And something inside of him shatters.

Rahim can feel his entire world crashing down around him. She can’t just be gone- not like this. Not so brutally, not so quickly. She’s too kind, she’s too wonderful… He pulls her closer, rocking her slowly in his arms. His eyes close and he buries his face in her hair, letting the tears flow freely. It’s not supposed to be her, she isn’t supposed to die from this war. A sob escapes, his shoulders shaking-

And laughter rings in his ears.

Laughter at his pain. At his grief.

His head snaps up, raw anger mixing with his grief, and suddenly he’s not there.

The walls are cold, black stone around him. The foreign landscape is gone in the blink of an eye, and so is the still-warm body he was clutching tightly in his arms. There’s a biting cold around his wrists and a flicker of torchlight in the corner of the room- No, the cell. The guards are laughing. The soldiers are laughing.

It wasn’t real.

The tears are still flowing down his face, even as he slowly raises his head to look into the eyes of the man that forced this memory on him- the one torturing him. His eyes narrow in defiance as he tries to forget about the not-memory, even though the desperate cries for help and that pain-filled scream will haunt his dreams. Fingertips are still pressed against his temples, ready to plunge him back into another horror story at any moment.

The Teyshirian soldier studies him. “I didn’t know it was going to be quite that… effective.” His lips quirk up into a smile. “Wanna try again?”

“Stop it.” Rahim snaps instantly, in the same tone as a command that one in Khurzan would be a fool to ignore. He tries to pull away, but his arms are restrained tightly and he barely has any room to move. That stupid smile turns into a smirk, and Rahim yanks on the chains, wishing he could lunge and rip out the man’s throat. His anger is fueled by how easily they managed to hurt him by a simple image… A false memory. 

But even then, there’s a stab of terror that maybe the memory is real to the person sharing it… What if she’s been killed during his time as a prisoner?

“Will you fuckin stop it.” He repeats, voice practically a snarl. “Just stop, you sick son of a-”

“I don’t think so.”

Before he can say another word in protest, he’s back in the land of nightmares.

It’s not long before a scream rips through the silence.

[whump-ventures]

OC Personality Asks

Made this a little while back, but lost the original post. Anyway! I decided to use my useless psychology degree and make an ask game. 

🎤 Are they extroverted or introverted? If they’re more extroverted do they have a big friend group, a lot of people they can trust? If they’re more introverted is there someone they can open up to and feel comfortable around?

⏳ Do they tend to focus more on the past, the present, or the future? Do they dwell on the past and let it drag them down, try to live in the moment, or are they constantly planning for a future they want?

⚔️ Is your oc combatant? Arguing for the sake of arguing, standing up for themselves in a confrontational manner? Or do they try to get along with everyone, keep the peace?

🤔 Are they impulsive or more thoughtful? Do they think through each action, or do they leap before they look?

🧠Will they act on logic or emotions? Do they follow their head or their heart when it comes to making decisions?

🥀 Are they pessimistic, optimistic, or more of a realist? Do they have a rosy look at the world around them, seeing all the good, or do they see more of the bad?

🤩 Do they have a lot of self esteem? What about self worth?

🧗‍♀️ Are they a natural leader or more of a follower? Or are they more flexible, able to follow or lead depending on what the situation calls for? Do they enjoy this aspect of their personality, or do they think it would be easier to do the opposite?

😢 How do they deal with trauma? Do they need the comfort of a close friend or family member? Time alone? Do they prefer to talk about what happened, or keep it hidden away?

⚡️Is your oc more energetic or laid back? Do they tend to energize a group when they come by, or do they carry more of a calming presence?

✈️ Do they like to try new things? New experiences, new food, new places to visit, or do they prefer familiarity?

🦂 Are they hard to get along with? Do they have a stronger personality that can be seen as aggressive at times? Or is it easy to get along with them?

🗝What does your oc like most about their own personality? What do they dislike? What would they change about themselves if they could?

[whump-or-whatever]

Me trying to decide which whump content I’m in the mood for like…

[prussianvenom]

Not always true but goddamn i have a hard time restraining myself

[whump-ventures]

BTHB Fill #1 Mind Control (requests are open please send some!) Storyline: Zinjiq. Part 2- invasions and rebellions  Main OCs: Sajia and Batzorig See tags for TWs!

Full write under the cut

“Please-“

Everything is spinning and her eyes refuse to focus on anything. Heavy fists and rib-cracking kicks have left her ears ringing and the room blurred around her. She’s giving him exactly what he wants, unable to hide the cries of pain as he digs a small knife into her side, slowly twisting it. She can catch a glimpse of his wicked smile as her screams rip through the air once more.

“I’ve been waiting-“ the blade is wrenched free, and Sajia can’t hide the whimper that escapes. “For this for so long.” His hand is keeping her upright, not quite shoving her down on the bed even though her throat is practically closed at the probability of what is to come. She tries to pull away from him, but he’s holding her close, hot breath on her neck. “Ever since that fool husband of yours decided he would interfere with my plans, he should have known that someone as pretty as you- someone so dear to him- would be my target.”

His hand moves to press against sore and cracked ribs, and she lets out a strangled cry, finding it hard to breathe when he leans in, face too close to her own.

“Please-“ Sajia manages to choke out once more. “Don’t- don’t-“

“Don’t what?” His voice practically purrs, sending a shudder down her spine. “Do you have something to say, Your Majesty?” The words are heavy with mockery.

Sajia slowly turns her tear streaked face to him, forcing herself to meet those cruel eyes. “Please-“ She pours forward all her desperation, not able to face the possibility of losing the most important thing in her life. “Don’t hurt my daughter. Please just let her go.”

The shift is immediate, from taunting and intimate, to a flash of pure rage. Sajia doesn’t have a chance to respond, her ears still ringing, the world still blurred from tears and wavering from the pain. She can see the gleam of steel, covered in her own blood, and then it slashes forward.

The shock freezes her for a moment, and then comes the pain. The blade slashed cleanly across her face, directly under her left eye and nicking her ear in the process. The only sound that escapes is a gasp of horror, her blood pounding louder and louder in her ears as it flows down the side of her face.

“I’ll do whatever I damn well please to her, you bitch.” He snarls, grabbing her shoulder and yanking her in close. “I’m done with your begging. Shut your mouth.”

Sajia goes to respond, feeling the terror for her precious daughter trickling through her, but no sound comes out. She tries again, opening her mouth, but her body refuses to listen to her mind. Another wash of horror chills her to the bone, the realization that his terrible magic is now at work.

He watches her for a moment, the anger in his eyes fading to something else, something she knows all too well from the war in Azdi. Then his lips press against her neck in a lascivious kiss.

“I look forward to watching the terror in your eyes as I put you to proper use.” He growls against her neck. His grip doesn’t falter and his knife slices cleanly through her robes. Sajia turns her face away as she meekly struggles, tears running down her face to mix with the blood, causing the new woudn on her face to burn that much more. But she may as well be fighting against the palace walls for how impossible it is to get his possessive hands away from her. And the worst is that he can put a stop to her practically pathetic attempts with a simple word.

Batzorig yanks her robes out of the way with a fervor, exposing herself completely to him. His smirk grows at the sight and he shoves her on her back, pinning her wrists down and leaning in so all she can see are his eyes, gleaming with a mixture of hatred and lust. “Look at you-” He muses, free hand tracing along her jaw. “All that power stripped away so easily.”

He leans down to kiss her again, and Sajia closes her eyes wishing she could block out his vile words as he hisses in her ear. 

“If you put up a good enough fight, I may even let you scream.”

~~~

Taglist: @painful-pooch​