#magic whump
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To the Depths of the Sea
Bones in the Ocean Masterlist
CW: I don’t know, man. Siren commits a murder? This is out of order, timewise, but it's what wanted to be written, so...
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His name was different, then.
It was not a clumsy tongue against the roof of a small mouth, flat teeth and full lips mouthing animal grunts without melody. Back then, his name was a lyric, a new line in the sirens' endless, ancient song.
His very being was a scale of perfect pitch. Sirens sang together, notes dancing up and down that mortal mouths and lungs could never recreate. He and his mother and his sisters sang in harmonies, children of the goddess of moon and tides, the wild water-woman who could turn a calm sea to turbulent waves in an instant.
He was born, at some point long ago. Borne by his mother, with his sisters huddled around her to be a dozen midwives, while the moon shone on the rock and the goddess watched. Born, yes, but he did not age, his wounds healed, he did not die.
Time shifted around him, like it did for all of the gods’ children.
The waves slapped the sand, sirens sang on rocks, and ships came and brought the men who heard their song. The men who steered their ships, unseeing and smiling, into the reefs to shred them apart, so that their bodies could be given to the sirens, and after that to the sea.
The ships changed, with time. The clothing the sailors they tore into wore changed, the style of shoe, the weight or shape of a sword and finally of the strange rifles. All these things changed.
The sirens didn’t.
They remained the same.
The siren boy had been sunbathing on the beach that day, eyes closed. The heat of the day lay over his brown skin like the humans’ heavy blankets, lulling him into a dreamless doze. Somewhere nearby, his sisters sang for their supper, having seen a ship hovering at the horizon.
But the siren boy was not alone. He was not the only one on the island to hear the song.
His eyes snapped open when he heard the softest crush of footsteps on underbrush. An animal, he told himself, even as he pushed himself up on his elbows, turned to see, half-hidden in the shadows just back from the beach, a human man staring back at him.
The human man’s hair was tangled and dirtied, hanging in clumps over his face. Mud had dried on his face and his shirt was worn nearly to shreds. He must have survived a past wreck, somehow slipped through the sirens’ fingers. Been here since then, wandering the island. He must have somehow held out against the siren song’s pull.
The man’s mouth moved.
He was whispering, but the siren was too far to hear him, leaning against a palm tree’s heavy, narrow trunk to stay upright. There was something wrong with one of his legs, the pants were torn but nothing was there beneath the tear.
The siren got slowly to his feet, tipping his head to one side. His curly black hair shifted, shadowing his own eyes as he moved soundlessly over the burning sand, where driftwood bits of broken ships lay in dried, bleached lines around him, their companions the scattered bones of the sirens’ meals.
Human voices, so flat and featureless, disgusted him.
But the eating would be good, and then the man's foul flat voice would stop interrupting the melodies.
“Monsters,” The man was whispering, but the siren didn’t know this word. He didn’t know any of their words. He knew what those throats tasted like, though, beneath his teeth. “Th-this island is made of monsters… You’re not a boy-... y-you’re not-”
The siren took one step, and then another. Each step sank his foot slightly into sand, brushed against shell and stick, rock, bone, and wood. Each movement a hypnotic sway, and he licked at his dry lips as his mouth watered for the meal.
His sisters’ song was all around them, and yet the man didn’t fall to it.
Their eyes met, then. The man’s were a faded blue, like the sky when the sun nearly bleached out all its colors with no clouds to subdue its power. His skin was like dried animal hides, wrinkled and tough. All bones and sinew, no real meat for the eating.
It didn’t matter.
All men were meals.
“They-... they said there was gold here.” The human’s whining voice, like a child, grated on the siren. Some foul mockery of the beautiful way the sirens spoke to each other, all out of tune, off-key. Not a song at all. This man’s name would be like the harsh screech of the birds the sirens ate during starving times, when there was nothing else.
There was no song in this man.
“There… isn’t any gold, is there?” The man’s voice tipped upwards, but the siren ignored it. He was so close he could smell the man, human odor of sweat and blood and something rotten where his leg used to be. The man was trembling, voice and body shaking together. He closed his eyes, slowly, and lifted his chin as if offering himself for the taking. Even so, his lips still moved in pointless speech. “It was a-a trick, a lie-... there was no gold here…”
The siren was on him.
He took him down onto his back, the underbrush soft beneath them. A flock of birds took flight with their cries an echo of the siren’s own triumphant song, one that buried itself in blood. A hundred teeth sharper than a shark’s tore out his throat, devoured skin and muscle, picked clean bones. The siren’s melody as it rejoiced in the meal was a sharp thing, rending apart the man’s soul and sending it to be held by the ocean, like all men who died to sirens and the sea.
His prey never fought him.
But it whispered, once more, with dead sightless eyes and unmoving lips, monster.
The siren woke.
He was not in the sun-warmed sand or roaming the island he had always known, his sisters and mother beside him. He was in a cool pool of pointless water hemmed in on all sides by stone, the high windows mocking him with the world he could not escape. The dream was already fading, and the memories of who he had been, more than a century ago, faded with it.
He lost himself, every time he woke.
He found himself only in sleep.
Areyto rolled aimlessly onto his back, staring up at the ceiling whie he floated in the water. He could feel the tingle of the power in the marks the magicians made, each decade, that kept him captive to his master’s whims. He could feel how the marks drained his memories away, the ones he could see in dreams but that were lost to him after. He floated there feeling his sisters fade to little more than shadows, a thought he'd had once. Maybe never real at all.
Moonlight shone, diffused by the windows so much his goddess could not have heard him, no matter how he cried to her. Areyto had long since stopped crying, anyway.
What use was pleading if no one could hear you, and those who could would only mock you and take yet another part of you away?
Like his name.
The magic made sure he couldn’t remember it.
Come.
His master’s command came like an oil slick in the water, slithering slime over his bared skin and pushing him from the water. He shook himself and went, step by step, to the door that was already being unlocked to allow him to leave - but only to go where he was ordered, only to do whatever vile thing his master demanded. The butler on the other side looked through him, saw something else. Saw whatever the master wanted him to see.
As the siren moved through this endless hell, the moon that had shone on him where he slept in the pool shifted behind a cloud. The goddess left him, and his half-formed prayers. It was all lost, everything that did not belong to Guilford Wentworth was gone.
Come, Areyto.
Not his name.
But the name he had been given, and must answer to. The name layered over the song, the lyric he had once been. The piece of the harmony that had belonged to him, just on the tip of his tongue, never coming together.
The melody of his identity had been stolen, replaced with the flat human syllables he went by now. A shrieking off note, a sharp staccato. His master had stolen his name, as surely as he had stolen Areyto’s life.
As surely as Areyto would steal it back.
However small his master had made him, his teeth were still sharp, and his claws were still keen to tear human skin apart. The marks would fade, if he could only keep them from being remade yet again. The power that held him here would crack apart beneath his fury, if the human magician would help him. Her voice held the edge of a song even in flat human words.
Areyto didn’t understand it, yet, but he knew what the song meant even if he didn’t know the melodies.
Hope.
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Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee @angelsproject
#whump#whump writing#captivity#original writing#original fantasy#siren whump#sirens#siren#male siren#magic whump#fantasy whump#original work#original character#memory loss#bones in the ocean
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Whump Concept
TW: DEATH
Whumpee, a character with powerful magic but a human soul, dies. It's bloody and painful and far too early in life, and they die wishing they could tell their friends, their family, their lover: Caretaker who holds them in their arms as they bleed out, that they love them.
After a certain amount of time in the afterlife, they come back, having used their magic to make a deal to come back. Their fatal wound is now a shimmering mark, and they are very much alive. The consequences are entirely up to you.
#based on a wip im working on#whump prompt#whumpee#tw: trauma#tw: angst#caretaker#caretaker x whumpee#tw: death#tw: blood#tw: injury#tw: haunted#resurrection#magic whump#magic whumpee#whump
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aftermath of statue curses
Let's be honest. We all love a good "Turned to stone" or "Turned to ice" curse right?
The angst of a caretaker finding a whumpee like that is just *Chef's Kiss* so good.
But we're really snoozing on the aftermath. of what happens to poor Whumpee when the curse is broken.
Seriously;
Atrophy or weakness of the muscles.
Gravel Rash everywhere. (for the stone curse)
Frostbite EVERYWHERE (for an Ice curse)
frequently recurring chills (both, Stone is still cold y'all.)
incredible disorientation or dizziness.
coming out of the statue starved and dehydrated.
Whumpee collapses into Caretaker's arms the minute the curse is broken.
Coughing up particles of whatever they were encased in.
Whumpee is desperate for the Caretaker not to leave them, ever. Especially if they were somewhat conscious inside the statue
#whump#whump prompt#magic whump#curse whump#caretaking prompts#whumpee#caretaker#whump prompts#caretaking
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Hear me out : super stoic character who keeps insisting they're absolutely fine who undergoes some sort of magical pain transfer and the recipient just collapses in a heap of agony
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Whumpee is fighting Whumper with a group of their friends. Whumpee and Whumper fight one on one and Whumper pins Whumpee down. They don't understand what is happening at first, but then Whumper pushes their palm against Whumpee's head. It starts with burning, then screaming, then the world goes dark. Whumper removes their hand and Whumpee has a mind control rune on their forehead.
"Stand up." Whumpee obeys Whumper's command. With a snap of their fingers, Whumper points to Whumpee's friends. "Kill them."
#whump#whumpblr#whump writing#whump prompt#whump tropes#noncon body modification#mind control whump#whumpee turned whumper#multiple whumpees#hero whumpee#villain whumper#magic whump#fantasy whump
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Healer whumper who’s power can be used for torture, healing usually fatal wounds in minutes just to do it again once the wound healed over
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Whump Prompt #1336
Anon asked:
Prompts for a character (with fire powers) having to cauterize a comrade's wound?
I have a few:
"Hold them down. This is going to suck."
"On three?" / "No no, just surprise me, I'll just tense up otherwi- OW!"
"I know, I know, It'll be over soon." The character with fire powers says, they hate the fact they're inflicting so much pain but it's a necessary evil if they want the whumpee to make it to the doctor/healer.
"Just do what you have to do." / "I don't want to hurt you." / "I'm already hurt. You'll be helping." / "I just wish there was another way."
Maybe the character with fire powers worries about losing control, as emotion and stress affects their magic. Maybe the whumpee is left with a larger scar than necessary because of it, and the character is now always reminded of the event because of it. How does the whumpee feel about the scar? Do they love it? Or do they secretly resent it/have to come to terms with it?
Bonus: "Ssh, sshh, I know, I'm sorry. It's alright it'll be over soon."
#whump#writing#prompts#angst#cauterization#magic whump#fire powers#burns#scars#injury#magical caretaker
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Magic Whumpee needing to perform a huge spell for whatever reason and it requiring a significant amount of life force. It starts to take a toll on them, starting to sway and lose their balance — yet never stopping.
Caretaker sees them continuously becoming more and more unstable. As Whumpee stumbles backwards, Caretaker reaches out to steady them, placing a hand on their shoulder and one on their arm.
Even as blood slips from their nose, Whumpee continues the spell, but nods their thanks and reassurance to their worried Caretaker.
#whump#whumpee#whump scenario#whump scene#whump prompt#whump tropes#magic whump#magic whumpee#magic exhaustion#exhaustion whump#exhausted whumpee#bloody nose#worried caretaker#unsteady#tired whumpee#whumpee x caretaker#caretaker#my writing#whump community
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A Whumper who uses a spell to force Whumpee to relive a past trauma.
Whumpee having a panic attack as they're witnessing the trauma once more while Caretaker tries to help them.
BONUS: Whumpee never told anyone, not even Caretaker, about their trauma, so them freaking out confused and scared Caretaker because they had no idea what was going on with Whumpee.
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The whumpee had wild and unpredictable magic- and it terrified them. The whumpee would sometimes accidentally hurt the people they cared about, so of course they sought out the only person that could possibly contain their power- the whumper. The whumper may be strict, unjust, and sometimes downright cruel, but to the whumpee, it was better than hurting their friends.
#whump#whump prompt#whump scenario#whumpee#aramis stabs someone#whump prompts#magic whump#magic whumpee
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Hypnotic music box!
- @oliversrarebooks
tw gaslighting, hypnosis, magic whump, tiny whump, lady whump, captivity, memory loss
The song filled her mind and body as she kept spinning, keeping completely still for her owner’s enjoyment. She was a perfect little ballerina, her master’s favourite, never stumbling and never ever disappointing them.
Her dress was as pretty and perfect as the body it served to accentuate, with a soft face and shiny hair to match. A work of art, her master had called her. A masterpiece.
The music was gentle as it wrapped around her, settling deep in the creases of her mechanical body and soothing her every worry. She let herself be carried around and around, her glassy eyes fixed on something invisible. Her master was in the room with her, she noted distantly. She could only ever catch glimpses of them, but it was enough to motivate her to do well.
She would always do well. She was perfect, a product of her owner’s genius.
“The battery in your music box is running out,” Master said one day. “I’ll get new ones soon.”
She didn’t doubt it. She was grateful to be informed ahead of time, that way she didn’t panic when her little personal carousel started slowing, and eventually came to a complete halt. She stayed motionless, staring out into the empty room with the last remnants of the song playing only in her mind.
Her owner must’ve been at the store by now, getting the new batteries so they could continue to enjoy her dance. She only had to be patient for a few more minutes, at most an hour.
The stillness was unnerving. She almost felt like her arms were getting tired in this demanding pose, even though she knew that was quite impossible. Dolls didn’t get tired. And while her master was a particularly skilled tinkerer to have created something as lifelike as her, they would’ve had no reason to make her susceptible to exhaustion. That would’ve been cruel, given her purpose.
Still, the feeling continued to spread. Her joints started aching, her mechanical muscles were burning, and despite her best efforts, she eventually had to lower her arms. It felt sacrilegious to do that while the music box was open… but there wasn’t any music now, nor an audience to dance for. Maybe it was okay. Maybe she could treat this unusual circumstance as if the box had been closed.
It kept bugging her, though; the bone-deep exhaustion that suddenly plagued her now that she was off duty. And what were all these new worries? Why did she feel so anxious? Was she shaking from fatigue or nerves?
Why was she shaking at all?
She glanced towards the empty room again, suddenly seized by an overwhelming desire to crawl out of her box and explore. Her whole body protested as she carefully crossed the threshold into the outside, walking along the table with a sense of odd familiarity. It felt as if she had gone on walks like this before, even though she had no recollection of anything but the box.
She didn’t make it far. She crumpled to the ground in pain, curling up in an attempt to soothe her aching joints. Everything hurt. Nothing had ever hurt before, not since her owner had created her.
Oh, lying down like this would definitely put a few wrinkles in her pretty dress. Bad, bad, she was being a bad doll.
‘What a bad doll you’ve been.’
‘I’m not a doll! Stop calling me that, stop– what are you doing? You can’t lock me in there!’
‘But I can. Dolls belong in boxes, after all.’
The hallucination made her sit bolt upright, eyes wide and full of terror. What was that? Where did that come from? She hugged her knees close to her chest, barely understanding why she was suddenly crying.
The box seemed scary now that she was out. It seemed like nothing but a prison instead of a home.
She stared down at her realistically painted legs, blinking at the level of detail she had never noticed before. She couldn’t help it. She gently scraped against the layer, consumed with a desire to see the paint flake off, to see her metallic endoskeleton underneath… But it hurt, and all she found was a layer of flesh with blood bubbling to the surface.
It couldn’t be.
She was a doll.
She was just a doll.
‘I’m not a doll!’
She buried her face in her hands, taking quick, shallow breaths. This wasn’t real. This wasn’t real. None of it was real. She had to get back into the box. She had to get back and dance and look pretty. She had to be perfect, she had to be nothing but a beloved object.
The door opened and she flinched, scrambling to her feet and promptly falling again. She was so tired. She was so scared. She had to get back to the box before her owner realised what a bad doll she had been.
“Oh… The battery ran out sooner than I thought…” Her master walked over to the table, and their presence held none of the usual gentleness that always put her at ease. She felt nothing but the dread of a prey animal, trapped and about to be killed. “How unfortunate. I need to fix this box, this is the second time in only a few months.”
Second? In a few months? No… She had never had the box stop before.
“What’s going on?” she asked, startled by her own voice. She didn’t know she had a voice box. Was it a voice box? Or was it her voice, natural and painfully alive?
“Shh, it’s alright.” They quickly inserted the batteries into the bottom of the box, then set it down on the table again. “Come on. In you go.”
“No! No, I want– I want you to explain! Why am I bleeding? What’s going on?”
“You’re bleeding? Oh, my. What a mess.” They flipped a switch and the song started back up, and she didn’t know why she covered her ears. She just knew she had to, it was crucial that she did, it was the most important thing in the world that she blocked out the song completely.
“Just tell me what’s going on!” she cried, shrieking when her owner pinned her down against the desk, securing her limbs with clear tape. “No, stop, stop it! Please! I don’t understand, I don’t understand!”
“Shh… Calm down, sweet… It’s alright…” They winced when they saw the wound above her knee, swiftly grabbing some ointment and a cotton swab to treat it. She struggled against the makeshift restraints, unable to stop the music from infiltrating her mind any longer. “Oh, what a bad doll you’ve been again…”
“I’m not a doll!”
Her captor gave her a pitying look, gently dabbing the injured area and making her cry harder with the sting of it. “It’s going to be alright.”
The empty box continued playing the music, and she felt her anger slowly give way to resignation. Her struggles became weaker before they ceased entirely, and her pain dissipated before she was even freed from the clear tape. She wasn’t tired anymore. She wasn’t hurting.
“There you are,” they murmured. “My most perfect little creation. My little ballerina.”
New clothes were brought out for her, and she lay completely still as her owner changed out the old ones. She was placed back in the box, where the song was the loudest, and she let it wash over her. It was so heavy, like a comforting blanket.
“Get into position for me, won’t you?” She raised her arms and tried to mimic the grace of a real dancer, making her master smile. “Perfect. My little mechanical doll. My toy box dancer. What a little wonder I’ve created.”
The song filled her mind and body as she kept spinning, keeping completely still for her owner’s enjoyment. She was a perfect little ballerina, her master’s favourite, never stumbling and never ever disappointing them.
#asks#oliversrarebooks#whump#whump drabble#gaslighting#hypnosis#magic whump#tiny whump#lady whump#captivity#memory loss
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Whumpees with some sort of magical power, but that power being controlled entirely by Whumper.
#the agony of having the strength to be free of Whumpee#but that fucking curse carved into their skin that keeps them from harming the only person they’ve ever truly wanted to harm#or a magical contract they can’t burn#magic-dampening restraints they can’t remove#magic that is a part of whumpee being cut off or siphoned at Whumper’s every whim#magic Whump#whump
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Magic whumper who brands their whumpee with a mark that never stops burning.
Or
A mark that the whumper can control to hurt the whumpee as punishment.
#whump#whumpee#whump scenario#whumper#magic whump#sadistic whumper#whump prompt#whump branding#magic whumper#whump punishment
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Magical Mind Control that completely shuts down a Whumpee's mind. leaving them a obedient shell when "Activated" by Whumper. and in a deep, magical sleep when "Deactivated."
When Caretaker finds them and rescues them, it takes days for Whumpee to come out from under Whumper's magical influence.
Post Rescue timeline:
Days 1-4; Whumpee just floats in darkness. It's quiet, heavy and blissful.
Day 5: Whumpee becomes distantly aware of a voice talking to them. it's not Whumper, but comforting none the less.
Day 8: Whumpee manages to open their eyes a little. but everything is blurry. Someone's holding them, a hand is in their hair, Whumpee doesn't quite know who it is, but they know they trust this person more than anyone else in the world.
Day 12: A light goes off in Whumpee's brain like a lighthouse in pea soup fog. Caretaker! It's Caretaker who's with them. they wish they could speak Caretaker's name, but they're just so Sleepy, they don't have the energy.
Day 13: Whumpee comes to breifly when Caretaker's gently spoon-feeding them some soup. giving Caretaker a feeble smile.
Day 15: Whumpee finally wakes up clear-headed and lucid to a teary-eyed Caretaker, hoarsely whispering "Hey."
#whump#whump prompt#mind control whump#magic whump#caretaking#caretaker#whump prompts#whumpee#sleep whump#sleepy whumpee
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Look at me posting this on the deadline LMFAO BUT ITS NOT LATE SO LOOK AT ME GO WOOOOO. This is for @epiclamer's and @save-the-villainous-cat's super cute ask game which was GENIUS!!! This was so so much fun thank you!!!
@hufflepuffwritingstuff22 had an ask in their inbox: “Hero being brainwashed and forced to fight their friends.”
---
"Please, Hero!" Sidekick's desperate voice sounded through the room. "I know this isn't you. Think of who I am! C'mon, Hero, please!!!"
Tears streamed down their face as they desperately kicked away fro the 'stranger' before them. That wasn't Hero/ Surely Hero wouldn't do this!
They whimpered as their back hit the wall, gulping hard as they watched Hero continue to stride towards them, switchblade twirling in hand.
"Oh, but Sidekick, don't you understand? This is me. All this time I have been trying to hide it,but now, bow it's too late. You've gone too far. You're a disappointment to not only me, but yourself."
Sidekick gulped as the words carved antagonizingly slow into their heart, their chest growing tight as they tried to keep their breathing level. Their eyes flickered up to Hero's, tears threatening to fall. Their voice came out as a weak rasp, "This is-isn't you..."
They had given up hope at this point, how were they supposed to get through to Hero???
A fist tightened in Sidekick's shirt and hauled them to their feet before they were suddenly slammed against the wall. Sidekick wheezed as they felt all the air leave their body, their eyes blowing wide.
They flinched hard as Hero raised their fist, squeezing their eyes shut as a whimper ripped from their throat but Hero's fist quickly collided with their cheek.
Blood splatted against the ground as they coughed, "He-h'ro... 'm.. pl'se..." Blood ran down from their mouth, their vision spotting. Punch after punch was delivered until Sidekick screamed, breaking into sobs as their body shook with each cry.
As Villain entered the door, Hero instantly dropped Sidekick to the floor. "Hero, to me."
Sidekick watched in horror, wheezing on the floor as Hero quickly made their way over to Villain before dropping to their knees.
Sidekick tried to swallow back bile as they slowly sat up, "Wha-what did you do?"
Villain chuckled softly, a cool smirk painting along their face as they looked at Sidekick, "Oh, this? Oh honey, what I did to Hero is exactly what I am going to do to you. Now Sidekick," They clicked their finger, "I need you to focus on my voice and my voice only."
Sidekick flinched back as Villain's hand rested against their head, a sudden presence filling their head as they lost full control. And suddenly it kicked in. Their thoughts weren't theirs. And as they approached Hero, a clenched fist either side, they had to watch as someone forced them to fight their mentor. Fight the last person who had fate in them. How would Hero ever forgive them?
#THIS WAS SO FUN RAAAAA#IM HALF ASLEEP WHILE FINISHING THE PIECE#SO SORRY ITS NOT GOOD#almost halloween WOOOOOO#whump#whumpee#whump drabble#whumper#whumpblr#whump community#whump writing#hero whumper#villain whumper#sidekick whumpee#sidekick whumper#mind control#magic whump#surrenderanask#lee wrote something :o
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(Content warnings: Burning alive, implied death, immortal whumpee)
Everything thinks Whumpee is dead, but they're just in a heavily/magically induced sleep. Whumpee's friends decide to cremate their body. Whumpee wakes up in the chamber they're being burned in and scream to get out, pounding on the case.
Bonus points if they have some form of immortality and they are unable to die, just going through it until Whumpee's friends realize what happened. The trust there is forever strained.
#whump#whumpblr#whump writing#whump tropes#whump prompt#burn whump#immortal whumpee#burning alive#dead whumpee#implied death#caretaker turned whumper#accidental bad caretaker#magic whump#fantasy whump#bad caretaker
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