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ashintheairlikesnow · 7 days

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WIP - The Cry of Distress Rings

I haven't written anything worthwhile in longer than I'd like. But here is a little bit of what I managed to work on this morning!

“The rabbit is excellent tonight, I think,” Guilford Wentworth said, taking a sip from his wine glass and then swirling the dark liquid inside. He smiled, and his teeth seemed stained slightly red. Kira fought back the way her stomach flipped and bile seemed to rise in her throat, fighting to find its way out.

Behind him, from the display against the window, there was a whimper half-suppressed.

Kira didn’t dare look.

There was a building fury inside her that she feared would burn the entire house to the ground around her if she raised her eyes and set it free.

Instead, she focused on her plate. She kept her eyes down and forced herself to look at the pale ivory ceramic with its lovely swirling blue, images of men and women with parasols and bowties strolling through a wooded area alongside a stream.

Her fingers kept tingling, as if there were sparks and embers burning just beneath the tips. She kept thinking about the silver melting in her hand before, the singed handprints on the wall of the bedroom she'd been held in.

The siren's soft insistence on wild magic - not something that belonged to the fey creatures and monsters alone, but something a human might wield, too.

Something she might wield.

She didn't look up.

But gods above and below, why did the rabbit have to be covered in a berry-sauce that was so dark and rich and thick and red?

She chose a particular bit of rabbit flesh and stabbed her own fork into it as she would have if she held a knife and Guilford himself was at the other end.

As if he felt the tines, the siren groaned.

She couldn’t help it. She dropped the fork and it clattered against the plate, the sound far too loud in a room where the heavy silence had been broken only by Guilford Wentworth's rambling.

"Make her look," Guilford said, in a low voice.

The siren sang.

His voice was broken by the pain, hushed and cracking, but there was still enough power in it that Kira felt her chin lifting against her will, her eyes moving to meet Areyto's as his pain washed into her and commanded she see.

Strung up like a tormented saint, the siren’s arms were up over his head so his back was arched and his muscles stretched, body lean and long. The length of him was framed by the yellowed evening light coming through the window, making of the siren’s agony a near-silhouette, the suggestion of an endless darkness ringed in a terrible light.

Kira’s fingers tightened around her fork as the siren’s head turned to the side. Heavy cuffs with chains that went up to the beams in the ceiling kept his wrists up above him, spikes on the inside buried deeply into his skin. Kira could see rivulets of blood running downwards, the siren's muscles shifting and twitching as the lines worked through way into the crook of his elbow and towards his shoulder.

The same red droplets ran down his chest thanks to the spikes inside the metal collar he wore now as well. From his ankles, blood dripped onto the ground.

Naked, the markings that kept him in this terrible slavery were on full and total display. Kira’s heart beat faster than the rabbit on her plate had ever been able to run.

Areyto's eyes had gone blank and empty except for the pain. There was no one there, only a statue staring back at her while it bled.

Areyto would bleed and never die from the blood loss. He no longer had the option to die unless his master wanted him to.

What a terrible cruelty.

What a hopeless captivity

Kira’s stomach kept turning. She set the bite of rabbit back down again.

Her fingerprints were burned into the fork she had been holding.

#whump #work in progress #wip #captivity #blood tw #restraints tw #bleeding tw #siren whump #magical whump #nonhuman whumpee #defiant whumpee #kira I love youuuuu #bones in the ocean

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themonstrousmenagerie · 9 months

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Do not worry ladies and gentlemen, the glass is soundproof! This siren with make your fishtank pop! Her scales glow in UV light, creating a mesmorising effect for you and your guests to admire.

Last two hours to vote on interest check in the pinned post for this blog! The circus filled with magical creatures to tortu- akhem, train, is waiting for you!

#inhuman whump #inhuman whumpee #whump #whump art #monster whump #monster whumpee #mermaid whump #siren whump

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a-whumped-tea · 11 months

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A siren who has managed to gain human legs. Siren slips into the music business. Instant success. Gains a whole ton of adoring fans.

Maybe Siren is a whumper who likes to toy with some of their new fans. There's always an unlimited amount of fans willing to do anything for them, why not take one of them home? Whumper has to eat after all.

And even if Whumpee escapes no one would believe them that Siren is bad or tried to hurt and kill them. Siren's so great! How could someone so popular be bad?

Siren turning into a Whumperee. Surely a supernatural hunter is going to pick up on the signs of this person being a siren pretty quick. Hunter should probably take care of this Siren problem before it gets more out of hand than it already has.

Might want to hurry with getting rid of Siren. We wouldn't want the general public getting withdrawals from being exposed to Siren's song for too long.

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leyswhumpdump · 2 years

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Overboard

Ocean themed whump drabble, written as I was waiting for food to arrive. Also, it’s the end of May and I’d done nothing Mermay themed yet.

Inspired by this prompt list by @redd956!

CWs: almost drowning, using a person as bait to capture another, gagged, restraints.

The cabin boy stumbles on deadened legs, propelled by the weathered hand that’s just shoved him in the shoulder. Last night’s storm has left the deck slippery, and the ropes that yank his arms back also keep him from being able to save his balance. He nearly lands face-first, but someone steps in to stop him falling.

“Oh, don’t worry about a few bruises,” the captain says from behind. “Pretty or bloodied, we’ll haul in a catch either way.”

A second rope loops through the cabin boy’s bound arms, pulling his hands upwards. The cabin boy gasps with the sudden pain. Someone takes advantage of his open mouth, stuffing a knotted strip of cloth between his teeth. The cabin boy shakes his head desperately, trying to dislodge the sudden obstacle, but the cloth is tied and the knot stays in position. His cheeks burn a little as he attempts a protest. “Nnn…”

“Is that a no? I’m afraid you don’t get a say in this.” The captain pushes the cabin boy to the edge of the deck. “You’d better hope for your own sake that your little mer-friend won’t be able to stay away.”

They don’t mean… they don’t mean to actually drown him, if their prey doesn’t show up? The cabin boy lets out a muffled sob, imagining the two possible futures. One without the siren’s freedom, and one without him.

The water sparkles like shark’s teeth.

“Throw him over.”

The initial immersion floods his lungs—not with water, not yet—but with panic. He bites down on the gag and tastes salt. He tries to kick, to bring his head above the surface, and feels the sea drag on the rope that still connects him to the ship. The tomb-darkness surrounds him with its cold, clawing embrace.

Hands grab him, pulling him upward towards the sun. The cabin boy tries to gasp for air, realises his nose is still full of water, and flails in terror. He can’t breathe. He needs to breathe. It’s only when the siren’s fingers lift his gag away that he splutters and sobs and desperately tries to choke out some form of warning.

A warning that has already come too late.

#whump #whump writing #siren whump #ocean whump

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redd956 · 2 years

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Prompt 2

Person A hated visiting the beaches now a days. From as far as their eyes could see, were once beautiful coastal shores, now hidden underneath grimy layers of trash. The ocean herself was green with sickness, litter flittering along her surface, waves pulling in bobbing barrels of still spilling oil.

Though person A despised going to the coast like this, they hated the thought of no one doing anything about it. Every weekend Person A ventured out to beach, cleaning gear weighing against their back. Sometimes they brought a crew, but most the times they found themselves alone.

Person A swore very often they heard the ocean cry out. She cried for help, she cried to be saved, she cried for her pristine beaches to return to her. But nothing ever got better. Instead the trashed worsened, more boats were allowed to dump their waste, and eventually now even the locals threw their garbage onto the completely abandoned shores.

Person A decided they were giving up. They’d visit their dying ocean one last time, bidding farewell their wasted work. On this dark night they stared into the sickly sea, hearing the ocean cry once more. Only this time the pleas sounded louder, more desperate. Person A listened closer. This wasn’t the ocean this time. Something in the tides was truly distressed.

They hurried out, expecting maybe dolphins, seals, or entangled birds again. Person A barely noticed how strange the figure looked trashing about in the shallow water.

The moonlight reflected off of beautiful scales, which were quickly dimmed by a thick black slime. A roughened tail, tightly entangled into fishing line, splashed about in the water. Two almost human hands desperately tried to grab at a strangled neck. Webbed fingers were interlocked between the extended fishing line. The clamped gills beside them gasped for water, along with a mouth that gasped for air.

Person A couldn’t believe their eyes. Frozen in fear and confusion, hundreds of thoughts raced through their mind. What is it? A merfolk? A siren? Those can’t possibly be real.

When the struggling creature spotted them, it attempted to swim back into the ocean. The large knot of fishing line that crossed and tangled all over the creature’s body, tightened as the sea dweller tried to move forward. Person A’s eyes shot to the rock the line had became trapped under.

They attempted to reason with whatever it was, “Wait! Stop! Let me help you.”

But this only frightened whatever it was more. The line started squeeze underneath some of the creature’s scales, prying them off. The creature became winded, unable to breath. The fear of the bipedal entity that did this to their precious home, drove the sea dweller beyond their senses. At this point they didn’t care that no oxygen was filling their lungs. All started to fade to black, when fleshy non webbed hands felt against their own.

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breakyourwhumpees · 2 years

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Sapphire

mer-whump short because it’s mer-may. might continue if yall like this.

Caretaker was starting to ponder his life choices now that there was a siren in his bathtub. A bit of bribing it with more raw chicken compromising had it calm enough to where he could talk to it, though he wasn’t entirely sure it even understood him, just looking at him patiently with big golden eyes.

This is why Malory moved out, Caretaker groaned inwardly. as he sat on the toilet lid and stared at the creature wriggling around, trying to get comfy in his nearly overflowing bathtub. This didn’t feel like the same half dead creature he’d found rummaging through his trash and devouring things that were clearly rotten, the thing that had snarled and tried to bite at his hands when he came near. He looked at the discarded dog kennel at the foot of the tub, and the towel he’d had to drape over it to keep them calm.

Its scales were colorful, swirling with shades of dark blue, black and deep red. spots of gold decorated each of them and tipped their scales. It had jagged teeth made to tear into meat and possibly his own hands. Caretaker tucked them into his pockets subconsciously. They had four arms, each tipped with clawed fingers with torn webbing between them. He wondered if the creature could be considered a fish, mammal, or amphibian.

“Tap twice if you can understand me.” Caretaker drawled, leaning back on the toilet seat. The siren yawned, but made no move. “Oh, that’s just swell,” caretaker grimaced. “Well then, I guess you won’t have to understand whatever shit name I decide to call you.” He decided.

“I like Sapphire. I don’t really know what gender you are, though.” He pauses, watching them as they roll in the water like a cat rubbing itself against blankets. “I guess it doesn’t really matter.” He decides. “Sapphire it is.”

“mrrrrp,” Sapphire gurgled, dipping back underwater.

#mermaid #mermay #mermaid whump #siren whump #whump #nonhuman whumpee #nonhuman whump #whump writing #pet whump #kind of

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 28 days

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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun

Contento warning: violencia and blood and mild cannibalismo

Distant search horns shook Danny's ear fins, but he kept his eyes on the sun over the horizon, where mountain peeks emerged. He had to move quickly. Danny thrust forth with all his fins and gripped the still, small body in his arms. Stupid rich kids and their stupid ignorance about Amity Island. Danny cut through the water, and didn't bother to slow down upon reaching the shore. Crashing and tumbling through the sand, Danny recovered in seconds, and sat up in his arms. The kid's shirt gave way to Danny's claws, and he pressed his palms upon the kid's chest, and pumped like his life depended on it.

This innocent kid's life did.

He, Sam and Tucker had trained for hours on mannequins and real people out in the field, but who knows how long Damian had been underwater, how long he had been calling for help. Salty seawater gurgled out of the kid's mouth, but no more movement was to be found. Danny pressed his lips upon Damian's and exhaled. He pressed down on Damian's chest with just enough strength to avoid cracking every rib. Kiss of life. Press. Press. Kiss of life.

Most people would've been woken up by now. The crashing waves and wind over the lifeless body roared like a death toll. Six months as Phantom, dozens of attacks, and Danny was able to save everyone, everyone. He had to.

His arms, trained and honed from hundreds of hours in the water, burned as if stabbed by hot knives. His body was beginning to dry off, pearlescent white scales fading into pink skin. Glasslike flesh filling and hiding away internal organs and bones. Fins receding into bone. Tail snapping into and bones resetting. A human teenage boy kneeled over a child, tears rolling down his eyes. Why wasn't it working?

A rib cracked thunderous, and Danny hesitated for a brief second, but Damian stirred not. Danny continued. He could barely see his own arms, couldn't tell if the rhythm was even right. Despite arms growing wearier and wearier, strained and more strained. How could he ever look anyone in the face again, knowing Damian was right here, right now, and yet-

crack, another rib broke. He had to keep going. So many people were counting on him, even if they didn't know it. From Sam's parent's gossip, this kid apparently had a dozen and a half siblings, and a father who'd already lost his own parents.

Danny collapsed on the sand, naked and shivering. His fingertips felt numb. His toes felt numb. His body felt numb and his heart felt like it was harpooned and his brain was erratically screaming into the walls of his skull. There was no denying, no more.

Even if- Even if he could magically restart Damian's heart, and get his lungs pumping again, there was no human on earth who would not suffer irrevocable brain damage. The kid would be a vegetable for his entire life.

Not like it matters.

Danny wrenched a sob. He grabbed a handful of sand and throw it into the ocean. He slammed his fit into a rock and didn't even care when it came back bloody.

How could he return to Amity now? And tell Bruce Wayne to his face what he let happen.

Danny fell to the sand, numb again. It was his death, his drowning. He vowed it would be the last one, the last in Amity, and now...

And now...

Danny shot up. He leaned over Damian's corpse. Lightning fired off in his mind, and new anxiety gripped him, but above all, hope.

"I'm sorry." He said.

Danny dipped his hand into a tide pool, letting scales and webbing over take it. He opened his claws, and and sank them into damian's arm. Blood seeped out and coated the white scales. Twisting the claws he carved out a chunk of human flesh, and brought it to his mouth. Danny swallowed it in one gulp.

Next, he brought the claws to his own shoulders. In as swift a motion and much shriller a pained scream, strings of fresh siren meat were produced.

"Please forgive me." Danny prayed, to whatever unfeeling god was listening. He opened Damian's move, and shoved the bloody strips down the hatch.

The effect was instantaneous. Danny had to work quickly. Painful memories tied up in a cave resurface. The urge to push them down was ignored; now they had to be studied. He tore off the remainder of Damian's clothing, and carried him closer to the water line. Green scales emerged from Damian's belly like blades unearthed from a long-forgotten battle. Danny sank his claws into the gaps of Damian's ribs and tore long gashes in them. The scales climbed up Damian's chest. Danny rolled the child's body on its side as they swept over his back. Bones cracked and snapped and broke, as spikes pushed out from underneath his spinal column, slimy thin webbing already connecting them.

Beneath, Damian's toes elongated as if stretched by a black hole. Bones shattered into dust underneath, all to be more malleable for the final product. The skin wasn't much better off either. As it stretched to its paper-thin limits and tore, more and more scales came forth to cover the damage.

Danny felt green in the gills. He couldn't bear the strain of those memories, and erupted with bile, hunched over. He couldn't bare to spectate as Damian twisted and bended like putty anymore. He'd already failed and violated the kid enough.

Danny dived into the water. The least he could do was make sure he didn't wake up hungry.

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hufflepuffwritingstuff2 · 4 months

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Could you write the siren villain singing the hero to sleep prompt? I love siren characters hfkfjffhd these prompts are giving me life right now ❤️

Hi anon! I’d love to! Thank you for requesting this, here you go!

From this prompt pack

Hero staggered into the cave, their clothes soaked through. They collapsed against the cavern wall, breathing heavily. That storm was no joke, it had practically torn their ship in two. They only hoped the rest of the crew had managed to survive. Their hand rested over a gash in their side, red seeping through their chilled fingers. Pink decorated their cheeks as the early stages of a cold settled in their chest.

Hero stared into the pool of water fed by the ocean at the cave mouth. They tilted their head as the pool started to ripple. A scaly face poked their head out from under the surface. Hero stumbled back, reaching for their knife strapped to their thigh.

“You!” Hero shouted weakly, “get away from me!”

The siren, Villain, rose a few more inches out of the water. They looked Hero up and down with their slitted eyes.

“You’re hurt,” Villain said.

“And I bet you just love that, don’t you?” Hero snapped, “bet you’re desperate for a taste of me-”

“Well yes, but not in that way,” Villain smirked.

Hero ignored them, continuing to fuss.

“Bet you just loved watching my ship go down. Bet your little friends had the time of their lives snacking on my crew-my family- you just came here to get the last snack, that’s it, isn’t it!?”

As Hero spoke, tears started to sting their eyes. Their whole crew was probably long gone thanks to the sirens.

“Hero, calm down,” Villain said softly.

They hauled themselves out of the pool and sat at Hero’s side. They gently wiped their tears.

“I called my brethren off,” Villain said, “your crew is fine. They all made it to an island not far from here. I came here to fetch you.”

“Ha,” Hero scoffed, “more like they all made it to Davy Jones’ Locker! Leave me alone, I’m not falling for any of your tricks!”

Hero curled in on themselves, sobbing quietly. Villain took another look at their wound; it looked pretty bad, they needed to treat it, but they got the feeling that Hero wouldn’t let them anywhere near it. Not to mention, they wouldn’t be able to move them with an injury like that.

“Hero, stop, please,” Villain said gently, “if you work yourself up, you’ll make your injury worse. Let me just take a look at it and-”

“No!” Hero shouted, “go away! For the last time!”

Villain bit their lip and sighed. It looked like there was no other way. Villain opened their mouth and started to sing. It was soft and gentle at first, then became a little louder. Hero turned to look at Villain, and their eyes glazed over. Villain beckoned them forward, still singing. Hero crawled over to them, entranced. Villain laid Hero’s head in their lap and started to stroke their hair. They gently closed Hero’s eyes for them. Hero drifted off to the sound of Villain’s song. Once they were sure they were asleep, Villain gently maneuvered Hero back onto the cave floor and got to work.

…

Hero woke up with a start. They felt grains of sand sticking to them, and a soft pressure around their torso. They looked down and saw seaweed wrapped snugly around their wound.

“Hero!”

Hero turned and saw First Mate swiftly approaching them. They bent down and hugged them, careful not to aggravate their injury.

“We were so worried about you,” First Mate said, “when Villain’s sirens brought us here, no one could find you. We thought that you- well, it doesn’t matter. Villain found you and brought you back.”

Hero’s mind was racing. Villain was telling the truth? The last thing they remembered was yelling at them to go away… how did they bring them here? Villain watched the reunion from a safe distance. Their Hero was safe, and that was all that mattered.

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#hero x villain #heroes and villains #siren villain #human hero #shipwreck #writeblr #writing #creative writing #snippet #as requested #mind control #fantasy #fantasy whump #mermaids #siren caretaker #hero whumpee

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 27 days

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May I please ask for some wump relating to mers? Mermaids and all that fun stuff—-

I did siren whumpee prompts a while ago here

—> siren (or mermaid) whumpee prompts <—

(I know the link above takes you to siren whumpee prompts, not mermaid, but all the prompts I made there can absolutely be used on mermaids too.)

do let me know if there’s anything more specific you’d like me to add though, and I’ll see if there’s something else I can come up with.

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523rdrebel · 2 months

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OC CT-6161 Siren x Reader (GN)

Summary: You've been overwhelmed and take some time to get away to be on your own. A certain stubborn medic helps in his own way.

Word Count: 434 Words

Warnings: Allusion to Anxiety/Panic Attack, Allusion to depressive thoughts. Hurt/Comfort.

Reblog Divider by Dystopicjumpsuit

You had sequestered yourself away in the enclosed and mostly private hot spring. It was a bit of a hike and took you a short distance away from the bustle of town. Exactly what you needed. There would be at most a few locals around, and fewer still would dare to bother you. Not many outside of those closest to you knew how often you tended to hide away when your thoughts drifted into darkness, shrouds of the past pressing in with clawed fingers, grasping for purchase inside your mind.

You found the hot spring quiet, empty, and lowered yourself into the hot, steaming water, leaned back and closed your eyes.

Kriff. That wasn't helping. You felt panic rising up like acid in your chest as clips of voices, angry and bitter, grew louder against your skull. Your eyes snap open and you try to slow your breathing- deep breath in, deep breath out, repeat.

You're about to give up, the sharp voices pressing in feel like too much, and tears stream down your face uninterrupted. You squeeze your eyes shut, resolve shaky, when you hear a quiet shuffling close by. Another local? You groan internally and start thinking of ways you can sneak away without being noticed.

You hear a soft, deep rumble whispering your name. You feel two emotions emerge at the same time, relief- you know that voice, and shame- what would he think of you?

You feel the water ripple beside you as Siren lowers himself into the water, gingerly, and with obvious effort not to disturb you.

You expect him to give you a speech, to rant about your attempted isolation, but instead you feel his arm slowly and gently wrap around your shoulders, pulling you close against his side. He lifts his arm up and hesitates, giving you time to pull away if you want to. But you lean into him, tears once again flowing freely, and he pulls you tighter against him, his head leaning into yours.

He begins to hum a soft, rumbling tune, the vibrations, the closeness and intimacy of the moment soothes your muscles and your pounding, racing mind pauses.

Siren holds you close, humming the soothing rhythm he often sang to his brothers or young patients in his care, but this? This was only for you.

You let his embrace and the soothing Siren song wash over you, chasing away the clawed shadows and the haunting voices. You felt safe.

[Siren's Lullaby] Lunar Lothcat Pouncing stars Chasing moonbeams Ever far Little Lothcat Bright with mischief Find your star path It leads you home

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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 month

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I Can't Cross O'er: An Interlude

CW: Captivity, child of whumper POV, blood, referenced whipping, magical whumpee, siren whump. For @amonthofwhump Tropeathon Day 4: Monster! Monster!

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

Six years ago

A door shut, clicking into place, just down the hall. Carefully hidden inside one of the seven bedrooms in this wing of the house, Ford and his sister Nathalie waited, listening, as the man in the hallway took a deep breath. “By God,” The man muttered. “What a voice he has.”

Nathalie tried to peek around Ford's arm. “Is he-”

“Sssshhh.” Ford swatted at Nathalie without looking at her, and she swatted back.

“Like an angel…” The man continued, not realizing he had an audience - if currently a distracted one. “An absolute angel. The way he sings..."

Nathalie poked Ford right in his ticklish side with one finger, jabbing roughly. "Ford-"

"I said sssshh!"

"Don’t you dare tell me to shush, Guilford,” Nathalie hissed.

Ford looked at her, and whatever she saw on his face made the momentary triumph of mocking him with his hated full first name drain from hers. She laid a hand on his arm, then, awkwardly patting, whispering, “I’m sorry. I'm so sorry, Ford, I didn't mean it-"

“Don’t ever call me his name,” Ford said, but his voice was weak. Like always since his mother died, he felt tears rise unbidden and had to fight them back below. “Please, please don’t.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Nathalie whispered. Her eyes were huge and sad in the light that filtered in through the gauzy curtains across the room. “I really didn’t. I’m sorry, Ford. You’re not like him at all. I promise you're not."

He found a smile for her, just to watch the way her shoulders, which had hunched up, relaxed again. “It’s… it’s all right.” There was another sound, and Ford turned back, trying to peek through a crack in the door they were hidden just behind again. He couldn’t quite see the man, but he could hear him still muttering to himself. Thankfully, the Lord Fellswooth spoke to himself loudly enough that he hadn’t overheard them and realized he was being spied on by two of Lord Wentworth’s children.

Or grandchildren.

Or... prisoners.

Whoever they really were to him.

Seconds passed, and Ford could see in his mind the way the tall, strikingly thin Lord Fellswooth must be patting down his shirt, checking for wrinkles or any detail out of place. He’d been a fussy one at supper earlier, the sort to surreptitiously check the tines of his fork over before taking a single bite, as if checking for a smudge or a bit of tarnish he might make a barbed comment about. He was probably running quick fingers through his hair to get the little curl of salt-and-pepper over his forehead just so - he’d done that over and over since he’d come to meet with Lord Wentworth, as if it were some sort of compulsion rather than simple vanity.

Ford’s teeth worried at his lower lip as he listened to Fellswooth take a deep breath, murmur it was only a business call, of course, Theresa, that’s all, as if he were rehearsing his lines for a play, before he turned to leave. The two children eased back and away so no hint of them might be seen as he went past them - Ford's eyebrows knitted in confusion at a spot of bright red he saw on the Lord's cheek, smeared like he'd rubbed open a wound. The Lord's steps were nearly soundless thanks to the plush gold-threaded rug that ran the length of the hall all the way to the grand staircase that would take him right out the front door.

The butler met him there.

Mr. Keller was chilly sometimes but Ford mostly found him kind. His voice filtered up the stairs as he let Lord Fellswooth know his horse was saddled and waiting for him just outside. Mr. Keller had been around forever, he was very old and soon to retire, Father- the man who made them call him Father, anyway - said. He’d made mistakes, sometimes… more often lately.

There had been some sort of trouble with Mr. Keller writing letters that made no sense, begging for rescue from employment, that had led to some distant relations coming to the door last month, worried for his health.

Father had assured them all was well, and after speaking to Mr. Keller over a few days, the cousins or whoever had gone away again. Mr. Keller had been... different, ever since, but still mostly kind to the children.

Ford’s father read all Mr. Keller’s letters now before he sent them, and he’d put out an advert and told his very important friends he was looking for a new butler, that Mr. Keller was ready to step down and have a well-earned rest.

If he didn't just get thrown in the pond with the monster, like Ford's real father had been.

Once Fellswooth was safely gone, Ford eased out into the hall, the well-oiled hinges moving in perfect silence as he swung open the door. Nathalie was on his heels, creeping just behind him. They made their silent way towards the door that the fussy Lord had just come out of.

Ford paused just a foot away and turned to look at his sister over his shoulder, putting a finger to his lips.

Nathalie nodded, solemnly. Like Ford, she still wore a black armband, the sign of mourning after their mother’s death the year before. At ten, her face was losing the child’s roundness and thinning out. She looked like their mother had, more every year, and sometimes it hurt Ford to look at her at all. It would be six more years before their father would want to start looking into marrying her off, which meant only four years until marriage might happen for Ford.

The thought terrified him.

Ford had become a part of his father’s grasping ambitions only a month after Mother died, when she could no longer protect her children from Lord Wentworth’s plans for his family. Ever since, he’d been subjected to endless lectures on business ventures he didn’t care about overseas, tutored for hours every day on how to convince other nobles to speak to his father about those business ventures, or selling land, or… whatever it was that Guilford Wentworth wanted from them. All those lessons, in the end, centered around learning how to lie - or how to bring the aristocrats and royalty to meet with his father and his father’s awful creature.

Alongside all that unwanted education had been a rise in the careless, constant violence that had already dogged him all his life. He was not good enough at the skills Lord Wentworth wanted him to learn. He did not lie so easily, he did not care about colonies and copper mines a thousand miles across the sea. And he paid for not caring with bruises like the ones he wore even now, always and only in places that his clothing might hide.

Nathalie, though, wore no bruises, and neither did the twins. He’d done what he could to protect them all the way his mother had once tried to protect him. If he were married, though, especially if he were married to someone with more money or land and he had to go live with her family, he couldn’t keep Guilford’s anger on him any longer.

It would turn on his sister, until she was found a husband - and then it would finally turn on the twins, who had never known violence and would have no one to keep them safe any longer

What if whoever was picked for his sister’s husband was cruel, too? What if his own wife turned out to be some terrible witch, like Guilford Wentworth, just with hair ribbons? He’d rather die than be married, but he knew enough about his father’s monster by now to know that it wouldn’t matter what he wanted, when the time came.

He’d want whatever he was told to want, once the monster sang its hideous song. He'd be a dutiful, loving husband, or he'd be a dutiful loving son, or he'd have his throat torn open and turn to bones in the bottom of the pond in the garden, just like his real father.

Ford closed his fingers slowly around the doorknob, turning it as quietly as he could before he gently pushed the door open so he and Nathalie could peek inside.

They had come to peek at the monster.

The awful thing looked handsome and harmless. It perched along the edge of a heavy mahogany desk, leaning against it and looking away, towards the window, one hand over its mouth. Jet-black hair fell wavy, as if it had only just dried after a swim in the ocean, over beautiful eyes and curled around its ears. Its hair was all mussed up, as if it’d been grabbed at and pulled on, but the creature didn’t seem to notice.

It looked, with the last of the sunset’s yellowed light shining on its warm brown skin, like a sort of perfectly sculptured mockery of a human man, the most beautiful one Ford had ever seen in his life. It was only a trick, of course - it was more of a demon.

Ford had seen its real face when it killed his real father, a mouth that opened too wide and was full of hideous sharp teeth.

It wore some sort of loose robe that fell off one shoulder. It was covered in embroidered flowers in white against the shining pale blue fabric and tied at the waist. Its arms were crossed in front of itself and it hunched over, just slightly. The markings like tattoos that began just under his jaw on one side disappeared into the neckline where it lay over the thing’s collarbone and then reappeared along one delicately formed wrist, running all the way into its palm and over its long, elegant fingers. One of its legs was marked, too. When Ford looked at the monster’s feet, he could see one was covered in the same markings all the way to the very end of its toes.

“It's done, for now,” The monster said to no one, its voice soft. It spoke like a melody, a rumbling bass that could just as easily soar to tenor. Ford had taken singing lessons, for a while. He was hopelessly rubbish at it.

The twins, though, were good. And the monster sang like heaven.

There was a pause.

“Done,” It repeated, dropping to a whisper. Its voice cracked and broke this time, rasping. There was a horrible sorrow and anger in the lines of its beautiful face. “For now." Its voice rasped, suddenly, went rough-edged like it was talking around something blocking its throat. "Until the next, and the next, and the next…”

When it looked to the window, towards the sunset, the light glimmered along trails of shimmering wetness that ran down its cheek. Its body shook, and it dropped its head into its hands, letting out a wretched, shuddering sob.

He’d seen this thing murder his real father, sing him into the pond in the garden and then rip out his throat and stain the water red while Ford had watched, unseen, his own hands clamped tight over his mouth beneath his wide, nearly bulging eyes. He had been screaming, desperately muffling the sound, until he’d run for his mother, and discovered that she… she wasn’t the same either, anymore.

She hadn't died for years after, but really she had been mostly dead already, as soon as his real father was.

Once the monster sang to you, he took whatever he wanted of you away, and only left what was useful for the family. Which just meant useful for Lord Wentworth, which Ford’s real father hadn't been any longer.

The monster had taken from Ford’s mother even the memory of his true father. No one had cared enough to bother to take it from Ford, or Nathalie. No one listened when they insisted their father was someone else, someone no one in the house even knew had ever existed any longer. The twins had only been babies, and they wouldn’t remember anyway.

Weeping or not, it wasn’t a person, and Ford steeled himself against how much it hurt to watch the thing cry. It might weep like a man, and look like one, but Ford had seen it kill on command.

The creature turned away toward the window, its back now to the children spying on it from the doorway. Ford and Nathalie both inhaled sharply as the robe it wore slipped a little, dipping low enough to show that it was bleeding.

Ford felt something cold and shivery-sick dip in his stomach as he saw stripes of torn-open skin smeared in a horrible too-bright red just above its shoulder blades and down its back, disappearing beneath the shining black satin, only to still show through in spots here and there that seemed to stick to its skin. The blue robe turned the blood soaking through it purple, a sickly color that made Ford think he might be sick all over the floor.

There was-

There was so much blood.

Ford’s throat suddenly felt like it might close all on its own, and he jerked in a hissed breath. He felt sick just looking at it, too bright and too red. His stomach flipped and twisted, his heart racing its way up his throat as if it might come flying out his mouth.

There was blood on the floor, spattered on the wall by the window. It looked like a murder had been done, and yet Lord Fellswooth and the monster had been alone, and only the monster wore wounds.

What had Lord Fellswooth done to it?

Fellswooth had lifted his upper lip in a sneer just looking at how dusty Ford had been when he’d returned from the afternoon ride on his favorite horse. He’d run fingers over the washbasin stand checking for specks of dust Mr. Keller and the other servants might have missed. He’d shuddered just walking in the front door when the stable boy’s wolfhound had tried to lick at his palm.

What sort of man who could be so fussy as all that could tear the monster’s back to shreds and simply leave his blood running down his body to drip to the floor as he stood by the window?

How badly must all those wounds hurt?

Not that Ford cared, or anything. It was a murderous monster creature his false father used to enthrall and get what he wanted out of everyone who came near him. It wasn’t even human, it spent almost all its time in water hiding under the surface, coming out only when Lord Wentworth summoned it. Ford didn’t care about it at all.

But…

But that didn’t mean he thought it should bleed like that.

Even monstrous animals were only animals, after all, and this might be a creature of murder but did it need to suffer for that? For someone else's fun?

The monster, standing before the window staring out at the setting sun, began to sing to itself. Unlike the song they’d heard before when it was alone with Lord Fellswooth, this song was neither strident nor even very loud - it was a private song, one it sang only for itself. Its perfect voice did not swell or even rise much. Instead, each note seemed like a sidestep to the last, a winding staircase of melody that it wrapped around itself like a kind of blanket.

Ford caught his breath, listening. He could almost hear where a harmony should be, if there had been more of those… things… singing at once. Maybe this had been a song it sang with its own family, if it had had one.

Did monsters have mothers, like men did? They must. Everything living had a mother at one point or another, didn’t it?

The song was his pain, Ford realized. Winding and circling itself, neverending, a river even monsters would drown in when they never found shore. It was the creature's way of crying, beyond human tears. It wept, by the window, in a way that stole Ford's breath and made him want to weep alongside it.

“He’s so pretty,” Nathalie breathed, just beside him, her own wide eyes shining with tears. Her voice was too loud but his own felt too caught in his throat to shush her again. “He’s so pretty, Ford, isn’t he?”

The monster’s voice cut off all at once.

It spun around to see the two children who had - without realizing it - leaned further and slid the door a little more open. Ford’s heart dropped to his knees as those fathomless dark eyes locked on his. He and Nathalie both gasped as they fell under the thing's direct regard.

“Oh, no,” He whispered. "Nathalie-"

The monster opened its mouth in a snarl as it pulled its robe so tightly around itself nearly none of its skin could be seen any longer. Ford and Nathalie both froze at the sight of row after row of razor-sharp pointed teeth as it bared them.

“Go!” It snapped, in a voice that was not human, that spoke the human tongue in a roar and with a mouth not made for it. “Go away from me! Now!"

Ford's heart was in his throat "We're-... w-we're sorry-"

"Fear the monster your father keeps more than death itself and get away from me!”

The last was a shrieking command, not a song but a singular deafening note. Ford felt himself turning before he could even breathe. The command took effortless hold and he grabbed Nathalie's hand.

Get away from me.

The children could never have done anything but obey.

They fled shouting their fear of the monster, half-falling down the stairs and racing outside until Mr. Keller, who had seen Fellswooth off, caught them in his arms. Both of them burst into tears, there, while the stableboy and the groomsman stared surreptitiously in confusion. Mr. Keller held them, and shushed them, and finally took them to the stables in the hopes that he could calm their tears before Lord Wentworth overheard.

Inside, Guilford Wentworth’s monster sagged and then sank to the floor, his knees simply giving way until they touched the rug beneath him. He bent over until his forehead brushed the fibrous cloth, and he wept again.

This time, he wept in silence.

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

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the-three-whumpeteers · 11 months

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A siren whumper that, unlike their friends, wouldn’t immediately kill their victims- no, they wanted to play. The whumper would try to see the limits of a human, seeing how much they bled, to seeing how much they could last underwater- they found it fascinating, and they didn’t understand why they were the only one to do it.

#whump #whump prompt #whump scenario #whumpee #aramis stabs someone #whump prompts #whumper #torture #siren whumper #tw: implied death #multiple whumpees

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whump-softie · 7 months

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When they captured the Siren, the world lost its sound. Everywhere the King looked, everything he heard or commanded, was grey and boring and dull.

But the only way to truly capture the Siren’s voice, their unexplainable gift to command, to demand, was to ensure there was a contingency plan. A person incapable of falling victim, of succumbing, of listening.

When they forced the strongest soldier down, the King had his hand over the Siren’s mouth, knife to their throat. When they tortured the strongest soldier, over and over, forced into submission, took away their voice, took away their hearing, stole their world’s sound, the King only waited patiently.

The only way to ensure the Siren could not speak ill upon the King, could not demand someone to free them, kill them, kill the King, was to deafen someone strong enough to stop them.

When the King held his first meeting since the capture of the Siren, the room was silent. For the King, the people hushed their whispers and bowed their heads. For the Siren, they tiptoed like ghosts and stared like reflections.

For the soldier, who couldn’t hear a single thing, who couldn’t voice their thoughts, the room was quiet and still. For the soldier, throat still bandaged, ears still throbbing, the room would always be silent.

#siren whumpee #soldier whumpee #soldier whumper #royal whumper #royal whump #whump #whumpee #Whumper #whump drabble #whump idea #deaf whumpee #deaf whumper #king whumper

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redd956 · 4 months

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Mini Whump Prompt 141

While cave diving whumpee made every stupid decision they could ever possibly make. Stuck and running out of oxygen, a strange monstrous creature came across. A merfolk? A monster? It no longer mattered as the entity understood that whumpees were not supposed to be down here.

#whump prompt #cw near death experience #cw drowning #cw aphyxiation #merfolk caretaker #monster caretaker #siren caretaker #nonhuman caretaker #whumpee #whump prompts #mini whump prompt #human whumpee #mini whump prompts #water whump

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whumpingwho · 1 year

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The Fifth Doctor breaks his leg (and gets it fixed shortly after).

#damn they really put him through the ringer in the literal first release of main range #i get it i like me some fivey whump too #doctor who #doctor who whump #classic who #classic who whump #fifth doctor #fifth doctor whump #peter davison #sixth doctor #colin baker #seventh doctor #sylvester mccoy #dweu #big finish #whump #the sirens of time

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justletmereadmycomics · 4 months

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CW for descriptive speaking about body horror, blood, and overall lack of grammar tl;dr the average painful-turning-into-a-monster-transformation-sequence media isn't whumpy enough and people need to dive more into shit like turning into merfolk and mutating into weird hybrids that are in the uncanny valley of "feels like my body but not" also please note that this is all just my opinion and experience in media consumption and you are free enjoy what you like; im just bored and felt like rambling with 0 grammar or punctuation today.

hey guys I like seeing people go through intense painful physical transformations with an affect on their mental state that either makes them scared of them selves or forces them to do horrible things that also scare them and can I just say that werewolves are so underwhelming like yeah sure you get taller and turn into a buff ass furry boo hoo go cry about it like most of the time you're not even aware and it only lasts for a fucking night

give me shit like turning into a siren/merperson where they have to feel themself molting and their skin squeezing on their body as scales start to grow and they start mindlessly scratching every where from the pain when uh oh your legs are failing but you can't think about that now until whoopsie daisy your lower limbs are melting together and your pants are magically whooshed away once you're past the nakey parts also did I mention the wonderful possibility of growing fins everywhere and experiencing those tear through your muscles and skin whilst they grow on your back and arms and already painful and foreign feeling tail and also your vocal cords changing to be able to produce siren song shit in a way that makes your throat feel like its being mauled from the inside out oh yeah and also having your eyes fall out and regrown wouldn't that be a fun idea anyways vampires are about the same except a little better than werewolves bc they at least have the possibility of dealing with "the hunger" tm and way more weaknesses that can make them miserable like not being able to be in the sun or eat food anymore bc your body can't handle it one of the better examples ive seen is the one in ROTTMNT: The Movie, where (be warned of spoilers) characters are "possessed", so to speak, and this shit goes on

its a very good movie, highly recommend it (the sereis has two seasons, and I haven't found the movie off of Netflix) also blood and struggling to adjust to a now permanent mental impairment/disadvantage/damage in a sense of "you're not human anymore and so you now have to deal with [blank] thought processes" (eg. someone gaining dragon shit would grow an affinity to hoarding things, not noticing such until their home is incredibly cluttered with piles of shiny items and hating themself for doing something so "inhuman")

things that ive seen that fall in the good transformation category are: demons* birds work most of the time, but you have to give them a beak and shit. also the wings can't just grow out of them painlessly.** most fantasy based anthros, really.*** most mutations seen in TMNT shows (that shits known to be painful bc it alters your DNA mostly through science rather than the normal mystics) bugs *only horns and a tail? weak. give 'em goofy legs and a snout or some shit, spin in a few animal traits just for fun. mental side effects that are nice for these guys tend to be a sudden lust for darkness (or just a sudden intense lust) **I recommend something like their arms falling off, OR something similar to the process in Haibane Renmei (tw for blood and minor body horror). An alternate option that I haven't seen would be to have the arms morph into wings themselves, but none of that grow feathers and get little longer bullshit. Character should feel their bones changing, the flesh forming to create a new limb and feathers piercing their skin like needles. Yes feathers are regularly soft, but imagine having a hundreds of tiny pinprick like things poking out of you and getting longer.

***this does not include fairies and unicorns. The only acceptation for these is character having weird magic fluxes and this becoming an effect of such. for example, if character is becoming a fairy, they will feel themself being compressed as wings either grow from their back or are summoned in a blast of magic that basically cuts them open where the wings "attach" so to speak.

#justletmetalk #if y'all have something to say to defend werewolves being cool or something come at me #you can't say anything about having ears and a tail in daytime and shit that's just fucking annoying #you can hide that easy as fuck all you have to do is worry about like super strength and even then plenty of superheroes deal with that fin #so why shouldn't you #werewolves #vampires #monsters #merfolk #mythical creatures #siren #sirens #whump #transformation whump #tw mentions of body horror #cw mentions of body horror #cw body horror #cw body modification #body mods are a whole other rabbit hole but I love those too

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