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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

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The Merry Whump of May—Day 7

“Write what you know”

Box | Magic | Cell

Cw: thoughts and descriptions of gore and death, capture, light abuse, wishing for death (in the context of a choice between that and torture), anxiety, royal Whumper,l

Thief paced around the room, bare feet silent against the rich marble floor. Their hands twisted together, fingers wringing anxiously as they walked, back and forth.

The room was lavish to all extents. A shimmering glass chandelier hanging from a high, intricately carved ceiling. The walls were white with gold detailing, swooping patterns framing the smooth paneling. The decorations were sparse, but not in such a way that it made the room feel empty, rather contributing to the open and airy feel. Sheer curtains were drawn over the large windows, through which Thief could see the hazy outlines of a forest view, trees blurred with the settling darkness of the evening.

There were numerous dressers, wardrobes, cushioned seats spread thoughtfully throughout, lamps and candles sitting atop those illuminating that which the chandelier’s light didn’t quite reach. There was a large mirror to their left, looking in Thief could see their reflection. They stood out against the pristine background the room gave, dirt smudged skin and muddy clothes. The guards had stripped them of all but their undershirt and trousers, but even with the thick jacket they had previously worn, they had not been protected much from the mud and rain.

Thief hadn’t been expecting to be noticed. Sly and calculating, they had thought it all out, drawn up an impossible plan with such careful precision they didn’t have to consider what would happen if things went awry, because they wouldn’t.

The night of a ball, hosted by the Court, inviting all the nobility and high-rankings from the town. The guards occupied, patrols around the grounds were minimal, and Thief had found a perfect opening to slip through. Satchel slung over their shoulder, filled with only some rags they planned to wrap whatever they pocketed in so it wouldn’t clink and reveal their position. It would have worked, it was going to work. They had been on their way out, retracing their steps through the empty corridors to the window they had entered from.

There had been only one thing they didn’t account for. Something so absurd they didn’t even think to plan for it. The odds were nonexistent, not just said for exaggeration. It wasn’t even a possibility, in the blandest terms possible.

Whatever fates there were, weren’t on Thief’s side.

They had—almost quite literally, as they turned around a hedge in the courtyard’s garden—ran into Whumper themself.

They hadn’t been ruling for long, only a few years had passed since they’d been crowned, but to anyone looking in, it was impossible to tell. Authority practically radiated from their presence, immaculate posture so strong they could send a room silent with a simple look.

Thief didn’t even get a chance to run.

Their satchel alone had been enough evidence to incriminate them, conjuring the rope and tying the noose the moment it was opened. Maybe they wouldn’t even get that dignity. There was no direct law stating the consequences from stealing from the palace, because no one had ever been stupid enough to try. There were a thousand manners in which they could be killed. Whipped to death on a post in the center square, every lash viewed by the collected townspeople, a warning so dark and gruesome no one would ever dare replicate Thief’s actions.

Or maybe they’d be tied to the castle gates, stomach sliced open and left for the birds until they finally died of either blood loss or organ failure. Even then, they doubted their body would be cut down for at least another week, until they were nothing but strands of muscle holding together bones.

Or maybe they’d be tied to the back of a guard’s horse by their wrists, both ankles smashed under an iron, leaving them dragging behind while people threw stones from the sidewalks, when they were finally cut loose their skin nearly completely scraped off from the cobblestone.

The thought made Thief’s stomach clench, fighting back the crawl of nausea from their throat. They tore their eyes away from the mirror and returned to pacing.

There was a large bed against the wall right of the door, easily the largest bed Thief had ever seen. The duvet looked thick and soft, pillows stacked against the headboard in a display of luxury. Thief was sure that if they were to lay on it, the blankets would dip inches under their weight and swallow them up. They stayed far away.

The other side of the room, there was a fireplace. Gorgeous stone mantle, a small sofa and chair arranged in front, the hearth was unlit but that didn’t diminish its effect. There was some sort of fur spread in front, a clean white pelt. Thief was sure that if they stepped on it, they’d leave behind footprints.

Whumper hadn’t waited for the guards. They were dressed in a fine suit, a deep scarlet cape fastened around their shoulders. They wore no crown, but they didn’t need to. Anyone who looked at them would know. They had kicked Thief to the ground without giving them a moment to comprehend, fine leather boot pushing their head down to the dirt, freshly turned to mud with the day’s light rain, calling for the nearest guards with such an unbothered casualness to their tone it nearly drove Thief mad. In the moment, they had been too frozen to do much other than maintain their breath, but when the guards had arrived they quickly turned to panicked attempts to escape. Their efforts had been insignificant, obviously, only earning them a strong kick to the ribs.

It still hurt when they took a breath too deep, but a bruised side was the least of their worries.

They had been expecting to be brought to a dungeon, some moldy damp place filled with all sorts of tortures and abuse, to be bound in shackles and stripped of everything they were.

Instead, they had been brought here.

Lavish looks aside, it was just as much a cell as the iron bars would have constructed. At first glance, it was simply a beautiful chamber, but left alone for hours to do nothing but pace and get a bearing of their surroundings, Thief could see differently. The double door entryway was locked, heavy panes of wood secured from the outside. The windows were fixed with careful golden bars embellishing a cage of sorts not an inch from the outside of the glass. Below that, a three storey drop to thorn bushes planted at the base of the wall.

All of the dressers were empty. The desk only held a few sheets of neatly stacked parchment, but no pen. The bookshelf however, was filled with novels, but each volume was coated with a thin layer of dust, suggesting they hadn’t been touched in a long time.

It had been hours. They knew that much, watching the colors of the sky change from a deep indigo to streaks of rose painting the dawn. Exhaustion tugged at their mind, a chain wrapped to an anchor threatening to drag them beneath the waves, but Thief kept walking, forcing themself to round the same circle dozens of time, if anything to keep moving and keep awake.

It was early morning when the door opened. The outside world still blanketed in darkness, but the morning light beginning to fill the sky was stretching slowly across the wooded horizon.

They had been expecting a guard to come in and drag them off to whatever agonizing death awaited them, but instead, it was a servant who slipped through the door, already dressed in their attire for the day.

“Their Majesty requested you join them at the banquet this morning.” They spoke as of overcoming a fear, voice wavering in their attempts to appear firm. Thief couldn’t help but feel a shred of pity for them. It was clear they did not want to be here, anywhere near them, which was understandable. Thief, not looking like much more than a homeless peasant, wrapped in dried mud and bruises, certainly didn’t look appealing in any sense.

Only then did Thief notice the bundle of fabric held in their arms, rich looking fabric adorned with gold laces and royal blue embroidery, which the servant took half a step forwards to set on the nearest surface.

“You are to clean yourself and dress. I will return to fetch you in an hour, their Highness doesn’t appreciate tardiness, so you’d best be ready.”

The servant was gone without another word, door shutting behind them with a soft thud and a click.

Thief glanced towards the clothes, then back at the door. Unease stung heavily in their body as they then turned to look around the expensive prison they were being kept in. None of this was sitting right with them. They’d expected torture, pain, it was what they had been planning for. This wasn’t right. Something was going g on, and they couldn’t conjure any sort of explanation, any sort of prediction. There was nothing they could do to brace themself for whatever was to happen, because they genuinely didn’t know.

They wished it had been the guards.

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@themerrywhumpofmay

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sticks-and-stones-are-great · 1 year

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Merry Whump of May - Day 7

“Write what you know.”

Box

Magic

Cell

(BBC Merlin)

@themerrywhumpofmay

“If- no, when, we get out of here, I’m going to write a book about what an idiot you are.”

Merlin sighed and rested his head against the wooden bars. “Well, write what you know, I suppose.”

“How could you think stopping to ask for directions could ever be a good idea? I knew where we were going.”

“We were lost and they looked friendly enough.” Merlin turned away from the bars and looked down at Arthur. “Look, how long are you going to complain? Maybe we should try figuring out how to get out here?”

“You figure out how to get us out.” Arthur drawled from his spot on the floor. He was lounging on the one and only pile of damp hay in the cell. The bruises from the attack were still fresh and swollen across his cheek and eye. “I’ll continue to complain, thank you very much.”

Merlin gently rubbed the bump on the back of his head. He looked around the cell for what felt like the hundredth time. They had been taken to a sort of cave lair, a wooden holding cell built into the rock wall. It was sturdy. And they had a guard at all times.

Merlin licked his dry lips.

He couldn’t use magic. Arthur was here.

They were stuck, for now.

Why had they been captured anyway? Maybe they planned to ransom the prince? Merlin puzzled over it until his head began to throb again. He sat down and closed his eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’ve given up.”

“I haven’t.” Merlin murmured and leaned his forehead against the lattice of wooden bars. “I’m thinking.”

Arthur barked out a laugh. “Good luck with that.”

Merlin frowned and made himself bite back several rude remarks.

It was at that moment that a few more bandits, or whatever they were, appeared in the chamber and opened the cell door.

“Oh thank goodness, you’ve come to your senses-” Arthur got up from the floor.

“Stay where you are.” The woman who had opened the door, green eyes blazing in the torchlight, pointed at Arthur.

Then she pointed to Merlin. “You. Come.”

“Me?” Merlin swallowed hard.

“Now.” She ordered.

Arthur took a step forward. “Look, he’s just a servant-”

Another of the bandits pointed a crossbow at Prince Arthur through the cell bars.

Arthur stopped, hands raised.

Merlin picked himself off the rough stone floor. His head throbbed. The woman then grabbed him by the collar and dragged him out of the cell. Merlin threw one last look at Arthur before he disappeared around the corner, deeper into the cave tunnel.

Merlin was taken to a smaller, darker chamber. The walls were wet and moss was growing there. He was forced onto a chair in the middle of the room.

“My name is Deryn.” The green-eyed woman spoke while the others tied Merlin to the chair. “That’s all you need to know about me. As for my companions, ignore them. You will speak only to me; whether answering my questions or begging for mercy. Do you understand?”

Merlin swallowed hard. The ropes binding him to the chair were rough and were painfully tight. His heart was racing. What did they want with him?

“Do you understand?” Deryn repeated.

“Yes.” Merlin rasped. His head throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

“Good.”

One of the bandits handed a large, flat wooden box to Deryn. The wood was dark and cracked with age and carved with strange symbols. Merlin tried to make them out in the flickering torchlight. But they swam and danced before his eyes.

Deryn walked forward and set the box on Merlin’s lap.

“Here.” She said, “Hold this for me.”

Merlin, arms bound behind him, could not help but watch as she lifted the lid off, wood scraping, and revealed an enormous, golden collar. It was wide and flat, resembling a darkly glimmering crescent moon. There were fastenings at the two tips. It was old. Very old. Merlin could sense it.

Merlin licked his dry lips and looked back up at Deryn. “What do you want, Deryn?” He asked.

She did not answer.

Deryn picked up the collar by the two ends, leaned forward, and fastened it around Merlin’s neck. It was heavy and cold against his skin. Deryn set the box aside.

“This is a very ancient treasure.” Deryn circled around Merlin and ran a finger over the minute carvings on the collar. “It was found a long time ago and was passed down through my family. It’s been called a blessing. And a bane. Let me show you how it works.”

Deryn brushed a curl of her dark hair back, took out a bone-handled knife, and plunged it into Merlin’s gut.

Merlin opened his mouth to scream, to breathe, to cry. But he could not draw breath. The pain was a fire in his stomach. It blazed through him. He shuddered and realized he’d closed his eyes, tears leaking over his cheeks.

He opened his eyes to see Deryn again. She pulled the knife out.

Agony again. Merlin began to wail, low and keening, each breath he took to cry out was misery.

A wound to the stomach was a death sentence. No one could fix that kind of injury. Not even Gaius. Why had she decided to kill him? Panting and curled over his wound, Merlin watched Deryn wipe off her knife.

“It is a very powerful treasure. One that I’ve had to protect my whole life.” Deryn said. “It should reveal its purpose now.”

And just as she spoke, Merlin felt the pain intensify. He choked.

Every nerve around his wound began to blaze even more. He was dying. He had to be. How could he endure this?

Restrained by the chair, Merlin began to tremble and shake, screaming and screaming and screaming. The collar was killing him.

Hours passed. Or many minutes. Merlin could not tell. Sweat poured down his face, mixing with tears.

Eventually, he noticed that Deryn had approached him again and lifted his shirt. Merlin caught sight of his stomach. No, it couldn’t be.

The wound was gone. There was blood. And a thin, pale scar. But no gaping knife wound. Nothing.

“It heals.” Deryn let Merlin’s shirt drop back down. “Painfully. So,” Deryn brought a chair over and sat down in front of Merlin. “I’m going to ask you some questions. If you refuse.” Deryn held up the knife. “You know what to expect. No surprises.”

Merlin felt the blood leave his face. He threw up all over his lap.

“Let’s get started.”

Sometime later, Merlin found himself being dragged, arms supported and legs limp. Then he was dropped. Someone was calling his name. Every inch of him throbbed, raw with remembered pain.

Merlin felt himself being turned over and he cracked his eyes open.

He found Arthur above him and a rough hand touching his cheek. There was something soft beneath his head.

“Can you hear me? Are you alright?” Arthur’s voice was far away. “Where are you hurt?”

Merlin could not help but attempt a smile.

He wasn’t hurt anywhere. It was all healed. But he still shivered and ached. And it still felt like he had the collar on. He could feel its phantom weight around his neck, cold and heavy.

“Fine.” He managed to rasp in answer to Arthur’s questions. Merlin closed his eyes again. He was so tired. “Not… hurt.” He sighed.

“How am I supposed to believe that when you’re covered in blood?”

“Magic?”

Merlin heard a soft laugh above him and felt a cool hand push his sweaty hair back from his forehead. He drifted.

Merlin awoke to yelling. And pain.

His eyes snapped open.

Arthur was being held back by two of the bandits.

And Deryn was there, standing over Merlin. “Come along.” She ordered.

Swaying and still half-asleep, Merlin struggled to his feet and followed her.

The moss-covered cave room. The box. The collar.

It began again.

But Merlin was ready.

Last time, he didn’t know what to expect. But now he did. No surprises.

As soon as Deryn fastened the golden, crescent-shaped collar about his neck, Merlin kicked out with every ounce of magic he had.

He burned his bonds away. He threw Deryn across the room and heard her spine snap. Then Merlin ran. He knew the way. Falling, half-conscious, he ran to Arthur.

Merlin raised his hands and ripped and tore the wooden cell to pieces. Wood splinters flew. Dust hung in the air. Shouting. Crossbow bolts flew.

“Arthur!” Merlin roared.

Merlin looked at one of the bandits and they burst into fire and sparks. Screams.

They ran. Out of the cave. And into the cold night.

Merlin didn’t realize that they had stopped until he found himself in Arthur’s arms.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get you to Gaius. He- he’ll fix you up, I promise.”

Arthur was laying him down on the cold, wet ground. In the light of a weak dawn, Merlin could see two crossbow bolts sticking out his chest. How had he not noticed?

Arthur’s hands moved to Merlin’s neck, around back, to take off the collar.

No.

Merlin flung his hand out and pushed Arthur away. “Don’t.” He gasped.

The collar was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Take out the bolts.” Merlin begged. “Not this.” He touched the gold collar.

“I don’t understand.” Arthur’s eyes were wide. And frightened.

“It’s magic.” Merlin’s thoughts were too fuzzy to properly explain. “It heals wounds. Take the bolts out. Let it heal me.”

Arthur moved forward, grimacing. “Right now?”

Merlin huffed out a laugh. “Should I schedule a better time for you?”

At that, Arthur gave him a watery smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Merlin took Arthur’s hand and guided it to one of the bolts. “Let’s get started.”

#themerrywhumpofmay #mwmday7 #whump #bbc merlin #merlin #arthur #torture #couple days behind but still going #this was a long one oops

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c0ntr0lledchaos · 9 months

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mwmday7 - New Home

Prompts:

“Questions? Comments? Concerns? Complaints?” (alternative prompt)

Box

Magic

Cell

(originally posted in may of 2023)

Jason was caught by surprise by someone grabbing him while walking home, but even more surprised to be shoved into a cold metal box. His head hit the bottom hard as he fell in, his neck forced into an awkward angle as he was forced the rest of the way in. He tried to lash out, kick whoever was kidnapping him, but he couldn’t land a shot before the box was slammed shut.

He made an attempt to change positions but the box was just small enough that he couldn’t move more than a few inches, not even enough to right himself. He tried to take some deep breaths, think rationally, and figure out a way out. However, it was difficult to stay calm as he felt the box move and get loaded onto a vehicle. The movement was jarring and rough, making his head bang against the metal floor again.

The vehicle started and moved forward, forcing him to lean uncomfortably on one of his shoulders. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to be normal to keep his shapeshifting under control. After a moment he shifted into a cat, allowing him to finally have the space to move. His clothes pooled around him as he sat and looked around the box, searching for any way to get out. The box was solid metal. Jason couldn’t even figure out how the box opened.

His heartbeat started to speed up as he examined the walls of the box, causing him to become more frantic in his search for escape. Jason felt his fur stand on end and stood up, pacing to burn some nervous energy. The more he looked the more panicked he became, noticing that the box didn’t even have any air holes for him. He threw his body against the box's wall, not even registering pain in his panicked state.

It carried on like that for a while, Jason throwing himself against the walls of the box then getting back up and trying a different wall. It was no use though, the box was sturdy and thick, showing no give to Jason’s attacks. The vehicle hit a bump and knocked him off his feet. He was finding it challenging to breathe now, the box feeling too cramped even in this small form. His form writhed and changed in his panic, growing and shrinking randomly. He finally ran out of energy and returned to the cat he originally changed into. He curled up into himself as he tried to comfort himself.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed by the time he felt the vehicle slow to a stop. The box was suddenly jostled as someone moved it. Jason stood up and struggled to stay standing as the box was moved. His claws scrapped against the metal as his feet tried to find purchase. He watched the top of the box carefully, ready to run as soon as he got the chance.

Before he got the chance though, the box was suddenly flipped on his side and he tumbled out onto the tile floor along with his clothes. He scrambled to his feet and turned just in time to see the door to the room he was in slam shut.

The fur on his back and tail stood on end as he looked around the room, looking for a way to escape but he saw nothing. The room was blindingly white, the only change coming from a drain in the center of the room. He also had a window next to the door with a speaker built into the wall next to it. From his view from the floor he couldn’t see out of the window but the idea of being watched made him feel even more uncomfortable than he thought possible. There wasn’t anything for him to hide in or under, the only furniture in the room being a mattress on the floor. He pressed himself into a corner and hissed at the open air, a sense of dread sinking into him.

“Welcome to your new home,” a voice said over the speaker. Jason jumped and looked up at the window, seeing a man standing there looking down at him. He hissed and pushed himself closer into the corner.

“You can give up the cat act. We know what you are.”

Jason refused, out of spite of anything else.

The man stared at him for a moment before turning and talking to someone behind him. A woman came up to the window and looked at Jason, examining him for a moment. Suddenly, pain shot down Jason's spine, making his flesh feel as if it was burning. He let out a loud yowl that slowly turned into a guttural scream as his body betrayed him and he was forced back into his human form. He lay there, panting on the cold floor as he processed what had happened.

“We have some magic of our own Jason. Next time you should know better when you are given instructions.”

Jason took a deep breath before rolling over and grabbing his pants from the floor. He hoped he didn’t look as embarrassed as he felt as he pushed himself up. He gave the man in the window the fiercest glare he could muster. The man was unfazed.

“I hope the trip was not too uncomfortable. Do you have any questions? Comments? Concerns? Complaints?” the man said. Now that Jason was standing he could see a couple of people standing behind the man, wearing scrubs and white coats. A couple of them were writing things down on clipboards as they watched Jason.

“Don’t act like you care,” Jason said, using the wall for support. He could still feel the echoes of pain running through him that made his legs feel weak. Now that he could see out the window he could see that the people were standing in a hallway that was just as blindingly white as his cell. He could also see a matching window and door across the hall from him but no one in it.

“This will go smoother if you cooperate with us. We can drop the formalities and resort to force if we need to,” the man warned. “You will have a couple of hours to recover from the transportation before we begin our work. I suggest you rest during that time.”

With that, the man and the other people walked away, leaving Jason alone. He shuffled over to the mattress and sat down, cradling his face in his hands. Tears came to his eyes as the reality of his kidnapping set in, his deepest fear coming true.

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