#gothic whump snippets

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 22- Secret Cellar

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!  

Whumpee crept down through the cellar of the ancient house. It was at least a hundred years old, and the lichen grew on the stone walls in thick patches. It was in the middle of Carnival, and Whumpee’s friend had dared them to explore the cellar and bring back a bottle of wine as proof. Whumpee gulped and shuddered as a chill rushed through them. After what seemed like forever, they reached the bottom of the cellar. There was a small bit of wall that jutted out oddly. Whumpee paid it no mind, until they heard the muffled sound of chains rattling and a strange jingling.

Whumpee froze. They grabbed an old, dusty bottle from the wine rack. Amontillado. Sure, whatever. It didn’t matter what kind of wine it was, as long as it was, in fact, wine. Whumpee was ready to race back up when they heard it.

“LET ME OUT! FOR THE LOVE OF-”

Whumpee turned. Was someone… in there? Whumpee cautiously approached the patch of wall.

“Hello?” Whumpee asked.

“HELLO?”

Dear gosh. Someone was in there.

“S-stay there,” Whumpee said, then realized how stupid that sounded, “I-I’m going to get you out!”

“OH, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!”

Whumpee looked around for something they could use. Old mason’s tools lay at the foot of the wall, long since abandoned. Whumpee saw it then. A sledgehammer, very old but still in good condition. Whumpee lifted it, slamming it into the wall.

It took quite a few tries but the masonry eventually crumbled.

“Okay, let’s get you out of-”

Whumpee felt a scream die in their throat.

Skeletal remains lay in the crypt, bound in chains and wearing a jester’s hat with little bells on the ends. Whumpee stumbled back, breathing coming in quick and ragged. They turned, running up and out of the cellar.

“WAIT! WAIT! DON’T LEAVE ME! YOU CAN’T LEAVE ME! IT’S BEEN SO LONG! PLEASE!”

It had been fifty years since the crypt had been disturbed. The mason responsible would never be found. In pace requiescat!

...

As you've probably guessed, this was a fanmade sequel to Edgar Allan Poe's The Cask of Amontillado. Great piece of gothic horror, still scares me from time to time! I hope you enjoyed it!

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Tags:

@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

@electrons2006

[robinewe]

The Glass Slippers Part 3/3

A gothic cinderella ghost story

Part 2

Part 1

The clock chime startled both of them, and he jerked his hand back to himself. It began its long series of rings, twelve of them as it counted down to midnight.

Cinderella’s face had drained of color completely, white as a corpse as she stared with wide, dark eyes. “She’ll punish me,” she said, trembling, and then she turned and took off.

“Wait! Where are you going?” the prince called after her. He chased her down the stone steps at the front of his palace, across the clearing where horse-drawn carriages were waiting. Rather than step into one, Cinderella fled into the forest, kicking up dirt behind her with the heels of her shoes.

Channing paused at the mouth of the woods. Thinking quickly, he realized he would be faster on horseback. He raced back to the nearest carriage, ignored its driver’s protests, and unhitched one of the horses before swinging onto its back and urging it to run.

Besides, he already knew where Cinderella lived. If he took a direct route, he might be able to arrive at the old house before she did.

Somewhere along the way he caught a flash of silver reflected in the forest, and steered the horse towards it. He followed flickering patches of light and white figures deeper into the woods. No moon shone overhead at all.

Suddenly he was out of the woods, and speeding down the hill towards the house. In front of it he swung down from the horse, and didn’t bother to knock as he opened the door.

He was met with the sight of the twin sisters, hair piled in ridiculously complex fashions, faces caked in makeup to conceal their age, and dresses padded and tightened to give them over exaggerated hourglass figures. One wore acidic green, the other dandelion yellow. The sight startled him.

“How rude of you, to show up here!” the first sister snapped at him.

“I’d thought you ladies would still be at the ball,” the prince said. 

“We left when it became clear you were never going to dance with anyone else,” the second sister glared.

“We thought it would be funny to come home and torment our maid-servant-sister,” the first sister said with a humorless laugh. “But we couldn’t find her.”

Suddenly, from deep within the house, a shrill voice called, “CINDERELLA!” The very walls shook, pictures rattling in their frames. The prince ignored the twins and dashed through the dining room and into the kitchen, where he’d seen Cinderella disappear only that morning.

Lady Tremaine stood in front of a door with stairs leading down to what must have been a cellar. He couldn’t see her, but he heard Cinderella whimper where she cowered in front of the woman.

A hand clapped over his mouth before he could do anything, and he was dragged to the floor behind a stack of crates. He struggled, but their grip was strong, and managed to hold him down. He saw arsenic green sleeves on the arms wrapped around him, and crouched next to them was the second twin, with a finger to her lips.

“Be quiet,” the yellow dressed girl mouthed, and they watched from an angle where they could only see the back of the top of Lady Tremaine’s head. The first sister kept her hand over his mouth, keeping him in place with a deceptively firm hold.

Cinderella was begging. “Please, step-mother, I’ll never be late again…”

“I’ve taken care of you all these years, and you run off to galavant around like some common whore. It just goes to show you how far kindness gets you in this world,” Lady Tremaine said, ending with a deeply annoyed sigh.

“Wh-what are you doing?” the girl asked, frightened. Lady Tremaine upended something over her head, and from the sound of it dumped out liquid.

“Kerosene,” the second sister mouthed to Channing. His eyes widened, and he attempted to struggle again, prying at the hand over his mouth.

“This is what happens to witches like you,” Lady Tremaine said, with the distinctive sound of a match striking.

Cinderella began screaming as she, presumably, was set alight, drenched in kerosene. Lady Tremaine shoved her, and her body thudded again and again as it fell down the stairs into the basement. The woman swung the door closed, and she calmly stalked away.

The stepsisters kept Channing pinned there until Cinderella’s voice no longer wailed in agony. The green sister’s hand was bloody from where he desperately scratched at it over his mouth. Finally, exhausted, when there was nothing in the house but silence, did they explain.

“They do this every night,” the first sister said. “There isn’t anything we can do about it.”

“Nothing at all,” the second sister echoed in his ear. “She’ll be back to bury the body, if you want to watch.”

He made a noise of disgust and shoved at her, and this time he was let go. He abruptly stood on his feet. The prince threw open the cellar door himself and ran down the stairs, quickly covering his nose and mouth under his shirt. It smelled horrendous.

He found a dusty, blackened fireplace and in front of it a straw pallet mat, and on top of it was a mostly-blackened corpse curled into the fetal position. The prince felt violently ill. A white glow called his attention, and he looked over to see an ethereally translucent Cinderella staring down at the body with him.

“Y-you…” he stuttered. Her form was smokey and indistinct, her face difficult to make out, her hair floating in wisps around her head, but he could recognize the shoes she was wearing. He looked at the burned victim, and saw the same glass slippers, still almost intact, on its feet.

Cinderella let out a long, drawn out wail, and then flew through the air and through the wall. Channing turned and ran up the stairs, and through the backdoor of the house. He caught sight of the pale figure streaming across the grass, up the hill, and into the forest. He chased behind her, finding the glass slippers discarded at the edge of the trees. He didn’t stop for them, but quickly lost all sense of direction as dark branches and shifting leaves filled his vision. There, he caught a glimpse of the shimmer, and sped along behind it.

The young prince found himself running through a misty forest, chasing a beautiful specter. He kept chasing her, and chasing her, and chasing her, throughout the entire night until dawn, and then it happened again.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

Ailess Whumptober 23 - Alt Self-Defense

Encore 5/5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Last part ! Let’s hear our pianist play for real this time.

Tw: major character death, implied death, bad things happening to hands, gun wound, death threats

***

The count joined his prisoner and his guards. Without adding a word, the two men dragged the young man into the castle, then before the piano. The rest of the servants were there, too, huddled up together. All their eyes were on the pianist as he sat before the instrument, and strangely enough, that made him feel better. He knew now that the audience was on his side. His stomach still sank, though, when he noticed the open coffin at his feet, waiting.

The count opened a drawer, pulled out a pistol. Then, very calmly, he settled himself on the sofa, looking at the ceiling, his hands and his weapon on his stomach.

“Play.”

F, answered the piano. F, F, F. One lonely note, repeated with an identical rhythm. The hand of the count clenched in a fist around the pistol. He opened his eyes and glared at his prisoner. The pianist delicately put his bandaged hand on the keys to add a chord. The same chord. For several bars. But as the count let out a growl of animal fury, the young man leaned over the instrument and his seven fingers flew all of a sudden. Some of the audience members started. The melody became insanely fast and aggressive, flowing over the room. It was a cry of rage. The fingers jumped from octave to octave as if it were nothing. Playing with crossed hands didn’t seem to disturb the pianist at all. He smiled grimly, lost in the wrath of his music.

Then, behind his back, he heard a strange noise. Something like a sigh, maybe. No, it was too loud. Someone was gasping behind him. It had to be one of the guards. Gritting his teeth, he threw a glance at the count. No need to push the pedal to play louder. He had noticed. They’d all noticed.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” mumbled the guard, disturbing the piece even more and so dooming himself further, “I could not – I was surprised - it was beautiful -”

The count aimed at him. The count shoot. The man fell. The pianist closed his eyes. His fingers froze on the keyboard. The rest of the servants clenched their fists.

“ Nobody moves”, said the master of the house quietly. “Sir, I believe you were in the middle of something. Would you start again from the beginning ?”

“I-I would,” stuttered the pianist, “but I believe the A4 is slightly off-key.”

“Is it now ?”

“ Surely a man with a hearing as keen as yours must have heard it. It’s very slight, but it’s here all the same; listen.”

He played the accused note with emphasis.

“I’d need a tuning hammer.”

“Nonsense. This A is perfectly in tune. Write another chord.”

“I can��t. This is what works best. Would you look at the music sheet?”

The count glared at him.

“I’d be honored for you to read my work,” softly said the young man. “I know how important it is that everything has to be perfect.”

“This is an adaptation, everything is far from being perfect. It’s not even the best one. I hear a pale imitation, a mockery of the real thing.”

“Come and tell me what I’ve been doing wrong.”

The count hesitated, but reluctantly got up and came closer. He looked at the music sheet, and with a disdainful hand, began to play the first bars. One finger. Four fingers of the right hand. Only at the seventh bar he used the left hand.

Only then, the pianist closed the key lid as hard as he could.

The right hand jerked away. The left didn’t. There was a sickening crunch as his host howled in pain, but the young man kept the fall-board closed, leaning on it with all his weight, and only relented when the bones stopped breaking. The lid opened at once, revealing dismantled fingers and blood stains that made his stomach sank – he never liked when an instrument was damaged.

An elbow flew near his face but he could dodge it. He’d hoped that the count would be polite enough to faint so he could escape, but it seemed like the older man wouldn’t surrender without a fight. He was still standing, his face livid and grim with pain.

“You will lie in that coffin,” he groaned. “And before nailing you in, I will break every bone in your body. Seize him !”

He had snapped these last words at the guard who remained on his feet, but the servant hesitated. Stepping back, the pianist gave him a pleading look, but he refused to look at him. So slowly, the count turned toward his pistol, his right hand twitching in anticipation. There were so much people in the room who could have halted him, but no one moved. The young man’s heart stopped. He knew for sure that the count would go to the weapon and kill him before someone dared to move a finger. No miracle was going to happen.

He looked away. The metronome was still by the piano, the rod leaning on the right. He took it and...tried.

Now, there are only two options when a man out of his mind with despair tries to strike with all his strength: either it will reveal itself to be very weak, either terrifically, inhumanly strong. If the pianist had tried to hit the count the first night of his arrival, he would have barely brushed his skin. Trying the same thing the day before would have been fruitless, too. But he was not the man from yesterday. Not after the coffin. Not after Winter. Not after seeing a man being shot.

The rod pierced the count’s throat like a sword through hot butter.

The gurgling sound was enough; the pianist didn’t wish to learn more about it. He turned his back immediately, only hearing his captor falling to the ground.

That sound seemed to break a spell. At once, the servants came back to life. Many rushed toward the wounded guard, who was still breathing. None went to the count. Absentmindedly, the pianist went back to the piano to carefully wipe the keys out with his sleeve. Only after he joined the little group who circled the man. Leaning over, he gently asked him:

“Do you want me to play again ?”

The guard had a weak smile.

“Please do, until the end.”

*

Back to Whump/Horror Masterlist.

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Challenge accepted. Here we go! (I am so sorry if I know you and you're not listed here, my forgetfulness has skyrocketed and my overall health has kinda deteriorated so it's not that you aren't awesome, it's that my brain is throwing all my important information in the Forget Me Bin)

@jordanstrophe I love your whump series and how you write carewhumpers, they are my favorite type of whumper and I know if I want to read something good, I can always go to you!

@serickswrites I love that you write whump AND Hero x Villain. I've sent you a lot of requests on anon before and you never fail to deliver something awesome!

@just-a-space-rabbit I love your art style- it's so cute, and I have that fanart of Spider-Frost that you made me hanging up on my wall!!

@mj-iza-writer your whump writing is delicious, I especially love your hypnosis fics!

@rainy-writes your writing is so fun to read and even when it's whumpy, it's uplifting!

@epiclamer and @save-the-villainous-cat my favorite Tumblr couple, I had to put you guys together because you're so iconic. You guys write some of the best hero x villain dynamics I've ever seen, and I aspire to write as well as you two do!

@darkbluekies I loooooove your yandere fics so much (Dr. Kry is my favorite! I love some medical malpractice, yum yum!). You offer a wide variety of yandere ocs with different flavors of obsession, so there's always something for everyone!

@wh3nturtlesfly your writing makes me go brrrrr. Your descriptions are so detailed and your dialogue flows smoothly throughout your snippets!

@surplus-of-sarcasm you write angst like no one else can, and your descriptions make it all the whumpier!

@laffy-taffy-creations if anyone on this site has gotten me close to tears with their writing, it's you.

@thepenultimateword you give the best writing advice and you clearly know what you're talking about because your writing is so skillful!

@creweemmaeec11 I LOVE YOU CREWE. The prompts you've been putting out lately have given me so many ideas, and they're super creative! I love that you've created a safe space for me and the rest of the people in the writing server to learn from each other and have a good time!

@thelazywitchphotographer listen I know you aren't a writeblr BUT I had to tag you because you give me so much support in my writing and encourage me to keep going. That, and you're a good friend!!

The same goes for you, @lilywolfgray!! You might not be a writeblr, but you've helped me so many times in my writing process you might as well be!

@deckofaces I love your writing, I love your ocs, and I love you!

@justalittletoocorrupted THE LORE YOU ARE ABLE TO COME UP WITH IS ASTOUNDING. Like, if I ever want to know how to do some solid worldbuilding/tragic backstories, I should come to you!

@shywhumpauthor literally some of the finest whump on this site

@autocrats-in-love heehee, Hero x Villain goes brrrr. If I want a delicious prompt to inspire me, I come to you!

@uvanuva you deserve to be tagged as well! Thank you for being a good friend!!

@blackrosesandwhump I am still chipping away at that Gothic This or That Whump post you made forever ago. I'm having a lot of fun with it and I'm so happy you made it! If anyone knows how to write some gothic whump, it's you!

@but-what-if-its-whumpy your blog is a gold mine of good whump fics and whump art. Whenever I see that you've liked something of mine, I get super happy and excited!

@lumpsbumpsandwhumps ahh, some of the best whump art I've ever seen. I love your art style- it's so clean and proportionate! I especially love the dynamics you put between your ocs. I love your latest hyperfixation with Slasher x Final Girl!

@allthewhumpygoodness you have an uncanny ability to marry whump with comfort and I love to read it!

@whumpasaurus101 not only do you write excellent whump, but you also make ADORABLE crafts!!

@yeehawpim we've never interacted, but your comics are so relatable and help me feel less alone- thank you for what you do!

@whump-on-a-string I LOVE YOUR ART OMGOSH IT GIVES ME WHUMPERFLIES

@whumpbump ah, I simply adore your whump series, you have a gifted writer brain, that's for darn sure!

Uh, I'm running out of energy and my hands are starting to shake, so Imma look into that, but in the meantime, yeah, I love you guys!!

OKAY CHUCKLEFUCKS

Yes, thats what im calling you guys now it's lovingly i promise <3

The past few weeks ive received a few comments here and there about people liking my writing. I just want to give you all a big massive happy thank you! Writing is so special to me, it's something i have a lot of passion for, and the thought that i can write something that means something to people... it makes me so happy you have no idea.

SO! I WANT ALL OF YOU TO GO SHOWER YOUR FAVOURITE AUTHORS/ARTISTS/WHOEVERS WITH PRAISE! GO TELL THAT RANDO ON YOUR DASH WHO YOUVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE YOU LIKED THEIR STORY! GO TELL YOUR BESTIE YOU LIKE THEIR STORY! TELL THAT PERSON YOUVE BEEN NERVOUS ABOUT TELLING YOU LIKE THEIR STORIES!

TAG THEM HERE, SPREAD THE LOVE I WANT YOU ALL TO COME TOGETHER AND BUILD EACH OTHER UP!

I’m gonna add any asks i get for this here

| 1 |

GO TELL PEOPLE YOU LIKE THEIR STORIES/ART/WHATEVER CAUSE I WANT EVERYONE TO FEEL GOOD ABOUT THEIR STUFF CAUSE YOURE ALL SO AMAZING AND TALENTED AND I LOVE YOU ALL!

~ Snail <3

as an incentive, I have a picture of an oc that i was debating on whether to post or not. I worked on it for 13-14 hrs, and in a day if i hear that you guys are out there complementing each other, I will release it.

You have 24 hours.

~ 🐌

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Hoo boy, here we go! Thanks for the tag, @tildeathiwillwrite !

Hoodie Thief- Marvel Oneshot

Sticky Situation

Pym Particles and House Spiders

Hero Darling

Hero vs. Government

An Offer You Can't Refuse

Ivy's Little Flower

The Things We Do For Love

Gothic Whump Snippets

Yandere OC Snippets

Mermaid Whump

That's all I can remember off the top of my head lol

Tags: @rainy-writes @deckofaces @creweemmaeec11 @thepenultimateword @surplus-of-sarcasm @laffy-taffy-creations @galaxy-mermaid-musi @epiclamer @save-the-villainous-cat @justalittletoocorrupted @those-damn-snippets

Tag Game: WIP Folder Titles

Thank you to @illarian-rambling for the tag! I could've sworn I'd done this one before, but the post seems to have eluded me, so I'll just list everything out again.

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Original:

Trials of the Six

Trials of the Six: Legends

The Legend of Orian Goldeneye

The Hunter, the Myth and the Cure

The Watcher and the Thief

Forsaken: The Doomed City

Forsaken: The Lost Island

City of Mechanicals

Of Wings, Blade and Shadow

The Cardinal Points

The Fallen Cyborg

The Myroir Chronicles

The Royal, the Mercenary, and the Shadow

Fairytale Fantasy Urban Adventure

Fairytale Steampunk Adventure Romance

Horror/Fantasy/Mystery Story

Untitled Fantasy #1

Fanfiction:

Farfell: The Silver Dragon

Demigods of the Death Gate: Dry

Demigods of the Death Gate: Defy

Demigods of the Death Gate: Decay

Demigods of the Death Gate: Drenched

Demigods of the Death Gate: Demons

The Assassin and the Dragonlance

Cinderheart

Portal Whump Fic

Disclaimer: A lot of these folders (the ones without proper working titles) consist of a single word document containing the concept and/or idea dump I had for that story. Usually after I had a dream about it. I don't think I added those the last time I was tagged, but here we are now lol

Umm....this is a lot of people to tag...😅 26 WIPs... I mean it's only 10 if you count the ones I'm actually working on so that's how many people I'm going to tag.

Gently tagging @faytelumos @scaewolf @hufflepuffwritingstuff2 @moonandris @phoenixradiant

@diabolical-blue @pluppsauthor @stargazer-luna @spitefulbull @gummybugg and open tag! :D

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 19- Imprisoned Monster

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!  

Whumpee crept through the castle halls, holding their lantern in front of them. The storm raged outside, sending sheets of rain down onto the washed-out roads. Whumpee didn’t feel like being drenched, so they thought they would ask the castle’s owner for shelter. The more they explored, however, it became evident that the castle had been abandoned for years. The windows had a hazy film covering them, and the thick layer of dust laying in the carpet absorbed any sound that Whumpee’s footsteps would have made. Unused cobwebs adorned the corners of furniture and light fixtures; even the spiders had forsaken the place.

“Hello?” Whumpee called for a third time.

No answer greeted Whumpee, save for their own echo. They shivered as a draft blew through the castle halls. Eventually, they reached a large, oak door. Pushing it open, Whumpee was greeted by something that surely belonged in a mausoleum. A coffin of marble, sitting in the center of an otherwise empty room. Heavy chains of silver held the lid down. The floor was made of cold stone, and it made a clicking noise as Whumpee walked across it. Oh mercy, had they stumbled on a dead person’s home?

Whumpee was just about to back away when they heard it: a weak yet distinct pounding. It was coming from the coffin. Everything in them told them to run, but Whumpee found themselves stepping closer all the same. Whumpee blinked, and the next thing they knew they had removed the chains.

The lid slid off of the coffin with a deafening sound of stone scraping against stone. Whumpee jumped back with a yelp. Slowly, a figure sat up inside the coffin. Their head turned, and red eyes stared into Whumpee’s.

“Do I have you to thank for my freedom?” the figure asked, their voice sounding like it hadn’t been used in years.

Whumpee nodded, rooted to the spot.

The figure climbed out of the coffin soundlessly; they seemed to glide as they strode over to Whumpee.

“What should I call you?” the figure asked.

“Wh-” Whumpee swallowed, “Whumpee.”

“Hm,” the figure mused, “it’s fitting. My name is Whumper. Welcome to my castle. I would have greeted you upon entry, but as you can see I was otherwise detained. Thank you, Whumpee, for releasing me.”

“Um, s-sure. Anytime.”

“It’s unfortunate that after you’ve given me my freedom, you must lose yours, but I haven’t had anyone to talk to for many years, and I daresay I am in need of a companion.”

Whumpee blinked, it took them a minute to process what Whumper was saying. Before they could turn to run, Whumper had sank their fangs- they had fangs!?- into their neck. Whumpee wanted to struggle, but Whumper held them tight. They began to lose the ability to stand as Whumper drained them of their blood.

“S-stop,” Whumpee breathed, “please.”

Whumper continued to drink for a few moments more, then detached their fangs from their victim’s neck.

“There there,” Whumper soothed, “forgive me, but I haven’t had a meal in so long. Come now, let’s get you to your room.”

The world tilted on its axis as Whumper lifted Whumpee into a bridal carry. The storm continued to rage outside as Whumper carried them down the halls to a large bedroom. Whumpee was limp in their hold. Whumper laid them down ever so gently on a bed. Even though they were lying still, Whumpee’s world spun. Soon enough, dark spots clouded their vision and their eyes fluttered shut. They couldn’t see Whumper smile down at them, nor feel them run a slender hand through their hair.

Whumper smiled at their little human. They looked so peaceful like this. What a wonderful companion they would make.

ko-fi

tags:  @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm

[blackrosesandwhump]

Whumpril Day 16: Coughing Fit

CW: illness whump

A gentle spring breeze lifts the curtains at Nathaniel’s open window, bringing with it a faint scent of grass. He tries to take a deep breath. Tries and fails. Instead, the movement starts his cough going again. Just when he thought he might be able to get out of bed. At least his fever broke during the night, leaving in its wake a damp pillowcase and tangled sheets.

His eyes watering, he grabs a clean handkerchief off the side table and wipes his face. His chest no longer feels like it’s about to implode, which means whatever strange power fueling the stone has settled down. For now, that is. He can never escape it.

Another cough racks him, stealing the breath from his lungs. As he doubles over in bed, gasping, he makes a vow to himself.

The moment he can leave his bedroom again, he will find a way to lift the curse, no matter what it takes. And he’ll start in the library.

[robinewe]

The Glass Slippers Part 2

A Gothic Cinderella Ghost Story

Part 1

The prince waited at the end of the entrance hall to greet the guests as they arrived. Each lady was introduced by the sound of trumpets, proceeded across the ballroom, and presented themselves to the prince. He kissed each one’s hand, politely smiled, and welcomed them to the ball. No names were exchanged, and every guest wore a mask over her eyes. Even so, the prince could tell that none of them were the girl he was waiting for, every time the trumpets sounded and a new lady made her way across the room.

She must have snuck in while he was otherwise distracted. One moment he couldn’t see her anywhere among the crowd, the next he turned his head and she appeared. She wore a silver mask over her eyes, but the way she reflected light around her and her pale hair, arms, and neck were nearly glowing was unmistakable. Her dress shimmered with each shift of light while she moved through the room, timid and light on her feet, which were covered in dainty glass shoes that made a pleasing noise against the tile.

Now that he’d spotted her he couldn’t tear his eyes away. He started towards her, hearing his father exclaim behind him, “Son! What are you doing?” the steward quickly after, “Where are you going, my prince?”

“I’m going to join the dancing,” the prince said over his shoulder. His father grinned, pleased, while the steward sighed with relief.

People stopped and stared as he passed. He was the only attendant without a mask, as it was pointless to hide who he was. The ball was in his honor, everyone knew who he was. But the ladies were supposed to be on equal footing while competing for his hand, with their faces hidden.

He reached the girl, standing out like a diamond among roses, and a circle cleared around the two. Cinderella watched him while he approached, and he met her eyes behind her mask. “May I have this dance?” he asked, extending his hand and bowing low in front of her.

The room was silent and still for a moment before she took his hand, and then the orchestra swept into a romantic waltz. The prince pulled Cinderella closer, and wrapped his other arm around the small of her back, giving her a smile. He led her in the dance, pushing and pulling her along with him, so graceful as her feet glided across the floor. She let out a nervous laugh, enjoying herself despite all of the eyes on her. She felt like she was floating, somewhere only she and this boy existed. Nothing, not anything that had happened to her in her life before, could touch her here.

***

Finally, both of them dizzy and tired, the prince led her outside to breathe in fresh air by the gardens. They left the guests tittering and gossiping behind their hands. Sitting down together, he gently tugged off her mask. Her face shone like the moon, revealed from behind clouds. But her brows were furrowed, and she looked worried. A shadow over the moon.

“What is the matter?” he asked.

She looked down at her hands in her lap, twisting diamond rings around her fingers. “I can’t help but think. What do you see in me?”

He plucked a strand of hair between his fingers, putting it behind her ear. “You’re absolutely radiant,” he said. She shook her head.

“But you’ve seen who I really am.”

“Who you really are?”

“A filthy kitchen maid. I’m not a princess, no matter how I look now.” She curled both her hands into fists. “I should never have left home. I don’t deserve to be here.”

She made as if to stand up, but Channing grabbed her arm. “No, please, stay! You can live here, with me, and you won’t have to go back to that life ever again!”

“Why me?” she asked fiercely.

“Because my father is forcing me to marry, and I think I’ve fallen in love with you!” He realized his grip on her arm had grown rather tight. He let go of her, and quickly stepped away, in case he had made her afraid of him. She stared at him in shock, and he continued, “And… I want to help you. I don’t want to see you cry ever again. I saw you underneath the willow tree and I couldn’t stand it. I thought my heart would break.”

She was crying now, in fact, and he carefully stepped towards her, slowly extending his hand until he could brush away her tears with a finger.

The clock chime startled both of them, and he jerked his hand back to himself. It began its long series of rings, twelve of them as it counted down to midnight.

Cinderella’s face had drained of color completely, white as a corpse as she stared with wide, dark eyes. “She’ll punish me,” she said, trembling, and then she turned and took off.

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

AilessWhumptober 23 - 2 Overworked/ Exhaustion

Encore 4/5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Ironically, this is the one where our pianist is taking is a (relative) short break, so no tw.

Oh well yes, there's a tiny murder attempt. Small potatoes.

***

“Wake up, sir ! You have to wake up !”

The pianist had no wish to do so. In fact, he was rather inclined to never stop sleeping. Waking up was facing off-key bells that damaged his hearing, an empty coffin that was meant for him sooner or later, and a cold, haughty presence that he’d learned to fear despite himself.

But that voice was not the count’s, and the hands that brushed his cheeks were soft. He opened an eye. A maid was looking at him with a pleading expression. He knew her. She was one of the servants who were usually present while their master was hurting him. He recoiled and she immediately did the same.

“Forgive me sir, but it’s important. The count sent me to bring you the music sheet you’ve asked. Please, you have to hurry !”

“Why is that, miss ? He will kill me. It doesn’t matter if I do this for him. I’ll play for my funeral.”

“Don’t give up on hope just yet, sir. He lied to you. Here, drink.”

She offered him a cup that he emptied in a gulp. His stomach curled up, but he was able to keep the water in. After some deep breaths, he asked:

“What do you mean, he lied to me ?”

He turned his head. The door of his prison was open, and other servants listened, including the two guards who were used to man-handle him. One of them cleared his throat:

“ The count did indeed lie about the night when you came here, sir, but he wasn’t believed as much as he wished. People are looking for you. It’s only a matter of time before they ask to enter the castle.”

“He was furious,” whispered the maid. “We’ve never seen him like this. When he went back yesterday, he ordered us to take the coffin he had ordered for himself to the bell tower. We were sure he was going to kill you, but the challenge you’ve proposed saved your life. Oh I beg of you, you need to stall him ! It’s not fair for you to die like this.”

“If that’s what you think, if that’s what you all think – then help me to escape !”

One of the tall men shook his head.

“We can’t, sir. You have no idea what he will do to us. People care about your disappearance, but they won’t care about our death.”

“Not one of us want to harm you,” whispered the maid. “You are in all our prayers, but we can’t do much. We don’t dare. Our families are under his thumb. Please forgive us.”

“I can’t do much myself, miss.”

“He cares more about piano than his own life. If anyone can distract him, it’s you.”

The pianist bowed his head, closed his eyes, and took the music sheet.

“Bless you, sir,” she sighed. “Are you even able to write with your poor hand ?”

“I can write with both.”

“Good. He’s gone until the evening, so we won’t touch these dreadful bells, and we’ll give you as much food and water as you need. The rest depends on you.”

He avidly drank and ate what she offered him, and only then began his work. He had lied to the count, too. He’d already tried to write a Winter piano version, just for pleasure, and he remembered most of it; but it was in the past, when he still had two intact hands. Today he had to take into account he only had his left one and a couple of fingers. The little one was broken, the ring finger was bound to it, the middle finger wouldn’t be able to move that much. He could push some keys with the index and play with his thumb normally.

That would force him to play with his hands crossed for most of the piece, with the left doing the work of the right, but unlike Islamey, that was doable, and the thought alone was exhilarating.

It was hard work, but it felt good. Sweat dripped on his forehead and more than once he’d thrown out one of his drafts into the coffin, but at least that kind of anger and frustration were normal. By the end, he’d nearly forgot about the count, and only the fact that he was writing on the ground and not on the table reminded him where he was. He could do it. The whole would sound widely different than the original version, but that was what you got when you forced a one-handed-and-a-half pianist to work out something in a day. He asked if he could train once or twice on the piano, and the servants hesitated, but he swore he wouldn’t try to escape. He didn’t want to anymore. Not before doing what he had to do. At his relief, the piano was still in-tune and made by a decent manufacturer. He used the metronome by the fall board to make sure he could keep the tempo. It was huge, with a specially long inverted pendulum rod, and he manipulated it dreamily before putting it away.

Putting his chin on his valid hand to think some more, he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes again, he was back on the silent tower and was secretly grateful for not having to climb the stairs to his prison himself. For the first time since long, he had food in his stomach and his throat was not sore anymore. He felt very fine and decided for another nap instead of working on his music. His rest didn’t last long, though. A kick in his ribs informed him that the count was back. He raised his head to see to see that his captor was fuming, staring him down.

“I see you employ your working time well.”

The pianist didn’t answer. He only sat up, massaging gently his ribs. The count made a brief sign of the head toward the sheets around him:

“Is your masterpiece done ?”

“I did what I could.”

“Well, let’s see what it’s worth. Stand up.”

The young man didn’t obey at once. He looked around, puzzled. The servants weren’t there, and the coffin was nowhere to be seen.

“After you.”

The pianist stepped out of his prison, a little hesitantly. Then, in a flash, he understood why he was the first to climb down the stairs, and he rushed to press his back against the wall, his eyes wide. The count, who still had his hand held out, recoiled and smirked.

“Well, go ahead.”

Taking a deep breath, the pianist looked at him, then at the ground, and hurried to climb down the stairs as fast as he could, terrified at the idea of being pushed and breaking more bones. He nearly threw himself into the arms of the two guards, who waited for him at the exit and grabbed him as usual. Their faces reflected nothing.

“He tried to kill me,” he whispered. “Again. It doesn’t make sense if he wants me to play.”

“He does want to hear you”, answered one of them in the same tone. “But maybe he wants you to lose even more.”

“He’s suspected, sir. It makes him mad. Be careful.”

“Isn’t that easy for you to say,” retorted the pianist, a sour taste in the mouth.

*

Sequel and end : Part 5

[maybeitsalivescribbles]

AilessWhumptober 23 - 3 Sensory Sleep deprivation / overstimulation / isolation 

Encore 2/5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

In which the the count finds a way to deal with his troublesome host.

tw: sleep deprivation, sound torture, locked in a small space, lots of victim blaming

***

The count took a sip of his wine, his eyes focused on the horizon, listening to the sounds of the bells nearby. He closed his eyes a moment, deep in his thoughts.

The rather unpleasant, ungrateful young man he’d welcomed this night had revealed himself a difficult host. This so-called pianist, who was clearly devoid of all sense of pride or manliness, had made a big spectacle of himself all evening, whining and lamenting about a broken finger. In the count’s opinion, that was quite disgraceful. While he could understand that this wound could be seen as upsetting (as light as it was), it was another matter altogether to lose all composure because of it. Forgetting the most elemental decency, the young man had stopped playing in the middle of a wonderful piece that was far, far above him, and had even tried to threaten his own host, swearing to never approach the piano in the castle again, no matter what would happen to his precious hands. The count had sighed, dejected. Youth, he often reflected with sadness, was full of insolence and rudeness, but after all, was there anything else to expect from a fraud ?

“I thought you liked challenges,” he’d sadly said. “But if you’d rather give up and admit that the talent you claim to have is sadly very much overrated, if not a blatant lie, I see no objection. After all, it is late in the evening and we’re all rather tired. I’m sure you’ll see things in a much clearer way tomorrow.”

There was not much to say after that. He didn’t like to feel unwanted. After wishing the young man a good, restful night, he’d decided to send the host to the very special room that had been chosen for him. He watched as his two strongest men escorted his reluctant guest, and quietly returned to the hall of the castle. He bent on the window, glass in hand, watching thoughtfully the tower nearby the castle.

It was actually a bell tower, and he was rather proud of it. There were more than fifty bells, from the little ones that sounded like birds with their high, clear voice, from the biggest one that weighted thousands of pounds and boomed like thunder. The latter was of course the most impressive, the one you heard from miles around, the one that was making the whole tower shudder with the sheer noise of it. Eventually, though, the more satisfying was to hear them all at once. Of course, with the time they were all getting a little off-key, it was getting a little discordant. But the power of that sound was undeniable. Everyone who was listening to this felt themselves shudder, their thoughts crawling back from whence they came before vanishing completely. That noise admitted no other rival to your attention. You could think nothing, feel nothing, do nothing but listen. Even from his castle, he remembered that it made him pause, for a little while at least. It had been a long time since he hadn’t listened to them, but he had a spur of nostalgia.

After calling a dozen of servants, he let them gather around him and told them:

“I want to hear the bells. Play the carillon, take turns if you have to. I want to hear them all at the same time” – he had pulled out his pocket watch – “every fifteen minutes.”

As always when you were asking these people to do a little work, they went livid and tried to complain.

“None of us knows how to play, my lord.”

“For Heaven’s sake, man ! Make a fist with your hand and pummel the wooden batons as much and as many as you can. It isn’t hard.”

“But the rods need adjusting…”

“The rods are fine like that. Do not touch them.”

He wasn’t fond of laziness, so he was a little dry when a young maiden hesitantly asked:

“ Until what time, my lord ?”

“Until I’m asking you to stop”, he snapped.

“But my lord, you will hear them all night !”

“From this distance, it will lull me to sleep. You are indeed right. I will hear them all the time. So if one of you decide to not execute my orders, I will know at once. Did I make myself clear ?”

The bunch of peasants collectively straightened up and he was pleased to see that they had finally understood that they could invent no shortcut to get out of this chore. A chore who was finally more satisfying to the soul than the other they were used to, but maybe it was a little hard for them to understand. The carillon was a pleasant instrument indeed. Each key being connected by a bell to a wire, you could easily play tons of bronze over your head from your little seat. This tower had even its own architecture weirdness: next to the carillon was a little chamber made of clay bricks, with no windows, with a large opening on the high ceiling, just under the ensemble of bells. The sounds came in there and stayed trapped by the thickness of the bricks, allowing them to reverberate inside.

The count went in his room in the castle, closed the curtains, and had a pleasant, refreshing night. After waking up, he stayed late in his bed with a book, barely raising his eyes when he heard the bells toll. Then a thin smile appeared on his face and he returned to his reading.

In the beginning of the evening, he decided to at least go see how his servants were doing with the carillon. He entered the tower. The people bowed before him, and he noted that they looked exhausted.

“Was it this hard ?” he sternly asked. “Was this little instrument too much to handle ?”

They all kept staring at the ground, mumbling bland lies. Sighing in exasperation, he passed through them and sat before the carillon. It was fantastically off-key. The high bells shrieked like a bird being slowly crushed, the medium one sounded like broken glass and the big ones like war cries from a hateful giant. Played at the same time, it was a symphony from hell.

All of this was interesting enough, but it was even more intriguing with the voice accompaniment that you could hear it from the chamber.

Ding dong, sang the bells, and stop, STOP, please make it stop.

Ding dong, PLEASE I beg of you

Ding dong please won’t have mercy on me help please help I can’t anymore

Ding dong I’ll do anything let me out let me out

Ding dong, and a shriek of the direst agony.

“And that”, whispered the Count with a small smile, “is music to my ears.”

He pointed the door to his two guards, who opened it. No one went out. The count decided to step forward. Huddled in a corner, the thing inside was already very different from the young man from yesterday. In a fetal position, his elbows covered his ears as well as he could – that was to say, not very efficiently. For a moment, the count supposed he had fainted, but he was shuddering too much. The two guards forced him into his feet, although his knees buckled under his weight and his head fell very low on his chest.

“You can of course rest as long as you want here,” said the count softly. “But I thought that maybe you would reconsider playing for me tonight.”

The pianist broke into ugly, loud sobs.

*

Sequel here

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Okay, I usually keep polls to just Patreon members but- I need a lot of votes so here we go!

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Hi. Laffy here, updating you guys on how the masterlist override is going.

I have about half of alll the links working so far, and will be continuing to work on it for the foreseeable future, should be done in the next few days. I'm about to fistfight tumblr link formatting.

Most of the request links are up and running for those of you who want to reread that, as well as the Gothic Whump Snippets and the first list of Single Part Snippets, Imagines, Prompts, etc., all available for you guys to read. Go send my friend here some love, she's built up a lot over the years. Bombard her with it, I command you all 🫵

Wish me luck on getting the rest of the links ready, it's me vs. tumblr right now 🫡

-@laffy-taffy-creations

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Your writing is soo addictive. I'm new to your blog and I love the way you write whump scenes!! Can you please do another part for Gothic snippet 17?🥺🥺

Aww, thank you Anon! That’s very kind of you to say! I can certainly do another part for gothic snippet 17! Thanks so much for your patience! Here you go!

part 1, part 2

Whumpee had tried to only give inconsequential details about themselves at first, but the more Whumper pried, the less they could keep secret. Whumper seemed to know whenever Whumpee was lying, and when that happened, they got a shock with the remote.

“I think that covers pretty much everything, for now,” Whumper said, “just one more question- what would you like for lunch?”

Whumpee’s eyes lit up with an idea.

“Could we go out to eat somewhere?” they asked innocently, “there’s a great burger place over at-”

“Nice try, Whumpee,” Whumper said with a smirk, “I can’t have you trying to leave me so soon. Not that it would matter, what with the tracker and all, but still. You’re not to leave the premises. Not until you’re properly acclimated at any rate.”

Whumpee’s face fell. Whumper tutted sympathetically and tucked their hand under Whumpee’s chin, tilting their head up to look at them.

“Don’t look so down, love,” Whumper said, “I can order whatever you want and have it delivered, if I can’t make it myself that is.”

Whumper pulled out their phone and ordered a few hamburgers with fries and milkshakes for Whumpee and themselves.

“There,” they said cheerfully, “that should arrive in about fifteen minutes. Come, I’ll show you the grounds.”

Whumpee didn’t want a tour of the grounds. What they wanted was to get the heck out of here, but since that seemed nigh impossible, they wanted to stay in their room and be left alone. When Whumpee didn’t move, Whumper patted the remote in their pocket warningly. Whumpee immediately got out of bed and stood.

“That wasn’t so hard was it?” Whumper asked, holding their arm out for Whumpee to take, “come with me.”

Whumpee took Whumper’s arm and allowed themselves to be escorted out of their room into the hall of a giant mansion. Whumper showed them everything, from the library to the gardens to the lab in the basement. Whumpee noticed all the exits had locks on them. Whumper was about to show Whumpee the home theater when they got a notification on their phone.

“Ah,” they said, “food’s here.”

Whumper went to leave the home theater, and Whumpee followed. Whumper turned and tapped Whumpee’s nose.

“Ah ah,” they said, “you stay here.”

Whumper turned again and left for the entrance. Whumpee stood awkwardly in the home theater. They wondered if there was some way to get the tracker and the shocker out. The pulled down their shirt to expose their shoulder. While the wound was all stitched up, it might be easy enough to pull the stitches out. Though it’d be painful, but nothing like being shocked all the time.

“Lunch time, Whumpee.”

Whumpee quickly pulled the collar of their shirt back up.

“Come with me to the kitchen,” Whumper said cheerfully, “we can eat these there.”

Whumpee noticed that Whumper’s hands were quite full with food, and the shocker remote was still in their pocket. Without thinking further, they bolted.

“Hey, come back here!”

Whumpee ran, pulling at the stitches as they did. They pit the inside of their cheek to keep from crying out. They had just reopened the wound when-

“Gah!”

Whumpee fell to the ground, twitching and spasming. The sound of footsteps made their heart drop into their stomach.

“That was a foolish thing to do, Whumpee.”

Whumpee wanted to bite out a snarky remark, but they couldn’t move anything of their own accord. Whumper strode up to them and turned Whumpee on their back. They crouched down on Whumpee’s level.

“You need to understand that you’re mine now,” Whumper said, “the sooner you accept that, the better your quality of life will be.”

Whumper’s gaze settled on Whumpee’s shoulder, and they tutted.

“You’ve gone and hurt yourself,” Whumper said, “I’ll have to patch you up.”

Whumper pressed down on the remote again. Whumpee’s vision went hot-white, then faded to black.

Part 4

Tags: @mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld

Ko-Fi

[blackrosesandwhump]

If you're doing gothic prompts, here's what the randomizer gave me, and it's a classic: dining room, and drugged. ^^ - forthetaintedsorrow-whump

Thanks for the prompt! :)

#29 Dining Room and #20 Drugged, from this Gothic prompt generator.

Living Statue

CW: forced drugging, creepy female whumper, Gothic whump

Still dripping rain, whumpee sat motionless in a high-backed chair, gazing blank-eyed down the length of the dining room table. The paintings hanging on the high walls around him seemed to be watching. In the light of the flaming candles, he could almost imagine they were alive. Or was that just his rain-soaked, exhausted imagination?

“So good to have a visitor,” said a muffled voice from the shadows. A woman stepped into the flickering light, holding a white handkerchief to her mouth. Her dress swept the floor; her pinned-up hair had come partly undone, sending loose strands of hair hanging around her face. Ghostly pale, her skin seemed to glow, and a shiver crawled down whumpee’s spine.

“I’ve been alone for so long.”

Whumpee pulled the blanket he’d found closer around his shoulders. Stripped down to just his shirt, his body couldn’t seem to absorb any warmth. He took another sip of wine. “Well, I—I thank you for the warm fire and place to sit down. You have no idea—” Should he tell her, tell her about his flight through the woods, about the—people—chasing him? “You have no idea how long I’ve been running.”

“No need to run now,” said the woman, fluttering closer with a moth-like delicacy. “I have plenty of space here. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.” She gave a small, timid smile. Whumpee couldn’t help smiling back, despite his aching body and growling stomach.

“Thank you.”

She tiptoed to his side, eyes fixed on him. Dark, unfathomable eyes, like two black wells. Whumpee shivered again. Those eyes…

“I can’t—I’m afraid I can’t stay long,” he mumbled, starting to rise from the chair. “I’m being pursued—"

“They won’t find you here. No one can. No one will.” She was standing right next to him now, whispering in his ear.

He started, sprang from his chair—and froze. His body—it wouldn’t obey—it felt ice cold, heavy as stone—he sank back down, gasping for breath, the flickering candlelight filling his vision.

“What’ve—what’ve you done to me,” he slurred. Candlelight. Firelight. Fire in his veins…a drug…the woman had drugged him—

“Is it really so bad to get out of the terrible storm?” The question seemed to echo in his head. “Well, statues don’t complain.”

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

This or That Gothic Edition Snippet 18- Snowstorm

This is also a continuation of gothic snippet 8- bedridden

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!

Whumpee looked out the window at the growing storm that raged outside. Snow fell to the ground in sheets, covering the forest in a thick, white blanket. Wind blew the snowflakes up into swirls, going this way and that, until nothing could be seen outside. Whumpee sighed, it looked like they were stuck inside for another day. They wondered where Caretaker was. Caretaker! Caretaker had gone out to gather supplies hours ago, and they still weren’t back. Whumpee looked out at the storm, there was no way a fire witch could survive in such weather for long. Whumpee clambered out of bed and put on their shoes. Hopefully they would find Caretaker before it was too late.

…

“Caretaker!” Whumpee called, but the wind seemed to swallow up their words.

Whumpee had been searching for quite some time, and they couldn’t so much as find a trail of footprints. Then. Whumpee saw it, a tuft of red fabric sticking out in the snow. Caretaker. Whumpee ran toward the piece of fabric and found Caretaker half-buried in the snow and clutching firewood.

“Hey, hey,” Whumpee said, dropping to their knees, “Caretaker? Can you hear me?”

Caretaker cracked an eye open.

“W-Whumpee?” they asked feebly, “what are you doing? You shouldn’t be out in this weather, you’ll get sick again, and-”

Caretaker was interrupted by a harsh shiver that rippled through their body.

“Come on, I’m getting you home,” Whumpee said, helping Caretaker to their feet, “can you make a flame?”

Caretaker held out their hand. A weak flame ignited, but quickly flickered out.

“Okay, no worries, it’s gonna be fine,” Whumpee said, “let’s get you back home.”

…

Whumpee shivered as they waited for Caretaker to wake up. They had passed out as soon as they got in the doorway, and it was a struggle to get them in their bed. Whumpee had lit a fire, but it did little to stop either of them from shivering. Whumpee’s powers had certainly been overcharged from being out in the cold so long, and now, they were paying the price for it.

“Mm,” Caretaker groaned.

“Hey, you’re awake, how’re you feeling?” Whumpee asked.

“Cold,” Caretaker mumbled, “is this how you feel all the time?”

Whumpee laughed ruefully.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Whumpee said, “you scared me back there, I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“’M not goin’ anywhere, Whumpee,” Caretaker slurred, “you’re still sick after all, and your powers are probably acting up since you went out in the storm.”

Whumpee looked at their fingertips. They were already turning blue. Caretaker shakily reached out with their hands and grabbed Whumpee’s. They let little flames dance across them, which returned Whumpee’s fingers to their normal color.

“Thanks,” Whumpee said, “stay here. I’ll bring you something to warm you up.”

Whumpee turned to leave; they were at the door when Caretaker called their name.

“Thank you,” Caretaker said.

Whumpee nodded.

“Anytime, Caretaker.”

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

This or That Gothic Snippet 12- Castle

Inspired by my answers for this post by @blackrosesandwhump!

“Welcome to my humble home, Whumpee.”

Whumpee stared around in awe at the inside of the castle. Whumper certainly had good taste. The stone walls were decorated with ornate tapestries, which were illuminated by candles nestled in sconces along the walls.  Whumper led them up a flight of stairs and down several halls until they reached a wooden door. Whumper opened the door to reveal a large bedroom.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” Whumper explained, “I hope it suits you.”

Whumpee tried to muster up a thank-you, but they were too busy staring in wonder at the luxurious bedroom. There were stained-glass windows that opened to reveal a stone balcony, and an enormous four-poster bed that had silk sheets and the softest-looking pillows Whumpee had ever seen. There was also a wide bookshelf filled to the brim with novels and collections of stories.

“I can’t thank you enough for letting me stay, Whumper,” Whumpee finally said.

“Of course, anything for you, Whumpee,” Whumper replied, “there are a few house rules though that you should be made aware of. You’re free to explore any part of the grounds except through the doors that are locked. Also, dinner is served every night at six. If you need anything, just let me know. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some business to attend to.”

Whumpee watched Whumper leave before setting their suitcase down at the foot of the bed. They would unpack it later; right now, they were exhausted from traveling and all they wanted to do was take a nap in that luxurious bed. After taking a quick shower and changing into their pajamas, Whumpee climbed into the bed and fell asleep as soon as their head hit the pillow.

…

When Whumpee woke up, Whumper was nowhere to be found. Whumpee checked the library, the conservatory, even Whumper’s bedroom, but there was nothing. Finally, Whumpee decided to check outside. They went to the back door that led to the gardens, but it was locked. Whumper’s words echoed in Whumpee’s mind. You’re free to explore any part of the grounds except through the doors that are locked

Whumper must not want people in their garden, Whumpee thought.

Whumpee checked the side doors, but they were also locked. Finally, Whumpee went to the front door and gave the handle a tug. Locked. Whumpee stepped back as realization dawned on them. Every exit was locked. Whumpee was trapped. Whumpee continued to step backwards until their back hit something. They whipped around to see that they had bumped right into Whumper’s chest.

“Hello, little Whumpee,” Whumper said sweetly, “going somewhere?”

“Whumper, what’s going on here?” Whumpee asked, “why are all the exits locked?”

“Well, Whumpee, I would have thought that was obvious,” Whumper replied, “it’s so you don’t leave.”

“You can’t just keep me here!” Whumpee cried.

“But I can, Whumpee, and I fully intend to. Now come along, it’s past dinner time.”

Whumpee shook their head and tried to make a run for it, but Whumper grabbed their wrist with superhuman speed. Whumper’s grip was like iron.

“Why are you doing this?” Whumpee asked, tears brimming in their eyes.

“Because, little Whumpee,” Whumper said, flashing a fanged smile, “I need you, and you need me. Come along now, the dining room’s this way. Humans do still eat, don’t they?”