#amow winter whumperland 2023

[amonthofwhump]

It's that time of year again! AMonthOfWhump's Winter Whumperland event runs from December 1-12, with a collection of prompts for your inspiration each day. To participate, create in any medium and share your works on Tumblr. Use the event tags or @ us in your post to get reblogged here. Prompt list transcript, tagging info, and a free-to-use post header under the cut.

1: Santa Claus

Claustrophobia

Forced Celebration

Panic Attack

Comfort: Secret Santa Exchange

2: Krampus

Sensory Overload

Temptation

Whipping

Comfort: Decorating Cookies

3: George Bailey

"We've lost everything we have."

Disowned

Drowning

Comfort: Christmas Market

4: The Grinch

Sedatives

Blackmail

Yandere Whumper

Comfort: Ugly Sweater Party

5: Ebenezer Scrooge

Power Outage

Time Loop

Overworked Whumpee

Comfort: Snuggling by the Fire

6: Jack Frost

Post-apocalyptic Winter

Amnesia

Comfort turned to Fear

Comfort: Snowball Fight

7: Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer

Inhuman Whumpee

Exile

Self-sacrifice

Comfort: You’re Not Alone

8: John Mclane

Held Hostage

Russian Roulette

Forced to Watch

Comfort: Rescue

9: Jólakötturinn

Feral Whumpee

Left Behind

Collared

Comfort: Wiping the Other’s Tears Away

10: Tio de Nadal

Conditioning

Left to Die

Final Countdown

Comfort: Holiday Traditions

11: The Yule Goat

Branding

Stitches

Public Whump

Comfort: Trimming the Tree

12: Elf on the Shelf

Trapped

Bedside Vigil

Used as bait

Comfort: Mistletoe (or avoiding it)

Event Tags: #amow winter whumperland 2023, #day1, #claustrophobia, (tag the prompt you're using)

And lastly, here is a post header to use for the event if you like. Happy whumping!

[serickswrites]

Jack Frost

Warnings: drugging, unconsciousness, captivity, creepy/intimate whumper

Everything was soft. And warm. And Whumpee didn't want to open their eyes. They were so comfortable. So peaceful. Caretaker snuggled them from behind and they couldn't be happier.

Whumpee didn't remember falling asleep. But that didn't matter. They were so happy. Sleep made everything hazy. Whumpee tried to rouse themself, to chase the haze of slumber away.

But they couldn't.

And that is what made Whumpee's heart pound. Why couldn't they wake? Why couldn't they move? What had happened?

"Shhh, shhh, my sweets," Whumper purred in Whumpee's ear. "It's all going to be fine. I've got you, my sweet. You are so beautiful when you sleep."

Whumpee tried to pull away from Whumper, but Whumper gripped them tighter. "NNNNNNN--"

"Shhhhh, shhhh. Rest. You need rest, sweets. You've had a big day. You need your rest."

But Whumpee couldn't calm themself. They had to get away from Whumper! They tried to pull away. Tried to wrench their eyes open and get away. The sharp sting of the needle had them freezing.

"I had thought you would sleep longer. My mistake, my sweets," Whumper cooed in Whumpee's ear as they injected the sedative. "Rest. I love to watch you rest."

And though Whumpee fought against the darkness, fought against sleep, they were powerless to the sedative. They once more fell into a deep sleep in Whumper's arms. "So beautiful," Whumper whispered as they stroked Whumpee's cheek. "And so mine."

[whumpookies]

AMOW whumperland 2023 day 4 title: the Grinch prompt: Sedative.

[wolviecat]

KRAMPUS

He would just let the medic patch him up, or maybe not even that. He knew how to take care of himself. But the generals had a different idea, and now he was standing in front of them, trying to ignored their shocked faces at the sight of the electoral-whip wound…

After Zygeria arc Rex because there is not enough Zygeria content

finally drawing from right year of Winter whumperland 😅 @amonthofwhump

[chaotic-orphan]

A Month of Whump: Winter Whumperland Day 8 - John McClane

Russian roulette // forced to watch // held hostage

LISTEN DIE HARD IS MY FAVOURITE MOVIE AND THERE IS JUST SOMETHING ABOUT HOW HE IS ALWAYS COVERED IN BLOOD THAT GAVE SEVEN-YEAR-OLD-ME WHUMPERFLIES OKAY!!!

Also I know it’s late, but time is relative, okay?

*~*~*~*~*

“I knew you’d come,” Whumper said with a smile, but Whumpee wasn't paying attention to Whumper. Instead their gaze was locked onto Caretaker who was being held by two of Whumper's henchmen behind where Whumper sat. Whumpee swallowed as they watched realisation dawn on Caretaker’s face. Black blood dried from his left nostril, caked and flaking down his lips. He had dark red bags under his eyes, that contrasted with his too pale face. A giant black bruise took up the bulk of his left cheek, his bottom lip split open.

He barely even looked like Caretaker anymore. Just a shell of who Caretaker was. It had only been two days… the guilt flooded Whumpee the moment Caretaker met their eyes.

“Whumpee no! No!” Caretaker yelled, wild green eyes angry and glaring helpless at Whumpee as he struggled against two of Whumper’s henchmen holding him. “I told you to run!”

“I couldn’t leave you here,” Whumpee said, voice quiet and cold, switching their gaze to glare at Whumper. “Not with them.”

“I do love a good reunion,” Whumper said, standing to greet Whumpee. Whumpee was stiff as Whumper walked towards them. Caretaker was anything but, struggling furiously in the corner his hands tied behind his back, the henchmen struggling to keep Caretaker down.

“Don’t touch them!” Caretaker growled, then suddenly threw his weight to the left and knocked one of the Henchmen into the wall. Caretaker was about to do the same when he saw Whumper grab Whumpee by the throat and slam them back against the wall.

Caretaker froze in place, half hunched ready to pounce on the other henchman but all he could do was look at Whumper’s hand around Whumpee’s throat.

Whumper glanced back at Caretaker knowingly, while Whumpee glared at Whumper and grabbed their wrist with both hands.

“Caretaker, do I have to explain to you again? Who holds the power here, do you need a demonstration old friend?”

“Whumper—”

Whumper sucked in a breath and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wrong answer, Caretaker.”

“Wait, Whumper!”

Whumper blocked Caretaker’s view of Whumpee with his body, smiling down at Whumpee like this was a professional hazard.

Whumpee threw their body forward and got two inches of leverage before Whumper hummed and slammed them back, their head smacking off the wall.

“Whumper! Stop!”

Whumper’s right hook connected with Whumpee’s cheek and they cried out. Whumpee could still hear Caretaker’s struggles behind Whumper, even over the sound of their own as they tried to push Whumper off of them.

Another punch went to the bridge of Whumpee’s nose, then their jaw, then their lips and then again against their cheek. Whumper released Whumpee’s throat with the final punch and let Whumpee slid down the wall sideways, cradling a hand to their cheek.

He didn’t let Whumpee slide all the way down, grabbing them in the middle of their hoodie and half holding them up.

“Now, Caretaker, is that enough blood for you to learn your mistake or do we need more?”

“You’re a fucking bastard, Whumper!” Caretaker yelled, grunting with the effort trying to get free of the hands on him.

Whumper looked down at Whumpee apologetically. Then he grabbed Whumpee’s head and slammed it against his knee. Whumpee fell to the ground crying out and then gasped when Whumper slammed a foot on their ribs.

“Hurt me! Hurt me, not them!” Caretaker raged, helpless tears gathering behind his eyes. Whumper pressed his heel down harder on Whumpee’s ribs who blubbered, before turning their head as they gurgled a spit bubble of blood before spitting out a glob onto the floor. “Whumper please!”

“Ahh!” Whumper exclaimed happily, immediately taking his foot off of Whumpee’s chest and turning to face Caretaker. “There we go, and they say you can’t teach an old dog new manners.”

“Tricks—” Whumpee corrected, slowly getting to all fours.

Whumper turned and kicked Whumpee to the ground again without looking at them, instead drinking in Caretaker’s struggles.

“Mmm, I have some tricks, Caretaker. You’d know all about that wouldn’t you? I learned some of them from you after all,” Whumper said, something simmering behind the words, looking directly into Caretaker’s fury filled eyes. “Y’know, Whumpee, there was a time when Caretaker protected me this fiercely. A time before you came along.”

“It’s not Whumpee’s fault you turned into a psycho, Whumper.”

Whumper’s nostrils flared as he smiled. “Why, Caretaker, do you want to take the credit for it?”

Caretaker didn’t say anything, just stared at the face of his best friend and saw a stranger looking back at him. Whumper hmphed softly at Caretaker’s silence then turned back to Whumpee who was on all fours again.

Whumper leaned down and grabbed the back of Whumpee’s hoodie, dragging them to their feet with ease even as Whumpee struggled.

“That’s it, it’s alright, come on now, we’re going to play a game. That’s it, settle down now,” Whumper said shoving Whumpee down into a chair. Whumpee fixed their hoodie with a huff, wiping the blood from their nose on the back of their hand. They never took their eyes off Whumper as he walked around the small square table, only big enough to fit two people sitting at it. Whumper took the chair opposite Whumpee where he was sitting when Whumpee first arrived.

Whumper grinned at Whumpee when he finally sat down.

“God, you look so much like an old friend of ours,” Whumper said, looking over his shoulder at Caretaker. “Do you remember Friend? They always had that wildness to them, I only noticed now with the smeared blood and the murderous glint in your eyes. Caretaker was the one to put them down,” Whumper said turning his attention back to Whumpee and winking.

“I don’t care,” said Whumpee, voice cracking after being strangled. “Me for Caretaker, that’s the deal.”

“Whumpee—”

Whumper clicked his fingers in the air and wagged his finger at Caretaker’s protest. “Caretaker I swear to god I will gag you if you interrupt us again. Do you understand? The last word I want from you is yes or no.”

Caretaker let out a begrudging yes, and Whumper smiled again. “Good. Danny, can you get something to gag him with, I feel like we’ll need it before we are finished here.”

Whumper turned his attention to Whumpee again, a dazzling smile on his face as he interlocked his fingers on the table.

“Now, Whumpee. Your deal is a good one, however, I don’t like it because it’s only half good. Either I lose Caretaker or I keep Caretaker but that means I don’t one of you.”

“You can keep one of us though,” Whumpee argued.

Whumper smiled. “Yes. I know,” he replied calmly, then leaned forward, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I have a better deal.”

Whumpee’s eyes flashed to Caretaker behind Whumper who shook his head before settling on Whumper again.

“Okay. What’s your deal?”

“My deal is far more favourable for both sides, Whumpee. I propose a game… a game of chicken you could say. If you win, I’ll let you and Caretaker go no strings attached.”

Whumpee’s heart pounded against their chest, hope fluttering it faster, harder, louder. They glanced at Caretaker again, whose suspicious eyes were focused on Whumper.

Whumpee swallowed. “And if you win?”

“If I win I get both of you.”

“No,” Caretaker said immediately. “No. Absolutely not, Whumpee walk away. Whumper—”

“Ah! Danny, just in time, shut Caretaker up would you?”

Whumpee stood up but a hand on each of their shoulders forced them to sit back down again. “Whumpee, don’t! Whatever it is don— argh— mmph!”

Whumpee shot up again but was forced back down and the chair pushed in further to the table keeping them sitting. The table edge pressed painfully against their ribs.

Whumper smiled at Whumpee. “Whumpee, I could just as easily take you both right now by force. You’re outnumbered. I could have killed you when you walked in the door but I didn’t, did I? Do you know why I didn’t Whumpee?”

Whumpee swallowed, eyes going back to Caretaker who huffed furiously around the gag.

“Because you’re a fucking monster?” Whumpee asked, raising their brows and dragging their gaze back to Whumper’s stupid smiling face.

“No. It’s because I invited you here for a negotiation in good faith. If you like we don’t have to play and I can just take you both—”

“No,” Whumpee said quickly at the same time Caretaker mumbled out something like a no behind Whumper.

Whumper smiled and sat back into his chair, smile turned smirk now. “So you agree to play then?”

“Yes,” Whumpee said again, not looking at Caretaker who cried out against the gag again.

“Good,” Whumper said. “Very good. Here’s the game.”

Whumper pulled out a revolver that Whumpee had only seen Whumper use once. Whumpee flinched back but didn’t go very far. Whumper grinned as he cocked the gun at Whumpee and Caretaker screamed and struggled with renewed energy against the Henchmen holding him back.

Whumper let out a soft laugh. “Just kidding. God, Caretaker, it’s so easy to rile you up.”

Whumper held the hammer and pulled the trigger before slowly lowering it until the gun wasn’t live anymore. Then he pushed his thumb against the ejector rod and took the round out of the chamber. Whumper then slowly turned the cylinder, and repeated this until all six bullets dropped rhythmically onto the table between them. The entire time Whumper kept eye contact with Whumpee, a soft smirk on his face as he watched Whumpee swallow back the lump in their throat.

“—umph—r—nn—” Caretaker screamed against the gag until the last bullet fell from the cylinder and into Whumper’s awaiting hand.

“You know this game Whumpee?” Whumper asked, cocking an eyebrow at Whumpee.

Whumpee’s throat was suddenly dry, so they swallowed again, before they replied nervously: “I thought you said we were going to play chicken.”

“A version of it,” Whumper said with a shrug. “Russian roulette. Caretaker, Friend and I used to play it all the time as kids.”

Caretaker had tired themselves out, now he stood limp in the hold of the henchmen, glaring daggers at Whumper. Even his stare didn’t have any real bite left to it. Whumpee looked at him with surprise written all over their face.

“Back when Caretaker was fun,” Whumper said, sliding one bullet back into the cylinder and spinning it with the palm of their hand before stopping it and sliding the cylinder back into place. Whumper grinned at Whumpee as he drew the hammer back, loading the chamber.

“I’m a good sport, Whumpee,” said Whumper handing Whumpee the gun. “You can go first.”

Whumpee went to grab the gun from Whumper but froze when they heard another gun cocking in the room. Whumper’s smile turned razor sharp.

“Just in case you get any ideas… if you try to kill me, Caretaker dies too.”

“I got it,” Whumpee said with an edge in their voice. Sick of all the threats Whumper had made in the last five minutes.

“Mmmm. Eager! Wonderful. I knew you’d be an interesting games partner.”

Caretaker cried out when Whumpee put the gun to their own head, swallowing hard. A shiver ran down Whumpee’s spine as they felt the weight of the gun in their hand.

If the shot was in the chamber they would be dead.

This would be it.

They never imagined they’d die from a stupid bet.

God this was so stupid, what were they doing?

Whumpee’s hand started to shake as the realisation slowly dawned on them. They looked at Caretaker who shook his head furiously at them, telling them not to do it.

Whumpee licked their lips trying to get some moisture back in their dry mouth enough to speak. “If I don’t do this, Whumper gets us anyways,” it was an explanation. An excuse that fell from their lips. “Thank you for everything.”

Caretaker cried out again when Whumpee pulled the trigger.

They let out the breath they were holding with a gasp as they dropped the gun to the table, trembling all over. Wild eyes went to Caretaker who had his eyes closed until he heard the gun clatter.

Whumper laughed and grabbed Whumpee’s shaking hands. “Look at that! That adrenaline spike, Whumpee! That’s how you know you’re alive. I barely get it anymore. Watch.”

As soon as the words left his lips, Whumper had the gun in his hand, while his other still held Whumpee’s and pulled the trigger without even blinking.

That stunned Whumpee more than their own turn had.

Whumper grinned and put the gun back on the table, then held out their hand. Whumpee’s eyes went down following Whumper’s movement but true to their word, not even a muscle twitched in Whumper’s hands.

“See why it’s fun now, Whumpee?” Whumper asked again, and Whumpee’s mouth went dry again, realising it was their turn. Again.

They had a one in four chance.

One in four.

25%.

Whumpee didn’t want to bet their life on the one in four chance that when they pulled the trigger they would die.

And yet, after seeing Whumper do it so casually, Whumpee found the familiar weight of the cool metal revolver in their hand once again. Caretaker mumbled out a pathetic “nnnuh” against the gag, but this time a strange calm overcame Whumpee as they pressed the barrel against their head.

They found Caretaker’s hopeless eyes and offered a smile.

“One in four. 25% chance I die, Caretaker. 75% chance I live.”

“Look at you, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed. “Playing the odds. I am so happy you decided to join me today. You are magnificent.”

Whumpee didn’t close their eyes this time.

They pulled the trigger.

The hammer shot against empty air and the recoil sent Whumpee’s hand back away from their head, letting their hand follow the movement to place the heavy hunk of metal onto the table.

“Safe again,” Whumper said, clicking his tongue against his teeth. Then he took the gun and Caretaker cried into the gag.

“-nuf! -umpr- s’enuf!”

Whumper paused this time. His eyes going to Whumpee but looking passed them.

“Someone take their gag off would you?”

Whumpee watched as someone drew the cloth down from around Caretaker’s lips and he let out a sigh of relief.

“Whumper stop this. Please. I can’t watch this. I can’t watch you die!”

Whumper didn’t move for a moment. “You mean Whumpee. You can’t watch Whumpee die.”

“I mean either of you,” Caretaker pleaded, voice genuine. “Please. Don’t do this.”

Whumper arched a brow at Whumpee. “Whumpee. Do you forfeit?”

“No,” said Whumpee. Whumper smiled.

“Sorry Caretaker. No can do.”

Whumper pulled the trigger.

Whumpee started forward, their entire body jerking at the sound. Whumper grinned at Whumpee and put the gun back on the table.

“What’re the chances Whumpee, eh?”

“Stop this! Stop! Whumpee! This is madness. It’s 50/50, you can’t logic your way out of that. Either you die or you don’t, please. Don’t. Whumpee please. Whumper! Listen to me, this is crazy.”

“I will gag you again, Caretaker. This is Whumpee’s decision.”

The words seemed so far away, muted from the blood drumming against Whumpee’s skull. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“Fuck,” Whumpee breathed softly. Whumper’s eyes glistened when Whumpee raised their head to meet Whumper’s gaze. “You let me go first.”

“I let you go first,” Whumper repeated with a self-satisfied sigh. His grin grew to a knowing smirk, knowing this was how it would turn out all things going well. “You should have played the odds from the beginning Whumpee.”

Whumpee swallowed, eyes searching for something, something in the back of their brain. Some way they could still win, get Caretaker and themselves out of this.

Whumper let them go first. They were an idiot. The only way they could have won was to let Whumper go first, then if the game played out as it did and they came to the second last bullet Whumper would have had to stop the game and let Whumpee and Caretaker go.

Fuck!

FUCK!

Whumpee reached for the gun. Caretaker cried out. Whumpee savoured the look of surprise on Whumper’s face.

“Fifty-fifty,” said Whumpee, not trying to hide how bad their hand shook as they pressed the cool metal to their temple.

“Whumpee!”

“You’re bluffing,” Whumper said with a smile, but there was doubt behind his words. A game of chicken, Whumper had said. The game only really started when there was two rounds left unfired.

“Either I get free Caretaker and I, or I die and Caretaker—”

“Gets taken in by me,” Whumper said with a laugh. Whumpee narrowed their eyes at him. “Come on Whumpee, if you’re gone I have to take my anger out on someone.”

“You said we’re playing a game of chicken,” Whumpee argued. “If I pull the trigger and die then I didn’t lose.”

“Hmph,” Whumper mused, and maybe it was the crazy talking but Whumpee thought they sounded impressed. "If you're dead how would you know I'd keep my word?"

Whumpee narrowed their eyes and opened their mouth to reply, but Caretaker was the one to break the silence. “Whumpee, Whumpee look at me! Look at me!”

Whumpee fought to keep their gaze trained on Whumper’s face as he chewed on Whumpee’s words.

“Whumpee!”

Whumpee looked at Caretaker with sympathetic eyes. Caretaker had tear marks trailing down his cheeks which stirred up a wealth of guilt in Whumpee’s gut.

“Don’t you dare sacrifice your life for me.”

Whumpee swallowed, trying and failing to keep their voice even. “It’s my life—”

“If you do this and you die, you’re fine! What about me?! I’ll have to carry that guilt—”

“It’s my decision.”

“Really building the suspense here, Whumpee,” Whumper mused, “I’m on the edge of my seat. What a performance! You can pull that trigger now and die, or you can pull it and force my hand to let you both go. What’s worse Whumpee? Dying or living under my care again, hmm?”

Whumpee hesitated.

Whumper continued, “after all the lengths and hoops Caretaker had to jump through to get you out, you just walk back into my arms. Could you live with that guilt Whumpee?”

“Don’t listen to him, Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “He’s lying.”

Whumper’s smile was knowing as he spoke again, “we both know I’m not lying Whumpee. Caretaker’s fate was sealed from the moment he betrayed me, and he wanted you to be out. To be free from me. You come back here, you beat me at my own game you both walk free, the only thing holding you back from this happily ever after is that trigger there, with your index finger resting on it.”

“Whumpee don’t! Please. It’s not worth it.”

“Do it Whumpee. I know you want to.”

Whumpee’s hand moved faster than they thought it would as they aimed the revolver at the henchman with the gun on Caretaker. Whumper laughed at the turn of events as the henchman behind Whumpee grabbed the revolver and snatched it from their hand, keeping Whumpee restrained all the while.

“No! You fuck! Get off me—” Whumpee cried as the henchman handed the gun to Whumper. Whumper took the revolver in his hand with a small surprised laugh.

“I knew you had it in you Whumpee, but to be fair, I don’t think I would’ve pulled the trigger myself. Let’s see, shall we if you would have died or not.”

Whumper turned their body and pointed the revolver between Caretaker’s ear and the wall and squeezed the trigger. Caretaker didn’t flinch.

Whumpee did.

The chamber was empty.

The chamber was empty... Whumpee could have done it. They could have freed Caretaker, they could have freed themselves if only they had the fucking nerve of it.

“Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “It’s okay Whumpee. I wouldn’t have done it either, Whumpee. Whumpee?”

“Were they all empty?” Whumpee asked, voice blank and devoid of any emotion.

Whumper smiled. “Of course they weren’t. Watch.”

Whumper pulled the trigger again and this time Caretaker flinched and fell as the shot went off right at his ear, knocking his centre of balance off. Caretaker fell like a stone but was stopped by the Henchmen from falling flat on his face.

Whumpee started when they saw the blood trickle from Caretaker’s ear, furiously pawing at the henchman holding them back.

“You fucking dick!” Whumpee cried as Whumper reloaded his revolver whistling quite happy to himself. Whumpee twisted and turned and tried to get the arms holding them off so they could scratch Whumper’s eyes out of his stupid fucking skull.

When Whumper was finished loading the gun he checked the chamber and lowered it so Whumpee could see there was a round loaded before cocking the gun and pointing it at Caretaker’s head.

Whumpee immediately stilled and Whumper stopped whistling.

“There we go," Whumper cooed. His voice no longer jovial and mocking, but back to Whumper. The scary Whumper that had kidnapped Whumpee and tortured them everyday. The cold calculating monster. "You haven’t forgotten your training, of course, you’ll have to re-learn some of it, but I think this arrangement will be good for all of us. Something new.”

Caretaker was still half held up by the Henchmen on either side of him, face pale, eyes unfocused. He wouldn’t be able to move suddenly if he had to, and Whumpee was too tired to fight anymore, the adrenaline leaving their body in the same rush that it came with until Whumpee was deflated, body exhausted.

Whumper uncocked the gun, drawing the hammer up and clicking the safety on before holstering it again beneath his jacket. He walked around the table to where Whumpee was still held sitting on the chair and patted Whumpee’s cheeks lightly.

“No need to be a sore loser, Whumpee, you agreed to my terms. Fair is fair,” Whumper’s hand tightened on Whumpee’s cheeks tilting their head up to look Whumper in the eye. “I get you both. Bring Caretaker to the car, Whumpee’s coming with me and Danny here.”

One of the Henchmen handed Whumper an extra pair of handcuffs that he turned over in his hand and clicked open, grinning down at Whumpee. Whumpee was dragged to their feet, Whumper taking Whumpee’s wrist and slapping the metal cuff around their wrist until it bit into Whumpee’s skin. Whumper turned Whumpee until their back was to him and tightened the other cuff unkindly tight.

To add insult to injury, Whumper pulled on the taut chain yanking Whumpee back unbalanced into Whumper’s chest.

The perfect place for Whumper to whisper: “can’t have you running away again, can I?”

Whumpee remained stubbornly silent.

“Whumpee, come on now, the silent treatment? Maybe I should get you a leash and a collar, like a dog so you won't be able to run, hmm? You know, this little game of ours is only drawn even now.”

Whumpee stilled at the words. “What?”

“I’ll explain on the way to the car,” Whumper said, pushing Whumpee forward to walk out the door, hand on Whumpee’s upper arm forcing them on. “I’m an easy man to please, Whumpee. I like to be entertained. That’s why I got you, you were so malleable and vulnerable. You hung onto every word I said just because I gave you attention…”

Whumpee bristled at the reminder of how they were before they met Whumper but stayed quiet, allowing Whumper to finish his little Villainous, victory speech.

“Now could I have chosen someone else? Yes, but they wouldn’t have the brain you had Whumpee. I could tell you were like me from the moment I laid eyes on you, and today has proven it. You were bored with life before me, and you needed something to entertain you. Something to fight against, something to live for.”

“So I took you. We have our fun, but you beat me. You and your clever little cunning brain found a way to defeat me, you used my best friend's kindness against me and you managed to escape.”

“That wasn’t a game,” Whumpee hissed, “you were torturing me.”

“And wasn’t it so fun? I bet you’re just dying to see what I have in store for you now, but our Russian roulette makes us even. I guess you could say that this is the start of our third game together; two worthy opponents, battling it out against each other. Except this time,” Whumper said opening the boot of the car and shoving Whumpee in. Whumpee landed awkwardly on their shoulder, hands restrained uselessly behind them as they stared up at a grinning Whumper.

“This time, I don’t have a friend you can use against me. They’ll be right there with you, a new contender. Extra fun. Aren’t you excited, Whumpee? Maybe this time the roles are reversed and now I have a friend I can use against you. Get comfortable, I've moved my little estate and bought some land in the country. It's going to be a long, long ride.”

Before Whumpee could reply Whumper slammed the boot closed and they were buried in darkness. The sound of the empty chamber firing no bullet replaying in their mind like a broken record.

"Caretaker," Whumpee whispered into the darkness, "I'm so sorry."

*~*~*~*~*

@amonthofwhump

[99point9percentwhump]

Whumpcember 2023 & AMOW 2023 combo freezing/left to die

[firapolemos05]

@amonthofwhump AO3

Day 2: Sensory Overload

Additional CW: poisoned, migraines, unintentional self-harm

Gajeel whump taglist: @blackberry-bloody , @ostensiblyfunctional

It was those fucking mushrooms.

The mushrooms Jet had stepped on earlier and accidentally got him gassed with a cloud of spores.

It had to be. Nothing else would make sense as to why Gajeel's head currently felt like it was being run over by a train. The fungus had smelled like shit but he'd trade that hell for this one any day.

Everything was too damn bright. Too damn loud.

The glare of the sun sharpened into invisible needles and turned up the saturation of every color around him to maximum. The too-bright grass. The too-bright sky. The eye-searing yellow of Levy's blouse.

“Gajeel? Are you okay?” he heard her ask, concern clear in her voice.

If that toxin had only been affecting his sight, he would've declined anything was wrong and moved on with limited use of his eyes. Annoying, but manageable with his ears and nose compensating and the rest of Team Shadowgear's presence.

But nope. The toxin was fucking over his senses in every aspect it could.

Of course it had to be him, as his shit luck would have it. Of fucking course it had to be the guy with dragon level sensory that already gave him migraines on a bad day.

Levy's voice, the crunch of leaves under Jet and Droy's shoes as they rushed over, the gusting wind, every single bird, leaf, bug, and brook within a half-mile radius. His own pained breathing and pounding heart. Even through his hands clutched over his ears, the cacophony of noise was ripping down the walls of his focus that usually protected his mind from being overwhelmed.

It felt like there was an electric surge under his skin and suddenly he had an acute awareness of everything touching him. The fibers of his clothes itched. The bits of metal braided in his hair scratched at the back of his neck. Something grasped his arm. Despite its gentleness, his nerves prickled and lit aflame as if it burned. That shouldn't have hurt. Why did it hurt? What the fuck was this poison? He couldn't stop himself from flinching away and uttering a low defensive growl from deep in his throat. Even that grated on his eardrums.

The touch recoiled and didn't return.

A sharp tang of blood stung his nose and only then did Gajeel realize his claws had dug into his scalp. A brief distraction before it blurred into everything else becoming too much. His chest was tight. It was hard to breathe. His brain was trying to break through his skull. It was too much. Too much. Too much!

Silence hit like the world pressed an off button.

For a moment, panic took over in the midst of his confusion, his head screaming oh gods did he just lose-

No, no wait. He could still hear himself breathing (at least through the persistent ringing). He could still hear. It's just everything else around him that had decided to clam up.

He smelled the other three around him, and with caution, opened one eye to test his vision. His head still hurt. At some point he must've fallen to his knees, as the ground was much closer than it was before. And darker.

Actually everything appeared darker.

Gajeel finally looked up, seeing the team's alarmed faces in front of him, Levy kneeling down close while Jet and Droy stood a little bit behind her. Close but not too close. He shoved aside the embarrassment to ignore again later in favor of wondering why everything was different.

It felt like a thick filter on a pair of sunglasses and he was not going to complain. It was a blissful mercy. The light was suppressed and while the colors were still a bit too vibrant, this was leagues better than the eyestrain of before. He almost asked about it when he noticed two tangible words floating above Levy's head.

‘Soundproof’ ‘Dim’

Ah. That explained it.

Levy's moving hands caught his attention and her fingers followed the gestures to substitute for spoken words.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

The assault of noise had stopped but Gajeel still hesitated before removing his hands from his ears to respond to her. Some sliver of paranoia expected something to blare out and send him reeling again, but he trusted Levy's magic to hold.

“Mushroom spores,” he signed. Making eye contact with Jet, he added, “the one you crushed a few minutes ago.”

The sound that left Jet's lips did not carry through the soundproof dome, but Gajeel could recognize a curse anywhere. A series of gestured apologies followed in quick succession. Droy shot the man a questioning glance.

Gajeel figured the two stood outside the range of Levy's magic, as the two exchanged words he couldn't hear before Droy began to address him in sign language.

“From the description, it was most likely a Red Screamer fungus,” he explained, and Gajeel almost laughed at how fitting the name was. “The toxin does attack sensory neurons and cause overstimulation, but it is temporary. It should hopefully wear off in a couple hours.”

Ugh. A few hours of this shit? For once he was grateful they chose to take a less intensive job that wasn't too time sensitive. It would've been a nightmare if he needed to fight off some monster or dark guild bastard in this condition.

The discontent must have been clear in his face, for Levy piped up. “If we make camp here and rest a while, I believe I can hold the spells for the duration.”

The nagging thoughts returned, trying to push him to keep moving and not waste time. That nagging voice that always lied to him saying he could walk it off and get work done. Key word: lied. The reality was that bad sensory days always burned him out and it was no different now.

A short, tired nod gave them permission.

[whump-world]

TW: manhandling, restraints, some physical abuse, implied future noncon, panic attacks, kind of a suicide attempt.

The Samhain.

The tunic is itchy, that's the problem. Arthur's usual red shirt was loose and the sleeves stopped at his elbows, giving him a free range of motion to hold a sword. This tunic is still crimson red, yet it's tight around his torso. The neck is wide with no drawstrings to help close it. Instead of the belt he used to have, there's a scarf that the attendant ties to his hips. It's itchy and he can't reach for things without feeling like he might rip the material.

Arthur dismisses his attendant. He would have liked a few minutes to himself but the soldiers at the door knock twice when he doesn't come out. He grinds his teeth and throws the doors open.

"Gentleman," he says, or rather, snarls, before marching past them towards the banquet hall. He's growing tired of the soldiers his father has dispatched for him. Morgana would say he's shifting his anger on menial details. But being furious at the king of Camelot is one step short of treason.

Said king, Uther, smiles broadly when Arthur arrives and beckons him to the table. "Son, come sit with us!"

Arthur walks past many of his knights and other noblemen while keeping his gaze straight. If someone talks to him, he might be sick.

It's the tunic.

The banquet is for Samhain, but this year, it's also for Cenred's arrival. Arthur doesn't spare a glance at the man and seats himself next to Uther. His tight-lipped silence doesn't stay for long because Uther shoots him a glare: behave.

It makes Arthur feel small like a child being scolded, but he cannot forget what this celebration is truly about.

"You are to be leaving with King Cenred after the sacrifice on Samhain."

Arthur, who'd been digging into his meal, frowns. "For how long?"

Uther drinks from his chalice. The prolonged wait makes Arthur confused.

"As part of the peace treaty's conditions, you won't be a subject of Camelot from then on."

Arthur puts his fork down. "I don't understand."

"King Cenred wishes to forge an honorable alliance with us. And as you are aware," Uther looks him in the eye, "it is not in our best interest to refuse."

"If this is about the famine, we'll recover. We always do, Father. This is my home. I can't leave you— or Morgana. My knights. Who will train the squires?" His desperation becomes transparent in that last question because they both know many worthy knights can step in for him.

"I didn't raise you to be so short-sighted. Yes, we did manage to survive the famine but make no mistake, winter will wash out whatever we have salvaged. Our kingdom needs resources and King Cenred is willing to provide them. Do you see now?"

Arthur has to blink back his frustration. "What will I even do in Essetir?"

"He would like to court you since you are of age. Then when the time is right, he has agreed to marry you."

The chair scrapes back as Arthur stands, outraged, hurt, and scared. "I will not be his consort," he spits. "I cannot believe you would ask this of me."

Uther stares at him in distaste, as if he's the one acting ridiculous. "You won't be a simple consort."

"I might as well be."

"Foolish boy," Uther slams his palm down on the table, "do you think you have a say in this? What is your duty as a knight? What is your duty as prince of Camelot? What is your duty to me, your king?"

Arthur steps back like he'd been slapped. Pulling rank is nothing new for his father. It's just...

Uther surges to his feet and grabs a handful of Arthur's hair. Ignoring the pained yelp, he sits again, dragging his son to his knees beside his chair.

"Please, father, I don't—"

"What is your duty?"

He doesn't look up. Arthur cringes as involuntary tears trickle out and fall to the floor. He tries to ease his hair from the strong grip but it only makes Uther yank his head back till he had no choice but to look at him.

"Speak."

"To protect my kingdom and my people."

"That's right. You can achieve that if you do as I say for once in your life."

"That's not fair," Arthur whines. "All I've ever done is for this kingdom," he grabs at Uther's thigh, "for you!"

"Your romantic notions of marriage and love are more important to you than I am. Your people can starve, as long as you get to live happily ever after with your true love. You're not even worthy of your title." He shoves Arthur to the side.

"You don't m-mean that."

"Prove me wrong then." Uther steps over him and goes to the door, leaving him there, alone.

Arthur can't sit here and endure his father's silent, scathing looks. He can't. After a few minutes, he quietly leaves the table with the excuse of speaking to his knights. Arthur doesn't actually want to see any of them, so when Leon catches him at the drinks station, he tries not to scowl.

"What is it?" he asks, expecting some report or hindrance that needs to be taken care of. Arthur won't be responsible for it. He'll be gone. Perhaps Leon will pick up his tasks. He's a fine man with a gentle camaraderie with most people.

"I heard—" he pauses, "is it true that you are leaving, my lord?"

Arthur takes a swing of his drink, nauseous at having to talk about it for the first time. He admires Leon for being able to confront him. Arthur is a coward. "Stay within your rights on what you can ask your prince, Leon."

He clasps his hands behind his back, a look of contemplation crossing his face. Leon looks sober and composed. Arthur hates it. He doesn't push it, though, and drops on a stool nearby. The pillar he leans back on is cold. His vision is turning blurry. He closes his eyes.

"Do you plan to run?"

Arthur's eyes snap open. Leon is sitting next to him. When did that happen? "What?"

"It is my duty to protect the prince of Camelot. So if you decide to... escape, I will lay down my life for you."

The word duty has Arthur throwing up on the floor. The servants immediately swoop down to clean the mess. Arthur's throat burns. He takes the water offered to him.

"Leon... I can't do that."

They wait till the servants flit away. Leon begins to whisper in rushed tones and it's gratifying to see at least one person care that much. "Everyone's busy tonight with arrangements and having to accommodate Cenred's party. I can distract your guards."

Hope should feel light and warm. Arthur only feels dread. "Cenred will blame my father. Then there'd be—be a war."

"It is not right—"

"You've been good to me," Arthur hiccups through it, uncertain if Leon can even hear him over the clamor and cheers of the celebration. "I won't forget that." He lurches to his feet, feeling more exhausted than drunk. Patting Leon on the shoulder, he says, "I might as well go talk to my future spouse."

Cenred and Uther aren't sitting together anymore. Uther is with a large circle of nobles, while Cenred is clapping along to a bard's tunes. Arthur walks over, nodding at the men who bow and give him room.

Surely, he can do this much for his people. Uther is right in his own way. Will one life ever be worth thousands? Not to his father. Arthur can't bring himself to smile at Cenred as such thoughts run in his mind.

"I've been eager to see you," Cenred says as he sees him.

"Likewise," Arthur says, somewhat mechanically. He puts his hand out for a shake, which Cenred grabs. But Arthur pushes him off when Cenred places a kiss on his knuckles. The women nearby giggle.

"Spirited as ever, little Cir-Mheala," he whispers.

Arthur touches the hair by his ear, heart racing. Cir-Mheala. Honeycomb. When he was five, his nurse had told him that his hair was as golden as his mother's.

Arthur tries to reign in his loathing, but Cenred snares him swiftly. He ruffles his hair with a smirk. "Fit to be by my side."

Smacking his hand aside, Arthur scoffs. "Aren't you a little old for a second marriage?"

Cenred ignores the jibe. "In two days, we'll be leaving. I want to take you to the market of the druids."

Arthur doesn't know much about druids, save for the fact that Uther hates them. "Courting me will be a waste of your time." What is he doing? Being on good terms with the king is his best option if he is to leave Camelot. But it's so difficult to be cordial with a man like him. "Why bother winning my affections when you force my hand in this?"

"I'm not forcing you," Cenred says, sighing. "Do you despise me that much?" Before Arthur could reply, he was jerked closer by the scarf around his waist. The older man's breath is hot on his face. "It's alright if you do, Mheala. Your fire is very appealing."

"Stop it," Arthur snaps. "Stop it, stop it, stop it!"

It's too late when he realizes how loud he'd been. He ducks his head and scampers out of the room, ducking and weaving through the stares.

In his quarters, he rips off the stupid tunic and kicks off his boots. Between words like duty and Mheala, Arthur feels cornered. A warrior would think of strategies and escape routes like Leon. Shamefully, Arthur can't stop thinking about his father.

He knows he's never been the best son, or prince for that matter. Disappointment from Uther is constant, no matter what he did. He'd tried, though. Arthur had tried so hard. He'd tried till he could swing a dagger in the rain and not miss. His father had to break his fingers a few times before he learned, but he'd learnt it, hadn't he?

Tonight, he'd tried to talk to Cendred, but Arthur failed. Arthur's chest caves at the thought of living out the rest of his years with that man.

He's holding a knife in his hand. Arthur must still be tipsy because he doesn't remember taking it out. The knife is sharp, the metal so familiar Arthur could recognize it in his sleep. He brings it to his face and changes his grip—

"What do you think you're doing?"

Arthur's grip on the knife loosens, but there's no hiding it. He lowers it, nervous. Embarrassed. "What are you doing here, father?"

In an instant, his head cracks to the side, the hot white pain in his jaw making him see stars. Blood joins the bad taste in his mouth.

"How dare you?" Uther snatches the knife and throws it across the room. "Coward."

"I wasn't—" Arthur stammers, clutching his face. "It's not what you think. I wasn't trying to—"

"First you insult Cenred, then I find you with a knife. I'm thoroughly ashamed of you."

As Uther calls the guards and yells orders, Arthur backs away to the window. The alarm his body feels is out of proportion, some part of him thinks. He is shaking uncontrollably. The terror in his chest is as persistent as a cough that threatens to drag out his guts. He can't breathe.

The soldiers tie his hands and feet. "No, no, no. I—I swear, I wasn't going to kill—kill myself." Arthur's pleas are useless.

Uther looms over him. "You brought this on yourself."

The next punch knocks him out.

[alpaca-clouds]

Winter Whumperland Day 12: His Weakness

Alright, the last story for @amonthofwhump Winter Whumperland comes in with the prompt Bedside Vigil. This time it is actually on the almost sweet side, given that it is just Astarion being very uncertain how to deal with something as human as a flu. :P

His Weakness

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Shipping: Astarion/m!Tav Genre: Hurt/Comfort

As Tav comes down with a bad cold, Astarion does not know how to care for him.

[whumpitlikeyoumeanit]

Winter Whumperland 8

((content warnings: kidnapping, captivity, beating, knife torture, cruciatus torture))

promptspiration: @amonthofwhump Winter Whumperland Day 8: Held Hostage / Forced to Watch

Whumper: ??? Whumpee: Draco Malfoy whump type: captivity, torture fic type: post-Hogwarts

More of a story starter, really...

words: ~600

-------------------

Lucius and Narcissa looked together at the contents of the package spread out on the table in silence. A series of photographs, a note, and a pendant filled with a pearly pink liquid. 

"Who's done this?" she demanded quietly. 

He didn't answer. He flicked the paper away with his fingertips; it said 'What happens next is up to you.' It provided no answers or further clues, no secret messages, no signature, not so much as a perfume or watermark. 

The photographs…

Each of them was of Draco, capturing about twenty seconds of time before they replayed from the beginning. In the first, he was bound to a chair, glaring at the camera, defiant and offended. The pendant was tied around his neck like a collar, and the liquid in it was white. They could see him snap something to his captor, but of course the photograph was silent and they couldn't hear what he said. Probably a threat. 

The second photograph was from much closer; a gloved hand took Draco by the chin, turning his glaring eyes upward to no doubt look at its owner, and then viciously struck him across the face. The pendant flashed pale red, and then subsided back to pink. 

The third one had clearly been taken after that; there was a dark bruise on his cheek and a black eye, accompanied by a split lip. They had beaten him and given him no healing. He still looked angry, but he was quiet this time, no longer talking back, and he flinched at something off camera. The pendant was solidly pink. 

In the next, there was a knife. Draco turned his face away, trying to avoid it, and it slid down his cheek, leaving a deep cut over his cheekbone and a line of blood running toward his collar. The liquid of the pendant turned dark red. 

In the final photograph, Draco was screaming and straining against his bonds, under the effects what appeared to be the Cruiatus curse, and the pendant's liquid was a sustained, bright, bloody red. 

"It's measuring his pain," he said, pulling the pendant closer on the table. It was warm to the touch, and heavier than it looked. But for now, it was only pink, the same colour as in the photograph after he had been beaten. "They sent it so we'll know when they're hurting him. They're leaving him alone, for now." 

"They still have him," she snapped. "Who?"

"I don't know," he admitted. He looked over the photographs again. All he could tell from the hand of Draco's torturer was that it was male. What little background was visible in the photos showed him only a blank, generic wall. That did not help at all. "There are no demands." 

"Obviously they want money. Pay them." 

If that was what they wanted, he would. And then he'd make them pay for their audacity. But there was no indication that this was actually about money. No demands, no suggestion he would be contacted again, no further instructions. Just blame. 'What happens next is up to you.'

"Lucius."

"I will, when I know who to pay." He spread out the photographs again, letting his eyes scan over the scenes of Draco's torture. 

Narcissa picked up the pendant, cradling it gently in her hands. He glanced at her face and knew better than to insist on keeping it with him. "I need to go out for a little while," he told her. "I'll find out who has him and bring him back." 

She watched the pendant for flickers of red and nodded.

--tbc--

[serickswrites]

Elf on the Shelf

Warnings: kidnapping, restraints, gag, threat of torture, blood, wounds, stabbing, unconsciousness, used as bait, rescue, hospital

Everything was wrong. Everything was wrong and Caretaker didn't know how to make it right.

It had started with them getting into an argument with Whumpee and Whumpee storming off, mumbling something about going for a walk to clear their head. Caretaker hadn't noticed how much time had passed because they were trying to clear their head. Whumpee had been right, of course, but Caretaker needed to cool off before trying to apologize. It was only when Caretaker realized it was dark and Whumpee still hadn't returned what had happened.

It didn't take them long to get to Whumper's compound. Caretaker knew that Whumper was using Whumpee as bait for a trap, but they couldn't leave Whumpee to be tortured to death at Whumper's hand. And so they walked into the compound knowing very well that they would not likely leave, but Whumpee would.

That was wrong too.

Caretaker found Whumpee bound and gagged in the center of a room with Whumper. Whumper loosely gripped a knife in their hand as they circled Whumpee.

"Let them go," Caretaker called, not daring look Whumpee in the eye. They couldn't bear to see the terror in Whumpee's eyes.

"You know what I want, Caretaker. Are you going to give it to me?" Whumper stopped as they stood in front of Whumpee, obstructing Caretaker's view of Whumpee.

"Yes. Let them go and you can keep me." Caretaker ignored Whumpee's muffled cries of protest. If they could do one thing right today, it would be to save Whumpee. They could do that.

"Just like that?" Whumper began to smile.

Caretaker nodded. "Just like that. Now let them go, Whumper."

"Ok," Whumper said with a wicked smile and they plunged their blade into Whumpee's stomach and pulled. Blood poured from the wound as Whumpee screamed in agony. "You never specified if I had to let them go while they were alive, Caretaker. That's on you for not using your words."

Caretaker lunged at Whumper. They were going to end Whumper. They were going to make Whumper pay. They were going to stop Whumper and get Whumpee to help. And then they could say they were sorry. They would never stop saying they were sorry so long as Whumpee lived.

Whumper was easily overpowered and knocked out. But Caretaker wasn't quick enough. By the time they had gotten Whumper settled and were ready to free Whumpee, Whumpee was barely hanging on.

"Baby, I'm sorry, hold on. Baby, I've got you," Caretaker said through their tears as they made their way over to Whumpee. Whumpee was slumped over in the chair, their front shiny with blood. Their eyes were barely open and Caretaker could see Whumpee struggle to take shallow breaths.

Caretaker removed the gag first. "I'm so sorry. Whumpee, baby, so sorry," they sobbed.

"'s 'kay," Whumpee whispered. They blinked heavily as they swallowed.

"Save your strength. I'll get you out of here. And I'll get you to a doctor. And you'll be right as rain. Just stay with me, baby."

Whumpee blinked once more as Caretaker began to untie them. "Almost there, just a little more," Caretaker murmured as they unwound the coils of rope.

In their haste to free Whumpee, Caretaker knocked the hilt of the blade. Whumpee screamed once, the terrible sound ripping itself from their throat, and they went completely limp. "Baby," Caretaker said as they tapped Whumpee's cheek. "Open your eyes. Baby, stay with me. Whumpee!"

But Whumpee didn't open their eyes. Their body slumped forward as Caretaker removed the last of their bindings. "Hold on, hold on, I've got you. Hold on."

Caretaker repeated the mantra over and over. Repeated it for so long they had to believe it was true. It had to be true. They couldn't stand the thought of failing Whumpee one final time.

And so Caretaker kept a silent vigil at Whumpee's bedside. They hadn't moved from the uncomfortable hospital chair that the kind nurse had shown them to. Hadn't moved from Whumpee's side. Hadn't moved because they couldn't. They couldn't leave Whumpee alone. The last time Whumpee had been alone, Whumper had taken them. And Caretaker couldn't let the enemy lurking in the shadows take Whumpee now. So long as Caretaker kept watch over Whumpee, death couldn't claim them.

"Stay with me, baby. I'm here. I've got you. You're safe," Caretaker whispered to the silent room. "Please, Whumpee. Stay for me."

[callaeidae3]

A Month of Whump Winter Whumperland 2023 - Day 6: Amnesia

"Do you truly not remember what happened? Your fever was high...and you thought I was someone else. Someone bad."

@amonthofwhump

[wolviecat]

Up on the Housetop

it wasn’t as hard as before, now when they left Kamino and didn’t have to follow the army time table anymore. But still - no matter how Hard Hush tried, Daze’s inner clock run out of sink with everyone else. I know this is 3 years old, but I decided to do advent callender this year again, so I need 24 prompts. So I decided to use @amonthofwhump 2020 prompts. clone trooper oc Daze, who is basically 50% owl and 50% Wisp the cat. . Also, in my head are all blond clones Rexes “kids”

[painonthebrain]

AMOW WINTER WHUMPERLAND DAY #4: The Grinch

Sedatives | Blackmail | Yandere whumper

@amonthofwhump

whump art taglist: @blood-and-regrets

[evilwriter37]

Day 1

@amonthofwhump

Prompts: Claustrophobia, Forced Celebration, Panic Attack

Rated: teen

Warnings: none

Relationships: Hiccup & Toothless, Hiccup & Snotlout, Hiccup & Fishlegs

Word Count: 1,149

Summary: Hiccup has a panic attack at the celebration signifying the end of Viggo’s siege in the Straits of Baldur.