#everyone is the whumpee and everyone is the caretaker

[icamefromthepinterestscreenshots]

Whumpee who, when rescued, doesn't want anything bad to happen to whumper.

Whumper who's in prison, on death row or being tortured by whumpees team.

Whumpee who keeps begging for people to be nice to whumper, to not torture them, to not kill them, to just leave them alone in a cell.

Whumpee who is so scared that they'll do anything even slightly bad and become like whumper, or become the living weapon whumper had wanted them to be, that they'd rather nothing happen to the person that had tortured them for months.

Because if something bad happened to whumper, it would be whumpees fault. And they couldn't live with that.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #16

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: heavy drinking

“You did what?”

Iris stared at Kit. When Kit offered to talk to David, she expected… well she wasn’t sure what she expected. Not this.

“He didn’t want help, so I promised I would if he changed his mind,” he repeated.

“I heard you,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “But did you have to make a promise promise? You can’t refuse that.”

“I know,” said Kit, an edge to his voice. 

“I get that you want to help, but I’m concerned. You can’t just promise things all the time. You’ll be compelled.”

“I know,” he bit out.

Iris stood from her chair, and Kit shrank back.

“I’m sorry. Please,” he whimpered.

She paused.

“It won’t interfere with our deal,” he begged, “Please.”

What was he afraid of?

“I just wished you’d talk to me first. That’s all.”

“Yes, Mistress. I won’t do it again.”

___________________

Iris sat back down, and Kit tried to steady his breathing. He gulped down air, and tried to ground himself with his palms on the floor.

Iris was still watching him from the corner of her eye, and he curled inwards.

“Why do you sit on the floor?” she asked, picking up another form. “It’s not like there’s an absence of chairs.”

Kit looked away. He didn’t want to say ‘because I got used to it’ or ‘because I’m a smaller target’ or ‘because I’m scared of you’ but these were all true things, and he could not lie.

“Kit?” He half expected her to compel him with his name with how angry she was with him before.

He worked the words in his mouth before answering. “It’s... easier.”

He could feel Iris’s eyes on him.

“Okay.”

She turned back to her paperwork, and Kit felt the weight of fear ease up on his shoulders.

They fell into an uneasy silence, the only sound the scratch of pen on paper and the clinking of the glass inkwell.

She moved on from forms to the stack of mail on her desk; tearing open envelopes and pulling out letters.

Iris frowned, scanning the first bundle of paper before tossing it aside. The next one got the same treatment, and the next after that.

“Toss these in the fireplace, would you?”

Kit nodded, getting to his feet. He gathered the papers and put them on the arranged wood in the unlit hearth.

“What were they?” he dared to ask.

“Proposals. Courtship offers.”

“Oh.”

“Most likely my aunt’s work,” she said, picking up an unopened letter and tossing it aside.

“Can’t you tell her to stop?”

“She wouldn’t.”

Kit hummed in sympathy. 

A knock sounded on the office door, and Kit rose to open it.

The door swung open before he could, and unfortunately it was Aunt Nicole.

“Speak of the devil,” muttered Iris under her breath.

Nicole walked into the room, past Kit. “Would you mind, dear?” she asked over her shoulder, smiling.

“Hm?”

“She wants you to step out for a minute, Kit.”

“Oh. Of course.”

He left, gently closing the door behind him.

Kit leaned against the wall, next to Brennan. The knight raised a brow, but said nothing.

___________________

“You shouldn’t be spending time alone with that disgusting creature,” said Nicole with a slight scowl.

“There’s no need to be crass, Aunt Nicole. Kit bathes every morning.” Iris didn’t bother looking up from her paperwork.

“You know what I mean. I hear he eats dirt.”

“Rumors,” dismissed Iris. “You know how they spread.”

“Exactly. Spending time alone with a man you aren’t courting is not helping your case.”

Iris put down her pen. “My case? You may want to rephrase that.”

Nicole looked taken aback.

“That’s no way to talk to your aunt.”

“And that’s no way to talk to your queen.”

Iris stood, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. She pulled more courtship letters from the pile on her desk.

“This-” she said, waving the papers, “needs to stop.”

Nicole wrung her hands. “I’m only trying to look out for you. If your mother-”

“Don’t you dare,” hissed Iris. “You aren’t my mother, and you don’t get to offer my hand to every man in sight.”

She tossed the remaining letters in the fireplace. 

“I know what you really want, Nicky. And you aren’t going to get it.”

Nicole stood stunned at her hard work getting tossed like the trash it was.

“I’m not getting married. Not now, not ever. Understood?”

“Yes, your majesty,” she said, terse. She turned on her heel, and stalked out.

___________________

Kit’s ear twitched as he listened in on Nicole and Iris. 

She was so angry with Nicole, and what did her aunt really want if not just a marriage?

“Are you really able to hear what they’re saying?” asked Brennan.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Mistress is very upset.”

Nicole slammed the door open and swiftly strode away.

They watched her round the corner.

“You don’t say,” said Brennan dryly. Kit snorted.

“Kit, come here,” called Iris.

He waved to a farewell Brennan as he obeyed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, cautiously making his way inside.

“I will be,” she said, staring down into the unlit fireplace. It was stuffed with letters. “Burn these. And fetch me some wine. A bottle, not a glass.”

“Yes, mistress.”

With an easy flick of his wrist, the letters caught a flame and began to burn. Iris stood watching them, a muted expression on her face, and Kit left to get the wine.

___________________

The wine cellar was just off of the kitchen, and Kit scanned the racks of bottles.

He grabbed two at random, and hoped Iris would like one of them.

She was still standing at the fireplace, the fire casting her in orange light like an autumn oak in sunshine.

Kit set one bottle on her desk and opened the other. He joined her by the fire and passed it over.

She drank straight from the bottle, a long swig that made him uncomfortable.

He was no stranger to drinking, but she was upset, and surely getting drunk in her office would not reflect well on her. Iris cared a lot about appearances, and having them cast aside so easily concerned him.

“Would you rather drink in your room?” he asked gently, and she shrugged.

“What’s the point? The kitchen staff saw you take the bottles anyway.” She took another drink.

“You’re wearing heels,” he tried again, “and this hall is carpeted.”

She took off her shoes and tossed them behind her. “There. Fixed.”

Kit said nothing.

Iris sighed. “We’ll go when the letters are ash, alright? You win.”

___________________

Kit put her heels and dress away as Iris sulked on the couch. 

She was starting on her second bottle, and drunk.

He pulled a nightgown from her dresser.

“Here you are,” he offered, and she tugged it on, pulling her bra off and out from underneath and tossing it away.

“Thanks. You can go.”

Kit didn’t leave, sitting on the floor next to the couch. She needed company, and not just because she was drinking so much.

“Today was awful,” she said aloud. “I think I really fucked up.”

He caught on to her train of thought. “Nicole deserved it.”

“No, I mean,” she sighed. “I told her I wasn’t ever getting married.”

“Good.”

“No! It’s not good! Why would I say that? Especially to her!” 

Iris took another long drink.

“You’re going to have a hangover,” he warned. 

“Couldn’t you just magic it away?” she waved, gesturing with the bottle.

Kit hummed. “I suppose.”

Silence fell as Iris put her feet up on the coffee table.

“I don’t want to get married,” she admitted.

“Then don’t.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“They could be,” he said. “You’re the queen.”

“That’s the problem. I need to marry well, and have lots of children, but not too many,  because I’m the queen. For the good of the country.”

“What about for the good of you?”

Iris went quiet. “I don’t know what that looks like.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale @bitchaknso @starfields08000

[meadowsofmay]

it's really interesting how vax is the caretaker in his relationship with the sister — he, objectively, one of the most beaten up characters both by the fault of his own recklessness and the unfortunate roll of the dice. and yet, the moment he gets up and regains senses he goes to check on vex, braids her hair and watches her, following her very step.

all the while spending nights at her door and for a long time not allowing himself a comfort of keyleth's presence after the most traumatic events. i am on the episode 61 and i genuinely want to make everybody see how much he struggles all the while understanding why he doesn't do so himself being so closed off and having "and i walk away" as his default way out of the situations when emotional vulnerability is required.

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

whumptober day one :]

(this is my first time participating in this so lmk if I tag or label things wrong lmao)

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.” Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

cws: none, I don't think!

“Let’s sit you down, okay?” Whumpee blinks hard, trying to reorient themself as they get pushed into a sitting position.

“This is stupid,” they mutter. “I’m fine. Really. You’re being dramatic.”

“Mm. I actually don’t think you’re being dramatic enough. How many fingers am I holding up?”

Whumpee drags their eyes up, trying to focus on the hand that was in front of their face. Six, they thought, but there weren’t that many fingers on Caretaker’s hand, so they let their head drop again. “I don’t know. Leave me alone.”

[jaeyleo]

LOCKS OR KEYS: PART 8

YOU CHOSE: OPEN THE DOORS- CONTINUE WITH CHASE.

Your decisions allow buried memories to resurface. This is overwhelming for your character, and his mind suffers from the weight of it all.

cws: flashbacks, dehumanization, non human whumper, whumper is also caretaker, electric shock, force feeding, eye trauma, mentions of a seizure, sick whumpee, mentions of hypnosis. lmk if i should add more!

. . .

Screaming, screaming, screaming.

Chase's head feels like it could explode. Too many sounds, too many colors, too many voices and commands and knives and soft touches and- and-

Pseudo hushes him, raking fingers through the puppet's hair. "Pink, dolly, take a deep breath."

But Pink isn't there. Chase falls into the hands of his monster, and finds himself in a new place. Somewhere deep inside his head.

. . .

Cellar.

"Please, p- please!! I can't do it, please!"

"Shhh. It's just a pop quiz, Pink. You'll do just fine."

Chase's arms are chained behind him, with ankles cuffed to both legs of the chair. Hot tears pour down his cheeks, soaking into clothes that are already soaked with blood. He shivers, freezing in the cellar air, terrified of what he sees in front of him.

Just a few feet away, Pseudo holds a stun gun. He sits in a foldable chair, relaxed and comfortable in his position of power here. He owns Pink, and that's a wonderful feeling.

"Tell me your name," he says.

"Pink!" Chase doesn't hesitate in saying it. He may as well be saying please. "It's Pink, Pink, I'm P- Pink!"

"Good," Pseudo praises. "Now tell me your age."

"T- twenty seven..!"

"Mhm. And how about-" Pseudo covers his eyes with his free hand, "the color of my eyes?"

"Brown!"

"Very good!"

Pseudo returns to his original position, with both hands placed leisurely on the stun gun.

"Now, last question, dolly. If you get it right, I'll put this away, hm?"

Chase nods, eager and afraid in the same shaking breath.

"What time is it?"

The puppet freezes. There are no clocks and no windows to tell the time in here. He wasn't told when they got down here, and he wouldn't know how much has passed. It all feels like an eternity of pain and blood.

He trembles, searching his mind for answers. What time was breakfast? How long did it take to clean the kitchen? When was lunch? How long did washing the sheets take? It isn't dinner time yet, is it??

"N- nn-" Chase begins to panic. His breath halts in his chest and he has to shake the terror off himself, like a puppy emerging from falling into a swimming pool.

"Can I have a h- hint??"

Pseudo sighhhhhss, lulling his head to the left, the right, the left, up straight again..

"Mmm.... it was about 4:30 when we came down here."

"A- and how long have we been down here??"

Pseudo chuckles at him, his stupid doll. "That's not a hint, dolly, that's just the answer."

A breath escapes the puppet's mouth. "R- right," he says, defeated. "Okay..."

Think, think, think.

He rocks back and forth, clawing at his mind to provide the answer. How long has it been? How long does it feel like? What time is it? What time is it? What time is it?????

"Um, u- um..."

"Come now, Pink. We don't have all evening."

A soft sob bubbles out from his neck. There's no way he's getting this right.

"Is- i- is it... i- is it um.... s- six- no, no, seven, is it seven?"

"Let's see.."

Pseudo pulls his phone out from his pocket, and flips it open.

He stares at the clock, and Chase stares at his monster. Pseudo lets the tension hang in the air, drinking in the sounds of his puppet's pounding heart.

"Is it seven??? I- hh??"

The monster shuts the phone with a click, and places it back inside his pocket.

"Six fifty- three."

He raises the gun, pointing at Chase's shoulder.

"N- no, no!! No!! I was so close, please!! Please Pseudo!! Plea--!"

Chase's words are cut short. He wails, tensing and then falling limp as the pain takes over his entire body.

. . .

Kitchen.

"Open up."

Chase's mouth stays glued shut. Each hand curls a fist into his sweatpants, a desperate attempt at keeping them down. Any minute now, he swears, he's going to take that stupid spoon and shove it down Pseudo's throat.

In his reply, Chase only shakes his head.

"Oh, come now, don't be difficult. You haven't eaten since yesterday."

When he speaks, Chase keeps his teeth clamped together. "I'll eat if I can feed myself."

"Nooo, you'll eat if I tell you to. Now open up.."

He presents the spoon to Chase's mouth, gently tapping the food against his bottom lip. The puppet finally accepts, opens his jaw, and spits it in the monster's face.

For a moment, they only look at eachother. Chase knows what he did is bad. He knows he'll be punished, but he doesn't care. He's going to be hurt anyway, right?

Still, this hurt could've been avoided.

Pseudo's hand comes around to slap the toy hard across the face. It's enough to almost send him reeling out of the chair, gripping onto the table and stomping the floor as not to go flying to the ground. Before he can bring his own hands to cup the sting across his cheek, Pseudo grabs the collar of his shirt, and yanks him to the floor.

Chase yelps, losing his breath as Pseudo climbs on top to straddle him. He hunches over the doll like an animal, a feral spark running around inside his pupils. Chase feels so small beneath him, like a worm under a bird's claw, ready to be swallowed whole.

The spoon comes to meet Chase's lower eyelid, still hot from the food that was so rudely spat back out. Pseudo presses the spoon down, ever so slightly, and Chase feels his eye shift in its socket.

"Do you need to learn your table manners again, pet?"

The puppet's hands clamp around his monster's wrist. "Get off!!"

Pseudo does not relent. He presses the spoon down further, causing the puppet to start seeing double, triple, a black spot where his eye contacts the top of the socket.

"You should answer me, you know. I could do some terrible things to you."

He presses further, and Chase digs his nails into Pseudo's skin. He feels as though his eye could pop right out of his head.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!"

"That isn't an answer."

More pressure. More pain. Chase feels air in places he shouldn't.

"Ah! No!!! Nono I don't, I don't, I'm sorry!"

"You don't what, Pink? Show me you understand."

"I--!" Pink digs his nails deeper into his monster's wrist. "I don't-- I don't need to learn table manners, I'm sorry! Nh- please!"

"Good," Pseudo croons, and slowly, slowly, releases the pressure on his puppet's eye. He lets a few moments pass before reaching a hand to caress Pink's face, thumb stroking gentle across the cheekbone that was hit. The doll shrinks away, closing his eyes.

"I want you to prove it, now, Pink. Otherwise..." the spoon draws a line, following the curve of Chase's eye socket. He speaks soft, higher pitched, like talking to a child. A puppy, a worm under his claw. "Do you understand?"

"Y- yes, Pseudo.."

"Good.."

Pseudo moves off, and Chase climbs back in his chair. He holds his eye and stinging cheek in his hand before Pseudo swats it away, reminding him table manners include no hands above the waist.

Pseudo sets himself down, too, and presents the food to Chase's mouth once more.

"Open up."

Chase opens his mouth. Food is placed inside, but he doesn't chew.

"....Eat."

The puppet obeys, avoiding his monster's eyes throughout the rest of the meal.

. . .

Home.

The house is happy.

Chase cradles his daughter on the couch, running soft hands through waving blond hair. A cartoon drones on in the background, capturing the little girl's attention completely.

She giggles at the characters, and Chase's heart swells with love.

"They're silly," she comments, turning her head to her father. A wide smile takes her face over, with one missing tooth to top it off.

"Yeah, they are silly, aren't they?"

He smiles down at her, and plants a kiss on her forehead. A small hand reaches up to tap the end of his nose.

Chase smiles wider. He is so full of love he can barely stand it.

. . .

Somewhere in Denmark.

Somewhere far away. Somewhere, where old love and safety and sanity aren't a guarantee. Somewhere deep inside his head, Chase is pulled up, up into reality.

He feels like he's trapped underwater, and Pseudo is the one to drag him out. Up, up, up, through swamps and moss and dirt, through water that's thick as clotted blood. His eyes droop, his bones fall limp, Chase cannot breathe with the pressure in his chest. The water tastes of soap, and a sourness that makes his teeth chatter.

He wants to sink again, into memories good and bad. Wants to be anywhere but here. Anywhere, somewhere, somewhere deep inside his head.

Chase groans, a migraine holding him hostage. The lights are too bright, even behind closed eyelids. His blanket is so warm. Is he comfortable? Too tired to tell.

He opens his lazy eyes, seeing his small attic room surround him. He feels sick. Horrible. Tears wet his eyes but he doesn't remember why.

Beside him, Pseudo watches him rest. The puppet startles when he sees his monster, and he tries desperately to sit up. He can only claw the sheets.

Pseudo tilts his head as the puppet shoves himself into the wall. The blanket provides a shield of false protection, and he holds on as if life depends on it.

"You had some scary nightmares, huh?"

Chase only stares.

"Mh. Well, you slept for a while. You even had a seizure."

The puppet's brows furrow. "Really?" he croaks.

"Mhm. Does your head hurt?"

Chase nods. Pseudo reaches out his hand, slow and steady. Even so, the puppet shrinks away, closing his eyes as if expecting to be slapped or clawed or scratched.

But the monster is gentle, brushing away pink hair to feel the doll's forehead. The coolness of his hand is comforting. Chase can't help but relax a little in his touch.

"You still have a fever..." Pseudo runs his hand over the puppet's hair, petting softly. "... Are you hungry?"

"No.."

"Liar."

"I don't wanna eat."

"It'll make you feel better."

"Will it?"

Pseudo gives a soft smile. He helps the doll sit up, gently hushing him as he whimpers and whines about his head swimming, his muscles hurting, ow, Pseudo, please-

"Shhhhh. It's okay, Pink.."

On the end table, a bowl of warm soup waits to be eaten. The monster takes a spoonful, blows, and presents it to Chase's hesitant mouth.

"Come now... eat. You'll feel better."

The puppet frowns, and accepts. Bite after bite, it feels warm and heavy in his stomach, warm and heavy and delicious. Pseudo was right. He does feel better.

They wash it down with cool water, and Chase breathes a sigh of relief at the taste. He may still feel sick and afraid, but he's not thirsty, not hungry, and not cold, and that's more than enough right now.

Pseudo pushes the empty dishes aside, and returns his hands to playing with Pink's hair. The puppet sinks into the feeling, sleepiness pulling down his weight. He feels comfortable. Sick, but comfortable.

"You've been anxious lately," Pseudo says gently. "You're trying to get back into a headspace that's not good for you."

Chase opens his eyes.

"I hate to see you suffer like that, Pink. It breaks my heart."

"I don't wanna be your toy.."

Pseudo sighs, stroking the doll's cheek with his thumb. Sweet thing.

"I need to run to the store again. I forgot my sugar."

"I- I can't, I don't wanna-"

"No, shhh. You're staying in bed."

Chase relaxes again, falling victim to the gentle touches of his monster.

"Can I trust you to rest?"

The puppet nods. He's too sick to get up anyway. Everything hurts, especially his head.

"Good doll.. I'll be back soon."

He plants one gentle kiss on Chase's forehead, and leaves him to rest alone.

. . .

As the minutes pass, the puppet finds himself unable to sleep. His head hurts, his body aches, oh, God, he feels horrible. He almost wishes Pseudo hypnotized him before he left.

While he lays there, Chase begins to wonder. He heard the door close, but no keys, and no starting car. It's no secret that Pseudo can travel long distances without transport, as part of his magic allows him to do so. Could he have left the car keys?

"No, no, don't think like that," Chase says allowed. He runs his hands over his face, and tries to get comfortable again. But the thought plagues him.

Did he leave the car keys?

Even if he won't escape, he could still check, right? Then at least he knows, and he can get some sleep. Yes, yes, he'll just check and see..

Chase drags himself up, groaning as a dizziness swirls the entire room around. A chill takes over him as well, and he reaches for the smaller blanket on the bed to wrap around his shoulders. God, he feels like shit.

Eventually he makes his way out of his room, leaning against walls and railings as not to go tumbling to the ground. Walking is a chore, and his feet ache with every step. Pins and needles climb up his legs like leeches, and he finds himself in pain with every. Single. Step.

Down the stairs, into the living room.

The car keys hang on the wall by door.

Chase freezes. He can only stare.

[tidalwhump]

Untitled Bloodbag Story - The Attempt

Previous , Masterlist

Taglist: @deluxewhump , @whumpycries , @mylifeisonthebookshelf , @whump-on-a-log , @pigeonwhumps , @annablogsposts , @d-cs , @melancholy-in-the-morning , @inkstainsonmyhands12 , @zillastar13

Warnings: Aftermath of consensual drugging, broken bones, attempted escape, mentions of previous abuse and potential future abuse.

Casper slept, his mind filled with drug haze dreams. Some were of his time at the vampire lair, some were of him flying or swimming, and some were of his old life, causing pangs of pain to expand in his chest.

He was surrounded by water, he was floating, down, down, but he could still breathe. He took a deep breath, the water smelt like salt and got darker as he sank. Casper started to swim up towards the surface, the light filtering through getting brighter as he approached. Instead of breaking the surface, he hit a clear wall, the surface of the water blocking him out. He slammed against it, but it was no use, he was stuck. 

He looked around, and down, at the water. There was nothing but the deep blue sea around him, so deep he couldn’t see the bottom. He spun around, hands pressing against the top of his boundary, looking for anything, something. But alas, he was alone.

Then he saw something in the distance. He swam towards it as fast as he could and when he got there, he saw it was a door. A door to the outside, to above the water. It rippled like the waves, but he could touch it, it was solid. He tried the handle, but it was locked. Casper looked around frantically for a way out. He pounded against the door as hard as he could and screamed out for something, anything, to save him.

— — — — —

Casper wandered the flat like a ghost, feet dragging as he walked. He couldn’t tell what time it was, only that he had finally slept off the effects of the drug cocktail and was back to his normal, pain ridden self. Every part of his body hurt, every ache different from the next. Some were a dull ache, some were sharp pains, some were shooting. Some of the pains only hurt when he moved, some were constant, but all varied in degrees and kinds of hurt.

When he stopped his wandering, he found himself at the bottom of the staircase. He felt trapped, suffocated. Casper looked up to the door at the top of the stairs, and thought about his boredom. Before he’d even realised it, he was climbing the stairs to the top.

He tried the door handle, and to no surprise, it was locked from the outside. His mind flashed back to the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt sliding into place, and he sighed. Casper turned to walk back down the stairs, but he only got a few steps down before something in him snapped.

He ran back up to the top of the stairs and started to pound on the door with both arms, ignoring the pain that shot up his broken arm as he slammed it against the door.

“Let me out! Let me out you bastard!” He screamed.

Listening closely, there was no response, only a silence throughout the house. In a rage he kicked the door, then started pounding on it again.

“Let me out goddammit! You can’t keep me down here forever! Fuck!” He kicked the door again.

Frustrated, but unwilling to just give up and be a prisoner down here, he sat down on the stairs a few steps down from the door, leaving enough room so it could open, waiting for Zola to come down so he could try and make a break for it.

He wanted out.

— —

The deadbolt slid out of place and Casper perked up, crouching on the stairs, ready to pounce. As the door slowly started to open he got ready, and when it was open he ran for it, pushing past Zola and trying to squeeze out between him and the doorframe.

Zola turned as he approached and stuck his arm out, grabbing him around the waist, picking him up under one arm and starting to descend down the stairs, closing the door behind them. Casper started kicking and screaming, wiggling in the vampire’s grip that crushed his ribs and made it hard to breathe, trying to escape.

“Let me go!” He wheezed.

When they got down the stairs Zola walked up to the couch in the living area and grabbed Casper, throwing him down on the cushions, then he put his hands on his hips, looking down disapprovingly at the boy.

“What was that?” Zola asked.

“You can’t keep me here! You have to let me go!” Casper shouted in between pants.

“And you’ll do what? Go back out there?” He pointed. “To a world full of vampires who know your scent like the back of their hands?”

“You can’t just keep me prisoner here! You can’t just do this!”

Zola leaned in, voice stern. “They know your scent! One trip out and you’re done for! That’s it! Besides, aren’t you the one that was worried about what they’ll do to you once they find you?”

Casper swallowed, looking up at Zola.

“I’ll — I’ll leave! I’ll flee the city and never come back! Move to the Muskokas, stay in my family’s cottage! And — and, I’ll find a job, buy a house there someday!”

Zola shook his head. “You think you can get out of the city fast enough? One night, one night is all it takes, and you’re a dead man, and I can’t save you.”

Casper bit his lip, trying to think of something to say.

“Well, not a dead man,” Zola corrected, “but a heavily abused, barely alive bloodbag.”

“You don’t know that.” Casper said quietly.

“What was that?” Zola asked, putting his hand up to his ear and leaning closer.

“You don’t know that.” Casper said slightly louder, voice wavering.

Zola raised his eyebrows pointedly. “I do know that. And you know it too.”

Casper went silent. He couldn’t deny what Zola was saying, Casper knew firsthand what he was talking about. Casper also knew what the vampires told him they would do to him. He sighed.

“So what am I supposed to do? Just stay here forever?” Casper sat up, resting his head in his hands.

Zola sat on the couch beside him. “Not forever, but awhile. Who knows, maybe one day I can hide you away somewhere far, far away. Europe or something. But for now, while you heal and learn to trust me, you’re staying here.” Zola put a hand on Casper’s back.

Casper lifted his head and looked at Zola. “How can I learn to trust you when you’re keeping me locked in your basement? How can I heal when you broke my fucking arm?”

“It’s for your safety, trust me. And that — that was an accident.”

Casper scoffed. “An accident, sure. How can a creature that’s centuries old not know how to control their strength?”

Zola went silent.

Casper let out a big sigh. “Why are you keeping me down here anyways? What’s so dangerous about upstairs?”

“It’s to keep you safe, no one can know you’re here. If they knew, I don’t know that I’d be enough to stop a hoard of vampires breaking into my house. Besides, their leaders are very powerful, you know this.”

He nodded, he did know this. “What am I supposed to do down here?”

“Heal,” Zola said. “You need to heal.”

“Healing is not an activity.”

“I can bring you some books from my personal library, if you tell me what you’d like. What did you do for hobbies? Before…” Zola trailed off.

“Pottery, ceramics.”

“Really?”

Casper nodded.

“Okay, well I can go to town tomorrow to get some supplies. Until then,” he stood, “I’ll get you some books, I assume you read?”

The boy nodded again. “Yes, I do.”

Zola started towards the stairs. “I’ll grab some books, and bring down some food later.”

Casper stayed on the couch, and just before he reached the stairs he turned back towards Casper.

“Do you… feel better now? I know this isn’t ideal, but we’ll make it work.”

“I… think I just need to digest this for a bit, if ya know what I mean?”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

[stars-and-blood-72]

Whumpees who have healed physically but not mentally. They don’t care about the mental pain and don’t take it seriously until one day they can’t take it anymore and breakdown

[icamefromthepinterestscreenshots]

Whumpee who when rescued gets handcuffed for their own safety. Sure, the people around them are simply trying to protect them, but they don’t know that.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #3

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: fear of non-con (brief) 

He was already awake when the knock came. Kit opened the door.

“Her Majesty wishes you to join her for dinner,” said the servant.

“Yes, sir.” Kit closed the door behind him. A guard was posted nearby, and how long had he been there?

He followed the servant, keeping his eyes down. There were so many people in the halls, and all the eyes on him made him feel even smaller than usual.

It was a good thing he had time to nap, because the walk was long. He couldn’t keep track of all the turns and staircases.

Eventually they came to a large room with a long table, not unlike the ones at revels. But instead of being laden with food and wine, it was very nearly empty. Only a white lace tablecloth and a candelabra at the very end, along with two place settings. 

Mistress was sitting at the head, and she gestured for him to sit at her right.

He obeyed.

“I thought we’d start off simple, with four courses.”

Kit didn’t understand what she was talking about, but he nodded along.

“This is your soup spoon” she pointed, “and then we move to the salad fork. Followed by the entree utensils, and then dessert.” Oh. Four dishes. That made sense.

“Yes, Mistress.” he looked down at the cutlery on the table. Silver, by the looks of it. 

“If you forget which one to use, just work your way in. Any questions?” He better ask, so he wouldn’t get punished so badly when he messed up.

“What if I can’t remember which one I just used?” If four courses was simple, what was complicated?

“You leave the utensils on the plate, and the servants will take it away when you’re finished. Now, do as I do.”

Kit copied the way she unfolded her cloth napkin, placing it just as she did.

Two servants came through the doors from what smelled like the kitchen. One with a crystal pitcher of water and the other with a bottle of wine.

“Tonight we have butternut squash soup, a seasonal salad with a honey vinaigrette, balsamic glazed lamb shank with white bean purée, and a honey yogurt panna cotta with blood orange sauce.” rattled off the servant while she poured them water. 

Shit. There was honey in two of the four planned dishes. Were they trying to get him drunk?

“Chef has picked out a white wine with notes of pear.” The servant with the wine uncorked the bottle, and held it near Iris for her to sniff. 

“Excellent. Thank you, Percy.” Percy poured her a glass, and turned to Kit.

“Wine?” he asked.

They didn’t know. Kit glanced at the queen, who was swirling her glass. He nodded, unsure if it would offend her to decline. 

He’d just have to avoid the honey as much as possible, and drink the wine. It smelled… alright. Almost like faerie wine if he ignored the bitter acrid scent.

Maybe it tasted better than it smelled.

The servants left, leaving the pitcher, and he hesitantly took a sip of water. Blessed water, clean and cool.

Kit avoided gulping it down, as it was clear this was an etiquette lesson, and making a fool of his mistress would have terrible consequences.

Instead, he sipped it slowly before putting the chalice back in its exact place. Not a hair off.

Percy came back, two steaming bowls of soup perfectly balanced on his tray. He placed each one in front of them, Iris first, and then him before leaving.

“I informed the chef to make all of your food without salt, and in copper pans instead of steel,” said the queen. 

“Thank you, Mistress.”

“Iris, when it's just us.”

“Yes, Iris.”

The soup was delicious. Kit wasn’t much of a cook himself; preferring to hunt and forage over the effort of building a fire and such. Of course, at this point any meal would taste fantastic. He copied the specific way she ate, keeping the spoon from clinking against the delicate china.

Soon they were finished, and Percy whisked away the bowls and replaced them with the next course.

“You don’t speak much, do you?”

Kit hesitated. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Queen Iris picked up her salad fork. “Do I frighten you?”

“Yes.” What was the point of all this? What did she want from him that required intimate knowledge of forks?

He took a bite of the salad; he no longer cared about the honey.

“I don’t mean to,” she said. “Really, I don’t.” There was that casualness again, but she was stiff. Like the servants were listening in and she didn’t want to be caught.

“Okay.” 

She smiled at him, and then suddenly smoothed her expression, reaching for her wine.

Was it an accident, or more manipulation? Either way, the result was the same. If she was kind to him to achieve her own ends, that was still kindness. He’d take it, and use it to his ends.

“What do you want with me?” Kit asked.

“We’ll discuss that later, when we're alone.”

His insides squirmed at the potential implications, and he ate to cover his discomfort. The honey was getting to him a little, more than it would if he weren’t so sick. 

Percy brought in the lamb. “Would you care for more wine, your grace?”

“Ah, no thank you Percy.”

Percy turned to Kit, and he shook his head. He hadn’t touched his wine glass yet.

The lamb was tender and made his mouth water in between bites.

“Your chef is very good,” he said, surprising himself. Damn honey.

“Isn’t she?” said Iris, her posture relaxing. “I’m quite fond of her. Between you and me, I think she’s trying to impress you.”

“Oh?” 

“Lamb is usually for special occasions or on request.” 

“She doesn’t need to do that. I don- didn’t- often cook anyway.” 

“Well don’t tell Christine that. I could do with a little spoiling.” winked Iris.

Dessert came too soon, with more honey on his plate. Kit already felt a little flush. He couldn’t afford to be rude, so he took a small bite of the dessert. The taste of oranges blossomed on his tongue, the perfect balance of tart and sweet.

Just for a moment, it reminded him of home.

The honey relaxed him, tension leaving his shoulders and flowing out of him. His head was pleasantly fuzzy around the edges.

Luckily for him, the mortal wine seemed to have the same effect on his mistress.

They finished the meal, and the queen stood. “Come,” she said. “We’ll talk more in my rooms.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

[hittingthebrainsfunnybone]

Whumpee has been conditioned in isolation for so long they don't remember their life before captivity. The innocent looking faux bedroom whumpee was sealed in was the only place they could remember ever being. They were never awake when anyone entered their little prison. They would have assumed no one ever entered at all, but to believe that they'd have to ignore all the hot meals, changed bedsheets, and... gifts.

Whumpee couldn't remember ever meeting whumper personally, and they couldn't tell if they loved or hated them. Whumper often left books or toys whumpee wanted, or foods they wanted to try. But they always came with whumper's notes, photos and momentos. Whumpee didn't exactly have much else to do besides absorb these intimate details of whumper's life and feelings. Whumpee really felt as though they knew whumper, from the details whumper presented to make themself look sympathetic to the ugliness underneath. It was a pretty good distraction from how little whumpee knew about themself by comparison.

But no matter how much they learned, whumpee knew they couldn't ever trust or truly be close with whumper. The person that had been drugging their food and holding them captive for years? The one that never showed their face whether whumpee was laughing at a joke or sobbing at night under the weight of the situation? Then there were the razors and needles. Just hidden around the room now and again for whumpee to nick themself before they disappeared again. And how could whumpee forget the days out of the blue where the food made them sick or delirious? Vomiting, terrified, feverish... bleeding, crying, or even just lonely, whumper never comforted them. Whumpee always had to pick themself back up alone. They refused to mistake whumper for anything but twisted and selfish.

One day it was just, over. Whumpee woke up in an identical room, but this was the first time they'd heard cars passing by on the street. The door to their bedroom actually just opened into a hallway now. But it wasn't like whumpee had anywhere to go. All they could think of was to track down whumper. They had no idea what they would do, except that they had to force them to tell whumpee why. And in case whumper really did abandon them, really did get sick of watching, whumpee had the perfect plan. They didn't remember anything about themself anyway so they would be whumper. Whumpee set out into the world going by whumper's name, and they had seen enough photos to style themselves like whumper without a reference. Next was getting in contact with whumper's friends- Whumpee was going to make whumper regret sharing that information. By impersonating whumper, there was no way whumper could ignore them and just disappear forever. If whumper didn't confront whumpee soon, whumpee was going to completely assume their identity and take over their life.

And soon someone did confront whumpee. Caretaker was pretty confused at first, they couldn't imagine why anyone would bother posing as them, a person with no money, power, or connections. It didn't take very long for caretaker to track them down, whoever this person was sure wasn't very careful, but getting the whole thing sorted out was still annoying as hell. The very last person they were expecting to find when they agreed to meet was long lost whumpee.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

Febuwhump day 3 ALT 5: Timeloop

Caretaker doesn’t clearly remember the first time they saw Whumpee die.

It’s not that it happened a long time ago, technically it hasn’t happened at all yet, but rather that the memory was little more than a mess of emotions and flashes of images that Caretaker doesn’t have the ability nor interest in deciphering.

They remembered that it’d be an accident, remembered everyone insisting there was nobody to blame, that Caretaker had done their absolute best. But more than anything, they remember Whumpee’s expression, wide eyed and growing rapidly distant, as they bled out on the floor. Caretaker could never forget that.

And then they remember waking up in bed again, their partner Whumpee snoring next to them as if they hadn’t just been declared dead a few hours ago.

Caretaker made no effort to stop the tears that sprung to their eyes at the sight. They held Whumpee close, pressing their ear to their chest just to hear the heartbeat. Whumpee had woken up then, confused but more than willing to comfort Caretaker after what seemed to be a horrible nightmare. Caretaker let themselves be comforted. They put what they’d seen out of their mind, but if Caretaker was a bit more doting than usual, then nobody would blame them.

Caretaker remembers the second time they saw Whumpee die very well. They remember how it was them who’d insisted on going into town that day, and it was Whumpee who insisted on driving. They remember the benign conversation about films they’d had with Whumpee as they drove down the road. They remember the harsh, clipped words Whumpee let out in the split second they had to react before the truck barreling the wrong way down the road slammed into them.  They remember regretting never having learned enough of Whumpee’s native tongue to understand what their last words meant.

And then they woke up again. With Whumpee snoring next to them. Again.

Caretaker doesn’t remember how many times they’ve seen Whumpee die, but they do know it’s inescapable. If they leave home, there’s a car or falling debris or something waiting to snatch their love away. If they stay where they are, there’s some freak accident at home waiting to do the same thing. And if they beg Whumpee, beg their loving and damnably stubborn love to simply waste the day in bed, they’ll eventually find an excuse to leave.

One day, or perhaps more accurately, one iteration of the same day, Caretaker finally asked what Whumpee’s final words on that second loop meant. Whumpee simply gave them a confused look, sleepily rubbing at their eye, and answered. “Look out, or something like that. Why’re you asking?”

They’d been trying to warn Caretaker. Whumpee had wasted their last seconds trying to warn Caretaker of the oncoming danger, as if Whumpee wasn’t the one experiencing a new horrible death every morning. If Caretaker didn’t already know that their love would die again, only to wake up with no memory of it, they might have felt embarrassed at bursting into tears in response to their love’s answer.

Caretaker remembers the first time they betrayed Whumpee. They knew they were doing it for their own good. They knew that they were willing to do anything to keep Whumpee alive. But sneaking those sleeping pills into Whumpee’s breakfast felt like crossing a line they could never come back from.

Caretaker had only looked away for a moment. In all the loops they’d endured, Whumpee had never had a reason to drive into the city by themselves. Apparently whatever damned curse that had captured them could make a reason. They didn’t need to answer the repeated calls from the hospital to know their love was gone.

Caretaker had tried the pills again in the next loop, hoping a stronger dose would simply knock Whumpee out before they could be tempted into danger. They don’t remember the moment they realized Whumpee wasn’t lying asleep on their bed, but they do remember not to ignore the dose remediation again.

Caretaker knows they will never forget the first time their beloved looked at them with terror in their eyes. They could never forget how Whumpee was jolted from their sleep by a chloroform soaked cloth being pressed into their face, disorienting them just long enough for Caretaker to bind their arms and legs together with zip ties. Caretaker will never forget that they were the reason Whumpee begged and cried, confused and horrified as they struggled against being carried into the basement.

Caretaker knew that it’d be worth it in the end. If it meant they could both see tomorrow, anything would be worth it. But they knew that Whumpee would never forget what they’d done to get to tomorrow.

[roblingoblin285]

Fall From Grace Masterlist Pt. 2 Electric Boogaloo

Day 31: Backrub

Day 32: Screams from across the hall

Day 33: Helping with food

Day 34: "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you"

Day 35: Forced to watch

Day 36: Handcuffs so tight they're bleeding

Day 37: Death wish

Day 38: Hidden injury

Day 39: Waking from nightmares

Day 40: Getting pain medication for the first time

Day 41: "This wasn't supposed to happen"

Day 42: Disgrace

Day 44: Unemployed

Day 48: "Just keep looking at me"

Day 49: Having choices

Day 50: Numbness

Day 51: "Stay still or it's going to hurt"

Day 52: "No matter what, you'll always have me"

Day 53: Magical exhaustion

Day 54: "No one's coming"

Day 55: Secret lab in basement

Day 56: Whispered reassurances in public

Day 57: Firefighter carry

Day 58: "Mayday, mayday"

Day 59: Rope burns

Day 60: Kidnapped

Day 61: "You don't have to pretend"

Day 62: Home-cooked meal

Day 63: Forced to participate

Day 64: Coughing up blood

Day 65: Courthouse building

Day 66: Sleeping in shifts

Day 67: "You didn't have to do this"

Day 68: Hypervigilance

Day 69 (Nice): "I didn't mean it, I'm sorry"

Day 70: Constant insults

Day 71: Starvation (Part 2 here)

Day 72: Breaking point

Day 73: Left out in the cold

Day 74: Protection in public

Day 75: Soft slippers

Day 76: "Why did you save me?"

Day 77: Human shield

Day 78: "I found you"

Day 79: Apologies

Day 80: Stomped on

Day 81: Catatonic

Day 82: Forgotten by loved ones

Day 83: Discrimination

Day 84: "Be careful what you wish for"

Day 85: Left for dead

Day 86: "Hold them down"

Day 87: "Run."

Day 88: Detonating bomb

Day 89: Crushed hand

Day 90: New, clean clothes

Day 91: Trembling with fear

Day 92: Help with paperwork

Day 93: History repeating itself

Day 94: "You won't survive"

Day 96: Dividing loyalties

Day 97: Conference

Day 98: "Do you trust me?"

Day 99: Panic

Day 100: Burned

Day 102: Holding them up to walk

Day 103: Headache

Day 104: Forced drugging

Day 105: Detested by peers

Day 106: Forced to eat something vile

Day 110: "It hurts"

Day 111: Train tracks

Day 115: "I don't know what I'd do without you"

Day 118: Sick at work

Day 119: "You weren't supposed to know"

Day 122: Respecting boundaries

[theonlythingimfuckingisstupid]

me? a touch-starved person struggling to write a touch starved fic?? neverrr

[woulddieforloki]

decided to write some feral loki shit today and obviously as such I spent 80% of my day reading whump prompts that were sometimes tangibly related to my fic except not really

[uniquezombiedestiny]

agh <- taking both psychic damage and healing from thinking about my ocs

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2022

Welcome to Whumptober 2022, in its fifth year of running!

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone new, WELCOME!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

With that being said, we’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators, see what juicy whump they’ve created too! We wish you all the fun!

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2022 Prompt List

No. 1 A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | "This wasn't supposed to happen"

No. 2 NOWHERE TO RUN

Cornered | Caged | Confrontation

No. 3 A HAIR’S BREADTH FROM DEATH

Gun to Temple | “Say goodbye.” | Impaled

No. 4 DEAD ON YOUR FEET

Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can’t Pass Out

No. 5 EVERY WHUMPEE’S NEEDS

Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

No. 6 PROOF OF LIFE

Ransom Video | “I’ve got a pulse” | Screams from Across the Hall

No. 7 THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER

Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack

No. 8 EVERYTHING HURTS AND I’M DYING

Stomach Pain | Head Trauma | Back from the Dead

No. 9 THE VERY NOISY NIGHT

Sleeping in Shifts | Tossing and Turning | Caught in a Storm

No. 10 POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS

Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

No. 11 “911, WHAT’S YOUR EMERGENCY?”

Sloppy Bandages | Self-Done First Aid | Makeshift Splint

No. 12 WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

“Mayday, mayday!” | Cave In | Rusty Nail

No. 13 CAN’T MAKE AN OMELETTE WITHOUT BREAKING A FEW LEGS

Fracture | Dislocation | “Are you here to break me out?”

No. 14 DIE A HERO OR LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BECOME A VILLAIN

Desperate Measures | Failed escape | “I’ll be right behind you.”

No. 15 EMOTIONAL DAMAGE

Lies | New Scars | Breathing through the Pain

No. 16 NO WAY OUT

Mind Control | Paralytic Drugs | “No one’s coming.”

No. 17 HANGING BY A THREAT

Breaking Point | Stress Positions | Reluctant Caretaker

No. 18 LET’S BREAK THE ICE

"Just get it over with." |  Treading Water | "Take my Coat"

No. 19 ENOUGH IS ENOUGH

Knees Buckling | Repeatedly Passing Out | Head Lolling

No. 20 IT’S BEEN A LONG DAY

Going into Shock | Fetal Position | Prisoner Trade

No. 21 FAMOUS LAST WORDS

Coughing up Blood | “You’re safe now.” | “Take me instead.”

No. 22 PICK YOUR POISON

Toxic | Withdrawal | Allergic Reaction

No. 23 AT THE END OF THEIR ROPE

Forced to Kneel | Tied to a Table | “Hold them down.”

No. 24 FIGHT, FLIGHT OR FREEZE

Blood Covered Hands | Catatonic | “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

No. 25 SILENCE IS GOLDEN

Lost Voice | Duct Tape | “You better start talking.”

No. 26 NO ONE LEFT BEHIND

Separated | Rope Burns | “Why did you save me?”

No. 27 PUSHED TO THE LIMIT

Muffled Screams | Stumbling | Magical Exhaustion

No. 28 IT'S JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG

Anger Born of Worry | Punching the Wall | Headache

No. 29 WHAT DOESN'T KILL ME…

Sleep Deprivation | Defiance | “Better me than you.”

No. 30 NOTE TO SELF: DON'T GET KIDNAPPED

Manhandled | Hair Grabbing | “Please don’t touch me.”

Alternative Prompts List

No. 31 A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL

Comfort | Bedside Vigil | “You can rest now.”

Ringing Ears

Whimpering

Dazed and Confused

Touch Starved

Ambushed

Sensory Overload

Protective

Made to Watch

Quicksand

Adrenaline Crash

Stabbed

Carried to Safety

Crutches

Emergency Blanket

Tears

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask - A link can be found at the end of this post. ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. They are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “bee”, you can create something about bees, about yellow and black striped baseball bats or bees on bandaids. It’s up to you.

Additionally, there are 3 prompts for each theme.  These are optional suggestions and can be used in conjunction with the theme, or as options/alternatives.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2022 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(theme number)

#bruises, #stabbing,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Keep in mind not to add “tw” in front but only use the word/trigger itself, because tumblr sucks)

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us, if you completed. This is based on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.14, #underpressure). If you post works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation :) Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe :)

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely! That’s like shooting two whumpees with one bullet :)

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle :)

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If it just conveniently checks the boxes, then please don’t. You can, however, add new chapters using one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, whoever you like to whump.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes,  but it only counts once

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you :)

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst focus ok?

Of course!

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

See this post

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?

No, sorry, but keep in mind that whump [see definition] is something very nuanced and different for everyone and emotional whump/angst is just as much part of it, as is physical whump and torture. So before you dismiss your idea, think about this.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we posted the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start writing early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

Just tag the word, ex. emeto

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

If you want your work archived on the blog, then yes. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want.  

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2022 tag

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box :)

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, tags are your best friend.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!