#febuwhump prompts

[chaotic-orphan]

Febuwhump: Day Nineteen

Prompt — “please don’t.”

*~*~*~*~*

Hero let out a sigh as they got home, closing the door behind them then turning to rest their head against the wood and decompress. They only needed a moment before they righted themselves and dropped their bag at the door and took off their shoes.

They just needed to see Lover right now, and then everything would be fine. The shitty day would turn good and Hero could smile freely again.

“Lover? You home?��� Hero called. They shedded their coat in the living room and left it on the back of the couch. It wasn’t like Lover to be home after Hero, their job finished at five everyday. Hero’s finished at six. Hero frowned and switched on the light in the living room.

Then they heard Lover’s voice flowing from the kitchen. “Yeah, we’re in the kitchen!”

We?

Hero wanted to groan and curse the sky, they really didn’t want to entertain any of Lover’s friends right now, but it couldn’t be helped. They sucked it up and walked into the kitchen with a smile on their face.

“Hel—” Hero began but the words and smile died on Hero’s face, fear gripping their heart.

“There you are, you didn’t tell me your work friend would be joining us,” Lover chided lightly.

“Hello Hero,” said Villain with a pleasant smile on their face. Hero was frozen in the doorway, eyes locked on Villain who was sitting at their kitchen island with Lover, a cup of coffee between their hands. “Such a lovely home you have.”

Hero clicked into a more confident posture, walking towards their Lover and kissing them before they walked to the kettle.

“How was your day, Lover?” Hero asked idly, thumbing down the switch and grabbing a mug from the cupboard above the kettle. Hero swallowed, they had a weapons stowed around the house, they could fight if they had to, but Lover was here.

Villain had taken it too far. Their relationship is strictly professional.

“Oh you know, same old, same old!” Lover said, voice light and airy. They had no idea what monster they had welcomed into their home.

“Does anyone need a refill?” Hero asked, pouring their coffee and immediately turning to sit beside Lover.

“No,” said Villain. “Thank you.”

“What are you doing here, Villain?” Hero asked once they had Lover within their grasp. “I thought you were working late tonight.”

Villain smiled, but it was anything but friendly. It looked so strange on Villain’s face that was sculpted from alabaster, cold and beautiful. The smile didn’t put Hero at ease, in fact, it put them on guard. What were they doing here? How did they find Hero’s house?

Hero had to remain calm. They had to if they were gonna get Lover out of this.

Villain didn’t look at Hero, instead they touched Lover on the arm with their smile that hid so much danger.

“Hero’s always getting on me to stop working late, but I can’t help it. I’m a night owl,” Villain said with a blasé shrug. Lover laughed and turned to smile at Hero.

“Yeah, that sounds like something they’d do. Always worrying about other people more than themselves.”

Villain’s cold eyes fixed on Hero’s, and Hero thought their heart was going to stop in their chest. “Yes. It’s something of a weakness I’ve noticed in them too. You care too much, Hero.”

Hero’s heart pounded against their temple as Hero swallowed, their mouth going dry. They didn’t know what to do. Lover didn’t know. They didn’t know who Hero was, well��� the Hero that Villain knew Lover didn’t. They didn’t know they risked their life to save the city, they thought they worked as an accountant.

“I thought it was a quality you liked, Villain,” said Hero tightly, their knuckles turning white from their grip on their mug.

“It was,” said Villain, tilting their head to the side, soulless eyes staring through Hero’s into their soul. “Now it has become a nuisance.”

Lover sat back, eyes flickering between Villain and Hero before glancing at Hero, brows furrowing in question.

“Lover, you need to get out of here.”

“On the contrary, Lover, darling, you should stay.”

“Hero?” Lover asked, their hands shaking as they tried to stand but Hero realised with a sickening clarity that Villain had compelled them to stay sitting.

“Please, don’t,” Hero pleaded, eyes on Villain’s as they spoke. “Please let them go, you can have me. I’ll do whatever you want, just… please.”

Hero was no match for Villain right now. They could barely string two sentences together but seeing Villain in their house. Their sanctuary and Lover having invited them in, Hero didn’t know what to do other than beg.

“Hero?! What’s going on?” Lover asked, fear now dominating their voice. Then they looked at Villain, that stubborn expression that Hero loved so much on their face. “You absolutely will not have them! Now tell me why I can’t move?!”

“Do you want to tell them, Hero? Or shall I?” Villain asked with a smile exposing their fangs. Hero’s eyes stayed on Villain, helplessness rendering them speechless. They didn’t want Lover to ever find out about vampires, let alone like this!

“Hero?” Lover asked, fear clouding their voice and it dragged Hero’s attention from the lethal monster at the end of the table. Lover’s face was too much for Hero to bear. “What’s going on?”

Hero swallowed hard. “Villain… is a vampire,” said Hero, their voice defeated. “They— fuck, Lover, they compelled you not to move.”

“What?” Lover asked, voice too high, too shrill. “What? That… what is this twilight?!”

“Oh god no,” said Villain with a smile, resting their cheek in their hand. “I was team Jacob the entire time. The Cullens… blegh! Vegetarian vampires? Boring. Although if it helps you to compartmentalise, Lover, you can think of me as a carnivore.”

“Please just let Lover go,” Hero said, voice hard. Villain stood from their seat and walked to where Lover sat, brushing their hair from their face. Hero could only watch as Villain did it because they couldn’t do anything against Villain when they were dangling Lover’s life in front of them.

“Don’t touch me,” Lover spat. Cold eyes met Hero’s desperate ones, a horrible smile on Villain’s face.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why Hero knows so much about me and my kind,” said Villain casually. “And since they told my secret it’s only fair that I tell theirs, right? Your partner is a vampire Hunter, Lover.”

Lover went stiff, frightened eyes going to Hero’s, searching for any hint that this was all a sick prank or a hoax… or— or some fucking game! Instead Hero didn’t quite meet Lover’s eyes and that said… well that said everything.

“They are a very good vampire Hunter,” Villain purred, leaning into Lover’s neck and sniffing before letting out a happy sigh. “Mmm, sorry. Adrenaline and cortisol just smells… divine… mmm, where was I? Ah yes, Hero is one of the best vampire hunters around. You should be proud of them.”

“Please. Just leave us alone,” Lover pleaded, their bottom lip beginning to wobble.

“Oh but I can’t do that, Lover. If you weren’t such a sweetheart and didn’t invite me in I wouldn’t have been able to put Hero is this awkward little situation, would I have Hero?”

Lover’s wet eyes found Hero’s. “I didn’t know,” they whispered.

“I know,” Hero said, putting a hand over Lover’s shaking ones. “I know. I’m sorry. I should have told you before, I’m sorry.”

“Apologies, apologies. You humans love to throw that word around. Sorry. Especially when you don’t mean it. If Hero was given the opportunity again they wouldn’t tell you about vampires, would you Hero?”

“If I knew that—” Hero began, but Villain cut them off with a hiss, moving their mouth to Lover’s neck.

“No lying, Hero,” Villain growled. Then they repeated the question again, slower this time. “Would you tell Lover, if the facts were the same until now?”

Hero whispered a defeated “no.”

Villain grinned. “Wonderful, wow. We are all getting along so well! It’s crazy what threatening the life of a loved one will do for you, huh, Hero?”

“Please, Villain, please! Let them go, they’re innocent.”

Villain chuckled darkly, stepping around where Lover was sitting to get closer to Hero. Hero forced themselves not to flinch away when Villain was but an inch away from their face.

There was an ephemeral other about them. They were beautiful, their skin flawless and pale, but not gaunt and dim. Their skin seemed to glow with health, as if they had been dipped in moonlight. A stark contrast to Villain’s dark hair that they kept swept off their face, highlighting the shadows of their cheekbones and eye sockets.

Beautiful. Dangerous. Deadly.

“I won’t keep us all in suspense any longer, Hero. The reason I’m here is because you’re a little too good at your job. You slaughtered my family, so now I have to make a new one, hmm?”

“Villain—”

“Speak again, Hero, and Lover dies,” Villain said calmly. Hero screwed their lips shut. “Good. I came to give you an offer. For the start of my new family I’d like to give you the honour of becoming my new fledgling.”

Hero’s eyes widened in horror, shaking their head because they didn’t know if they could talk or… Villain couldn’t possibly be serious?

Villain reached a hand up to cup Hero’s cheek, their touch like cool marble on their skin. “Come on, Hero. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it before. You could be stronger than your wildest dreams, young forever. We could see the world together. I could show you all my old haunts. We’d be unstoppable.”

Villain’s honeyed words floated through Hero’s ears like a whimsical song, almost nostalgic. Then Hero heard Lover whimper beside them and it snapped them out of their own thoughts.

Hero opened their mouth to reply, but Villain’s finger rested on Hero’s lips. “Ah. Wait, I wasn’t finished.”

Hero swallowed, glancing at Lover, then back at Villain and nodded.

Villain’s next words destroyed them. “If you do not become my first new fledgling, then your darling Lover will.”

Hero stared up at Villain, shock flooding their system. Lover cried out a desperate: “no! No! Hero don’t you dare! I’ll never forgive you if you do!”

Hero didn’t realise but Villain gently manoeuvred them so Villain was between Hero and Lover, Hero’s hand pulled from Lover’s as Lover wailed behind Villain. Keeping all of Hero’s attention on Villain, just how Villain liked it.

Villain smiled down at Hero, and for a moment it looked genuine as they brushed hair from Hero’s head.

“I can make Lover forget. Make it like you were never here, they don’t have to know about me. About vampires, about you… you could save them an eternity of questions and hatred, on the run from hunters.”

“Hero don’t listen to them!” Lover said very distantly.

Hero opened their mouth then closed it again. They licked their lips, trying to get moisture back in their body but they just felt numb and cold.

“Can… can I say goodbye?”

Lover cried out as if they just found out that Hero was dead, like a mourner at a funeral. “No! No! No! Hero, I’ll know! I’ll know and I’ll never forgive you,” Lover wept, sobs wracking through their entire body.

Villain didn’t move or let Hero go.

“Is that a yes, Hero?”

Tears formed in Hero’s eyes at the question.

“Please… just let me say goodbye.”

“Is that a yes Hero?” Villain pressed.

“Yes!” Hero cried furiously. Then again meekly, “yes. Please, just please don’t hurt them.”

“If I have your word, Hero. You have mine.”

Lover’s sobs sent chills down Hero’s spine.

Hero swallowed, then tried their best to steel their expression. “You have my word.”

[febuwhump]

FEBUWHUMP 2025 PROMPT LIST

this year's prompts were chosen through an open suggestion poll (in which we received over 4,000 prompts) and a subsequent vote, where 5,019 votes were submitted. the top 28 make up the core prompts, and the febuwhump mod's favourites that remain have become the alternates. the first prompt in the 28, "vocal chords", was our number one prompt of the vote, with 1,625 total votes.

i am so insanely excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and i hope they're inspiring enough to trigger a whole month's worth of creativity for you!

as an extra added challenge, some creators will be undertaking another, smaller goal, of including apples in each of their prompt fills as an ode to the wildly popular prompt suggestion of "apples" that didn't make it through to the poll. this is totally optional, but is a good extra challenge if you'd like to take part in it!

if you have any questions, please check out the faq before sending an ask, or skim the blog's previously asked questions to see if your question has already been answered.

please note: notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form released towards the end of febuwhump, and if you are interested in joining the febuwhmp discord server, the link will be available to do so for one week towards the end of january.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

FEBUWHUMP 2025 PROMPTS:

DAY 1: vocal chords

DAY 2: holding back tears

DAY 3: pinned down

DAY 4: hivemind

DAY 5: not trusting reality

DAY 6: forced to stay awake

DAY 7: alternate timeline self

DAY 8: bleeding out

DAY 9: necromancy

DAY 10: magic exhaustion

DAY 11: demonic possession

DAY 12: used as practice

DAY 13: “i don’t trust anyone else”

DAY 14: becoming the monster

DAY 15: icarus

DAY 16: eaten alive

DAY 17: power instability

DAY 18: living weapon

DAY 19: death wish

DAY 20: “i did good right?”

DAY 21: put on display

DAY 22: “grab the little one”

DAY 23: gunshot wound

DAY 24: forced to beg

DAY 25: bound and gagged

DAY 26: concealing an injury

DAY 27: post-victory collapse

DAY 28: recovery

ALTERNATE PROMPTS:

is there a specific day’s prompt you don’t want to fill? here are ten alternatives you can switch them out for!

ALT 1: major character death

ALT 2: blowtorch

ALT 3: pick who dies

ALT 4: body swap

ALT 5: die a hero

ALT 6: emergency surgery

ALT 7: body horror

ALT 8: on the run

ALT 9: in another life

ALT 10: feeding tube

RULES:

soft rules:

prompts should be answered in the form of whump

creators can produce any kind of media they want

you don't have to complete all the prompts to take part

you can use the prompts after the event ends

you can complete them in tandem with any other event

you can post to any platform you want, however this blog will only be sharing links and prompt fills posted to tumblr

if you want to be featured on the hall of fame, you must inform this blog by the 3rd of march that you have completed all of the days using the provided form

if you have questions, consult the faq before asking

hard rules:

to be a completionist, you must complete all 28 prompts, in order, in whatever medium you want, before the end of the event

(specifically for being featured on the blog)

when uploading febuwhump content to tumblr, please use the tags:

febuwhump (or febuwhump2025)

the relevant day's tag e.g. febuwhumpday1, febuwhumpday2...

nsfw (if relevant)

any important trigger warnings

you can also tag the blog: @febuwhump

I cannot guarantee your work will be archived on the blog. a random selection of properly tagged works will be reblogged every day of february.

[awzominator]

Febuwhump day 14: Becoming the monster

Talk about a wake up call! Literally this moment was so insane Poor Cass!!

[promptsbytaurie]

Character A gets hurt and thinks they'll be abandoned for it, but isn't directly stating it. Character B is trying to get them medical help, even as Character A is urging them to just leave already.

man, do i live for these kinds of asks. sorry about the late answer !! i hope you enjoy and have a very happy febuwhump <3

dialogue prompts for ~injury~ PART THREE!

"'m fine, I promise, 's just a scratch."

"You don't--you don't have to stay."

"I can make it out, go back."

"Just go, I'm alright, please."

"You need a doctor, now."

"....You think I'm gonna leave you here?"

"I want to help. Please."

"What hurts?" "...everything."

"Stop pushing me away! You're hurt!"

"I'm not worth it, go. Go!"

"You have to help the others."

"Leave, please, you need to leave."

"They need medical attention, don't let them push you away."

"I've had worse." "And that's why I'm angry."

"I'm not here because I'm being forced. I want to help you. Please let me."

"Why won't you let me help you?" "...because I don't deserve it."

"This is a waste of medical supplies."

"It's not bad, it's—it's not—"

"You do too much for me."

"I hate it when you're hurt."

"Let me lift you. Please. No! Someone help me lift them!"

"You deserve to be helped, I—who told you this?"

"You don't have to be alone."

"Let me do this for you."

"It's not a big deal, I'll live."

"They tried to push me away while they were actively bleeding out."

"'S not that much blood."

"I'm not weak." "I never said you were."

"Don't waste your time on me, are you kidding?"

"I just want you to be okay."

"I'll take care of you as much as you need. No matter what."

happy febuwhump, writers!!

[chaoticdreamers-world]

day 05 - not trusting reality

"Go to sleep, Whumpee."

"They're coming for me. I know it."

"For one last time - nothing's coming! We've checked the perimeter, the cameras are off, and we've been patrolling for hours! You need to snap out of this delusion, Whumpee."

"Do you think I'm imagining things?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you think it."

Caretaker stayed silent.  

[macknus]

Febuwhump: Day Three

Prompt: Pinned Down

Febuwhump Masterpost

Whumpee ran. Sprinted through Whumper’s camp, feeling the cold, packed damp earth slapping beneath his feet was disgustingly wonderful. A feeling he didn’t think he’d ever miss, no… but here he was, breathless from the run, already exhausted from weeks of being captured and subdued, beaten and grounded and starved. His lungs screamed at him to stop, his muscles clenching as if he was ten sets into a workout, but Whumpee continued running.

A small crazed smile on his lips as he felt the wind on his face, rushing through his damp hair that Whumper kept tied back. The first thing Whumpee did when he got free was take that blasted bobbin from his hair and let his shoulder length raven birds nest free. He felt… oh gods, he felt alive.

He cleared the camp paths, rushing out of the alleyways packed with tents like buildings on either side and when he emerged onto the field that their camp was on he finally— after weeks that felt like years, stretched his white, feathered wings and continued to run.

Damn the ache in his back from spreading them.

Damn the stiffness of his limbs as he stretched them out to their full wingspan. He felt whole again now that they were no longer chained to his back at awkward angles.

He swallowed the cheers, the hollers, the whoops that threatened to spill out of his mouth from the relief, but he wasn’t out for the woods yet. He still had to clear Whumper’s camp before he risked making any more noise than is necessary.

He beat his wings after the stiffness faded to mere pins and needles. He was skinner than before, even if they were a little out of practice, they would hold him in the skies until he was free. They had never failed him before. And with the cool night air on his cheeks, the sable night sky calling to him, the stars winking, beckoning him to the heavens, Whumpee beat his wings, once, twice, then he was up.

He faltered a bit as he tried to steady himself in the air, a single, breath denying moment of a stumble as he fell through the air. But his wings caught and he wasn’t out for flying— he was—

He was FLYING!

He didn’t care as hot tears rolled down his cheeks, whipped away by the wind as he soared high above his prison, Whumper’s vile camp.

He was— he was actually going to be free…

And then he flew straight into a wall. Whumpee blinked, stunned as his body slammed against it— but it was just open air. Open sky.

“No,” he muttered, slamming his hand against it and a ripple whirled against the invisible barrier. The same barriers that Whumper’s sadistic Right Hand could weave. “No! No, NO!”

He pushed and clawed against the barrier and glanced up. He tried to fly above its edge, the impenetrable wall meeting a ceiling and he cursed.

“No! No! No! Come on,” he cried, pushing with all his strength against the barrier. There had to be a weak spot. There had to be.

“Do you know what the real kicker is?” A cold voice asked from below. Whumpee froze physically, while his insides raged against a storm. His heartbeat hammered against his chest, sweat forming on his brow, his chest, his back from the exertion. Whumpee trembled as he tilted his head down to see Whumper directly below him. Whumper met Whumpee’s gaze with a cruel smile as he stepped past the barrier that kept Whumpee trapped within the confines of the camp. “It only works on you, darling. It helps to keep your pesky friends out, and your defiant, ungrateful self in. Exactly how I want you.”

Whumpee snarled. “I’m not coming down. I’m not letting you chain me up again.”

Whumper stepped back into the barrier, all humour gone from his sharp, angular face, but his eyes glinted with a dark promise. “Good thing I don’t need your permission then, isn’t it?”

With a click of his fingers a spear appeared in his hand and Whumpee paled. Whumper tossed the spear in his hand, getting the weight of it in his fingers as he assessed Whumpee above.

“You can either come down here, now, or I’ll bring you down, boy.”

Whumpee glanced around the camp, but there was nobody else out of bed. Only Whumper. He could fly to the opposite end, avoid his attacks and then what? He couldn’t leave! Spelled to remain—

Before Whumpee could finish the thought he felt the whistle of the spear through the air and he rolled, barely dodging the blow in time. The spear ran straight through the barrier like a mocking taunt, but Whumpee couldn’t focus on that as Whumper summoned another spear into his hand.

“This one won’t miss. One last chance, Whumpee,” Whumper sang. His voice like gravel, echoing shards of ice through Whumpee’s ears and sending shivers down his spine. Whumpee knew how good Whumper’s aim was, and he didn’t want his wings to be speared which is exactly what Whumper would do.

Whumpee hung his head, wings beating against the air to keep him up. “Okay,” he said, hands balling into fists at his sides. “Okay,” he said again and let the air catch his wings as he descended.

It was pathetic really. Whumpee had a chance at freedom, at escape, and all it took for his defiance to smoulder was Whumper. Not an army. Not an onslaught of Whumper’s bloodthirsty soldiers, just… just him. With a spear.

Whumpee’s feet had barely touched the ground before Whumper tackled him to the ground. Whumpee’s head hit off the barrier with an oomph as his shoulders took the brunt of the blow to the cold, hard earth below.

Whumper straddled Whumpee’s waist, a cold smile on his thin lips. “You know how much I love your wings, Whumpee,” Whumper cooed, running his fingers over the feathers that made Whumpee squirm. He didn’t want the sensitive spots to be touched, especially by Whumper. That was something that he and his mate would share if he— if he ever got out of here.

But Whumper knew that. Knew how intimate a gesture touching Whumpee’s wings was and did it anyway.

“Which is why I’m so proud you didn’t make me put a hole through them,” he continued, touching an especially sensitive spot that made Whumpee whimper under Whumper. “But you still need to be punished. Right Hand suggested I clip your wings.”

Whumpee’s eyes went wide through his terror, shaking his head as Whumper smiled down his horrible smile at Whumpee. “Don’t worry, darling, I told her I won’t do that. I want you to still be able to fly… but your punishment remains.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s wrist and yanked his hand down until it was parallel to the ground. Whumpee struggled, trying to pull against Whumper’s strength, but his grip was strong, sure. Fed. Whumper wasn’t starved like Whumpee. Whumpee’s resistance was futile and they both knew it.

“Now, since your hands are the actual offenders, getting you out of your chains, I think this will be a fitting punishment.”

Whumper didn’t wait a beat before slamming the spear through Whumpee’s palm and burying it into the ground below. Whumpee screamed and thrashed under Whumper, begging, pleading for him to take it out, take it out, I’m sorry.

Whumper clicked his fingers and another spear appeared. Whumpee kicked and tried to worm his way out from under Whumper but every small movement aggravated his impaled hand and he cried out.

“You got cooped up, little bird, it’s okay,” Whumper cooed. “You wanted to be outside, you should’ve just asked, boy.”

Whumper grabbed Whumpee’s free hand. “No! No! Please, Whumper! Please!”

“See? With those manners, I’d give you anything, darling.”

Then he impaled Whumpee’s other palm into the ground, effectively pinning him to ground, arms stretched out wide to his sides. Whumpee screamed as fire raced through his blood, no longer struggling but every breath, every tremor threatened to move his limbs and he wanted to be sick. The stench of dirt and cold and metal from his blood filled his senses which roared like a beast inside him.

Whumper’s smile dropped from his face as he stared down at Whumpee. He stroked a hand down Whumpee’s wing and Whumpee couldn’t stop the knee jerk reaction that tore against his hand and he screamed again.

“Now boy, you’re outside. Just as you wanted. A nice night below the stars might do you some good.”

Whumpee trembled as Whumper’s heat pulled away from him as the bastard stood. His mind only processing Whumper’s words after he walked towards the streets line with tents.

“Wait! You- you can’t leave me here!” Whumpee yelled after him, panic seizing his throat. “Whumper!”

Whumper didn’t answer, just kept walking further and further away. “Whumper! WHUMPER!”

“WHUMPER!”

There was no response. Whumpee stared up at the stars winking down at him, beckoning him to the sky and he sobbed.

[serickswrites]

Why Won't It Stop?

Warnings: explosion, head injury, blood, bloody nose, unconsciousness

Caretaker staggered out of the burning building, Whumpee following closely on their heels. "Why won't it stop?" Whumpee whined.

"What?" Caretaker couldn't hear out of one ear.

"The ringing. In my ears. It's so loud. Why won't it stop?" Whumpee stopped walking and clamped their hands over their ears. "It's so loud, Caretaker."

"Whumpee, we were just in a major explosion. It's normal to have some tinnitus."

"Some what?" Whumpee let their hands drop. Caretaker could see blood trickling from their right ear.

"Tinnitus--ringing in your ears. I'm sure when my hearing comes back in this ear," they pulled on their left earlobe, "it'll be ringing and ringing and ringing."

Whumpee screwed their face up. "It's so loud."

"I know, Whumpee. I know. If there's something the medics can do, they will. Are you sure that's the only thing wrong?" Caretaker stopped and really looked at Whumpee.

Whumpee's hair and clothes were coated in a fine layer of dust. Both ears had blood slowly trickling down--both ear drums had probably ruptured in the blast. Whumpee's face was pale, but Caretaker wasn't sure how much of that was dust. They were sure they looked just as bad as Whumpee.

"'m fine. Why?" Whumpee stopped and stared at Caretaker.

"Because your nose is bleeding," Caretaker said as they patted their pockets for a tissue.

"Hmmm," Whumpee muttered as they took a stumbling step and listed sideways. "I....I....I'm gonna be sick."

Caretaker had a moment to register Whumpee's words as Whumpee dropped to their knees and collapsed forward. "Whumpee!" Caretaker tried to rouse Whumpee. But as Caretaker turned Whumpee onto their side and placed Whumpee into the recovery position, Caretaker's stomach dropped. Blood dripped in a steady flow from Whumpee's nose and had begun to drip from Whumpee's mouth. "HELP!" Caretaker roared hoping someone would come. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

[whumpinthepot]

@febuwhump 2025. Day 28. Recovery.

—

Whumpee is scared to recover from their sickness/wounds because it means whumper will begin to hurt them again once they’re well enough. Maybe they prolong the healing time, exposing their sick body to cold, agitating the wounds, not resting fully, just so they can stay bedridden a little bit longer. Just to get a little bit more of a break from the torment, because laying in bed with whatever ailments they have will always be better than whatever whumper has in store for them.

[pretentious-reindeer]

Vocal Cords / Febuwhump Day 1

CW: whipping, blood, loss of voice, female whumpee, female whumper (please tell me if there's anything else I need to tag!) Word Count: 2k

Deep eye bags sagged underneath Whumpee's eyes as she tinkered with the toaster on the cool marble surface. She stood over the dining room table, peering inside the machine. The darn thing refused to properly do its job:

Toast.

Well, it toasted, but it toasted too much.

After a week of Whumpee bringing Whumper bagels (she always brought Whumper breakfast every morning) that turned out burnt and black, Whumper finally put Whumpee up to the task of fixing the kitchen appliance. 

Whumpee’s conclusion laid on there being a problem with the timer. The toaster did its job, but Whumpee had noticed that it exceeded a considerable amount of time for a simple toasting. Whumper craved a precisely crispy bagel every morning, and she’d become grumpier and grumpier throughout the days without her bagels. 

With the timer decided upon as the problem, Whumpee set on tweaking the wires inside of the toaster. She wanted to figure out what was happening on the sensory side of things, first, before she moved onto actually moving the wires around. 

She felt like she was making headway, that is until a pair of polished black shoes made a slow entrance into the kitchen doorway. Whumpee didn’t need to look up to know who it was. She could smell his cologne from where she stood.

“Mornin’ Whumpee,” Villain yawned, stretching his arms over his head. 

Whumpee barely offered him the incline of her head as a response, and Villain frowned at the lack of reaction. 

“Bad mood?” He asked, casually—walking, with all the swagger in the world—as he opened up the cabinet and pulled out a glass.

He swung the fridge open, his eyes searching for the orange juice. He tsked under his breath. “Are we out of OJ already? I could’ve sworn…” He let out an aggravated sigh, before pulling out the milk instead.

“It’ll have to do,” he muttered, almost mournfully. He glanced at Whumpee as he poured the liquid into the glass. “How come you aren’t in a good mood today?” 

Whumpee shrugged, keeping her eyes focused on the contents of the microwave, and her hands steady with tweezers as she gently scooted one of the wires over to the side.

Villain’s lips pursed, turning into a pout. “Oh, come on. Did I do something? I have no idea what. I’ve only dropped by twice this week.”

Still no response and Villain’s prodding continued, “I can’t imagine how my two visits this week provoked you.”

Villain walked to the other side of the counter, near the doorway, and leaned onto the marble surface. His elbows propped up on the table as he lazily dangled his glass in one hand. “What’s the matter?” 

Whumpee heard the faint tap of the floorboard and made sure to keep her head down. 

“She can’t talk.” Whumper’s leaning form said from the doorway. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she lazily tilted her head back.

Villain turned his head towards her and smiled in greeting.

“Hello, Whumper. Is she not allowed to talk right now?” He asked, politely. Always polite with Whumper.

Villain might’ve not been Whumpee’s hope and savior in getting her out of Whumper’s claws, but he never expressed pleasure at her suffering—sometimes he’d even go out of his way to minimize it, sweet talking Whumper his specialty. 

Of course. Villain only dropped by a few times a week, he wasn’t always there to calm Whumper and her anger. 

Not last night, at least.

The basement’s jagged floor dug into Whumpee’s knees, as she cowered from the monstrosity in front of them. The whip brushed against the ground, and dread filled every bone in Whumpee's body. Bile clawed up her throat, and she had to force herself to swallow repeatedly to keep the nasty taste down.

Whumper rolled her shoulders, tilting her head up at the ceiling. “Mm… I really need to stretch my muscles out.” She murmured, as her eyes landed on Whumpee’s quivering form below her. “And aren’t you just the most considerately relieving option for me?”

Whumpee didn’t respond, and Whumper cracked the whip down beside her, almost striking her. She flinched, hard. “Y-Yes…” Whumpee hurriedly agreed. 

Whumper’s eyes narrowed, “I think this session will be particularly refreshing for me.” She said, matter-of-fact.

She placed the whip between her thighs, and picked up her noise-cancelling headphones from the singular square table in the corner. Slipping them on, she then fished her phone out of her jean pocket and picked out a song from her Spotify playlist. She held the volume button until Whumpee could hear the faint beat of The Neighborhood playing from the headphones. 

Despite Whumpee’s current, distasteful position, she still questioned Whumper’s music taste. She’d never expected Whumper to be the “Sweater Weather” and “Reflections” type. Actually, she’d never expected Whumper to torture her to the two songs. It almost felt... laughable, in a way. Unserious. Sadistic tendencies paired with indie-extravaganza? This whole situation all felt so wrong to Whumpee. All so horribly wrong.

When Whumper spoke, Whumpee could tell she couldn’t quite hear herself over the headphones by the way her voice pitched upwards, louder. Not yelling, but not her usual medium. “How about we see if I can hear your screams through my headphones, hm? Maybe I’ll stop if your begs are loud enough to reach my ears.” 

She snapped the whip, and smiled darkly—relishing in the way Whumpee jolted.

Whumpee’s stomach flipped with anticipation.  

She knew a long session awaited her. 

Whumpee’s fingers twitched as the unwanted memory forced its way into her mind.

“Oh, she can't physically talk at the moment. Lost her voice after last night."

Villain blinked, and Whumper's smile turned razor sharp. "She begged so beautifully. I wish you would’ve been there to hear her.” Whumper mused. “There were times I could actually hear her through the music.” Villain hesitated. “Music?” Whumpee felt the quick glance he shot at her. She averted her gaze though, perhaps to save herself the embarrassment of meeting his eyes. 

“Oh, yes.” Whumper said. “It was playing quite loudly in my ears. A little flair to our little session, you know?” 

Villain nodded, though the smile he shot her didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah… Flair and all that.”

Whumper smiled pleasantly in response, before her gaze landed on Whumpee. 

Whumpee could feel the heat of her gaze piercing into her very skull. She didn’t dare look up, she wasn’t sure she could with Whumper’s gaze on her like that.

“Whumpee,” Whumper addressed, and Whumpee froze. “Take off your shirt. I want you to show Villain your back.” 

Villain half-expected Whumpee to object—be it silently—but, to his utter surprise, the usually oh-so-defiant Whumpee turned so her back faced Villain and brought her hands into a downward X as both sides grabbed the hem of her hoodie. She hesitated—pausing. Whumper tapped her foot against the floor, impatient at Whumpee’s reluctance.

A memory flashed in Whumpee’s mind.

With the sharp crack of the whip against her skin, Wumpee’s vision leaked black at the edges. 

An icy wave of water poured down on her and she came up sputtering and coughing. Her arms pushed her back up on her knees. Had she passed out?

Her back stung. It stung so bad.

The water reopened the delicate wounds on her back and blood dripped down into the drain beneath her.

Whumper tossed the bucket to the side, the bang it made against the wall resulted in a flinch from Whumpee. It rolled to a standstill, now discarded to the side. 

Whumpee turned her head to find Whumper running her hands through the rough texture of the whip, folding it. Her dark eyes settled onto Whumpee’s trembling form. The music blasting through her headphones all too loud in Whumpee’s ringing ears. 

It felt like an anchor had just hooked around Whumpee’s stomach and was trying to pull Whumpee under, trying to drag her to a pit of despair.

Whumper wasn’t done yet.

Even though she’d passed out. Whumper always stopped after she passed out!

But… she wasn’t done.

How long would Whumper keep this up? What would happen when Whumpee didn’t have a voice to beg anymore?

With that dreadful thought in mind, Whumper spoke, her tone surprisingly even—leveled—not too high, not too low. “Shall we continue, then? You’ve only taken, maybe, fifteen lashes so far… If that." She pondered something for a moment. "Perhaps, you should count? Hm... I think you should. And be loud about it, okay? If I can’t hear you then I can’t know if you’ve counted correctly.”

The anchor pulled Whumpee’s stomach even lower, and Whumper continued speaking, "I barely heard you last round. And you know I like you vocal. So, try to be better for me. Alright, darling?”

Whumper smiled a cold smile down at Whumpee, her eyes glinting with something cruel and sadistic as she stared into Whumpee’s wide eyes. She took note of Whumpee's speechlessness, the way her lips parted halfway.

“Let’s start again.”

Whumpee’s mouth went dry, the anchor dropping her stomach impossibly lower. “Wait, wait, Whumper-” 

With a hard flick of her wrist, Whumper uncoiled the whip. “Whumper, please! D-Don’t- UGH!” The whip cracked against Whumpee's spine, and her back arched against the pain. Blood splattered on the floor and wall next to Whumpee. Her eyes watered as she focused on the built-in drain in front of her. Her blood would soon be flowing down its pipe. The thought made her stomach churn. “Count.” Whumper commanded, and Whumpee rushed to obey. 

“One!” 

But Whumper just whipped her again. “I can’t hear you, Whumpee. Again. Count.”

“Whumper, please-” She begged, but to no avail. Because as the whip snapped against her back once more, eliciting a strangled scream from Whumpee’s lips, she knew it was no use. 

Whumper couldn’t hear her. 

Whumpee blinked, the fresh memory fading. Her fingers twitched at the hem of her sweatshirt, her hand trembling in anticipation. She bit the inside of her cheek, before pulling her sweatshirt over her head—her criss-crossed arms coming up from their intersecting X-shape and vertically parallel over her head. 

She lowered her hands at her sides, hoodie held in one hand—letting it partially drape over the floor. Whumpee’s grip tightened on the hoodie when she heard the barely-audible gasp escape Villain’s lips.

Whumpee hadn’t gotten the honor of seeing the massacre done on her back, but she already knew it was bad. Flesh still torn and mangled—raw. She couldn’t even sit down in a chair, or put any pressure on her back without the risk of the tender wounds opening back up again. Her back throbbed constantly. If it weren’t for the painkillers pumping in her system at that moment, she could confidently say she wouldn’t be standing at that moment.

If she moved too much the wounds would reopen and bleed. After all, the only treatment Whumpee had done was standing with her back to the shower as the water poured down on her at the lowest possible setting. The blood had been endless, running down her body and into the drain. 

Villain cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “I wonder… What Whumpee could have possibly done? To… deserve this.” 

Whumper shrugged. “I just felt like it.” 

Whumpee’s hand, holding her hoodie, twisted into a fist.

Whumper waved a dismissive hand at Villain’s silence. “Whumpee has a tendency for talking too much, wouldn’t you agree? And after my session with her, it’s a guarantee that her voice won’t be coming back anytime soon. So, honestly, just enjoy the silence while it lasts. It's a blessing, really.”

Villain forced a smile, keeping his voice light. “Right. Peace and quiet.”

“Right.” Whumper said, pleasantly. “Right, Whumpee?” She added, and Villain’s smile twitched. Whumpee just nodded in response.

That’s all she could do, right? 

The silence was deafening. 

“Well,” Whumper wiped at invisible dust on her pants. “I’m heading to the store. Is there anything you need, Villain?” 

“OJ, please.” He requested, politely. 

Whumper nodded, slipping her coat on and grabbing her purse from the dining room table—placed next to the broken toaster.

“Alright,” She grabbed her keys off the hook, “see you in twenty.” 

The click of the door sounded and for a long moment Villain and Whumpee just stood there. After a minute, though, Whumpee went to put her hoodie back on, lifting it over he head. Villain stopped her.

“Hey…" He started, surprisingly gently. He cleared his throat, "what if I bandage that up for you?” The offer was... unexpected.

On normal circumstances, Whumpee would’ve refused his help. But… She couldn’t bandage herself up. So, instead…

She nodded.

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

@febuwhump

[luna-loveboop]

Febuwhump day one- vocal chords

I did this yesterday and it took me all of last night and today to get a decent picture

it's Echoes of Wisdom Link :) (and some of his dark echo..) he went through so much and fought on even without his voice. Lueburry's words are on the back:

and it was a how small of words can I drill on an egg challenge- 'All of the kids who were taken by rifts have lost something. For Link, he lost the ability to speak. Despite all he has been through, he fights to keep others safe. His bravery has moved me deeply.'

Sooo yeah. egg. I think a shaded eow link worked well for this one.

:)

[febuwhump]

FEBUWHUMP 2024 PROMPT LIST

this year's prompts were chosen through a suggestion poll (in which we recevied 2,281 prompts) and a subsequent vote, where over 1,000 people voted for their favourites. the top 29 make up the core prompts, and a mixture of the next most popular - and this blog's personal favourites - have become the alternates

i’m so excited to see what you all create with these prompts, and hope they’re inspiring enough to trigger a whole month’s worth of creativity for you! if you have any questions, please check out the blog's faq before sending an ask, or check out the previously asked questions on the blog!

please note: this year, notifying the blog of completionist status will happen through a google form that will be released closer to the end of febuwhump.

full write-up of prompts and rules under the cut:

FEBUWHUMP 2024 PROMPTS:

DAY 1: helpless

DAY 2: solitary confinement

DAY 3: "bite down on this"

DAY 4: obedience

DAY 5: rope burns

DAY 6: "you lied to me"

DAY 7: suffering in silence

DAY 8: "why won't it stop?"

DAY 9: bees

DAY 10: killing in self defence

DAY 11: time loop

DAY 12: semi-conscious

DAY 13: "you weren't supposed to get hurt"

DAY 14: blood-stained tiles

DAY 15: "who did this to you?"

DAY 16: came back wrong

DAY 17: hostage situation

DAY 18: too weak to move

DAY 19: "please don't"

DAY 20: truth serum

DAY 21: unresponsive

DAY 22: "you weren't meant to be there"

DAY 23: presumed dead

DAY 24: "i'm doing this because i care about you"

DAY 25: waterboarding

DAY 26: "help them"

DAY 27: left for dead

DAY 28: "no... not like this"

DAY 29: not allowed to die

ALTERNATE PROMPTS:

is there a specific day’s prompt you don’t want to fill? here are ten alternatives you can switch them out for!

ALT 1: human shield

ALT 2: "i love you"

ALT 3: found footage

ALT 4: human weapon

ALT 5: cpr

ALT 6: immortality

ALT 7: last words

ALT 8: killing game

ALT 9: lightning strike

ALT 10: last man standing

RULES:

SOFT RULES:

prompts should be answered in the form of whump

creators can produce whatever kind of media they want

you don’t have to complete all the prompts! you can create however much you want to

you can use the prompts after the event ends and can complete them in tandem with any other event

you can post on any platform you want, however this blog will only be sharing those posted on tumblr

if you want to be featured on the hall of fame then you have until the 3rd of March to inform this blog that you completed all the days

if you have questions consult the faq before asking

HARD RULES: (specifically for being featured on the blog)

when uploading febuwhump content to tumblr, please use the tags:

febuwhump (i’ll also be checking febuwhump2024)

the relevant day’s tag e.g. febuwhumpday1, febuwhumpday2…

nsfw (if relevant)

and any trigger warnings that may be important!

you can also tag the blog, @febuwhump

i cannot guarantee your work will be archived on the blog because I have no idea how many participants there will be. a random selection of works tagged in accordance to the rules above will be reblogged every day of february.

[leaperfr0g]

Febuwhump Day 1, Vocal Cords

@febuwhump

Master List

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

Side note,

I struggled quite a bit to get this piece to look like how I wanted and envisioned. But I'm pretty satisfied with how it turned out! I wanted to try and show the stress that BotW Link felt from all the pressure and eyes on him since he's the hero chosen by the Goddess. In game it is shown that he doesn't speak as to uphold his image of the stoic knight that fears nothing. I can't image the amount of stress he must of been feeling throughout it all even up to the day of the Calmity's return.

[oros-ash3s]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⋆ Febuwhump 2025 ⋆˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊

Day 1 || “Vocal Chords”

Eden had taken everything. 

He had always known it would come to this, had always known they’d get him. From the minute he had stepped into that worn-down van with the white paint peeling off the doors, the alleyway dank and grim, smelling faintly of algae, the child in front of him so pitiful and small, he had known for certain: There was no escape. 

It was inevitable, and he knew it.

He was made to live in the warehouse. They had molded him, through long-winded lessons and strenuous physical tests, through lectures and speeches and mantras, and whatever other propaganda they could cram into his head. All of it, every single personality trait and personal moral and principle he had gained, it was all because of them. They had created him. 

He had no semblance of a life before this, before all the rules and regulations, the careful schedules and training. He was nothing; no more than a little boy with no name, no identity, no home. Running away was nothing more than a fantasy, a silly dream to be somebody else. He was Eden’s property: he’d always belong here. All of his attempts to escape it, this destiny they had bestowed upon him, was futile. 

He was never going to make it out. They’d made sure of it. 

From trackers to surveillance cameras to the fucking shock collar that ruined it all, they always had him in their sight. Thoughts of how maybe being a better soldier could have gotten him out were useless. Nothing would have worked. Even if he was somehow more resourceful, more calculative, more capable – it still would have been for naught. Eden was too great, a company that had eyes everywhere, spies planted on every street. A life of endless running would have awaited him, danger in every corner he turned. 

The truth was, he was just one orphaned, teenage boy, who had thought that maybe he could escape the future that had been set out in stone for him. He was insignificant, compared to them. 

Eden was eternal. Eden was endless.

He knew it. 

As he paced the grungy, metal-plated cell, his body alight in pain, mind twisted and warped by the time in captivity, he knew it. 

Escape was no longer an option. 

But giving up wasn’t one either. Because despite everything Eden had, despite the hoards of soldiers, new and old, undyingly loyal to the cause, despite the cameras and careful control they had over every city in the country, despite the government working closely beside them to shut up anyone defiant – anyone like him – he had something that they did not. 

He had a will. 

Although most people didn’t know it, all those inside Eden — they were scared. They were scared of change, scared of evolving, scared of the future. Scared of what Magicae represented, what co-existing meant for the rest of them. They were stuck in their ways; rigid. 

He had been rigid. For a long time, he’d been unable to see any other way than his own, too busy stuck up his own ass to see the answers right in front of him. But change, adapting, it wasn’t something to be afraid of. No, change brought just as much good as it did bad. Everything good about his life, everything he loved, it had all come from accepting change, from accepting others. 

And so, as he paced his cell, his mind racing, the eyes of the others drilling into his shivering, shaky figure, one thing was clear. He was going to make a change. 

See, Eden had underestimated him. They thought he would fall in line like he was supposed to, thought that if they beat it into him enough then he’d listen. That he’d be a good little boy like he had been trained to.  

They thought he was like the rest of them, just another faceless soldier, a toy for them to use and then discard. They thought if they trapped him by himself, took away his autonomy, pumped him with enough drugs to keep him complacent, stole his friends, his name, his identity, that he’d forget to fight. 

Well, they were wrong. 

He would scream. He’d scream until he couldn’t anymore, until his throat was raw and coated with blood. He would scream until the echoes of his ragged voice were all those filthy guards could hear. He would scream until they ripped out his fucking vocal chords, if it came to it. He’d do anything, anything, but he was not going to sit and act proper no longer. 

He was a fucking person, and they were going to treat him like it. He wasn’t some thing that they could just throw into the darkness, forget about, when he displeased them. He wasn’t going to lose himself to their control, not as much as they tried. They could mix up his memories, brainwash him and feed him lies about what he was, who he was, but none of it was going to work. 

He wasn’t going to ever stop fighting them. 

And so the boy screamed, and screamed, and screamed. If they thought he would go down so easily, they were painfully wrong. He did not care how long it took. He didn’t care what he had to do. Didn’t care what it cost him. He was going to be heard. 

They were going to listen.

masterlist // next

✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩

taglist || @febuwhump @ohagi505 @vesanal @aalinaaaaaa @fangedcinnamonroll @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl @seastarblue @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @iamheretohurt @corinneglass @melodxi @thebookishkiwi @lancedoncrimsonwings @sugaredparchment @cepheusgalaxy @fizzydreamz @robinshandhurts @ieppiq @nosebleedgirlpunch @sunflowerrosy @charlachan @cacophonyofwords

✩ Send me an ask or dm to be added or removed from the taglist ✩

[peachy-panic]

Febuwhump Day 7: Alternate Timeline

When I saw today's @febuwhump prompt was AU, I said SIGN ME UP.

Have some alternate universe Jaime & Sebastian, in which they are closer in age and this night in college goes a lot differently.

HEAVY TW for alcohol abuse, emetophobia, past noncon, implied attempted noncon, implied drugging

Jaime is too tired to be at this party. 

Derek, who convinced him to come party with the team in the first place, disappeared upstairs with the goalie from the women’s team twenty minutes ago, leaving Jaime sullen, sober, and alone in the crowd. The adrenaline from tonight’s win against USC has long burned out of his system, and they have practice early tomorrow morning. He doesn’t want to be here, with all these drunk strangers knocking into him as they dance. He wants the comfort of his dorm bed, a tall glass of water, and an audiobook in his headphones, lulling him to sleep.

Fuck Derek and his apparent new girlfriend. Jaime is going home. 

He doesn’t bother trying to find any of their teammates to say goodbye, and he doesn’t text Derek that he’s leaving. He can text Jaime, if he even cares to. 

Some part of him knows he’s being a little selfish, a little reckless. A little jealous. He’s too tired to investigate those feelings too closely. 

The back door is through the kitchen. Jaime elbows his way through the crowd until the exit is in sight. But something else catches his eye before he can bolt.

Someone is at least halfway passed out at the kitchen bar, a shock of red hair spilling out over the marble. His head is lolled onto his arm, his eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. He’s not quite unconscious, Jaime sees as he slips into the room. He still has enough dexterity left to keep himself atop the barstool, even if the position is precarious at best—one foot propped on the wooden rung of the chair, the other extended out to the floor to keep him balanced. 

The man is alone in the kitchen, with the exception of one other person. A face Jaime knows well. 

Matthew is on the soccer team with him, but Jaime has made every effort to avoid him all year. He never told anyone about the incident in the locker room during the first month of practices, but the memory glows red in his memory like a warning sign as he watches Matthew slide his arm around the half-unconscious stranger’s waist and coax him to standing. 

The man is tall, maybe even a little taller than Matthew, though it’s hard to tell with the way his body slumps as he’s guided toward the back door. Jaime doesn’t recognize him, but he recognizes that this isn’t right, and he won’t be able to live with himself if he doesn’t intervene. 

“Hey.” Jaime’s voice comes out firmer than he expected. 

Matthew stops in his tracks, head whipping back to him. His eyes narrow, and Jaime wonders if he realizes it’s the first time they’ve spoken off the field since the night he cornered Jaime and put his hands where they didn’t belong.

“Quinn,” he says pleasantly. “Not like you to show up to one of these things. Did Derek drag you out?”

Jaime ignores him, nodding toward the man who is struggling to stay upright at Matthew’s side. “Who’s your friend?”

Matthew’s jaw twitches like he can read the accusation in Jaime’s eyes. Good. “I’m helping him back to his dorm.”

That doesn’t answer the question, asshole. “You know him?”

“Do you?” Matthew’s eyes narrow again, annoyed this time. 

Jaime takes a calculated risk. “Yeah,” he lies. “He’s here with me.”

This quiets him for long enough to make Jaime think he’s won, but then Matthew’s mouth curls into a sneer. “You must be pretty shitty company if your date is leaving with another guy.”

The “date” in question is starting to slip, his knees buckling, and Matthew has to adjust his grip to keep him upright.

“He’s not going anywhere with you,” Jaime snaps. Anger simmers beneath his skin, fists curling at his sides. This interaction with Matthew has given new life to the rage Jaime has spent two months pushing down, ignoring, talking himself out of. 

Matthew’s eyes scrape up and down his body, either in a lewd attempt at intimidation or possibly sizing up what kind of physical challenge Jaime poses. Whatever conclusion he reaches makes him laugh, a curt, dismissive sound.

“Stay in your lane, Freshman.”

Then he makes another move for the back door, his victim in tow. 

Jaime is moving before he has to think about it. He pushes past him, shouldering in as a barrier between Matthew and the door. “Let go of him,” he says.

Matthew’s amusement gives way to a flicker of anger now. “It doesn’t look like he’s putting up much of a fight.”

“He’s barely fucking alive.” Jaime nearly shouts it, but the music keeps his voice from bleeding into the crowd. It is enough, however, to rouse the intoxicated stranger. 

“Who’re y… ‘m not…” is all he gets out, broken and slurred alongside a quick flutter of green eyes, before his head lolls back against Matthew.

Jaime feels sick watching Matthew’s hands on him. He can’t stop himself from reaching out and trying to take the man’s weight, forcefully if necessary, away from him.

Matthew resists. Of course he does. Fingers dig into the man’s side hard enough to look painful, and it makes Jaime falter his grip. But before he can attempt anything else, the jostle of movement stirs the stranger again, but this time it isn’t words coming out of his mouth. The man’s body crumples entirely, dragging down Matthew’s side as he falls to his knees and retches on the kitchen floor. 

The sound coming out of him is one of pure misery, one that drowns out the sound of Matthew’s groan of disgust. Matthew steps back—though not in time to save his shoes—and shakes off the man’s weight from his leg like he’s a stray animal. Jaime manages to crouch in time to catch the stranger’s shoulders before he can fall into his own vomit. He steadies him through the worst of the sickness, knelt awkwardly on one knee at his side. By the time it’s over, he looks up to find the kitchen empty. Matthew left.

There’s another flare of rage, but the moment is quickly stolen by the sound of crying. He looks down, alarmed to see tears tracking down the man’s face. His green eyes look so sad and maybe a little afraid as he gazes up at Jaime, body swaying. 

“I think I threw up,” he says quietly. 

Jaime nods, ignoring the rather damning pile of evidence in front of them. “I think you might be onto something,” he agrees. “Maybe we should go outside for a minute? Get some fresh air?”

He doesn’t get a response. The man is already starting to fade from awareness again. 

“Shit,” Jaime mutters. He doesn’t waste precious seconds of the man’s partial mobility, hooking his grip underneath his arms to hoist him to his feet. “Come on,” he whispers, trying to sound gentle and encouraging as he kicks open the back door, narrowly stepping around the vomit on the floor. “Just a few more steps.”

The cold, November air is a sigh of relief against his skin. He manages to keep his new friend on his feet long enough to reach the porch steps, where he sits him down long enough to retrieve his phone from his pocket. A rideshare back to campus will cost him the whole of his fun money for the week, but he can’t imagine a world in which he leaves this stranger to fend for himself tonight. 

He opens the app and hovers uncertainly over the search bar.  “Can you tell me where you live?” he asks softly, crouching down next to the man, who barely lifts his head from the railing. 

“At the college,” he slurs, pointing vaguely to their left, in the opposite direction of the university. “It’s over there.”

“Right,” Jaime says. “Okay. Do you have an ID?”

“Mhm.” The affirmative answer is not accompanied by any attempt to retrieve his wallet.

“Can I see it for a second?”

The man manages to get as far as pulling his wallet halfway out of his pocket before his limbs go limp, his head tilting back against the railing. “I don’... feel good. ’m sorry.”

Jaime hates how sad he sounds. “It’s okay,” he promises. “I’m just going to grab your wallet out of here, okay?” 

There’s no answer, not that he’s expecting one, so he pulls the wallet the rest of the way out of his pocket, careful not to touch him without his permission. When he flips it open to the ID card, he’s greeted by the photo of a man who is barely recognizable as the person next to him. His smile is self conscious but handsome, his eyes wide and bright. Sebastian Tate, the name says. 

Jaime knows it was a bit of a gamble, that most college kids keep their parents’ address on their license until they move off campus, but he recognizes the address on Sebastian’s ID as one the dorms. One small bit of luck.

He enters the address on his phone, wincing at the price tag before he accepts the ride. 

When he looks over to let Sebastian know that a car is on its way, he sees tears on his face once again. 

“We’re gonna get you home,” Jaime promises. 

****

Sebastian is mostly deadweight by the time Jaime gets him into his bed. 

The other half of the dorm room is sparsely decorated, with a bed that looks mostly untouched. Jaime wonders if Sebastian has one of those roommate situations where they only really see each other on moving day. It’s a positive in the sense that Jaime isn’t barging in uninvited on a stranger tonight, but it does leave Jaime with a bit of a dilemma. He can’t imagine leaving this person alone tonight. 

Jaime helps himself to a cup on the sink in the corner of their room—it looks mostly clean, he thinks—and fills it with water from the tap. 

“Hey,” he says, giving Sebastian’s shoulder a gentle shake. He stirs blinking up at him, and Jaime holds the cup for him to see. “You should try to drink something.”

A groan of displeasure rumbles deep in his chest. “Tired,” Sebastian argues. 

“I know. But you really should try to drink some water before you fall asleep.”

Sebastian peels his eyes open again. Jaime wonders if throwing up back at the house was the best thing he could have done for himself. His gaze is starting to look a little less glassy. Maybe he had gotten some of the alcohol—and whatever else he might have ingested, a dark voice whispers in the back of his mind—out of his system before it could really take root. 

“It’s okay,” Sebastian tells him.  “I’m a doctor.”

Jaime furrows his brow. “I don’t think that’s true.”

But Sebastian nods sagely. “I will be,” he says.

“Oh.” Jaime blinks. “Are you pre-med?” A nod. “Well, then you should know all about the detriments of dehydration and alcohol poisoning, Dr. Tate.”

His head lifts from the mattress at the name—not without what appears to be great effort. He blinks a few times and squints up at Jaime like he’s seeing him for the first time. “Nobody’s ever called me that before.” He sounds so awed, Jaime can’t help but laugh. 

“That’s probably because you’re not a doctor yet,” he says. “Sit up, please?”

It takes a little bit of support on his end, but he finally gets Sebastian to an upright position and helps him steady the cup as he brings it to his mouth. Jaime takes his time, waiting patiently until he’s downed the whole glass in tiny sips. 

“Good job,” he says. “I’ll get you more to keep by your bed. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

As he gets up to refill the glass, he hears shuffling on the bed behind him. Sebastian is already laying down again when he turns back to him, but this time his eyes stay open, tracking Jaime across the room.

“I don’t know who you are,” Sebastian observes aloud. 

“Yeah. Sorry about that,” Jaime says. “I’m just helping you get home.” 

With a completely straight face, Sebastian looks at him and says, “You’re like an angel.” Then, blinking slowly, “You’re so pretty.”

“Oh my god,” Jaime bubbles out a startled giggle. “That’s… I—Um, thank you.” He feels his own cheeks redden. “That’s nice. I think you’re very drunk.”

As if Jaime’s words serve as a reminder, Sebastian’s face falls again, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t feel good.”

Jaime’s face falls, too. The tear tracks are still visible on Sebastian’s face from earlier, a tangible reminder of the darkness shrouding these circumstances. 

“I know,” Jaime says. 

“Are you angry?” Sebastian asks, eyes still pinched. 

“Not at you,” Jaime assures him. 

“Okay.” Sebastian swallows, then moves his mouth like he’s trying to find his tongue. When he does, he asks, “Are you going to leave me here alone?”

Jaime stiffens. “Do you want me to?”

He is pretty sure the movement of Sebastian’s head against the pillow is supposed to be a no. 

“If you want me to stay with you tonight, I will,” Jaime says. It’s not like he’s in any hurry to watch Derek stumble into his dorm at four in the morning, with or without his one-night-stand. 

“There,” Sebastian slurs, slipping closer to sleep by the second. He raises a finger to point vaguely in the direction of his roommate’s side of the room. “That thing. Folds into a bed. Comfy.”

Jaime turns and spots the foam chair in the corner. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll stay.”

He kicks off his shoes, pulls a spare throw-blanket from the foot of Sebastian’s bed, and unfolds the chair into a thin mattress on the floor. When the lights are off, he feels his own exhaustion crashing over him. He stares up at this stranger’s dorm ceiling and lets himself drift closer to the darkness that pulls at him from behind closed eyelids. 

Before he can slip away, a tentative voice rouses him back to the surface. 

“What’s your name?” Sebastian asks into the darkness between them. 

“Jaime,” he answers. 

“Jaime?”

“Yeah.”

“Jaime, I feel very sad, I think.”

Jaime swallows, wishing he was better at offering comfort to someone who so obviously needs it. “Yeah. I know,” he says instead. “You’ll feel better tomorrow, though.”

“You promise?” Sebastian asks.

But that’s not a promise he can keep. Jaime doesn’t know anything about this man, other than that he had come close to something very bad happening tonight. Tomorrow, likely, he will be sick and shaken, probably regretful, probably confused. But there was one sure truth Jaime could offer this stranger for now. 

“Go to sleep, Sebastian,” he says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

*AGAIN THIS IS FULLY AU, BUT I'LL TAG YALL JUST IN CASE YOU WANNA READ*

@whumpervescence @shiningstarofwinter @distinctlywhumpthing @whumptywhumpdump @nicolepascaline 

@anotherbluntpencil @hold-him-down @crystalquartzwhump @maracujatangerine @batfacedliar-yetagain 

@thecyrulik @pumpkin-spice-whump @finder-of-rings @melancholy-in-the-morning @insaneinthepaingame 

@skyhawkwolf @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @mylifeisonthebookshelf @dont-touch-my-soup @whump-world 

@inpainandsuffering @cicatrix-energy @quietly-by-myself @whumpsday @extemporary-whump 

@the-whumpers-grimm  @thebirdsofgay  @firewheeesky @whumperfully @hold-back-on-the-comfort  

@termsnconditions-apply  @cyborg0109  @whumplr-reader  @pinkraindropsfell  @whatwhumpcomments 

@honeycollectswhump @pirefyrelight @handsinmotion  @alexmundaythrufriday @scoundrelwithboba 

@starsick1979 @b0rgid@whumps-and-bumps @bilightningwhumper @technicallydeliciousdeer

@taterswhump @shit-people-probably-didnt-say @roblingoblin285 @hellodecisionparalysis @shinmich

@anonfromcanada @morning-star-whump

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 10: Magic Exhaustion (Time & Hyrule)

Read on Ao3

CW for blood, injury, and torture

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

Breathing itself is laborious now. Movement is nearly impossible. The thought of fighting, laughable.

Time leans against the wall of harsh, grating bricks and chilled damp. The ropes around his wrists have gnawed away at his flesh, speckled it with deep splinters. He has not helped himself much in that arena, he supposes. Too many desperate attempts at escape, too many times that new bonds have dug into skin abused by his own methods of wriggling free.

They have secured his ankles too now. Such a precaution is unnecessary. His strength to resist has all but fled. To even sit upright is a task most arduous.

He inhales. Air scrapes through his throat. His stomach churns. The darkness swims treacherously before his fleeting gaze.

The gag pulled tight between his lips tastes of musty cloth and metallic blood. The room wreaks of dark sorcery and pain.

Any moment now they will return, ravenous for more. Any moment now his ears will brim with the muffled sounds of his own screams. 

Little good they do. To sit in stoic silence garners a beating. To thrash and cry out leads to laughter and mocking.

Either way, more of his magic drains away beneath the clawed fingertips of his captors. 

To lose all magic is a death sentence for one such as himself. Time knows this for certain. 

“You must be cautious,” a great fairy had murmured during his first adventure when Din’s Fire and Nayru’s Love had rendered him void of power. Navi had been near to tears by the time he managed to drag himself to the fountain, blood on his lips and whirring in his ears. “You are not like other humans. You are like us. Magic is at your core. It encompasses your gentle spirit. Little fairy boy, do not use up that which gives you life.”

He had nearly done it again years later when a beast had deprived him of his eye and a deity had marked him as his own. By the time he had dragged himself home to Malon, he had hardly known his own surroundings. 

She made him promise two things that fateful day. One he has managed to keep. The other shattered beneath his grasping hands weeks ago.

Though…was it truly? It was not his decision to bleed himself dry.

That knowledge does not negate the guilt pooling in his gut. 

But the door is sliding open now on screeching hinges, and there is no longer time for gloomy pondering. Time stiffens as much as his aching body will allow. Wearily, he lifts his eye to the form silhouetted by the lantern light that dances outside the cell. 

“Ah, you’re awake.”

A familiar face smiles jovially down at him. Small eyes narrow in a perpetual squint despite the spectacles perched atop a beakish nose. A thin visage to match wiry limbs, cloaked in a tangled beard of brown; bony hands featuring the distinct scarring of magical flame — these features are imprinted ferociously upon his mind. Too often, he has watched those eyes gleam as he squirms beneath the agonizing spell. Too often, that face has blurred beyond comprehension behind the tears that flood his vision.

“It is easier,” the man purrs, “when you are awake.”

The times when they have extracted his magic while he was unconscious have been few. Yet, Time can recall them with nauseating intensity. The pain had been immeasurable, the fear even more so. He had awoke with a start and a scream, fighting blindly until they pushed him back against the wall so fiercely he had seen stars.

He supposes it is easier when he is awake. As unpleasant of a thought as that is. 

“Well…” 

The man moves forward. Clammy fingers grasp Time’s chin. He leans forward, forces his head up, then side to side, peering at him as though he is a specimen pinned beneath a microscope.

“You aren’t quite at death’s door yet. I believe we can get a bit more out of you before your heart stops beating.” He chuckles. “I tell you, you are a tough one. The others died long before this point. You are greatly helping my research.” 

What his research entails, Time hasn’t a clue. He never made it far enough down these curving halls of darkness to find out where he is and why. The statement turns his insides cold anyway. He longs to jerk out of the grasp. He longs to rise and run, far from here, leaving nothing but flame behind him. 

“Alright, then. Let’s get started!”

The man retracts his grip. Rubbing his hands together with practiced eagerness, he steps back, ushers the forms standing behind to step forward.

Time watches as they surround him. He can never quite make out their faces. He isn’t certain that they even have any. They are dark, shapeless, fierce. Hungry. Their touch is like ice. Their relentlessness unending. No matter the offense, their punishments are always severe. 

He flinches back as they reach for him, and that alone is enough. Talons stab mercilessly into the space where his heart still flutters stubbornly. Power streaks through his veins with more force than it has since the last time he slipped their clutches. And when it retracts, his soul comes with it. 

His vision whites out. His back arches, mouth opening to release a scream stinging ears cannot hear. Bones screech and muscle pound. His head feels full to bursting.

He tries to kick out at them but his limbs are clumsy, unwieldy. They do not follow his commands. Laughter echoes. They dig deeper, take more. And more. And more. Until he is gasping, choking on the air he cannot garner. Until the weakness of before has spread, tingling in its numbness, and engulfed him in its agonizing storm. Until he goes limp.  

The talons leave, then. Satisfied at last, he supposes, when he can give them no more. Ruby liquid rains down in their wake. Time sags against the wall, gazing forward and seeing nothing. There is a gray haze hovering now, an emptiness where once there was warmth and familiarity. It screams of danger. It weeps. It envelopes him in a bitter embrace and begs that he make it stop.

If only he could.

“Good, good!” The man chortles. “That will tide me over for a few days at least! But don’t worry. You’ve got enough magic left for one more draw I think.” He kneels, hand on Time’s shoulder. Cocking his head, he smiles. “So, we’ll be back soon. I’m sure it grows lonely in here, doesn’t it? You magical folk get lonely very fast, I’ve found.”

He gives his shoulder two good pats. Then, with a neighborly wave, he and his companions are gone.

The door screams shut. Time crumples, trembling, onto the hard ground. When the gray turns to black, he does not resist it.

…

It is those cursed hinges that drag him back into some semblance of awareness. Somewhere within him, panic stirs. Embers of a fire long smothered sparking alive. He tries to move. But he is heavy, leaden, secured to the floor by bindings unseen. 

They will despise him for not attempting to rise. They will scratch at his face and kick his back and stomach, they will bite and punch at limbs and ligaments. There is nothing he can do, however. Not now. 

…how long has he been suffocating?

Long enough, it seems, for the terror to shatter the endless deafening nothingness. Long enough for the pressure within his chest to expand until it crushes him. 

Fingernails scrape desperately against unforgiving stone. His eye flutters open, quickly filling with tears that burn. Sparks of light and dark dance before him like the flickering flame of a racing bombchu.  

He is drowning. He is dying. And he cannot die. 

He needs to tell Malon that he loves her again, needs to hold her, to kiss her, to feel her touch. 

He needs to tell Twilight how proud he is, tell Wind the same. He needs to encourage Wild. He needs to give Warriors a hug.  

Time chokes on the air that evades him. Somewhere, footsteps pound. They are thunder to his ears. The storm of incoming death.

Somewhere, someone speaks. Frantic, angered tones that assault him from all directions. 

There are hands on him, terrible grips that he struggles vainly against. His existence is in bleary flashes of incomprehensible sensation and matter. His thoughts have narrowed to fear and flight. 

He cannot calm the fear. He cannot entertain the flight.

Leave! He longs to shout. You have taken everything! Why should you come back for more?

He is turned onto his back. Shards of pain shoot out like Ganondorf’s electric attacks. Fingers find his neck and travel along it, feeling for something. Time reaches up, grapples with the slender wrist. 

“Link!” The voice is soft, gentle, even in its panic. Like fairy dust and the forest. “Link, calm down! It’s me! It’s Hyrule!”

Hyrule.

He blinks, rapidly, trying to clear the film enough to make out the pile of brown curls, the hazel eyes in a sun-tanned visage. He can’t see more than a vague outline. But he knows that voice. Knows it in his very soul. 

Even now, shriveled and drained, shrunken and dried as his magic is, it cries out to a brother of a deeper sort than even blood or choice. 

Time stills. His already weak grip falters. His hand falls to his side.

“Traveler,” he tries to say but his throat is tight, his gasping thin, and nothing except a hoarse whine makes it out.

Gently, Hyrule shushes him. Warmth blossoms at his fingertips, glides through Time’s veins. A spell as fiercely determined as it is excruciatingly soft. He practically melts beneath it. 

“It’s okay,” the hero murmurs amongst a backdrop of hushed and concerned voices. “Just hang on. You’ll be able to breathe freely soon. I promise.”

Already, his words cement themselves as truth. As the spell works, Time feels the pressing ache begin to flee. 

Seizing lungs soften. Rigid muscles relax. His vision clears enough that he can see Hyrule’s shadowed face. 

“Where…” he whispers, hoarse and haggard. Exhaustion drags at him. Relief makes it far heavier. One more step and he will plummet.

It has been far too long since he was secure to do so.

“Gone.” It is Twilight who replies to the question he lacks the strength to to complete. “They won’t touch you again.”

Hyrule grasps his hand and squeezes. Weakly, Time squeezes back.  

“I’m so sorry we didn’t find you sooner. I’m so sorry for what they did.” The traveler’s voice cracks amidst the words, shatters like delicate pottery. The terrible levity of his captors’ sins lays heavy and poignant in it. 

If he had the strength, Time would assure him that the guilt is not his to bear. Nor does it belong upon the shoulders of the others. That nothing could have been done. 

Yet he can offer them nothing in this moment. Now, he loses his grip. Now, he fades into the darkness and the warmth of a brother’s spell.

“But you’re safe now,” Hyrule says from very far away. “You’re safe.”

[serickswrites]

Obey

Warnings: captivity, torture, restraints, asphyxiation

"Obey me and I won't hurt you again, Whumpee," Whumper purred in Whumpee's ear. "I'll even let you breathe as much as you want."

Whumpee's chest heaved as they gasped for air. Whumper had been strangling them for the better part of an hour. "Anything.....I'll," gasp, "do anything." Whumpee gasped again.

Whumper smiled down at Whumpee, their fingers loose around Whumpee's throat. "Say please."

"Pl-Pl-Please," Whumpee whispered. They would do anything, anything, to get Whumper to stop.

"Very good, that's right, beg me," Whumper snickered as their fingers closed tightly around Whumpee's throat.

Whumpee struggled in Whumper's grasp. Struggled to breathe, struggled to take a breath. But it was no use, Whumper's grip was too tight. They couldn't get a breath in. And as black spots peppered their vision, Whumpee let themself go limp, let their hands soften in their restraints.

Just as Whumpee felt the edge of their grip on consciousness, Whumper released their grip. Whumpee coughed, gasping desperately for air. "Y-Y-You....li-li-lied," Whumpee finally managed to say.

"You believed me. That's not my fault. Why would you believe the person who's been torturing you for the last several hours? Why would I be honest?" Whumper sneered down at Whumpee. "Face it, Whumpee, even if you obey me, your life is mine to do with as I want."

Whumpee opened their mouth to argue, but they were silenced as Whumper closed their fingers once more, cutting off all of Whumpee's air.