#whumpmas day three

[slippedtheknot]

Whumpmas Day "Three"

Wish + Denied Food as Punishment + Gilded Cage

Whumpee sniffed as he pulled his knees up to his chest, wishing for the smallest crumb. His stomach ached, and Whumper had all of the cupboards locked away. But...his stomach hurt so badly. If only he had something...anything.

"Whumpee," Whumper kicked the door as he was walking past, "I need you to make dinner now. Like, now now."

"Okay, sir." Whumpee said softly; grabbing ahold of the wall to pull himself up. Whumpee entered the hall, only to be remembered how bare his room was compared to the rest of the house.

He walked down to the kitchen; finding that Whumper had already set out ingredients. Whumpee's eyes landed on the small box of locally grown raspberries and his stomach let out a loud grumble. Whumper wouldn't notice if Whumpee had one, right?

He stuck his hand in, and searched for the smallest one. Whumpee pulled it out; holding it delicately in his palm.

"Hey!" A spatula came down hard on his hand. "What do you think you're doing?! I don't seem to remember giving you permission to eat?"

[writingwithsnails]

12 DAYS OF WHUMPMAS. December 25, 2024 to January 5, 2025.

Anyone up for a mini-challenge for the holiday season? It's during a busy time but I figured it might be a nice distraction from family shit and something fun to do if you're lucky enough to have time off. It's the perfect length, it's not too overwhelming but not a sprint either.

There's three prompts for each day, two words/phrases and one dialogue. You can pick and choose or use all three. You can make something in any media, any length, it's up to you. You win the challenge if you create something and get inspired for the new year. It's that simple!

You can use the tag #12DaysofWhumpmas to share your stuff!

NOTE: Whump-typical dark content under the cut. What is 'whump'?

DAY 01: candle • sedative • "They told me everything."

DAY 02: frostbite • used as bait • "This is hopeless."

DAY 03: fire and ice • cabin • "Some things should stay buried, don't you think?"

DAY 04: captive • decoration • "God won't help you."

DAY 05: snowed in • delirious • "You can feel it, can't you?"

DAY 06: unresponsive • axe • "Of course it was you, I should've known."

DAY 07: present • pneumonia • "There's not much more we can do."

DAY 08: hammer • stitched up • "Why won't you talk to me?"

DAY 09: on their knees • wrapped • "Take a deep breath."

DAY 10: interrogation • miracle • "It's about sending a message."

DAY 11: ribbon and rope • dislocation • "They're not coming back."

DAY 12: prayer • scratched • "Well... it doesn't look good."

[whumpmasinjuly]

Now introducing the prompt list for Whumpmas in July 2024! 

Thank you for patiently waiting! As a reminder, we will not be reblogging any creations on this blog and will instead keep this blog as a space to only post the prompts, tags, and relevant information. We will post the tag for each day, and we ask that you use two tags when filling prompts this year so that others may find your creations easily:  Tag 1 —> #wij24day__ (Fill in the blank with the appropriate day number for the prompt you are filling! For example, if you are doing the prompt for day 21, make sure to tag your post with #wij24day21.)

Tag 2 —> #whumpmasinjuly2024 Be sure to also tag @whumpmasinjuly-archive if you would like your posts reblogged to our new official archive account! Of course, feel free to use any other relevant tags too! You can also find a banner that you can use in your posts (if you want, not required) under the #wijbanner tag.

The prompts are divided into three categories: community (red boxes), question (green boxes), and creation (white boxes). Everyone is free to participate as much or as little as they want–there’s no completionist requirement! This list provides a preview of the prompts, but on each day a more detailed post will be released with more context and additional suggestions for each day’s task. Similar to previous years, all prompts and other important information will be found under the #infowhumpmasinjuly tag and #infowij24 for ease of access. This blog will also use the tags #wijquestion , #wijcommunity , and #wijprompt respectively for each post so that you can filter and find the type of prompts you’d like to do. 

Below the cut is a text list of this year’s prompts:

1. (Re)Introduce yourself 2. What are your top three favorite whump tropes? 3. "______ deserved it" 4. Post a whump prompt for someone else to fill on Day 28 5. Share a TV show, movie, or any media that gives you the whumperflies! 6. Left Behind 7. Post a link to your favorite whump fic of all time! 8. Describe your favorite type of whumper 9. Mind Games 10. Check out a new whump blog and drop them an ask 11. What songs/playlists are perfect for whumpy daydreaming? 12. Caught 13. Share some of your favorite niche whump tags! 14. Describe the ideal fic you've always wanted to read, but have yet to find/haven't written yet. 15. A Soft Reprieve 16. Create a whump meme! 17. What has been your most recent whump obsession? 18. "Or else" 19. Create a list of some of your favorite whump blogs to share! 20. What character do you wish to see whumped more in canon/fan-made media? 21. Abandoned 22. Find a story/author you've never engaged with before, and leave some nice comments! 23. What is your favorite type of whump setting? 24. Denial 25. Share a sneak peek of something you're working on 26. Describe your favorite type of whumpee 27. Delirium 28. Fill someone's whump prompt from Day 4 29. When did you get your first whumperflies? 30. "I'm here" 31. Who is someone in the whump-creating world that you admire and why?

[whumpsday]

Caught

Whump & Giant/tiny Oneshot - Writing masterlist

find my G/t blog here: @smallsday

content: whump, g/t, tiny whump, trapped under rubble, crushed limbs, begging, fear, broken bones

Whumpmas in July Day 12: Caught GT July Day 13: Betwixt Whumperless Whump Day 12: Trapped under rubble / I can't move my legs

combining three different creation events for this one!! since i'm posting this to both my accounts, for non-g/t people who don't know, borrowers are a species of tiny people who secretly live in humans' houses and survive by stealing bits of food and supplies.

-

It had to be someone, eventually.

Cotton just barely kept himself from crying out as the pile of books he’d been climbing toppled over. He tried to grab at his grappling hook, but it was slack. The lack of resistance sent blood rushing through his ears as he fell.

He hit the ground first, and it wasn’t a good thing. The impact was bad enough from a few feet up, but borrowers were sturdy, and he had enough reserves to make it until his family’s next visit. But he certainly wasn’t sturdy enough for what came next.

The tower fell the same way he did, burying him in literature. A hardcover landed harshly on his legs, pinning him to the floor with a crunch he could no longer keep quiet through. Cotton wailed, but more books kept falling, burying him in a dark tomb he was helpless to escape from.

When the only sound that remained was his own crying, Cotton realized that he was still alive.

He tried to wiggle out, but he was utterly caught between the books and the floor, and he couldn’t move his legs. Every time he even tried to drag himself out by the arms, it sent a new wave of agony through him so bad that he had to stop.

Cotton laid there under the rubble and wept, until the worst of the pain subsided and he couldn’t feel his legs at all.

He tried again now that he could bear to, but it was useless. He wasn’t strong enough. A single book was twice his height, and he was buried under countless.

Which meant the human would find him.

The human would get home, see their books strewn about, and find him as they cleaned up. Whether they realized he was aiming to steal away food from their desk or not, they would find him. And he’d be powerless to stop… whatever they decided to do with him. Even more powerless than usual.

He couldn’t be seen. He couldn’t. Mom and Dad and his little siblings lived in the apartment right next door, and it wouldn’t take a human long to start to question where he came from. Every borrower would be in danger if he was found. But Mom and Dad weren’t visiting until next week, and the human would be home today.

It was hours before he heard footsteps, the telltale click of the front door’s lock. Cotton’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Shit,” the human–Özdal, that was their name–muttered, increasingly-loud steps booming over. “I really need to get another bookshelf.”

This was it. He could either make himself known, or wait to be found.

“H-help.”

Özdal froze. “Who said that?”

Cotton shuddered. “Please help. Under the–the books.”

There was only a moment’s hesitation before he heard shuffling up top, books being lifted. “Yeah! Yeah. Holy shit.”

More and more were lifted, the suffocating darkness giving way to the warm light of the apartment and removing the weight on his legs. An enormous figure loomed above him: he’d never been this close to a human before. He wasn’t supposed to ever be this close to a human.

“Oh my god.” Özdal staggered back, a hand over their mouth.

Cotton whimpered. He tried dragging himself away, slow and agonized against the floor.

“No! Don’t, oh my god, don’t move.” Özdal quickly knelt down before him, blocking his path with a massive hand that just barely missed touching him.

“Sorry!” Cotton cried, squeezing his eyes shut.

Özdal seemed to realize they were scaring him, and the hand was gone when Cotton dared to open his eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry! Your legs! What happened? What are you? What were you doing here? Are you o–I mean, obviously you’re not okay.” The human had tears in their eyes.

“I was climbing, please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry.” Cotton kept his voice quiet, hoping maybe Özdal wouldn’t hear.

“I won’t hurt you!” Özdal’s hands went up again. Cotton would have flinched if he could really move at all. “You need… a doctor. Like an emergency room. I’m not, uh, I can’t help with this.”

No no no no no. This was all going so wrong. More humans, more eyes on him. He was going to be the one to expose borrowers, an entire existence of safe secrecy down the drain. Who knew how many lives would be uprooted, captured, ended, all because of him?

“No! It’s fine! I’ve been injured before, I can handle it, don’t take me to anyone!” Cotton insisted.

Özdal said nothing for a moment. They pulled a ‘phone’, a device a little taller than him out of their pocket, pointed it at him, then turned it around.

Cotton was there on the screen, like a mirror stalled in time. His top half was mostly normal, if not for some bruising, but everything after that was… wrong. His legs were hardly recognizable, smears of blood and bone that he could hardly believe were attached to him.

“I gotta take you to a doctor,” Özdal said softly.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll… handle it somehow.” Even if he died, he couldn’t go. It would mean the end of life as they know it for every borrower. “Remove that image. Please.”

“Okay.” They still used that gentle, soft voice, like they were talking to some kind of scared, infant animal. Cotton didn’t like it. Özdal showed him as they tapped a little icon shaped like a trash bin, and the image disappeared. “But I still have to take you to the doctor.”

“No. You don’t understand,” Cotton pleaded.

Özdal looked down at him in all-too-obvious pity, then left the room. Cotton tried to drag himself, but he could barely make it a couple inches before Özdal returned. They carried a rubber spatula in one hand, and a woven basket emblazoned with HAPPY EASTER! and lined with a washcloth in the other.

“Listen. I dunno what you are or why you’re here, but I’m not gonna just sit here and watch you die because I was too lazy to clean my room, okay? I’m sorry. I, uh, really hope this doesn’t hurt.”

“No!” Cotton protested, but he could do nothing as Özdal carefully slid the spatula under him. He screamed as it jostled the only part of his legs he could feel, his upper thighs, eliciting a frantic sorry, sorry! from Özdal.

And then he was lifted.

Cotton clung to the spatula for dear life, gasping as the floor fell out from under him and he plunged up into the open air. Just as fast, he was deposited into the basket.

“Here.” Özdal reached in and folded the washcloth over him, enveloping him in softness. “Just try and, um, rest, okay? We’ll be there soon.”

“No,” Cotton repeated, but it was hollow. He knew it was hopeless at this point. Nothing he said made any difference, and there was nothing he could do to make the human just listen to him. Not without telling them about borrowers, about his family, and that would only put everyone else in even more danger.

Özdal carried him out to their car. Cotton had only seen them from a distance before, terrifying, monstrous things. He never thought he’d end up inside one. It stank of oil and shook like thunder, but Özdal wasn’t deterred.

When the shaking finally stopped, they picked up the basket again. Cotton pulled the washcloth over his head as soon as he saw: humans were everywhere. They would all see him.

He felt the basket being placed down on something.

“Hi, I’m here with an emergency!” Özdal shouted.

They lifted the folded portion of the washcloth.

Cotton stared up, wide-eyed, at the bright-white room. There were more humans than he’d ever seen, and before he could even try to hide, several were already staring right back.

A couple of them pointed their phones at him, just like Özdal had.

Dread solidified in his gut.

“Oh no,” he whispered, finally passing out.

oneshots taglist

@icyheart-and-friends

@kira-the-whump-enthusiast

@whuarri

@reborrowing

@paperprinxe

-

@what-if-i-just-did

everything taglist

@lilac-and-lemon-whumps​

@t0rture-me

@whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump

@sowhumpshaped

@pigeonwhumps

-

@the-scrapegoat

@whumpycries

@lonesome--hunter

@whumpy-wyrms

@alextries

-

@wolfeyedwitch

@starfields08000

g/t taglist

@whumpinthepot

@cupcakes-and-pain

@reborrowing

events

@whumpmasinjuly

@gianttol

@whumperless-whump-event

[all-the-gory-details]

Whumpmas in July: Day Three

"___ deserved it."

TW: Blood, knife, torture, victim blaming, burning

"You were bad," Whumper said, as they wiped the blood off their knife. "You disobeyed my rules. You understand that, don't you?"

Whumpee shivered from their place on the table. "I-I understand," they whispered, tears blurring their vision.

"Do you? Or are you just saying that to get me to stop?"

They choked on a sob. Of course they were saying it to get them to stop. They hadn't done anything wrong, they were only trying to get away, to escape this place of rules and punishment.

Whumper sighed. "Well, I suppose that's that question answered. What do you think we should try next? I've got a pyrography pen I've been meaning to break in..."

"No, no please-" they couldn't take any more, they couldn't, it had been hours since Whumper started carving into their skin, they couldn't do this-

"You deserve this, Whumpee. I'm not punishing you for no reason. You disobeyed, and now you deserve to be punished."

Whumpee nodded frantically, eyes following whumper as they walked to a shelf and grabbed a tool, a pen with a plug for an outlet. They bent down and plugged it in and oh god it wasn't done-

"Say it, Whumpee. Tell me what you deserve."

They sucked in a breath, and the air felt heavy in their lungs. "I-I deserv-ved it. I deserve t-to be punish-shed."

Whumper smiled, picking up the pen and positioning it just above Whumpee's thigh. Close enough that they could feel the heat radiating off it.

"Good. Now I just need you to believe it."

[tildeathiwillwrite]

Merry Whumpmas 2023 Day 21: Infection

Week 3 of this bullshit. Enjoy.

TW: infection, swearing, passing out

Whumpee had known about the injury for a while now. They’d gotten it on their last mission, but the other team members had been worse off, so Whumpee grabbed some painkillers and bandages and stopped the bleeding themself. They’d assumed that would be the end of it. They’d been through worse; their teammates’ injuries were more serious, and no one needed to worry.

Until the wound got worse.

Whumpee had been shot in the side. Now, three days later, no amount of painkillers they took could numb the pain. When they’d changed the bandages that morning, the wound was warmer than it should have been, it was starting to swell and had turned an angry red color. Whumpee began to worry, then, but they pushed off telling anyone else. Everyone, even Caretaker, was busy helping the more injured team members recover. Whumpee could wait another day before they sought aid.

Hours after making this decision, Whumpee awoke in the middle of the night. The wound was throbbing, far worse than when it had initially been sustained. Each step they took wobbled as they went to the bathroom to check underneath the bandages. Whumpee took a long, ragged breath when they saw the extent. The flesh was streaked with dark red, it refused to close after nearly four days, and blood still welled up from the opening in their skin.

“Whumpee?”

Whumpee’s head darted to see Caretaker standing in the doorway, staring at the wound in their side. Their mouth opened and closed, trying to find the right words. “I…” they stammered, “I… you were so busy caring for everyone else… I didn’t want to bother you…”

Caretaker gingerly prodded the wound. “How long have you been hiding this from me?”

Whumpee’s face grew hot. “Um… almost four days, now.”

“Four days?!” Caretaker’s head snapped up to meet Whumpee’s gaze. Their expression was furious. “Four days, and you didn’t say anything?”

“It’s okay…” Whumpee mumbled, “I’ve been managing with painkillers—”

“Like hell you’ve been ‘managing with painkillers’,” Caretaker snapped, “This wound is infected, Whumpee! Infected! This should have been looked at on day one, not day four!”

Whumpee winced at their tone. “But I’m fine! You still have to take care of the rest, and I’m feeling okay…” they paused, reaccessing. “Okay, maybe I’m feeling a little light-headed… but I’ll be okay…”

The bathroom seemed to blur, and Whumpee suddenly found themselves lying on the floor, Caretaker kneeling over them and cursing up a storm. “You idiot!” They shouted, “You fucking idiot!”

Caretaker shouted something else, but Whumpee couldn’t make it out as darkness closed over their vision and sent them into the sweet oblivion of sleep.

[chicago-pd-is-weird]

Writing Masterlist

Chicago PD Oneshots: HERE

Beyond the Badges: HERE

Hank Voight and the Crackhead Detective: HERE

Hank Voight and the Caffeine-Crazed Cop: HERE

The Three Shits Whump Challenge: HERE

The Three Shits: Fluff Week: HERE

12 Days of Whumpmas 2024-2025: HERE

Colder Weather: HERE

Nobody You Know Will Understand: HERE (with @kamryn1963)

Chicago Fire Oneshots: HERE

[serickswrites]

Whumpmas in July '24 Day 25

Share a sneak peek of something you're working on

So this idea has been floating around in my head for a week and some change (yes, I know I have so many pieces I need to finish, but I have to start ideas when I get them!)

It's under the working title (that I think will stick) called 'Lonely Place of Longing'

“Are you afraid of me?” Whumpee asked quietly. They hadn’t moved. Hadn’t attempted to get closer to Caretaker. Hadn’t tried to run out the door behind Team Leader.

Caretaker licked their suddenly dry lips. “Yes.”

Whumpee nodded. “Good. You should be.” They crossed the room and flopped onto their stomach on the bed. Caretaker could see a long, still bleeding cut, running the length of the weapon’s back from their left shoulder to their right hip.

The weapon propped their head up on their arms. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you unless Team Leader tells me to.”

“Do you always do as Team Leader asks?”

The weapon lay their cheek on their arm. “Yes. I am to always listen to Team Leader.” The weapon sighed. “The last one didn’t last long. There’s no shame in quitting. I won’t blame you.”

“What?”

“My last keeper. They quit after three days. It’s ok if you are too scared. You can quit. Everyone does eventually.” The weapon seemed to say the last more to themself than Caretaker.

[whumpninja]

Should I be doing another event when I haven’t even finished my Whumptober fills? Probably not. But I’m doing it anyway because @writingwithsnails’ Twelve Days of Whumpmas looked fun and chill. And predictably, I am already three days late. But who cares. NEW STORY GO BRRRRRR-

Featuring: elves (not the Santa kind), emotional whump and angst (it’ll get physical later don’t worry), magic whump, magic rituals, fantasy whump, my attempts at worldbuilding

Taglist: @whumperofworlds wanted to be tagged, and this is a brand new story, so. You are my taglist, you’re my taglist, boogie woogie woogie-

Prompt used: candle

——————————————————————————

Twelve Days of Whumpmas Day One: Hollyoak, Part One

From the doorway, Kelyn watched his father put on the Crown of Two Realms. The silver half, with snowflake shapes worked into the metal, King Cyprian positioned so that the tallest central point reached up just between the base of his antlers. The golden half- engraved with sunbeams- faced the back of his head, its tallest point turned downward. When the Oak King took the crown tonight, he would turn it over and place the golden half upright and forward, while the silver half faced back and down.

"Is it heavy?" Kelyn asked.

The Holly King turned around, and attempted a smile. "Not on most days," he replied. "But today, yes. It is very heavy."

Kelyn slipped into the room and put a hand on his father's shoulder. King Cyprian sighed deeply, and his voice trembled. "It's a hard thing, you know, Kelyn. For half the year I am not a king. And that I could stand. But for half the year, I am also not a father."

"I'll be all right, Father." Kelyn forced cheer into his voice. "It's only a formality, really, there's never been any trouble. The Summer Realm isn't all that far. Don't worry about me. I'll be enjoying myself exploring the forest and seeing if I can make friends with the deer this year."

King Cyprian chuckled. "Still won't let you near them, eh? Flighty things. Not like our reindeer." He fastened his fur-trimmed cloak around his shoulders. "Speaking of the reindeer, we had better get them going soon. If we're not at the Tree by midnight-" The Holly King didn't finish his sentence. He opened the door of the royal lodge, and the two of them stepped out into the clearing.

The procession was a fairly small one. Not all the Winter Elves could come to witness the exchange of magic- most imitated the ceremony with their own families. Still, there was a small herd of reindeer saddled and bridled, and a dozen or so guards mounted on their white bears. There could be no weapons at the Tree, but the guards came anyway.

Three reindeer waited patiently at the front of the procession- one already had a rider. The Oak Prince, Adaire. He sat somewhat awkwardly on the reindeer's broad back, clutching the reins. His bag had been strapped behind him.

Kelyn's heart twisted a little at the sight. Adaire was going home tonight, while Kelyn was leaving it. The Summer Realm was only a day's journey away, but in that moment it felt like it was much too far.

Kelyn shook himself. You've done this before. It'll be all right. He tucked his staff underneath his arm and whistled softly to his black reindeer, Duff. The handsome bull blew a gust of air out of his nose and knelt down, letting Kelyn climb onto his back. Kelyn's own bag had been tied behind the saddle, and as Duff stood up he placed his staff in the special holder that had been made for it at the side. At the head of the herd, King Cyprian clicked to his own reindeer, and the procession began the solemn march to the Tree.

The Elves called it the Tree, but really it was two. An ancient oak, heavily laden with mistletoe, and a young holly, their roots intertwined with each other. It stood on the border between the Winter and Summer Realms, and that was where all meetings between the two kingdoms took place.

The most important of those meetings were the Solstices, winter and summer, when the crown and the power passed from one kingdom to another- and when the prince of one realm spent the next half a year in the realm that was not his own. In the old days it had been a hostage law, but now it was considered a show of trust and solidarity between the Oak King and the Holly King.

Kelyn stole a glance at Prince Adaire. His small horns and green skin marked him obviously as not belonging to the Winter Realm, and he looked strange on the back of a reindeer. But soon enough, he would be home among his people, and it was Kelyn who would be the outsider.

"Hmm," King Cyprian said softly, just loud enough for Kelyn to hear. "They're impatient tonight."

The Tree stood in front of them, only a little distance off. The Summer Elves already filled the edge of their half of the Circle surrounding it, dismounted from their mounts of brown bears and much smaller deer. At their head stood the Oak King, Adaire's father, King Aritz. Adaire leaned forward to wave at him and nearly fell off of his reindeer.

Kelyn wasn't looking forward to spending six months with Adaire in the Summer Realm. The two of them had been together in one court or another since they'd turned twelve, and had never quite gotten along. Kelyn was quiet and preferred to be by himself; Adaire loved the company of others and could talk for hours on end. And he always seemed louder and more boisterous when he was in his own kingdom.

The Winter Elves lined the edge of their own half of the Circle. The glances that passed between the two realms were tense, but not hostile. The exchange of power did its job in keeping the peace, but Kelyn suspected there would always be unease between the two.

He whistled to Duff, and climbed down from the reindeer's solid back, slipping his staff and bag from the saddle. He patted Duff's soft nose. "See you in six months, my friend," he whispered.

Adaire now stood on the other side of the circle with his father, and Kelyn moved to join King Cyprian, leaning on his staff more than usual because of the rocks that jutted up from the ground. The Circle and the Tree could not belong to either realm- it remained in a perpetual state of spring thaw or fall freeze, Kelyn could never tell which.

The elders waited under the Tree, one Winter Elf and one Summer Elf, their inside wrists tied together with a cord. King Aritz stood in front of them. King Cyprian gave Kelyn a glance that said everything, squeezed his shoulder, and took his place beside the other king. The two elders moved as one person, bending down to light a white candle that had been implanted in the ground. As they lit it, tiny blue candle flames sprang up at the feet of each Winter elf. Kelyn bent down to brush his hand through his- it was cold fire, magical. It clung to his fingers as he pulled it away.

"We are well met," began the Summer elder, his voice deep and sonorous. "Upon this Solstice Eve, when dark passes into light, when Winter gives way to Summer."

The Winter elder took over. It was always mostly the same speech, but who began it depended on whose solstice it was. Kelyn always liked to see the Winter elder, for she too leaned on a staff with her unbound hand. Hers was to assist blind eyes instead of a weak leg, but it made him feel better anyway. Blind or not, she seemed to be looking at Kelyn as she spoke. "We relinquish our power, to keep the peace between us hale and healthy. It is a sacrifice that we make freely, and await in peace the days when we will receive our magicks once again."

The Summer elder bowed to her. "We accept and acknowledge," he said quietly. "King Cyprian, King Aritz- the Crown of Realms."

The two kings stepped forward as one. Kelyn saw his father shift, straightening his back and lifting his head, before he knelt. King Aritz remained on his feet, his expression impassive.

The Summer elder moved behind King Cyprian. Kelyn braced himself, digging his staff more firmly into the ground. I hate this part.

The elder spoke words of magic in the secret language only magicians knew, and then lifted the crown from King Cyprian's brow. As he did, the Winter Elves collectively gasped, and a few cried out with the shock. The blue candle flames sputtered and died with a gust of wind like a last breath. Kelyn gritted his teeth and stayed silent, feeling the magic drain from his body. He couldn't explain how he felt it, he just felt it. It didn't leave fully- that would kill an elf, having their magic drained- but the spell left them just enough to keep them alive. Not enough to use any longer. For six months, there would be no winter magic. The snowstorms and cold would fade away as the magic sustaining them died, replaced by green leaves and sunshine.

It had to be this way. Kelyn understood that. But he hated it all the same.

King Aritz accepted the crown from the Summer Elder. Kelyn watched him turn it over in his hands, flipping the sunbeams upright, before he placed it on his head, golden half in front. The Summer Elves sighed almost as one, and a ripple of energy coursed through them as their own magic returned to them. Flames sprang up at their feet- hot golden flames, shimmering like the blue ones had, and Kelyn saw Prince Adaire reach down to touch his just as Kelyn had. The Tree shivered, and the grass in the Circle seemed to grow just a little greener.

"The wheel turns again," both elders said together, and ended the ceremony.

Kelyn breathed out, once, twice. Now was the part he had been dreading most of all.

Now, he had to say goodbye.

[ladytauria]

tauria if youre taking requests for whumpmas can i throw my hat in for sprained ankle with jaytim? i dislocated, relocated, and severely sprained my ankle two weeks ago and id love to live vicariously through jaytim comfort 😩

!! i hope your ankle is doing better, bean!! sorry this is so late ^^;

this... did not end up being very whumpy or hurt/comfort-y. but i hope you enjoy the boys being dumb <3

(also! i am always happy to take requests related to prompt lists or not <333)

>> AO3 <<

��If you’re going to boss me around like this, you could at least wear a nurse’s uniform,” Tim grouses.

His ankle is balanced on the arm of the couch and cradled in ice. Jason’s fingers caress the swollen skin before coming down to settle on his calf as he kneels next to the couch. His hand is a warm, solid weight that has no right to feel as good as it does. 

He’s joking… mostly. He’d pay a lot—and he does mean a lot—of money to see Jason in an actual sexy nurse’s costume. The short white dress, especially one of the ones with a zipper, exposing the swell of Jason’s pecs… the tight white skirt clinging to his thighs. Red boots… And a cute little cap to top it off.

Tim salivates just thinking about it.

(Although, if he was going to dress Jason in anything… The original Robin panties are at the top of the list. And then it’s a tie between a maid uniform and a schoolgirl’s.)

Jason snorts.“Tell you what,” he says. “If you follow all o’ Leslie and Alfie’s advice… I’ll wear one after you’re cleared for physical activity.”

Oh… Tempting. Very tempting. But— “You’re just saying that because you think I’ll fail,” he accuses. Otherwise, no way would his boyfriend, Jason Todd, agree to dress up in a sexy little costume for him. Tim asked him to keep his holsters on one night and the man turned into a blushing mess.

It was adorable, yeah, but it meant Jason wasn���t exactly the type to just… Offer something like that with a straight face.

“History is workin’ against you,” he agrees. A light blush steals over his face. “But, yanno. Anythin’ can happen. If… If you can follow most of their advice… I’ll wear the uniform.”

Tim hums, considering. When—not if—Tim wins, Jason will probably show up in scrubs, because he thinks he’s hilarious. (Sometimes he is, to be fair.) Jokes on him though. Tim probably wouldn’t pay quite as much money to see that, but he’d still be willing to pay an exorbitant amount.

Hnn… Just the idea of sucking Jason off through a pair of scrubs, or bending him over a bed, pulling them down so he can rim him…

Hot.

Either way, Tim wins.

“You’re on,” he says, sticking out his hand. “You want to claim something if I lose?”

Jason shakes. “Sure. If you lose, you have to do whatever I say for a week.”

“That implies I get a week of the uniform,” Tim counters.

Jason turns a brighter shade of pink, nearing red. “Three days.”

Tim smiles beatifically. “Three days,” he agrees.

He’s going to be the best patient Leslie has ever had.

[ibims1seb]

Merry Whumpmas

Day three: fever

Let’s just ignore the fact that I completely procrastinated 1 and 2

TW: fever, mentioned kidnapping, mentioned torture/hurting, mentioned threatening, mentioned broken in in a house, bruises, lmk if there is more

The kitchen was a lot quieter than usual. And also a lot colder. The snow that had started to fall a few days prior had turned into mud, and the white wonderland had turned into a depressing sight to see over the night. The heater in the basement was working at full capacity, but the house was old, so only a few rooms could be kept warm at a time. And those rooms had to be the bedrooms and baths, not the kitchen.

Whumpee was searching through the cupboards to find the peppermint tea. They were sure that they had some left from yesterday, but it seemingly disappeared. That had happened a lot, since caretaker got sick. At first it seemed inconvenient but now it was just straight up suspicious. Yesterday, they misplaced their coffee mug. The day before that, tissues started to disappear and now the tea? And they thought caretaker was the one with the fever. Well, at leaste the medicine was still there.

With some other herb tea, a pill and grandma’s soup, they got back to their patients bedroom. When they stepped into the room, it got noticeably warme. Still, a shudder walked down their spine while they closed the door behind them.

Whumpee stopped dead in their track when they looked back at the bed. They would have dropped the tray, if their hands didn’t cramp up into tight fists. Their knuckles turned with and it started to hurt, but they couldn’t stop.

“They aren’t getting better, it seems.”, they couldn’t see Whumper’s face, leaning over caretakers sleeping form, but they could hear the smile. They could hear his amusement of both Whumpee’s and the sick one’s helplessness. “What kind of medicine have you been giving them?”

Now, the man turned around, unfazed by the situation. The two just stared at each other, Whumpee with a mix of fear and disgust and Whumper with unreadable demand for an answer to his question.

“How did you…?” The rest of the question was caught in their throat. How did you get in here? How did you know where we were? How did you find us? But every word got stuck on the way out and nothing was heard.

“I asked you a question, Whumpee.”, the man tried to get to them, but they knew. Knew what would happen once he did so, so they stepped back. Away from him and from caretaker, who was now turning uncomfortable in their sheets. They needed food and their pills and something to drink, and comfort and—! A hand creeped around Their forearm, semi gently dragging them closer to Whumper.

“You really did lose all your training, didn’t you?” The second hand took the medication, inspecting it closely. “Their fever is too high for that to work.” He let go of them, but they didn’t move away. There was no escaping now anyway.

“We don’t have anything better…”, their voice was quiet but strong nonetheless. For now, there was no reason to fear him. If he wanted to hurt them, he would have done so already.

“Why didn’t you go and get something better?” The man had taken the tray by now, and put it on the nightstand. His movements were as precise as his actions were confusing, but that didn’t come as a surprise. He had never cared to explain himself.

“There was a snow storm up until two days ago and they seemed to be getting better…”, the man nodded absentmindedly before getting up und disappearing into the bathroom. When he got back, the cloth from Caretakers forehand was wet again and he placed it back on top of their head. It all seemed so… caring… but Whumpee couldn’t believe that!

“Why are you here?” They asked, finally. Both had settled in around the bed, a noticeable yet not at all comforting distance between them. Whumper had ordered the new medicine like it was fast food, but they didn’t want to question it.

“Why does that matter?” They could only stare at that sentence. Was he seriously that delusional to not even realise how weird the situation was?

“Because you kidnapped me, hurt me and promised that hell would break lose once you find me again! And now you broke into my house and cared for my best friend!” Whumper did not meet their eyes. But he also didn’t seem to look at Caretaker, even though his eyes were trained in that direction. He also seemed nervous, but that didn’t suit him. None of this did, honestly. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Don’t talk to me like that!” His voice wasn’t as harsh as they remembered. Now that they thought about it. He also didn’t look like the man they remembered. He was a lot skinnier and there were a few, mostly healed, bruises on the little amount of skin he was showing.

“Where’d you got them?” For the first time, he actually met their gaze. His eyes had lost the cruel fire they once housed and his face was pale. Too pale to be healthy for sure. And for some reason, he still thought he was in control.

“What?”

“The bruises. Where’d you got them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”, it would have convinced them if he didn’t immediately take his hands to the places they meant. Honestly, no, it wouldn’t have.

“I know that behaviour.”, both looked away from the other. If it was because of shame or defiance, they weren’t sure. “I used to be like that too, when I first got back.” The room got quiet again, before Caretaker shifted in their bed once more, this time waking up.

“We can talk about it later…”, his voice was weak quite and his gaze was unsure. He probably hoped they wouldn’t hear him.

But they did! So, yes, they would talk later.

———

I did not reread this so it is very possible that there are mistakes :) let’s just ignore those pls

Masterlist

[val-creative]

Merry Whumpmas! Day 1 'Hospital'

The Polar Express

For the Merry Whumpmas 2024 Day 1 prompt!

For @medcember's Day 1 prompt "Undiagnosed Chronic Illness"

For @whumpcember Day 1 prompt "Broken Bones"

For @hurtcember's Day 1 prompt "Collapse"

Type: Fanfiction | Fandom: The Polar Express (2004) | Characters: Hero Boy | Chris, Hero Boy | Chris's Family, Hero Girl | Holly, Billy The Lonely Boy | Ships: Hero Boy | Chris/Hero Girl | Holly

Warnings & Triggers: Minor Character Death, References to Blood and Illness and Alcoholism and Permanent Injuries.

---

Sometimes, Chris still hears the train's horn in the distance. Or the Conductor's stern voice. Or the stream hissing in Michigan's cold air.

(Or the bell in his bathrobe's pocket emitting the tiniest of rings.)

It's mostly in dreams now. Because real life turned to nightmares...

Not even a year after his newest little sister was born, she and Sarah caught something bad. Then, his mom. Fevers. Coughing up a lot of blood. Overnight stays in hospitals. He overheard a nurse call it 'TB'...

All three of them... they never came home for next Christmas...

Soon after, Chris's dad took to alcohol, looking for the rest of his family at the bottom of bottles, and Chris moved out. He headed to Texas to look for work, and on the way... Chris found Billy. Somehow.

Billy, smaller and skinnier than him and shy as ever, gleefully hugged Chris when they managed to recognize each other on a big rig lot.

The 1960s gusted in, like wintry wind. Chris kept in touch with Billy, sometimes rooming together, but he dreaded going north. Coming home for the holidays usually meant taking care of his grieving dad.

It's not that Chris wasn't still grieving... it's just that...

There has to be more... more than being sad for every year to come.

"Good evening. May I ask who you are visiting?"

"Well, you see, it's my dad," Chris mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Mr. Carole? I think it's Room 202.... uh, he got into an accident while... drinking. Think it's a broken bone? In his leg?"

The nurse, wearing a soft-looking and pink uniform, glances over papers. Chris peeks up. Her golden eyes are soft too. They're pretty.

"Carole... Carole... a Mr. Christopher Carole... oh! Almost like Christmas carol, huh? You must get that a lot around this time of year." Her brownish pink lips arch into a familiar smile, and Chris gets faintly reminded of silver sleigh bells. Like in his dreams. Except, he's pretty sure this isn't a dream. "And you must be... Christopher Jr?"

"Chris," he mumbles again, nodding and jamming his hands deep into the worn blue jacket Billy lent him over a year ago. "Chris is fine."

A gleam of amusement brightens her eye.

She lowers the clipboard, and Chris does notice her nametag pin.

H-O-L-L-Y...

"This seem silly but, I feel as if I know you from somewhere?"

"Yes. I feel that way too," Chris answers, his face flushing. "It's a big town. We... we probably ran into each other once or twice as kids."

After a moment, the nurse smiles wider and nods in acceptance.

"It looks like Mr. Christopher Carole is being treated for hypothermia as well as the bone. No warm winters in Grand Rapids, I'm afraid."

"Is my dad doing better?" he asks, not thinking much of it.

That's when a light, bright and red, to the nurse's station goes off. Two doctors run by with a medical cart, and her face drops.

Chris's heart pounds frantically, as heavy as traintracks.

"DAD!"

---

In the waiting room, everything's quiet. The chairs empty. All but his own chair where Chris leans over his knees, breathing raggedly.

His palms wet. Everything dark behind swollen, quivering eyelids.

"I am so sorry for your loss..."

A hand gently rests onto Chris's hunched back.

He slowly swallows and looks up to a familiar, brown expression. In the halo of Christmas tree lights, the nurse looks like an angel.

"Here, honey," she whispers consolingly, kneeling and picking up one of the unmarked Christmas presents from under the tree nearby. One with silver ribbons and a bell. "The first gift of Christmas. On me."

Chris cheerlessly holds it. Tears flood.

"Why...?"

Something, something hopeful, in his voice floods tears in her own.

"Because it is such a wonderful and beautiful season, Chris," she insists, moving her hand to touch his cheek. "I have loved Christmas since I was a little girl... I dreamed incredible things because of it."

Taking a deep breath, Chris steadies, gazing into her eyes.

"In this life, we all gotta believe the season should be more than this. And I think... well, you deserve some good and some kindness."

"Thank you, Holly..."

When his fingers pull on the silvery ribbon, tied to the bell, it rings.

And, it... all comes back.

Her arms embrace him, and Chris sob-smiles, doing the same.

[moons-cozy-corner]

Deserved it.

Whumpmas in July day three! (I know its the fourth - oops)

CW: Bad Caretaker, violence/gore, murder, force feeding(mention), cussing, abuse, mentions of murder and kidnapping, loss of parent, major character death(s), mental breakdown, torture

3. "______ deserved it"

Caretaker sat on the couch, his head in his hands. He could still hear sobbing coming from the other room, and as much as he tried to tune it out, it wasn’t long before he started getting irritated.

It had only been two days of being in this wretched house. At this point, maybe crying was a good reaction, but Caretaker wouldn't know. All he knew was that it was getting on his nerves, and nothing he did would get her to stop. Not after Whumpee had locked herself in her room. That was almost an hour ago.

But sitting on the couch moping wouldn’t help either of them, would it?

Caretaker stood, pushing on their knees for support, and shuffled over to the fireplace. It was all dusty, covered in old pictures that didn’t belong to him. He traced his fingers over frames of families he didn’t know, all the way down to the last. A small kid, giving the camera a crooked smile. Three teeth were missing, from what the camera could see. A school picture from… 7 years ago. Whumpee would have been 9 years old.

He placed the picture face down and went to the kitchen.

There was half a sandwich in the fridge that Whumpee hadn’t eaten. Caretaker had tried forcing them, but it only earned a fit from Whumpee. So Caretaker ate one half. A compromise. It didn't work.

“They need to eat,” he muttered to himself, grabbing the sandwich and a bottle of water. Taking a deep breath, he made his way down the hall, rapping his knuckles on the cheap wood twice. “Whumpee. Open the door.”

There was no halt in the crying. In fact, it only seemed to get worse. Caretaker knocked on the door. “Whumpee, now. You’re going to get sick, dammit.” When there was still no answer, Caretaker hit the door. “Whumpee, open the door!”

It was a mix of worry and anger. Who was Whumper to dump the kid on him? Caretaker had never dealt with kids before, making it well into his 50’s without having children or grandchildren or nieces or nephews. That wasn’t an accident.

“Leave me alone, Caretaker!” The voice was muffled by both the door and probably the kids' own hands.

Caretaker practically growled. “You need to get the hell over this fit! You need to eat! You need water! You need to- to-” He sighed, trying to open the door. It didn’t budge, to no one's surprise. “Whumpee, c’mon. Give me a damn break, I’m just tryin’ to help you. I- I’ve got a sandwich and some water for you, at least take ‘em.”

He waited a while for an answer, and Whumpees crying slowly subsided to aggressive sniffling. The door unlocked and cracked open to show Whumpee’s red, puffy face.

“Hey,” Caretaker sighed, relieved that the kid at least stopped crying. He tried to give a soft smile, but it didn't feel right on his face. “You don’t have to eat it,” since you nearly hit me last time. “But you do need to drink the water. All of it. You’ve been crying for almost an hour.”

Whumpee stared at the sandwich a second too long before glaring at Caretaker and took only the water, slamming the door shut in  his face. He opened his mouth to yell again, but clamped his mouth shut the next second. “I’ll see you in the morning, Whumpee.” He knew his voice sounded strained, angry, tired. He was all of those things. He didn’t know how to deal with this. He didn't have a niece three days ago.

But right now all he could do was sleep, so that’s what he did. The bedroom felt odd, as it had the last two nights. It wasn’t his room, it was Whumpers, and her room was strange. It was mostly bare, but the books and tapes that remained were… creepy. There were no pictures or posters, only those of Whumpee, and none were happy. Caretaker had placed them all face down since then, and now it only looked more grim.

“Couch it is, then.” 

He had to pass Whumpees room again. They were still crying, though much quieter now. They were also muttering something. It stopped as Caretaker walked by. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” he called, waiting only a second before continuing his trip to the sofa. While it wouldn’t be the most comfortable, it wasn’t something he was unused to. 20 years of pushing his luck earned him many nights in the living room.

The couch was softer than Caretaker’s old one, at least. He’d noticed that on the first day, along with how well-kept the rest of the place was, other than the dust issue. It wasn’t too firm, as if it was just bought. It also wasn't too worn, as if it had been used for years. If he had to be dragged away to take care of some far-relative he's never heard of, he was glad it was in a nice house, even if a bit eerie. Then again, Caretaker was used to his worn furniture and messy piles of paper over the tables that only got reorganized once a month or when his wife complained. He didn’t think he’d miss how annoying she was, but… the little things. 

Plopping on his back, he let his mind wander. He didn’t even know he had another sibling, or a niece for that matter. He hadn’t seen his mother since he was a young child. Finding out she’d left him for another life, to have another child to replace him. Well, that turned out well, didn’t it? His mother was dead, and her daughter was taken away, thrown in prison. Caretaker had been an only child… what would life have been like, had he a little sister to look after? He smiles at the thought, but it's quickly overridden. Right, his little sister was a maniac and serial murderer. But he can't help but think that maybe she would have turned out differently, if she had him.

Oh, who was he kidding. He was a shitty person.

He groaned and pulled the blanket over his head, listening to the ticking of a clock he hadn’t realized was there. Had there really been a clock in the living room for the past two days? It had all been really sudden. Like, 'Hey, you have a niece you need to come look after since your half-sister has been arrested for serial murder and multiple counts of kidnapping! Otherwise, this poor child will be sent to the orphanage, and probably fall into a life of crime like her terrible mother!' If it wasn’t for his need for a place to stay and his aching curiosity, that’s where she would be right now.

He woke up without remembering even falling asleep, the blanket was on the floor, and the pillow was somehow on his stomach. He groaned and rubbed his face as he sat up. When he opened his eyes again, he finds himself face-to-face with Whumpee.

“Holy- were you just watching me sleep?” He pushes her back, a bit more aggressively than he meant to. “That’s creepy, kid! You’re 16, why are you acting so-”

The knife was brought down on his leg before he can finish the thought, and he screams as it rips into his jeans, then into his skin, then into muscle. She left it in before backing up and staring at the hilt, the only part that wasn't embedded into his thigh.

“Whumpee! What the hell is wrong with you!” He hovers his shaking hands above the knife, not wanting to yank it out, but not wanting to leave the wretched thing in, either. He reaches for his phone, but he can’t find it. He’d left it in the bedroom last night. “Shit! That fucking hurts! What the fuck, Whumpee?”

She continues to stare, her gaze slowly rising to meet his own, noting how his face scrunches in fear, how his eyes begin to fill with tears . “You deserved it.”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘I deserved it’? You stabbed me!” There wasn’t much blood, but the sight of a blade sticking out from his leg was terrifying enough. It was dizzying.

Her face scrunches up even more, twisting into a mask of anger. “You hit me the first day you got here! You’ve been yelling at me, you tried to shove a sandwich down my throat yesterday! You came here, and you made it so clear you didn’t care about me! You’ve hurt me more in two days than my mom ever did!” 

She was right, he had hit her. He’d forgotten about it, but she was acting… crazy, that first day. Yelling at police, yelling at him, yelling at CPS, throwing things. Then they left, and she started complaining and yelling over dinner. He’d had enough, and slapped her across the face for being ungrateful and for throwing a fit all day. Anything to get her to shut up.

Now that he was thinking about it, he did feel bad. Not that he could say that now - the situation was a tad bit too sensitive for sudden apologies to sound genuine. He stared at her for a second before speaking again. “Yeah, okay. I deserved it.”

The girl blinks in surprise, the tears that were forming falling down her face. She wipes them away immediately. “Yes. Yes you did.”

Caretaker leaned his head against the sofa, clenching his teeth. “This hurts like a bitch, though. Call an ambulance, won’t you, Whumpee?” He can’t see her face, but the silence tells him all he needs to know. He sits back up with a groan, trying to look at her through a swirling lens. “Whumpee, please.”

The girl is staring at the blade again, the skin around her eyes reddening. “They all deserved it…”

“What..? Whumpee, who are you talking about?” His mind drifted to the girl's mother… his sister, half-sister, to the murders and kidnappings. “Nobody deserves that, Whumpee. Don’t say that. Your mother did terrible things, you realize that, right?”

She shook her head, staring at his leg, never blinking. “She didn’t! E-everything she- everything she did was- was for the best! It was for- for good!”

Caretakers' brows furrowed together, and he started to stand, wincing at the pain in his leg. “You’d better stop this, Whumpee. You know that’s not true.” In all truth, he didn’t know for sure if she knew. He’d only known about this kid for a few weeks, at most, and met her two days ago.

She shook her head and pushed him back so he stumbled back onto the couch. “She made them better. And if she couldn’t make them better, they didn’t deserve to live.” She says it with such finality to it. She believes this, he realizes. His chest tightens and he looks around. “Don’t try to leave! Don’t look so scared as if you’re the victim here! You wanted this, right? Or was it just convenient for you, huh? To take advantage of a child’s situation to get a house? My house! And the first thing you do, on the worst night of my life, is hit me?!” She shook her head and laughed, a dry, humorless breath. “You’re my uncle, you should care! Right? Shouldn’t you care about me?”

“You’re messed up, kid,” he mutters, but she hears him. She starts crying again. What a wretched sound. “Get the phone, Whumpee.” His voice is more stern now, his gaze only focused on her. “You don’t have to get in trouble for this, I won’t tell them that you stabbed me, alright? But I need to go to the hospital.”

“I don’t want to!” She grabs her head, pulling at her hair. “I want my mom back!” Whumpee turns around, and Caretaker finally sees it, the lines that mark her back and arms. She’d been wearing sweatshirts before, but the tank top showed them off too well.

He stood up again, this time slowly with his palms out. “Whumpee, please calm down. Sit down, drink some water, okay?” His wound could wait- it would have to, if she didn’t let him get help. “Did your mother… uh… try to make you better?” He tried to rephrase the words punishment or beating, maybe torture even, to what this deranged girl seemed to believe. 

The girl whipped around to face him again, reaching for her back, eyes blazing. “That’s none of your business old man! But- but even if she did… even if…” Whumpee’s eyes unfocused. “I… she needed to… fix me… I deserved it…”

Caretaker watched her carefully, trying to gauge her emotions, her reactions. “You didn’t deserve that. Did she make you think you did? That you needed fixing?” 

The girl nods, but does nothing else, her gaze fixed somewhere else, a place Caretaker would probably never see. “Whumpee, we need to call the police. Please. For both of us, alright?” 

Her breathing picks up almost immediately, and her hands unwrap from her body as she fully turns to face him. She reached out quickly for the knife before Caretaker could even think to move to grab her, pulling it out of his leg with a sickening squelch, blood spurting out of his leg as he looked down in horror, feeling his throat close itself against his will. “Wh-whumpee- whu- h-holy shit-”

Whatever she hit, it was something important, because he was bleeding out fast, and the dizziness came soon after. “I don’t need fixing, Caretaker! You do! Mom already fixed me, she already did! I have the proof!” 

Caretaker fell down, luckily landing back on the couch, though it felt like he went right through it. His mind was reeling, and his head was spinning. “W-we don’t have ta… call tha… hah..” He couldn’t breath, clutching his chest as he tried to gasp, but doing so only made the world spin even more. It took him a moment to clutch his leg, hard, trying to stop the bleeding. “Won’t tell… need-” He groaned, opening his eyes just long enough to see the blood leaking through his red-stained fingers. His eyes fluttered up to the girl, who was standing over him with the knife. “Whumpee…”

Her resolve grows, her stance becoming more square, stronger. Less of the sobbing, shaking, angry mess she had been. Now she was calm. “It’s what Mom would want, Caretaker. She never wanted siblings.”

And the knife was raised high above her head, the blade swinging down moments later. It was less than a second, but even after it made contact with his chest, he could still only see it falling, over and over again. Caretaker could feel blood filling his lungs as he fell to his side, and could feel the stickiness of the blood-covered fabric beneath him. Through his darkening vision and ringing ears, he could only barely make out the girl's final words to him.

“Sorry, Uncle.” She raises the knife again, slick with his own blood, and turns it towards her own heart.

“We deserve this.”

Taglist:

@alwaysalilhigh@nicolepascaline@whumped-inc@littlespacecastle@hollowgast1@edkore@ramadiiiisme@writereleaserepeat@when-no-wings-do-broomsticks@robinwrites@aswallowimprisoned@whumblrwork@cepheusgalaxy@tedrakitty @delicateprincepaper@alwaysalilhigh@0eggdealer@subval01@ifthisislifeidontlikeit

@books-are-everything @whumpsoda @robinrites @wildcard-whumps

[whumpmasinjuly]

Now introducing the prompt list for Whumpmas in July 2023! 

Thank you for patiently waiting! We will be implementing a couple of new changes! We will not be reblogging any creations this year and will instead keep this blog as a space to only post the prompts, tags, and relevant information. We will post the tag for each day, and we ask that you use two tags when filling prompts this year so that others may find your creations easily:  Tag 1 ---> #wij23day__ (Fill in the blank with the appropriate day number for the prompt you are filling! For example, if you are doing the prompt for day 21, make sure to tag your post with #wij23day21. Of course, feel free to use any other relevant tags too!)

Tag 2 ---> #whumpmasinjuly2023  Be sure to also tag @whumpmasinjuly-archive if you would like your posts reblogged to our new official archive account!  You can also find a banner that you can use in your posts (if you want) under the #wijbanner tag.

The prompts are divided into three categories: questions, prompts, and community activities. Everyone is free to participate as much or as little as they want–there’s no completionist requirement! This list provides a preview of the prompts, but on each day a more detailed post will be released with more context and additional suggestions for each day’s task. Similar to previous years, all prompts and other important information will be found under the #infowhumpmasinjuly tag and #infowij23 for ease of access. This blog will also use the tags #wijquestion , #wijcommunity , and #wijprompt respectively for each post so that you can filter and find the type of prompts you’d like to do. 

Below the cut is a text list of this year’s prompts:

1. (Re)Introduce yourself. 2. What ten words give you the whumperflies/make you think of whump? 3. Stitches/Bandages 4. Share a TV show, movie, or any media that gives you the whumperflies! (Feel free to go off about your favorite episodes/moments!) 5. What character do you wish to see whumped more in canon/fan-made media? 6. Deprived 7. Post a link to your favorite whump fic of all time (or reblog it and/or make a list of them!) 8. Describe your favorite type of whumper! 9. “Stay with me” 10. Check out a new whump blog and drop them an ask! 11. What whump media type do you prefer and why? 12. Search & Rescue 13. Share some of your favorite niche whump tags! 14. Describe the ideal fic you’ve always wanted to read but have yet to find / haven’t written yet. 15. Buried 16. Create a whump meme! 17. What inspires you most to create whump content? (Images? Fics? Shows?) 18. Ache 19. Create a list of some of your favorite whump blogs to share! 20. Describe your favorite type of whumpee!  21. “Please.” 22. Find a story/author you’ve never read before, read it and leave some nice comments (people can reblog the post to plug their series/masterlists/etc as well) 23. What is your favorite type of whump setting? 24. Earth (Environmental whump) 25. Share a sneak peek of something you’re working on! 26. What is your favorite place to find whump media, roleplayers/writers, or fan-created content? (Link us to it!) 27. Unstable (Mentally? Physically? Both!?) 28. Send people asks about their OCs or favorite fandoms! 29. Do you identify with any particular roles or situations in whump? 30. Antidote 31. Who is someone in the whump-creating world that you admire and why?

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim #E2: Stay With Me

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: recovery, comfort, nightmares, whumper turned whumpee turned caretaker, whumpee turned caretaker turned whumpee, vampire caretaker

Whumpmas in July Day 9: "Stay with me"

this is a flash-forward taking place about two years out from the present arc! made as a sort of follow-up to A Nice Thought.

be warned that this piece has... ⚠️spoilers⚠️ for the present arc! it's nothing i haven't hinted at before in ask-answers though, and this series is non-chronological anyway.

-

Kane was up and running the second he heard the scream.

He flung the basement door open, dashing up the stairs as fast as he could without breaking them. Up, up, down the hall, another door-

No one else was there. Jim was just lying in his bed, trying to catch his breath, the room dimly illuminated by the plain night light he always kept on.

Just a nightmare.

"Are you alright?" Kane asked, stepping back into the doorway. He knew how Jim was with nightmares by now, that his presence wouldn't be welcomed. "I was just- I can go."

Jim looked up at him with tired, scared eyes. "Stay with me? Please?" he asked, his voice small.

Kane was surprised, but he didn't need to be told twice. He was by Jim's side in an instant, the bed creaking slightly as he sat down on the soft blanket next to him. "Of course. Whatever you need."

"Thanks, man." Jim stared up at the ceiling, eyes wet with tears as he tried to control his shaky breathing.

"You don't usually scream," Kane noted, concerned.

Jim gave him a weak laugh and a nudge on the arm. "Guess I'm turning into you, huh?"

Kane rolled his eyes, but he couldn't help but smile a bit, too. At least Jim felt well enough to joke around. "I don't even do that as much anymore." It'd happened about once a month when Jim first took him home, but by now, it was down to two or three months between. He'd almost never heard Jim do it, maybe twice in nearly three years here. Not counting back in vampire territory, of course.

"Yeah, you do." Jim scooted closer, resting his head on Kane's hand.

"Do you want me to hold you?" Kane blurted out. He regretted it as soon as he said it. How stupid, Jim was a grown man, he didn't need-

Jim didn't even hesitate. "Yeah."

Well, if he was agreeing...

Kane scooped the man into his arms, leaning back against the headboard. Jim rested his head against Kane's chest, tears leaking into his shirt. He must be so scared...

"I won't hurt you. Never again," Kane reminded him.

"Wasn't you this time," Jim mumbled. "It was your brother."

Ah. "Well, he certainly can't hurt you."

"I know. My dumbass sleeping-brain's the one that doesn't." Jim tapped the side of his head and sighed. "You know, it's stupid, but I actually used to- ah, forget it."

Kane pushed down the urge to question him. This was about making Jim comfortable, no matter how curious he was. "Alright," he agreed.

But Jim had never been one for holding his tongue, and continued without encouragement. "Back then, back at your old place, after- like during the last two years especially? I used to fantasize that you'd hold me. Like if I asked on my birthday or something. You were nice on my birthdays. I just wanted someone to, and you were the only one there." He turned his face away, embarrassed by his own admission.

Kane would never stop regretting how he'd treated Jim, but this was a particular knife between the ribs, hot and silver and twisting. He clutched Jim a little closer. "I'm sorry. I'm glad I can hold you now," he whispered.

Jim turned back to look at him. "Would you have said yes?"

He didn't answer for a bit. He had to think about it, had to give Jim the real answer, not whatever he assumed Jim wanted to hear. He'd been getting better at that. So much had changed, it was hard to put himself in his past self's shoes, the man who would hurt Jim without a second thought.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Maybe. Depending on my mood, I could have gone either way. I can tell you this for certain, though: even if I'd said no, I would have wanted to, for the same reason as you."

That earned him a small smile. "Yeah, that tracks."

"I can stay here the whole night, if you want," Kane offered. He glanced at the window: the blinds were already closed. He was okay. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I've been just as bad."

Jim was well-aware. He'd stayed with Kane some nights, too.

"Yeah, okay."

They laid silently like that for a while, the crickets softly chirping in the night. Jim worried about inconveniencing Kane- there was still a layer of fear to it, even after all this time, even after he was the one who asked Kane to stay. Like he would be judged as badly-behaved and requiring discipline.

But Kane didn't do anything. It was just nice.

"It's kind of pathetic," Jim muttered. "He barely even got me, you know? C or Chewie or Graham or whatever the hell he's calling himself now was with him for eight years. I shouldn't be having the stupid nightmares and needing to be held when I'm a goddamn thirty-six year old man and he barely even got me."

"He's back to C again right now, I think, but he told me he's thinking about trying Graham again last time we spoke. I think he might really stick with it next time," Kane mused.

"Good for him." Jim always just asked him what his name was that month whenever he said hi to the guy so he wouldn't get it wrong.

"You know, I think of thirty-six as rather young," Kane continued. "Most humans probably would-"

Jim laughed. "Yeah, 'cause you're old as shit, grandpa."

Kane sighed, his chest rising and falling deeply under Jim's head. "Yes, I'm up there, so you can't go saying you're too old to be getting frightened when I do the same thing at one-hundred and eighteen. As I said, there's nothing to be ashamed of. Besides... I don't think I helped things, as far as your reaction went. You already had nightmares, the face just changed."

"Well, you're helping things now."

Kane didn't have a rebuttal to that one. "You should try and get some sleep. I won't let anything happen to you."

He was safe. He was safe. Jim just had to remember that. Couldn't get much safer than with a vampire protecting him. "Okay. Thanks."

"Any time." Kane began softly humming a tune, a song Jim didn't recognize, but one that soothed him anyway.

He slept peacefully through the rest of the night.

-

stay tuned, the big one's coming wednesday.

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event: @whumpmasinjuly

[whump-me]

Whumpmas in July Day 2: What are your three favorite whump tropes?

Interrogations. You already know this if you've read any of my long-form whump writing, I'm sure. The high stakes... the potential for so much delicious defiance... the adversarial intimacy between interrogator and interrogation subject... what about it isn't good?

Mercy killings. One of my tried-and-true "whump scene to fall asleep to" tropes, and also the closest I generally get to actual comfort/caretaking. I'm partial to mercy killings between best friends or mentor and student, but romantic partners also works. So tragic 🥲

Executions. Yep, another type of death whump, because death whump is my favorite. Lots of potential for stoic/defiant whumpees here, too, and it goes so well with so many of my favorite types of whump: dystopian whump, spy whump, military whump... Executions were my absolute most favorite whump for a long, long time.

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