Hello traveler, I'm Blue. Yes it's a bit ironic that my profile is pink, but I'm still a baby in terms of using Tumblr and don't want to struggle with changing it right now, just calibrate your brain so you see it as blue, thx
I'm 21 years old, and I study English Literature at the moment. I write fanfiction for a few fandoms, the main one being Harry Potter. I have a few original stories and universes in the works, though I don't know when/if I'll end up sharing them at any point
Here's what you can expect to find here:
Snippets and sometimes longer bits of whatever I am currently writing. Posts every two days, alternating between Fluff, Angst and NSFW with every post. (Minors DNI with the NSFW ones, please and thank you.)
I do not only allow but encourage questions and suggestions of prompts you would like written! DMs are always open as well, so feel free to contact me whether to share prompt ideas or simply to chat!
WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation CHALLENGE (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are four prompts for each day of the month, giving 124 for you to play with! There is also a list of 18 alternative prompts that can be subbed in for any day to give participants as much creative freedom as possible.
All prompts are meant to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is “flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be a reference to an ‘old flame’ - an old relationship. It’s truly down to you!
You can produce work in any media you choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). You can participate as much or as little as you want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.
Please make sure to read the Event Info and FAQ carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.
Information on how to TAG is here.
This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.
This year’s playlist can be found here.
The ‘Anatomy of a Whumptober Prompt’ post can be found here.
And our 'Resources for Writing Sensitive Topics’ post is here.
We’re very excited to see the community come together for yet another year of Whumptober! Go ham with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the best of luck, but most importantly: HAVE FUN!
Happy whumping,
Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro
Text versions of the prompts, including a google doc format, are posted below the cut!
A Google Doc of the prompts can be found here for easy copy-and-pasting!
Whumptober 2025 Prompt List
No. 1: “Please don’t cry”
Lamb to Slaughter | Ceremony | Beg for Forgiveness
No. 2: “You’ve got a lot of nerve to dredge up all my fears.”
Prophecy | Sewer | Taking Accountability
No. 3: “I look in people’s windows, transfixed by rose golden glows.”
Isolation | Candlelight | Found Family
No. 4: “Don’t be scared, I’ve done this before.”
Non-Human Whumper | Iron Rod | Loss of Powers
No. 5: “My panic’s at the ceiling, but I’m face down on the carpet.”
Quivering | Dream Journal | Phobia
No. 6: “No grave can hold my body down.”
Caught in a Net | Medical Restraints | Pinned to the Wall
No. 7: “Tell me that you’re okay, and I’m fine.”
Trapped with the Enemy | Elevator | Pushed Beyond Breaking Point
No. 8: “Oh horror, oh horror, what did you see?”
Self-Inflicted Injury | Held at Gunpoint | Dissociation
No. 9: “We’ll make it alright to come undone.”
Touch | Flashbacks | Scalding
No. 10: “There’s nothing you can ever say, nothing you can ever do.”
Without Consent | Secrets | Lips Sewn Shut
No. 11: “Can you get through all the pain inside you?”
Hidden Injury | Laceration | Forced Reveal
No. 12: “It’ll be for nothing.”
Cardiac Arrest | Sacred Place | Withholding Medical Treatment
No. 13: “How dull is it to pause, to make an end, to rust unburnished.”
Never Enough | Insignia | Forced Retirement
No. 14: “In the end, it’s worthwhile.”
Ignoring an Illness | Body Bag | Wounded Caretaker
No. 15: “You can take a break, if you just tell me that it hurts.”
Failed Rescue Attempt | Body Part in the Mail | Live-Streamed Torture
No. 16: “I’ve had the rug pulled beneath my feet.”
Repressed Trauma | Permanent Marker | Disorientation
No. 17: “Tell me there’s a hope for me.”
Internal Bleeding | Coma | Redemption
No. 18: “As the world caves in.”
Dystopia | Ruins | Environmental Whump
No. 19: “You’re on your own, lost in the wild.”
Dehumanisation | Living Weapon | On Patrol
It weaves its web around you, like a spider that feeds off of your anguish and drags you deeper with its inescapable snare of silk. It doesn't kill, but it tortures. Oh, how it tortures. And just you wait until you taste the grief of losing a loved one.
It doesn't just trap you then, but instead lays its web paper-thin onto every single surface which their memory remains, sticking to your skin with every longing glance at a picture, every brush of fingers against a surface where they have once rested, every inch of skin that has felt their caress. It embeds itself into the sweetest memories and turns them bitter as wormwood, until the face that has once meant love and the joy of a life well-lived only gives pain and longing no one can erase.
The worst of it comes when you think, only for a moment, that you are free. Once the pain starts to fade and the memories grow fuzzy and opening your eyes to start a morning without them is not as torturous as it used to be. Until you glance at their picture one day, out of habit more than anything, and realize it does not hurt as much as it did in the past. Guilt crashes over you like a stab wound, so much so that you physically wince. It is not the loss that tortures you any longer but your own conscience, seeking vengeance for something you can't control, a punishment for even daring to forget.
You try to remember their laugh, their smile. Not the one in the pictures, frozen in time, but the way their eyes twinkle, the lines next on the corners of their lips, the warmth of their joy. But you can't. The realization is sudden and just as painful, twisting the knife that had already embedded itself in your flesh. Their voice, their touch, the feelings they had once awoken within you now feel like faint echoes, the smoke of a fire long extinguished, slipping through your fingers no matter how hard you try to hold on. The resignation that eventually settles is grim, yet perhaps it is because of the way one tortures themselves that the mind forces them to move on. So, you start to clear the spiderwebs which have wrapped around your heart as much as your mind.
Letting someone inside your home for the first time feels like a crime. You feel like the scum of the earth, keep glancing at doorways, half-expecting them to step out of the bedroom, angry and betrayed. Yet tense seconds tick by, and only silence greets you. The nights are the hardest, where you lay in darkness, silent and so desperately lonely, hand itching to reach for the pillow from which their smell had long since faded.
But it gets easier.
You stop crying at the mere mention of their name, you go to places you've once frequented, you tell someone they've passed without breaking down with it. You breathe a little easier, the weight of grief pulls you down a little less every day. You still think about them, but the memories are less painful now, and you treasure them like you should've done from the beginning. Even if you move on, a piece of them remains. That silly sweater they bought you for Christmas still hangs in your closet, you even wear it sometimes without tears coming with it. You still make your morning coffee in the mug they got you, not with grief, but with a fond longing that you know will never go away.
Grief, truly, is a living thing. And every living thing leaves us eventually.
All you need is enough time and patience to outlive it.
Draco shuddered, pressed against the cold stone wall of one of the empty corridors of the dungeons.
"Potter," he hissed, hands clawing at the air as if he could catch hold of someone he couldn't see. "This is—ah—completely inappropriate."
A laugh ghosted against his ear, hot and smug, though nothing was in sight. The cloak rustled faintly as unseen fingers tugged at his tie.
"No one can see us," Harry whispered, lips brushing his jaw. "That's the point."
"They could see me," Draco protested, a hand finally catching a handful of the invisibility cloak, fingers curling into the silky fabric.
Harry paused, just for a moment, and when Draco did not yank the cloak off of him like he'd anticipated, he gave the tie a sharp tug, making Draco lean closer with a scowl. "I guess you better keep a straight face, then. Just in case."
Not at all trying to help Draco's case, his hands slid under the black-and-green robes. The strangled sound Draco made was enough to make any consequence worth it.
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Better be no Potions classes at this hour of day... or else 👀
"Put your arm around me," Draco hissed, teeth bared in what the tavern owner would hopefully think was a smile.
Harry blinked. "What?"
"We're supposed to be married, Potter. Married people do not stand three feet apart as though they've just been introduced."
Reluctantly, Harry slung an arm around Draco's shoulders. To his surprise, Draco didn't stiffen. Instead, he leaned in just enough to murmur, "Convincing. Keep it up."
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Might use the continuation of the undercover scene for a future NSFW day later uwu
Draco sat at the edge of the bed, head bowed, left sleeve rolled halfway up his forearm. In the dim light, Harry could see the faint lines of the Dark Mark, covered in countless scars but still there, like a ghost that refused to leave.
“I spent years trying to wash it off,” Draco said, voice low. His fingers brushed against the mark, following the now-painfully-familiar curve of the snake, then dug his nails into his arm as if he could claw the mark away. “Scrubbing until I bled, potions, charms, healer after healer… none of them worked. Nothing ever worked.”
Harry took a tentative step closer, but Draco didn’t look at him. His breath came uneven, his words raw and sharp. “And then you—” He broke off, swallowed hard. “And then you come and look at me like I’m worth saving. Like I’m not… this.” He shoved his arm out, the hark stark in the half-light. “And it makes it hurt all over again. Because I want to believe you. I want to believe I’m more than this—but what if I’m not? What if I can never leave behind what I used to be, what I still am?”
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Mmm I don't feel like writing Harry's part just have it like this ✌ ty
The door slammed shut behind them. Harry barely had time to turn around before Draco shoved him against one of the supply lockers, smelling of sweat and leather and the slightest hint of mint that managed to linger.
"You're insufferable," Draco hissed, tugging at his collar.
Harry's hands came up to help, working to quickly shed their clothes before the faint sounds of celebration at the pitch came to an end and the other players started to head into the changing rooms.
Harry's voice was a soft murmur against Draco's lips, moments before covering them with his own. "And you like it."
Draco's hands came to grip Harry's upper arms, fingers digging into his skin as they kissed, desperate and fueled by the adrenaline of a match just-ended and the possibility of being walked in on.
Harry fumbled with his gloves, letting them fall to the floor so he could slide his hands inside Draco's robes, and then under the shirt to grip him by the waist and pull him closer. Harry rolled his hips forward, both boys groaned at the friction.
Harry teaching Draco how to ride a Muggle bicycle.
"Honestly, Potter, this contraption looks like it's designed to kill me."
Harry tried—and failed—to keep a straight face as Draco glared down at the bicycle like it had personally insulted him.
"It's not that hard," Harry said, steadying the handlebars. "Just keep your balance and pedal."
Draco muttered something about uncivilized Muggle inventions, but mounted anyway, legs stiff, back way too straight. The moment the bike wobbled, he let out a yelp.
Harry hurried alongside, one hand on Draco's back. "You've got it, you're fine— don't look down!"
Draco's knuckles were white on the grips, but after a shaky few feet, the bike began to steady. His eyes widened. "I'm—I'm actually—"
Harry grinned. "Told you."
He slowly pulled his hand away, letting Draco pedal on his own for a few feet before realizing Harry was not holding him anymore.
Of course, right after realizing that, Draco promptly tipped sideways into the grass, robes tangling in the spokes. Harry doubled over laughing until Draco threw a handful of grass at him, his words a mixture of insults and demands to not laugh.
Harry discovers Draco has been receiving anonymous death threats long after the war.
Harry stared at the stack of letters scattered across the desk— each one more vicious than the last, dripping with venom that the war was supposed to have ended. That him testifying for Draco was supposed to have ended.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry asked, voice low with restrained fury as his eyes remained glued to one of the letters, fingers crumpling the paper where he held it, filled with words he could not comprehend were directed at Draco after all the years that had passed, years without incident that should've made all of this stop. Be forgotten.
Draco stood in the doorway, pale yet composed, his head still held high despite everything. "Because this isn't your fight, Potter."
Harry's fist clenched around the letter, and he tossed it back onto the pile before turning around to face Draco. "I could've found them months ago," He protested, taking a step towards Draco. "I would've located them all, made sure they all got what they—"
Draco cut him off with a raised hand. "Made sure the newspapers had even more to talk about? Everybody already thinks I walk free not because I am innocent but because you said so," His voice was as venomous as the letters, begrudging, maybe even jealous. "I can imagine the headlines already: Harry Potter hunts down those who have been continuously harassing and threatening ex-Death Eater: Draco Malfoy. The boy-who-lived who had previously saved the Malfoy heir from a steep Azkaban sentence comes to his rescue once more."
For a moment, Harry found himself stunned by the words directed at him. Then, he felt his own anger rising in response. "So what, should you just let them keep threatening you like this? Should I turn a blind eye, just because—"
"Yes, Potter. Turn a blind eye to it, is that so hard for someone like you? You must save every poor soul in this world, mustn't you? I could take care of myself, I could protect myself, I am no damsel in distress waiting to be saved, especially not by—"
"Protect yourself?" Harry repeated, disbelief in his voice. "With what wand?"
Draco was silent. Harry pressed on. "And what happens when someone decides to go through with it instead of threats? Will you tell me to stay out of it then, too? How are you supposed to protect yourself when you have no protection, no wand, no guard?"
"I am working on wandless spells." Draco protested, though it was weak. Harry scoffed. "You're working on them. If these people have the guts to attempt half the things they wrote in these letters, you'd be injured before you could say Protego, Malfoy. Or even worse. So, whether you want it or not, I am confiscating these, and I will be finding out who has been sending every single one of them. I promise you that much." He started gathering up the letters, stacking them up in his hands and casting a simple shrinking and weightlessness charm before sliding the shrunken stack into his pocket.
Draco sneered, crossing his arms across his chest, but he did not stop him. "I hate you so bloody much."
The bookcase rattled as Draco's back hit it, causing a few books to fall with a thud. They both held their breath for a moment, listening. When there was only silence, Harry's nose brushed against Draco's cheek, inhaling deeply.
"Someone could see us," Draco protested, a hand coming to wrap around Harry's wrist when his hand trailed down his waist and to his hip.
Harry only pressed closer until Draco's protests dissolved into a half-swallowed gasp, until they shared the same breath and their lips brushed with every word spoken. "Then," He murmured, "you'd better keep quiet."
----------
Go to library to study? ❌
Go to library to kiss your boyfriend ✅
"You can't just kiss me every time you want me to stop talking."
"You can't just kiss me every time you want me to stop talking."
Harry's words were muffled against Draco's mouth, a half-hearted protest breaking into a laugh. Draco pulled back just enough to smirk, thumb brushing against Harry's jaw.
"Seems to work rather well, though," Draco murmured.
Harry rolled his eyes, but his face felt hotter, betraying him by burning red. "That's not the point—"
Another kiss, slow and soft, and Harry promptly forgot what he'd been trying to argue about.
The courtroom erupted in whispers, but Harry's voice cut through them, sharp and clear after minutes of sitting in silence, listening to people making accusations.
"He was a boy," Harry continued, gaze fixed on Draco—pale, chained, trying and failing to meet his eyes. "He was a boy, and he was scared. He did what his family told him to, what Voldemort told him to."
Everyone flinched, as if he would come back from the dead at the mention of his name. As if Harry hadn't walked to his own death to kill him.
"I know what it's like to be told who you have to be. To have no choice. Didn't all of you choose to hide behind me when it came to war? Weren't you printing wanted posters of my face when I was out there, searching for a way to end this? This trial might about Draco, but it was not he that chased after me with wands at the ready, it was the Ministry itself."
The Wizengamot shifted uneasily.
Harry's hands curled into fists. "If you punish him, then you punish me by extension. I stand here alive because he chose to come to my aid when it mattered. Right in front of Voldemort's eyes, knowing his own life could end in return."
Silence fell in the courtroom. Draco finally looked at him, something in his eyes Harry could not name from where he was. Gratitude. Anger. Maybe both.
----------
When you can't say "I'll kms if you throw my boyfriend in jail" so you go for a rational defense instead 😔✌
Harry froze mid-laugh. Draco's words hung in the air, quiet and incomprehensible.
"What?"
Draco shrugged. "Forget it."
"No." Harry leaned closer, searching Draco's face. "What did you mean?"
Draco fiddled with his cufflink. "It's softer. Like you're not… carrying the weight of the entire wizarding world."
Harry frowned. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. For once, he had no words to say.
"It's not like it's a bad thing," Draco added quickly. "But it's true, isn't it? In here, when it's just us, you're real."
"I'm not real when it's not just us?" Harry's voice was puzzled, yet slightly amused, too.
"That's not what I mean, idiot." Draco sneered, shoving Harry on the shoulder. Harry rubbed the spot with a grimace. "What I am trying to say is, in public, whatever you do, you're doing it as Harry Potter. The boy-who-lived, the chosen one, titles and titles, whatever the Daily Prophet decides to call you these days."
He waved a hand in the air as he went on and on, watching as Harry's brows raised, trying to see where this was going. "But in here," He gestured at the room around them. "When it's just you and me, you're just Harry."
"I'm just Harry?" Harry repeated, yet it came out more as a question than a statement.
"Yes."
"Oh."
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Fluff does not seem to come as naturally as angst does unfortunately
